Sky High (22 page)

‘Not since then?’

‘Not to my knowledge. It would be a long way to walk in your sleep.’

‘You weren’t there by any chance on Friday night – or early on Saturday morning?’

Tim began to say something. Then stopped. ‘What’s all this about?’ he said abruptly.

‘Just answer the questions.’

‘Not on your life. As you yourself pointed out, this isn’t an official inquiry. Unless you tell me why you’re asking these questions I shan’t say another word.’

‘I’m sorry you’ve adopted this attitude,’ said the Inspector smoothly. He reached out his hand to the bell under his desk.

‘Good Lord above,’ said Tim. ‘I remember now. It was in the papers yesterday. Major Lucas. Big robbery. The country house gang suspected.’

‘You read about it in the papers?’ said the Inspector in his ominously toneless voice.

Tim took no notice of him. He was struggling with suppressed emotion.

‘Look here,’ he said. ‘Just at what time – or between what times – the widest margin possible – was this job done at Belton Park? There can be no harm in telling me that, surely.’

The Inspector reflected.

‘The period we are inquiring about,’ he said cautiously, ‘is between midnight on Friday night and about four o’clock on Saturday morning.’

‘All right,’ said Tim. ‘Then if you’ll take the trouble to ring up West End Central Police Station – you might ask for Detective Inspector Bazeley – you’ll find that I spent Friday evening from about eleven o’clock onwards in their hospitable company. Shortly after midnight, I was given a bed in the cell ordinarily reserved for extreme cases of Delirium Tremens. I was not actually locked in, I agree. But at approximately two o’clock in the morning a gentleman was brought in who had celebrated his seventieth birthday by drinking half a pint of methylated spirits and I had to vacate my couch. I spent the rest of the night in the sergeant’s room with three sergeants. Is there anything more I can do for you?’

‘If—’ said the Inspector heavily. ‘I mean, I don’t suppose—’

‘I’m not making it up, if that’s what you’re hoping,’ said Tim. ‘Why should I? You’ll telephone them as soon as I’m gone. Incidentally, I suppose I can go?’

‘Why, yes,’ said the Inspector. ‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry to have detained you.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ said Tim. He got up and was walking towards the door when a thought occurred to him.

‘If you’re looking for someone in our circle,’ he said carefully, ‘who
hasn’t
got a very good alibi at about that time, then perhaps I can help you there, too.’

Luck looked up. The light was behind him and Tim could make nothing of his expression.

‘I telephoned my mother that night,’ went on Tim. ‘After two bad shots I found her with Bob Cleeve out at Clamboys. Sue and the General were with her. She told me about the joker tying the rope across the gate. I was a bit worried. I wondered, you see, if they were taking the thing quite seriously enough, or if they ought to have some sort of protection. So I rang up Queen, at his cottage. His wife said he was out – had been for some time – didn’t know when he’d be back. So I tried Gattie. No answer at all. Then I tried you, Inspector. The station didn’t know where you were. Curious.’

Luck had half turned in his chair and Tim could see his face now. It was not pretty.

‘I’ve heard some unwarranted attacks on the police in my time,’ he said at last. ‘But for sheer impertinence I think that beats the band.’

He was so angry he sounded almost human.

‘Possibly I’ve got a warped mind,’ agreed Tim. ‘But then, you must remember, I spent some time in Palestine. I remember one case particularly – an Inspector Kilmartin – the old racket. Pretended to be protecting the Arabs from the Jews, but actually robbed them indiscriminately. He made quite a pile before he got found out. Both parties hated him. The Jews got him first. Threw him over the Gehazai bridge with a live hand grenade in both pockets. You ought to ask Gattie about him. He knows the details.’

‘I’m glad you could all get here,’ said Liz. ‘I had to bring the practice forward to Monday, because they’re starting on the heating tomorrow, and you know what a row that makes.’

‘Couldn’t be worse than us,’ murmured Tim to Sue. He had quietly transferred himself to MacMorris’ place leaving Lucy Mallory to Sergeant Gattie.

Sue frowned and opened her anthem sheet ostentatiously.

‘There’s one new hymn for Sunday. At least, not a new hymn but a new tune. It’s Bax. Modern, but good.’ She sketched it through on the harmonium. ‘I particularly want it to go well, because all the old diehards will be saying “
That’s
not the right tune”. Let’s try it through. Take the last verse. Mezzo forte.’

The choir took the last verse. Liz listened, her head on one side. The parts were all right. Hedges reliable. Gattie very firm in the tenor. Lucy and Sue improving. Only the trebles were weak, almost to non-existence.

‘Trebles only,’ she decreed.

Her worst fears were justified. Rupert and Maurice were hardly trying. The other four were trying but were getting nowhere.

She looked at them speculatively. Maurice was red-eyed but defiant. Jim had said to her, ‘I can’t make nothing of him. Never known him like that before.’ Rupert was whiter than usual but composed.

‘What’s happened to your voice, Rupert?’ she said.

‘I’m afraid I’ve got rather a sore throat,’ he said politely.

‘Pity,’ said Liz. ‘Too sore to come on the outing on Wednesday?’

‘Not so sore as that,’ said Rupert quickly, and the Hedges children laughed. Even Maurice looked a little happier.

‘What’s this outing, Mrs. Artside?’ said Gattie. ‘Do I qualify for it?’

‘You certainly qualify if you want to come,’ said Liz. ‘In fact you’re very welcome. I’m afraid the older members mostly regard it as something to be got out of.’ She looked severely at Tim, who grinned. ‘We have a joint excursion every autumn with the Bramshott and Barnboro’ choirs. About thirty children and any grown-ups who can be induced to come along and give a hand.’

‘Well, I’ll see,’ said Gattie. ‘We’re a hard-worked force in this area.’

‘The bus leaves at nine o’clock from Barnboro’ Town Hall, calls at Bramshott first, and then here. We’re all going down to Belmouth. It’s a bit off season, but the children like the fun fair. Incidentally, how many of you are coming. Jim?’

Too much to do myself,’ said Jim, firmly.

‘Lucy, you’re coming aren’t you? And Sue?’ Sue nodded.

‘Count me in too,’ said Tim promptly.

‘That makes four of us. Five if the sergeant can come. What about you, young Hedges?’

Four hands shot up. Maurice looked doubtful.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ said Liz. ‘Got a date with your young lady that day?’

Maurice wriggled. Liz sensed an undercurrent of something she didn’t understand.

‘What about you, Rupert?’ she said.

‘Oh, all right,’ said Rupert.

Maurice’s relief was patent. ‘I shall be coming, Mrs. Artside,’ he said.

That’s all right then,’ said Liz. ‘Same arrangements as last year. Bring sandwiches for lunch and we’ll have high tea at the Pavilion. And
don’t
wear your best suits. Remember what happened last year on the dodgems. Now let’s give the Anthem a run through, and see if we can’t do it really well this time. On the tenth beat. A nice firm “Come”.’

It wasn’t bad. The thought of Belmouth seemed to have stimulated Rupert. If Rupert sang they all sang. It was one of the scant and occasional returns for months of unrewarding work that occasionally, very occasionally, a dozen ordinary-to-bad singers contrived to produce a total which was better than the sum of their individual parts.

She hoped it might be so on the great day.

After practice Tim walked home with Sue. He had a lot to tell her.

‘What does it all mean?’ asked Sue at the end of it.

‘Search me,’ said Tim. ‘Some of it’s clear enough but nothing like the whole picture.’

‘None of it’s clear to me,’ said Sue. ‘Who is the Captain? And his friends at this restaurant? Where do they come into it? And why did they try to beat you up? And what are the police doing about it?’

‘The Captain and his boyfriends are a hardworking crowd of professional receivers of stolen goods. They specialise in jewellery, and gold and silver. They sell it abroad. The police haven’t disturbed them up to date because they found it more useful to watch them and get a line on the various people who were bringing them stuff – the actual thieves. Though I rather fancy, after my spirited but incautious performance, that this phase may be over. They’re about ready to gather in this little lot.’

Sue laughed. ‘I should love to have seen that drunk pouring the brandy on the fire,’ she said. ‘What fun you do have.’

‘It wasn’t funny at the time,’ said Tim.

‘Still, I suppose a lot of your jobs are like that?’

Tim said, ‘Well – as a matter of fact—’

‘I know,’ said Sue. ‘Very hush-hush. I oughtn’t to have mentioned it. But one can’t help having ideas. I apologise.’

‘Please don’t apologise,’ said Tim unhappily.

‘Tell me some more about this business,’ said Sue. ‘There’s no reason I shouldn’t know about that. What have these receivers got to do with us at Brimberley?’

‘That’s the sixty-four dollar question,’ said Tim. ‘The way I see it at the moment is this. Somewhere in this district – or somehow connected with this district – I can’t be any more definite than that – is a person who makes a living – a second living, because they must have some ostensible and above-board job – by occasional, well-planned raids on country houses. The country houses are scattered over the south of England. The base is here. So much seems certain. This person – this burglar—’

‘Why are you being so cagey about it?’ said Sue suddenly. ‘You’re carefully keeping off calling him a man or saying “he” or “him”. Do you think it’s a woman?’

‘Must be unconscious caution,’ said Tim. ‘All right. This man works absolutely on his own. His nearest and dearest may know nothing about it. That’s the pattern in these cases, you see. He may only operate on two nights in the year. He does his own reconnaissance, makes his own rules, plays his own hand. The one thing he’s got to have help over is disposing of the goods. That’s where the Captain comes in. He keeps a restaurant. Very handy. You go and have lunch there – perhaps only once a year. You leave a parcel with your hat and coat in the cloak room. When you’ve finished lunch you pick it up again. Only it isn’t the same parcel. When you went in it was the proceeds of your last three robberies. When you come out it’s full of pound notes. Transaction completed.’

‘I see,’ said Sue. ‘Awkward if someone took your parcel by mistake.’

‘I doubt if the attendant would let them,’ said Tim. ‘They’re all in it. A very efficient crowd, really.’

‘Go on,’ said Sue. ‘Let’s walk as far as the first milestone and then turn back. I want to know it all. How did MacMorris come into it?’

There’s no real proof about that,’ said Tim. ‘But I’ve not much doubt about it, either. He contrived to find out – probably some slip at the receiving end – the real life identity of the man who was doing these jobs. That was his meal ticket. Blackmail. Spoil the spoiler. He came down here to live on it. More comfortable than hanging round the West End stage. More dangerous, though.’

‘So it was the burglar who blew him up,’ said Sue thoughtfully. ‘Do you know, I’m not sure I blame him.’

‘Not if he’d stopped there,’ said Tim. ‘I didn’t much like him trying to pitch my mother off her motor-bike, though, when her inquiries got too near the mark. That’s the trouble with these people. As long as no one suspects them they’re smooth as silk. But they’ll go any length to preserve their anonymity. They’ll kill to preserve it, make no mistake, you and me and the lot of us.’

‘Tim,’ said Sue, stopping suddenly. ‘Do you know who it is?’

‘Well, no,’ said Tim. ‘But I’ve got a very fair idea. That’s what makes it so damned awkward,’ he added.

Sue said, ‘Let’s go back.’ She said nothing more until they got to Melliker Lane. She seemed almost afraid to speak.

They turned down into the lane, and stopped outside the gate.

Tim put his hand up to open the gate and found it on Sue’s arm. He left it there for a moment. Before he could open his mouth Sue said, just as if she was concluding a conversation on a totally different subject, ‘There’s one thing more you ought to know. On Saturday when we were staying at Clamboys I went out for an early morning ride with Bob. He asked me to marry him.’

‘Bob—’ said Tim. ‘Why—what—’

‘I didn’t have a chance to say yes or no, really,’ said Sue. ‘Bolo’s an awful brute in the early morning and at that moment he bolted. By the time Bob got him back again the moment seemed to have passed.’

‘Yes, but—’ said Tim. ‘I mean – would you—’

‘How should I know,’ said Sue crossly. ‘Good night.’ She stalked off up the driveway and Tim waited until he heard the door shut.

He stood for a minute or two, unmoving, in the dark. Round him the hundred noises of the night clicked and slurred and scuttered. Tim did not trouble himself about them. There were no dangerous ghosts in Melliker Lane that night.

A quarter of a mile away Constable Queen sat in his cottage parlour whilst his wife busied herself about his supper. He was a big, blond, serious young man, and at that moment his face was set into an almost terrifying concentration of thought.

It certainly scared his wife, who came back into the room at that moment, and had to put the tray she was carrying down on to the table before she spoke.

‘Why, Stan,’ she said, ‘whatever’s up?’

He turned his troubled face to her. ‘If you
know
something,’ he said, ‘but can’t tell it without getting someone else into trouble, and if you don’t want to get them into trouble – it’s difficult, see.’

Mrs. Queen saw nothing. She knew nothing; but being a woman did not allow this deficiency to affect her judgement.

‘Eat your supper whilst it’s hot,’ she said. ‘And stop thinking about it. It’ll all come out a lot easier in the morning.’