With her first words, Caroline recognized Kitty Lefroy, the daughter of the Hinton doctor. She had just left school, and was a lively tom-boy.
“Beastly unsporting!” said a boy’s voice. “You’ve got to find your own clue. Besides, it won’t be the Tower—I said so all along.”
“Of course it’s the Tower!” said Kitty. “It is—isn’t it, Caroline? I say, you know Jock Anderson, don’t you—Major Anderson’s nephew? He’s just taken a special prize for pig-headedness at Sandhurst, so he’s rather above himself—but you needn’t take any notice of him.”
“Well, I say it isn’t the Tower—it’s too easy.”
“Of course if you want to be clever—” said Kitty.
“‘A finger pointing to the east
The ointment of the royal beast.’
If that doesn’t mean Leonard’s Tower, what does it mean?”
“It’s too easy,” said Jock Anderson.
Caroline was leaning out of the window. Her one desire was to get rid of them. If Jenny Ross had fixed on St Leonard’s Tower as one of the clues in her treasure hunt, about two dozen people might be here at any moment. She had told Major Anderson she was going treasure-hunting, and she was being taken at her word. It was like an Awful Warning out of the most horrid sort of Moral Tract. It was a Judgment. It trembled on the edge of being a Disaster. She said rather breathlessly,
“I should hurry up if I were you—I think you’re the first.”
“Well, what price you?”
“I’ve given up,” said Caroline. “I’m not feeling like treasure-hunting. I’m going home.”
Kitty whirled round on Jock Anderson.
“We’re the first! Do you hear? Buck up, my lad, and we’ll scoop the chocolates yet! It’s a jolly fine box!”
They ran off, noisy and laughing.
Caroline sat back with a sigh of relief.
Fifty yards up the lane Jock Anderson gripped Kitty by the elbow.
“Was that Caroline Leigh?”
“Yes. Why? Have you fallen for her in the dark? You’ll be one of a crowd if you have.”
“Shut up—I’m serious! What’s she doing all by herself in the dark like that?”
“I don’t know. What’s it matter?”
“It looks—queer. Kitty, can you keep a secret?”
“Of course I can.”
“It’s not a joke—it’s a frightfully serious business. I don’t suppose I ought to tell you.”
“Beast” said Kitty.
“On the other hand—”
“Jock Anderson, you’re the most deliberate, cautious, disgustingly Scotch person I’ve ever met, and if you ever want me to speak to you again, you’ll tell me at once.”
“The Van Berg murder,” said Jock Anderson.
Kitty gave a faint scream.
“Who? What? Where?”
Jock shook her, none too gently.
“Stop that row! If I tell you, you swear you won’t let on?”
“Yes—truly.”
“Well, did you know a man called Jim Randal?”
“When I was a kid. He’s been away for ages. He’s Caroline’s cousin.”
“That’s it! Well, they think he did the Van Berg murder.”
“Mr Van Berg isn’t dead?”
“Next door to it—and they’ve got a warrant out against this Randal fellow.”
“How do you know?”
“I heard the inspector talking to my uncle. Now look here—what’s she doing in that car? Whilst you were gassing, I went round to the back and put my pocket torch on the number plate, and I’m prepared to swear that’s the car that passed us a mile out of Ledlington just before we took that wrong turning you were so cocksure about.”
“I wasn’t!”
“Oh, weren’t you? No, shut up—don’t rag! What I’m trying to say is this. When they passed us, there was a man in the car. Where’s he got to?”
“Jim Randal was drowned—” said Kitty Lefroy in a slow, bewildered voice.
“No, he wasn’t—he was seen and recognized in Ledlington this morning. That’s why they’ve got the warrant out.”
“O-oh!” said Kitty in a thrilling whisper.
“And I believe she’s waiting for him,” said Jock Anderson.
“O-oh!” said Kitty again.
“And what I thought of was this. We’ve got to see who she’s waiting for. I’ve seen this Randal fellow’s passport photograph—my uncle’s got it. I suppose you wouldn’t recognize him?”
“I might,” said Kitty. “Caroline has photographs of him all round her room. She’s potty about him—always has been.”
“Good girl! Then here’s our plan of campaign. You go back and say I’ve gone to get the clue by myself—say you’re fed up or any old thing you like—say we’ve quarrelled. That ought to be quite convincing. Then get her out of the car by hook or by crook. This is essential, because I’ve got to put it out of action.”
“How?”
“What does it matter how? There are dozens of ways. I can break the petrol pipe, or cut the leads from the coil. That’s my job. You’ve only got to get her away from the car. Say you’re cold and want to walk up and down, or something like that. If she’s really helping this Randal fellow, she won’t like to make a fuss for fear of rousing your suspicions. Now get on with it!”
“Suppose it isn’t Jim Randal,” said Kitty. “Suppose she just didn’t want to walk to the Tower, and it’s one of the Lester boys or Roger Blake—they’re all mad keen about her.”
“Then we shall be in the soup,” said Jock comfortably.
Kitty giggled.
“I say—what a lark!” she said, and disappeared down the lane.
XXXIII
Kitty Lefroy stood at the corner of the parking-ground and choked with laughter. She had to wait until she could choke it down. As soon as she thought she was fairly safe she approached Jemima.
“Hi, Caroline! Joyous reunion! Why haven’t you got your lights on?”
Caroline wasn’t dreaming now. She had been waiting with every nerve stretched for Jim’s footstep. Kitty’s voice stabbed her with disappointment and fear.
“Why have you come back?” she said.
“Don’t you want me?” said Kitty, and felt a giggle rise in her throat. “I’ve turned my ankle, so Jock sent me back. Anyhow, we’ve had a simply blazing row, so he can just go and find his beastly clue himself. I say, who have you got with you? Is it Roger, or one of the Lester boys?”
“No,” said Caroline.
“Aren’t you mysterious! The Secret Escort, or Caroline’s Conspiracy, by A. Non! I say, that’s rather bright, isn’t it, and straight off the bat!” She allowed the giggle to escape. Then, leaning with her elbow on the door of the car, she gave an exaggerated shiver. “I suppose you haven’t got a thermos or anything? I’m simply frozen.” It would have given Caroline the greatest pleasure to box her ears. They were so conveniently near too. She restrained herself, and said,
“I’m afraid I haven’t.”
“Then let’s walk up and down. I’m fruzz—absolutely. I shall be a stiffened corpse if I don’t keep up my circulation.”
“I thought you’d sprained your ankle?” said Caroline.
She was beginning to be afraid of Kitty Lefroy. The horrid little wretch was up to something—guessed something—knew something. What had she guessed? How much did she know?
The horrid little wretch giggled again.
“Oh, it’s better. I think exercise will be good for it. You know”—with a burst of frankness—“I didn’t really twist it at all. Jock was such a beast, I wouldn’t go with him. Come on and walk, Caroline.”
“I don’t think I want to.”
Kitty giggled again.
“No, you want to go home—don’t you? It was awfully stupid of me to forget. Don’t let me keep you if you want to get off.”
Caroline drove her nails into her palm.
“I’m not in a hurry,” she said. “I thought
I’d wait a bit and see who else rolls up—it’s rather amusing.”
“Well, come and walk. I think you might, to save me from being a stiffened corpse. Come along, or I shall think you’ve got a mysterious assignation. Have you? Do tell me if you have.”
Caroline opened the door and jumped out.
“What rubbish you do talk, Kitty!”
Kitty flung a vigorous arm round her waist and began to dance her along.
“You said that exactly like a school-marm. If you’re not frightfully careful, you’ll get elderly before you know where you are. That’s just the sort of way that all the elderlies talk. ‘Oh, Kitty, think before you speak!’ and, ‘My dear child, don’t make so much noise!’ and, ‘My dear Kitty, did no one ever tell you that doors were made to shut?’ I do loathe elderlies! I think people ought to be poisoned off at twenty-five. Don’t you?”
Caroline couldn’t help laughing.
“That would only give me another three years.”
“Do you mean to say you’re twenty-two? How grim! And you’re not even engaged? I think it would be awful not to be engaged before one was twenty. But I think getting married’s the most awful rot. Don’t you?”
“If I get out of this, we’ll get married”.… Jim’s voice and Jim’s words came back to pierce her heart. For a moment she couldn’t speak. Then she turned back towards the car.
“I’m sorry Kitty, but I don’t want to walk any more.”
Something in her voice stopped Kitty’s flow of talk. They walked back across the darkened field. And then, just as they came up to the car, someone moved between them and the hedge.
“Hi, Jock—is that you?” There was relief in Kitty’s tone.
But it was Jim Randal’s voice that answered,
“I’m afraid I’m not Jock.”
As he spoke, he opened Jemima’s farther door and got in.
Caroline got in too on the other side. After all, what did it matter what Kitty thought? She switched on the lights and leaned sideways to say,
“Why don’t you go and sit in your car, Kitty? You’ll find it warmer.”
She turned back and pressed the starter.
Kitty stood clear and crammed her handkerchief into her mouth. It was really the most frightful jest. She only wished she could see their faces.
“What’s the matter?” said Jim.
“She won’t start.”
“She oughtn’t to be so cold. Shall I tickle the carburetor?”
“Please.”
Kitty was in ecstasies. She came nearer, and inquired in a muffled voice,
“What’s up?”
“It’s all right—she’ll start now.” Caroline pressed the starter again. It whirred, but there was no response from the engine.
Jim Randal went round to the front of the car and began to crank her vigorously. The little car bumped and rocked. The engine remained lifeless.
He came to the far window presently.
“Have you got a torch?”
“No.”
“Jock has,” said Kitty, leaning on the door again. She lifted her voice in a piercing scream. “Jock! Hi! Jo-ock!”
“Coming!” Jock Anderson’s voice came from the other side of the hedge. He called again, and turned the corner, running.
Caroline’s heart went as dead as Jemima’s engine. What was behind all this?
“Hi, Jock!” said Kitty. “Caroline’s car won’t start. Where’s your torch?”
A brilliant beam of light cut the darkness and played on Jim Randal. Caroline saw his face for a moment, and caught her breath. There was something written on it which she did not understand. Now, when everything was going wrong and she felt at the end of her courage, he looked as she had not seen him look this side of seven years—gay, confident, and ready to meet the world.
“Sorry,” said Jock Anderson. He turned the beam of his torch away.
Caroline sat back and closed her eyes. She felt weak and helpless, and she wanted to cry. She heard Kitty chattering and Jock answering her, then an exclamation from Jim. He came back to the window.
“Caroline, it’s no go.”
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s the coil. We’ll have to ask for a lift.”
She switched off the lights, slipped across, and got out on his side. For a moment they stood close together between the car and the hedge. In that moment his hand covered hers and pressed it hard.
She stood on tiptoe and put her lips to his ear. She said in a soundless whisper,
“That boy is Jock Anderson, the Chief Constable’s nephew. There’s something wrong.”
She heard him say, “It’s all right.”
They came out into the open.
Kitty and Jock were close together, whispering. The torch played on Jim again. Kitty ran forward.
“The next clue is the Heart and Hand at Hinton. We can all go on together—it’ll be much more fun. Hurry up—there are more cars coming!”
Jim slipped a hand through Caroline’s arm. They crossed to the other car and he helped her in. She and Kitty had the back seat. Jock Anderson took the wheel. They passed a couple of cars in the lane, and Kitty screamed out,
“We’ve beaten you! You’ll have to hurry!”
As soon as they were out on the main road Jim spoke.
“I’m afraid I don’t want to go to the Heart and Hand.”
Jock Anderson said nothing. Kitty gave a stifled giggle.
Jim spoke again.
“I don’t think you’re deaf, Anderson, but perhaps you don’t speak unless you’ve been introduced. Let me introduce myself. My name is Randal—Jim Randal.”
“Well?” Jock Anderson’s voice was defiant.
“Well, I don’t want to go to the Heart and Hand, but I needn’t take you out of your way. I suppose Major Anderson’s still just across the road—I don’t seem to see him moving house.”
Caroline sat up straight and stiff. The blood thumped in her ears. Nobody spoke.
“I’ve got business with Major Anderson,” said Jim in the most ordinary voice in the world.
Jock Anderson found his tongue.
“I was going to take you there anyhow,” he said roughly.
Kitty leaned forward, elbows on knees, quick breath nearly choking her. What was going to happen next? Would he try and hit Jock over the head and grab the wheel? And if he did, would it be any good her trying to scrag him? And if she did, what price Caroline? She somehow couldn’t see Caroline in a rough-and-tumble. And what was the odds they came a glorious smash in the ditch?
“What a lark!” said Kitty ecstatically. She did not say it aloud, because Jim was speaking again.
“You needn’t have bothered to put Miss Leigh’s car out of action—He cut the leads,” he explained over his shoulder to Caroline. Then, “I don’t know if she’ll want to run you in for it, but I expect it’s actionable all right. We can ask your uncle—he’s sure to know.”
The car swerved.
“I should think you’d have enough to ask him on your own account,” growled Jock.
“Oh, we’ll get down to you. I daresay you won’t mind waiting.”
The drumming sound in Caroline’s ears ceased. She was very cold, and there was a sick weight on her heart. She went on sitting up straight. Her hands gripped one another desperately. Since they had come to the end, she must keep her head up. Above all, she mustn’t faint. It would be dreadfully hard on Jim if she fainted.
Beside her Kitty drew a long breath of disappointment and sat back. There wasn’t going to be a scrap after all. Of course you never knew—he might be waiting to get Jock off his guard. She had better keep her eyes open.
A car passed them without dimming. The light swept over them all and was gone again. She saw the back of Jock’s head, Jim Randal’s profile, and, as she turned to get the glare out of her eyes, Caroline. She took Caroline’s face back into the darkness. What did she want to look like that for? It spoilt the lark. Suddenly she wished herself ou
t of the whole thing. It wasn’t amusing any more; it was a bore, and rather horrid. Caroline like a ghost, with her eyes wide open, staring into the blinding headlights. It made her feel as if someone had poured cold water down the back of her neck.
She squared her shoulders and began to whistle Smile, darn ya, smile! The clear, shrill sound filled the car.
XXXIV
They came into Hinton, and stopped at Major Anderson’s gate. The house faced the Heart and Hand across the village street, a circumstance which had oppressed the landlord for twenty years. A man may be sober, honest, and law-abiding, without finding it agreeable to have the eye of the law for ever trained upon his premises.
“I haven’t seen a drunken man in Hinton for fifteen years,” Major Anderson was wont to say.
He lived in a low two-storeyed house which was hardly more than a cottage. It held himself, a quiet elderly sister who kept cats, and sporadic nephews and nieces who turned things upside down and left rather a blank when they went away. A narrow flagged path led from the gate to a hideous little porch set with panes of blue and amber glass.
The party of four had reached the porch, when the door of the house was opened, showing the lighted hall. The man who had opened it spoke over his shoulder.
“Very well, sir, I’ll report in the morning.”
Major Anderson came into view.
“Just a minute, Gray.” Then, as he caught sight of his nephew. “Hullo, Jock—you’re back early. Who have you got with you? I can’t see.”
Jim Randal took Jock by the shoulder and put him out of the way.
“I expect you’ve forgotten me, Major Anderson,” he said. “I’m Jim Randal.”
Caroline followed him into the hall. There was a dead silence for a moment. Kitty and Jock came in and the door was shut. Then Inspector Gray moved forward and spoke.
“If you are Mr Randal of Hale Place, I must ask you to accompany me to the police-station.”
Jim looked past him at Caroline.
“It’s all right—don’t worry,” he said.
Then he turned to Major Anderson.
“I came here to make a statement about the Van Berg affair, sir.”
“A voluntary statement?”
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