Gregory released his breath with a little sigh of satisfaction at the success of his hunch to follow the solitary plane. It had led him to Lord Gavin’s headquarters in England, which was, perhaps, more valuable even than finding one of the places where the contraband was landed.
As soon as the car had disappeared he stepped out from the trees and examined the front of the house. It was now in total darkness and the whole place seemed to be unoccupied. He scanned the lawns before it for the plane, but that was nowhere to be seen, so he assumed it had been run into a hangar, and tiptoed towards the far end of the house to see if he could find any building in which it might be garaged.
Passing through the shrubberies there he came upon some greenhouses and then two high windowless buildings which he thought might have been built for squash or as covered tennis courts.
He beat a gentle tattoo with his finger-tips upon the locked door of one of these while he considered the situation. He felt that his luck was very definitely in tonight and that the house might hold all sorts of interesting secrets. This was far too good an opportunity to try and unearth some of them for him to even think of rejoining Rudd and flying back to London yet awhile. The problem was how to force an entry into the house?
Behind the big brick buildings he could just make out, in the faint starlight, a row of outhouses, stables and garages. Proceeding between them with a cautious, almost cat-like step, he passed a fifteen-foot brick wall with espaliered fruit trees on it; the eastern extremity of a fine walled garden. Turning right, he found himself at the back of the house itself. This too was wrapped in heavy silence and no light came from any of the windows.
Tiptoeing forward across the gravel, so that it barely crunched under his feet, his shoulders hunched, his eyes alert, like some prowling cat, he stalked along the rear side of the house, examining each window with the aid of his torch, which he now no longer feared to show as the place seemed to be quite deserted.
At last he found a spot suitable for his purpose; a small uncurtained window through which he could see a sink. The place appeared to be a scullery and a corner of the window frame was broken. Getting his fingers into the aperture he wrenched with all his might. There was a sharp crack of splintering wood as the catch was torn from its socket and one half of the window swung out towards him. Reaching inside he undid the bolt which held the other half and drew the casement wide open.
Gripping the sill with both hands, he put his head inside, and was just about to lever himself up when he caught the sound of a stealthy footfall on the gravel close behind him.
8
A Night of Surprises
Gregory jerked his head out of the window and spun round to confront a tall man who had just emerged from the shadows of the shrubbery half a dozen yards away.
The man was alone and did not appear to be armed. A caretaker or keeper perhaps, thought Gregory. He swung his torch meditatively in his right hand. It was long and thicker than a policeman’s baton. The big automatic was in his pocket but he had no intention of using it in England, or anywhere else for that matter, unless he found himself trapped and his life in actual danger.
‘Come here,’ said the man, ‘and no monkey tricks or you’ll regret it.’
Gregory came three slow steps forward. He meant to hit the man, and hit him very hard indeed, so that there should be no necessity to hit him a second time. The side of the neck was the place; just in line with the jaw bone. A good crack there, over the jugular vein, with the torch would out the fellow before he had time to shout for help and bring any friends he might have about the place on to the scene of action.
Gregory’s empty left fist lifted in a feint, but dropped again almost as quickly, when the man took a swift step backwards and snapped: ‘Stop that. I’ve got a gun here.’
It was only then Gregory realised a thing that he had failed to notice before owing to the difficult light. The man’s right hand was thrust into his jacket pocket, which bulged ominously.
For a moment Gregory hesitated; wondering whether to risk an attack. To have to surrender tamely to one of Lord Gavin’s men would not only be infuriating but definitely dangerous. He would probably be thrown into some cellar and guarded closely until Lord Gavin visited the place again and, knowing how utterly unscrupulous the crooked financier was, he did not fancy that prospect at all.
Discretion seemed the better part of valour. Gregory had just made up his mind to accept the situation, in the hope that an opportunity would occur for him to turn the tables later, when he caught the sound of gravel crunching underfoot again.
The other man heard it too and half-turned his head. Next second a voice yelled: ‘Jump, sir!’ and a dark figure leapt from the shrubbery on to the man’s back.
As Gregory sprang sideways, to avoid the bullet if the man’s gun went off, the other two crashed to the ground together.
They rolled over once, then Gregory stepped in, bringing his heavy leather-covered torch down with a dull thud upon his late captor’s head. The man went limp and Rudd, wriggling free of him, staggered to his feet.
‘Gawd! You bashed him proper an’ no mistake. Ain’t killed him ’ave you?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Gregory muttered. ‘I was careful to avoid his temple and caught him on the top of the skull. Show a light, will you. The bulb in my torch has bust.’
Rudd pulled a torch from his pocket and shone it on the prostrate man’s face. He was a nice-looking, freckle-faced, sandy-haired fellow of about thirty, with a trim little upturned moustache, and not the type at all that Gregory would have expected to find among Lord Gavin’s gunmen.
‘He’s all right,’ said Gregory, after rolling back one of the man’s eyelids. ‘He’ll be coming round in a few minutes I don’t doubt, so we’d better truss him up. How did you happen to come on to the scene so opportunely?’
‘Well, it was this way sir. You’d ’ardly ’opped it into the lane before another plane comes sailing down and makes a landing in the next field to ours. So I goes over to investigate. I was just in time to see this bloke here beating it across the field at the double towards the park so I follows cautious like. I lorst him for a bit among the trees—dark as ‘ell it was, and I barked me knuckles on one of the tree trunks something cruel—but I picked up our Albert again as he was crossing a field be’ind ’ere, and tagged him round the ’ouse. Then when I crep up close enough I found ’e’d got the goods on you—in a manner of speaking.’
‘Darned lucky for me you did,’ said Gregory. ‘It was a good thing his gun didn’t go off though when you jumped him.’
As Gregory spoke he was lashing the man’s feet securely together with the belt of his raincoat. Their prisoner was now groaning a little and breathing stertorously.
Rudd pulled off his belt for Gregory to tie the man’s hands and then shone his torch again. As the light streamed on to the limp unconscious head Gregory suddenly let out a sharp low whistle.
‘Hang on a minute! I thought I’d seen this chap’s face somewhere before when we looked at him just now, and by jove I have, although it was only for a minute.’
‘Is he one of the bunch you made hay of a few days ago in Trouville, sir?’
‘No,’ sighed Gregory. ‘I wish to God he were. This is the young policeman whom I rescued.’
‘Blimey! Here’s a fine how-de-do. We’ve been and coshed a copper.’
‘Never mind. As it’s the chap I helped out before perhaps he won’t run us in this time. Undo his feet again and I’ll try and bring him round.’
They were both kneeling beside the policeman’s body when a door creaked in their rear and a light suddenly illuminated the bushes. They swung round to see a woman silhouetted against a brightly lit doorway a few yards from the scullery window. She was a broad-bosomed middle-aged female. Her tousled grey hair, thick dressing-gown, and bare feet thrust into old slippers, showed that she had been roused from her bed by the recent scuffle. In her hand she held a large Mark V service revolver. She
held it very steadily and it was pointing at them.
‘Stand up you two,’ she said, ‘and put your hands above your heads. Then you’d better tell me what you’re up to.’
Taken completely off their guard, the two men obeyed.
‘What’s your friend doing on the ground?’ asked the woman sharply.
‘He’s met with a slight accident.’ Gregory’s voice was low and amiable as he strolled casually towards her.
‘Keep your distance,’ barked the woman. ‘I’ve got a revolver here and I ’ave orders to use it.’
Gregory halted a few paces from her. He possessed more courage than most men but one thing that really scared him was to see firearms in the hands of a woman. They were so much more likely to go off unexpectedly.
‘All right,’ he said soothingly. ‘I’m not a burglar and I wouldn’t dream of harming you. As a matter of fact the chap on the path there happens to be a friend of mine and a police officer.’
The woman’s face showed a stony disbelief at this surprising statement.
‘Is he?’ she said sarcastically, ‘then he’ll be pleased to see his friends from the station at Birchington as soon as I’ve had a chance to get on the telephone to them.’
As she spoke she stepped out of the doorway and sideways along the wall of the house keeping it at her back and the three men covered by her revolver. ‘Pick him up both of you,’ she said, ‘and carry him inside. Then I can get a better look at you. Come on, be quick now. I don’t want to catch my death of cold standing about in this heavy dew all night.’
Rudd took the policeman’s shoulders and Gregory his feet. Then, followed by the woman, who never lowered her weapon for a single instant, they carried him into the house.
‘Straight down the passage,’ she ordered and then, addressing Gregory who brought up the rear: ‘If you try and trick me I’ll put a bullet in your back. Straight on now and the third door on your right.’
‘Thank you, mother,’ said Gregory amiably, ‘but I’d rather have a nice cup of warm tea in my tummy. When you’re tired of holding that thing I’ll hold it for you and you shall make me one.’
They proceeded along a stone-flagged passage, evidently the servants’ quarters, but when Rudd thrust his way backwards through the third door on the right Gregory saw that it was a heavy baize-covered affair which led to the main part of the house. For a moment they were in semi-darkness and he contemplated dropping the policeman’s feet to swing round and tackle the woman, but she closed up on him as he passed through the swing door and, jamming the muzzle of her pistol firmly in the small of his back, switched on the lights.
He saw that they were in the main hallway of the house; a fine apartment from which a broad staircase led to the floors above. There was a long settee in one corner and, on a small table some way from it, stood a telephone.
‘Put him on the couch,’ said the woman, making straight for the instrument.
They dumped the policeman; who was now groaning loudly and showing signs of coming round. Then Gregory held out a quick restraining hand to the woman.
‘Please, one moment,’ he begged. ‘The police won’t thank you for lugging them out at this hour in the morning to arrest one of their own people Hang on until this chap comes round. I swear to you on my honour that he is a policeman. He’ll be able to tell you so himself in a minute.’
The woman had her hand on the receiver; but she did not lift it.
‘What was he doing unconscious behind the house then?’
‘He was unconscious because I knocked him out. Mistook him for somebody else in the darkness.’
‘And who may you be, I’d like to know.’
‘A friend of Lord Gavin Fortescue’s.’ Gregory lied un-blushingly. ‘Honestly, Lord Gavin will be furious if you bring the local police into this. The chap we knocked out is from Scotland Yard and that’s quite a different matter, but the last thing which Lord Gavin would want is to have a lot of flat-footed country constables mixed up in his affairs.’
The policeman’s eyes flickered open and Rudd pulled him up into a sitting position on the settee. He groaned again and for a moment put his head between his hands; then he lifted it painfully and stared about him.
‘Better now?’ asked Gregory. ‘I’m terribly sorry I knocked you out. I was under the impression that you were someone else, but you remember me, don’t you? We met a few nights ago at Trouville.’
‘Yes—yes, of course. I remember now: you got me out of a nasty mess didn’t you? I didn’t know it was you either when I caught you trying to break into this place—but I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you for an explanation.’
‘Plenty of time for that,’ said Gregory easily. ‘I think we’re working on the same thing; but from different angles. We’ve landed ourselves in a new mess since you passed out though. This lady here with the heavy armaments, I don’t yet know her name …’
‘Mrs. Bird,’ the woman supplied non-committally.
‘Well, Mrs. Bird seems to think that all three of us are up to no good here and she’s just about to phone for the local coppers. I think it would be a good thing for all of us if you can persuade her not to.’
The policeman stood up a little groggily. ‘Mrs. Bird,’ he said, ‘my name’s Inspector Wells, and I’m down here on special work for Scotland Yard. Here is my card of authority. Just look it over will you, and you’ll see that it’s all in order. Then I think you can leave this business safely in my hands.’ As he spoke he extended the card he had taken from his pocket-book.
‘Stay where you are. Don’t you dare come a step nearer,’ rapped out Mrs. Bird. ‘What’s the good of showing me that thing. Specially printed for the purpose, I haven’t a doubt. Some people sneer at reading detective fiction but I don’t, It gives respectable folk a lot of tips about your sort of gentry.’
Gregory grinned. ‘One up to you Mrs. Bird. I’ll bet you’re thinking of that Raffles story, where he came in and got Bunny out of a tight corner by turning up dressed as a policeman and arresting him in the South African millionaire’s house.’
A gleam of appreciation showed for a moment in Mrs. Bird’s sharp eyes. ‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘Good stories those. We don’t get many like them now; more’s the pity.’
‘If you’ll excuse me madam you’re making a serious mistake.’ Inspector Wells drew himself up. ‘If you like to phone the local police you are, of course, quite within your rights to do so; but it’s going to cause a lot of unnecessary inconvenience to everyone concerned.’ The Inspector was thinking at the moment what a fool he would look among his colleagues if the woman did hand him over to the local police as one of a gang of housebreakers.
She shook her head stubbornly. ‘I may be right and I may be wrong, but what were you doing in our grounds I’d like to know? As for inconveniencing the local police what do we pay rates for. You stay where you are young man and don’t you move a muscle while I telephone.’
A stair creaked above them and they all glanced up. Unheard by any of them a young girl had appeared on the landing and was now descending the broad straight stairway. She was barefooted and clad only in her nightdress. Two long plaits of golden hair coiled about her head made a halo gleaming in the light. Her blue eyes were wide open and staring. Instantly they all realised that she was walking in her sleep.
9
The Real Menace to Britain
‘Don’t wake her!’ whispered Mrs. Bird. ‘Not a sound please—or the poor lamb may get the shock of her life.’
In two silent strides Gregory was beside the older woman. His left hand closed over her right and in a single sharp twist he forced the revolver from between her fingers.
It had happened before any of them had had time to even think and a cynical little smile twitched the corners of his lips as he whispered: ‘Now, l’ll hold the gun, Mrs. Bird, while you make me that nice cup of tea.’
If looks could have killed Gregory would have fallen dead upon the spot. Mrs. Bird’s homely, but n
ormally pleasant, features became, for a second, distorted into a mask of almost comical indignation and dismay but she brushed past him without a word and hurried on tiptoe to the foot of the wide staircase.
The girl was now halfway down the flight. She was quite young, eighteen or nineteen perhaps, slim as a boy, with only faintly rounded breasts and hips. The lines of her beautifully moulded figure showed clearly through the thin flowered chiffon nightdress. Her face was small and delicately chiselled; her creamy cheeks were slightly flushed in sleep. Above her short straight nose and white forehead the great oriel of plaited hair formed a shimmering golden crown. There was something ethereal and fairy-like about her as she moved slowly down towards them which made it seem hardly possible that she was warm flesh and blood. The young Inspector’s mouth hung a little open as he gazed up at her, completely fascinated; he thought that in all his days he had never seen anything quite so lovely, either human or in a work of art.
Mrs. Bird mounted a few stairs and took the girl very gently by the arm. With hardly a pause she turned in her tracks and began to walk up the stairs again; led now by the elder woman.
‘Wells,’ said Gregory in a sharp whisper.
‘Eh?’ The Inspector started as though he had been woken from a trance.
‘Go up with them. There may be another telephone upstairs.’
Wells nodded and with one hand on the banister rail began to tiptoe upstairs after the two women.
As the little procession disappeared from sight Gregory let out a sharp sigh of relief, released the catch of Mrs. Bird’s revolver, broke it open, and emptied out the bullets.
‘Weren’t she a pretty kid?’ murmured Rudd. ‘Almost like a fairy orf a Christmas tree; only wanted a wand and a couple of wings.’
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