“Listen,” said Denton. Away to the right beyond the gardens the roar of a high-powered car came to their ears. “Jones has been quick,” said Denton, and leaped for the driving seat of his own. He swung the car round on the gravel, stopped it right across the top of the main drive, and got out, with his right hand in his coat pocket, just as a big black American saloon came fast up the road from the gardens and straight at him. Denton yelled at them to stop, first in English and then in German, but the big car took to the grass verge and slithered past with a scraping crash of mudguards. Denton just managed to jump clear, pulled out his automatic, and fired at their tires but missed. A hand and arm came out of a side window of the American car together with a face, scarlet with fury, and Denton ducked too late; a bullet caught him in the left arm and threw him back against his own radiator.
Hambledon leaped the steps at the sound of shooting and ran across the gravel, but two men who burst panting out of a clump of bushes were quicker still. “Much hurt, old man?” gasped one of them, and removed him from the radiator. “Excuse us if we borrow your car, won’t you?” They dived into it and drove violently away; the gravel kicked up by the back wheels fell upon Hambledon as he arrived. Probably they never noticed him, for farther down the drive another drama was being played.
Constable Leggatt was cycling up from Marybourne to enquire into the matter of a dog licence which ought to have been taken out by the coachman’s family if their puppy was as old as he looked. He was a quarter of a mile away, but he saw the affair of the two cars quite plainly and heard the shooting. Here was a large car apparently intent on leaving the neighbourhood; they must stop and explain themselves. So he threw his bicycle on the grass, stood in the middle of the drive, and held up his hand.
Almost he stood there too long; if he had not been young and active he would never have escaped. As it was, a projecting corner of the damaged mudguard ripped his tunic, and a loud bang made his head sing as a bullet tore through his helmet and jerked it off his head. Also, the chin strap caught under his nose and made it bleed.
He was just picking himself up as another car skidded to a standstill beside him, and the rear door opened ready to receive him. “Come on,” said a friendly voice. “After ’em!”
“I’m after ’em,” said Leggatt, scrambling in as the car moved off again. “Under the Firearms Act of 1937, Section 23, Sub-sections (1) and (2), it shall be an indictable offence, punishable by penal servitude,” he went on between gasps, “for any person to use or attempt to use a firearm with intent to resist or prevent the lawful arrest or detention of himself or any other person, or to have same in his possession when committing many offences under several other acts. The offences against the Person Act of 1861, Section 14, would apply here.”
He stopped for a moment and dabbed delicately at his nose.
“Any person riding any horse or beast or driving any sort of carriage, riding or driving the same furiously so as to endanger the life or limb of any passenger, may be arrested without warrant by any person witnessing the occurrence under the Highways Act of 1835, Section 78. Though as I’m only a constable they might get away with that.”
“Great Scott,” said Marden, “why?”
“Because a constable is not a passenger on the road for the purposes of the—— Mind this corner, sir.”
The car slowed slightly for the turn out of the lodge gates and leaped forward again; half a mile ahead the tail of the American saloon disappeared round a bend.
19. Arrest of a Botanist
Warnford was never one of those drivers who impede the traffic by loitering upon the highway, and on this occasion he did his best, but the road was strange to him and so was the car. Also, the pace of the saloon in front was excessive. The voice of Constable Leggatt floated forward to Warnford’s ears.
“Driving a motor vehicle on a road recklessly or at a speed or in a manner which is dangerous to the public, having regard to all the circumstances of the case, including the nature, condition”—it was covered in places with wet leaves—“and use of the road, commits an offence under the Road Traffic Act of 1930, Section 11.”
However, Denton’s car was a good one, and Warnford gradually reduced the lead from half a mile to a quarter, to three hundred yards, to two hundred. The road swept down a long valley in a series of curves; happily it was unfrequented, but such other persons as happened to be using it at the time spoke of the chase for weeks afterwards, and all the way the voice of Leggatt in the back seat recited the offences of the first car in a steady monotone.
“Any person riding or driving so as to endanger the life or limb of any person or to the common danger of the passengers in any street (including any highway, road, county bridge, etc.), not being a street within the Metropolitan Police District, may be arrested without warrant by any constable who observes the occurrence under the Public Health Act of 1925, Section 74 (2).”
“I say,” said Marden, turning round in his seat, “you do know the law, don’t you?”
“Sitting for my examination for sergeant,” said Leggatt, “next week. Been mugging up police law.”
“I hope you pass with honours,” said Marden appreciatively.
Warnford reduced the two hundred yards’ gap to seventy-five; once again a hand and arm, followed by an angry face, emerged from a window of the leading car, and several shots ensued. Fortunately the aim was wild, owing to the pace at which the cars were travelling, and though the top of Denton’s windscreen was starred there was no real damage done.
“Discharging firearms within fifty feet of the centre of a public highway,” said Leggatt in horrified tones, “as laid down in the Highways Act of 1835, Section 72. I dessay they haven’t got a gun licence either. Being in possession of firearms——”
The American car went round a sharp bend, and there was an eldritch shriek plainly audible in the second car. When they in their turn rounded the corner two seconds later there was an enormous pig lying at the side of the road, just giving its last kick, and beside it an elderly farm labourer shaking his fists in the air and shouting loudly. The car ahead was proceeding in a series of increasingly violent swerves; eventually it hit the bank, rolled over, and stopped. Warnford jammed his brakes hard on and came to rest alongside it.
They dragged out the two keepers who appeared to have got off rather lightly. The driver had been winded by the steering wheel; he sat down in the road, both hands over his diaphragm, and made crowing noises. The other had hit his head on the windscreen and was partially stunned.
“Got any handcuffs?” asked Warnford.
“Two pair, luckily,” answered Leggatt, producing them. “There was one pair just come back from being repaired——”
Warnford took them and passed one pair to Marden, who handcuffed the two prisoners together while Warnford put one handcuff on the other wrist of the stunned one.
“Here,” said Leggatt, noticing this, “you aren’t doing it right; you don’t want to join ’em round in a ring like ring o’ roses.’
“Oh,” said Warnford blankly. “You’ve got the keys, haven’t you?”
“Here they are,” said Leggatt, and bent down to unlock the handcuffs. The next second the keys were tweaked out of his fingers, and the free handcuff clicked round his own wrist.
“Here, what’s all this?” said the outraged Leggatt. “A joke’s a joke, but this isn’t. Unlock me at once, please.”
“Sorry, old chap,” said Warnford, and pushed a pound note into the constable’s tunic pocket. “I hate doing this, but there might be an attempt at rescue, and I think this’ll cramp their style. Get the map out of the car door, Marden.”
“I have,” said Marden, showing it.
“Unlock these handcuffs at once,” said Leggatt, “and I don’t want your money, either. Here, come back; where are you going? Assaulting and impeding the police in the execution of their duty, contrary to the——”
But Marden and Warnford got back into Denton’s car and drov
e rapidly away.
* * *
Outside Marybourne House, Hambledon grabbed Denton and said, “You’re hit. Are you much hurt?”
“Nothing much,” said Denton, exploring carefully. “Bullet through my left arm. Missed the bone completely. Don’t think it’s even bleeding much.”
Vokes arrived, running. “Gentlemen—sir—are you hurt? What happened? Who took your car away? They have taken Leggatt away too,” he added, staring down the drive.
“Oh, they’re all right,” said Hambledon; “they’re friends of ours—I think. Have you got a first-aid outfit handy?”
“At the house,” said the butler, “if the gentleman can walk across the gravel sweep. Or shall I bring it here?”
“No need,” said Denton. “I could take any number of gravel sweeps in my stride.” In fact, the injury proved upon investigation to be merely a flesh wound.
“You’ll have a stiff arm for a few days,” said Hambledon, bandaging competently; “after that you’ll be all right. Now then, we want to get back to the village in rather a hurry; we have a little job to do there. Is there anyone there who’d bring out a car for us? I don’t think my friend wants to walk a couple of miles just now.”
“No, sir, of course not. I regret there is no hire car available nearer than Winsbury, but I could run you down in the Ford myself, if that would be agreeable. We keep a Ford for utility purposes, sir; Miss Kendal took the Rover up to Town with her.”
“Perfect,” said Hambledon. “Very good of you.”
“Not at all, sir. A pleasure.”
They proceeded towards the Seven Stars at a pace which the butler considered appropriate to the transport of wounded, and Hambledon fidgeted slightly.
“If that fellow Quint’s got any sense, he’s packing,” he said. “In his place I shouldn’t even wait to pack.”
“If he hasn’t got a car of his own,” said Denton, “he probably can’t get away at once, unless of course he runs.”
“I should run,” said Hambledon with conviction.
However, when they approached the Seven Stars they saw Professor Quint going towards it from the telephone box. He appeared to be in a hurry. He was not in the lounge when they entered, and Hambledon asked the landlord where Mr. Quint was.
“Professor Quint has just gone upstairs to his room. I’ll send somebody up to tell——”
“Please don’t trouble; we’ll go up. Which is his room?”
The landlord stared a little, but people did not argue when Hambledon used that tone. “Number seven, sir, up the stairs and turn right.”
“You cover him when we go in,” said Hambledon to Denton in a low tone. “If he begins to romp, take appropriate action. With my shoulder and your arm, to say nothing of my black eye, neither of us wants to gambol.”
Hambledon opened the door of number seven and walked straight in without knocking, immediately followed by Denton with his hand in his pocket.
“Mr. Quint, I believe,” said Hambledon, walking quickly towards him. “Put your hands up, please; you are my prisoner.”
Quint hesitated momentarily, and the automatic in Denton’s hand immediately came into view. The professor of botany put his hands up at once, and Hambledon, being very careful not to intrude upon Denton’s line of fire, removed a very serviceable Luger from one of his prisoner’s pockets and three spare clips of cartridges from another.
“Curious instrument for a botanist to carry,” said Hambledon blandly. “Though no doubt it would be useful for shooting down specimens otherwise out of reach.”
“To what am I indebted,” said Quint furiously, “for this unspeakable outrage?”
“Cheese it. I am Hambledon of British Intelligence, that’s what. I see you were actually packing your shirts—I thought you would be. Go over into that corner, sit on that chair, and don’t move till I give you permission. Here’s a chair for you, Denton; I am going to telephone to the police.”
Hambledon was in the act of asking where the Seven Stars kept its telephone if it had one, when a small saloon car pulled up outside with a screech of brakes; a large man scrambled out of it and fairly bounced into the lounge.
“I say, Pitt,” he said, addressing the landlord, “let me use your phone, there’s a good chap. I’ve just seen the damned funniest sight I ever have set eyes on in all my puff. There’s a policeman down the road handcuffed to two prisoners, and he can’t let himself go because somebody’s pinched the keys. For a picture of dignity mingled with embarrassment—well! I’ve got to ring up the police at Winsbury to run out and release him.”
“I was just going to ring them up myself,” said Hambledon, “about another little matter. You tell your story first and then perhaps I might——”
“I’ll hand the doings over to you,” said the large man, “if you’ll stand by. Just a minute while I find the number.” He retired to the back of the lounge where the telephone was kept.
“Who is this?” asked Hambledon quietly of the landlord, who replied that the gentleman was a commercial traveller in groceries. “He generally has lunch here on Tuesdays; he’s late today.”
The commercial traveller could be heard explaining to the Winsbury police that Constable Leggatt was at a point on the Marybourne-Martyr Worthy Road, about two and a half miles from Marybourne, handcuffed to two prisoners. Would the police please bring keys for handcuffs, as his own had been taken away, also the police ambulance, as the prisoners had been injured in a car crash? “There is also a dead pig,” went on the traveller, “if that’s of any interest to you, and Constable Leggatt is having his work cut out, fending off an infuriated yokel who wants to beat the prisoners with a large stick. . . . No, I am not romancing, and I’m perfectly sober.” He gave his name, address, and occupation, and went on, “Leggatt asked me to go on to the nearest telephone—I happened to be passing and pulled up when I saw the crashed car. I am speaking from the Seven Stars at Marybourne. Hold on a minute; there’s another gentleman here who wants a word with you.”
Hambledon took over the telephone, introduced himself authoritatively, and said, “I’ve got another prisoner here for you; better bring another police car besides the ambulance. It is advisable these prisoners should not meet or know that the others are in custody. It is an important case. Thank you.”
He returned to the lounge and found the landlord and the commercial traveller looking at him round-eyed and in silence. The Seven Stars’ telephone made no attempt at aural privacy, and they were both of them plainly thrilled to the backbone. Hambledon smiled amiably and said, “Thank you very much,” to either or both indefinitely, leaned one shoulder against the mantelpiece, lit a cigarette, and looked at the landlord.
The commercial traveller stared at Hambledon, opened his mouth to ask a question, thought better of it and shut it again, and shifted his feet. The landlord met Hambledon’s look squarely, raised his eyebrows, and glanced at the traveller. There was an awkward little pause which the traveller eventually broke.
“I know I’m frightfully late today,” he said, addressing the landlord, “but I’d still like some lunch. Can you do something about it?”
“Certainly, sir,” said Pitt, shepherding him towards the dining room. “Cold game pie, cold beef, ham and tongue——”
“Had a spot of ignition trouble just this side of Alresford; that’s why I’m late. Hung up for an hour at Ropley——”
When the landlord returned Hambledon told him he was sorry to have to remove one of his guests. “Professor Quint—rather a bad lad, actually.”
“Indeed, sir. A rather unusual type of guest, Professor Quint.”
“One hopes so,” said Hambledon solemnly; “one hopes so. Your other guests, have they returned yet? What were their names, now, Warnford and Marden?”
“Not yet, sir. I saw them pass the house the best part of an hour ago, driving a car which I thought was the one you and the other gentleman came in, but I was probably mistaken.”
“Not at all. They borrow
ed our car, but I did not quite gather how long they wanted to keep it. However, they have evidently gone on.”
“Yes, sir,” said the landlord doubtfully.
“You did not happen to hear them say where they were going?”
“As a matter of fact, sir, yes, I did. At least they mentioned a route and asked me for a map to look it up. Here’s the map; they left it behind. They left the house rather hastily, sir, the last time. The route was Alton—Guildford—Reigate—Westerham.”
“I am very much obliged to you indeed,” said Hambledon sincerely. “May I use your telephone again?”
He rang up the police, the A.A., and the R.A.C., giving the number and make of Denton’s car and asking to have its position, direction, and time of passing reported to him directly at Marybourne 43. On no account was the car to be stopped or hindered, whatever happened; on the contrary, the drivers were to be assisted in every way they might require. Hambledon, Foreign Office, speaking from Marybourne 43.
He had hardly finished telephoning before the police arrived from Winsbury, relieved Denton of his guard, and took away Professor Quint in an unobtrusive saloon car.
“Removed in a plain van,” said Denton, watching their departure.
“The ambulance went by a few minutes ago,” said Hambledon, “to bring in the others.” He repeated the commercial traveller’s story.
“Those two fellows,” said Denton, referring to Warnford and Marden, “are certainly men of resource. They didn’t mean the constable to lose his prisoners and they took a most sensible course to ensure he didn’t. Where have they gone; d’you know?”
“Westerham, I think,” said Hambledon, and told him what the landlord had said. At that moment the telephone bell rang, and thereafter a series of messages began to come through, reporting the car on the expected route. The commercial traveller finished his lunch and passed through the lounge on his way out, saying genially, “Good afternoon to you, sir, good afternoon,” to Hambledon as he went. The landlord’s wife came in, asked the gentlemen if they would like tea, and brought it. The sun went down and lamps were lit in the Seven Stars, and still the messages continued to arrive. The car reached Westerham, and then came a message from the police saying that the driver was asking to be directed to the local house agents.
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