HITLER THREATENS POLES
TROOP MOVEMENTS NEAR FRONTIER
That was the left-hand side. On the other was something that made me wince.
ANOTHER BRAZENOAK MURDER
SIVLEY STRIKES AGAIN?
“My God!” I said. “Wait till Wharton sees these papers.”
“He won’t—not at the Oak,” he told me, and grinned. “He’ll be off early. I shan’t remember them till he’s gone.”
“That call you made!” I said. “It can be traced to here.”
“I doubt it,” he said. “I said I was calling from Ipswich.”
I was clicking my tongue all the same. Then I asked if he’d care to tell me whom he’d impersonated.
He grinned cheerfully. “In your present state of nerves you hadn’t better know.”
“Nerves be damned,” I said. “You tell me who it was.”
“You sure you want to know?”
Then he said okay, but I’d brought it on myself. “As a matter of fact, it was Wharton.”
“Wharton!” I fairly gaped at him. “My God that’s dreadful.”
“I guessed you’d think so,” he said, and still cheerfully. “But it’ll only be put down as a hoax.”
“Hoax!” I said bitterly. “And what exactly did you tell them?”
“Only that the police wanted the news out at once to help in the apprehension of Sivley, and that’s why I, Superintendent Wharton, was sending it direct. I said my name was on no account to be mentioned.”
“Well, that’s something,” I said. “I know it’s all my fault, but, oh, my hat! Fifty million people in the British Isles and you had to choose George Wharton!”
CHAPTER XV
DAY OF CLIMAX
Frank was dead right about Wharton, who positively gulped his breakfast that morning and was away and gone a quarter of an hour after it. Frank said he would run over to the hospital and hear the latest about Harper. I, being left at a loose end, thought I’d draw along to the Lapwings, as they say in Suffolk, and make a pretence of finding that bullet.
I was in no particular hurry, so I took a field-path, and, incredible though it may sound in a place so small as Brazenoak, managed to lose myself so that I came out to the south-east of the Manor. Then I thought I knew where I’d gone wrong, so I turned back, and it was as I was mounting a stile that I caught sight of George Wharton. The staggering thing was where I saw him, for it was through a gap in a poplar-shield hedge and in the Manor gardens. What he had been doing I couldn’t for the life of me imagine, but he was hurrying back towards the house, and a man wearing a green baize apron, whom I took to be the head gardener, was with him.
I had been right, then, about George, I told myself; and with a complete disregard of the beam in my eye I felt a grievance that he should be playing some double game of his own. So interested was I that I got down from my stile and moved warily to the cover of the hedge and along it to the north. It must have taken me a good quarter of an hour manoeuvering for position, and then it was all wasted, for when at last I had the Manor and part of the drive under observation, I was merely in time to see George’s car moving off. I held my breath to follow the sound of it, and it turned left and was lost in the direction of the main Chelmsford road.
It was no use worrying my wits over George’s secretiveness, and I managed to force the uneasiness to the back of my mind, though only through a wincing recalling of that cheerful dressing-down that Frank had given me. Perhaps I was meeting troubles half-way, and I could tell myself that George would have to disclose his ideas when he returned from town. What he was up to, in fact, was the verification of something I had missed, and I could hear his triumphant chuckles as he drove the fact home.
I spent the morning in the vicinity of the Lapwings, at least till opening time, and then, under the pretext of listening to local gossip. I treated myself to a pint mug of beer. When I got back to the Oak I asked Mrs. Porter where Mr. Franks was, and she told me he’d just gone out to find me. I stayed put and ten minutes later he was back.
“Just had some news,” he told me. “Smith rang up on the off-chance. What do you think’s the latest? Queenie’s sold the Rolls!”
I’d forgotten that car and how she’d have to sell it if she were going to bolt.
“She took it to a Portland Street firm this morning,” Frank went on. “Smith says it looked to him as if they were expecting her, so everything must have been fixed up by letter or ’phone. And she left the car there, and she went straight on to her bank. Then she took a taxi home and she was there when Smith rang.”
“Nothing about buying a ticket?”
“I take it, no. Smith didn’t say anything. But if you ask me, that’s the next item I’m sticking around. Smith might ring me later.”
There was a thunderstorm that afternoon, with the rain coming down in sheets, so I had to stick around too. It was slow and trying work, with our ears cocked for the faint sound of the telephone bell, and it was not until just after six o’clock that Smith rang up. I was all on edge till Frank came out of the room. His face was serious, which was one good sign.
“The most astounding thing!” he said, and drew me back into the deserted lounge. “Queenie went to Cook’s head office this afternoon and took a ticket—for The Hague!”
I was polishing my glasses and blinking away like a drunken owl.
“The Hague!” he said. “And she’s leaving Liverpool Street on Saturday morning. They got her a corner seat in a first-class compartment.”
“What train?”
“The one that leaves at ten. But what’s the idea? It’s got me beat.”
“Me too,” I said, still aimlessly polishing my glasses. “Unless there’s some connection with those de Karnovik people.”
“I thought of that too,” he said. “But there can’t be. They’re God knows where.”
“The Hague!” I said. “Only a fool would go abroad as things are now. Yet I don’t know. Some Whitehall Blimp or other told her there wouldn’t be war. She wanted to bet me there wouldn’t be.”
“Don’t you think I’d better get back to town?” he said. “I don’t like it. She’s double-crossed me about Hollywood and she hadn’t any reason to, unless she was badly scared.”
“Stay on till after dinner,” I said. “Smith may have some more news by then. And if you do go, where can I get you?”
“Better ring the firm,” he said, and was shaking his head again. “Even that corner seat booking may be a blind. She may be taking some other train.”
“Who’s panicking now?” I said. “She didn’t know she was being tailed. There wasn’t anybody she could mislead.”
“Yes, but Holland isn’t the Queen Mary. Once she lands on the Continent, then we’re beat.” Then he was suddenly tense with a new thought. “I’ll bet Sivley’s now in The Hague. I’ll bet he went there to-day.”
“The watch is still on at the ports,” I told him. “Let’s give it a rest and wait for Smith.”
After dinner Frank still waited, and he was rewarded, for Smith rang up soon after eight o’clock. There was no news, he said, except that Queenie had already begun packing.
“Me for packing too, then,” Frank said. A quarter of an hour later he had paid his bill and gone. The rain was now a dreary drizzle and without him the house seemed as cheerful as a sepulchre.
But the morning dawned clear again, with trees and grass already an incredible green. A freshness was in the air, and lovely intangible scents of moist earth and growing things, and it was hard to be pessimistic. I shall always remember that morning, and how after breakfast I had schooled myself to a mood of philosophic calm. I can still see the wet on the grass and the oak seat beneath the elm where I had thought of smoking a pipe over the morning papers, and still see myself going back to the lounge and settling into an easy-chair.
There was a faint sound, and in the mirror above the mantelpiece I saw Mrs. Porter. She had a duster in one hand and with the back of a finger of the
other she gave a quick rub at her nose. Then she saw my long legs.
“Sorry, sir, I didn’t know you were here.”
Before I could speak she was gone again. I smiled to myself, and then the smile slowly went. I think my mouth gaped, and I know the paper fell from my lap to the floor for when at last I got to any feet I was treading on it. The next thing I knew was that I was up in my room and why I had come there I had no idea. Then I was prowling round the room, glasses in my hand, and adding this and that together and always finding the answer the same. A lunatic’s idea it had been, and then all at once I was smiling to myself as I knew that a lunatic’s idea it was, and that I was the lunatic for having missed what had been under my nose.
I hooked my glasses on again, and then was taking the stairs two at a time. In a matter of seconds I was calling the Yard, though it was another fifteen minutes before I was actually speaking to Wharton.
“When were you thinking of coming back here, George?” I asked.
“Probably to-night,” he said. “Why?”
“Stay put,” I said. “I’ll be at the Yard sometime this evening. It’s important, George. Don’t stir till you’ve seen me.”
“What’s the idea?” he was spluttering. “Found something out?”
“I can’t tell you over the ’phone,” I said, “but I think I’m on to something big.”
“How big?” his voice came persistently.
My voice lowered, as if that made any difference.
“Don’t ask questions, George, but I think it’s the biggest ever. I know the way to get Sivley!”
As I drove up to the Manor I was telling myself that I’d been far too precipitate. All sorts of things might go wrong, and if I’d only had more time I might have found out what had happened to the car from which the shot had been fired, and so got on the trail in a different way.
“I’m leaving Brazenoak now, Mrs. Day,” I told the housekeeper, “so I thought I’d come and say good-bye.”
“That’s very kind of you, sir,” she said. “We had that other gentlemen, Mr. Wharton, here yesterday. He said he was going away too.”
“What a one he is to ask questions!” I said.
She smiled, but I didn’t pursue the subject, although I knew I could have found a clue to what had brought George there that morning.
“We expect the new master very soon now,” she said. “And perhaps you’ll be coming down again, sir.”
“I don’t know,” I said gloomily. “You never know with strangers. Mr. Passman and I knew each other pretty well. Only the last time I saw him I was pulling his leg about the easy way he took life nowadays. By the way, what time was it when he used to have his breakfast?”
“He was down at half-past nine to the minute, sir. I never knew him vary.”
“Ah, well,” I said heavily. “But you can do something for me before I go. Is there an atlas in the study?”
There was one and I had a look at it. Ipswich was, as I thought, very awkward for Harwich, where Charlotte Craigne would embark for Holland. Colchester was far more handy, and it was no farther from Brazenoak.
I thanked Mrs. Day and said good-bye, then headed the car for Ipswich. There I verified the time of that Saturday morning train, and also discovered that a boat from The Hook met the same train. It also seemed that there was a very good train from Ipswich to catch the boat train at Colchester.
After that I headed north for Trimport, and when I came to the spot where Smith had seen the farm-worker who thought he had seen Sivley sitting at dusk by the roadside, I drew the car in on the grass verge. I knew it was the right spot, because there was the stack at which some tramp had slept that night, and to my left were tracks that led to what had been described as old brickfields, and their ruts were still red from the bricks that had been used for rough metalling.
I made my way through scrub and gorse to the top of the slight rise, and there the old workings were. A dangerous place to be unfenced, I thought, for about an acre of the deep depression was filled with water, and there were other pools now stagnant after the drought. But I didn’t stay long, for it was past midday, and I pushed on to Trimport.
I avoided the hotels and had a bread and cheese and beer lunch at a small pub, and afterwards the landlady let me use her room, as I had a letter to write, and she provided me with paper and pen. This is what I concocted, and I addressed the letter to the Police Station at Ipswich. The writing was done with my left hand, and with the tip of the nib only, and I made one or two artistic corrections as if uncertain of my spelling.
Dear Sir.
I feel it my duty to let you know something although my husband would be riled if he found out, and he would give my Tom a good hiding. My Tom and another boy went wading as they say in the pond in the old brick-fields at Harley St. Peter by the main road although warned not to by his father and me and he come running home and said there was a man in the pond. A dead man, all naked he said and I boxed his ears for telling lies but he said it was true. I said not to tell his father or he’d skin alive. I said, and when I thought it over I thought I had better write this letter. Hoping I have done right.
Mrs. B.
I posted that letter in Trimport and then went in search of Quadling, the fisherman in whose boat Rupert Craigne had met his end. It took me a long time to run him to earth and at last I found him painting a boat at the west end of the beach. The beach, by the way, was as crowded as ever, though there were few bathers.
Quadling spotted me at once. “Afternoon, sir. Haven’t seen you for quite a time.”
“No,” I said. “I haven’t been this way since the morning Mr. Craigne was killed.”
“A bad business,” he said, and shook his head. “But there you are, sir. It’s all forgotten now. I’ll lay not one o’ them on that there beach is thinkin’ about it. Funny about that Sivley, though. You’d have thought they’d have caught him afore now?”
“He’ll be caught,” I said, and made as if to be moving on. “I was this way and I thought I’d see how you were. By the way, there was one thing you told me that morning which I’ve never understood. Didn’t you say Mr. Craigne was wearing a suit? It didn’t look to me like a suit. It looked like a bright green bathing-costume.”
He laughed. “You got me all wrong, sir. That was a bathing-costume he had on. What I said was, he came down to the boat in a suit—well, coat and trousers and a scarf sort of thing. He got in and took the oars, and then he sort of undressed and then he chucked the clothes back and hollered to me to keep them.”
“And you did?” I asked slyly.
“No such luck, sir,” he told me ruefully. “Real class they were, but the police got their hands on them and that’s the last of them I’ve seen. Mind you, sir, he didn’t mean at the time that I was to keep them. What he meant was to mind them till he got back.”
“What’d you think he was going to do in the boat?”
“Do, sir?” He looked surprised. “Why, row out beyond the bar and do his swimmin’ out of the way of the crowd.” He shook his head. “A pity he didn’t.”
I gave him a tip and moved on again. By the time I was back in Trimport itself it was nearly four o’clock. With a drive to town before me I thought I might reasonably treat myself to tea. After that I went to the main post office and rang Frank’s firm. I told them it was a matter of extreme urgency that Mr. Tarling should ring me at St. Martin’s Chambers at seven o’clock that evening. They assured me it should be done.
The roads are good after Ipswich and I was well on time as I came to the outer suburbs. At a certain police station where I was known I rang the Yard and left a message that I would be with Superintendent Wharton at seven-thirty. At ten minutes to seven I had parked the car and was waiting for Frank’s call. It was just before the hour when he rang.
“How are things your end?” I began.
“She’s still packing,” he said. “Went to the bank this afternoon and straight back in a taxi. About tea-time a woman came in
a taxi and went away with a load of second-hand clothes. We checked up on that. Queenie was cashing in on all the stuff she didn’t want.”
“Listen to this,” I said. “I’m going to be on that train to-morrow morning. Later that evening I shall send you a telephone number. It’ll be the station master’s office or some such spot where Wharton and I will be watching for Queenie. You’ll ’phone me there as soon as she leaves the house, and you’ll have someone—or two—on her tail in case she changes her mind again.”
“Okay,” he told me snappily. “Anything else?”
“Nothing I can think of,” I said. “I’m just seeing Wharton. I didn’t tell you that I expect to see Sivley on that train.”
“I guessed it,” he said. “That’s why I wasn’t asking questions.”
“We’ve three chances,” I said. “If he isn’t on the train, then he may be on the boat waiting. If he isn’t there, then Queenie will lead Wharton to him on the other side. As soon as anything happens, I’ll ring you up.”
I had a quick clean up and a short drink, then hopped on a bus which would drop me near the Yard. Wharton was waiting for me in his room.
“What’s this about Sivley?” he fired at me as soon as I entered.
“Look here, George,” I fired in return. “I’m telling you straight away that I’m playing a hunch. You can either come in or not, but if the hunch doesn’t work out right, then don’t blame me for trying.”
“Dammit, I haven’t opened my mouth yet!” he protested.
“I know you haven’t,” I said. “I merely thought I’d get my position clear first. And don’t go asking me questions. I’ll answer them when the time comes.”
“A hell of a lot of blether,” he said. “What’s behind it?”
“This,” I said. “Franks, who’s a great pal of Mrs. Craigne, as you know, happened to let fall that to-morrow morning she’s going to the Continent, via The Hague. He discovered it quite by accident, and after she’d told him she was going to America. He was very upset about it because it looked as if she’d been leading him on and then wanted to drop him. I told him he was damn-well rid of her, but I didn’t tell him what was fishy about her going abroad.”
The Case of the Magic Mirror: A Ludovic Travers Mystery Page 20