by Andrew Garve
‘You may be right or wrong about Sherston – I don’t know – but one way or the other it should be possible to settle the matter … In any case, I want to see him.’
‘I should think so …! Let’s hope we’re not too late, that’s all.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, it occurred to me – if George was responsible for Roscoe’s death, he’s hardly likely to have stayed in England. He may be hundreds of miles away on the Continent by now.’
‘I rather doubt that,’ Mellanby said. ‘Not with the caravan, anyway – the ferry boats are always pretty well booked up at this time of year. Remember what a wait we had at Boulogne last summer? – and that was only a car. He’d be very fortunate to have got a place at such short notice.’
‘Perhaps so …’
‘Anyhow, we should be able to check that quite easily with the motoring organizations – there can’t be so many caravans crossing.’
‘Do you remember the number of George’s car?’
‘I’ve got it somewhere – I made a note of it when Roscoe was stuck in the lane with the caravan.’
‘That’s lucky …! John, what exactly will you say if we do find him? It’s going to be rather awkward, isn’t it?’
Mellanby looked grim. ‘It could be very awkward, I should think …! We’ll just have to take a step at a time.’
‘Starting where?’
‘Well, I’ll begin by telling him about the crises we’ve had to face – Faulkner’s letter, and now the road widening … They’ll seem perfectly good reasons for going after him … I’ll tell him about my digging last night, and what a time it took. Then I’ll switch to his effort, and say I’m puzzled. He’ll have to give some explanation … I must say I’ll be most interested to hear what it is!’
‘He’ll probably give the reason we thought of first – that he wanted to get Roscoe buried before you had a chance to interfere. It’s about all he can say.’
‘If it doesn’t happen to be the true reason,’ Mellanby said, ‘it may not occur to him right away. We may catch him completely off balance … He’ll have Eve to think about, don’t forget – assuming she knows nothing … He may be in quite a difficulty.’
‘That’s true …’
‘Anyhow, we’ll just have to see how things go … You might have a chance to take Eve aside and talk to her alone before we really get started – that might produce something useful … Did she ever give you her version of what happened that night?’
‘Not in detail, no.’
‘Well, we ought to try to get it … When did she wake up, I wonder, and what did Sherston tell her? Had he already phoned me? How far had he got with the grave? All that sort of thing … She might give a rather different account from the one Sherston gave, and any discrepancy would be interesting … With luck, you might pick up quite a bit of indirect evidence that way – always supposing there’s anything to pick up … Or, of course, we might find it better to accuse Sherston directly if he seemed at all uneasy … Sort of shock tactics. Force him to talk.’
‘You mean he might be made to admit it?’
‘You never know – he might find it difficult to do anything else if he were in a sufficiently tight comer … At least, the way he reacted would help us to make up our own minds about him. We could decide the next step after that.’
Sally nodded. There was a little silence. Then she said, ‘Suppose you were convinced he’d done it, John – would you tell the police?’
‘I think we’ll face that problem when it arises,’ Mellanby said, with the ghost of a smile. ‘I’m very much afraid it never will … Now I’d better get on to the motoring people about the caravan.’
Sally put a hand on his arm. ‘Darling – what about tonight? Can’t we leave it for a day or two, now, and see what happens?’
Mellanby’s face grew grave again. ‘I don’t think we’d better risk it, Sally. We don’t know how soon the workmen may descend on the place – and it’s still very much our worry.’
‘I do so loathe the idea. It was bad enough last night …’
‘I know … But it’s safer, Sally, really – I’m sure we must go through with it. Once we’ve finished the job, we’ll be out of danger whether your theory turns out to be right or wrong … You won’t have to do very much – I’ll be able to manage most of it myself …’
‘I hate it for you, too,’ Sally said. She looked very downcast, ‘Still, if you’re quite certain … What shall I tell Kira?’
‘I should say we’re going to see how that “dig” at Bensworth is getting on – she knows we’ve been there several times before so she won’t be surprised. Then, just before dark, we can telephone her and say the car’s broken down – we didn’t have to use that story last night, so it’s still all right. We can tell her not to wait up for us. I’m sure everything will go quite smoothly.’
‘That sounds like famous last words …! I feel horribly scared.’
‘There’s no need to be,’ Mellanby said. ‘By this time tomorrow, with anything like luck, it’ll all be over … Just one more effort, Sally!’
She gave a dejected nod, and turned away.
Chapter Thirty-One
It took Mellanby only a very short time to discover from the two motoring organizations he belonged to that neither of them had issued foreign touring documents for the Sherstons’ caravan or car in the past week or two. It was just possible, he realized, that Sherston had sold them or stored them somewhere and gone abroad without them, but unless he’d had some special cause for alarm it seemed unlikely. The odds were great that he was still in the country – and Mellanby now faced the more complicated problem of finding him. First, he put in another call to the organization with the more extensive network of road patrols.
‘That caravan I was asking you about just now,’ he said, ‘XAT 0391 … It seems it hasn’t gone abroad, so it must still be around somewhere – touring, I imagine … Is there any chance you could help me to trace it, do you think? It’s a matter of the greatest urgency.’
The official at the other end was friendly. ‘Is it a case of illness, sir? If it’s a life-and-death matter you’d probably do better to get in touch with the BBC – they might put out an SOS for you.’
‘No, it’s not that sort of thing,’ Mellanby said. ‘It’s a business matter. George Sherston, the owner of the caravan, is an associate of mine, and it’s absolutely vital I get in touch with him right away … It’s a question of a big foreign contract … Naturally, I’d pay all expenses. In fact, I’d be quite prepared to drop in a blank cheque at your Area Office …’
‘Oh, I hardly think that would be necessary … Have you any idea what part of the country Mr. Sherston might be touring in?’
‘That’s just the trouble I haven’t … He was here in the Bath district in August, and then he went off into the blue … He could be anywhere – Wales – Scotland …’
‘Has he any relatives or friends who might be able to help, sir?’
‘No, he comes from overseas – I don’t know of anyone in this country.’
‘I see … Well, what’s the caravan like?’
‘Oh, it’s a big one – more than twenty feet long, I should think. I can’t tell you the make, but it’s quite a luxury job.’
‘What colour is it, sir?’
‘Cream.’
‘M’m! – it’s a popular colour … What about the car?’
‘A black Chrysler saloon – very smart and new.’
‘That sounds more hopeful …’ There was a little pause. Then the official said. ‘Well, Mr Mellanby, we’ll do what we can for you … We shall have to get in touch with our Area Offices, and they’ll have to pass the word through to the patrols. If your friend is using the main roads, one of our chaps is bound to pick him up before long … It may take a day or two, of course.’
‘I realize that,’ Mellanby said. ‘I’m sure you’ll do the best you can … Every hour counts.’
‘We’
ll get on to it right away, sir – and the moment we hear anything we’ll ring you.’
‘I’m most grateful,’ Mellanby said. ‘I’ll be standing by …’ He hung up. After a moment he put in a call to the other organization.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The day was completely overshadowed by the macabre task ahead. Sally’s announcement that she and Mellanby were going out again was received philosophically by Kira, but with laments from the children, who were beginning to feel slightly neglected. Sally, instead of soothing them, became irritable. After her sleepless night she felt quite worn out. The weather didn’t help. The air was close, with a hint of thunder, and she had a nagging headache which aspirin had failed to cure. Probably, she thought, it was a protest against what she had to do. She tried not to dwell on the lonely quarry and the nerve-racking vigil in the lane that would last most of the night, but she couldn’t command her thoughts. Now that the moment was so near, she found it almost impossible to believe that they were actually going to do what they’d planned. She had the deepest forebodings, far stronger than at any time before. The decision to look for the caravan, the hope of a dramatic new turn in the affair, had undermined her resolution. She scarcely knew, now, how she would face the night.
Mellanby’s mood was more determined, but hardly less sombre. Worse even than the odious task itself was the thought that Sally must take part in it. In his anxiety to spare her all he could, he spent much of the morning trying to work out a method by which he could get the body out of the grave without her help. It would be too heavy for him to lift from the bottom of the hole without assistance, but he might be able to raise it by mechanical means. He had some tackle in the shed that he‘d once used for lifting bits of masonry – a simple arrangement of blocks and ropes which would require only a support from above. There was a tree bough, he remembered, if he could reach it … He’d better take the short pair of steps – they would just go into the car boot … With the tackle, he should be able to raise the body and swing it out on to the tarpaulin. Then he could wrap it up and rope it … Sally would see nothing … But he’d still need her help to get it from the bushes to the field opposite and that would be gruesome enough …
For a moment he stood gazing with clouded eyes over the peaceful garden. It seemed impossible that they had really come to this – they, the Mellanbys, with their sheltered life. To dig up a putrefying corpse in the night …! But one thing had led to another, and now there was no escape … Better not to think about it – better to concentrate again on the practical things. They would need water for washing this time – soap, towels … The physical effects, at least, could be obliterated. What of the mental effects, though – the incalculable aftermath …? ‘Not poppy nor mandragora …!’ Yet it had to be done …
The afternoon dragged slowly by. Five o’clock came. In another thirty minutes they would be off. Mellanby felt thankful they’d arranged to leave early – it would be less of a strain, killing time on their own … Restlessly, he returned to the garage for a final check on the equipment. The air was more oppressive than ever. He went over the items, and drifted back into the house. He couldn’t keep still. Sally was giving the children their tea. Her cheeks were a hectic pink – she’d made up her face to hide her pallor, and overdone it … She was saying something to Kira about Tony’s pyjamas …
At that moment there was a vivid flash of lightning, and a roll of thunder that shook the house. Almost at once it began to rain. Mellanby went to the sitting-room window and looked anxiously out. The storm had come up with astonishing speed. The purple sky was full of menace. The rain was getting heavier every second – it was almost a tropical downpour now. In a short time the garden paths were running like rivers. Water cascaded down the front of the house from the overflowing gutters. As he gazed out on the drenched scene, Mellanby knew that, for this night, at least, they had worried unnecessarily.
Presently Sally came and joined him at the window. Her face wore such relief as Mellanby had never seen there. ‘The best-laid schemes, darling …!’
He nodded grimly. ‘We couldn’t go now, even if it stopped right away – and it’s obviously not going to … We’ll just have to put it off till tomorrow.’
‘Perhaps it’s Providence,’ Sally said.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The storm raged till late in the evening, and then slowly died away. By morning the weather was fine and sunny again, with a brisk touch of autumn in the air – but the ground was still so wet that Mellanby thought they’d probably have to wait another twenty-four hours or so before they could move the body. Immediately after breakfast he got out the Humber and drove over to the quarry to see what conditions were like there. The first thing that caught his eye as he turned into Blackett‘s Lane was a huge lorry, dumping a load of brick rubble on the verge for the foundations of the new road. The sight gave him a shock. The Highways Department were getting busy even sooner than he’d feared. From now on there’d be constant comings and goings by day – and before long there’d be roadside camps and night-watchmen’s huts as well. If he and Sally were going to move Roscoe at all, they’d have to do it within the next day or two. Mellanby drove on anxiously to the quarry.
One glance was enough to tell him it would be hopeless to attempt anything that night. The bushes surrounding the grave were standing in a pool of water, like mangroves in a swamp. In places the pool was several inches deep. The field across the way looked drier on the surface, but the spongy soil proved to be saturated. A hole dug there would fill up straight away. Mellanby spared a moment to assure himself that the turf over the suitcase hole hadn’t been disturbed by the torrential rain. Then, in a very worried frame of mind, he drove home to tell Sally the news.
As he braked in the drive he heard the telephone ring. He walked quickly into the house. Sally was taking the call in the sitting-room. She broke off as he entered, said, ‘Here he is – he’s just come in …’ and handed the receiver over. It was one of the motoring organizations.
‘Hallo, Mr Mellanby?’ the friendly official said. ‘Well, we’ve got a bit of news for you – we think we may have located the caravan … Tell me, is your Mr Sherston a big man of about fifty, with a young, good-looking wife?’
‘That’s right’
‘Then we have found him. He’s not too far away from you, either – he’s in the Forest of Dean, in Gloucestershire.’
Mellanby threw a swift glance at Sally. ‘Why, that’s fine …! My word, you’ve been quick.’
‘Oh, we had a real stroke of luck, sir … It seems that one of our Gloucester chaps was actually stopped by Mr Sherston near Cinderford yesterday afternoon – your friend wanted to know the way to the Forestry Commission’s camping site, and our man directed him. When he got back from patrol last night and read the message we’d sent out, he remembered the black Chrysler and the cream caravan and reported them. He wasn’t sure of the registration number – that’s why I asked you to confirm the description … Anyway, there seems no doubt about it now – and I don’t think you’ll have any more difficulty. Your friend was obviously making for the site, so if you can get over there right away you should find him.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Mellanby said. ‘Where exactly is this place?’
‘It’s near Berry Hill, about a mile and a half north of Coleford on the way to Symond’s Yat. There’s only one official site in the Forest, so you can’t make any mistake.’
‘Good …’ Mellanby jotted down the directions.
‘We’ll keep our chaps alerted in the meantime, Mr Mellanby, just in case the caravan has left.’
That’s very kind of you … I really am most obliged for all you’ve done.’
‘Not at all, sir. Always glad to help a member.’
‘I’ll let you know what happens … Don’t forget to send me your account.’
The official chuckled. ‘We won’t, sir. Goodbye.’
Mellanby hung up and turned to Sally, who’d been excitedly followi
ng the conversation beside him. ‘Well, there we are! – it looks as though the showdown with Sherston is going to be sooner than we thought … Come on, let’s go to Gloucestershire …!’
Chapter Thirty-Four
They were away in the Rover before eleven. Sally took the wheel. Mellanby, whose leg had been giving him a bit of trouble since the arduous digging operation at the quarry, sat beside her with the road map on his knee. Not that he needed to refer to it much. The route was very straight forward – Chipping Sodbury and Stroud, then through Gloucester, then ten miles to the south-west, and they’d be at the edge of the Forest. Fifty-odd miles in all – say an hour and a half, the way Sally was driving today. One good night’s sleep had obviously done her a world of good. By comparison, with the previous day, she seemed almost cheerful.
Mellanby was beginning to feel a little better about things, too, for a great weight had been lifted from his mind. He had never expected that Sherston would be traceable so quickly – all his plans had been based on the opposite assumption. Now it looked as though they might be seeing him in a couple of hours. If so, he could be roped in to help with the digging, as Sally had wanted him to be in the first place. Whether or not her theory about him was true – and now that all element of flight had been removed Mellanby was even more dubious – at least she wouldn’t have to substitute for him in the lane again. That nightmare, at any rate, was over …
They didn’t talk very much on the journey. Sally, eager to reach the camp and get the showdown over, was concentrating hard on the traffic. Mellanby puffed reflectively at his pipe and mentally rehearsed his part in the coming interview. It was going to be difficult … Unless the man had some quite unforeseen explanation of his conduct it could hardly be friendly. A strange man, Sherston … A man with quite a lot of rugged charm in his way, and yet …