Chapter Nineteen – The Return
Farringdon Street was so surprised that he nearly dropped the telephone. ‘Come back?’ he echoed. ‘When?’
‘About two minutes ago, sir,’ answered Williams. ‘We heard someone knocking at the door and I came down and found Miss Thane in an exhausted condition on the steps. My wife’s getting her to bed now.’
‘I’ll come round,’ said the reporter. He slammed the receiver back on its rest, ran his fingers through his disordered hair, and sprang out of bed. His relief that the girl was back was tempered by his amazement. He had been prepared for anything rather than this.
Dressing quickly, he turned once more to the telephone. A call to Scotland Yard put him in touch with the night officer on duty, and from him he learned that Inspector Hallick had gone home. Briefly he stated his reason for wishing to get in touch with Hallick, and the official at the other end promised to notify the inspector at once.
Swallowing a cup of tea which he hastily brewed, Farringdon left his flat and hurried down the stairs to the street. The dawn was breaking, the sky in the east was pink, and the fresh morning air dispelled the last mists of sleep. He found a taxi on a nearby rank and was driven swiftly to Bloomsbury. Williams opened the door in answer to his ring and ushered him into the sitting room. The man was scantily attired in trousers and a pyjama jacket. His thin hair stuck up ludicrously from his partially bald head.
‘My wife’s with Miss Thane at the moment, sir,’ he said, in answer to the reporter’s question. ‘I don’t think she ought to be disturbed until after she’s had a rest. She seems to have had a pretty bad time.’
‘You mean she’s hurt?’ asked Farringdon anxiously.
‘Not seriously,’ answered Williams. ‘It’s more exhaustion than anything else. Her right hand has been giving her a little trouble; she seems to have sprained it.’
‘Have you sent for a doctor?’ asked the reporter.
‘I wanted to,’ replied the ex-policeman, ‘but she wouldn’t let me. She said it was nothing. Apparently all she wants to do is to sleep at the moment.’
‘That’s the best thing she can do,’ muttered Farringdon. ‘Did she tell you what had happened to her?’
‘She hasn’t told us anything yet, sir,’ said Williams. ‘And we haven’t bothered her, naturally. I don’t think she’s in a fit state to be questioned.’
‘Well, I’m glad she’s back,’ said Farringdon thankfully.
‘So am I, sir,’ said the ex-policeman. ‘I’ve been feeling rather bad about the whole business, being more or less responsible-like for her safety. Would you like some coffee, sir?’
‘No, don’t trouble,’ said Farringdon.
‘It’s no trouble,’ answered the ex-policeman. ‘I’m going to make some for myself, as a matter of fact.’
He disappeared into the back regions, and dropping into a chair the reporter lighted a cigarette. The reappearance of Lesley Thane had lifted a great weight from his mind. Something must have gone wrong somewhere with the schemes of the people who had kidnapped her, and she had contrived to escape. Well, the only thing that really mattered was that she was safe and sound. There was a possibility that her story might help them to trace the persons behind the murder of her uncle and the other crimes.
Williams came back with a steaming jug of coffee, and they were drinking this when Hallick arrived. The news which had been relayed to him had obviously brought him from his bed, for his chin was rough and unshaven and there was evidence that he had dressed hurriedly.
‘How soon can I see Miss Thane?’ he asked, when he had heard Williams’s story. ‘I don’t want to worry her, but it’s essential that I should hear what she has to say as soon as possible.’
‘I’ll go up and see whether she’s asleep,’ said the ex-policeman. He went out of the room and they heard his steps ascending the stairs.
‘Well, this is an unexpected development,’ said Hallick, looking at Farringdon.
The reporter nodded. ‘Unexpected, but very pleasant,’ he said. ‘You don’t know how worried I was, Hallick.’
‘I do,’ said Hallick, yawning. ‘I wasn’t feeling too easy myself. This’ll be a bad blow for the people behind this business. The fact that Miss Thane succeeded in escaping from their clutches is going to upset all their plans. I wonder if she’ll be able to tell us anything?’
‘Will it be any good if she does?’ said Farringdon. ‘When they’ve discovered she’s escaped they’ll know that any information she has will reach the police, and they’ll take precautions. I shouldn’t bank too much on that.’
Williams came back before the inspector could reply to inform them that Lesley Thane was awake and would see them. They followed him up the stairs and into the room in which the girl had been put. It was a different room to the one she had occupied before, its windows facing the street.
‘I’m not taking any more risks,’ said Williams, when Farringdon commented on this. ‘As long as she stays here she’ll have this room. It’s practically impossible for anyone to get at her from outside here.’
The girl was lying back in the bed, with Mrs. Williams fussing round her like an aged hen with a brood of chickens. She was very pale, and there were lines about her face which had not been in evidence before. Her right hand, lying outside the coverlet, was bandaged.
‘I hope you’re not going to worry me too much,’ she said with a tired smile. ‘I’m very sleepy, and you don’t know how much I want to rest.’
‘We won’t disturb you longer than is absolutely necessary, Miss Thane,’ said Hallick, ‘but time is important, and it is essential that you should tell us anything you know at once, so that we can get to work.’
‘I realise that,’ she said, ‘and I can tell you something that I’m sure you will be interested to hear. I can give you a description of the man who is responsible for my uncle’s murder.’
‘You can?’ said Hallick eagerly. ‘That’s going to be in enormous help. What is he like?’
Her forehead wrinkled in an effort of concentration. ‘He’s tall and thin,’ she said, ‘with a yellowish, lined face and grey hair. I should think his age was somewhere in the region of sixty, but he may be older. He speaks with a slightly foreign accent, and his eyes are a very pale shade of blue.’
The inspector noted the description down in a book which he took from his pocket. ‘You have no idea of his name?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘No. I can only tell you what he’s like,’ she answered. ‘Would the description apply to anyone in Deneswood Valley?’
‘No,’ said Hallick. ‘There’s nobody like that on the estate that we’ve seen. Now, Miss Thane, tell us how you managed to get back here, and what happened during the time you were missing?’
‘Where shall I begin?’ she asked, and then, before they had time to answer: ‘I’d better start from the moment I recovered consciousness and found myself in the car.’
She gave them a brief account of her unpleasant journey, the arrival at the empty house, and being locked in the big room with only a packing-case for furniture.
‘I was terribly frightened,’ she went on, ‘when the men went away and left me, and very tired. I knew, of course, that the people into whose hands I had fallen were the same who had been responsible for my uncle’s murder, and the knowledge didn’t add to the pleasantness of the situation. After a little while I began to think about escaping, and made an examination of the room in which I had been shut, but it wasn’t long before I saw that my chance of getting away was hopeless. The shutters had been fastened over the window with an iron bar and secured with a new padlock. It was an old house, and both the shutters and the door were solid, apart from which I was pretty certain that the two men who had brought me there had not gone very far away.
‘After a little while I began to feel tired, and making myself as comfortable as I could on the packing-case in the corner, I fell asleep. I dozed fitfully on and off through the whole of that interminable n
ight. When I at last awoke I was in darkness. The candle had burnt out, and only a faint glimmer filtered round the shutters over the window. I still felt heavy and unrefreshed, for my sleep had been broken, and it was not very comfortable propped against the wall in the corner. I could hear movements in the house, and presently the door was unlocked and one of the men who had brought me to the place came in with a cup of tea and some bread and butter. I don’t think I’ve ever been more thankful for anything than I was for that cup of tea.’ She smiled wryly at the recollection.
‘I asked him what they were going to do with me,’ she continued, ‘but he refused to answer any questions, the same as he had refused on the previous night. All that he would say was that if I lived long enough I’d see, which was not very cheering. I drank the tea and ate the bread and butter, for I was hungry, and he watched me while I did so. When I had finished he took away the plate and the cup and once more locked the door. It was obvious that I could do nothing except make the best of the situation. I don’t think I’ve ever known time pass so slowly. I hadn’t got my watch with me, so I had no means of finding out what hour it was. Somewhere round about midday, I suppose, the other man appeared with sandwiches and more tea.
‘After this I was left alone for several hours, until, in fact, it was dark, and then both the men came in and informed me that they were taking me away. By that time I was so glad at the prospect of getting out of that dismal room that I made no demur. I did ask where we were going to, but received the same reply as before, that if I waited I’d see. I was taken down the drive to the gate, and here the car was waiting. Into this I was pushed, and the two men took their places on either side of me as they had done on the previous night. This time, however, the blinds were down, so I could see nothing of our direction. We seemed to have been travelling for hours before we eventually stopped and I was ordered to get out.
‘I was rather curious to see where I had been brought, but my curiosity was unsatisfied, for all I could see of my surroundings was trees. We seemed to have pulled up at the edge of a small wood. It crossed my mind that we might be somewhere near Deneswood Valley, but I was to discover afterwards that we were close to Godalming. One of the men took my arm and let me through a copse of trees to a field path. We traversed this across a meadow, and passed through a gate into a little lane. It was very narrow, and opposite the field gate was another. I was led over to this, and beyond saw that there was a house of some sort. A flagged path led up to a porch. As we approached, the door was opened and the man I’ve already described ushered us into a narrow passage.
‘‘Is this the girl?’ he grunted, and the man who was holding my arm nodded.
‘‘This is the girl,’ he said. ‘What do we do with her?’
‘‘Put her in the sitting room,’ answered the elderly man, and I was led into a shabby little room which was full of old-fashioned furniture.
‘‘So you’re Felix Dexon’s niece?’ said the thin man, looking at me keenly. ‘Well, I hope you’re going to be as sensible as your uncle.’
‘I don’t know why, but he inspired me with more fear than either of the other two. It was his eyes, I think, that were responsible for this. They were so cold and hard.
‘‘What are you going to do with me?’ I asked, and he smiled.
‘‘You ought to be able to guess that, young lady,’ he said, and then he said to the man who had still held me by the arm: ‘Take her upstairs and lock her up.’
‘I was dragged out of the room and up a narrow staircase. The other man unlocked a door, and I was thrust into a room which was so dark that I could see nothing. The man who had been holding my arm let go and struck a match, and when he had lighted an oil-lamp I saw that I was in a small bedroom with a sloping ceiling. It was a tiny place, with only a truckle bed, a washstand and a table.
‘‘You’ll be all right here,’ said the man who had lit the lamp. ‘I expect you’ll get some food presently.’
‘The other man had already gone, and when he followed, closing and locking the door behind him, I was left alone. The room was so cheerless and I was feeling so dispirited that I could have sat on the bed and cried. But it was no use doing that, so I decided to take my mind off by a closer inspection of my prison, which it seemed that this room was likely to be.
‘The place to which I had been brought was evidently a cottage, and the room I was in was one of the smaller bedrooms. The door was of thick old oak, an impassable barrier, but there was a tiny window which roused my hopes until I found that it had been screwed up. I peered out and at first I could see nothing; and then, as my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, I found that I was looking into a small backyard. Below the window was the sloping roof of an outhouse, and it occurred to me that if only I could find some means of opening the window it wouldn’t be difficult to reach the ground.
‘The thought was so inspiring that I examined the window again to see if there was any possible means of opening it. I quickly discovered that there wasn’t. It had been firmly secured with half a dozen screws driven through the sash, and was immovable. But I did find something that offered a gleam of hope. The putty securing the glass was old, and I saw that if I could only scrape it away there was a possibility of being able to remove a whole pane. But to do this I needed some kind of tool, something with a sharp point. I thought I should have to give up the attempt for lack of this, and then I noticed a nail that was sticking out of the wall behind the door. It took me a long time to loosen it, but eventually I succeeded. It was a big nail and just the thing I needed. I listened at the door. Below, I could hear the murmur of voices, and I wondered whether to make my attempt then or wait until later when the house was sleeping. I concluded there would be no harm in experimenting. If anybody came to the, room I should have ample warning of their approach and could reach the bed before they could open the door and pretend to be resting.
‘It was easier than I had expected. Beneath the point of the nail the putty crumbled away to dust. An hour’s uninterrupted work and the pane would come clean out. I could have danced for joy, for there seemed every likelihood that I should soon be free. I had completed two sides of the window when I heard someone outside the door, and I had barely time to reach the bed when the grey-haired man entered, carrying a tray.
‘‘I’ve brought your supper,’ he said, setting it down on the table. ‘You won’t be disturbed again tonight, but in the morning I want to have a long talk with you.’
‘My heart was in my mouth. I was terrified lest he should notice what I had been doing, but apparently he had no suspicions. I had been careful to clear up the traces of the putty as I went along so that a casual glance would have told him nothing. But he went out without even looking at the window, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
‘The tray of food and tea made me realise how hungry I was, and I drank the tea, and ate the bread and cold meat that he had brought before going on with my task.
‘I don’t know how long it actually took me to remove the pane of glass, but I had just done so when I heard a clock somewhere in the distance strike one. The voices were still audible from downstairs, and I debated with myself whether it would be better to wait before essaying my escape. After a little thought I decided not to. It seemed to me that this was my best opportunity. Any slight sound I might make would be drowned by the conversation of the men below, whereas if I waited until the house was quiet I might be heard. I managed to squeeze myself through the narrow oblong which the removal of the glass had left and was just able to reach the sloping roof of the outhouse with my feet. For some time I stood clinging to the window-sill, afraid to let go. The roof sloped rather steeply, and I was afraid if I let go of the sill I should slither down and fall. I had to risk it, however, and eventually I did, without mishap.
‘From the roof of the outhouse to the ground was no distance, and I never felt more thankful of anything in my life than I did when I found myself standing in the little back garden. A low fence divided it f
rom what appeared to be a wood, and as quickly as I could I made my way towards it. My one idea was to put as much distance between myself and the cottage as possible. Every moment I was afraid I would hear a shout behind me, telling me that my escape had been discovered, but I reached the fence without hearing a sound and climbed over. My foot caught in the top as I was jumping down and I fell into a tangle of weeds and undergrowth, and in putting out my hand to save myself must have sprained my wrist, for an agonizing pain shot up my arm. I had to bite my lips to prevent myself from screaming, which would have been fatal. After a moment or two the pain died down, but the whole of my arm was numbed and useless.
‘I found myself in the depths of a wood and I had no idea of which direction to take. As long, however, as I went away from the cottage it didn’t seem to matter much, so I set off, walking as quickly as I could.
‘Presently the wood came to an end, and I found myself wandering on an apparently endless track of common. I don’t know how long I stumbled about trying to find a road or a signpost or anything that would tell me where I was. It must have been a considerable time, for it was getting light before I discovered a highway. I walked along this for miles, or so it seemed to me, and then I came upon a signpost which pointed in the direction from which I had come and said Godalming, three-quarters of a mile. I was considering going back, for I knew that at Godalming I should find a railway station, when I heard the sound of a car and saw the lights coming towards me.
‘For a moment I was fearful that it was the men I had escaped from looking for me, and then I saw that it was a lorry. I stopped the driver and asked him where he was going, and when he said London I could have swooned with joy. He agreed to give me a lift, and I climbed up beside him. I must have fallen asleep, because I don’t remember any more until he touched my arm and said we were at Covent Garden. It occurred to me then that I ought to give him something, but of course I had no money with me. He was very nice and said it was quite all right, but I think he wondered what on earth I had been up to.
The Hand of Fear (Keith Calder Book 3) Page 12