“But Sergeant MacDonald”
“Do you know many people in Glasgow?”
“Yes. I'm going to stay tomorrow with some folks I met in the States. For a week — until I go off to Glendale!'
“Name and address, please."
For the first time her grey eyes became frosty; but she answered readily enough.
“Mr. and Mrs. James Cameron of Number Nine, Hillhead Crescent. Their son Hugh is about my own age. He’s a doctor. I showed him New York when he was there last year. In return he’s promised to show me Glasgow. Hugh is a pet,’’ she added with only a suggestion of cattiness. “So gay and sweet-tempered.’'
Kenneth’s frown deepened. “Then he ought to provide you with adequate protection — in the ordinary course of events at any rate.’’ He put his empty coffee-cup on the silver tray. “But again I must warn you, don’t attempt to go out alone after dark.’’
“Very well.’’
“In the second place,’’ he continued, “if ever you should become suspicious of anything or anybody, get in touch with me at once. Telephone this number,’’ he said, handing her a card.
She put it in her handbag. Her mind flamed with rebellion against these gruff, inimical orders.
“Anything else?’’ she inquired, with cool politeness.
“That’s all in the meantime. I’ll see you again before you leave for Glendale.’’
A waitress appeared and took away the coffee things. Their cigarettes were finished. He glanced at her once, as if making a plea for understanding. But if she noticed the change in his expression she made no response, and the moment passed.
They stood up.
“Good night, Sergeant,’’ she said, vaguely. “It was kind of you to call. I guess we haven’t much to worry about.’’
He bowed stiffly, but with an inward feeling of dissatisfaction. He had done his job competently and according to the rules. And yet…
“Good night, Miss MacKay,’’ he answered. “I — er — I hope you will enjoy your stay in Scotland…’’
A few minutes later, at his bachelor home in Rutherglen, Superintendent McIntosh answered the telephone.
“Well, well! Veronica Jane! How are you?” he exclaimed. “Fine, Uncle Bill. I’m here.”
“So I gather. How's your father?”
“Tied up with business, I guess. But that doesn't prevent him having his game of golf every Sunday. I'm a golf orphan!” she complained.
“That's bad… What kind of journey had you?” “Wonderful. I met the nicest man first day out — we danced together every night.”
“Oh-ho! Seeing him again?”
“Not on your life. Coming round the Mull of Kintyre it was pretty rough, and I found out he had false teeth. My youthful passion died!” She laughed. “But say,” she went on, “how are you, Uncle Bill? Hale and hearty?”
“Very fit, thank you.”
“Still the scourge of crime?”
“Maybe… Though I wish I could inspire more terror in my young policemen. Pansy lot nowadays.”
“Talking about young policemen — thanks for giving me a watchdog, Uncle dear. But is he really necessary?”
“We've got to be careful,” he replied, and added: “So you've seen Sergeant MacDonald?”
“Yes. He's just gone.”
Bulldog Bill detected a flat quality in Veronica Jane's ordinarily cheerful voice. “Don't you like him?” he asked. There was a silence.
“At first I thought he was cute,” she admitted, finally: “so shy and embarrassed. Then he went cold on me, and — gosh, Uncle Bill, if it's got to be done, why didn't you put someone nice and friendly on the job? He — he’s inhuman!” The Superintendent suppressed a chuckle. As a rule young men succumbed on sight to Veronica Jane’s charm, but MacDonald, it appeared, had proved an exception. Was there a trace of pique in her voice?
“And the orders he gave me!” she complained.
“I see. You're not accustomed to receiving orders — is that it?”
“That's it, Uncle Bill! In the States women are treated with consideration and respect. I don't like big hulking Hielan'men pushing me around!”
This time his chuckle was audible. “Might do you good for a change, my dear! Seriously though, MacDonald's all right. A clever chap, with plenty of good qualities. Courage and loyalty, for instance. You'll find out."
“Maybe so," she answered, unconvinced. “It's not so bad in Glasgow, but if he follows me to Glendale I shall scream!"
“We'll think about that when the time comes. If nothing happens before then, I reckon you'll be safe enough. Now — when are you coming to see me?"
“As soon as I get settled in with the Camerons."
“Fine. I'll be looking forward to your visit."
She sighed. “I wish all Scots policemen were as nice as you are, Uncle Bill!"
Chapter 2
First Encounter
Veronica Jane was given a hospitable welcome by the Camerons.
The head of the house was a retired shipbuilder — a small, stout, red-cheeked man with silvery hair, gold-rimmed pince-nez and a dry humour. He had a habit of littering the floors with discarded newspapers — a habit which frequently caused his handsome, managing wife to shake her head in mock desperation.
Their son Hugh had his mother's good looks. A houseman in one of the Infirmaries, he had arranged to take a holiday during Veronica Jane's week in town.
The two young people were constantly together. With his small red sports car, his numerous acquaintances and deferential good manners, Hugh was an ideal companion.
To begin with, they made a sight-seeing tour of the University, the High Court and the Art Galleries. They spent one afternoon with Bulldog Bill, admiring his garden and being entertained by reminiscences of his adventures in New York with Veronica Jane's father. Another evening, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, they dined at an expensive restaurant and afterwards listened to a concert by the Scottish Orchestra.
When the old folk had finished their coffee and gone to bed, they sat together by the fire in the lounge.
“How am I to thank you, Hugh, for such a wonderful time!" she said, impulsively. “Your father and mother are swell people!'
“What about me?" he asked, lighting a cigarette.
“You're a darling,'' she answered, leaning against his arm for a brief provocative moment. Then she blew out a thin spiral of smoke. “What I mean is," she went on, “here am I, a plain little girl from America, and you treat me as if I were royalty or something."
“There never was a princess lovelier than you are," he said. There was a catch in his voice which she recognized at once. The softly shaded lights, the memory of the music they had heard, her own feminine arts and crafts — all were suggesting to his mind what her friends in New York might have described as a “necking party". In spite of the fact that in some ways she had deliberately led him on, she had a moment of panic. A “necking party" was something she had never experienced, though wild horses would never have dragged the admission from her.
And in any case, Hugh was so awfully young, and his Adam's apple moved up and down in such a funny way…
“Don't be silly," she said briskly, blighting the romantic moment. “But I am really grateful," she went on. "To you and your parents — and to Scotland, too. It's grand to be here. For instance, I can scarcely realize that Glasgow University was in existence long before New York was even thought of."
He sighed and settled back in his chair. She was an odd kind of girl, with an elusive quality lacking in the pleasant, downright nurses at the hospital. She was sophisticated and innocent, impulsive and reticent — all at the same time. He wondered if he were falling in love with her…
Presently she yawned a little and stood up. “Oh, Hugh, I must be boring you! I'd better get to bed. But thank you again for such a marvellous evening…"
Towards the end of the week they went for a day's motor run through the countryside near Loch Lomond.
Veronica Jane was so thrilled by her first impressions of rural Scotland that she forgot the rather nebulous danger which threatened her. She also nearly forgot Detective-Sergeant Kenneth MacDonald: nearly but not quite.
Several times, as she and young Dr. Cameron sped through the green, breath-taking beauty of the Trossachs, she remembered him with a curious pang of regret. His manner had annoyed her; but she admitted now that it might have been caused by her own disregard of his sensitive shyness. When next she saw him she would try to make up for it.
Then she shrugged her shoulders and stole a glance at her companion’s profile. After all, what was there to interest her in a boorish policeman when she had Hugh, gay and considerate, to pander to her every whim? She could pull Hugh’s leg unmercifully and he’d never turn a hair. He would certainly never dream of ordering her about like a — well, like a tough commando. It was a pity, in many ways, that she was leaving for Glendale the following afternoon.
And yet, in spite of everything, she found it difficult to forget Sergeant MacDonald. As they stopped for lunch at a chromium-plated hotel, incongruously hung with “olde worlde” tartan, she wondered what he was thinking about.
In point of fact, Kenneth was thinking about her. And he was worried.
During an uneventful week, he had begun to believe that Veronica Jane might, after all, remain unmolested in Scotland. He had kept a close watch on Number Nine, Hillhead Crescent — taking care not to advertise his presence — but had seen no doubtful characters in the vicinity. Taking turns with another plain-clothes policeman, he had established an unobtrusive but effective guard on Veronica Jane, who was completely unaware of its existence. But as the days went past without incident, he had slightly relaxed his vigilance.
Now, however, anxiety had returned.
Only that morning the Glasgow C.I.D. had received a routine report from America, to the effect that a certain Max Bergman — a known criminal — was believed to have left New York by air for an unspecified destination. This news in itself was innocuous enough; but Kenneth had suddenly remembered that in his painstaking study of The Science of Police Detection he had come across a footnote concerning this same Max Bergman.
Quickly leafing through Volume Four, he found the reference:
"An artist in disguise, Bergman has been nicknamed the Actor. Recently he is thought to have joined a suspected counterfeiting organization in New York — the O’Sullivan gang.”
The O’Sullivan gang… As he closed the book, Kenneth’s expression was even grimmer than usual.
He was morally certain that the Actor had been sent to Britain to kidnap Veronica Jane. Furthermore, as the American report referred to events which had happened several days ago, he was morally certain that the Actor was already in Glasgow, laying his plans and gathering around him a select band of criminal accomplices.
But how could Max Bergman be identified? With his skill in disguise, he would camouflage himself against the background of the city’s teeming population like a chameleon on a twig.
In Kenneth’s opinion, the problem had only one solution. He must re-establish his guard on Veronica Jane — this time in a more personal, less unobtrusive fashion — so that at the first sign of trouble he should, with luck, be on the scene to protect her. If trouble did occur — and he was able to avert it — he might then be lucky enough to discover a clue to the Actor’s whereabouts.
He hated doing it; but that evening, shortly before six o’clock, he rang up the Cameron number and asked for Miss MacKay.
When he heard her voice a tingle of embarrassed excitement invaded his nerves, but he fought it down and spoke directly and to the point.
"Miss MacKay? This is Sergeant MacDonald.”
"Oh, Sergeant MacDonald — how are you?” She tried to sound warm and friendly. "Say — where have you been hiding all week?”
"I’ve been studying the case.”
"You mean — I’m just a case to you?”
"Er — quite!”
"I see,” she replied, in a small voice. Then, almost defiantly, she went on: "I’ve just had a wonderful day with Hugh Cameron — exploring the Trossachs.”
“What are you doing tonight?” he inquired, abruptly.
He heard a quick intake of breath.
“Why?” she countered.
“No need to ask why,” he said, determined not to worry her about Max Bergman. “All I want to know is what you’re doing.”
Veronica Jane forgot her good intentions. At the back of her mind was an imp of mischief. She tried to resist, but it drove her on.
“I guess you want to take me out,” she said, with a girlish sigh. “But isn’t that just too bad — I’m all tied up with Hugh Cameron! He’s taking me to the Kintyre Gathering. Gosh — am I looking forward to your Highland dances!”
He swallowed. “I did not want to take you out!” he said grimly, and wondered if the sound on the line was a gurgle of laughter. “I merely wished to know your plans, so that — well, so that I could take suitable precautions for your safety. Thanks for telling me. Good-bye.”
He banged down the receiver and wiped his forehead. This girl got him down. Couldn’t she understand that he was interested in her not as a woman but simply because it was his duty to protect her?
There was no need for him to find out where the Kintyre Gathering would be held. He was, in fact, a member of the Society which organized it, though he had never attended the function itself. In the past, the idea of dancing Eightsome Reels and Highland Schottisches into the small hours of the morning — with the added duty of escorting a partner to the buffet at appropriate intervals — had seemed to him a waste of time when compared with the peaceful attractions of The Science of Police Detection.
But at eight o’clock, as he donned a dinner-jacket and prepared to present himself at St. Andrew’s Hall, he felt an unusual stirring of anticipation. It was a sensation difficult to analyse — similar, perhaps, to a schoolboy’s on being sent to a new school: by no means pleasant, yet holding out the prospect of interesting events.
On his arrival at the Gathering, he made sure that Veronica Jane and Hugh Cameron were among the company. Then'he tried to fade into the background; but a few members of the Committee, who hailed like himself from Glendale, discovered him with surprised enthusiasm.
Gradually he found himself being absorbed in the atmosphere. The music, the gay frocks and tartan sashes of the ladies, the scent of face-powder and the occasional lilt of the Gaelic worked a spell on his retiring nature.
At first he made no attempt to dance, though his tall, powerful figure attracted a number of smiling feminine glances. But if he noticed these he did not recognize them as invitations; they merely made him wonder if the girls found something odd about his appearance. Nevertheless, as time went on his shyness began to evaporate.
He ventured on a Valeta Waltz — which allowed some latitude to a rusty dancer — choosing as his partner a tall, dark-haired girl with whom he had been at school. She was a secretary now with an engineering firm, much more sophisticated and understanding than she looked, and to his surprise he found himself thoroughly enjoying her company. They sat out one or two dances in the buffet, chatting about Glendale.
But never for a moment did he forget that his main purpose was to keep guard on Veronica Jane. For all he knew, the Actor might be among the dancers. He had planted another plain-clothes man in the hall, and between them they kept Fraser MacKay’s daughter and the people in her company under continual observation.
Midnight came, however, without anything suspicious having occurred. Kenneth had just finished a Canadian Barn Dance — he was becoming more ambitious by this time — when he felt a light touch on his sleeve.
"Why, Sergeant MacDonald — I didn't recognize you!”
He turned, startled, to see Veronica Jane smiling up at him as she clung to Hugh Cameron’s arm. She was certainly one of the loveliest girls in the hall. Her flared white frock, which left her should
ers bare and supported itself by some invisible magic, seemed to be moulded on her figure. Her sash of dark green MacDonald tartan — why MacDonald, he wondered? — set off her golden hair to perfection. Her grey eyes were sparkling.
No wonder she was happy, he thought. Hugh Cameron was enough to make any girl happy — a fine-looking young chap with smooth fair hair, a compact athletic figure and obviously charming manners.
“Hugh,' she said, “I want you to meet Sergeant MacDonald. Remember — I told you about him. I'm his most important 'case'!"
The two men shook hands. Kenneth was a few inches taller, but he felt clumsy beside the immaculately dressed young doctor.
“Glad to meet you," said Hugh. Then he added: “But is there really a ‘case'? If the O'Sullivan gang had followed Miss MacKay to Scotland, don't you think they'd have tried something by now?"
Before Kenneth could reply, Veronica Jane brushed the subject aside. She had no intention of allowing a serious male discussion to develop.
“I didn't expect to find you here, Sergeant," she declared, long lashes flickering. “Somehow I never thought of you as a socialite!"
“I'm not a socialite," he returned. “This is the Kintyre Gathering, and — well, I come from Kintyre."
“Why, of course!" Contrition made her smile personal and intimate. “Excuse me, Hugh. Sergeant MacDonald must dance with me and tell me about Glendale. I don't want to be completely out of the picture when I arrive there tomorrow."
Dr. Cameron bowed, and as the orchestra began to play a modern waltz, Kenneth found himself moving off with Veronica Jane.
For the first time during the evening his newly discovered poise deserted him. He had no idea of the subtleties of a modern waltz. Besides, this girl always seemed to rock the very foundations of his self-confidence. She was so light in his arms — so apparently fragile and delicate — that he felt his own bulkiness emphasized in comparison.
The scent she was wearing went to his head. He stumbled on her toes and muttered an apology. The sophisticated music and the gay chatter of the other dancers came to him like something out of a dream. Heat made his dark face brick-red.
Escort to Adventure Page 2