Blueprint for Murder

by Roger Bax

  Had they seen him? He would know in a second. He crouched with his gun at the ready. No one came to the wall. He heard voices at the bank, sharp instructions. He had beaten them.

  He dared not look. He must get away from here. The car, he knew, would be completely submerged in ten feet of muddy water. It would take them hours to get it up, to discover the registration number, to find out that he wasn’t in it. Cross wriggled his way along the inside of the wall, away from the river. There was little immediate danger now – it was pitch dark and the wind was blowing harder than ever. Presently he felt it was safe to walk upright. He seemed to be in a field or large garden. After fifty yards or so, he climbed over the wall back on to the road, hidden from the river by a slight bend, and set off into Kingston at a smart pace. He was just an ordinary honest citizen once more, with the right to look anyone in the face – till morning.

  Suddenly he remembered Doris. Well, that was the end of her, anyway. Though the future was about as black as it could be, Cross felt curiously elated. He had been reprieved. He had fought his way through into the clear. Just to walk along the pavement in the raw gusty air was a pleasure. It would be good to have a drink. He would have a drink. It might be his last one for some time. He stopped under a lamp to examine his clothes. His knees and coat were a bit wet and muddy, but they would pass in a crowd. He ran a comb through his hair, wiped his smarting sweaty face with his handkerchief, and straightened his tie. He would call in at the ‘Crown’ – just for a quick one.

  The saloon bar was comfortably full and he had to squeeze through to the counter. He ordered a double whisky. The barmaid gave him an odd look.

  “Been fighting, mister?”

  “Sort of,” said Cross. He emptied the glass. “Give me another, love, will you?”

  “You won’t ’alf cop it when your best girl sees you.”

  “She did it,” said Cross briefly. He drained the glass again. “Good night.”

  That was better. Now for the next round! He might still make it. This wasn’t the first time he’d been hunted – and he’d got away with it before. Right across Europe – for months, with only a gun and his wits. You could get a long way if you were always ready to shoot. People didn’t expect it. And most people weren’t tough – they were kindly. So if you were tough you could get the better of them.

  He’d be able to get to Truant all right, now. He joined a bus queue, took a twopenny ticket, and got off a quarter of a mile from the boathouse. Several people on the bus had stared at his face. Still, there was no law against getting scratched.

  He walked quickly down to the water’s edge. There was Truant, a blessed white shape out in the river. He stopped at the fringe of the soft mud, where three or four dinghies had been left dry by the tide. The wind showed no sign of abating. It was north-easterly, strong and cold. He shivered, and drew his coat more closely round him. He wished he had more whisky.

  It had been easy to say, “I’ll get away in Truant” It was quite another thing to do it. He knew there was no alternative, but as he thought of what lay ahead his spirits sank. He could get her engines started without trouble. He could take her down the river. That was easy – though it wouldn’t be pleasant. But what then? It would be pitch black in the Estuary, and there’d be half a gale blowing. He didn’t know the buoys and lights, he knew next to nothing about tides and shoals. It was a thousand to one that he’d run her aground or founder in big seas. Either he’d be rescued, and hanged, or else he’d drown. He had no fancy to drown. Of course, he could shoot himself before either of those things happened. Come to that, he could shoot himself just as well here.

  Even in this sheltered reach upriver the boat was rocking and pitching as the wind met the incoming tide. He could just imagine the sea off Southend – all hell would be loose. He had guts, but not that sort of guts. That just wasn’t his line of country. He knew for a certainty that he would never make a safe passage to the Continent alone. There was only one man of his acquaintance who could do that – Geoffrey.

  He lit a cigarette, shielding the lighter with his cupped hands, and inhaled deeply. If only he could take Geoffrey with him! How much surer, how much less lonely it would be! His fingers closed snugly round the revolver in his pocket. Maybe he could take Geoffrey with him. There were ways of making people do things. ... He had learned a few in the camp. He wondered where Pamela was. It was half past eight – there was still time if he moved quickly. He would need all the luck in the world, but he was overdue for a break. At least it was worth a chance.

  He knew where there was a telephone box, just beyond the boathouse. His fertile and tortuous brain was evolving a plan as he walked. It was a fantastic plan, a terrific plan, but it might work. It was no more far-fetched than his alibi had been, and that had almost worked.

  Hell! – the telephone box was occupied. A tall youth was leaning comfortably against the inside wall, the receiver to his ear and a vacuous smile on his face. Every few seconds he opened his mouth wide to say something, and then shut it again. Cross walked rapidly up and down past the box, glowering. Then he went and leaned ostentatiously against the glass. These were golden moments that were dribbling away. He didn’t know where the next box was, or how far away. He rapped angrily on the glass. The youth looked up, grinned amiably, and nodded. But he went on listening.

  Cross pulled open the door. “Do you mind, old man? – it’s urgent. My wife’s having a baby.” He kept the door open.

  The youth said: “I’ll have to ring off, Mabel. There’s a chap having a baby. I mean his wife. See you at the Odeon tomorrow. Yes, the usual time.” He hung up.

  “Thanks,” said Cross. He hadn’t needed to act the part. No father-to-be had ever looked more anxious.

  Now for it! Had he got twopence? Yes, thank God, he’d collected some change at the pub. He inserted the pennies with fingers that were not quite steady. Would Geoffrey be in? Would he fall for the story? Another couple of minutes would decide. He dialled Welford Avenue and waited, almost choking with suspense.

  He heard the ringing tone and the click of the receiver. Someone said, “Hello.” It was Mrs. Armstrong. He said, “Hello – this is Arthur.”

  “Good evening, Arthur.” Mrs. Armstrong’s tone was polite rather than cordial. At least she seemed quite normal. Evidently no alarm had been sounded yet.

  Cross took a deep breath. “Geoffrey in?”

  “Yes, he’s in the lounge with Miss Pamela. They’ve just finished dinner. I’ll call him – hold on.”

  So the gods had changed sides! Pamela was there, too. He heard Mrs. Armstrong calling, distantly, and footsteps beside the phone at the other end. “Hello there,” said Geoffrey.

  “Listen, Geoffrey. Listen carefully. I’ve got big news.”

  “Go ahead, I’m listening.”

  “I’ve found out who killed Uncle.”

  “Good lord!” There was a second of stunned silence at Geoffrey’s end. “Are you certain?”

  “There’s no doubt at all. It’s an incredible story. I’ve got the man here.”

  “You’ve got him – where the hell are you?”

  “I’ve got him on Truant. I’m speaking from the box near the boathouse. I came to the boat for a bit of peace and quiet, and the dinghy had gone and there was a light on Truant. So I borrowed another dinghy and rowed out. The chap was in the cabin, reading a log or something. We had a bit of a scrap and I managed to sock him with a spanner. He’s there now, tied up. He’s quite secure, but I need your help.”

  “Right – I’ll come. But how do you know he’s not just an ordinary thief? What makes you think he did it? Who is he?”

  “I don’t know who he is – but he did it all right. It’s all in a book he’s got. It’s a long story, but there’s no doubt about it, Geoffrey, old man, this is going to clear the whole thing up.”

  “It’s incredible,” said Geoffrey. “Anyway, I’ll ring the police and we’ll be right over.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Cr
oss quickly. “Are you there?” For one panic moment he thought Geoffrey had rung off. “Listen, there’s something else. There’s been some funny business going on. At least, I think so. Something with Truant. This chap was mixed up in it. So was Uncle Charles.”

  “What do you mean, ‘funny business’? I don’t believe it.”

  “Well, I’m telling you. Do as you like, but if I were you I’d leave the police out of it until you’ve had a look round. There’s a sort of diary, and some figures, and a lot of stuff about tides, and something about a submarine. It may make sense to you.”

  “It sounds a lot of nonsense. Anyway, I’ll come right over. I’ll have to bring Pamela. The chap hasn’t got a gun or anything, has he?”

  “No, he’s quite safe – I trussed him up pretty tight. But make it snappy – it’s a bit of a strain here alone. I’ll go back now and keep an eye on him. You’ll have to borrow a dinghy – there are several lying about.”

  “Okay,” said Geoffrey. “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” He hung up.

  Cross walked quickly back to the river. He had several things to do. It was essential that Geoffrey should suspect nothing until he reached the cabin. Everything must look right. If there had been a man aboard in the first place, there’d have been a dinghy already at Truant before Cross rowed out. With Cross aboard, there’d have to be two dinghies there. At the water’s edge he made someone else’s dinghy fast to Truant’s, and rowed them out together. Then he tied them up conspicuously on the bank side of Truant, so that Geoffrey would see them as he climbed aboard.

  Inside the cabin Cross lit the paraffin stove and the oil lamps. He might just as well be comfortable while he waited. He drew the curtains over the ports. Then he checked over the fuel. He reckoned there was enough to take them to Holland with a fair margin. Finally he took out his revolver, cleaned it carefully, and re-loaded it.

  He sat near the cabin door, waiting. Truant was straining at her moorings as the flowing tide streamed by, and every now and again she rocked violently as a gust of wind hit her broadside on. It was going to be a bad night.

  Geoffrey had gone back into the lounge looking very worried.

  Pamela said, “What’s happened?”

  “Something pretty odd. It was Arthur. He says he’s got the murderer on Truant. Someone he doesn’t know. Found him there by accident. And he says it looks as though the old man was mixed up with something fishy. Do you think Arthur’s drunk?”

  “Did he sound drunk?”

  “No, he was most lucid.”

  “Geoffrey, it may be the end of the mystery. It had to be something pretty odd – you know that. Only something quite unexpected would make sense. Can I come too?”

  “Might as well.” He fetched her coat. “Arthur said something about a log-book and tides and a submarine. It sounds frightful. Dad would never have got mixed up in anything like that. Never!”

  “There’s probably some mistake. Anyway, we’ll soon know — there’s no point in worrying now. Hadn’t you better tell the police?”

  “Arthur says not. I suppose he thinks we might be able to cover something up, though I don’t see how we could, anyway, if the chap that did it is alive. He’ll spill the whole story. Of all the crazy nightmares—”

  “Geoffrey, you don’t think Arthur’s up to some trick himself?”

  Geoffrey looked grim. “If he is, God help him! I must say he sounded genuine enough. Ready?”

  “Eager!”

  Geoffrey laughed. “Better not worry Mrs. Armstrong until we know. I’ll just tell her we’ll be back later. Mrs. Armstrong!” He went through to the back sitting-room.

  “She takes a poor view,” he said, as he joined Pamela again. “Right, let’s go.”

  CHAPTER XIV

  As soon as Cross saw the lights of Geoffrey’s Morris swing round the corner of the boathouse he went out into the cockpit. It was too dark for him to see clearly what was happening ashore, but in the lulls between the gusts of wind he could hear voices. One of them was Pamela’s. So that was all right! He heard the sounds of yet another dinghy being heaved down the mud and gravel to the water’s edge, and presently the creak of oars in the rowlocks.

  “Is that you, Geoffrey?” he called out.

  Geoffrey’s voice came over the water, strong and clear.

  “Yes. Everything all right with you?”

  “You’re just in time – I think he’s coming round.” Cross peered down at the water as the little boat swung alongside. He reassured himself that it contained no one but Geoffrey and Pamela. “Gosh, I’m glad you’ve come,” he said. “It’s been grim sitting here on my own, wondering if the fellow would try to start something.”

  “We were as quick as we could be,” said Geoffrey. He clambered aboard and gave Pamela a hand. Then he turned to Cross. “Now where is this chap? Let’s have a look at him.”

  Cross stood away from the cabin door so that Geoffrey could go inside. Pamela followed close behind. Cross stayed in the doorway, his hand in his coat pocket, clutching the butt of his gun. He was braced for a crisis. You never knew how people would take a sudden shock.

  Geoffrey turned, bewildered. “I thought you said he was in the cabin?”

  “He’s in the forepeak,” said Cross curtly. As Geoffrey and Pamela went forward, Cross moved into the cabin and shut the door behind him.

  Geoffrey had turned again, his face dark. “I say, is this your idea of a joke?” He seemed to fill the whole cabin.

  “No,” said Cross, “it’s no joke.” He produced the gun, holding it against his palm with a finger lightly on the trigger. “I suggest that both of you sit down. Over there, behind the table.” He spoke quietly. This was the critical moment.

  Geoffrey stared at Cross; stared at the shining bluish metal of the revolver. He said: “What the devil are you up to, Arthur? Have you gone mad? Here, give me that gun.” He made a movement as though he were going to get it.

  “Stand back, you fool!” Cross cried. “If you make another move I’ll shoot. I mean it.” He was right back against the cabin door, half crouching. He looked small, but incredibly menacing. His finger was tightening on the trigger.

  Pamela, standing just behind Geoffrey, put a restraining hand on his arm. She was pale but composed. “Better sit down, darling,” she said. “I couldn’t bear it if you got hurt.”

  “Sensible girl,” said Cross. “Behind the table, both of you. That’s better. Now we can talk in comfort. For a moment, Geoffrey, I thought you were going to do something rash.”

  Geoffrey’s knuckles were white. “What the hell is this? Suppose you explain.”

  “Certainly,” said Cross. “But before I tell you, let me warn you again that if either of you makes a move I shall shoot. Just try to control yourselves. Now then, you want to know who killed your father, Geoffrey. Well, I did.” He was quite motionless, watching Geoffrey’s eyes. “And tonight I killed a woman who knew too much about it. So you see it really won’t make any difference to me if I kill both of you as well.”

  There was complete silence in the cabin. It was like waiting for a pebble to hit the bottom of a chasm. The paraffin-stove flared yellow in a sudden draught, and then the flame turned blue again. Nothing else happened.

  Then Pamela said softly: “Geoffrey, he did do it. I know he did.”

  Geoffrey was taut, dry-mouthed. He still couldn’t believe it, in spite of everything. He said, “Why did you do it?”

  “It’s a long story,” said Cross. “Come on – call me all the things you want to, get them off your chest. I don’t want you to work up to a white heat later.”

  “You must be crazy, Arthur. You’ll never get away with this.”

  “We shall see,” said Cross. His eyes were hard and bright; his torn face was pale and the scratches stood out angrily. There was a glitter of nervous energy about him. “We’re taking a trip tonight,” he said. “To the Dutch coast. You’re going to drop me there.”

  “Now I know you’re crazy,
” said Geoffrey. “There’s a gale blowing. This boat wouldn’t live for an hour in the open sea.”

  “I’ve got to take that chance.”

  “You won’t take it with me. You don’t think I’m going to help you get away? You’re out of your mind. You must be. It’s the only explanation.”

  “I’m as sane as you are. Anyway, we can argue about that later. Let’s get under way.”

  “We can’t,” said Geoffrey. His eyes never left Cross’s face. “The water’s not high enough. It’ll be an hour before we can get through the half-tide lock.”

  “That’s right,” said Cross. “I remember. Well, that gives me the opportunity to do a little more talking.”

  “You’ll be hanged for this,” said Geoffrey.

  “Of course I will, you damned fool, if they catch me. What do you think I’m going to all this trouble for?”

  “You swine!”

  “That’s better,” said Cross coolly. “Though you might just as well save your breath. You’ll need it all before the night’s out.”

  “We’re not going anywhere.”

  Cross gave the gun a little flick. “Aren’t you forgetting this?”

  “If you think you can make me take you across the North Sea – on a night like this – at the point of a gun, you’re just out of your mind. It’s a harebrained scheme. I’d get my hands on you before long, and, by heaven, I’d break your neck. You might just as well give yourself up, and take your medicine.”

  Cross smiled his sardonic smile. “Obviously, you’re going to need a little while to get to know me,” he said. “I think perhaps, before we go any further, I’d better give you a little insight into my character. Then you may not feel like getting so rough. Now, about your father. I wanted his money, of course. That was a pretty good reason for killing him. I’ve killed plenty of people without any reason at all.”