Another Little Christmas Murder
Page 23
Mr Howe sat down. Charlie Best, grinning, went across to warm himself by the fire, and Inigo, now ranged firmly on Dylis’s side, asked, ‘Well, what have you got to say?’
‘Nothing,’ Mr Howe said. ‘The facts, as presented by this impertinent young woman, are substantially correct. I may say, however, that an affliction of this nature has never before fallen to my lot, and I attribute it entirely to the unhealthy conditions prevailing in this house.’
‘You can say what you like,’ Charlie Best interrupted. ‘But personally I think you ought to be ashamed. And I’m not sure that Miss Hughes couldn’t prosecute you for libel, slander, plagiarism, infringement of copyright and unlawful entry.’
‘Come, come,’ Mr Howe said. ‘This has gone far enough. I am perfectly willing to pay Miss Hughes for the use of her so-called cure.’
‘I’m not asking you to pay for it,’ Dylis said. ‘I’d have given it to you if you’d had the courage to ask for it. There’s only one price you’re going to pay, Mr Howe, and that is, you’ve got to stop running down patent medicines, cures of any kind. You’re writing a new book, aren’t you? Well, you cut out any hints you may have put in regarding our products and those of any other firm in the business, and you can add a line or two to the effect that if, after all this fresh air and exercise, a person gets sick, then there’s no harm in paying a visit to the local chemist. And in return we’ll promise not to let this little episode get about. Won’t we?’
Her supporters nodded, and their three pairs of eyes regarded Mr Howe in a solid front. He moved uneasily, cleared his throat once or twice, and said at last, ‘Very well. I agree to your … er … terms, Miss Hughes. And now will you be so kind as to remove your presence from this room? Mr Best, in the circumstances …’
‘You can cut out the presidential address,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ve already decided not to visit your hideout. I’ve seen enough of the coming Ice Age to last me for some time. We’re getting the garage people along in the morning, and they’ll fix your car for you. But of course if you still prefer to walk through the snow there’s plenty of it about. I’m going back to the lights of London, bless ’em. How about giving me a lift, Inigo?’
‘Surely,’ Inigo said. ‘We’ll collect Dylis’s old truck, if it hasn’t blown over, and all go back together as soon as we can. This girl drives one of the most miserable monsters I’ve ever seen …’
‘I should be glad,’ Mr Howe cut in, ‘if you would conduct your mechanical discussion elsewhere. My sole wish is to take a light repast and retire to bed.’
For once, Dylis felt friendly towards him. She had seen in the eyes of Inigo and Charlie that light peculiar to men who are about to plunge into a debate on cars and their characteristics. With a perfunctory good night, she led them resolutely away.
In the corridor they encountered Mr Raddle, carrying a tray laden with a plate of cereal, three slices of dry toast and a jug of cold water. But in his free hand he held a large and succulent meat sandwich, the consumption of which appeared to be affording him immense satisfaction. He bowed to them in passing.
‘So he’s broken out at last,’ Charlie observed. ‘I thought he would. Poor old Howe, with revolution in the camp, and lumbago in the back.’
But his grin lacked its usual spontaneity, and in silence they went downstairs.
Chapter XIX
‘Maybe it’s not such a bad old car,’ Inigo said, when he and Dylis, in her much-despised vehicle, were on their way to spend Christmas with her people in Worcester. The cold spell still held, and although the roads in that part of the country were not so bad as those in Yorkshire, he had taken upon himself the responsibility of driving.
Transport still being extremely precarious, there had not been much in the way of an alternative. They had returned to London, after experiencing sundry minor mishaps on the way, to be greeted with stories of trains delayed and passengers having to make the best of a bad job, car owners having to help themselves and each other out of their difficulties, and London itself suffering from frozen pipes and their attendant discomfort. Inigo had returned to its obliging owner the car he had borrowed, but no other owners of cars seemed to be in an obliging mood. In any case, he would not have felt inclined to risk a borrowed or hired car upon the roads again, until such time as conditions improved.
Dylis’s car was different. It was not the risk to that, but to their joint lives that he thought about, as it battled nobly along the snow-clad highway. He had tried chaining the back wheels, but its independent nature did not take kindly to chains, and the idea had to be abandoned.
‘It’s a rattling good car,’ Dylis said, proud of its propensity for taking on all obstacles.
‘You’re right, there. Rattling is the operative word.’
‘What other car would stand up to being left on the edge of a precipice out in the cold, and then being bounced about by garage people without any sensitivity or decent feeling?’
Inigo laughed. ‘I think they had half a mind to push it over the edge and be blowed to it, if you hadn’t been keeping a stern eye on them.’
He took a sharp bend in the road, and the car moaned to itself and slackened speed. Ahead of them was a long and gradual incline. They had climbed, without haste, for a couple of hundred yards when the car stopped, the sound of the engine died away on the evening air, and they began to slip backwards, slowly, and then with increasing speed.
‘The brake!’ Dylis screamed, as Inigo switched off the engine altogether. ‘Why don’t you use the brake?’
‘I’ve got my foot jammed on it,’ he shouted back, ‘but it’s not making any difference.’
He seized the handbrake, but it was of no avail. They careered wildly down the remainder of the hill, skidded on the slippery surface, shot across the road, and stopped halfway up a tree-lined bank. They sat and looked at each other in silence for a moment or two. Inigo passed a hand over his forehead. He said:
‘I thought those people at Cudge were supposed to overhaul it?’
‘So did I. They charged me enough. Compton and Webber nearly swooned in each other’s arms when they saw the bill. What are we going to do now?’
‘Get out and tie it together with string, I suppose.’
‘We passed a house up the road. Perhaps we could get help there?’
‘No more help,’ Inigo said. ‘I’ll do this myself, if it kills me, and it probably will. You’d better sell this car, if you can get anyone to give you half-a-crown for it.’
‘But what would I do for getting about the country?’
‘I’ve got a remedy for that, too.’ He rested his arms on the steering wheel and regarded her thoughtfully. ‘I’ve written to my father, telling him roughly the details of the Wintry Wold affair. I’ll have to stay over here until it’s all settled, and the estate wound up. Then I shall be going home …’
‘But what’s all this to do with me?’
‘I was coming to that. I suggest you tell Compton and Webber to start looking for a new partner.’
‘But why?’
‘Because Compton, Webber and Mrs Brown sounds damned silly to me,’ Inigo said.
After which they forgot, for the time being, the precariousness of their position.