by John Creasey
Jolly stopped.
Rollison drew a deep breath.
‘Wonderful,’ he said. ‘You are promoted to my personal psychiatrist. Don’t keep your lady friend waiting any longer.’
‘I won’t, sir,’ said Jolly with alacrity. ‘I seriously recommend that a swim, even a few minutes cooling off in the water, would do you a great deal of good.’
He went off.
Rollison stubbed out his cigarette. Jolly had some reason for seeing his lady on time; Jolly had also suggested that Liz Cherrell might be less dumb than deadly.
Rollison used the telephone. Llewellyn told him that Uncle Pi was with several boat-loads of children going across to Harlech. This was a regular trip for members of the Beaver Club. Rollison’s lips tightened as a picture of a woman’s body crushed and broken by the rocks sprang to his mind.
Middleton and Elizabeth Cherrell were somewhere about the Camp, Rollison was told.
‘Nothing new,’ Rollison said sadly to himself. Then the telephone bell rang with a call from London, and hopes soared.
It was Grice.
‘Here we go, spending public money like water,’ Rollison chided. He sounded like Davies, with a lilting voice. ‘Heard from Inspector Davies, now, man?’
‘That’s right,’ Grice said. ‘I’ve been checking, Rolly. Clark and the man Morse had been in jewel rackets, and it’s known that a lot of stolen jewels are being sold in the U.S.A. against dollars which are smuggled into the country and sold on the black market at a high premium. That could be the game.’
Rollison said quietly: ‘Yes? Thanks, Bill.’
‘Pleasure. Now, this girl-friend of Clark’s—Susan. We can’t find out anything about her, and Clark’s still missing. It looks an ugly job. Made any more progress?’
‘Only taken three prisoners and saved a life or so,’ said Rollison, airily.
‘Seriously—anything new?’
‘No. Anything known about Beck?’
‘Nothing,’ said Grice. ‘But I’ve made a check on Redcoat leader, Middleton.’
‘Ahh!’ breathed Rollison.
‘He hasn’t a wife.’
All the foolery faded from Rollison’s mind.
‘What?’
‘It’s a fact,’ Grice said. ‘I can’t find a thing about him apart from that, and if it were a crime not to be married, there’d be another reason for putting you inside.’
‘Then you’d never get results,’ said Rollison unkindly. ‘Thanks, Bill. ’Bye.’
He rang off, and was very thoughtful indeed. If Middleton weren’t married, why did he say that he was? One question was answered: it wasn’t surprising that Middleton had laughed so wildly when Rollison had asked if his wife were in the Camp.
Why claim that a non-existent wife had left him?
The answer might be found, soon. Grice’s theory could be right, and was certainly worth thinking about, although it was almost too hot to think.
Beck would soon make another move – and Rollison meant to wait for it. Middleton and Elizabeth were both being watched, what could happen to them?
He decided to have a swim; when he was cooler his thoughts might have more point.
There was a moment, at the side of the swimming-bath positively teeming with people, when Rollison doubted the wisdom of coming. He climbed to the top diving-board. Beneath him there was just room to cleave the water. He went down cleanly; and the dive and the immersion exhilarated him. He dived from the high board half a dozen times and, by then, was being watched from all sides.
He caught sight of Jolly, disporting himself with the grey-haired woman with the attractively wrinkled face; Jolly did not appear to see him. He stopped diving, and swam the length of the bath. Now his head bumped a body, now his foot kicked a head, now his hand struck an arm; there was hardly room, but he managed. Standing at the shallow end, brushing the hair from his forehead, he caught a glimpse of Rosa Beck.
She was sitting in a chair by the side of the swimming-pool, looking at him. She wore a brief swim-suit, as scarlet as Jolly’s. At a distance, she looked younger than she was.
She smiled. Rollison waved, then dived in again. As he went, he thought he saw the big and burly man who had tried to beat him up at the Viennese Bar. Rickett.
Rollison started to swim.
He felt something clutch his ankle.
That did not alarm him. At first he just waited to be freed. Then he tried to shake himself free. Next he felt himself being pulled down into the water.
That was when he felt panic.
He kicked out, but couldn’t free himself – and a weight descended on his back. He went under. He was vaguely aware of the swimming, diving, laughing, shrieking mass of people and children; of the great weight on his back. He opened his eyes, and as through a distorting mirror he could see arms and legs and bodies, all moving drunkenly – but he couldn’t see what was holding him. He held his breath, but would soon have to breathe; or swallow water.
The weight pressed on his head. He was being held under; pushed down.
His head began to swim, and he felt great pain as the pressure at his lungs increased. He kicked out again, and fancied that the pressure at his ankle eased a trifle. He kicked and struck. The movements of his arms in the water were slow, puny, futile; but he touched something. He made himself keep still, and opened his eyes. He saw an arm close to him, and a man’s body, distorted by the water. Slowly, he found and twisted the wrist – while his lungs felt like bursting. The weight went from his head and back, and he bobbed up to the surface. He gasped for breath, took in a mouthful of water, and felt panic as he went down again.
He soon came up.
He fought against panic, won, struck out, and reached the side. He clung to the bar, gasping for breath; retching. He could hardly see. There was chatter and laughter in his ears, and the splashing of water; it seemed as if his head and his ears were filled with water and noise.
Gradually, his head cleared, and he could distinguish people. He saw the big and burly Rickett not far away, waist deep in water and leering at him. He saw Rosa Beck, smiling at him – almost anxiously. He saw no one else. He couldn’t be sure whether that had been an attempt to drown or to frighten him.
Then he saw Beck.
The man walked past without glancing towards him, with his big pipe in his lips; a sinister scarecrow, looking out of place among the crowds in their swim-suits; as if he could not know the meaning of enjoyment.
Beck disappeared.
His wife was still smiling at Rollison – tensely.
Rollison climbed out of the bath, found his towel on the grass near by, and rubbed himself down gently. He was much cooler. He didn’t feel sick; but he felt worse than he had when he had started out – all the exhilaration had gone. He would have to be very careful indeed with Beck.
Rosa came towards him. She wore a white wrap over the scarlet swim-suit, open at the front. No one could doubt the magnificence of her figure. Instead of looking less attractive in this undress, she looked more attractive. She hadn’t bathed or thought of bathing, her make-up was very good.
She reached him.
‘Hallo,’ she said, ‘enjoy your swim?’ Her voice was husky.
‘No.’ Rollison said.
There was something different about her; a kind of tension which he hadn’t noticed before. It reminded him of Susan Dell. She hadn’t Susan’s eyes, but—
‘I saw what happened.’ She spoke in a whisper, and glanced over her shoulder, as if she were fearful of being heard. ‘I nearly—’ She broke off.
‘Nearly came to my rescue.’ He couldn’t keep the sneer out of his voice.
She drew a deep breath.
‘They—they were watching me, or I would have! They’re always watching me. I daren’t do a thing, I’m frightened all the time. But— if you know how I hate Beck!’
Rollison could only just hear those last words – yet they burned on her lips. ‘If you know how I hate Beck.’ Rollison looked
into her eyes, seeking the truth. They seemed to glow with a reflection of the fire in Beck’s. Was this true, or was it another move in Beck’s plan to drive him away? He could let her think he was jittery, for she would probably tell Beck, and Beck might get over-confident.
‘And how they scare me,’ she added abruptly.
‘Then why come to my table? Why—’
‘He sent me,’ she said. ‘I was to lead you up the garden.’ There was no smile, no hint that she realized the irony of the statement. She seemed in deadly earnest – as Susan had. ‘I must talk to you, but I’m watched all the time. He can lip read. Can you suggest where—’ She broke off, helplessly.
Rollison said: ‘I’ll think about it, and try to fix something by dinner.’
‘You must.’ She put her hand on his arm again, glancing about her, as if she were in fact fearful of being watched. ‘Susan wanted—’ She broke off.
The big, brutish Rickett came towards them, wearing a black swim-suit and carrying a towel. He flicked the towel; the end caught Rollison’s arm, and stung. The man sneered as he passed.
Rosa Beck went white.
‘You see,’ she said. ‘It’s hopeless.’
‘How were you to fool me, if we aren’t allowed to talk to each other?’ Rollison asked.
It was the obvious question. But the odd thing, which did more than anything else to suggest that she was genuine, was the fact that she behaved like this, that her nerves seemed to be so ragged.
‘He changed his mind,’ she said. ‘I was to make you fall for me in a big way, and then he changed his mind. I think—’ She licked her lips. ‘I think he guesses what I’ll do if—if I can. He’s uncanny, he can almost read my thoughts. And he thinks he has you on the run. But—I must see you, we must—’ She stopped.
Not far away, Beck was approaching, and looking at them. It was almost possible to believe that his eyes were boring into his wife’s mind; reading her thoughts.
She withdrew her arm from Rollison’s.
Beck drew nearer.
‘Do you know where the missing Redcoats are?’ Rollison asked sharply. ‘Kick my ankle if you do.’
She didn’t move, but said hoarsely: ‘Don’t let anything happen to me. Don’t let it happen to me.’
Beck walked past; until the last moment, his eyes were burning at his wife, but he didn’t nod or speak or do anything to suggest that he knew her.
When he was out of earshot, Rosa said in a shaky voice: ‘Don’t let anything happen to me, Mr. Rollison. After this, anything might …’
Chapter Sixteen
Thin Air
‘Nothing can happen to you out here,’ Rollison said, and then remembered what had happened in the swimming-pool. ‘Stay with the crowd. Wait here for half an hour, and I’ll have someone follow you. You’ll be all right.’
‘Did you—see how he looked at me?’ She was shivering. It was possible, if difficult, to feign a shiver.
‘Forget it.’
‘You don’t know him,’ she breathed.
She broke off.
‘Stay with the crowd,’ Rollison urged.
He left her, and didn’t look back, although he sensed that she was watching him. He believed that if he looked into her eyes, he would see a measure of fear – but it might be faked fear. She was good; Cyrus Beck was good; deadly. She had played on the same string, the one string which struck a chord to which Rollison was really sensitive.
A Redcoat stopped him.
‘Have you seen Liz Cherrell lately?’
‘No. Why?’ Rollison was sharp.
‘She was looking for you.’ The Redcoat grinned. ‘Seemed to think it was a matter of life and death. How do you manage it?’
Rollison made himself grin.
‘Where was she?’
‘Near your chalet—I think she left a note.’
Rollison almost ran to his chalet.
Yes, Liz had left a note, brief, almost despairing. But it wasn’t alarming, it gave him reason to hope that she was going to talk.
‘I must see you, you were right,’ she’d written. ‘I’ll be in my chalet.’
So now she believed that he was the only man she could trust.
He hurried to her chalet, but she wasn’t there. He started towards the offices at the double, when another Redcoat shouted: ‘Oi, Ryall!’ They were near the Mirror Bar. ‘You’re wanted—Aird’s office.’
‘On my way,’ Rollison called.
The radio was broadcasting, but he had become so used to it that he only heard what he wanted to hear. A flight was about to start, the free transport was waiting. The big reception hall was almost deserted; the offices weren’t. He hurried to Aird’s. Llewellyn was there by himself, pale, no longer boisterous. He looked pale; he looked frightened.
‘Now what?’ Rollison asked, sharply.
‘Rollison—’
He didn’t finish. Footsteps sounded, as of a man running. Rollison looked up. It was Middleton, coming along the passage. Something in Middleton’s manner started the old fears in Rollison; here was something that had gone badly wrong; more reason for fear.
Middleton burst in.
‘Where is she?’ he demanded in a voice that quivered. ‘What have you done with her? This is another of your foul games.’ He paused, then shouted: ‘Where is she?’
Rollison felt himself going cold.
Elizabeth—
‘Dick, keep your head, for heaven’s sake,’ said Llewellyn. There was a little more strength in his voice, but no less pallor in his cheeks. ‘Rollison, Elizabeth Cherrell—’
‘She’s vanished!’ Middleton cried.
‘Just disappeared into thin air,’ Llewellyn said.
Middleton gripped Rollison’s arm; his fingers covered exactly the same spot that Rosa Beck’s had done. The fear in his eyes might be the same as Rosa’s – fear of Beck.
‘This is your crazy idea! Where—’
‘No,’ Rollison said. ‘It shouldn’t have happened. She was being followed—’
‘Knocked out,’ Llewellyn said.
‘You know where she is!’ breathed Middleton. ‘Tell me, or I’ll smash your face in.’
‘The man who was watching her, I mean,’ Llewellyn said chokily. ‘He’s in the First Aid room, now. Very nasty head. Dick, don’t be a fool!’
‘But Rollison knows.’
‘Nonsense! Dick, keep your head. We can’t have everybody worried. If you go on like this the whole Camp—’
‘What the hell do you think I care about the Camp? I want Elizabeth. Rollison—’ Middleton dropped Rollison’s arm. He seemed quite beside himself, shouting, making the men and girls in the offices stare through the windows. His face was pale and his eyes too bright; feverish. ‘I told you what I’d do!’
He smashed a blow at Rollison’s face.
Rollison moved his head; the fist whistled past. He caught Middleton’s wrist, twisted, and helped Middleton on his way. Middleton was thrown forward, partly by the twist, partly by the impetus of his own movement. He crashed against the wall, and the glass partitions shook.
Two Redcoats in the passages began to run.
Middleton crouched on the floor.
‘We can’t go on like this,’ Llewellyn said helplessly. ‘He’s not himself, Rollison, he’s half-crazy with anxiety. You don’t—’ He moistened his lips. ‘You don’t know where Elizabeth is, do you?’
‘No.’
The two Redcoats were at the door, which was ajar. They came in. Rollison had seen them before – youngish fellows, one dark and the other fair. They looked spruce, too; and also anxious.
‘Mr. Llewellyn—’ One spoke to Aird’s assistant as he looked at the Redcoat Captain on the floor. ‘Is it true that Liz Cherrell’s disappeared?’
‘I—’
‘Ask him where she is,’ Middleton said hoarsely. He pointed a quivering finger at Rollison. ‘If he hadn’t interfered it would never have happened to her. Ask him.’
‘Is this true, s
ir?’ One of the Redcoats asked.
He was very young. He sounded as if he were talking to a don at his seat of learning – respectful but firm. He was a tough-looking young man, with something in his eyes which wasn’t so much fear as apprehension; the beginning of fear.
‘Poppycock,’ Rollison said. ‘But Liz is missing. A Security man was watching, apparently he—’
‘Battered about the head,’ Llewellyn said. ‘Terrible.’
‘Where?’
‘In one of the lounges. A Camper went in and heard him groaning. Awful. Before long—’
Llewellyn’s disconnected sentences, his unsteady lips his darting eyes, suggested that he was really losing his nerve. Where was Aird?
‘As a matter of fact,’ the dark-haired youth said, ‘it’s spreading round the Camp. The woman who found him went rushing out crying murder. Scared a lot of people. If you ask me, it isn’t going to do any good. People do get scared. And there are a lot of rumours running around, you know, about disappearing Redcoats.’
‘Must be stopped,’ Llewellyn muttered.
‘Where’s Aird?’
‘Gone to Shrewsbury,’ Llewellyn said. ‘He’s meeting the Colonel there, possibly Mr. Butlin as well. We can’t have panic. I don’t know what to do.’
‘I know.’ That was Middleton, from the floor. The fair-haired Redcoat went across and started to help him up. ‘Get rid of Rollison.’
‘Oh, come.’ That was the dark-haired lad. ‘Can’t do that—we need the Toff! Between you and me, sir,’ he said to Rollison, ‘there is going to be a lot of anxiety in the Camp as this spreads. It’s been going around for some time, but hasn’t really affected anyone. Now news of the attempt on Middleton’s life has leaked out, and someone recognized you and said you wouldn’t be here unless there were serious trouble. It’s a kind of thing in the air, so to speak. Edginess. I sensed it at lunch-time. People looking over their shoulders, if you know what I mean. And now this attack on a Security man, and Liz vanishing—we just can’t keep it quiet.’
‘Must,’ barked Llewellyn.
The two youngsters were helping Middleton up.
‘I’d like to see where the man was attacked and then have a word with him,’ Rollison said. He smiled at Middleton. ‘Dick, I want to find Liz just as badly as you do. Take it easier.’