by T. H. White
Buller said: "I chased him to Sutton Coldfield for sure. Nothing but the Bentley could have kept up the speed of our last mile. Then he must have switched off his lights and gone on to Birmingham, whilst I followed the only lights visible—this other car. We'd best make for Birmingham as quick as possible. It may not be too late."
"There's a choice of three roads after Birmingham," said Wilder, "and we shan't catch him before."
Buller thought quickly.
"Look," he said, "will you 'phone from Birmingham to Pemberley with a message for Charles in case he has the sense to ring up? He's north-west of this road somewhere. Leave a message for him to bear south and explore the Birmingham-Wolverhampton road. We shall just have to leave that one to chance and hope for the best. Then, if you'll go on towards Worcester, I'll bear south-east for Warwick. Report whenever possible to Pemberley by 'phone. Is there anything else?"
"No. That's O.K. Good luck."
Buller turned his car in a fever of impatience, but Wilder was almost out of sight before he could get away.
*****
Mauleverer saw Buller's car slew left on the track of the red herring from Birmingham, and smiled faintly. He decelerated to thirty and drove on comfortably, smiling and smiling.
*****
Wilder leapt out of his Daimler in Birmingham, and threw himself on a telephone box. He got through, much to his surprise, very quickly, and left the message with Mrs. Smith. She appeared to have been up and waiting.
"Hullo, is that you, Mrs. Smith? Good. Will you take this message very carefully. It is for Sir Charles, in case he rings up. Will Sir Charles kindly bear south and comb the Birmingham-Wolverhampton or Birmingham-Shrewsbury roads? Tell him the time of the message. Thank you."
He hung up the receiver and ran across the road to the car. He had seen Buller roar past in the Chrysler as he stood in the box.
Wilder's average from Birmingham to Ombersley was good, for he arrived there at 4.51, and caught a market gardener's lorry making for Birmingham. He stopped it, repeating the story of the bet as quickly as possible.
The driver of the lorry was a young man who personally owned a motor bicycle, and knew about cars. Yes, he had seen the Bentley not ten minutes ago. In fact it had stopped and the driver had asked him the way to Tewkesbury.
Wilder was doubly fortunate at Ombersley, for there was a telephone box as well. He got through to Pemberley.
"Yes, this is Dr. Wilder. Has Sir Charles rung up? No? Well, here's another message—for Mr. Buller, this time. Don't muddle them. Tell Mr. Buller that the Bentley has certainly taken the Worcester road and that I am going on to Tewkesbury. Tell Mr. Buller to come back westwards. Have you got that? Right."
Wilder drove for Worcester as fast as he could go, but in an unhappy frame of mind. Mauleverer was a cunning devil, and had almost certainly stopped that lorry on purpose. The hint that he was going to Tewkesbury was valueless. But it was impossible to weigh up how far he would work the double-cross. He would probably guess that his pursuer was sensible enough to see that the question about Tewkesbury might be a blind. He might carry this further and conclude that his pursuer, guessing so far, would decide to take the Malvern road instead of the Tewkesbury one. In this case he would go to Tewkesbury just as he had said. But he might carry it further still, and expect the pursuer to follow the argument even as far as that. Then he would go to Malvern. Eventually it became merely a matter of chance again.
Wilder reached Worcester at two minutes past five, and the sky was already lightening.
In Worcester he had an idea and tried westwards towards Leominster, in case Mauleverer had meant neither Tewkesbury nor Malvern. In a couple of minutes, however, a new thought struck him. He remembered the strategy of flight as laid down in the Universities. When pursued by a proctor with his bulldogs (that is, by more than one person) the undergraduate is recommended to fly as nearly as possible in a straight line. Then his speed may help him. If he dodges to left or right he is wasting his forward lead, for the bulldogs are said to be trained to run on parallel courses on either side of the line of flight. By doubling sideways he may simply run into the arms of a pursuer who has been running forward all the time, on a side course. Much the same thing was happening with the present chase—Sir Charles was west of the line and Buller east—and Mauleverer probably realised it. He would be likely to keep straight on.
So Wilder turned back, and was making for Tewkesbury five minutes later. The complicated red and green traffic lights of Worcester had received short shrift, even when they stood at CAUTION.
*****
Buller reached Warwick at five minutes to five and telephoned to Pemberley. He received Wilder's message and decided to take the Oxford-Worcester road. He was in a tearing bad temper, now that he was definitely off the trail and Wilder on it, and drove like a demon for Chipping Norton. He averaged fifty miles an hour exactly, and turned west.
*****
Wilder reached Tewkesbury at 5.40, in broad daylight, and found a belated milkman who could swear positively that no private car of any sort had passed through in the last hour. The milkman also directed him to a telephone, and he got through to Pemberley, after much delay, for the third time.
"This is Dr. Wilder again. Another message for Mr. Buller. Yes, Mr. Buller. Will you tell him that the Bentley has not gone through Tewkesbury but perhaps through Malvern and is probably making for Ross. Yes. R. O. S. S. I am going through Ledbury. Mr. Buller had better make for Ross through Gloucester. Yes. Will you repeat it? Right. Has Sir Charles rung up? If he does you must tell him we're somewhere round Ross. The other message is no good by now."
Five miles out of Ledbury Wilder had a puncture. He leapt out of the car, cursing like a maniac, and began to change wheels. As he had no notion where the tools were kept and was not accustomed to Daimlers, besides having had no breakfast and very little sleep, his time of eight minutes was brilliant.
He reached Ledbury at 6.8, and turned south for Ross.
*****
Buller made bad time from Chipping Norton to Broadway, and 'phoned from there at six o'clock. He received Wilder's message from Tewkesbury and made straight across to Gloucester, through the most beautiful country in England. But the country was beautiful in vain, for by now Buller was nearly mad. He was miles and miles from the line and every minute might be taking the field further away from him.
He reached Gloucester at half past six, having averaged fifty-two miles an hour on roads which were no longer deserted. He was surprised to find that the muscles of his jaw had set so tightly that it required a mental effort to unclench his teeth.
Meanwhile Wilder had reached Ross at twenty-eight minutes past six and had 'phoned to Pemberley. Buller got on to Pemberley within two minutes of the message, and received it from Mrs. Smith. "Yes," she said, "another message from Dr. Wilder, sir. 'E says that the Bentley 'as gone to Ross for certain, for 'e's spoken to a garage there where it filled up about 'alf an 'our ago. 'E can't find which way it's gone since Ross and is making south for Monmouth. 'E said as 'ow, if you was coming in on the Gloucester road, and 'ad seen nothing there, you might cut across, sir, on the Abergavenny road, and try there."
When Buller got back to the car Smith was sitting in the driver's seat. As he had been driving for three and a half hours he made no comment.
"Ross," he said, "and then Abergavenny."
For the last two hours their conversation had been in monosyllables.
They reached Ross at ten to seven and cut straight across without stopping.
Buller said: "Our scent's cold, but it's surprising that we've kept it so long. We can't keep it much longer in daylight. Now that there are other cars on the road we shall be lucky to get news of the Bentley. I wonder what luck Wilder's had towards Monmouth? If we don't do something in the next hour we shan't do anything at all."
Smith said: "Well, he wasn't on the Gloucester road, sir, and Monmouth and Abergavenny are the only other main roads. We've got a car o
n each, sir. I don't think the chances are bad. The only other things he can have done would be to take some side turning and cut across country—or he may have doubled back to Hereford."
"Unless he keeps to the main roads," Buller said, biting into his pipe-stem, "it's a needle in a haystack. I can't think why he's kept to them so far."
They reached Abergavenny at 7.20 and spent ten minutes in fruitless and hurried enquiry. Buller was getting desperate when the chauffeur suggested ringing up Pemberley.
Mrs. Smith's news was to be as bad as it could be.
"Dr. Wilder's rung up, sir," she announced, "and Sir Charles. Sir Charles has given me a number and is waiting to speak to you. I've given 'im Dr. Wilder's last message, sir, so if you care to talk to Sir Charles 'imself no doubt 'e could give it you in the course of your talk."
She gave the number—in Ludlow—and Buller got through.
Charles's voice came distantly, mechanised and apologetic.
"I say, Buller," it said, "I'm sorry I didn't think to ring up before. This has been an awful waste of time. No, of course I ought to have thought of it. Yes, I'll tell you at once. He's come to an absolute check in Monmouth. No, nobody seen the car at all. Yes, he did leave a message. He says he's coming back to Ross and then on to Hereford. He says the Bentley may have broken back that way. He was hoping that you'd find at Abergavenny, but he thought best to stop the earth at Hereford in case you didn't. No, I realise that you haven't. No, he didn't say anything else. Well, I'm at Ludlow. I've been through Newcastle-under-Lyme and Shrewsbury. I didn't know what to do. Yes, sickening. Yes. Well I thought I might cut down to Hereford in the hopes. You see, he may have cut back towards Hereford, and there's nothing else we can do. That is if Gloucester, Monmouth and Abergavenny are blank as you say. Yes, of course if he's cut off on a bye-road we're done. There seems nothing else for it. Right-oh. Then we'll meet at Hereford. Let's say the post office."
Buller went back to the car.
"Dr. Wilder's drawn blank at Monmouth," he said, "and it's no good here. Nobody seems to have seen him. The only hope is that he's doubled back towards Hereford, and Wilder's following him there. The swine must have an hour's start besides the distance, if that's the case. Actually, it's much more likely that he's taken some side turning and given us the slip altogether. But we might as well try all the possibilities before we give it up. At least we're certain that he was at Ross somewhere about six o'clock."
Smith asked: "Where do we go next, sir?"
"There isn't anything we can do here, so we might as well make for Hereford too. We ought to get there twenty minutes or half an hour after Dr. Wilder. And the Bentley may be round about there. We might be useful. Sir Charles is making for Hereford also."
"There's a second-class road according to the map," said Smith, "from here to Hereford, through Pontrilas."
"Take it."
At the tiny village of Llanvihangel Crucorney, Buller said: "This is wild country. He might well have been making for Wales."
Smith said: "We might stop at Pandy, sir, to buy a bit of chocolate and cup of coffee. If we're lucky enough to keep this chase going we might be glad of it."
In the small grocer's at Pandy, where Buller was making his purchase, it suddenly occurred to him that there would be no harm, at any rate, in enquiring after the Bentley on the off chance. They were only twelve miles from Hereford, and about the same distance from Ross. Mauleverer had disappeared at Ross, so he might be anywhere. He asked, casually, as the old lady handed him his change.
"Why, yes," said the old lady, "there was a gentleman in not an hour ago, buying chocolate just the same as you. In one of them long open motor cars. Black it was, I think."
Buller asked, in a voice which he was scarcely able to control, what the gentleman looked like?
A medium-sized gentleman, she thought, just the ordinary sort of gentleman.
Was he clean shaven? Yes, so far as she could remember he was clean shaven. Not very well shaved, perhaps. Had he glasses? Yes—here she was definite—he had horn-rimmed ones. And, now she remembered it, he was very dirty. Buller raced out of the shop, checked himself on the step and demanded:
"Which way did he go?"
"He asked the way to Longtown, to be sure," said the old lady.
*****
Buller found the village post office and rang up Pemberley. "Tell either of them," he said, "that the Bentley was seen at Pandy an hour ago. He asked the way to Longtown, which is on a small road leading to Hay." He slammed down the receiver almost before Mrs. Smith could open her mouth, and picked it up again at once. He asked for the post office at Hereford.
"Now could you be an angel," he said flirtatiously, "and give a message to two friends of mine if they happen to enquire? You might see them waiting outside, in a Daimler and a Studebaker. I was to meet them at the post office. Could you tell them that Mr. Buller's had a breakdown near Pandy, and can't come? Tell them to come here, or better still, to ring up Pemberley."
He waited to see that the girl had got it right, and to ensure that she would remember to give the message by making himself pleasant to her. Then he scrambled into the car and they spun round the side turning towards Longtown.
*****
When they had covered eight miles on a sad road, and passed Longtown without seeing anything, Smith remarked:
"Lonely bit of country this, sir."
Buller had been studying the map.
"There's not a village," he said, "between Longtown and Hay—or not that you could speak of. Certainly not a church, anyway. That's getting on for nine miles."
"All them mountains," remarked Smith, jerking a thumb towards Twyn Du. "It's pretty, I daresay, but what a country for dark deeds."
Buller said: "You're romantic, Smith. They're called the Black Mountains, certainly, but I don't think you'll get many dark deeds in Wales. Not beyond lechery, swindling, and toll gates at every turn."
Smith opened his mouth to make some defence of a possibly maligned people, but he got no further.
The gallant Chrysler groaned inwardly, made a grinding noise with its wheels, and lurched clumsily to rest.
Smith said: "Puncture," and got out to look. Then he added: "All four," and began to walk back along the road. Buller joined him, and they stood together, looking down at what must have been quite half a crown's worth of excellent nails.
CHAPTER XVII
Buller said: "That's dished it."
Smith added, unnecessarily: "It's a put up job, of course."
"Yes. It's the sort of thing an urchin would do in this god-forsaken country. But this time it's not an urchin."
"I suppose there's nothing else but to try and mend them? They'll be shot to pieces, but it might be possible."
"I think you'd better," said Buller. "As far as I can see this is the end of the chase, and it's now merely a question of getting the car home. We must be seven miles at least from the nearest garage. In the meantime I'm going to walk back towards Longtown. The others should be following and we may be able to do something about it. He had an hour's start to begin with, but still..."
Buller thought for a moment, then added: "No, I'm afraid it's hopeless. I'll stay and help with the tyres. If we hear the cars coming one of us will have to run back and warn them."
"Or preferably," added Buller, in a final afterthought, "sweep the road."
Whilst they were working, Buller soliloquised. "God," he said, "he chose a marvellous place to maroon us in! Now why did he want to maroon us? Obviously he's just led us here, by the noses, like little pigs. If he'd wanted to he could have slipped off at any small turning and lost us at once. And on top of that he had the fastest car and ten minutes start. He must have waited for us, almost, every time we lost the scent, and left little hints all the way. He can't have been averaging more than thirty, except in that sprint from Lichfield to Sutton Coldfield, or he'd have been here hours ago. That's it. Whenever we were hot on the trail he pushed her along, and when we were l
ost he waited for us. Now why?"
"Would you think, sir," Smith suggested, banging at an obdurate tyre, "that he wanted to entice us away from Pemberley?"
"That's it, of course. I suppose he thought I should come away alone, or with Dr. Wilder, leaving Sir Charles unguarded. Then he hoped to finish him off."
After some time Buller added: "Though why he should expect us to come, and not Sir Charles, is more than I can fathom."
"Perhaps he thought it was worth chancing, sir, just to see what happened. And as far as he can know, sir, it's what has happened. Sir Charles hasn't been with us since Burton-upon-Trent.
"Don't you think, sir, as how he's probably now making back for Pemberley as fast as that Bentley can run?"
"My gosh! You're right as usual, Smith. When he saw us at Lichfield there was only one car following him. He'll think that Sir Charles is still at Pemberley, and now's his chance!"
"Except," said Smith, "that he wouldn't know who was in the car following. For all he knows it may be Sir Charles that's chasing him and us that's staying at home."
This was a poser.
"Actually," said Buller, "he may have hung about in Ross to see us go by. Then, whilst Wilder was off to Monmouth and we were trying Abergavenny, he slipped up here through Bagwy Mydiart and Pontrilas. He'd know then that Sir Charles wasn't in the hunt."
They banged the wheel in unison and then Buller remarked:
"I think you're right after all, Smith. He wasn't trying to get Sir Charles left alone. This is what happened. He had Miss Elizabeth on his hands, and he wanted to get her away. The best place to hide her was somewhere here in Wales. Out of pride, and to humiliate us—that's typical—he's lead us right out into the wilds as far as he can afford to let us come. Then he's cut us off like a lot of babies. Miss Elizabeth will be somewhere out here, in some filthy little cottage of his, where she'll never be found. There's the Mynydd Eppynt or the Forest Fawr—a hundred thousand places where we'll never get at her without ten miles of beaters."