by Alan Hunter
He worked away till he had about a third of the zinc loosened at the top of the frame, then he grasped it with both hands and ripped it down and off. Behind the zinc were two vertical bars which had been improvised from gas-piping. The flattened ends of the bars were concealed by the light frame which had carried the zinc. Gently tackled the frame. It was secured with panel pins and the pins were driven into solid deal, and although he could insert the knife-blade under the pieces he was unable to lever them clear.
‘How about a meat hook?’ Brenda suggested.
Gently grunted and reached one down. It wasn’t an ideal tool for the job, but eventually it did what the knife-blade wouldn’t. Then the ends of the bars were revealed. They had simply been drilled and screwed to the main frame. The screw-heads were rusted, but whoever had inserted the screws had touched them with grease for easy driving, and now they yielded with equal ease to the screw-driver stub on Gently’s knife. The bars lifted out; the window was clear. Beyond it was a hazel-copse, then tall trees.
‘Now we’ll just reconnoitre . . .’ Gently said, thrusting his head and shoulders through the window. ‘Right . . . ladies first. There’s a six foot drop: hold my hands, and I’ll ease you down.’
He helped Brenda into the window, lowered her, then himself. They crept through the copse. All was silent. They reached the cover of the trees.
The trees extended from the rear of the house to the lower slopes of the braes, and stretched southward along the glen in a broad, dense belt. The going through them was far from smooth. At the strath level there was bog and underbrush; higher up, crag and outcrop, and rills which sometimes swelled to torrents. When they were clear of the house Gently called a halt. They had reached a ridge where the trees were thinning; below, to the left, they could see the roof of the house, to the right a section of the road down the glen.
‘What now, O Highness?’ Brenda inquired.
Gently shrugged. ‘I’m darned if I know. Unless we just keep plodding through these trees till we get to the other end of the glen.’
Brenda shook her head. ‘Twelve miles, remember? I’d settle for hoofing it down the road – but not through the trees. That’s out. You’d have to carry me over the last ten.’
‘Well, the road’s out,’ Gently said. ‘They’re sure to check that when they miss us. And we can’t go the other way, up the track, because it’s in full view of the house. What we seem to need is a vehicle.’
‘The oracle speaks,’ Brenda said. ‘And the glen, of course, is littered with vehicles.’
Gently nodded to the house. ‘They’ve got one there.’
Brenda rolled her eyes; but just then the sound of firing broke out again: the same irregular pattern of shots that had first attracted their attention. Gently caught Brenda’s arm.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘That settles it.’
‘Settles what?’
‘I’m going back down there to pinch that Land Rover I saw in the coach-house.’
‘You’re mad,’ Brenda said. ‘Oh, quite mad.’
‘Not now they’ve started their shooting again. They’ll all be round at the back of the house. I can simply walk in and drive away.’
‘They’ll have left a guard somewhere.’
‘Why? They think we’re still locked up in the game-store. At the most they’d put a guard on that, and he’d be out of sight of the front of the house. Look: here’s the plan. You make for the road and keep out of sight till you hear me coming. I’ll toot my horn so you know it’s me, then you can show and hop in. All clear?’
‘No, damn you. If you’re going, so am I.’
‘It’s better my way.’
‘The hell it is. What would I do if they caught you?’
Gently hesitated. ‘Come on, then,’ he said. ‘Only remember – no heroics.’
‘I’m no heroine,’ Brenda said. ‘I told you before. Just watching heroes is enough for me.’
Gently led the way, taking a line that would bring them round the side of the house. The firing continued reassuringly in evenly spaced bursts. They came to the edge of the trees. The house, the yard, lay deserted before them in the warm sunlight. Across the yard stood the open-doored coach-house. In its gloom they could see the grille of the Land Rover.
‘If there’s anybody in the house . . .’ Brenda whispered.
‘That’s a risk we’ll have to take.’
‘How will you start it?’
‘There are methods. If anyone’s bothered to remove the key.’
They left the cover of the trees, moved swiftly across the yard. Nothing stirred. The blank windows of the house stayed blank. They reached the coach-house. It smelled of petrol and grease and old tyres, and there was space in it for a second vehicle and oil on the flags where one had stood. The Land Rover was newish and beautifully clean and had a ‘K’ in a circle painted on its bonnet. Shovels and pick-axes were strapped to its sides. The ignition key was in place.
‘Watch the doors,’ Gently muttered. ‘They make a clang.’
‘If you hear a clang it’s my heart,’ Brenda whispered back. ‘Can we really get away with this?’
‘Just get in. We’ll know the answer when I start the engine.’
Brenda opened her door: but then she went stiff and pointed behind Gently with a trembling finger. Gently whipped round. One of the riflemen was standing big-eyed in the doorway. He was holding his rifle uncertainly across his body, as though to push them back into the coach-house with it, and his mouth was beginning to open in a shout for assistance. Gently walked straight up to him. The man pushed with the rifle. Gently grabbed it with his left and struck with his right. The side of his hand slashed into the man’s neck and the man dropped like a sack, leaving Gently with the rifle.
‘Oh glory!’ Brenda gasped. ‘You didn’t argue with that one, did you?’
‘Get in!’ Gently snapped, setting down the rifle. ‘He may have some pals close behind him.’
He jumped into the Land Rover, hooked out the choke and twisted the engine to raucous life. For two, three long moments he revved it before hitting the gear and letting go. The Land Rover bucked and roared out of the coach-house. Above the roar he could hear shouting. As he crashed through to second he glanced in the mirror and saw men running round the end of the coach-house.
‘Duck!’
Brenda crouched forward in her seat just as the first hammer-blow struck them. Then came another, and another, striking low down at chassis level. The trees toiled towards them. Gently switched to third; the engine shuddered but clawed back to revs. Two more blows landed. There was a vicious hiss followed by a lurch and a violent rumbling.
‘Goddamn those blasted marksmen!’
But now they were into the trees. The house, the running men juddered out of the mirror, and no more hammers struck the Land Rover.
‘Oh, keep her going, keep her going!’
‘No fear of that – if she holds together!’
Gently was having to wrestle the limping vehicle, but his foot still powered the skittering wheels. They yawed and bumbled through a clutch of curves, the burst tyre flogging viciously, then shot out on the level strath and began pulling steadily away. Gently eased off.
‘Oh my God,’ Brenda moaned. ‘And me who’s never been shot at in my life!’
‘They weren’t shooting at us,’ Gently jerked. ‘They were after the tyres – and they got one.’
‘Can we keep going?’
‘It may ruin the wheel.’
‘Shame,’ Brenda sobbed. ‘Stop and change it.’
‘What we don’t know is whether they have transport.’
‘You’re such a comfort to a girl,’ Brenda wailed.
The Land Rover rumbled and swooped and rolled but kept pegging down the narrow road. Trees crowded close to it on both sides and the surface was wavy and full of potholes. It crossed a stream by a primitive bridge then made a sharp turn to the right. As they took the turn they spotted a car ahead. The car was a Cortina. It
was blue.
There might have been room to pass that car if the driver had wanted them to pass him, but obviously he didn’t; he stopped squarely in front of them, got out, walked towards them.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Oh Mary was a wilfu’ lass,
An’ didna what she should do
An’ Angus was a lightsome lad
Who did do what he would do.
‘For A’ That’s Come An’ Gane’, Lady Coupar
THE SHINE OF the Land Rover’s windscreen probably concealed who was driving it, for the man who Brenda had dubbed Redbeard seemed suddenly to see them when he was a few yards away. He stopped abruptly. The expression of anger he was wearing faded into blankness. He stood irresolutely staring at Gently, a trace of colour in his wide-boned cheeks.
Gently climbed down from the Land Rover.
‘You wanted to speak to me?’ he said.
‘Ay, I did.’ The man nodded. ‘And to anyone I find misusin’ one of my vehicles.’
‘You own this Land Rover?’
‘Who else, man!’
‘And the house back there?’
‘Ay.’
‘Then perhaps you’ll favour me with your name.’
‘I will. I’m James McGuigan of Knockie Lodge.’
He brought it out with a sort of growl that made it sound like a challenge. He was a massively framed man standing an inch or two over six feet. His face, immersed in the big beard, was handsome and in proportion, and his large, frank eyes an almost startling shade of blue. His finery of yesterday had been exchanged for a baggy jacket of rough tweed, an open-necked shirt and a pair of orange-stitched jeans.
‘And you, man,’ he said. ‘Have I seen you and the lady before?’
‘Seen us!’ exclaimed Brenda, coming round the Land Rover. ‘You jolly nearly ditched us at Baldock yesterday.’
‘I don’t quite recall that,’ McGuigan said. ‘But if it was so, I apologize. However, I do remember yourself comin’ to keek at me when I was at coffee yesterday morning, and later leaving with this gentleman and two other people.’ He paused, looking hard at them. ‘That was so, was it not?’
‘You bet it was so,’ Brenda said. ‘I wanted to see who it was who’d cut in on us like a maniac.’
‘So may I trouble you for an introduction?’
‘No trouble at all. I’m Brenda Merryn of Kensington, and this is Chief Superintendent Gently of Scotland Yard.’
‘You are Chief Superintendent Gently!’ McGuigan’s large eyes jumped even larger. However little Gently’s identity had impressed the others, it was going down big with the laird. He stood silent for some moments, his eyes fixed, his face expressionless. His big hands, which were covered with fine red hairs, opened and closed by his sides.
‘So what are you doing up here?’ he demanded suddenly. ‘And who gave you permission to use the Rover?’
‘We were hoping you’d ask us that,’ Brenda said crushingly. ‘And it’s going to need some hard explaining from the Laird of Knockie.’
‘And what would that mean?’
‘It means this. We’re a couple of harmless English tourists. But we’ve been ambushed, held at gun-point, insulted, threatened with violence, imprisoned and finally shot at – by the hospitable retinue of the said Laird. And this after he failed to get us himself by reckless driving on the A1.’
‘What are you talking about, woman!’ McGuigan exclaimed.
‘It’s the precise truth,’ Gently said. ‘We ditched our car up on the track, and directly a gun was pointed at us.’
‘There are only my ghillies there, at target practice.’
‘Yes, and we were the target,’ Brenda said.
‘What you say is impossible. They wouldn’t have shot at you!’
‘Take a look at the back of the Land Rover,’ Gently said.
McGuigan flung away from them and inspected the vehicle. There could be no doubt of what he found there. He stalked back again, hands gripped behind him, and stood glowering towards the Cortina.
‘Well?’ Gently said.
‘Did you say who you were?’
‘We did.’
‘Did you back it then – show them evidence?’
‘I showed them my warrant-card, of course, but I was told it was probably forged.’
‘Och, the damned lunatics!’ McGuigan exclaimed. ‘As though there’s not enough trouble without this – by gar, I’ll make some of them smart for it – go down on their knees – beg for your pardon! Did they say who they took you for?’
‘They were kind enough,’ Brenda said, ‘to suppose we were spies for a gang of deer-poachers.’
‘The daft gowks! You can’t leave them two minutes – they’re just children – you can delegate nothing. Ay, it’s true,’ he said, turning towards them. ‘We’re on the look-out for poaching bodies. I’ve just brought back some information that Knockie is due for a visit soon. So we keep our eyes open – our guns oiled. You cannot just rely on the polis. But to go misusin’ tourists in this fashion – och, there’s no excuse for it at all.’
‘And that’s your explanation,’ Gently said. ‘That you’re merely preparing to repel deer-poachers?’
McGuigan looked aslant. ‘It’s no excuse,’ he said. ‘But that’s the reason for how they handled you.’
‘These men wore battledress.’
‘It’s a kind o’ battle, man.’
‘Military insignia.’
‘Ay – they’re children.’
‘Badges.’
‘What’s the harm in badges?’
‘Particular badges.’
McGuigan hesitated.
‘Man,’ he said at last. ‘I can see your drift – and I’m a wee bit surprised at your information. If you were dropping hints like this to Hamish I can understand him acting rashly. But whatever you think you’ve seen up the glen – and this is an honest bit of guidance – just remember it’ll stand up fine in any court of law in Scotland. Now you’ve been mistreated – that’s sure, and you have a case there if you want to press it. But if satisfaction will answer your turn – come back with me, man, and you shall have it. What do you say?’
‘A lot,’ Brenda said. ‘I want the guts of that man Hamish and his son Dugald.’
‘You’ll have it – they’ll kneel and beg your pardon.’
‘And I want the stripes off them.’
‘Well . . . those too.’
‘How about the badges?’
McGuigan wagged his head. ‘Just any honest satisfaction you’re wanting, Miss Merryn. But if that’s all, let’s settle this matter after the manner of Highland gentlefolk – each man his own mare, and the devil take the lawyers.’ He looked anxiously at Gently. ‘It’ll save a deal of time and trouble.’
‘It’s a point, O Highness,’ Brenda said. ‘Besides, I’d like to see MacAdolf eating dirt.’
Gently shrugged. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘We’ll settle this matter Highland fashion. Provided you salvage my car and fetch it down for me.’
‘Och, it’s as good as done, man,’ McGuigan said.
He climbed into the Land Rover and shunted it expertly on to the verge, then hurried to open the doors of the Cortina and stood by to close them when Gently and Brenda had got in. The Cortina launched off eagerly. McGuigan spared no subtleties on it. He drove stiff-armed, head back, beard jutting at the road ahead.
They had gone no more than a mile when they met Dugald running towards them. He had his rifle slung across his back and was obviously in pursuit of the Land Rover. McGuigan screeched to a halt and whisked down his window. He thundered Gaelic at the sweating Dugald. Dugald’s eyes widened, his mouth gaped and he seemed to grow smaller in his damp battledress. After a final growl McGuigan reached through the window, snatched Dugald’s stripe and ripped it off him. Then he held out his hand, and Dugald tremblingly unpinned his badge and gave it up. McGuigan dropped stripe and badge in Brenda’s lap. Dugald set off running down the road again. McGuigan closed the window,
revved ferociously, and sent the Cortina leaping away.
‘Oh my!’ Brenda murmured. ‘That was really telling Dugald something.’
‘I’ve sent him to fetch the Rover,’ McGuigan growled. ‘They’ll need it to give your car a pluck.’
‘Are you always so conciliatory with your men?’
McGuigan drove some way in a heavy silence. Then the corner of his mouth twitched, and he said:
‘You’re either the laird or no’ the laird.’
They swooped through the curves near the house and braked smokingly for the gates. Here it was the misfortune of ‘MacAdolf’, or Hamish, to be in the way of his master’s wrath. Hamish, having taken in the situation, seemed to be wanting to speak to McGuigan, but before he could more than open his mouth a peal of the Gaelic thunder silenced him. The same performance was gone through again. Chevrons, badge tumbled into Brenda’s lap. At first Hamish looked sulky, then astounded, then stupefied by the storm that rocked him; and at last was reduced to staring at his feet, his neck as red as a turkey-cock’s.
‘Now, ye stupid, gangrel body, yell apologize,’ McGuigan concluded in English. ‘Down on your knees, ye glaikit fool, or ye’re for Barlinnie, and I’ll not hinder it.’
‘But I’m tryin’ to tell you—!’ Hamish wailed.
‘Tell me nothing – down on your knees! By gar, ye’re in peril of a seven-year stretch, and ye’d still chop words with me. On your knees!’
Hamish, gurgling, went down on his knees, but the scene suffered an interruption. The figure of a woman had appeared in the yard, and now she came running down the drive towards them. Her eyes were for McGuigan. Her expression was one of happy yet anxious anticipation. She failed to notice Gently and Brenda in the flutter of her approach. Then she saw them. She turned pale and staggered. McGuigan sprang out of the car and darted to her. She shook her head and tried to push him away, but he swept her up in his arms.
‘Jamie – no!’
‘Mary – Mary!’
She struggled weakly in his huge embrace.
‘Oh Jamie!’
‘What is it?’
‘I’ve betrayed you – Jamie!’
And she fainted away. It was Mary Dunglass.