Mr. Zero (25 page)

“Hands up!” said Brewster. “And get out!” He opened the door and stood back enough to be out of reach. I'm a dead shot, Hammond, so no tricks. I'd rather shoot you than not, because if would be safer for me, but I'll give you a chance if you do what you're told. Walk along the track in front of me and don't let your hands down!”

Jim Hammond thought, “He can't let me go. Why doesn't he shoot and get it over?” And the answer, “He'll drop me at the edge of the quarry—save him the trouble of dragging me there. No, not me, the body—Jim Hammond's body.”

The cart track ran within twenty yards of the quarry's edge. When they reached this point Mr. Brewster gave another order.

“Turn right! Leave the track and go towards the quarry!”

It was rough, broken ground. Dr. Hammond had many thoughts. None of them promised very much. He thought of a sudden dodging swerve and a quick tackle. But he had to turn—he had to turn—and the pistol was no more than a yard away. The quarry's edge was no more than a yard away.

XXXVIII

Algy turned off the road into the field track. This looked as if it was the right place, but he would soon know because of the quarry. William had made rather a point of the quarry, but you couldn't see it from the road. The track was muddy, and a car had been over it recently. How any springs could be expected to stand up to these ruts was beyond him.

In a minute or two he came in sight of the car. The track swung to the right about a thicket of holly, yew, and leafless oak, and there, nicely tucked away, was the car, a V.8 Ford, and beyond it the quarry. He walked on, and a sound came to him the sound of Brewster's voice, and yet not Brewster's. He heard the voice before he heard any words, and before he was either of the two men upon the quarry's edge. The car hid them. As he came on, the sound became words, the most unbelievable words.

“I'm going to shoot you. Take your hands down and I shoot at once. Keep them up and you have another minute or two to live. You despise me, don't you? You thought I should cringe and ask you to hold your tongue. You made a great mistake. You made the same mistake that Francis Colesborough made. He thought he could use me, threaten me. Well, he had to pay for that. Sturrock paid the same price. He actually thought he could blackmail me, poor fool. Was that your game too, Dr. Hammond?”

Algy had reached the car. He heard Dr. Hammond snap out, “No, it wasn't!” and he heard Brewster laugh, which was a surprising thing in itself because he had never heard Brewster laugh before. The sound was a strange and horrifying portent.

He looked cautiously round the car and saw Dr. Hammond a yard from the quarry's lip, facing him with his hands above his head, and close to him Brewster with a pistol in his hand. They were about twenty yards away. If he were to shout, to run, what would happen? He thought that pistol would go off, and he thought Dr. Hammond would be a dead man. Suppose he sounded the horn. Would it make Brewster turn his head for just the fraction of a second which would give the Doctor his chance? He thought the pistol would still go off and put an end to Jim Hammond's chances once and for all. The man who had shot Sturrock in his own pantry and got away with it must have a quite unshakable nerve.

As he thought these things, he was moving towards the quarry. That was the only real chance there was—to get nearer, to get near enough to startle the murderer out of his aim by rushing him. Even if he was heard, that might help. Brewster would be disturbed. He wouldn't know what the sound was—whether he had really heard it. He would be tempted to look round and have to fight his own fear of being taken from behind.

The rough tussocky grass deadened the sound of his feet. He had got to within half a dozen yards, when Mr. Brewster's voice changed. He said, “I'm tired of you. Out you go!” and fired.

Algy's shout and the shot rang out almost together. Dr. Hammond pitched forward into the quarry, and Mr. Brewster whisked round with the pistol in his hand. Algy ran in, swerved, ducked, and got him round the knees. A shot went wide. They came down together.

Algy had the surprise of his life. Falling on Cyril Brewster was like falling on an eel—an eel that writhed, contorted itself, twisted, and was out of his grasp. As he rose on his knees, he saw that Brewster was up already, and that the muzzle of the pistol was only a yard away.

“If you move you're dead. Hands up!”

“I'm dead anyhow,” said Algy. He put up his hands. Cyril Brewster nodded.

“Quite right. But just a word first. I've disliked a great many people in my life, but I've hated you. Now I'm going to pay off my score.”

“But, good heavens, why? I mean, why should you hate me? I've never—”

“Haven't you?” said Mr. Brewster. “Think again! My people had to skimp and save to give me a good education. I took scholarships or they couldn't have done it. You were probably never more than half way up your form. You didn't have to work. You had time for games—I hadn't. And so you despise me.”

“Brewster, you're mad.”

“I assure you that I am not. I am your superior in every possible way, but you despise me because—you have money, and I haven't—you are an athlete, and I'm not—you have been to a famous school, and I haven't. Well, now I've got you on your knees to me.”

At this point Algy got to his feet. He was certainly for it. He preferred to be shot standing up.

Mr. Brewster did not shoot yet. He said sharply,

“Keep your hands up! I want to tell you what has happened and what is going to happen. You have just shot Dr. Hammond because he had discovered that you were Mr. Zero. You are about to commit suicide. You will be found with the pistol in your hand.”

“And a full confession in my left boot?” said Algy pleasantly.

Something was happening. He was facing the quarry and Mr. Brewster had his back to it. Behind that back something was happening. A hand had come over the lip of the quarry, a very scratched, dirty hand. It felt for a hold and found it. The other hand appeared. Dr. Hammond's head appeared. There was blood running down over his forehead. His hair stood bolt upright. He showed all his teeth in a vicious grin.

Algy said, “I still don't see why you hate me so much, you know. You've simply imagined all that about my despising you. Good lord, man, one doesn't go about despising people!”

Dr. Hammond got a knee over the edge, flung himself forward, and plucked Mr. Brewster's ankles from under him. A bullet went singing past Algy's cheek as he ran in. There were two of them now to grapple with that twisting eel, and the two of them had their work cut out.

“The pistol, man—get the pistol!” snapped Jim Hammond, who had been kicked in the face.

Algy got a whirling arm and a wrenching wrist. The pistol went off again. Cyril Brewster's teeth met in his thumb and with another twist he was free.

The police car came round the corner, bumping over the ruts and bumping off them across the rough ground between the track and the quarry. Inspector Boyce jumped out. Police Constable Collins and the tall young man who had looked doubtfully at Algy in the lane jumped out. They saw three men all running in a very surprising order, because Mr. Brewster, the Home Secretary's secretary, had the lead. He also had a pistol in his hand. Mr. Somers, whom they had come to arrest, was running him close, and hard upon his heels Dr. Hammond, collarless and dishevelled, with a hand to his jaw.

Mr. Brewster gained a little and, coming round the turn, looked across a quarter circle and saw the second car, the Inspector, and the two policemen. They saw him look down at the pistol in his hand, and they saw him turn and aim at Algy Somers. They heard the crack of the shot.

Perhaps Mr. Brewster had been boasting when he claimed to be a dead shot, perhaps his wrenched wrist betrayed him. He missed handsomely and, with Algy closing in, turned the pistol on himself and did not miss. From the lip of the quarry he stepped back and went crashing down to the rock and the brambles below.

XXXIX

“If I hadn't the jaw-bone of an ox, He'd have broken it,” said Dr. Hammond wrathfully. “Boyce, you're blithering. Mr. Somers hasn't murdered anybody. He's just escaped being murdered by the skin of his teeth, and so have I. Your Mr. Zero, the man who murdered Sir Francis Colesborough and Sturrock and did his damnedest to shoot Mr. Somers and myself, is at the bottom of the quarry, and you'd better send your men down to make sure he's dead. I'd send two of them if I were you, because if he isn't dead he'll be about as safe as a wounded tiger. I'm not going down and that I tell you flat. They can bring him up here to me. I've had some and I'm not going down again.” He clutched rather suddenly at Algy and lowered himself on to the grass.

“You're not hurt, sir?” Boyce's tone was full of concern.

“Shook up,” said Dr. Hammond rather faintly. He shut his eyes and leaned forward with his head on his knees.

“Perhaps you'll tell us what's been happening, Mr. Somers,” said the Inspector. “We went after you to Cole Lester, and when we found you weren't there, well, it was natural for us to draw certain conclusions.”

“I suppose it was,” said Algy. “But I was only walking over to Railing Place. I wanted to see Mr. Lushington.”

“That's what William told us. We had just got to the turn where the track comes in, when we heard the shooting and got a move on. Lucky we arrived when we did.”

“Yes. He knew the game was up as soon as he saw you. As long as it was only the Doctor and me, he'd have gone on fighting. He meant it to look as if I'd shot Dr. Hammond and then committed suicide.”

Jim Hammond lifted his head for a moment and nodded.

“He'd got it all planned,” he said. “I'm going to have a lump on my jaw like a turkey's egg.”

“Will you tell us what happened, Mr. Somers?” said the Inspector.

Algy was tying a handkerchief round his thumb.

“William told me about the short cuts. He told me something else too. His girl heard Sturrock ring Brewster up on Sunday afternoon—she's the housemaid at the Hand and Flower. That is what I was going to see Mr. Lushington about. I thought he ought to know before anyone else did.”

“I don't know that you were right about that, sir.”

Algy lifted a hand and let if fall again.

“Well, that's what I thought. I came round that corner and saw Dr. Hammond's car, and when I got clear of the car I saw Dr. Hammond. He was standing on the edge of the quarry with his hands above his head and Brewster holding him up with a pistol. I tried to get there without being heard, but he suddenly loosed off his gun and the Doctor went over the edge. I thought he was done for. I don't know why he wasn't.”

Dr. Hammond's head came up again.

“I jumped,” he said with a wry grin. “Brewster said, ‘I'm tired of you. Out you go!' But I didn't wait for the word go—I beat the pistol. And those infernal brambles practically skinned me alive.”

“Better alive than dead, sir,” said Inspector Boyce. He looked at Algy with a dubious expression. “Well, sir, all this is a bit awkward for me. You see, what with one thing and another, the evidence had got pretty well piled up against you, and—well—it's a bit awkward, but I've got a warrant for your arrest.”

Dr. Hammond gave a groan.

“Boyce, you continue to blither, and I warn you that I am in no state to be blithered at. That's my professional opinion. Free, gratis, and for nothing. Here, give me a hand up—I don't want a crick in the neck as well as a sock on the jaw.” He groaned again as he got to his feet. “Now, Boyce, get this into your head. The, I hope, late Mr. Brewster murdered Sir Francis Colesborough and Sturrock, and did his best to murder Mr. Somers and me. He boasted about Sir Francis and the butler—I heard him. Mr. Somers saw him shoot at me, and I saw him shoot at Mr. Somers. Now what's your damn fool warrant worth? Hang it all, man, you can't go arresting him now!”

Inspector Boyce coughed slightly.

“If you were feeling up to it, sir, what I would suggest would be for you and Mr. Somers to go along with me to see the Chief Constable—”

“I don't feel up to it,” said Dr. Hammond bitterly. “I feel very ill. I require a strong stimulant, a nice hot bath, and a complete change of clothing. But I'm a martyr to duty.”

A hail came up from the quarry. The Inspector went and looked over the edge.

“Found him?” he called out.

“Yes, sir.”

“Dead?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, that's going to save everyone a lot of trouble,” said Dr. Hammond.

XL

“Darling, I think it went off
too
marvellously,” said Sylvia Colesborough. She shed her grey fur coat and leaned back in the sofa corner. “Algy darling, ring for tea, will you? I could drink cups, and cups, and cups. I didn't think anyone could ask so many questions as that Coroner did. But he was rather sweet too. Didn't you think it was rather sweet of him to say he quite understood how upset I must be feeling?”

Gay giggled—she couldn't help it. The giggle slid off into something like a sob. They had just come back from an inquest upon the two murdered men and the man who had murdered them, and Sylvia was talking as if she had been opening a bazaar. Sylvia
would
.

Gay shivered, and was glad when Algy came and sat on the arm of the big chair and put a hand on her shoulder. It had been perfectly horrible, but at least Algy was cleared, and Sylvia was apparently going to get off scot free. She had given her evidence with a good deal of inconsequent charm. She had looked ethereally lovely in her black. Her voice had faltered in all the right places, and she had wept when she described the scene in the yew walk. The Coroner had asked her a great many questions, but neither he nor anyone else had so much as mentioned the Home Secretary's lost memorandum. As far as this inquest went, it had never been stolen, and Lady Colesborough could not be supposed to have known of its existence.