Treading silently over the intervening space, Inigo said, ‘Pardon my butting in …’
They all spun round, and he could see them more clearly. Ridley, with a policeman holding one arm and Charlie Best holding the other, a uniformed man on either side of them and a man in a trilby hat and heavy overcoat, who asked sharply, ‘Who’s there?’
‘My name’s Brown,’ Inigo said, and could hardly repress a slight grin at the conventionality of the phrase. But his expression changed as Ridley, taking advantage of the interruption, wrenched himself free, and ducking beneath the constable’s arm, was off up the road within a split second. Emitting a shout, Charlie Best followed, with two of the constables also in hot pursuit. Inigo was about to dash after, but felt his arm gripped by the man in the trilby hat, who said, ‘Just a moment. I’d like to have a few more details, if it’s all the same to you.’
‘But they’re getting away.’ Inigo was suddenly annoyed, excited, and full of the will to action. ‘Ridley, and that fellow Crane. They’re both wanted by the police, or if they’re not, they ought to be.’
‘Did you say Crane?’ the other asked, almost gently. ‘William Henry Crane?’
‘I don’t know him as well as all that. He calls himself Best, a journalist …’
‘That’s what he told us,’ the man said. ‘But we don’t take any chances. They won’t get far, either of them. Now, who did you say you are? I’m Detective Sergeant Grabham, C.I.D., and this is Sergeant Forbes from Cudge.’
Inigo drew a deep breath, restraining his impatience with an effort. He began to explain, but such was the tenseness of his manner that his story did not sound nearly as convincing as the truth should, until Sergeant Forbes, who had been listening intently, broke in to affirm, with a slight Yorkshire accent, that he knew Mr Warner Brown well, that he recognised the old man’s nephew from the family likeness and a recent photograph, and was going on to describe his many visits to Wintry Wold during the course of his duties at Cudge in the good old days.
But at that moment a car came forcing its way along the road in the direction of Wintry Wold, its headlights penetrating the darkness ahead with a blinding glare, thrown back by the glistening snow. Of necessity, it was travelling at much less than its normal speed, but even so it had passed before any of them could make a movement.
‘That’s Crane’s car,’ Inigo shouted, glimpsing the number plate. ‘My uncle’s wife got away in it earlier, but I can’t think what she’s doing, turning back.’
‘On the run,’ Detective Sergeant Grabham said laconically, as there approached another car, identical with his own. It went by with a vaguely groaning sound, as if the obstacles it had so far encountered were beginning to tell.
‘We’d better get after them,’ Inigo suggested. ‘The road gets worse farther on.’
‘No need, sir. That’ll be Inspector Morden, and he’ll have everything under control.’
‘Look,’ Inigo said, exasperated by this apparent complacency. ‘My uncle’s dead, and I think he was murdered, and his wife had something to do with it. She won’t just drive home and sit there waiting for you. She’ll be taking the road that goes through Deathleap Pass. But there’s another road that cuts across the lower slope of the Scar and links up with the Pass on the other side. You could cut her off that way, and be sure of getting her. It’s a short road, but dangerous.’
‘I haven’t seen one round here that isn’t,’ Grabham said. ‘How d’you get to it?’
‘I’ll show you if you like. That’s my car over there.’
It seemed an eternity before the Detective Sergeant made up his mind, held a murmured conversation with the man from Cudge, who nodded his understanding and approval.
‘Right,’ Grabham said, and with sudden and extraordinary swiftness, for he was a big man, plunged across the road and into the stationary vehicle. Inigo followed, put out his lamp and stowed it away. Then taking the driving seat, he overcame a slight difficulty in starting the car, put her into reverse, backed into a convenient space, turned, and began the drive along the road past Wintry Wold and up towards the winding, climbing way that led to Deathleap.
Their headlights picked out the road, rutty, snowbound, improbable. To right and left they could see nothing, which was as well, Inigo thought grimly. For the heights dropped away so unexpectedly in places that by daylight such a stretch was apt to be disconcerting. Once they glimpsed the tail-light of the police car, which appeared to be in difficulties. Then they found themselves in difficulties, and by the time they were clear, there was no sign of other traffic on the lonely road.
A few minutes later, they had turned off upon the short cut, and it required all Inigo’s driving skill to keep the car climbing. They took the sharp bend at the top, where the cut joined the Pass, with an unpleasant swivelling movement, and Inigo pulled up, blocking the narrow road.
‘Is this it?’ Grabham asked, peering through the windscreen.
‘This is it,’ Inigo rejoined, and gritted his teeth as there came into their line of vision from the winding way to the right the headlights of two cars, one some fifty yards behind the other. It might be just a routine job to Mr Grabham, but to him it was a personal matter. He opened the car door and stepped out into the teeth of the wind.
Chapter XVIII
Dylis sat by the fire, consuming hot coffee and sandwiches, and trying not to picture Inigo, shot through the heart and lying somewhere in the snow. It had been as much as she could do to restrain herself from rushing out after him, but common-sense had prevailed, and instead she had turned her attention to bringing some kind of law and order back to the drawing-room.
She had been obliged to force the lock of the door leading on to the passage, to procure first aid materials for Ashley, who with his head bathed and bandaged, now lay on the sofa in a state of semi-consciousness which, if not entirely satisfactory, was at least encouraging.
Vauxhall was still in a world of his own, but she had taken the precaution of binding his hands and legs with curtain cords. Mr Carpenter, on the other hand, had come to life sufficiently to note her activities with a certain dour amusement.
‘Not taking any chances, eh?’ he said, when she finally relaxed in a chair opposite. Then he lapsed into his accustomed silence, viewing with blank ingratitude the coffee, black and strong, that she had placed on the table beside him, until he hit upon the happy idea of adding to it a measure of whisky, whereupon he drank it down with every evidence of satisfaction.
‘Damned fools!’ he burst out suddenly. ‘Trying to get away with murder. If I’d known in time …’ His voice trailed away, and he stared broodingly into the fire.
‘You liked Mr Brown?’ Dylis asked.
‘Liked him? I detested him. Sanctimonious old bore.’
‘Then why didn’t you go when Vauxhall wanted you to?’
‘Murder. Don’t like it. Never have. Don’t like Vauxhall, either. I wasn’t going to be bullied by that outsize thug. And what difference does it make? May as well die in jail as anywhere else. One hospital’s the same as another. Damned fools! … They never appreciated the work I did for ’em.’
He leaned back, muttering to himself, and afraid that he was about to fall asleep again, she prompted, ‘What work was that?’
‘Pornography!’ He almost shouted the word. ‘And damned good pornography, at that. I ought to know, I printed it.’ He reached for the whisky bottle, helped himself, and stared into his glass in sullen reflection. ‘But all they ever thought about was money. That’s all old Brown thought about, too, that and his wife, which is as good as saying the same thing. I’d have been sorry for him, if he hadn’t been such an old bore. Didn’t smoke, didn’t drink. He only had us here under protest. But she told him she had to have money, and it didn’t take her long to show him the easiest way to get it. Served him right, though. Marrying a smart piece like that. Couldn’t ever think what he saw in her. She made me sick, with her “Mr Carpenter, will you do this?” And, “Mr Carpenter, will you do that? Ple
ase, Mr Carpenter.”’
He produced a fair imitation of Theresa’s voice and emitted a thin cackle of laughter.
‘It had its funny side, after you lot turned up. To hear her trying to get Vauxhall to act the butler was enough to make a cat die laughing. She kept on at him, but she might just as well have saved her breath. Nothing’ll ever turn him into anything but what he is, except a rope round his neck. But she’s like that, all milk and honey until crossed, and then look out for the fireworks.’
Dylis raised her head, at a sound from the sofa. Ashley had opened his eyes, and was struggling to a sitting position. She went across to him. ‘Feeling any better?’ she asked.
‘A little, thanks.’ His eyes smiled, though his mouth was grimly set as he put a hand to his bandaged head. Glancing at the still huddled figure of Vauxhall, he asked, ‘Where are the rest of them?’
She was about to reply, when there came a loud hammering upon the french windows in the dining-room. ‘That’ll be Inigo, I expect,’ she said, and ran through to fling open the windows and discover a tall man in police uniform who demanded, ‘Detective Inspector Ashley, Miss? I was told he’s here.’
‘So he is,’ she said. ‘But only just.’ She led the way and he followed, to stand in the communicating entrance, his eyes, in a flushed and healthy face, taking in the occupants of the room and focusing upon Ashley. The latter said, ‘Come in, Sergeant … you’re a very welcome sight. What’s the news?’
The sergeant moved quickly forward. ‘This is a bad business, sir,’ he said. ‘We met Mr Brown, and he said you’d been hurt. No bones broken, I hope?’
‘Only my head,’ Ashley assured him. ‘And that feels as if it had been split in two. I’d almost given you up for lost. Isn’t Inspector Morden with you?’
‘He’s still on the chase, sir. We did the first part of the job, but were held up. But we picked up one of the vans earlier this evening, driven by a man named Jackson. Couldn’t get much sense out of him, but we got the impression he was on the run. Then a bit later we got into difficulties, and along came a car driven by Ridley. We apprehended him …’
‘What about Crane?’ Ashley interrupted impatiently.
‘We got him, too, sir,’ the sergeant announced with quiet pride. ‘He came along about the same time, on foot, and questioned, said he was chasing Ridley. He was armed, and became violent when we doubted his story … The two of them tried to make a dash for it, and led us a bit of a dance, but I’ve got them outside in the car now safe enough, with two of my men …’
He spun round, and Ashley got laboriously to his feet, as there came the sound of footsteps again outside the french windows. The sergeant said, gripping Ashley’s arm, ‘Steady, sir. You’re not out of the wood yet, you know. That’s the rest of our lot, I reckon. They were all after that young woman, Mrs Brown. She passed us in Crane’s car …’
The worst of Dylis’s fears were relieved when Inigo walked into the room, smiled vaguely and flopped down into the nearest chair. He looked awful, his hair all over the place, his dark eyes staring straight ahead of him. He was followed by Sergeant Grabham, and a strange man in a tweed overcoat with a soft felt hat jammed over his eyes. The latter removed the hat as he entered, and Ashley greeted him, shaking him warmly by the hand.
‘Hallo, Morden. I’ve never been so pleased to see anyone in my life. You’re looking a bit done up, though. Take a seat and tell us all about it.’
Morden glanced quickly round. He looked younger than Ashley, with a rather long face, a jutting jaw, and heavy eyebrows. He nodded to Dylis, stared for a moment at the dozing figure of Mr Carpenter, and the unconscious Vauxhall, before seating himself. Dylis mechanically handed round cigarettes, put one between Inigo’s lips and lighted it for him. He thanked her with a smile and went on staring into space. Ashley said, ‘Well, come on, man. What happened?’
‘We were on our way up here,’ Morden explained, ‘when we almost ran into Crane’s car. We couldn’t see who was driving, but I sent the others on to report to you, and gave chase. We went right past here, climbing all the time, and then we came to a stretch where there’s a lovely drop on one side and something that looks like a mountain on the other …’
‘That’s the beginning of the Pass,’ Inigo said. ‘Sergeant Grabham and I were coming up from the other way. There’s a bend at the top and just as we turned and pulled up, we saw Mrs Brown. She saw us about the same time, I should think. I’d blocked the road. I suppose she thought her only chance was to reverse and make a dash for it past the Inspector, who was still some way behind where the road is wider.’
‘Fat chance she’d have had,’ Morden said.
‘She tried it, anyway. She put the car into reverse, and must have misjudged … It went over the edge of Deathleap.’
‘Killed?’ Ashley queried, as Inigo paused, running a hand through his hair.
‘It’s a drop of about five hundred feet,’ Inigo said, and Morden added, ‘The car burst into flames. Lit up the country for miles, and I don’t mind saying it shook me to see the road we were using. When I’m driving over that sort of place I prefer not to see it too clearly.’
A silence enfolded the room. Dylis, feeling ill, dropped down on to the nearest seat, which happened to be the pouffe, recalled that it was Theresa’s favourite, and stood up again. Ashley leaned against the mantelpiece and thoughtfully blew smoke rings into the still air.
‘Suppose we get this straight,’ he said at last. ‘You say Theresa Brown went off alone in Crane’s car …’
‘Not alone,’ Inigo said. ‘Snell was with her, poor devil. She was supposed to be giving him a lift, but I don’t know …’
‘Snell?’ Ashley repeated. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. I saw them go, just after you got knocked out, but I was too late to stop them.’
‘Was he still with her when the car went over?’ Ashley glanced at Grabham, who nodded, and said, ‘He was sitting right beside her. We saw him as she put it into reverse. He was one of the vanmen, Mr Brown said, but …’
‘He was Crane,’ Ashley said wearily, and turned to Sergeant Forbes. ‘I don’t know who you’ve got outside in your car, but you’ve certainly got the wrong man.’
‘He’s got Best,’ Inigo supplied, leaping to his feet. ‘This is awful! We made sure he was Crane …’
‘But not sure enough.’ Ashley smiled a little. ‘Bob Snell was Crane, all right. He could lay that accent on with a trowel, when he felt like it. But normally he had a classy way of talking, and dressing, believe me. Morden, be a good chap and go out and release Mr Best before he starts a press campaign against the inefficiency of the police force. I was wondering what had happened to him.’
‘Who is he?’ Morden asked, rising. ‘Anyone important?’
‘Said he was a journalist, sir,’ Sergeant Forbes submitted, preparing to follow. ‘Sorry, sir, but his story sounded thin to me …’
‘He is a journalist,’ Ashley assured him. ‘I know him by sight. But he’s a good sort, and he’ll forgive and forget, I daresay. You’d better send in your men to collect this one …’ With his foot he indicated Vauxhall. The sergeant nodded, and he and Grabham and Morden left together.
‘I think we’d all better have a drink,’ Inigo said. He went into the dining-room and returned with glasses and a further bottle of brandy, which he proceeded to distribute. Pouring an extra glass, he said, ‘For Charlie. Something tells me he’s going to need a lot of smoothing down.’
‘For once your faith was justified,’ Dylis said. ‘I’m afraid that mistake was my fault, Mr Ashley. I started the rumour about Charlie.’
He met her troubled gaze with a smile. ‘We all make mistakes,’ he observed. ‘But don’t ever be tempted to join the police force, Miss Hughes. It’s the devil of a life. My God!’ He took a few steps from his place by the mantel, staggered a little, and clutched a hand to his head. ‘I’d almost forgotten that man I picked up earlier …’
‘Mr Brow
n’s valet?’ Dylis queried, as Inigo caught Ashley by the arm and aided him to the nearest chair. ‘He’s all right. I’ve been looking after him. I gave him some hot soup and he’s sleeping.’
‘Good girl.’ Ashley rested his head between his hands. ‘I guessed who he was, but I wasn’t certain. I want to talk to him when we can both think clearly. I want to talk to you, too.’
They were interrupted by Morden, returning with Charlie Best, a very dishevelled Charlie, his eyes reproachful.
‘A nice couple of friends you are,’ he said, looking from Dylis to Inigo. ‘Trying to get me pinched for murder.’
‘Have a drink,’ Inigo said hastily, pushing the glass into his hand.
‘And a cigarette,’ Dylis suggested, lighting one for him.
Charlie grinned, accepting both, and sat down opposite Mr Carpenter. ‘Don’t fret yourselves,’ he said. ‘I’ve never been known to rat on a pal, and I won’t hold this story against you. But I’d like to hear the rest of it, out of professional interest.’
He glanced up curiously as the two constables entered. With complete indifference, they lifted the insensible Vauxhall and carried him out. He might have been a load of hay, so far as they were concerned.
‘They’re taking him and Ridley back to Cudge,’ Morden said, coming in a few seconds later, and accepted, with murmured thanks, the drink that Inigo offered. ‘I’m going on presently.’ He glanced significantly at Mr Carpenter.
‘Good idea.’ Ashley lighted another cigarette and turned to Dylis. ‘What has Ledgrove said to you, Miss Hughes, if anything?’
She told him briefly, also the gist of her own recent adventures adding, ‘He didn’t tell me about the van, though. And when he broke out of the barn he was too far gone to care what had been going on. But he said there was a lot of machinery in there.’
‘I’ve no doubt there was,’ Ashley said. ‘But there isn’t now. They loaded it on to the van which Jackson drove away, along with all their other stuff. We’ve been after them for some time in connection with this game, the printing and distribution of all kinds of junk that comes under the heading of illicit publications. They’ve had their headquarters at various places throughout the country, but up till now whenever we’ve tracked them down they’ve cleared everything and just got away in time. They’d lie low for a while and then start up again.
Another Little Christmas Murder Page 21