Escort to Adventure

by Angus MacVicar

  His train of thought was drastically interrupted. A slight sound, like an intake of breath, occurred behind them. They paused. But before Hugh could turn, a revolver butt flashed down with blinding force on his head. Veronica Jane recognized her enemy and screamed. But as Cameron fell, Max Bergman sprang forward and silenced her with vicious hands…

  Some time later, on their way to the dam, Kenneth and Professor Symington came upon the doctor, unconscious by the rock. A trickle of blood dappled the green shoots of bracken where he lay.

  “My God!” exclaimed Kenneth, and the Professor, halting in his tracks, drew in his breath and raised a nervous hand to his mouth.

  The younger man's mind and body stiffened into action. This was what his premonition had warned him about. This was the beginning — the beginning of the climax. And Veronica Jane? What of Veronica Jane?

  The wind whined across the open, desolate moor, carrying at last a spit of rain. He ran forward, knelt quickly and put his fingers on Cameron’s pulse. It was beating, but with slack irregularity.

  Professor Symington stood above him. “What is it?” he said, urgently. “What has happened to the chap?”

  Even in his anxiety, Kenneth noted that there was no guilt in the older man's voice, no suggestion that he might be playing a part. He was, in any case, almost fully convinced that the man was genuine. He saw that the blue eyes behind the spectacles were bewildered and full of concern; and from his experience as a plain-clothes policeman, he knew that even the most consummate actor can seldom, in a crisis, control the expression in his eyes.

  In a few jerky sentences he explained the injured man's identity and was about to tell of Veronica Jane, when Hugh Cameron began to move, groaning a little. In a hollow beside the boulder was a puddle of peaty water. Kenneth soaked his handkerchief, and, with surprising gentleness, applied it to the swollen cut on the doctor's head.

  The cold nip of the water had a quick result. Hugh's eyes opened. He rose on one elbow and stared at the two men.

  "Where's Veronica Jane?" he muttered.

  Kenneth supported him against his knee. "I don't know," he said. "Weren't you with her?"

  "I was with her — yes." A rush of colour came into Hugh's pale face. His eyes widened. "Don’t say it's Bergman."

  "That's for you to answer," Kenneth blazed at him. "Tell me what happened!"

  The other put a hand to his throbbing head, while Professor Symington’s expression became even more bewildered than ever. He gestured with his hands.

  "What's he saying, Sergeant? Is he delirious, do you think?"

  Kenneth paid no attention. "Tell me what happened!" he repeated, shaking Cameron's shoulders.

  "We — we came here for a walk after lunch. Veronica Jane wasn’t too keen, but I — I — we had arranged it." He sat more upright, supporting his own weight.

  Kenneth's mouth was set in a straight, hard line. He looked up and saw that the Professor’s attitude had grown intent. "Go on!" he ordered, roughly.

  "We — we were talking about — nothing in particular. As we got to the rock — just here — there was a sound behind us. Then — then something struck me. I don't know what it was and — and Veronica Jane screamed"

  Kenneth was a bunch of tightened nerves inside. But his professional training told. He kept his head. "Did you recognize the person who attacked you?”

  "No. I never saw who it was. I went out like a light. The first thing I remember is — you bathing my head.”

  Professor Symington shifted his feet. His whole bearing was a question-mark. But the other two ignored him.

  Kenneth glanced at his wrist-watch. "It's now nearly halfpast four. Do you remember what time it was when — when this happened?”

  Hugh raised himself up a little more. He wrinkled his forehead, in an effort at recollection. "I — I'm not sure. But it must have been about four o’clock. We left the hotel at a quarter to three, and we didn’t walk quickly… Suddenly he buried his face in his hands. "My God,” he whispered, "I failed her, MacDonald!”

  "Be quiet! I'm to blame for this.”

  "No! I should have been on my guard. She said she felt safe when I was with her.”

  "Don’t be a maudlin fool!” Anger gave a cruel edge to Kenneth’s voice. "Answer me one more question, then we’ll get you back to the hotel. When you left for your walk, did you notice if any of the other guests saw you — or followed you?”

  Hugh took some time to answer. A peewit flew past on the damp wind, crying plaintively. Far down to the right the half-completed dam lay stark and empty under the lowering Sabbath sky. Beyond it and above nothing moved in the hills. Was the Actor hiding somewhere in those hills, with Veronica Jane a limp bundle by his side? By now Kenneth was convinced that Max Bergman had lain in wait for the young couple behind the grey boulder, springing out as they passed to stun Cameron and carry out his intention of kidnapping Fraser MacKay’s daughter.

  As Hugh hesitated, obviously finding it difficult to focus the blurred chaos in his head, the archaeologist’s eyes were still intent. Kenneth waited. At the back of his mind pounded two grievous questions: "Where is she? What has happened to her?” But he tried to keep calm.

  Then Cameron spoke. "I’m sorry. I don’t remember seeing anyone… God, my head’s on fire… I — I can’t help you, MacDonald. There was no one, as far as I know.”

  ''All right." Kenneth was disappointed though not surprised by the answer, for he knew that Bergman was too clever to make himself conspicuous. But behind the dull heaviness in his heart there existed one gleam of hope. Had the Actor foreseen that Cameron might be found so soon? “Now, then/' he continued, “can you make an effort to walk?"

  Hugh nodded and with Kenneth's help rose painfully to his feet. His flannel trousers were stained with green, and there was blood on the collar of his open-necked shirt. His face was creased in lines of distress.

  The Professor took one arm and helped to support him. “I'm afraid I don't understand the situation at all," he said. “But the important thing is to get this poor chap back to the hotel."

  Kenneth nodded. “I'll explain later on," he promised.

  He wasn’t in the least concerned about Hugh Cameron's comfort. His main anxiety was to reach a telephone with all possible speed, so that he could arrange with the Campbeltown police for a watch to be put on the two roads leading out of Glendale.

  The Actor had half-an-hour's start on him. Would he be in time?

  Chapter 14

  Search Party

  As they went downhill along the crest of the ridge, as fast as it was possible to take Hugh Cameron, Kenneth's trained eyes scanned the countryside. But except for small groups of sheep and cattle, grazing in the green hollows which lay like pools among the heather, nothing stirred. At one point he caught a glimpse of Drumeden Farm between the sloping sides of a distant glen, but the place lay quiet and placid, smoke from one chimney rising up straight to the level of the hills and then spreading out to one side on the wind, like a banner.

  Gradually, however, the wind died and a thin rain began to fall. By the time they reached the hotel, some thirty minutes after Hugh's return to consciousness, the brittle grass and heather were dripping with moisture.

  They went in by the manager's private door. Morag McShannon and her husband were in their sitting-room, drinking a cup of tea. When she saw Hugh, Mrs. McShannon sprang to her feet with a gasp of dismay.

  “What happened, Sergeant MacDonald? Is he badly hurt?"

  Kenneth had warned both Cameron and the Professor that in view of possible police action, he intended to give a modified version of the truth. He said: “Apparently he had a bad fall. Professor Symington and I found him unconscious, about half-a-mile above the dam."

  “And Miss MacKay?"

  “She wasn’t to be seen." Kenneth's face was white, but he pursued his policy with unflinching determination. “Didn't she come back to the hotel?" he asked.

  “Not as far as I know." Fussing round Hugh, Mrs.
McShannon looked puzzled and anxious. “You didn't see her, Donald?"

  Her husband shook his head. “This is bad. Better get Dr. Cameron up to his room."

  “Yes, of course… How do you feel now, doctor?"

  “Pretty awful." Hugh allowed her to put a capable arm about his shoulders. “Sorry — sorry to be such a nuisance," he muttered.

  “Don’t worry about that. Think you'll manage to walk upstairs?"

  “Yes, but…"

  “I’ll give Mrs. McShannon a hand," the Professor volunteered.

  As soon as they had left the room, Kenneth turned to the manager: “May I use your private phone, please?"

  “Aye — certainly. But — what's behind all this?"

  “I'm not quite sure," replied Kenneth, evasively.

  “You’re not covering up a — well, any kind of scandal between them?"

  Kenneth kept hold of his temper. “No. I give you my word for that."

  “All right." The burly manager shrugged his shoulders. “You're phoning the Campbeltown police, I suppose?"

  "Yes — but keep it to yourself, will you?"

  "If you say so. But to be quite honest, I don't like this kind of thing at all. I’m worried — especially in connection with my hotel."

  For a moment Kenneth lost his hard composure. "I'm worried, too!" he exclaimed. "But not about your blasted hotel. It's Veronica Jane"

  He broke off. Quickly he pulled himself together, muttered an apology and hurried to the telephone.

  It was the bar-officer who answered his call and put him through at once to the Inspector. When he had told his story, Kenneth heard brief orders being issued at the other end of the line, as four constables, in charge of a sergeant, were detailed to guard the two main roads and patrol the stretch of moorland in between.

  "By the way," said the Inspector, before he rang off, "we've had more news about Professor Symington. I sent a bobby down with the police-car to tell you about an hour ago, but apparently you were out."

  "Sorry about that, sir. But my friend Mr. MacNab said he'd take a message."

  "We don't give messages to private individuals — not in this part of the country at any rate."

  The reproof in the Inspector’s voice was plain, and Kenneth was on the point of uttering a quick retort. But he bit back the words in time, realizing that he was in the wrong and that no good would come of arguing about it. He ought to have known that this would be the official attitude. Once again he admitted to himself that his conduct of the case, from beginning to end, had been deplorable. Personal feelings had completely undermined his professional judgment.

  "Quite so, sir," he said, quietly.

  The Inspector continued: "The American police confirm that Professor Symington left New York at the time he said, and we've just heard from Glasgow that his signature in the hotel register there is definitely okay."

  "Thanks a lot, sir," replied Kenneth. "We've narrowed down the list of suspects at any rate."

  He replaced the receiver and went off to the cool dark sanctuary of the commercial bar. He wanted to think, to decide on what he should do. One part of his mind was torn with anxiety for Veronica Jane; the other fought hard to maintain discipline and judgment. His natural impulse was to rush off to Glen Eden to try and find Veronica Jane among the hills. His reason told him that such a course would almost certainly be futile and that from now on he would have to base his conduct on steady calculation.

  In imagination he reconstructed the kidnapping — the Actor crouching behind the boulder, waiting for Veronica Jane and Hugh Cameron; a sudden leap and the swing of a pistol butt, and Hugh Cameron out of action without even seeing his assailant; a scream from Veronica Jane and a hand clapped over her mouth.

  What then? He'd better face it. Her hands and feet probably tied and a gag thrust between her teeth. Then she'd be swung across Bergman's shoulder and carried — where? Not down towards the dam, for that part of the glen was open to observation from the surrounding hills. Certainly not back towards the hotel. Only two ways the Actor could have gone; north-east across the open moor to the main road; or west, skirting Drumeden Farm, towards the secondary road which ran along the coast of the peninsula. In either case, even though he had a car hidden away in some handy copse or quarry, it would mean a long tramp of over an hour before he reached it. The Campbeltown police, therefore, should be in position in plenty of time to intercept him.

  Kenneth lit a cigarette. On this basis, if the police had no success, it was fairly certain that Veronica Jane and Bergman were still somewhere in Glendale. Provided he received no news within the next hour, his duty would be to decide on the most likely places in which to make a search.

  But first, did his flash of memory on seeing Professor Symington’s scraggy wrists provide a proper clue to Max Bergman's disguise? He was almost certain that it did; and in this connection one thing was clear: Bergman must have known that Veronica Jane and Hugh Cameron intended to climb Cnoc Ban…

  He got up suddenly, found Donald McShannon in the hall and asked him a question. They had just finished talking, and the manager had gone off to attend to a customer in the lounge, when Professor Symington came downstairs, still obviously puzzled but without his former look of intent anxiety.

  "Dr. Cameron is much more comfortable now," he said. "Mrs. McShannon has sent for a doctor to give him a sedative, and I think he should be quite well again tomorrow."

  "Thanks for your help," returned Kenneth. "I’m sorry I can't explain — not just now. But I will, soon."

  They walked down to the village together. Kenneth took the police-car and drove the older man across to Glendale House.

  As he climbed out at the front gate the Professor said: "Be sure to let me know if there's any news of Miss MacKay."

  Kenneth nodded absently. "Thank you again," he called out and let in the clutch.

  On his way back to Mrs. Connacher’s he stopped at the kiosk and rang up the Campbeltown police. But no news had come in from the patrol; and as it was now nearly an hour and a half since the kidnapping, it looked as though Bergman had decided, for the time being at any rate, to remain with his captive in Glendale.

  Slowly a plan of action formed in his mind…

  The rain had begun to fall in earnest as he parked his car near the cottage. It came over the sea in grey clouds which swirled round Dunaverty like the tenuous arms of a ghost. But he scarcely noticed it. He was trying to keep cool, to ignore the anxiety in his heart for Veronica Jane. He was trying to believe that with luck he might yet defeat Max Bergman before news of the kidnapping reached Superintendent McIntosh in Glasgow and Fraser MacKay in New York.

  Their walk cut short by the weather, Sheena and Hector had returned from the shore and were having tea with Mrs. Connacher when he came in. They noticed at once that something was wrong.

  "Is it — the lassie?" asked Mrs. Connacher, watching his hard, strained face.

  He told them briefly what had happened.

  "Nellie," he went on, "I want you to tell me something. What did you think of Miss Cunningham when she was here yesterday morning? The missionary woman."

  Mrs. Connacher’s eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, Kenneth?"

  "I mean — could she be a man?"

  His hearers became taut and still.

  "I see what you’re after," said Nellie, at last. "And you may be right. She wore gloves, but when the sleeve of her jacket dropped back I saw dark hairs on her wrist. It happens sometimes with women, but not often.”

  “That’s what I suddenly realized, too. And not only that. She acted more like a character in a book than a real person.” Kenneth’s words came in a tense monotone. “All the female missionary stuff was too typical to be true. I only thought of it an hour ago. I asked at the hotel. She went out after lunch, apparently, and didn’t come back for tea.”

  Sheena leaned across the table and squeezed his fingers. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I’m not quite sure. I kn
ow what I want to do. I want to go and look for Veronica Jane. But it’s no good working without a plan.”

  “Count on me for any help you need,” said Hector, his hands jerking with uneasy sympathy.

  “Thanks. But as I say…”

  He broke off as a knock sounded on the front door. Mrs. Connacher got up to answer it and came back with a note.

  “For you, Kenneth. Jamie Smith’s grandson was at the hotel and Donald McShannon asked him to hand it in.”

  He slit open the envelope and glanced at the message inside: “You asked me to let you know if Miss Cunningham came back. She’s just in now and has gone up to her room to change for dinner.”

  He crumpled the note in his fist.

  After a moment, as if talking to himself, he said: “I think I know what to do. I’ll make it known that the police patrol has come off. Then if Miss Cunningham is Max Bergman he’ll try to get away with Veronica Jane tonight.”

  Hector’s big mouth was turned down at one corner. With his artist’s insight he understood the battle going on in Kenneth’s mind between instinct and reason, between human anxiety and the hard discipline of duty. He spoke impulsively, not with any real desire for information but in an effort to ease the tension in his friend’s mind.

  “Why should the patrol come off?”

  “Because I’ll arrange it.” Kenneth was looking through the window at the distant peak of Cnoc Ban, shrouded in the thin rain. “This note,” he went on, abruptly, “says that Miss Cunningham has come back to the hotel.”

  "What a nerve!" exclaimed Nellie, her mouth tightening. "Why don't you arrest her — or him, rather, if you think she's the Actor?"

  "There's no proof," he continued. "Only my own hunch. If I arrested an innocent woman there would be trouble. Besides, even though I was certain, the best thing would be to wait and let Bergman lead us eventually to Veronica Jane. It's — it's Veronica Jane I'm anxious about," he added.

  Sheena had been watching the pulse which beat strongly in the angle of his jaw. She recognized that for his own sake it would be better to keep him talking.