by John Creasey
They were soon sitting in easy chairs in a corner away from the others.
Mannering leaned back and smiled easily – and spoke very softly.
‘Why did they take Galliard?’
‘For questioning.’
‘Did he tell them anything?’
‘He told me he wouldn’t. You heard about the girl?’
‘Girls. There are two of them! As far as you know, Galliard won’t tell the police about them?’
‘No.’
‘Then it depends how much Sergeant Whittaker heard.’
‘How much did you hear?’
‘Practically everything. Darling, I can’t stay long, because I want to keep an eye on Galliard. I may look in at the hotel tonight. Be in your room by ten o’clock.’
Lorna said: ‘John—’ and stopped. ‘John, they think it’s you. Bristow thinks it’s you.’
‘He might pretend he does, but he knows I wouldn’t touch this job.’
‘John, listen to me. I’ve seen Chittering of the Gazette.’ There was no better crime reporter on the Street. ‘He’s got a lot out of one of the local police, and says the case against you looks cast-iron. They were your prints; your scarf was used. Even if Bellamy’s not all he seems, Chittering doesn’t see how you’re going to get out of it.’
‘He’ll find out. Darling, I love you.’
‘John, don’t risk too much for that girl. Don’t take too many chances.’
‘Stella and Kathleen can tell the whole truth; no one else can. Save them, and I’m out of trouble. Must do.’
Lorna said: ‘I’ll never let you out of my sight again.’
Mannering touched her hand.
‘I must go,’ he said. ‘Don’t forget, ten o’clock tonight.’
The sergeant who had been with Dando was outside the hotel, as he had followed Lorna. Mannering stared at him blankly, and Whittaker showed no interest in him.
Next thing to find out: was Perce reliable? Had Lark arranged for the car, Mannering wouldn’t have worried. Now he was on edge. If Perce betrayed him—
A plump, red-faced man in overalls came out of a small office at Andrews Garage; a greasy-looking boy stood at a distance.
‘I want to hire a car,’ Mannering said without preamble. ‘I believe a friend of mine—’
‘You Mr. Browning?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I’ve got a beauty – a real beauty,’ said the plump man brightly. Good old Perce!
‘Only been in a few days. Took it out myself for a trial. Touched ninety. Wouldn’t think so to look at it, but it’s a fact. Can’t tell a filly by her looks, always can you? Ha-ha-ha!’
He went on talking while he led Mannering to the back of the large garage. In a corner near an open door leading to a back street, was a rakish-looking but dilapidated Lancia. ‘She’s all tuned up for anything you might want out of her,’ said the young man. ‘She do?’
‘She’s just right.’
‘Twenty quid deposit – you can’t grumble at that. And twelve gallons of juice thrown in.’
‘Wonderful.’ Mannering produced the notes, and drove out through the back door of the garage, turned right, then right again, and was soon in the High Street. ‘Gent’s natty’ was still reading the newspaper.
Mannering turned into a side-street and parked where he could see the man and the King’s Head. Lorna returned, and went inside. Whittaker and the man in the sports car looked at her with unveiled curiosity.
Then Galliard appeared, unescorted, and not looking unduly worried. He hesitated by the side of the sports car, and, to Mannering’s surprise, said something, grinned, waved his hand and disappeared into the hotel. The little man reading the newspaper muttered under his breath. Then ‘gent’s natty* got out of his car and went to a telephone booth outside the nearby post office. When he returned, he immediately started the engine of his car.
Mannering pulled his self-starter.
The sports car hummed past the end of the street, and, as Mannering nosed into the High Street, took a right-hand fork at the far end – the Bristol Road. So the fellow was not going straight to Hallen House.
The Lancia was in good shape, and responded well.
At the crest of a hill outside Corwellin, Mannering saw the other car in the valley beyond, travelling very fast. Ahead the road stretched over a series of hills; it should be possible to keep the man in sight without being noticed.
Both cars roared on, Mannering with a sense of freedom and exhilaration he had not known for days.
Chapter Fifteen
River Cottage
Dusk was falling over the green countryside. In the distance, the hills grew dark in a purple haze, and to the west the sky was golden where the rays of the setting sun caught furry trailers of light cloud. Yet Mannering could still see the small, neat fields, the isolated farm-buildings and cottages and, a golden ribbon twisting and turning along the valleys; a river which was flowing gently towards the west. A road ran alongside the river, and Mannering could just discern the dark shape of the car he was following. He could see a bridge, on a by-road.
As the other car took the by-road, its headlamps flashed on. The river and the bridge were lit up; so was a small white house which stood close to the river bank. Its white walls showed vividly beneath the beams of the headlamps.
The lights went out.
Mannering slowed down. He was still driving along the main road, half a mile from the turning towards the bridge.
There was a little copse in which he could hide, beyond the house, but he did not want to go too near yet. He turned a bend in the road, and came upon an old quarry, with a pool of water glistening beneath the fading sky. He pulled into the side of the quarry. From the car he could not see the house by the river, but when he climbed to the top of the quarry he saw a light shining from one of the windows. It struck the side of the sports car, which was parked in front of the house.
Gradually the light at the window grew brighter, until at last Mannering felt that he could safely go nearer. He started the engine of the car, turned right at the road to the bridge, and found that it went downhill. He switched off his engine, and coasted down until he was within a few yards of the bridge. He pulled up within a few yards of the river, just off the road and hidden by a row of trees.
He walked over the bridge.
He reached the sports car and made a complete circuit of the house which was only a cottage. At the back was a single-storey outbuilding, with long windows; a faint light shone from them. There were no other lights except in the room which he had already seen. In front of the cottage was a small landing; he had noticed it from the quarry; now he went nearer and saw a motor-boat. A faint smell of petrol suggested that it had recently been used.
How long should he stay outside?
What were the chances of breaking in and frightening the man into betraying Bellamy? If only one man were inside, they would be good.
If there were more than one, or others came—
A car changed gear behind him. Swinging round, he saw the headlights turned towards the bridge.
He hurried from the cottage and stood in the shadow of the hedge. The car purred on a low, powerful note; he thought it was a Bentley.
Galliard’s?
The car drew up with a scream of brakes. The white walls showed up vividly until the lights were switched off. A man jumped out. Was it Galliard? Had the younger man been lying? Was he—’
The front door opened, and the light shone on Harrison.
Of course, there had been a Bentley at Hallen House.
The ‘gent’s natty’ was at the door, and Harrison’s voice sounded clearly across the quiet of the night.
‘Why the hell aren’t you ready, Foss?’
‘Can’t work miracles,’ retorted Foss sharply.
Harrison growled a rejoinder and stepped across the threshold; the door slammed; footsteps echoed and then died away.
Mannering rounded a corner of the house and approached
the lighted window.
Harrison was lolling in an easy chair, his back to the window, and Foss was sitting at a writing-desk in a corner, looking round at Harrison; the little man was smoking a cigar. The window was tightly closed, and the men were talking, mouths opening and closing like puppets in dumb-show.
If there were any servants here, would Foss have opened the door?
He felt the quivering of excitement, just as he had at Hallen House, the old, familiar keynote which had been born with the Baron.
But soon he was cool and ready.
He went to the front door; the lock was a Mortis. That couldn’t be opened quickly.
He was examining a window at the far side of the house, when he heard a door open and saw a pale light shine out on to the road. A shadow appeared, tall, thin, and was joined by a much shorter one. The door slammed. Both men were leaving.
They came towards him!
He would be seen against the white wall if they glanced his way.
‘Plenty of petrol on board?’ asked Harrison gruffly. ‘What do you take me for?’
They rounded the corner, and Mannering pressed tightly against the wall. Harrison was hurrying; a tall, vague figure, he passed within a yard of Mannering but did not look towards him. Foss was a couple of yards behind; evidently the men were on bad terms.
The little man passed, too preoccupied to notice Mannering, who kept absolutely still, watching their shadowy figures. ‘Plenty of petrol on board’ probably referred to the motor-boat. Yes, they reached the landing, their footsteps echoing clearly. Mannering crept forward now, still uncomfortably conscious of the white background of the wall.
‘I’ll untie her,’ said Foss.
‘Just a minute,’ said Harrison. There was a thump, as if he had jumped into the boat. Water lapped noisily against the bank and the wooden sides, while Foss crouched over the stanchion to which the boat was moored. The lapping of the water was suddenly lost in the spluttering note of the engine. By the time Foss had jumped down into the boat, the engine was ticking over smoothly. A faint smell of exhaust fumes crept up the bank towards Mannering.
The men had left a light on in the house – deliberately, it seemed.
The boat swung out into the river, and two lights showed – a green and a red. Mannering kept concealed, until the boat began to move swiftly down river.
The lights disappeared when it went under a bridge, but broke the darkness again as Mannering moved. He ran towards the bridge; by the time he reached the Lancia, the boat was half a mile away.
Better be bold about the chase.
He switched on the headlights and let the Lancia go all out. He could see the tiny light in the stern, reflected on the water. The motor-boat was travelling fast. He passed it, seeing the men just visible in the headlights. Harrison stood in front of the engine; Foss sat beside him.
Mannering drove ahead, looking again for a vantage point from which to watch. But while the river and the road ran almost parallel, he had to keep on the move, or they would wonder what he was doing.
He rounded a bend, and just in front of him were several buildings, and the light picked out the words: Guest House. This was as good a spot as any. He switched off the headlights and slowed down. Faint radio music was coming from one of the buildings. Soon he could hear the chug-chug of the boat’s engine, which drew nearer. Were the two men coming to this place? Was it possible that the girls were in the guest house? No. The boat went past.
Mannering waited for five minutes, then went off again in pursuit. Harrison and Foss would probably think it was a different car.
He picked out the boat in the headlights, and, just beyond it, something large and white in the river; soon he saw that it was a house-boat. Two or three dim lights showed at curtained windows.
Further along, the road left the river in a sharp bend. Mannering felt a pull on the engine; he was going uphill. He changed gear, breasted a hill and, once he was starting down, switched off his lights again.
He pulled into the side of the road, jumped out and hurried to the top of the hill.
The boat was still moving – but more slowly! He could tell that only from the lights, for he could see nothing of the two men. Soon the lights went out.
After a long pause, a brighter light from an opening door shone from the house-boat.
The house-boat was moored on the other side of the river, and Mannering had not passed another bridge. He walked quickly down to the river bank. A cold wind, blowing along the river, made him shiver. No night for a swim; he wanted a boat.
He climbed down the river bank, wishing that he dared bring the car down and switch on the headlights; he might grope for hours in the darkness. He had passed no houses on this side of the river; and boats were not likely to be moored to the banks away from buildings.
Swim?
No – there was a boat!
He came on it suddenly, not far down-stream. Nearby was a small boat house and a landing, and the dinghy made a dark blotch against the river. He stepped on to the landing, and groped for the rope with which the boat was tied to a post. His hand brushed it. He untied it, wound it round his arm, and felt the boat pulling at him on the tide. He bent down, stretched out and caught the side, pulled the boat close, and crawled into it.
The boat rocked perilously.
He crouched in the bottom, waiting until it steadied, coiled the rope and dropped it on to the floorboards. Then, carried slowly into midstream, he groped for the oars. He found them neatly placed, one along each side. He took them out, making a lot of noise as he slid them into the rowlocks; the blade of one splashed into the water.
He decided to row straight across the river and walk along the bank to the house-boat.
The keel grated on stones, and he stood up cautiously, swaying from side to side, and pushed one oar into the river bed, in order to get the boat closer to the bank. The swaying eased as the boat grounded. He shipped the oars carefully, peered over the side, then pushed his hand downwards. There were several inches of water.
He took off his shoes and socks and stepped ankle deep into icy water; two strides took him on to slate which hurt his feet, a third to a grassy patch. He sat down, dried his feet on a handkerchief, and rubbed them to get them warm, then put on his shoes and socks.
Twenty minutes must have passed since he had found the boat.
A steep bank rose above him. When he stretched up his hand, he could feel the grass at the top. He hauled himself up and walked quickly towards the house-boat.
There were more lights this side.
There was a gap of several yards between the bank and the houseboat. On the bank were several boards, obviously used for a makeshift gangway; if he tried to put them into position, he’d drop one and rouse everyone within earshot. Should he jump? He’d land too heavily, even if he made it safely.
He wanted a length of rope. There should be some about.
Without switching on his flashlight, he scanned the path and the ground near the boards. Just to one side was a coil of rope, long enough for his purpose. He made a loop at one end, and, standing close to the edge, tossed it towards one of the rail-posts on the house-boat. The rope dropped gently back against the bank. He kept trying and misjudging the distance by inches. No one appeared; he could hear nothing except the sound of the water and his own breathing.
Ah!
The loop fell over a post, and pulled taut. He leaned back with all his weight, to test it.
He tied the other end high up to a tree, then went down on his knees, gripped the rope, and let himself go gently over the side. His feet dangled just above the water. Hand over hand, he moved along the rope; the gap was much wider than he’d thought; yards wide. Would the rope hold?
He gripped a rail!
He’d be on deck in a trice now.
The boards creaked under his weight, but the boat was moving gently, there were other creaks, and now and again a sharp crack as a wave hit the side. He passed a lighted window. Net c
urtains prevented him from seeing clearly inside until he pressed close to the glass.
Harrison and Foss were in there – and Mrs. Dent!
How secure they felt!
He left the window, and crept along the deck towards another lighted window.
Stella was sitting in a small easy chair by the side of a bunk, on which her sister lay!
Chapter Sixteen
Alarm
Stella was reading. Kathleen appeared to be asleep. She was lying on her side, facing the window, with her eyes closed. Stella’s face was sideways to Mannering, and she seemed immersed in her book. At that quick, first glance, there seemed nothing wrong; it was a pleasant, peaceful scene.
Stella looked up, but did not glance towards the window.
Could he get them away?
Kathleen’s pallor was unhealthy, it would be risky to take her on a wild and dangerous journey – on which they might be followed. There was no real chance of taking them off now, but he could arrange with one of Lark’s friends to watch the houseboat; or even send an anonymous warning to the police. No, not the police, until he could be quite sure the girls were free from Bellamy’s influence.
Standing on the deserted deck, he grew aware of a faint glow of light further along the river. A car on the road before it turned away from the river? No, the light was nearer than that turning. He could hear a chugging sound – a low, monotonous beat of an engine. A launch was coming up river, with its searchlight on.
A bell rang, so sharply and unexpectedly that it made him jump. Brrr-brrr; brrr-brrr. That was the unmistakable ring of a telephone bell. Stella looked up at the door, but Kathleen did not open her eyes. A man’s footsteps sounded inside, then Mannering heard Harrison say clearly: ‘Hallo?’
The short pause seemed long; Mannering felt on edge, as if some tension inside the cabin was passing itself on to him. Yes, there was tension. Are you – sure?’ Harrison’s voice was harsh. Stella rose slowly from her chair. Harrison snapped: ‘All right. Tell the old man.’ He banged the receiver down.
Next moment, the door of the girls’ cabin opened and Harrison appeared inside the room. Harrison said in a harsh, grating voice: ‘The police are coming here. You’re staying of your own free will. Understand?’