Jay picked the receiver up after the second ring. "Hello?"
"It's me, darling."
"Lark?" He cleared his throat. "Where the fuck are you? And what kind of stunt are you trying to pull?"
"You can yell at me later. I'm calling from a pay phone in Much Aston."
"You'll be in much trouble if you don't tell me what the hell is going on..."
"I am trying to," I said, separating each word with care. "The name of the village is Much Aston." I spelled it. "It's in Shropshire, south of Much Wenlock, east of Ludlow, about eight miles from Lord Henning's estate. My note explained about Hambly."
"Right. A house, not a village, where you think Vlaçek is being held." So he had received at least one of my messages. He sounded calmer.
"I'm sure Milos is at Hambly. When we got here, we took a tour of the house, and Ann spotted the man who stabbed him. The man was touring the house, too."
There was a moment of dead silence then Jay let out a whistle.
Now that he had stopped emoting and was listening to me, I described how we had trailed the men from Hambly to Much Aston.
"Okay. I'm writing this down. Can you go back to the parking lot and get their license number?"
"I memorized it," I said grimly. I had been staring at the license plate for the past twenty minutes.
He took down the number. "Great! I'll call Thorne, and he can contact the locals."
"Tell him the men are in the Greyhound Hotel. Ann followed them in there, and I haven't seen them leave."
"Jesus, is that wise? Those boys play rough."
I said coldly, "Ann is an intelligent adult woman and equal to half a dozen boys, rough or smooth."
"A slip of the tongue. I have no doubt Ann could lick her weight in boys, but that bozo who stabbed Vlaçek is a hard case. He probably killed your landlady."
Jay was stating the obvious. He was also scaring me. I held onto my temper with an effort. "I'd be happy to ooze silently away, and I'm sure Ann would prefer to be rifling through the used books in Hay-on-Wye, but we do feel a certain responsibility. It's possible we led those goons to Milos. We can't let them get at him."
He sighed. "Okay, darling, I see your point. In fact I saw it yesterday. If I hadn't called the car rental outfit this morning, you'd be on the wanted list yourself."
I had forgotten all about the car hire contract. We had intended to return the car--in York--at noon. I thanked Jay.
He said handsomely, "You can't think of everything. Now, Lark, I want you to go over to the Greyhound Hotel and book a room. You'll need a place to stay. Then sit in the lobby, you and Ann, right out in the open, and wait for the cops."
"But what if the men leave?"
"Let them. It's out of your hands now." He paused, as if shifting mental gears. "Your mother called about half an hour ago. She said your dad is arriving at Heathrow early this evening."
I digested that. "Did he get the papers, or is he just being paternal?"
"I'm not sure. That is, he has the papers, but Mary doesn't know what's in them." Mary is my mother, the poet.
I groaned. "Wonderful."
"He booked the flight last night. Mary sounded a bit confused." He paused again. I could hear him thinking. "Listen, I'm going to call Thorne right now. What is it, five thirty? I'll pick George up and rent a car at the airport. We'll drive out to Shropshire from Heathrow and see you tonight. Book two rooms."
"Three. You forgot Ann." I was mightily relieved. "All right, darling. I'm sorry if we worried you, leaving like that, but there wasn't much else we could do."
"I'll probably forgive you. Take care, Lark."
"You, too." When I had disconnected, I headed for the Greyhound through a coach load of sunburned, cross-looking tourists who were being herded in the direction of the car park.
I entered the hotel, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the dimmer light. Ann was standing at the registration desk talking to the clerk in a low voice. When I touched her arm she jumped.
"Heavens, you startled me." She turned back to the clerk, a boy of about seventeen, and thanked him warmly.
We walked over to a leather sofa that was placed to give patrons a view of the green and sank onto it.
"Did you reach Jay?"
"Yes. Where are the men?"
"They have a room here. They got their key and went upstairs. That nice boy at the desk said the heavy man has a Libyan passport."
"Libyan?" Czech I had expected. Something in the man's air and the cut of his suit had suggested that he was not English, but it hadn't occurred to me that he wasn't European.
"Libyan," Ann repeated. "Isn't it odd? The man who attacked Milos is English, though. He gave a London address."
"You're a wonder, Ann. If I'd taken five more minutes I'll bet the kid would have let you look at the register."
"Oh, I did, honey," she said calmly. "The clerk went into the back room for a minute or two, and I just took a little peek. Their names are Mohammed Fasel or Faisel, something like that, and John Smith. Probably fake names. It's a pity English hotels don't take their guests' passports."
I grinned. If the clerk had had the passports in his possession, I felt sure he would have shown them to Ann.
"How is Jay?"
"Jay is a prince." I told her that my father had received the papers and was flying in that evening. She was excited. I had begun to be, too, and we spent perhaps ten minutes speculating over the possible meaning of the papers. Then I remembered the rest of Jay's instructions.
"Good God, I'm supposed to book rooms." I jumped up. "I'd better do it now before the men come down for dinner or whatever and spot me at the desk."
Ann rose, too. "The bar's open. They could come down any time. I'll watch the stairs."
The clerk assured me that he had three very nice rooms available overlooking the green, which was illuminated at night. If I'd come a day earlier he would have had to turn me away, but most of the holiday guests had checked out that morning. There was a car park behind the hotel, though it was rather full just then because of a birthday party going on in the saloon bar.
Ann had really warmed the clerk up. He chatted amiably as I filled in the guest information, and told me the gentlemen who were coming in later that evening could ring for the night porter even if he had gone off duty himself.
All that palaver took a long time, and I kept expecting Faisel and Smith to barge down the stairs. Finally, however, my Barclaycard worked its magic. I took two of the keys and went over to Ann.
"I'm going back to the car park for our bags."
"Can you manage?"
"Yes, and I'd rather be elsewhere when our friends decide to come down and patronize the bar."
"I'll wait for you on that sofa and keep an eye out for the men."
"They could sneak out the back."
"Probably, but why should they? I don't think they saw me. They were on their way upstairs when I came in here."
I hadn't told Ann that Jay intended to call Thorne, an honest oversight. We had been distracted by our speculations about my father's arrival. I hesitated a moment then told her. "We're supposed to wait here in the lobby until the county police arrive and make the arrest."
She sighed but didn't protest. "I wish I could warn Milos."
"You could try calling Hambly."
She brightened. "I could, couldn't I? There's a phone back in that little hall that leads to the bar."
I glanced up the stairway. "I'd better scoot. See you in a few minutes."
"Okay." She was fumbling in her purse.
When I returned with the two bags she was sitting on the leather sofa looking glum.
"Did you get through?"
"The clerk told me the number is what they call 'ex-directory'--unlisted. I did ring the Henning Institute, but nobody answered. They should get an answering tape."
I set the bags down. "Frustrating. Want to go to your room and freshen up?"
"Lord, yes, and use the loo. I've been crossi
ng my legs for at least half an hour." She lifted her bag. "There's one of those creaky little elevators by the phone. I'll take it up."
"Okay." I wondered if the goons had used the elevator. Maybe they were already in the public bar making whoopee. Maybe they had slipped out the back and gone off to Hambly to murder Milos.
I waited for Ann, who returned, fresh as a daisy, in another flowered dress. Then I took a chance on the elevator and found my own room without incident. It did indeed have a view of the green. From that height I could see the stream that meandered through it. Two boys were fishing from the bank.
I changed from jeans to tailored pants and a blazer. After all, my father, my spouse, and the law were coming. I needed to look adult and responsible.
As I opened the door to go out I heard men's voices coming closer. I closed the door then opened it again a crack just as Smith and Faisel passed by. They passed so close I could see that Smith was wearing the brown pinstripe he had worn when he stabbed Milos. I held my breath but they kept going. They were saying something about eating in the pub. Their voices faded.
I inched the door wider and peered down the hall toward the stairs. They had disappeared. I went to the squidgy little elevator. It was an antique with a cage for hapless passengers and cables that moaned as I pressed the button. As the lift creaked upward, it occurred to me that the elevator door opened into the passage that led to the bar. I left the lift waiting and walked down the hall to the stairs, hoping the would-be assassin hadn't forgotten his wallet. When I reached the ground floor, however, the men were nowhere in sight.
Ann was sitting on the sofa looking alert and bright-eyed. "They came down and went into the bar."
"I know," I said hollowly. "I almost bumped into them upstairs. Their rooms must be just down the hall."
"Room," Ann corrected. "They're sharing."
"How thrifty of them. No sign of the police?"
"Nope. I reckon we'll just have to wait. I wish we could go to supper. I'm starving."
"Jay said to wait in the lobby. It's only six-thirty."
She settled back on the sofa, and I sat beside her, slewing sideways so I could check to see who was coming and going in the back. A party of tourists rambled in and headed toward the bar.
"This could get boring."
Ann rummaged in her bag. "Have a pamphlet."
I read all her pamphlets and an old copy of the Manchester Guardian someone had abandoned. She pulled out a guide to the midlands. From time to time she read me a choice bit. The Cotswold villages, it seemed, were even more picturesque than Much Aston. We were not far from the Cotswolds. She had always wanted to visit Chipping Camden and Chipping Norton, she said, because of the names.
At half-past eight the men came out of the bar and went up the stairs. We waited. No police, no Jay.
All that time people had been coming and going. The party in the saloon bar was really warming up, and the dining room had opened.
My stomach grumbled. "I'm hungry."
"Me, too. Shall we send out for pizza?"
"Sadist."
At nine fifteen the men came downstairs, tossed their room key on the main desk, and strode out the main entrance without so much as a glance in our direction. I was at the window in a flash. They were heading toward the car park.
"What now?" Ann asked.
"Jay said to wait."
"Yes, but it's pretty clear the police aren't coming."
"He said to wait," I repeated, "even if the men left."
"Jay is bound to concern himself with your safety, Lark, but surely there's something we can do."
"What, for example?"
"Lord, I don't know. Are they out of sight?"
"Yes."
"I suppose it's too late to follow them."
"And too dangerous. We've already pushed our luck."
She said, fretful, "I wish I could call Hambly."
"We could tell the village constable."
We stared at each other. I tried to imagine explaining the situation to a rural policeman and failed. We were foreigners and women. He would probably dismiss us as crackpots.
I brooded. My stomach rumbled. It was a long time since the Royal Oak's gammon and eggs.
Ann took up her guidebook again, but I could see that her heart wasn't in it. I walked around the lobby and killed five minutes watching passersby. A nearby pub had spilled its patrons out onto the sidewalk. They looked happy.
The clerk, who was having a brief respite from hotel patrons, came over to us. "Are you all right, ladies? Shall I have the porter bring you something from the bar?"
"Oh, mercy, yes," Ann said. "We're hungry as wolves."
He looked bewildered.
I interpreted. "I think he means a drink."
"You could go in to dinner," he offered. "The dining room closes in half an hour, but I'm sure they can seat you."
Ann sighed. "We would just love two half-pints of bitter, honey. And we wouldn't say no to a packet of crisps."
He smiled. That he could cope with.
When the porter came, the dear man brought two handsome plates of assorted cheeses, hard rolls, and butter, nicely garnished with lettuce, pickled onions, and chutney. The beer was wonderful. So was the ploughman's lunch.
We dispatched the food and drinks in short order and Ann carried the tray back to the bar. While she was gone, my brain kicked in. It was all very well for Jay to tell us to sit on our thumbs, but Faisel and Smith might be getting away with murder. We couldn't telephone Hambly, but I could drive out there and try to warn the Henning staff. I could drive right up to the main gate. If there was a guard I could warn him.
When Ann returned I was on my feet, car keys in my hand. I told her what I had decided.
"I'm coming, too."
"No, absolutely not. Somebody has to wait here in case Jay and Dad arrive while I'm gone. I won't be long."
"But..."
"You can't drive the car, and I can," I said brutally. "I go. You stay. I'll be back in forty-five minutes."
I covered the distance to the car park at a half-trot. All the coaches had gone and only half a dozen cars remained. A sign said there was no overnight parking. When I came back I would have to move the car to the hotel lot, but first things first. The villains had a half-hour start on me.
There was very little traffic, fortunately. I zipped along the road with my high beams on most of the way. I narrowly avoided running over a cat as I approached the estate. I drove along the wall and, after several miles, pulled over at the edge of the meadow that had served as a parking lot.
The gate--which was tall and beautifully ornamented with gilt oak leaves and acorns around a monogram H--was locked tight. I found a button and pushed it. Though I waited almost ten minutes, no one responded. It was nine-thirty by then and the moon was out. I peered through the gate and tried yelling, but I was wasting my time. I heard a dog barking far off but no encouraging sounds. No one was coming.
I gave up, got into the car, and turned back toward Much Aston. I poked along trying to think of an alternate course of action, but nothing came to mind. Then I spotted the sedan. They had parked it on the right hand shoulder, almost in the hedge that bordered that side of the road. It looked abandoned.
I drove about fifty yards farther along until I came to a gate that led into a field on the right. On the left, the wall of the Henning estate stretched unbroken as far as I could see. I parked the Escort beside the gate and sat for a moment, working up my courage. Then I locked the car with my purse behind the front seat and walked back toward the sedan. Slowly. Making as little noise as possible.
The sedan was empty but unlocked. I could see nothing on the seats or dash but an ordinary road map, and I hesitated to get in. The boot was ajar. I opened it, wincing as the hinges creaked, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary. I closed it again very slowly until it latched.
I looked across at the wall. Had Smith and Faisel gone over it? It was about six feet high and, though it
was surmounted by a course of jagged stones, I thought it was scalable. A car zipped by going the way I had come. I watched its tail-lights recede and wished I had had the wit to flag it down.
A wisp of cloud passed over the moon, altering the light, and something glinted on the wall. I crossed the road for a closer look. At first I saw nothing at all, but I ran my hands over the area from which the gleam had come and felt metal. Two large hooks. I lifted them, careful to make no noise. They were attached to a rope ladder, or chain ladder, to be specific, of the kind sometimes used in home fire escapes. The cables had been wrapped in tape so they wouldn't clank.
I deduced that the men had used the ladder to climb the wall then repositioned it as an escape route. They had been at their business, whatever it was, almost an hour. They could return at any moment.
I pulled the ladder back over the wall as quietly as I could. At least I could slow their exit a bit. Then I looked at the ladder and temptation overwhelmed me. I climbed to the top of the wall before I could have second thoughts, teetered a moment on the jagged surface, then jumped down inside.
The goons had chosen their spot with care--the edge of an evergreen copse. The ground was covered with needles. I made very little noise landing, though my flats slipped, and I fell on my tush. I got to my feet, wishing I had taken the time to put on sneakers. And a darker shirt. My blouse was a ladylike print, pink and purple, and I was afraid it would show up white against my dark blazer. I buttoned the jacket.
I stood for a long moment, listening to the silence, and then I began moving along the edge of the plantation. I could see very little, and I was worried about bumping into one of the men in the dark. One of them would surely be acting as a look-out.
Within ten groping yards I emerged at a "ride," a wide swath through the woodland cut to permit ancient Hennings to exercise their horses. At the far end, a good half mile away, a light in the house shone small as a star.
I saw no one on the ride. I supposed the goons had not expected trouble from my direction. The look-out would be posted nearer the house. I began to run toward it. I am a good runner. In spite of my flats and the uneven sod beneath them I covered most of the distance quickly, stumbling but not falling. The third time I slipped, I stopped and took off my shoes.
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