Operation Pax

by Michael Innes

  ‘Yes, I do – or I wouldn’t have done it.’ Remnant in his turn was angry and uncompromising. ‘She has what it takes – and I don’t know that there’s any other test.’ He smiled wanly. ‘Besides – if I may say so – she rather involved me. I apologize, all the same.’

  ‘How dare you apologize!’ Jane had jumped to her feet, at once dripping and blazing. ‘I think–’

  ‘Easy, easy.’ Her brother was now smiling at the two of them. ‘I apologize too. We needn’t quarrel. After all, we’re doing pretty well.’

  Jane felt the blood going to her head. ‘Doing pretty well! With Geoffrey–’

  ‘Use your head, Jane.’

  She gasped for breath. John was every whit as intolerable as Remnant. ‘I do use my head.’

  ‘Very well – just consider. Those people in the helicopter are some sort of criminals I haven’t got the hang of. Perhaps you two have. Something pretty bad, no doubt. But, likely enough, nothing can be proved that would positively hang them. But if you hadn’t gone in the lake, my girl, you’d have gone in your coffin. And then they would have been murderers – every one of them, regardless of which did the actual shooting. You’d have gone. And your young man would have followed.’

  ‘By jove – that’s right!’ Remnant, struggling with considerable pain, looked up sharply. ‘As it is, he’s tolerably safe. The devilry’s over; we cooked that goose. And if they’re not murderers yet, they’re unlikely to commit gratuitous murder now.’

  ‘It’s what the man with the red beard meant to do.’ Jane still spoke hotly. ‘Sheer gratuitous killing of that child.’

  ‘He was off his rocker. But the fellows who got away like that’– and Remnant jerked his head skywards – ‘have all their wits about them still. If you ask me, they’ll land young Geoffrey in the next county–’

  ‘He’s not young Geoffrey. He’s a lot older than you are – and very much more–’

  ‘Be quiet, Jane.’ Appleby had stepped to the edge of the island and was scanning the park. ‘By and large, your friend is right… Now, where have all those police come from?’

  ‘Those police?’ Jane opened her eyes wide. ‘Aren’t they yours?’

  ‘Quite impossible. I did arrange for something of the sort in certain circumstances. But a good deal later in the afternoon. And what the dickens is all that yelling?’

  ‘I shouldn’t be surprised at a bit of yelling.’ Remnant spoke dryly. ‘This place is on quite a big scale. Jane and I have more or less smashed it. But you’ll find, sir, that there’s a fair amount to clear up.’

  ‘I find no difficulty in believing you there.’ Appleby was still scanning the grounds. ‘It isn’t… it isn’t by way of being a children’s home? I could swear those were children’s voices.’

  ‘Dear me, no – nothing of the sort.’ Remnant had got to his feet. ‘I see you haven’t got your bearings at all. But if I may lend a hand–’

  ‘Thank you – I think I can manage.’ Appleby was still inclined to treat with some asperity the confident young man whom he had found involved with his sister in a shooting match. ‘You came here by car?’

  ‘By taxi. I am a taxi driver.’

  ‘Then I hope you drive, sir, with rather less impetuosity than you fight.’ Appleby frowned, seemingly feeling that this had come out with rather more of complimentary implication than he had intended. He turned to his sister. ‘Can you drive a taxi?’

  ‘I don’t think, John, that I have the right sort of licence.’

  ‘Bother the licence. I don’t think that that wound’s serious. But it had better have medical attention at once – and not precisely the sort they seem to keep about here. Put this young man in his cab and drive him to Oxford at once.’

  ‘But, John, couldn’t we–’

  ‘At once. Drive straight to Casualty at the Radcliffe. When you’ve got him comfortably settled, dispose of his precious cab where you please. Then go back to Somerville and stay there. Perhaps you can find some dry garments in this barn of a place as you go. I shall.’

  ‘Couldn’t we–’

  ‘Listen. I shall bring you definite news by midnight. That’s a promise.’

  ‘Visitors can’t come in after–’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get in, even if I have to rouse the Principal from her bed. Now, get moving, or you’ll catch a chill. I’m off to get a line on all this uproar. It needs calming down.’

  Remnant pointed to the big circular temple behind them. ‘If you go through there–’

  ‘Thank you. It will be quicker to go as I came.’ And Appleby took a shallow dive into the lake and vanished.

  Hard after riding through the shattered wire gates the expedition split up, obedient to tactical dispositions laid down by Dick. Stuart Buffin found this an excellent plan; it meant that he and his friend Miles were on their own with a small group of like-minded Tigers, and that they could forget Dick and his unremittently asserted High Command. Piling their bicycles, they had made a wide detour to the left of the drive. Now they had climbed to the brow of a low hill, and the chimneys of the house could be seen below them.

  ‘It is on fire!’ A lanky boy ahead of the others pointed dramatically to the dark column of smoke rising from the house.

  There was an immediate babel of voices, not very conformable with the idea of a military force moving up to a surprise attack. ‘The place is on fire… It’s burning down… Rot – that’s a potty little fire… Anyway, there’s a fire engine… Only the kind people keep themselves… It’s the crooks… Why should the crooks burn down their own place, you silly twerp?… I don’t believe there are any crooks… Shut up and come on…’

  ‘Listen!’ Stuart’s voice asserted itself above the hubbub. ‘I hear something else. Be quiet.’

  The chatter dutifully stilled. Round the part of the building that was on fire orders were being shouted, and on a lawn at the side of the house a collection of elderly and harmless-looking people were huddled in a group talking. But over and above this there was certainly another sound. It was like the sound that an axe will make across a valley in frosty weather. Only this sound came in short bursts, with nothing of the regularity of axes being set to a tree.

  ‘It’s shooting.’ Stuart spoke with sudden conviction – and also considerable relief. ‘I was right. They are crooks.’

  ‘Crooks don’t spend their time shooting.’ A sceptical voice spoke from the back. ‘In this country they don’t often shoot at all.’

  Stuart swung round. ‘Well,’ he demanded, ‘isn’t it shooting? Don’t you know the sound of a gun going off, you idiot?’

  ‘Probably somebody out after rabbits.’

  The confusion of voices grew again. ‘The crooks are shooting… There’s a man out after rabbits… They’re shooting at the crooks… Somebody says there’s shooting… What rot… Listen, I tell you…’

  ‘Look!’ Miles’ arm had shot out. ‘Those buildings in the middle of the lake. You can see the flashes. It’s a battle. Come on, you asses!’

  ‘Here’s the fire brigade!’ The cry was raised by a shrill voice on the flank. ‘Golly, they’re coming at a lick.’

  ‘That’s not a fire brigade. All fire engines and things are red.’ Stuart was staring down at the drive. ‘These cars are blue.’

  ‘The fire brigade’s come… It isn’t the fire brigade… There’s a bell… That’s an ambulance bell… Rot… I tell you it is.’

  Stuart was frowning. ‘The cars have something on their roof.’

  ‘It’s the police!’ Miles gave a shout of excitement that was quickly echoed by everybody. ‘It must have been to the police that Dick sent his telegram. They’ll join the shooting, with any luck. Run!’

  The whole party tumbled downhill. Suddenly the lanky boy, who was still leading, dug his heels hard into the ground, slithered, and came to a stop. He had almost hurtled over the lip of a small precipice. The Tigers halted beside him, and stared down unbelievingly. What lay below them was a sort of den, gouged
out of the side of the hill. And it contained half a dozen tigers.

  ‘It’s a zoo… There are tigers… It must be Whipsnade… And lions farther along… Masses of wild animals… You large idiot, Whipsnade’s miles away…’

  ‘It is a zoo – a sort of private zoo.’ Stuart had begun to skirt the upper edge of the series of dens. ‘They’re all barred in front, and then there’s a terrace to walk along. Let’s get down.’

  ‘Wait a minute.’ Miles did not approve of the way in which the adventure looked like degenerating into a mere visit to the zoological gardens. ‘I can just see something going on in a sort of yard behind the house. Chaps loading a lorry in a fearful hurry. I expect–’

  ‘There’s a helicopter going up!’ It was the young scientist Malcolm, who eagerly called attention to this new sensation. ‘Look – from behind that square temple, where they were shooting.’

  Everybody stopped and stared. ‘It’s going up… It’s moving away… Why does its nose point down?… Why has it got a little propeller too?… That’s because of the torque, idiot… It hasn’t much speed… Yes, it has – wait and see…’

  ‘Look out!’ Miles’ voice was urgent, quelling the chatter. ‘There’s a man coming up that path on a motorbike. What a lick! and he’s coming this way. He’s coming along the terrace with the dens… Take cover.’

  They flung themselves on the ground. The motorcycle had screeched to a stop at the end of the line of dens and the rider had leapt off. He was in a tearing hurry; and as they watched he began to run along the terrace, stopping every twenty yards and doing something that resulted each time in a heavy metallic clang.

  ‘He must be the keeper.’ Miles was whispering in Stuart’s ear. ‘He’s opening all the doors between the dens and turning them into one.’

  ‘It’s the crook!’ Stuart’s voice was tremulous with excitement.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The crook I saw chase the little man out of the house.’

  ‘The little man who was in my cat?’

  ‘Yes, you idiot. The little man shinned up the telephone pole, like I told you, and this fellow came running out after him. With a gun – I saw it. He’s got queer shoulders. I’d recognize him anywhere.’

  ‘They must be all the same crooks – that lot and the people holding the woman who got the wrong number – who wanted somebody called Kurt – He’s letting them out!’

  The children all sprang to their feet. For there could be no doubt of what the man with the queer shoulders was now up to. He was heaving back a gate in the last den of all – a gate that opened on to the bare hillside. And in the den were lions.

  Miles picked up a flint and hurled it. His aim was perfect, it took the man on the side of the face, and he staggered back. Miles and Stuart charged down the hill. The other Tigers, very little aware of what was happening, charged happily after them, whooping joyfully. The man looked up and saw the racing children; he hesitated, and then dashed for his machine. Some of the lions were roaring, and this was taken up by the other wild beasts farther back – beasts that were now padding and leaping into each other’s dens. As Miles reached the terrace the first lion emerged and paused uncertainly, waving its tail. The children behind, still unknowing, gave another yell. The lion retreated just inside the den and crouched. Miles flung his whole weight on the gate and it shut with a clang in the instant that the lion sprang at it. The creature fell back with a snarl, and then there was a moment of complete silence. The Tigers stood, solemnly staring through the bars at a congeries of beasts of prey that would have done credit to Noah’s ark.

  ‘Do you think they’ll fight each other?’ Malcolm, always intent upon natural knowledge, glanced mildly round his companions. ‘They are usually aggregated, after all.’

  ‘Segregated, you silly stink-merchant.’ Some more lettered Tiger spoke with proper scorn from the rear. ‘Let’s poke them up a bit and see.’

  The man who had attempted to free the wild beasts was gone; they could just hear his engine in the distance. There being no prospect of pursuing him, the suggestion just made had clearly considerable attraction for the younger and less responsible Tigers present. But at this moment there was a further diversion.

  ‘I can see the others.’ It was Stuart who spoke, and he pointed across the park. ‘Better join them. It’s different, I expect, now the police have come. And the shooting’s stopped.’

  ‘They’ve got hold of something.’ Miles’ face under its mop of untidy red hair lit up at the prospect of further excitement. ‘Come on. Let’s cut across and see.’

  They ran the length of the terrace and out across the open park. The group approaching was certainly in some commotion; and it was contriving to make even more noise than their own group had done. It dropped on to a path as they drew near it; and in doing so it parted and revealed what was occasioning its clamour. In the midst of the children padded a large, tawny beast. Stuart gave a gasp of horror. ‘It’s one of the lions!’

  ‘We’ve got a lion! We’ve got a lion!’ The small red-haired girl called Marty was walking beside the beast, her arm plunged deep in its mane, and she was shouting at the top of her voice. ‘We’ve got a tame lion – it’s just like Miles in his cat!’

  The lion was not, in fact, so very like Miles in his cat – for the simple reason that it was not nearly so aggressive. It shambled uneasily amid its new companions, looking now to one side and now to the other in a sort of amiable self-disparagement. It looked a very unhappy lion.

  The two groups had begun to shout questions at each other, and were on the point of merging, when the motorcycle engine was heard again. They turned and saw the machine hurtling towards them. The man with the queer shoulders had failed to get away on the path he had planned. Now he was having another shot – and it was evidently a desperate one. He rounded a bend at suicidal speed and very badly – he did not appear to be a good rider – and as the Tigers scattered they could see his eyes glaring and his mouth working convulsively. Hastily they scrambled to safety on either side of the path. But not so the lion. The lion turned and lumbered off down the path in front of the motorbike. It behaved just like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car at night – without the wits to get off the path on one side or another…

  It was all over in a flash. The man was almost up with the lion. The lion, increasingly terrified by the roar of the engine, slightly changed direction. The man swerved – far too wide and uncontrolled a swerve for his purpose – and the lion tried to turn. The front wheel struck the lion a glancing blow on the flank; the machine staggered; and the man went over the handlebars. The machine tumbled over and over, and came to rest with its front wheel spinning. The man lay quite still, with his head tucked oddly under him. The lion lay down at his side.

  Some of the children moved uncertainly forward – including Dick, who had returned from some foray or reconnaissance ahead. But as they did so a man appeared before them as if from nowhere, for they had been so absorbed by the accident that none of them had seen his approach. His clothes were dripping wet. But he stopped them in their tracks with a single gesture of authority. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Stay where you are.’ He walked over to the motionless figure of the man with the queer shoulders, stopped over it for a moment, and then came back, looking them swiftly over.

  ‘Can we help, sir? Can one of us take a message?’ It was a subdued voice speaking from the middle of the group.

  The man in the soaking clothes shook his head. ‘No,’ he said gently, ‘you can’t give any help here… Anybody in command of your lot?’

  There was a moment’s hesitation, and then some shoving and pushing. A boy rather taller than the rest stepped forward. ‘Would you please,’ he said politely, ‘say who you are?’

  ‘I am Sir John Appleby.’ The man looked gravely at the children as a group, but addressed the tall boy. ‘I belong to the Metropolitan Police. I come, that is to say, from Scotland Yard.’

  There was a moment’s silence that spoke
of absolute awe. Even the tall boy appeared to have to think twice. But when he spoke it was with composure. ‘My name is Richard Martin,’ he said. ‘How do you do?’

  ‘How do you do.’ Sir John Appleby was looking at their blazers. ‘You all come from Oxford?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Sir John Appleby turned for a moment and looked at the house, now cordoned by police. ‘And is one of you responsible for this remarkable turnout of the County Constabulary?’

  Richard Martin answered without hesitation. ‘Yes, sir. I sent a telegram.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I hope, sir, it was all right.’

  ‘It saved the situation.’ Appleby’s eye had again strayed in a certain wonder to the mass of blue uniforms in the middle distance. ‘It’s an effect that I doubt if I could have achieved myself. You must be a natural master of the electric telegraph.’

  This time Richard Martin violently blushed. But his voice maintained its composure. ‘I gave the wording some thought,’ he said.

  ‘Always a good thing to do.’ Sir John Appleby smiled, and glanced over the whole group. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘The police are much obliged to you all. And now you had better cut off home. Can you get a train part of the way?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. You might meet a headwind.’ Appleby nodded briskly. ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye, sir.’

  Appleby turned away, and the Tigers moved off obediently in search of their bicycles. But a moment later a voice spoke at Appleby’s shoulder. ‘Sir, may we ask a question?’

  Two of the boys had remained behind. One was red-haired and his eyes were still shining. But it was the other who had spoken.

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘My name is Stuart Buffin.’

  ‘I’ve heard of you. And I begin to understand. But what’s the question?’