Mad About the Boy? (29 page)

Stanton looked at him in bewilderment, then gave a convulsive shudder and dropped to his knees, covering his face with his arms. ‘I've dreamt about you,' he said in a muffled voice. ‘Once before I was free and then you took me back. You. You took me in the van and they locked me up. It was a dreadful place. You left me there. You. I'm not going again.'

Haldean wearily got to his feet, stumbled the few steps to Stanton, then knelt beside him and put his arm round his shoulders, gentling him cautiously as a man gentles a frightened dog. ‘I know you hated me for it,' he said awkwardly, ‘but I had to do it. If I hadn't stayed with you, Arthur, they'd have restrained you.' Stanton gave another shudder, then was still. ‘I couldn't let them do that to you, Arthur. Not when I could be there to stop them.'

Stanton looked at him with frightened eyes. ‘What have I done wrong? There are people hunting me. I've had to hide. I didn't think you'd find me here. I thought I was safe. I can't remember what I've done. I can't remember anything.'

‘Oh, Lord.' Haldean, still with his hand on Stanton's arm, collapsed back against the wall of the cave. ‘Arthur, when you say you can't remember, do you mean it?' He received a scared look in reply. ‘Isabelle? Smith-Fennimore? Do they mean anything to you?'

‘Isabelle?' said Stanton slowly. His breathing steadied and he sat back next to Haldean. The fear gradually faded from his face. ‘Isabelle?' he repeated. He sank his forehead on to his crooked knees for a few moments and when he looked up, Haldean was relieved to see him look himself again. ‘Isabelle,' he repeated once more. ‘Is she the girl with the lovely smile?'

Haldean nodded. ‘That's right.'

‘The thought of her makes me feel sad,' said Stanton in a puzzled voice. ‘I don't know why it should. There's a man I can remember, too. Tim? Is that right? Something awful happened, didn't it?'

Haldean sighed. ‘Yes. Something awful happened. If you'll listen to me, I'll tell you what I know.'

There was a grocer's paper bag on the ground which Stanton had evidently dropped. Haldean reached out and pulled it towards him. ‘The trouble is, I'd rather hoped you could fill in some gaps for me.' He opened the bag. ‘What have you got in here, old man?' His calm voice and slow movements were having their effect on his friend's nerves. ‘There's a loaf, a piece of cheese and some beer. Let's have something to eat.' Keeping his actions very deliberate, he took out his pocket knife and gave it to Stanton. ‘You'll have to cut the bread and cheese. I've injured my arm and I'm not up to it.'

Stanton took the knife, snapped it open and stared for a moment at the blade in his hand. Then he picked up the loaf and cut off two slices and a hunk of cheese. Despite what he firmly believed, Haldean realized he'd been holding his breath.

‘Can you open the bottle, too?' he asked.

He smiled as Stanton took the cork out. ‘Have a drink, Arthur. You look as if you could do with it. Good man. What's the last thing you can remember?'

Stanton took the bottle and the roughly cut bread and cheese warily. He was obviously trying very hard to strap down his fear. ‘It's all a muddle, really. Bits of Passchendaele – that's come back to me – and the . . .' He swallowed. ‘The hospital. After that, it's just odd flashes. You were my friend, weren't you?' He paused. ‘A good friend. I'm starting to remember that. Jack.' He said the name cautiously, as one remembering old certainties. ‘Jack, I'm sorry. You are my friend, aren't you?'

‘Of course I am, old son,' said Haldean quietly.

‘I can remember how it really was now. That time you took me back before, I mean.' He rested his hand on his forehead. ‘I think I always resented what you did. Actually, that's not being honest. I know I resented what you did. I also know I shouldn't have done. I remember trying very hard not to blame you for it. After all, you'd helped me. But every time I tried to think about it, I couldn't think about it, if you see what I mean. I've never been able to get that straightened out and it left me feeling bitter. About you, I mean. That's so unfair.' He looked up and Haldean was reassured to see a very faint smile. ‘It's rotten, isn't it? I know you helped me and yet . . .' He shrugged.

‘Funny how hard it is to be grateful, isn't it?' said Haldean. ‘I knew you felt like that.'

Stanton looked startled. ‘Did you?'

Haldean nodded. ‘Of course I did. Things were never quite the same afterwards and I guessed why. I resented it too, of course. I tried to pretend nothing had happened, but that didn't work. I don't know if you'll believe me, but I only did what I had to do.'

Stanton reached out his hand, resting it on Haldean's arm. ‘I think you did a damn sight more than that. I suppose we've just had the conversation we should have had years ago.' This time he did smile. ‘I'd never intended to throw you round the room, though. Actually . . .' Stanton looked puzzled again. ‘How come I was able to do that? You were a pretty useful fighter, as I recall. At school I could only ever draw with you on points.'

Haldean took a swig of beer. ‘I had a bullet through my arm last night.'

‘Good God! Are you all right?'

‘I'm better now you've stopped lashing out, I must say.'

‘Jack!' Stanton looked horrified. ‘I'm really sorry. I'd never –'

‘Relax.' Haldean grinned at him. ‘It's over. Forget about it. Who are these people who are hunting for you?'

‘I don't know.' Stanton broke off a piece of bread and chewed it thoughtfully. ‘My God, I'm hungry. I've been steering clear of the police. I had an idea that was a sound move. What the devil have I done, by the way?'

‘I'll tell you later,' said Haldean. ‘Go on. Who's hunting you?'

‘It was yesterday evening. There's four men. Two have got beards. I think they're foreign, but the other two are English. One's a little red-haired chap, a Cockney, I think, and the other English bloke is bald and looks a real tough. He's called Mick. I'd gone down to the village to try and get something to eat. A car was pulled up in the main street and these men were sitting in it.'

‘The car wasn't a Wolseley by any chance, was it?'

Stanton looked startled. ‘Yes, it was. How did you know?'

Haldean tapped his arm. ‘They were responsible for this. Go on.'

‘Well, I didn't pay much attention at first, apart from thinking the car looked out of place in such a small village. Then one of the bearded blokes caught sight of me and pointed. He shouted something I couldn't understand, then this red-headed chap yelled, “Bloody hell, that's him,” or words to that effect. “Come on, Mick.” They jumped out of the car and came towards me. I ran for it. I got down an alleyway and managed to hop over into someone's back yard and laid low. I could hear them talking on the other side of the wall. That's how I know one's a Cockney. They said my name and they also said that The Boss wouldn't be happy that I'd escaped. I don't know who The Boss is, but they were scared rigid of him. I think one of the foreign blokes is called Boris. They said his name, too. They pushed off eventually. They said something about not wanting to be late for another job.'

‘I can guess where they were headed,' said Haldean. ‘They came to Hesperus last night.'

‘Hesperus?' asked Stanton. ‘What's Hesperus?'

Haldean handed him the rest of the food. ‘Eat that while I tell you what's happened. Believe me, it's some story.'

Stanton ate hungrily, nodding occasionally as parts of Haldean's story chimed in with his memory. He finished the last of the bread and cheese and drained the remains of the beer. ‘So these Russian devils not only tried to kill you, they've taken this poor Smith-Fennimore chap as well?' he said slowly. ‘I wonder what they want him for? Perhaps they're after the gold, as your policeman friend said. But who did the murders, Jack? It sounds as if these Russians might have had a hand in that, too. D'you know?'

‘Well, the police think it's you,' said Haldean, hesitantly. ‘As I said, I'd hoped you could tell me what happened. You see, I think you're a key to all this. When you ran off after the murder, you took Lord Lyvenden's cigarette case with you. Have you still got it?'

‘What, this awful thing?' Stanton drew the gold case out of his pocket and glanced up with the ghost of a smile. ‘I'm glad to know it's not mine.'

‘It's too dreadful for words,' Haldean agreed, opening and shutting it absently. ‘Heavy, too. I wonder . . .'

He ran his fingers over the inside of the case and pressed one corner. The plate with the clip for cigarettes flew open, revealing some paper inside. Haldean carefully took out the single sheet, unfolded it and spread it on his knee, smoothing out the creases.

‘What is it?' asked Stanton, turning his head to see. ‘I say, Jack, is it written in code?'

‘I don't think so,' said Haldean thoughtfully. ‘At a guess, it's Russian.' He tapped the paper thoughtfully. ‘I'm prepared to bet that this will give us the clue to the entire mystery.'

‘But you can't read Russian, can you?'

Haldean shook his head. Folding up the paper carefully, he put it in his pocketbook. ‘We'll have to get it translated but I've got a shrewd idea of what's on it. However, that can keep. I must say what's really bothering me at the moment is the question of what are we going to do with you?'

‘Do with me?' Stanton looked scared. ‘I thought you said you wouldn't take me back. You said so, Jack.'

Haldean got up and strolled to the entrance of the cave where he stood, apparently rapt in a study of the damp, rocky walls. ‘You're being hunted by the police,' he said quietly. ‘They think you committed murder and in the light of the evidence they have, you can't really blame them.' A piece of rock was hanging loose where an infant tree had optimistically sent out a root. Haldean started to dislodge it with his finger. ‘You didn't help matters by running away.' He half smiled. ‘I know why you did it, and in your place I'd have probably done the same, but it looks bad.' He turned round suddenly. ‘You can't remember a thing about this, can you?'

Stanton shook his head. ‘Not a thing. It's as if I was hearing about someone else. I've got to keep reminding myself you're talking about me.'

‘Now, if you want to, you can carry on running. I'll give you some money and, with a bit of luck, I can probably get you over to France without being spotted. In the meantime, I'll do my best to clear up this business. However, it'll be a lot easier to work things out if you come back with me. It won't be much fun because you'll be in prison, but at least these other types, the ones in the Wolseley, won't be able to get hold of you. And, just at the moment, Arthur, I can't help thinking they pose the greater threat. If you hadn't managed to give them the slip last night, I think you'd be dead by now. I think I had a very narrow escape from their hands.' The rock was nearly loose now.

‘I don't know.' Stanton's voice was weary with defeat. ‘I can't keep on running, Jack. It's been awful not knowing who I am or what was happening. It's been cold, too, and I've been jolly hungry as well. I can't go on running and these bloody Russians obviously mean business.' He paused. ‘But I can't get to grips with this idea of a murder. Could I have done it? I don't know what happened or what I might have done. I simply can't remember.'

Haldean shook his head. ‘You're not guilty. If you come back with me I think I can prove it.' The rock clattered to the ground and Haldean turned round. ‘But it's up to you to decide. I can't force you and I wouldn't want to. It must be your decision.' He grinned. ‘I'm damned if I'm having another version of the incident in the Euston Road hanging over me for the rest of my natural.'

Stanton smiled fleetingly. ‘Don't. I can't believe I was ever such a fool as to let that rankle.' He sighed. ‘Part of me says I'm crazy to come with you,' he admitted, ‘but I think it's the right thing to do. And I suppose if I am guilty, then the best thing is to come and face the music. My mother used to say, “Tell the truth and shame the devil.” If I had the slightest idea of what the truth was,' he added unhappily.

‘Right,' said Haldean briskly. ‘Let's make a start. I hope I don't let you down.'

‘You won't.' Stanton smiled again. ‘I'll just have to trust you. You won't let me down, Jack, I know you won't. All sorts of things have come back to me while we've been talking. We've had some good times together, haven't we? You're a damn decent sort and I'm sorry I've been such a fool.'

‘Don't mention it,' said Haldean. It was good to see Arthur smiling again. ‘Now, to practicalities, as they say. You'll excuse me for bringing the subject up, but you look like something the cat dragged in.'

‘I'll visit my tailor directly I have the chance.'

‘You'll scare him into a fit. If you take my coat and hat – you'll have to help me, I can't manage with this ruddy arm – then the worst of the ravages of your costume will be concealed.' Haldean gritted his teeth as Stanton helped him off with his coat. ‘That's better,' he said, as Stanton shrugged the coat on. ‘You very nearly look respectable now. Come on.'

They walked to the entrance of the cave, stooping to climb out. Stanton was in front. He suddenly halted.

‘What is it?' asked Haldean.

Stanton turned with a finger to his lips. ‘Jack,' he said very softly. ‘There's a man outside.'

As quietly as they could, they retreated back into the cave. ‘I don't think he knows we're in here,' said Stanton in a whisper. ‘He's one of the Russians. I recognized him. He's standing on the path. I caught sight of him through the trees.'