Beginner's Luck

by Paul Somers

“Oh, naughty, naughty!” he said, under his breath, and tut-tutted.

  “What the hell are you snooping about for?” I burst out, in an angry whisper.

  “Sorry, old boy, I’m a light sleeper. Don’t worry, I’ll keep mum. You lucky chap!” He gave an awful leer. “Anything happen out there by the castle?”

  “Not a thing!”

  He grinned again. “Okay, see you in the morning,” he said, and went back into his room.

  At least, I thought, I’d established Mollie’s presence in the hotel to Lawson’s satisfaction!

  I walked past his door and into my own room and stuffed Mollie’s things into the bottom of my suitcase. I looked at my watch and saw that it was half past three. Very soon, it would be daylight. Any thought of sleep was out of the question. I drank a pint of water and bathed my bruised face. Then I sank down on the window seat and tried to get things straight in my mind. I knew I had to do something, but I hadn’t the slightest idea what.

  The natural thing was to enlist help—but I didn’t see how I could. I tried to imagine what the police would do if I did bring them into it, how they would set about coping—and I couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t put Mollie in mortal danger. There was no way in which they could safely tackle Smith in his tower stronghold. There was no way I could take him by surprise. I mentally canvassed the wildest possibilities, from tear gas to lowering someone from a helicopter, but there was always one insuperable snag. Smith would be able to shoot Mollie before any attack could be pressed home. He could act at the first sign, the first sound. What was more, I hadn’t the slightest doubt that he would do so. I’d have liked to believe he was bluffing, but I couldn’t. If, by my action, he was driven into a corner, he’d shoot—just to square the account. Even if I was wrong, I couldn’t take the risk. So the police were out.

  If, on the other hand, I kept quiet and carried out my instructions, both Mollie and I ought to be safe enough for the time being. Smith’s position, I now saw, wasn’t quite as strong as I’d supposed during the stress of the castle encounter. On the broad issue, he had the whip hand—I couldn’t give him away. But as long as I didn’t give him away, and he was still confined to the castle on account of his crippled foot, he’d need me around in good working order, because he’d need supplies. If he was stuck in the castle for several days without food and water he’d be in pretty poor shape for making a getaway at the end of it—and he knew that. And he couldn’t just order me to bring supplies for all the time he was likely to be there, and then dispose of us. For one thing, he didn’t know yet how long he was going to be there. For another, if I disappeared without trace there’d be no one to cover up for me at the hotel. And he certainly wouldn’t want any more mysteries in Lodden until he was safely out of reach. He’d been quick enough to take the point over Mollie. It seemed, therefore, that I could rely on being free, with Mollie cherished as a hostage, until the moment came for his departure.

  But what then? When I considered the position from his point of view, I simply couldn’t believe that he’d let us go in the end. We didn’t know everything about him, but we knew far too much. We knew that he was probably a jewel thief, and in a pretty big way of business. We could describe him in detail. If he already had a criminal record, which seemed quite likely, the police would be able to identify him at once. In any case, his description would be circulated everywhere, on the Continent as well as in England, and the chances were high that he’d be picked up. But if he could leave the castle secretly, as he’d come, without anyone knowing anything about him or his visit, he’d be safe, because there’d be no one on his trail. So, once again, why should he hesitate? He’d do to us what he’d done to Hoad—he’d silence us. We should end up in the well or the moat. It was as certain as a Euclidean proof.

  The conclusions from all this were only too clear. First, if anyone was going to get us out of this mess, it would have to be me. The burden of responsibility sat squarely on me; I was the only person who could hope to make an opportunity. And since, if I failed, there was no future for us anyway, I’d have to be prepared to take pretty desperate risks, even fantastic risks. Nothing, however bizarre, could be ruled out.

  Sitting there on the window seat, with another lovely dawn just beginning to break, I considered every way I could think of to catch Smith unawares. I thought of trying to get hold of a gun myself and taking a pot at him when he opened the door to the roof. I’d used a revolver a bit in the Army—I knew the butt from the barrel. Still, I’d never been much of a shot with it; and Smith had handled his gun with the speed of a cowboy in a Western. I didn’t give much for my chances in a gun duel. He’d probably be expecting something like that, too. He’d be pretty sure to be on his guard. Anyone would, in his position.

  I thought of trying to conceal some weapon among the food supplies. It might be worth an attempt—though I hadn’t much doubt that he’d notice it. He hadn’t missed a trick so far, and from what I’d seen of him I didn’t think he’d ever miss anything as obvious as that.

  I thought of trying to get hold of a rifle, and picking him off from the shelter of the hazel bushes beside the moat. It seemed unlikely that he’d expose himself much on the battlements in daylight, but he might in the very early morning. Or he might show up at one of the loopholes. The trouble was that if I failed to get him with my first shot I shouldn’t have another chance—and he’d almost certainly regard the attempt as a declaration of war, which could well be the end of Mollie. That was no good, either. Not at this stage, anyway.

  Perhaps I could draw him out of the tower by some ruse?—create some diversion, manœuvre him into a position of disadvantage? That was fine in theory, but specifically I couldn’t think how. Perhaps I could manage something while he was asleep—he’d obviously have to sleep sometime. I wondered what sort of dispositions he was making at the castle. How, for instance, would he ensure that Mollie herself didn’t get troublesome while he was sleeping? I really needed to know a good deal more before I could make any plans.

  Meanwhile, a minor problem was what I was going to do about Lawson and the office. Clearly I’d have to think up some good reason why I couldn’t go back—something that wouldn’t rouse any suspicion or start any inquiry. The last thing I wanted was that Lawson should get suspicious. Illness!—that was the thing. I’d have to say I wasn’t well. No one ever argued about that.

  By now it was five o’ clock, and full daylight, and I concentrated again on the immediate tasks. I had to move Mollie’s car before the hotel servants were up. I also had to leave her message somewhere, I crept downstairs to the lounge and got a hotel envelope from a drawer and slipped the note inside it. The window of the reception desk was closed, but a heavy inkwell had been left on the ledge outside and I put the envelope underneath it. It probably wouldn’t be noticed till around eight, by which time Mollie could easily have left. So far, so good! I crossed to the front door and unlocked it and went out into the street. It was a beautiful morning again—the sort of morning that made you feel you wanted to live for ever. I walked round the back of the hotel to the car park. Mollie’s car was parked against a wall and it wasn’t visible from any of the windows, even if anyone had been looking. I squeezed myself into the driving-seat and started the engine and drove quietly away. I’d noticed a biggish garage in Worley when I’d been over there to see the inspector, and I drove straight to it and stopped outside. Then I settled down for a long wait. A milkman came by soon after six, and a postman just before seven, and then the place began to get quite busy—but no one gave me more than a passing glance. At ten minutes past eight a man arrived to open the garage. I asked him if I could leave my car there for a few days and he said, “Certainly, sir!” and gave me a ticket. He didn’t appear to think there was anything odd about my parking a car at that hour in a place like Worley. I walked to the nearest bus stop and looked at the timetable and there was a bus back to Lodden in fifteen minutes. It got me to the pub just before nine. Mollie’s message,
I saw, had gone from the reception desk. I nodded a “Good morning!” to the manager’s wife and went into the dining-room. I felt extremely hungry, but I daren’t order much of a breakfast—if I was going to malinger, it wouldn’t do to let Lawson catch me wolfing bacon and eggs. I asked for coffee and a roll, and thought of Mollie sitting up there in the tower all day without food or water. I hadn’t much to complain of.

  I’d just finished my second cup when Lawson came in. He looked very chipper. He said, “Oh, what a beautiful morning!” and sat down opposite me. He picked up the menu and gave me a sly glance. Then his jaw dropped.

  “Christ, old boy,” he said, “what have you been doing to your face?”

  I’d forgotten he hadn’t seen my bruises in daylight. Not that they were all that bad, now, but they were something. I said, “My wardrobe door was open and I walked into it in the dark. I’m surprised you didn’t hear me.”

  He grinned. “Sure it wasn’t Mollie trying to save her honour?”

  “It was not,” I said shortly.

  “Well, you certainly don’t look so good. How do you feel?”

  “Lousy,” I said. “Very tired.”

  “What do you expect, old boy …? By the way, what was Mollie up to at the castle?”

  “I don’t think she was up to anything. She just said she couldn’t sleep.”

  “That’s a likely story! Where did you run into her?”

  “Outside the pub, as a matter of fact. I caught her up at the door on my way back.”

  “Nice timing! Is she around yet?”

  “She was—but she went off early. Said something about going to stay with friends for a day or two.”

  “You mean she’s checked out?”

  “No, I gather she’s left some of her things. She said she just couldn’t be bothered to pack.”

  “Bit odd, isn’t it?”

  “She’s an odd girl,” I said vaguely.

  “You should know, old boy!”

  He didn’t pursue the subject. I saw him talking to the manager a bit later, but it didn’t get him anywhere. I had a word with the manager myself and pulled his leg about having nothing to do now that most of the newspapermen had left and said I understood Miss Bourne had gone off early, and he nodded. He seemed quite unconcerned. By now, reporters were probably all crazy to him, anyway.

  Around ten-thirty, Lawson said that we might as well be getting on our way. I was just going to tell him I didn’t feel up to it when there was a call from the office, and he took it. He talked for a minute or two, and then called out that Blair wanted me and handed the receiver over.

  Blair said briskly, “Oh, Curtis, I’d like you to get back here as quickly as you can. There’s a good story for you up in Norfolk.”

  I said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Blair, but I’m afraid I’m not well.”

  “Not well? Why, what’s the matter, Curtis?”

  “Sickness,” I said. “Frightful headache.…” I suddenly realised that I was making it sound far too much like a hangover and added quickly, “Bit of fever, too. I think I’ve caught a chill. I honestly don’t feel fit for work.”

  “Well, it’s very inconvenient,” he said in a testy voice. “We’re extremely short-handed here.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said again.

  He grunted. “If you’re ill, you’re ill, I suppose. Anyway, see how you get on. Give me a call this afternoon.”

  “Very well,” I said—and rang off. That hurdle seemed to have been taken all right.

  Lawson was just putting his bag into his car. I felt an immense relief. “You’re off, are you?” I said.

  “Yes—smash-and-grab at Aldershot. What about you?”

  “I’ve had to duck my job,” I said. “I’m simply not feeling up to it.”

  “Really?” Lawson looked quite shocked. “I’m afraid you lack stamina, old boy.”

  I smiled feebly at him. “I blame the wardrobe.”

  “What are you going to do? Go home?”

  “No, I think I’d better stick around here for a while and take it easy.”

  He gave a faint shrug. He obviously thought I was miking, and took a poor view, but I couldn’t have cared less. “Well, I’ll be seeing you,” he said. He got into his car, and a moment later he was driving away. I’d never been happier to see the back of anyone. He was the last of the reporters to leave. I took a deep breath, and began to consider the next problem.

  Chapter Thirteen

  If only for Mollie’s sake, I’d obviously got to make an efficient job of laying in supplies. She would need at least two blankets—even with the mild nights we were having it must be pretty chilly in that bare stone castle—and that meant two for Smith as well. I should have to buy some sort of container for water, and there was Smith’s bandage to get, and I should need quite a bit of food. Brighton, I decided, was the best place to shop—I’d be lost in the crowd there and no one would give a second thought to my rather unusual purchases. I drove in shortly after twelve and parked the Riley and had lunch. Then, as soon as the shops opened again, I started on my rounds. I bought a two-gallon can for water at an ironmonger’s, and some grey blankets from a large store. I got an elasticised bandage from a chemist’s. I bought two tumblers and a collection of assorted cutlery. I didn’t suppose they’d actually need knives and forks, but it seemed the most promising way of getting potentially dangerous weapons into the castle. One of the knives, in particular, was short and strong and very sharp. I also bought a corkscrew and a pretty lethal tin opener. I picked up some milk and a loaf, and then went into a provision store for the main supplies. I’d scribbled out a shopping-list in the car. As I stood at the counter, watching cooked ham being sliced up, the fantastic unreality of the whole business came over me again. It seemed absolutely incredible that I was buying groceries for a murderer—that I was proposing to take them along to him, tamely, as though I were some sort of delivery boy. But I still didn’t see what else I could do …

  The man behind the counter said, “Anything more, sir?”

  I looked at the pile of things—ham and tongue, tinned meat, butter, cheese, chocolate, biscuits, tomatoes, fruit. The prisoners in the tower certainly wouldn’t starve now—and what with the blankets and the water I doubted if I should be able to carry much more. I glanced around the shelves to see if there was anything I’d overlooked—and my eyes came to rest on a small round tin. It was labelled “White Pepper.”

  Pepper!

  It was an old idea, of course, as old as the hills—but that seemed all the more reason why it might work. It was certainly the best idea I’d had yet. I said I’d have it.

  I took the groceries back to the car and sat there for a while, thinking about the pepper. If I put it in with the rest of the supplies, I couldn’t see that I’d have any chance of using it. For one thing, the tin was sealed, and it might remain sealed. Smith might not like pepper. If I opened it myself, it probably wouldn’t pass his vigilant eye. Perhaps it would be better if I put some of it in a screw of paper and tried to smuggle it in in my pocket. He could easily miss that. But taking it out and unfolding it without being noticed and using it on him when he was within striking distance wouldn’t be very simple. Throwing pepper probably wouldn’t be very simple, anyway. What I needed was some little gadget that would direct a jet of it straight at him. But how and where would I hide it?

  I thought about it for some time, and presently I had a new idea. I went back to the shops and began to look around for an insufflator. I’d never realised before how many different types there were on the market. There were sprays of every size and description—glass ones and plastic ones and metal ones, sprays with long nozzles and large rubber bulbs, sprays with small nozzles and scarcely any bulbs at all. In the end, I found just what I wanted on a cosmetic counter. It was a small pink container of some soft, collapsible material, with a very short black plastic nozzle set at a slight angle. I could scarcely wait to try it.

  I walked quickly back to the car, and ope
ned the pepper tin, and poured a little pepper into the container. Then I screwed up the nozzle, and opened my jacket and put the nozzle through the top buttonhole from the inside and buttoned up. I got out of the car and walked about a bit to see if it was secure and the thing seemed to be held quite firmly by the nozzle, which was pointing slightly upwards and away from me. I made sure no one was watching, and gave the top of my jacket a smart tap, and a fine spray of pepper shot out for more than a foot. Some of it drifted back on me, and I was seized with a paroxysm of sneezing and for a moment or two my eyes streamed. It seemed to work very well! If only I could direct the spray into Smith’s face, I hadn’t a doubt that he’d be temporarily incapacitated. A mere second off guard would be enough for me to get his gun. And in the half-light of the castle roof, I didn’t think he’d notice the nozzle. It protruded scarcely half an inch. Anyhow, it was worth trying.

  I put the insufflator away and drove back to the Castle Arms. I filled the water can from the hose pipe in the car park, and left the stores locked up in the car in a soft bag. It was now nearly four o’clock and I decided I must try to get a little sleep. It wouldn’t help anyone if I reached the castle in an exhausted state. I went up to my room and stretched out on the bed. The next thing I knew, it was six o’ clock, and a maid was tapping on my door and saying there was a telephone call for me.

  I’d forgotten all about the office. I’d forgotten I’d been told to ring Blair. I hurried down to the box and picked up the receiver. It wasn’t Blair, it was Hatcher, and he was in his nastiest mood.

  “I thought you were supposed to be ill!” he said.

  “I am.”

  “We tried to get you after lunch and they said you’d gone out. Bloody strange illness!”

  “I wanted to get some fresh air,” I said,

  “Well, there’s plenty of fresh air in Norfolk—you’d better come back.”

  “I’m really not fit,” I said.

  “Have you seen a doctor?”