Rogue's Holiday

by Maxwell March

  Standing in the road, he looked up at the sleepy driver and plied him with excited questions. The driver yawned.

  “I don’t know, mate,” he said. “I was stopped about ten miles back by your friend, who explained that you and he had come off your bike going over a humpback bridge. The bike was running all right, and your friend’s gone on ahead to prepare some friends of yours at Laidwich and to get them to get ready for you. He seemed to think you were more hurt than you are. What happened to you? Knock your head up a bit as you came off?”

  “Something like that,” David admitted cautiously as he climbed up beside the driver. “I’ll give you ten bob if you get me there before the first train,” he said.

  “Oh, that’s all right. Your friend who took on the bike saw to me. How long had you been lying there? All night?”

  “No. Not quite so bad as that,” said David, and although the man looked at him inquisitively he did not explain further.

  As the lorry continued its leisurely way David went through his pockets, and a savage exclamation escaped him. His money, letters, keys were all quite intact, but the little notebook in which he had scribbled down the list of towns which he had deciphered from the blotting paper in Marguerite Ferney’s room had disappeared.

  “What’s the matter? Lorst something?” said the lorry driver. “Per’aps your friend picked it up.”

  A grim smile passed over David’s lips.

  “Perhaps he did,” he said.

  But the name of the last town on that list was clearly imprinted on his mind. It was Hintlesham. Hintlesham. He must get there without delay.

  On arriving at the pleasant market town of Laidwich he pressed a small sum of money on the inquisitive lorry driver and bore down upon the post office to telephone.

  David had not forgotten that he was on duty, and however pressing his own private business might be he knew that his first act must be to get in touch with Inspector Winn.

  It took him some time to get through to the Westbourne headquarters, and when at last he did so it did not improve his temper to be told that Inspector Winn was away on important business connected with the case, that he had left no message for Inspector Blest, and, although the sergeant did not say so, it was perfectly obvious that Inspector Blest’s services were not required by Inspector Winn.

  This unexpected and somewhat ungracious release from his responsibilities was extremely welcome, and David made his way to the railway station, a single name beating over and over again in his brain.

  Hintlesham!

  Judy was in danger, and as far as he knew he might quite easily have put yet another of her enemies upon her track.

  CHAPTER XV

  A Morning Call

  “SHE’S STILL ASLEEP.”

  Marguerite Ferney stepped softly into the big, luxuriously furnished sitting room and closed the door very gently behind her, as though even at that distance the slight sound might wake the girl whom she had left.

  The woman herself looked little rested, with the bright morning sun pouring full upon her face. She was pale, and there were shadows under her eyes. Although a brave and unscrupulous woman, she was still feminine enough to be a little afraid of the man in front of her.

  There was something terrifying about his coldness and the calm ruthlessness of his manner.

  Carlton Webb frowned as he glanced up at her and his quick eyes took in the signs of fatigue and alarm which marred her beauty. Her pallor seemed to annoy him. He shook his head at her.

  “You’re letting this thing get you down,” he said. “It’s very silly of you. There’s nothing to worry about. In the first place, no one knows where we are, and in the second place, even if they did, who have we got to be afraid of? Two grossly conceited pompous old swindlers who are already frightened to death by the enormity of the stupid little crime they have committed.”

  Before the reproof in his tone Marguerite Ferney pulled herself together. She walked over to the table, and taking a cigarette out of the box, sank down in a chair and waited for him to proffer her a match. But in spite of her languid expression her hand trembled a little as she held the cigarette.

  “You think you’re very clever, Carlton,” she said. “And so you are, my dear, as a rule. But it’s not very clever to underestimate one’s opponent. That’s one of the most elementary of tactical errors, isn’t it?”

  Carlton Webb laughed and seated himself on the arm of her chair.

  “D’you know, I rather like you in this mood, Marguerite,” he said. “A little touch of alarm seems to soften you.”

  “I’m not alarmed.” In spite of herself the woman spoke petulantly. “I’m simply cautious. I stand to lose more than you do. My position is more precarious. Tell me, what have you done to that girl?”

  Webb laughed. “How does she look?”

  “I tell you she’s asleep still.”

  He nodded. “I expected that. But how does she look?”

  Marguerite Ferney’s big eyes rested upon his face.

  “She’s very pale,” she said, “and breathing a little more heavily than I should have expected. Carlton, you haven’t poisoned her? She isn’t going to die there?” Her voice rose hysterically.

  The man rose to his feet.

  “My dear girl,” he said angrily, “you’re impossible this morning. She’s perfectly all right. I shall go up and see her in a moment. You can trust me, can’t you? I’m not a complete fool.”

  The woman turned her head away from him and shuddered.

  “You must forgive me,” she said, “but my nerves are on edge. Last night when we unlocked the door and found her lying there on the floor completely unconscious I had a presentiment of terror, a sense of failure—I can’t explain it.”

  “Your nerves have gone to pieces,” said Carlton Webb, raising his eyebrows and eyeing her with a mixture of annoyance and disgust.

  Marguerite went on speaking.

  “And then when we lifted her onto the bed and made that injection in her arm I had a feeling of panic. I’ve never felt like it before.”

  The man took her by the shoulders and jerked her to her feet.

  “Now, look here,” he said roughly, “pull yourself together. I tell you everything’s going perfectly. The little fool has played into our hands. It couldn’t have fallen out better if we’d arranged it for years. Consider the situation: At least a dozen people, including those whom we have most cause to fear, believe that girl to be a permanent invalid. They believe she has no strength or stamina, and nothing could suit our purpose better. Given such a card, if we can’t play a decent hand we’re imbeciles.”

  Marguerite shuddered. “What did you do to her? Why does she look so pale? Why does she breathe so heavily?”

  “She used to have to produce that pallor by artificial means,” said Carlton Webb. “Now that won’t be necessary. She used to have to assume a certain weakness. Now that won’t be necessary either. I feel my early medical training is coming into use at last. I won’t bother you with a lot of details, my dear, but there are at least three drugs in the pharmacopoeia which will produce that effect at least for a short space of time without greatly injuring the patient. So far we are absolutely safe. But I should like to see her when she wakes. She may remember something of what happened last night, and I must prepare her mind. Perhaps this afternoon she will be well enough to see a doctor.”

  “To see a doctor?” Marguerite sprang to her feet. “Are you crazy?”

  “Not at all. I’m perfectly sane. I’ve never behaved in a more logical fashion in all my life. I’m sorry you’re taking it like this. Personally I’m finding it remarkably interesting. It’s a situation which amuses me.”

  Marguerite walked up and down the long room. It stretched the whole length of the house and was on the first floor, so that she could look down into the garden from one window and on to the narrow shrubbery-lined drive from the other.

  The man had seated himself again and seemed engrossed in some huge inw
ard joke.

  “Here we are, completely hidden,” he said. “They can’t find us for several days yet, and by that time we shall be ready for them. The legal side of the business may take some little time, but that needn’t worry us. Our credit will be high. No one’s going to refuse credit to the heiress of a fortune of that size. And then we shall leave this rather depressing country and go, I think, to France. How does that attract you? Paris is very pleasant at this time of year.”

  The woman did not answer, and he turned upon her testily.

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  A low shuddering cry, half stifled in her throat, escaped Marguerite.

  Webb leapt to his feet.

  “What is it?”

  She was standing by the front window, staring down into the drive, her cheeks ashen and her eyes dilated.

  “It’s he,” she said. “He’s found us. He’s come.”

  The man rose swiftly to his feet, and, striding across the room, looked down into the drive himself.

  A long low car had turned slowly in at the gates and now stood drawn up before the front door. Even as they stared, a tall thin sinister figure stepped out of it and advanced towards the porch.

  “Who is that?” Carlton Webb’s voice was unnaturally harsh.

  Marguerite shivered.

  “That’s Saxon Marsh,” she said. “He’s come. What shall we do now?”

  Webb caught her wrist.

  “You go and lie down,” he said. “Go to your own room and stay there and leave this to me.”

  Marguerite Ferney shook her head.

  “No. I’m all right. Now that something’s happening I feel I can pull myself together. It was the waiting and not knowing that unnerved me. Let me stay. It’ll look better if I do.”

  There was no gainsaying this line of argument, and the man hesitated. A change certainly had come over the woman. She looked herself again. There was even some colour in her cheeks.

  The old flicker of admiration crept into his eyes as he saw her. She was undeniably beautiful, and there was a poise and self-assurance about her which had not seemed possible before.

  She lit another cigarette, and as the two stood waiting, the sound of a quiet precise voice came to them from the landing without. There was a discreet tap on the door and a manservant entered.

  “A Mr. Saxon Marsh to see you, madam.”

  This announcement, which might very well have thrown Marguerite completely off her balance two or three minutes before, had now completely lost its potency.

  “Oh yes,” she said. “Please show him in, will you, Jones?”

  Saxon Marsh entered. He looked very much the same as at their first interview on the little ledge overlooking the sea front when the stone urn of scarlet geraniums had glowed and burned above her head.

  He was still dressed in his neat grey alpaca suit, but there was a smile of satisfaction on his thin lips, and his small eyes shone dangerously.

  As he entered his eyes were fixed upon the woman, so that Webb had every opportunity of sizing up his opponent.

  Marguerite Ferney rose to the occasion magnificently. She rose and went forward, her hand outstretched.

  “Dear Mr. Marsh,” she said. “How nice of you to come and see me.”

  But if Saxon Marsh was at all put out by this display of friendliness he did not show it. He ignored the proffered hand and looked steadily at the man, who had risen and stood behind Marguerite. As yet he had said nothing, but his unspoken question filled the room.

  “This is my cousin Carlton Webb,” she said. “He has charge of my affairs and knows all my secrets.”

  “Quite a responsibility,” said Marsh dryly.

  Marguerite Ferney did not appear to have heard.

  “Won’t you sit down?” she said.

  “No, thank you. I prefer to stand. I’ve come on a very serious business.”

  The thin dry voice was cold but still quiet.

  “I’m here on behalf of my friend Sir Leo Thyn, whose affairs I have taken over temporarily because of his indisposition. Miss Ferney, I’m afraid I must ask you to deliver up his ward immediately.”

  Marguerite Ferney and Carlton Webb exchanged glances. Then the woman laughed.

  “My dear Mr. Marsh,” she said, “aren’t you taking rather a preposterous attitude? My little friend Judy Wellington fled to me for protection, and I shall certainly do all I can to assist her in every way.”

  Saxon Marsh smiled. “Very pretty,” he said. “But somehow I don’t see you as a philanthropist, Miss Ferney.”

  Marguerite rose to her feet with great dignity. In her cool morning gown, with her silver-blonde hair drawn down to a neat knot at the nape of her neck, she made a queenly and imposing figure.

  “My dear,” she said, turning to Webb, “I think you had better see to this business for me.”

  She walked stiffly out of the room, leaving the two men alone. Webb lounged forward.

  “My dear sir,” he said in that easy, nonchalant way which he knew so well how to affect, “you’re behaving rather absurdly, don’t you think?”

  Saxon Marsh eyed the man quizzically. He was not altogether taken in by that lazy smile, and the careless, rather foolish expression which the other man had assumed did not deceive him for a moment.

  “If I am to believe that you are Marguerite Ferney’s adviser,” he said, “don’t you think it would be well to warn her that the police of this country are not lenient in cases of abduction?”

  “Here, I say, you know, that’s a bit thick,” said Webb, still maintaining the character he had assumed. “There’s also a law of slander, I believe. You’ll have to be very careful what you say.”

  “Judy Wellington is in this house,” said Saxon Marsh. “It is my duty to take her back to her guardian, and I intend to fulfil that duty.”

  “Miss Wellington is not very well at the moment.” The words were drawled, but the narrow eyes were fixed upon the other man’s face for any trace of emotion it might show. “Her nerves are completely upset. She fled to my cousin for shelter and is now receiving every care and attention. Before you come here making ridiculous demands I should advise you to consider what authority you have. If Sir Leo Thyn is so anxious about his ward, why doesn’t he come and fetch her himself?”

  “I have told you that Sir Leo is not well,” said Saxon Marsh patiently. “I have come to take the girl to him. I should like to see her, please.”

  “I’m afraid that is not possible.” Webb was speaking with the cold deliberation of one who realizes that the advantage is all upon his side. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  He advanced towards the door with the obvious intention of holding it open for his unwelcome visitor.

  Saxon Marsh sat down.

  “Mr. Webb,” he said, “you and I should understand one another.”

  Webb turned back halfway across the room, his eyebrows raised. For a moment neither man spoke as two pairs of eyes took stock of one another: the one so pale and expressionless, the other so bright and narrow. Neither flinched, and Saxon Marsh’s tone became more conciliatory.

  “Has it occurred to you, my dear Mr. Webb,” he said easily, “that you and your—er—cousin are playing a very dangerous game? Oh, don’t misunderstand me. I’m not for a moment suggesting that we should enter into each other’s confidence. But I think it is to our mutual advantage that we should each see where we ourselves stand. Think it over, my dear sir. Is the game quite worth the candle?”

  Carlton Webb laughed softly, and, ignoring the other man’s question, said easily:

  “I’m very glad to have met you, Mr. Marsh, but I’m sorry your visit has not been productive in any other way.”

  Marsh did not seem to hear the flippant compliment. He leant back in his chair and folded his long thin hands.

  “Miss Wellington is a charming girl,” he said, “though hardly the friend I should have chosen for your—er—cousin. However, quite apart from her personality, she has
another more material qualification to recommend her to Miss Ferney’s attention. I don’t think I need explain to you what that is.”

  He glanced sharply at the other man, but Webb showed no sign of any emotion save something which might possibly have been boredom.

  Saxon Marsh went on softly and precisely.

  “I am interested to hear that you are showing some concern for Miss Wellington’s health. But perhaps I ought to tell you that she is not quite the invalid which she appears. That is a fact known both to me and to many other people who know her well.”

  He paused, and Webb cut in.

  “I’m afraid all this doesn’t interest me very much,” he said. “My cousin is very fond of Miss Wellington and is looking after her in every possible way.”

  “How kind of her.” Saxon Marsh spoke gravely. There was not the faintest tinge of sarcasm in his voice. “How excessively kind,” he continued. “But perhaps I ought to warn you of one thing. Consider your responsibility. Miss Wellington is ill. You have admitted it yourself. Suppose she should die. There would be a very thorough investigation, and, since your cousin has something to gain by her death—though not a lot, Mr. Webb; let me repeat, not a lot; not quite so much, perhaps, as she imagines—then it might be very awkward for you both.”

  Webb laughed. “You can rest assured, Mr. Marsh,” he said, “that whatever happens to Miss Wellington will stand the most thorough investigation.”

  There was a strange smile on his lips as he spoke, and Saxon Marsh, looking up, saw the smile and understood. He rose slowly to his feet.

  “You will hear from me in the very near future,” he said. “But meantime I imagine I can take back to Sir Leo the full assurance that Miss Wellington is being looked after.”

  Pausing before the window, he added with apparent irrelevance:

  “This house has a very lonely situation.”

  “Yes,” said Webb grimly. “We have a large staff.”

  Saxon Marsh still laughed, but there was a grim expression behind his eyes. He had not expected to find this sort of opposition. In the doorway he paused.

  “I consider your action most discourteous and reprehensible,” he said. “The next time I come to see you it will be to bring Miss Wellington away.”