by Paul Somers
I could hardly believe my eyes. It wasn’t Ronald Barr. It was Mollie!
Chapter Nine
She saw me, and braked. Then, quite coolly, she reversed and drew in alongside us, winding her nearside window down. “Well,” she said, with a faint smile, “we meet again.… Your Belgian, I presume!”
I was so angry with her, I could scarcely speak. It was obvious, now, that her morning call had merely been to check up that I was going to be out of town, that I was taking the money that day—and I deeply resented the trick. Also, I could see stacks of trouble ahead.
I got out of the car and walked round to her. “Just what is the idea?” I said.
“I’d have thought that was obvious—I’m following you. I’ve followed you all the way from Chancery Lane. It’s been quite difficult, I can tell you.”
“You’d no right to.”
“Oh? Why not? You’ve followed me often enough.” Her composure was infuriating. “Didn’t you once tell me it was a standing instruction at the Record—‘keep your eye on Mollie’? Well, now I’m keeping my eye on Hugh! It’s only fair.”
Clara called, “Who is it, Hugh?” She obviously didn’t remember Mollie. Her face was pale with anxiety.
“Another reporter,” I told her. “Mollie Bourne, of the Courier.”
Mollie said, “So it’s ‘Hugh’ now, is it? My, you are on good terms!”
“Look, Mollie,” I said, “this isn’t an ordinary story.…”
“It certainly isn’t.…” She gave Clara a cold stare. “It looks more like a promising elopement to me. Everything so cosy, and thirty thousand pounds in the back of the car!”
“Mollie, this isn’t a joking matter—it’s serious.… You’ve no right to be here. The Courier’s agreed not to interfere—everyone has.”
“I haven’t,” she said. ” And I’ve got the day off—I told you. I’ve got to-morrow off, too!”
“If the Courier hears about it, they’ll be mad.”
She gave me her “spoiled darling” look. “That I rather doubt—especially if I go back with an exciting story of how the money was handed over, and perhaps even an interview with Arthur Landon. They’re very forgiving at the Courier.”
I said, “Listen, Mollie—we’ve been warned that if anyone else is seen around at the rendezvous, Landon will be killed. I think he will be. Surely you don’t want to put a man’s life in danger for the sake of a story?”
“I shan’t put anyone’s life in danger if I keep in the background. …”
“There won’t be any background. They’ll be watching every move we make from the time we get there. For all we know, they may be watching us at this very moment.”
“It seems most unlikely,” Mollie said. She was quite unmoved.
Clara had left the Riley and joined us. Her face was white. “Please, Miss Bourne!” she said. “Please leave us alone. My father’s in terrible danger already.… Don’t make it worse.”
Mollie ignored her. I wouldn’t have believed she could have behaved so badly. “Where’s the rendezvous?” she asked me.
“I wouldn’t dream of telling you.”
“Then I shall keep right behind you. I can, you know—this car goes awfully well. The hire people had just tuned it. It’s not quite as fast as the Sunbeam Talbot, but it’s much less conspicuous, don’t you think …? Well—shall we go?”
I looked at the Zephyr, new and zippy, and I looked at Mollie. She was one of the finest drivers I’d ever known—I’d chased her up hill and down dale too often to have any doubts about that. I’d already made one attempt to shake her off that day, and it hadn’t worked. Now that there was nothing to stop her keeping close behind me, I wouldn’t have a hope.
I played my last card. “All right,” I said, “if you won’t leave us alone we can’t go through with it, that’s all.… We shall turn back.”
Clara cried, “But, Hugh, we can’t. …”
“We’ve no choice. If we can’t keep to the conditions, it’s safer not to show up at all.”
“But they’ll kill him …!”
“They may wait to find out what’s happened. I’ll ring up Grant and ask him to put something in tomorrow’s paper—he could say that things went wrong and that we’ll have another try later. Honestly, Clara, it’s much better than going on.…”
Clara turned on Mollie, her eyes blazing. “How can you do this …? It doesn’t mean a thing to you—it means everything to me. Haven’t you any heart at all? What sort of a woman are you?”
“I’m a newspaperwoman, “Mollie said coldly.
Clara took a quick step forward. She was tense with fury and looked as though she was going to tear Mollie apart. “You’re a bitch!—a bloody little bitch!”
Mollie looked at me and gave a faint shrug.
I said, “All the same, she’s not far out, Mollie. I just don’t know what’s got into you. You are being heartless—and damned irresponsible, too. You know what Landon’s safety means. I can’t imagine what you think you’re playing at.… Well, am I to turn round?”
Mollie was pale now, too. For a moment she hesitated. Then she said, “I might do a deal with you.”
“What sort of deal?”
“You tell me the name of the last place you’ll be passing through before you reach your destination. Then you can go on alone. I’ll follow later, and put up at the place for the night. After you’ve handed over the money, you’ll come and tell me what happened before you send anything.”
“Why, it’s practically blackmail! Of all the unscrupulous …!”
“Did I ever say I was scrupulous?”
I glanced at Clara. The tense look had gone from her face. She was obviously considering the offer. After a moment she said, “That ought to be safe enough, Hugh—as long as we can trust her.”
It certainly seemed the best we could hope for. I turned to Mollie again. “Do you promise you’ll stay put at this place, and not try to follow us?”
“Yes—as long as you promise to come and see me immediately afterwards. But if you cheat, I swear I’ll never speak to you again.”
“The same goes for me,” I said. “Frankly, I’m not sure I want to anyway.… All right, it’s a deal. The last place is Castleton, in Derbyshire, and there’s a pub there called the George. I’ll see you there at about ten to-night.”
Mollie nodded. “Look after yourself,” she said.
Clara had already turned towards the Riley. I joined her, and a moment later we drove off.
Chapter Ten
The incident weighed on me. I knew from experience that Mollie took a lot of putting off once she was on the trail of a good story, but at least it was usually her own story. Also, though she valued her success and her reputation, I’d never known her ride roughshod over people’s deepest feelings and interests to get what she wanted, the way she just had. To me, she’d been almost unrecognisable. I felt very troubled, and drove in a brooding silence. It was Clara who spoke first.
“You know Miss Bourne pretty well, don’t you?” she said.
“Very well.”
“And you like her?”
“Normally I like her a lot.”
There was a little pause. Then Clara said, “I shouldn’t have called her names. It was very rude. I’m afraid I lost my temper.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said. “Let’s not talk about it.”
We saw no more of Mollie, and there were no further incidents. We by-passed Derby and continued along A. 6 through Matlock, and by half-past five we were running into Castleton. It was much as I remembered it—a pleasantly-situated, grey stone village, with a lot of tourist signs—though on this March weekday it was almost deserted. I drove straight through it and out on the road towards Chapel-en-le-Frith, climbing steeply to a hairpin bend that gave us our first sight of the rounded top of Mam Tor. From the height we were already at it didn’t look much of a mountain, but the eastern face, rising almost sheer for several hundred feet, was impressive. I pulled the car
off the road and got the binoculars out again. The foot of the precipice was hidden from the road by high grassy hummocks, so we climbed the shoulder of the hill to get a better view. There had been a shower that day and the ground had a surface dampness, but a long dry spell had caked it hard underneath and the going was easy. Soon I was able to study the place that the kidnappers had appointed for the meeting. I could just make out the fallen notice board, lying at the foot of the cliff at a point where the drop was rather less high than in the centre. As I’d expected, the ground between the road and the fence was uncultivated moorland, unfenced and quite easy to negotiate in daylight. At night it would be rough going because of the hummocks—but we’d manage. The whole place had a wild and desolate air about it, which the occasional passing car did little to relieve. I wondered if we ourselves were being observed from some point up on the mountain or on the high moors opposite, and thought it most likely. Since we’d nothing to hide, it was probably better that we should be. We continued to reconnoitre for a while. I made a mental note of the best way through the hummocks, so that we’d have less difficulty after dark. Then we got back into the car and I drove on for a mile or two and found a quiet spot well away from Mam Tor where we could eat our sandwiches and drink our coffee.
We’d not yet had a look inside the suitcase, and this seemed to be the moment. I unlocked it and opened the lid and there the money was—a fascinating sight. It was done up in bundles of a hundred notes, each with an elastic band round it. I delved a bit, and checked that they were all well-used notes. I went through one bundle, and there were definitely no signs of any marks. Everything was above board. I locked up the case again, and we settled down to wait.
The time passed slowly. Now that we were so near the moment of transfer, tension filled the car. Seeing all that money had made me much more aware of the risks we were taking. The stake was far too high for comfort. The thought that we would soon be face to face with criminals who had dared to seize and hide a man, and coolly bargain over his life or death, wasn’t at all pleasant. As darkness fell, the strain grew greater. We sat and smoked, and from time to time made an effort to talk, but mostly we just listened to the moaning wind and watched the clock. Seven-thirty, I’d decided, would be our zero hour.
The moment came at last. I started the engine and drove slowly back to the point opposite the precipice and parked the car off the road with the lights off. I slipped a heavy spanner into my raincoat pocket, found the torch, and got out the suitcase. A car swept by with lights blazing and quickly disappeared. For a second or two we stood listening. We seemed to be quite alone. The night was very dark. I said, “Right—let’s get this over,” and picked up the suitcase and started off towards the face of the Shivering Mountain, with Clara close behind me.
It was an awkward as well as a nerve-racking journey. In spite of my careful reconnaissance we were soon lost among the hummocks, and the ground was even rougher than I’d thought. Although I used the torch freely, one or other of us kept stumbling over small bits of rock or slipping into the trickling streams. The suitcase was heavy, and I had no free hand to help Clara. Once, as she tripped and clutched my arm for support, I felt her trembling. She was forcing herself to keep going, I knew, only by a great effort—but she didn’t hesitate, and we plodded on. Presently the hummocks began to flatten out, and we emerged into a shallow basin at the foot of the cliff. We were almost there. It was two minutes to eight by my watch as we approached the precipice. I shone the torch around and picked out the broken notice board. The words on it were still legible—DANGER, FALLING STONES. For us, I thought, that was probably the least of the dangers!
Eight o’clock! We were right on time. Now that we’d reached the place, I couldn’t help feeling surprised at the kidnappers’ choice of a rendezvous. It was so completely shut-in that it would have made the perfect trap, if we’d intended a trap. I wondered if they were already there, waiting and watching in the darkness, or whether they were coming up behind us. We listened, but except for the soughing of the wind there wasn’t a sound. I swung the torch beam round like a searchlight, but there was nothing to be seen except boulders and sedge grass and the red-brown face of the cliff.
Five-past eight! Clara said, in a low, strained voice, “I wonder what’s happened to them.” I was beginning to get worried, too. It would be a fine thing if they’d taken fright after all this and decided not to keep the appointment. Yet their instructions had been followed implicitly and I couldn’t imagine why they should have changed their plans—not with the thirty thousand pounds practically within their grasp. Perhaps they’d been delayed.…
At that moment I heard a sound above us, and a few small stones spattered at our feet. I pulled Clara away from the face and shone the torch upwards. The sound grew louder—a curious slithering, very high up and almost exactly above our heads. For an incredulous moment I thought that someone was being lowered down the precipice on a rope. More pieces of shale showered down. There was someone up there. Something, anyway. I searched the face with the torch beam. The sound was getting closer. Suddenly I drew in my breath sharply as the light caught something in motion. A rope was being lowered from the top—though not with anyone on it. The loose end was tied round a piece of rock, that was all. It was coming down quite fast, dislodging bits of debris in its passage. As it reached eye-level I grabbed it. There was a sheet of paper tucked between the rope and the stone. I slipped it out. There was something thin and round inside it—a pencil. Together, Clara and I bent over the paper. There was a message on it, in the usual newspaper capitals. It said:
TIE THE CASE SECURELY TO THE ROPE. THAT IS ALL. IF THE MONEY IS FOUND TO BE IN ORDER LANDON WILL BE RELEASED TO-MORROW NIGHT. WRITE ON THE PAPER WHERE MRS. WAUGH WILL BE STAYING. LANDON WILL JOIN HER THERE ABOUT 10 P. M.
I slid the stone out, and hauled on the rope till I had plenty of slack, and passed the end round the case, with a couple of turns round the handle, and made it fast. It was clear now why the kidnappers had insisted on a strong case! Then I wrote on the paper, “Mrs. Waugh will be at the George Hotel, Castleton,” and slipped the paper under the tied rope, and gave a tug. Whoever was at the top seemed to test the rope for strain, and then the case went slowly up and out of sight. There were more showers of debris, heavier now, as the case bumped and banged against the face. They continued for a couple of minutes. Then all was silence again.
I had to help Clara back to the car. Reaction had set in, and she suddenly seemed drained of strength. To me, the episode had been very much of an anti-climax—though I wasn’t complaining. I was thankful it had happened that way. I certainly had to hand it to the kidnappers. It had been a brilliantly devised plan for the transfer, and a most efficient bit of execution. They’d taken no serious risks at all. Even if Clara and I had been working with the police in an effort to trap them, they’d have had a good chance of getting clear away before anyone could have worked round the precipice face and climbed to the top. They’d played it safe all through—and right to the end they hadn’t shown themselves to anybody. That gave me confidence that Clara’s troubles would soon be over, and I told her so. For the first time, I really believed that Landon would be freed.
It took us half an hour to get back to the car and clean up, and it was after nine when we checked in at the George. Mollie’s Zephyr was in the drive, but I couldn’t see any sign of Mollie herself. Clara registered as Laura Brown. Landon wasn’t safe yet, and I didn’t want anyone to know his daughter was in the district until he was actually free. She got one or two curious glances from the staff, I thought, but no one appeared to recognise her.
Dinner was officially over, but the proprietress said we could have some cold chicken and salad. While it was being prepared we went into the bar and Clara knocked back three large pink gins in the time it took me to sink a pint of beer. After a day on the wagon she was obviously alcohol-starved. She revived considerably with the third one, and wanted to ring up her fiancé and tell him what had hap
pened. I thought she’d drunk too much for discretion on the telephone and tried to dissuade her. I said the Editor would ring Barr later and set his mind at rest and that that was the safer way. She began to get tearful—but then, fortunately, we were called to eat. By the time we’d finished the meal she was sagging again with tiredness and soon afterwards she went up to her room. I wasn’t sorry to have her off my hands. One way and another, it had been quite a day!
I was on my way to ring Grant when I ran into Mollie in the hall. She’d just come in from a stroll. Her face, I thought, showed relief when she saw me. Anyway, she gave me a very warm smile. “Well, how did it go?” she asked.
“All right, thank you,” I said stiffly. Now that the worst of the danger was over my resentment had faded a little, but I still couldn’t quite forgive her for the way she’d behaved.
“Where’s your girl friend?”
“She’s gone to bed.”
“Good! So what happened?”
I told her about the rendezvous, and the message, and the kidnappers’ promise that Landon would be released next day. I kept it brief—there wasn’t really very much to say. She listened with absorbed interest to the end.
“That’s it, then,” I said. “Now I hope you’re satisfied!”
She looked at me oddly. “Why should I be satisfied?”
“Well, you’ve got the story, such as it is.… And as you said, if you stick around and we’re lucky you may even be able to muscle in on the Landon interview.”
She said, “You don’t really suppose I came all the way up here to get that, do you?”
“Of course.”
“Then you’re an ass! The Record’s virtually bought the story, hasn’t it? If Landon is released, you’ll obviously get a jolly good scoop, which you’ll have paid for. You don’t imagine I’d want to send the Courier a few miserable scraps from the rich man’s table?”