Dorothy Eden (49 page)

“So your wife recovered?” the inspector said to Jones.

“Yes, sir. She was much better. And the neighbors promised to keep an eye on her so that I could come back. I was worrying about things here. But I didn’t know she had been ringing up. That was naughty of her. It must have been just after I left. You see, she’s a sick woman, sir, and she sometimes resents the time I give to Mr. Palmer, not realizing it’s my job.”

“Yes,” said the inspector thoughtfully. “I could see she was not in a normal condition.” He pulled out his watch. “It’s now seven-thirty. We can’t do much about the baby until the boy wakes up and we get some sense out of him. A house by the river. Imagine! From Greenwich to Richmond! But Mrs. Lacey can’t be far away. I’ll get onto that.”

“Nothing I can do?”

Flynn heard the kind but firm refusal with a resurge of his bitter rage.

“Afraid not, old man. Just be around in case we want to ask you things.”

He hadn’t seemed unduly agitated about Harriet’s absence. But if he were, he would hide it from Flynn, a blind man, who could do nothing to help.

With a tremendous effort Flynn made himself overcome his hot rage and become calm and constructive in his thoughts.

There happened to be just one thing that perhaps he could do.

It was quite dark, blacker than coal, actually, beneath the closely growing yew trees. The path was only a glimmer, but beyond the yews a street light caught the tombstones, and shone like moonlight on them. The woman’s foot caught in the uneven paving and she stumbled, the baby in her arms giving a murmur of protest. Suddenly she stopped and pressed her face against the little one, muffled in blankets.

“Sweetie!” she whispered.

The baby gave a small crow of pleasure.

“Little shaven head! But it’ll grow again. You’ll never know.”

The woman went around the curve of the path and came to the dim arched porch of the church. It was very dark inside, and smelled of cold stone, but it was sheltered from the wind. And it would not be for long.

She carefully laid the baby on the thick mat in front of the door.

“Don’t cry!” she admonished. “It won’t be for long.”

The baby immediately began to wail. The woman looked around in panic.

“Don’t do that, lovey. I’m saving you. Don’t you understand?”

Then, without another word, and without looking back, she hurried out of the porch and down the dark path. At the gate she gave a fleeting glance at the street light shining on the old mossy tombstones. Then she hurried down the street, as if she were being pursued. At the corner there was a telephone booth. She went into it quickly. Her hand was trembling as she dialed the police… She spoke for a moment. Through the windows she saw a bus approaching. She hung up, and running hastily to the stop, scrambled onto the bus just as it was moving off.

The time was seven forty-five. It was funny, thought Harriet, but now she couldn’t remember why it had been so important to try to get out of this room. Something about Jamie and Arabella… But it was late. They would be sound asleep in their beds by now, with Nannie Brown… No, not Nannie Brown, someone else, what was her name?

Not the woman with the long, untidy blonde hair. The one with the curiously beige-colored flat face, like a Chinese. But whoever had heard of a Chinese with blonde hair?

And even that woman, so obscurely terrifying, no longer seemed important.

She only wanted to sleep…

T
HE CHIMING CLOCK IN
the living room struck the quarter hour. It was only ten minutes since Inspector Burns had left. Much too early to expect any news, though time for him to have ascertained that Harriet was not in the building.

With Millie the news had come astonishingly quickly. But even then it had been some time since they had discovered her absence.

“Excuse me, sir,” said Jones. “That puppy—”

“Never mind the puppy, Jones. We’ll get Jamie started on training him tomorrow. Jones, I’ve been trying to put myself in this man’s shoes.”

“Man’s?”

“The kidnapper’s. You don’t honestly think it’s a woman, do you?”

“Well, sir, the evidence points that way.”

“No doubt he has an accomplice, of course, to whom he seems to be leaving the dirty work. But there’s a man in it, of course. Now, if you were he, how would you react, having progressed this far with your diabolical plans?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, sir. I think I’d want to call it off. What with the police on my tail, and all.”

“What, and get nothing out of it at all, after all the risks you’d taken?”

“Well, sir, I’d have one lot of five hundred pounds, wouldn’t I?”

“Ah, yes, assuming the man is Fred. But supposing he isn’t. Supposing Fred, snooping inquisitively, just as we were the other night, came upon that little windfall and couldn’t resist collecting it? Then, you see, you’d have precisely nothing. I really think you would make one final desperate attempt to get something. After all, Jamie has escaped somehow, but you’ve still got the baby. A very strong card. And you don’t know for sure the police are on the watch. You probably do, of course, but you can’t be everywhere at once, and Millie certainly didn’t have time to talk this afternoon. Personally, you know, I think you might show up at that rendezvous tonight. Early, of course, to be sure of being concealed, and yet with a good view, before the package of money is tossed down into the ruins.”

“Maybe you’re right, sir,” Jones said reflectively.

“I may be entirely wrong.” Flynn got up briskly. “It’s a long chance, but it’s better than sitting here doing nothing. Willing to come with me and have a shot at it?”

“A shot at it, sir?”

“Yes. We’ll put the clock forward. Assuming our man will get himself concealed in ample time before zero hour. Why don’t we get the money from Harriet’s flat now, and do Harriet’s part for her.”

“You mean—leave the money in the bomb ruins!”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“And see if this fellow shows himself?”

“I’m only guessing he may be there. And, as you realize, at that time undisturbed by the police.”

“I think it’s a fantastic plan, sir.”

“Are you afraid, Jones? I admit I won’t be of much use. But I can’t do it without your eyes, you understand.”

There was a short silence. Then Jones said, “Would we take the car, sir?”

“Of course. Leaving it well out of sight when we come to the spot. But you can’t tell me that if that fellow is concealing himself somewhere he will be able to resist collecting that parcel when he sees it tossed in.”

“He resisted it the other night, sir.”

“Ah, maybe Fred got there first. Maybe it was Fred. But are you willing to give it a trial?”

“Yes, sir, certainly, sir,” Jones said smartly.

“Good man. Want to ring your wife first?”

“No, sir. Mustn’t pamper her too much.”

The Bentley, guided by Jones, turned slowly through the Hammersmith bottleneck.

“Where are we?” asked Flynn.

“Almost there, sir.”

“All right, turn down the first narrow quiet street you see.”

“Yes, sir.”

Flynn, sitting tensely beside Jones, felt the big car drawing to a standstill. He was not afraid. He was just filled with the most urgent desire for haste. Even now it might be too late. But somehow he didn’t think it was.

“That’s it, sir,” said Jones in his correct voice. Then, in surprise, “What are you doing, sir?”

“I am merely sticking my revolver in your ribs. Now take me to the house by the river, the house where the dark woman or the blonde woman or whoever she is, has Arabella and Harriet.”

“Sir!”

“Drop that hypocrisy, Jones, I know who you are. I was right, wasn’t I, when I said you’d finally go to any desperate lengths to get that money, even to falling for that colossally stupid plan of mine. Now don’t waste time. The house is near here. If I’m not with Harriet in—I’ll give you fifteen minutes—you’re a dead man. If you think I’m bluffing; you’re mistaken. I haven’t got that much to lose. Have I?”

“Mr. Palmer—”

“Drive!” barked Flynn, prodding the gun harder against the man’s ribs. “And if you make one unexpected move I fire.”

After what seemed an endless pause, the car began to move.

Flynn felt it turning. He tried to control his exultation. His wild scheme had succeeded—so far. He still lacked sight. There were a thousand tricks Jones could play on him. But he had a hunch the man was almost all in. It had been a long day. And, as Harriet had said at the beginning, the criminal could so well have been some timid almost honest person, succeeding because of the sheer unlikelihood of his plans, or crumpling when attacked.

“Where are we now?” he said curtly.

“C-coming to the river.”

He had dropped the deferential “sir” Flynn noticed, with grim amusement. If he played any tricks now…

“Fifteen minutes is all, Jones, I know it isn’t far from here. Barnes Common, the bombed site, the house by the river. They’re all in the same area, aren’t they?”

The car turned another corner. Flynn detected a faint smell of oil and mud and salt, the smell of the Thames at low tide.

“Harriet must be there, remember. If you don’t take me to her, I shoot.”

Above the purr of the car he could hear the man’s heavy breathing.

“Are you taking me straight there, Jones?”

“Gawd help me, sir—”

“Keep going. Nice little revolver, this. I got it in Germany, and I’ve kept it since the war. Against regulations, I fear. All law-breakers are not so lucky. I’d hate to have to break the bad news to your wife, Jones…”

The car swung violently around a corner, slowed down and came to a stop. Simultaneously, Jones had opened the door and gone.

Flynn fired. It was too late, he knew. Curse it, he hadn’t wanted to kill the man. But to be foiled at this last moment, his wild scheme failing as completely as had that other wild scheme of the kidnapper’s.

There was the sound of running footsteps, a woman’s voice shouting. Flynn fumbled his way out of the car. He stood helplessly, the perspiration chilling on his brow. Then suddenly a woman cried vigorously, “It’s all right, I’ve got him. I can hold him. Sammy will help me. Dad, go and ring the police.”

Flynn, with his stick, felt his way along the road. There were numbers of people shouting and talking now. But the woman’s strident voice rose above them all.

“I knew from the start something funny was going on in that house. I wanted to ring the police a dozen times, but Dad always stopped me. Sammy, don’t sit on his head quite that hard. Don’t want to smother him. Cor, there’s the gent that fired the gun.”

Flynn stopped. There was a sudden silence. He was able to speak quietly and clearly.

“I’m blind. I want to go into that house, but I can’t do so alone. I shall probably fall over something. Will someone come in with me?”

“Bill!” said the strident-voiced woman, “come and hold this man down. I think he’s passed out, but he might be shamming. I’ll take the gentleman into the house. He’s looking for the kids, no doubt. I always said they weren’t hers.”

“Actually,” said Flynn politely, “it’s the children’s mother I want. I think we ought to hurry.”

He felt his aim gripped firmly by a large plump one.

“Cor! Not that dark hussy!”

“No. But I’d like to find her, too.”

“We’ll find her all right, and without waiting for the police. I’ve been waiting for an excuse to get in that house and tell her what I thought of her, keeping the kids shut in, no fresh air, no nothing.
And
a visitor late at nights. Mind the step, love. Fancy being blind, you poor dear. The war, I suppose. We won’t waste time knocking. Just barge in, says me. Cor, the door’s not locked.”

It was then that he smelled the gas.

“Quick!” he cried. “Find her for me!”

The woman stopped talking. Flynn heard her running heavily through the rooms, and then up the stairs. There was the sound of a door being unlocked. Then a great shout.

“Dad! Come and help. Open all the windows! Oh, the poor, poor lady!”

It was probably not long before the police and then an ambulance arrived. Flynn only knew that he had seemed to have Harriet’s heavy head in his lap for an age.

Afterwards, he had asked if there had been anyone else in the house, and he had been told that there was no one at all. Not even a baby. Only, strangely enough, a woman’s light gray coat, a rather grisly wig of long blonde hair, and half of a nylon stocking. These had all been thrust into the boiler in the basement, ready for burning.

F
LYNN OPENED THE DOOR OF
his flat. He heard someone move.

“Jones?” he said, from habit.

“It’s me,” came Zoe’s pert voice. “Don’t make a noise. She’s just dropping off.”

“She?”

“The baby, Arabella.” Zoe began to laugh. “You should have seen Constable Reilly bringing her home. He was so embarrassed. Flynn darling, you look exhausted.”

“I am.”

“How’s Harriet ? Is it true that she’s recovering?”

“They say so. Apparently we were in time.”

“You were,” said Zoe admiringly. “Gosh, that was a clever piece of work.”

“Not clever. Just lucky.”

“So you say.”

Flynn flung around, his nerves raw.

“Do you mind if I don’t talk about it just now?”

“Of course not. You’re all in. Why don’t you go to bed? I’m staying in Harriet’s flat with the children tonight. But Mrs. Blunt will have to take over in the morning. I’ve got a job. Full time and permanent. It’s the old story of the new leaf being turned. Not much time for dropping in on you, but I guess that’s a good thing.” Zoe’s voice was slightly ironical, slightly regretful. But she was, surprisingly enough, a good loser. “Get some sleep, Flynn. Harriet will want to see you in the morning.”

“Zoe—thank you very much.”

“What on earth for? Planning to marry you when I didn’t love you? I’m a low type.”

“Not the lowest.”

She laughed shakily, and coming up to him brushed her cheek against his.

“Tell Harriet Arabella hasn’t a mark on her. And her funny little shorn head is cute. I think that woman really cared about her.”