by John Creasey
‘Quick change,’ said Palfrey.
‘Oh, not very quick. You haven’t seen me since yesterday evening, you know.’
‘Did I see you?’
‘Well, I saw you,’ declared Susan Lee, ‘skulking behind a rock on the left-hand side of the gorge while Frenchie was talking to Old Nick.’
‘Old Nick?’
‘Yes. We have to have names for them both,’ said Susan Lee. ‘Nick is just Nick, and nothing else would suit him, but when our Lancashire friend comes on the scene we call him Old Nick.’
‘Apt, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Oh, he’s a dear,’ declared Susan Lee. ‘You’ll think so too when you know him better. He doesn’t look like Nick in real life, of course. But he’s about the same height, and he’s nearly bald, and when he takes out his teeth his cheeks sink in, rather like Nick’s. It doesn’t take a lot to make him look more like Nick, you see. We aren’t wizards. It’s just ordinary make-up.’
Palfrey sat down beside her.
‘Why are we so favoured, Miss Lee?’
‘I come to warn you, Cæsar, not to tempt you,’ said Susan.
‘So you’ve come to warn me, have you?’ He paused. ‘Odd line you used then. Not quite as originally written. Why misquote Shakespeare?’
‘I thought it would make you jump,’ said Susan. For the first time she looked serious, although her eyes were still smiling. ‘This man, McDonald,’ she went on. ‘How well do you know him?’
‘Not particularly well.’
‘Why didn’t you tell Nick that he came straight from the House of Morne? That wasn’t fair, was it?’
‘Fair?’ mumbled Palfrey. ‘I don’t know. He served a turn. A very good turn. We would never have found where they were hiding in the caves, but for Mac.’
Susan said gently: ‘Nick is an expert at his job, you know. Even his enemies admit that. For weeks he has haunted Cheddar Gorge, trying to find out where these people were hiding, and he failed. Don’t you think it was curious that an amateur like McDonald found the hiding-place at the first go?’
Drusilla leaned forward.
‘Rose was beside herself, and not careful,’ she reminded her.
‘Rose was, perhaps,’ said Susan, ‘but she had been to fetch Sol Krotmann, and Sol isn’t the fat fool that he looks. In fact, he had been to the caves before, in broad daylight, and disappeared as if off the face of the earth. Why, on a dark and windy night, did he lose his head and show an amateur the way?’
‘It’s a point,’ said Palfrey.
‘It’s a very strong point,’ Susan assured him. ‘Especially as McDonald is a Morne.’
‘Well, only half Morne.’
‘I think McDonald knew where they were,’ declared Susan.
‘Shall I tell you something else, Doctor? This morning, Nick and I have been very busy, looking up files of the Corshire News and finding pictures of the Mornes. Then Nick, who has even more nerve than I have, asked if he could buy prints of the photographs. It was easy, because the Mornes are well in the news again.’
She opened her bag and took out several photographs, so large that they caught at the sides of the bag and she had some difficulty in taking them out. Silently, she handed them to Palfrey. The top one was of Morne. McDonald followed, then Gerald Markham, his father, his mother and McDonald’s mother. ‘All the Mornes,’ said Susan. ‘Are they good photographs?’
‘Remarkably good.’
‘What about McDonald and Gerald Markham?’
‘Yes. Good enough.’
‘Both have been seen in Cheddar Gorge during the last week,” Susan told him serenely. ‘I don’t mean yesterday, either. Did McDonald tell you that it wasn’t his first recent visit to the gorge?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘You mean that he didn’t,’ said Susan. ‘Of course he didn’t. But don’t you think it would be worth knowing why McDonald and his cousin are so interested in Cheddar Gorge?’
‘Possibly,’ admitted Palfrey, cautiously,
‘You hate admitting that you’ve been fooled, don’t you?’ asked Susan, gently. ‘I can sympathize. May I have those photographs back? . . . Thank you.’ She pushed them into her bag. ‘Of course, if you decide to try to find out why McDonald behaved like that, and care to pass the answer on to Nick or me, we’ll be delighted, but obviously we can’t strike a bargain.’
‘No. What else?’
‘Nothing else,’ said Susan Lee. She stood up and smoothed down her skirt. She was a refreshing creature – not lovely, as Drusilla, but with the light of the sun in her eyes and in her hair, quick and graceful in her movements. She held out her hand to Drusilla. ‘Good-bye. Thank you for being so sweet.’ She turned to Palfrey. He hesitated. She took his hand and squeezed it, and her laughter bubbled up. ‘You needn’t feel conscience-smitten, she said. If the police do detain me, it won’t be your fault, because I walked into here with my eyes open. And Nick’s eyes. They see much more.’ She turned and went out.
Drusilla shot a startled glance at Palfrey. They hurried to the door. Hardy was too sound to allow anything to go amiss, and the girl had no chance of getting out. She was entering the hall, and two men – including Detective-Sergeant Rundell – moved from their chairs and approached her. Another man hurried past Palfrey; he had obviously been watching the lounge. Serenely, Susan walked on. Rundell touched her arm. She paused and looked round, as if surprised.
‘Yes?’ She was haughty.
‘I would like you to come with me, please,’ said Rundell.
‘I beg your pardon.’ Susan threw back her shoulders indignantly, and at the same time glanced towards Palfrey. She winked. Then she wrenched herself free. Outside, someone shouted.
The shout was followed by another. Rundell glanced uneasily towards the door and at the same time stretched out his hand again. Then something was tossed into the hall from outside, and burst in front of Palfrey’s eyes. Smoke rose up, billowing out as if from a great fire. One moment there was only a small oblong thing, the size of an egg, on the floor, and the next moment Susan’s legs were hidden in smoke. Palfrey just had time to see her move from Rundell, and Rundell stagger back as if she had pushed him; then the smoke filled the middle of the hall.
There was pandemonium inside and outside. Hardy’s voice was raised: ‘Guard the door! Guard the door!’ Footsteps thundered; someone laughed.
‘That’s Kyle!’ snapped Palfrey. ‘Come on!’
He grabbed Drusilla’s arm, rushed with her into the small lounge and through the french window. He dashed round the hotel towards a side gate, reached the street and ran towards the corner, with Drusilla close behind him. Smoke was spreading swiftly, enveloping the hotel.
A car sounded near at hand; Palfrey caught a glimpse of the front of the car looming out of the dense cloud of smoke. Palfrey could not see what else happened, for the smoke thickened.
At last they reached a clearer space. Palfrey looked at Drusilla and saw she was smiling, as if convulsed by secret laughter. She caught his eye. Kyle’s laugh seemed to echo about them, but Kyle and his Susie were a long way off by then.
The incident made Hardy really angry, which was understandable enough. It also angered Cartwright, and Wriggleswade was beside himself with mortification. It transpired that he had been in charge of the party of policemen who had surrounded the hotel to make sure that Susan Lee could not escape. Hardy had deferred to him, and Hardy’s only consolation was the fact that he had left the arrangements to Wriggleswade. All these things Palfrey learned when he saw Hardy and Cartwright at the Chief Constable’s office about half past six that evening.
Hardy was still covered with soot; Drusilla and Palfrey had changed. Wriggleswade was having a bath, Hardy said, and his tone inferred that he hoped the man would drown.
‘Well, we ought to admit that it was quite a notion,’ said Palfrey, mildly. ‘My wife and I were trying to imagine how on earth the girl could get out of that jam, and we were as surprised as anyone. No o
ne was hurt, I hope?’
‘No,’ growled Hardy.
‘You see, Kyle wouldn’t go too far,’ murmured Palfrey.
‘Unlike you, Dr. Palfrey,’ said Hardy, a dangerous glint in his eyes, ‘I do not enjoy the spectacle of the police being made fools of, and an insolent American behaving as if he were in Chicago instead of in England.’
‘Oh, Chicago isn’t bad,’ said Palfrey.
‘We must get on with the job,’ interrupted Cartwright. ‘What did the woman have to say to you, Palfrey?’
Palfrey said: ‘Not a great deal, but what there was should interest you.’
He told the story faithfully, not without some misgivings.
Cartwright said that obviously McDonald and Gerald Markham must be questioned. Murder had been committed. There was prima facie evidence that one of the men now under detention had killed Rose – who’s other name, it proved, was Lindsay – and it had been generally assumed that the crime had been committed at the time of the scream. It was possible, however, that it had been committed before that. The accused man flatly denied knowing anything about it.
‘Well, you’d expect him to,’ said Palfrey. ‘Are you suggesting that McDonald might have gone into the cave, killed her, come out and fetched us, and –’
‘Isn’t it possible?’ asked Cartwright.
‘No,’ said Palfrey. ‘Most decidedly not. That would have meant that the girl had been dead for nearly an hour when I reached her. She hadn’t. There was little or no surface coating of the blood, and in the temperature of the caves it would have had at least a coating. The body was too warm, too. That isn’t opinionative; that’s medical evidence.’
‘Do I take it that you are advising us not to question McDonald and Gerald Markham?’ asked Cartwright.
‘I am not advising you,’ said Palfrey. ‘I can only tell you the facts within my province as a doctor.’ He picked up his hat. ‘Anything else?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Cartwright, speaking heavily. ‘There is one other thing, Dr. Palfrey. When you worked for Intelligence Z.5, from whom did you receive orders?’
Palfrey said: ‘That’s no secret. The Marquis of Brett.’
‘And is he still the leader of Z.5?’
‘Technically. I don’t think it’s working now. Why all this? You’re not still harping on that idea, are you?”
Cartwright said: ‘Perhaps you will tell me that you did not know that the Marquis of Brett is staying at Wanling Lodge.’
Palfrey stared. ‘I don’t even know where Wanling Lodge is.’
‘It is three miles out of Corbin,’ said Cartwright, ‘the home of Mr. William Jefferson,’ He stood up. ‘I think you might have been more frank with us, Dr. Palfrey.’
Palfrey felt a surge of furious anger. ‘I am not working for the Marquis of Brett or for any Government department.’
At the hotel, where cleaners were working in the hall and the grounds, they found a letter waiting for them. Mr. William Jefferson requested the presence of Dr. and Mrs. Palfrey at dinner that night . . . .
Jefferson was a short, bald-headed man, wealthy, quiet and mellow; a man of influence behind the scenes, a banker, a philanthropist, a friend of kings. After dinner he led the others to a small room where liqueurs and brandy were served, and then unobtrusively left them.
Brett cracked a nut. ‘What’s troubling you, Palfrey?’ he asked.
‘You,’ said Palfrey, angry now with himself and yet still feeling justified. ‘You should have given us some warning. After a lot of trouble, I convinced Cartwright and Hardy that I was here in my private capacity. When they learned you were here, they didn’t believe me. I don’t blame them.’
‘What is really worrying Sap is the suspicion of McDonald,’ Drusilla said. ‘He liked McDonald; we both did.’ She had told Brett and Jefferson about that, for the conversation in the dining-room had been mainly about the Morne affair. ‘And there’s something else too,” she went on, smiling at her husband. ‘He feels like a fish out of water. There’s nothing he would like better than to plunge into this particular pool, but he can’t. He isn’t used to police restrictions.’
‘I want you to work on the Morne affair,’ said Brett.
‘So that is the game,’ murmured Palfrey. His heart was suddenly lighter. Brett would not be interested in the Mornes because of a murder or two; he was too highly placed in Government circles for that. Brett was the man who had conceived the idea of setting representatives of the United Nations to work together in a spy organisation called, for convenience, Z.5, and had controlled that organisation. And Brett was interested in the Mornes.
‘I was afraid of that,’ said Drusilla, but she was smiling.
Brett spread his hands out before the fire. ‘I don’t think I need beat about the bush, Sap. It was the police capture of Garth – yes, yes, I know how that came about – which started things moving in London. It sounded an alarm.’
‘Why?’ asked Palfrey.
‘Because Garth was at one time one of our atom bomb experts.’
There was silence in the room, a tense, electric silence.
‘Garth was in America during the first trials,’ said Brett, very softly. ‘He had been working on it for years, at the same time as Rutherford at Cambridge. He was brilliant. I knew him slightly then, and I’ve seen him this afternoon. Why do you think they have done that to him?’
‘Is it – starvation?’
‘You should know better than I. They have reduced him to a living skeleton. And that man, for some weeks, had the hospitality of Morne House.’
‘Yes,’ said Palfrey.
Brett said: ‘Garth worked on similar lines to the others, but believed that the manufacture could be done on a much smaller scale. Others agreed with him, but to find the method would have taken too long. The present American method was adopted. Garth helped with that. Whether he continued with his own experiments I don’t know. I think it likely that he did.’
He paused; the others did not speak.
‘Other things will occur to you at once,’ said Brett. ‘In Corshire there is uranium. Where it is known, it is closely controlled; the Government has taken over the mines. But there may be undiscovered deposits.’
‘Morne has mines on his estate,’ said Palfrey.
‘Mines which he has closed down,’ Brett said. ‘And Morne sheltered Garth. We understood that Garth was ill. He was for some time in a nursing home. Immediately we heard the story which came from the Corshire police to Scotland Yard we visited the nursing home. There was a man there masquerading as Garth but most definitely not Garth. Not even like him. I have seen this man myself. He has admitted that the impersonation has been going on for seven months. He was paid handsomely for it; he was a sick man suffering from tuberculosis. The man who paid him is now under arrest – a man named Krotmann.”
‘Plump, frightened Sol!’
‘Garth, then, was taken somewhere else. No one knows where. No one knows what he has been doing. No one knows whether he was working of his own free will or under pressure when this thing started. Possibly he felt a grievance against those who decided not to adopt his suggestions; possibly he decided to continue his experiments along his own lines and afterwards found himself under pressure. Undoubtedly he has been under severe pressure for the last few weeks – months, probably.’ Brett stopped, and looked at the inelegant, lounging figure of Palfrey. ‘We’ve got to find out everything, Sap.’
Book Two
THE SHADOW
10: EVERYTHING ON THE TABLE
Brett had gone back to London; the Palfreys were still at the Corbin hotel.
Hardy and Cartwright had been told, that morning, that Palfrey was now working for Intelligence. They had not been told why. Instructions from Brett and a higher authority had been firm; absolute secrecy was vital.
Those prisoners who were at Corbin were being taken over by the Special Branch for questioning. Agents whom Palfrey knew were on their way to Corbin. A furnished house had been
rented for their headquarters, although officially Palfrey was still staying at the hotel.
‘Well, our particular job is the Morne angle,’ Palfrey said. ‘And also McDonald. What time is he coming?’
‘He said he’d be here in time for lunch,’ said Drusilla.
McDonald, who had been to see Loretta the previous day, had gone from the sanatorium to Morne House. In view of his frequent declarations that he disliked the house and the people in it, his jaunt was surprising, but Palfrey wanted to keep an open mind about McDonald. Had the suspicion risen up only on account of his following Rose to the caves, Palfrey would have discounted it, but if he had been in Cheddar before . . .?
Above all things, Palfrey wanted to see Kyle.
The telephone-bell rang. Drusilla lifted the receiver. Palfrey saw her change of expression and jumped up.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, Mac. At once.’ She replaced the receiver and said: ‘Morne’s been attacked and hurt.’
‘Morne!’ exclaimed Palfrey. ‘Badly enough for the hospital?’
‘No, he’s at home. He’s asking for you.’
‘A Morne habit,’ said Palfrey. ‘Give Hardy a ring and tell him we’re going out there at once. At least, I am.’ He went to the dressing-table and took an automatic from the bottom drawer. Drusilla was saying ‘Yes, we’re going at once’ into the telephone. Palfrey smiled at the ‘we’. Yet he wished this had come a little later, when Brett’s men could have followed him across the moors. Hardy’s men would be faithful, but were they up to the standard required for this business?
There was a chance that McDonald had lied, of course; he might have planned to get them out on the moor. But it wasn’t easy to check up on that. Drusilla put a call in to Morne House while Palfrey fetched the car from the garage, and first a servant, then Mrs. Bardie, told her that Sir Rufus was in bed after an accident.
The police car picked them up in the High Street, and Palfrey drove at speed through the narrow streets, with the dark clouds still massed above his head and the rain teeming down. The police car, a powerful one, was driven at equal speed. Out in the open, before they reached the moor, the rain hit the windscreen and bounced off with hissing fury, slowing down the windscreen wipers. Presently they came within sight of the moor. At this spot they were nearer the sea than on any other part of the road. In the far distance, the sky was bright, and suddenly the sun came out and shone upon Wenlock Cliff.