The Trail of Fear (17 page)

CHAPTER XVIII

SOUTHWARD STILL

With a hurried exclamation Rezaire got out. His one thought was to get Dixon out of sight before a passing car should notice him and insist on stopping to get aid. Already they must be close to Southampton and there would be traffic up and down the roads. Besides, the police, despite their setback, which by wonderful luck for them had not been nearly as serious as it might, would soon be after them once more.

He dragged Dixon, who had evidently fainted from strain and loss of blood, out of the car and onto the side of the road. With a swift look round to make sure that he had not been observed he next pulled him through a gap in the hedge into a rough piece of fallow ground about thirty yards wide bordering on a wood, where he was out of sight from the road.

Crouching down beside him he rapidly reviewed the situation. Obviously he would have to abandon the car and get to Beaulieu some other way. But equally obviously he could not leave things just as they were. Anyone finding the car like that would instantly conclude there had been a smash and would start looking for the victims. He broke off hurriedly as a Ford van came up from the direction of Southampton and seeing the deserted car began to slow down. Rezaire just had time to emerge from the hedge and get between the Calthorpe and the Ford so that the man could not see the blood on the seat.

“Had a smash?” began the other.

“Yes, nothing much, though.”

“Want any help?”

“Oh, Lord no,” replied Rezaire airily, hoping the fellow would not notice anything else. “Just broke my windshield, that's all.”

“Car all right?”

“Yes, thanks. I'm going on now.”

With an air of determination he began to get into the car—the engine was still running—and the Ford van driver after another curious look at him moved on.

Rezaire sat in the car considering a little. After a while he put the car in gear. It had occurred to him that he must get it away from where it was, for it was a source of danger as long as he was hiding close by. An empty car with a broken windshield was sure to attract everyone who passed and other vehicles would stop even as the Ford had done.

He drove a hundred yards or so, eyed curiously by the occupants of two passing cars. The wheel was wet with Dixon's blood and Rezaire felt rather sick. There was a lot of blood in the car, on the seat and on the floor and over the dashboard. Dixon must have lost a lot. Certainly he had stuck it well. Rezaire shuddered to think what would have happened if he had not been able to hit the other car's tire when he did, if Dixon had fainted when they were going at full speed.

Selecting a moment when there was no one actually in sight, though he could see a crossroad not so very far ahead of him, he drew the car gently into the hedge on the right hand side and got out. If a crowd was going to collect at all round the Calthorpe, it should do so where he wished. Then he crossed the road unobserved and got through the hedge into the same stretch of rough ground in which Dixon lay further back. For a moment he was tempted to leave him and go on on his own. After all, he had had his share of helping others; why should he continue to do so? It was every man for himself in his line of life, and let the police take the hindmost.

But his hesitation was only momentary. After all, Dixon had served him well and Dixon was loyal according to his lights. Had it not been for Dixon's skill and endurance he would probably now have been lying dead on the road. Sam he had had no compunction in betraying, because he knew Sam would have done the same by him, and also because Sam had forced his company on him by threats of violence. But Dixon was a different man altogether. Bending down to avoid observation from the road, he doubled back behind the hedge to where he had left his unconscious companion.

On arrival he pulled him a little further into the ditch among the weeds and undergrowth, so as to be completely hidden and began to staunch the wounds.

They were not very deep, although numerous, and after a while Dixon opened his eyes. It took him a minute or two to realize he was in a ditch.

“'Ave we 'ad a smash?” he whispered.

“No, thanks to you. You pulled up.”

“Oh, yes, I remember. Then we stopped 'em?”

“Yes, but not so very far away. They'll be after us still.”

“What about the car?”

“I've chucked that. We'll have to go on foot to the nearest station and get on a train without being seen. How do you feel?”

“Oh, all right.” He sat up. “Bit rocky.”

“I'll finish tying up these cuts for you, or they'll begin to bleed again, and then we'll move on. And keep down as much as possible. I don't want people to see us. I've left the car in the hedge about a hundred yards away, so that anyone will think we've had a smash over there. That'll give us a bit of a start. Besides, it's getting on for sunset now.”

“Well, I'm ready as soon as you are.” He grinned feebly. “Those two young ladies ought to 'ave 'ad ‘Triplex.' I should speak to them about it if I was you.”

“Now look here,” murmured Rezaire after a while, studying the map. “Here's a station called Swaythling not so far away. If we can get on a train there we can probably get through Southampton to where I want to go. Come on.”

They got to their feet and moving off with caution soon gained the shelter of the wood. Once in amongst the trees they looked back. Some distance behind them they could see the road and at one point a little group round the deserted Calthorpe with the blood and the glass all over it. Probably, Rezaire thought with a grim chuckle, they were looking for the bodies. Then they went on again and in a few moments were out of sight. Once more they had thrown the police off their immediate track; but, Rezaire feared, it would not be for long. Their adversaries now had a very good idea whereabouts in the country they were and every station would be watched; every village constable warned to look for them. In all probability the same men from Scotland Yard that had been on his and Sam's heels in London were now on their way down to Southampton following on the reports they had received from the different towns on the main road.

After about a quarter of an hour they approached Swaythling. They had been seen by no one on their way, but had had to hide from farm laborers on two occasions. Dixon owing to his bandaged hands had had difficulty in scaling gates and hedges, but had stuck it well. He had realized how easy it would have been for Rezaire to have left him when he was unconscious and was pathetically grateful and anxious not to be a handicap. The contrast, Rezaire thought, between him and Sam was very marked.

A short distance away, they stopped and held a council which resulted in their approaching a solitary house on the outskirts of the village and asking for a wash. It was better, Rezaire decided, to risk a talkative or inquisitive villager than to go about so conspicuously, Dixon with blood-stained bandages, white face and torn clothes, himself hatless and also stained with blood. They found a laborer and his wife inside sitting down to their tea and explained that they had had a cycle accident. The woman was only too anxious to help, attended to Dixon's hands, binding them up afresh and supplied them with some clothes and a hat, for which Rezaire paid her well. They left the cottage feeling that they had been put on their feet once more. They might now pass people without exciting comment, while Rezaire was fairly hopeful that they would be well away from Swaythling before the laborer's wife mentioned their visit to anyone in the vicinity.

Avoiding the actual village as far as possible, though they had twice to cross roads, Rezaire led the way toward the station. They crossed at the level crossing and walking boldly across the open space in front of the station buildings waited their opportunity for a short while and then got, very circumspectly, into the freight yard. To be observed now would have been fatal and though it was about sunset there was still a lot of light. Several trucks and freight-cars stood about the yard and into one of these Rezaire cautiously climbed.

“What's your game?” asked Dixon. “I thought you said we were going to get beyond Southampton?”

“Yes, but we've got to wait till there's a train. It's no good waiting on the station platform and taking tickets. I'm going to wait here.”

“Humph!” grunted Dixon, but got into the cattle car. “This is like travelling in France,” he added a moment later. “During the war, I mean.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. Weren't you there?”

“No.”

Dixon's voice was a little surprised and hurt. “Why, weren't you in the army or navy?”

There was a pause. Then Rezaire answered with a smile: “No. I was in what they called the Secret Service. And then”—his face suddenly hardened and grew bitter—“I left it. Now, stop talking and keep a lookout for any train in the right direction—southward.”

For some while they stayed there in the security of the old cattle car. Twice the signal went down for trains toward Southampton, but each time it was an express that roared through. From where they were they could, by peeping out with some caution, get a view of the station approach and part of the platforms, and about twenty minutes after their arrival Dixon nudged Rezaire and pointed. Two policemen on cycles were coming up to the station. They dismounted and went inside. Then they reappeared on the platform scrutinizing the people there. Once they came right up to the end and stood there, looking out toward the freight yard and arguing about something, but eventually they went back into the station once more.

Rezaire saw that the net was being drawn tight. On all the stations, on all the roads, everywhere round the spot where their pursuers in the big red car had lost touch with them police would now be watching. Southampton in particular would be well guarded as it was the nearest gateway to the continent and freedom. And he had to break this chain to get through the close-drawn barriers, pitting his brain against the brains and organization of the whole detective force. For a moment he almost felt despair, then his natural buoyancy reasserted itself. After all he had had good luck on the whole so far. That ought to pull him through this last bit; that and what Sam called “his infernal cheek,” but which was nothing more nor less than his ability to put himself in his opponents' place, guessing what they thought he would do and doing the opposite… Dixon pulled his arm, interrupting his thoughts. “Another train signaled,” he whispered, and in a few minutes it came in sight, passing slowly through the station—a freight train.

“Come on, quick!” suddenly snapped Rezaire, and began to crawl out. “This is the one for us.”

“But it isn't stopping.”

“All the better.” He was clambering cautiously down as he spoke. “A passenger train will be no good with those bobbies here and this is going slow enough for us to board it.”

The freight train clattered and puffed its way along at a reduced speed. Calculating his time Rezaire left the friendly cattle car and dodging behind the other cars so as to avoid observation from the platforms came up almost to the line on which the freight train was running.

For a moment he paused looking back at the station, from which at the moment he was partially hidden by the base of a foot-bridge, then snatching his opportunity he ran out. Drawing alongside a car he caught at a bar and swung himself up on to the clattering swaying vehicle. Two cars behind he saw Dixon also clamber on board, though with more difficulty. No sooner was he on, than he instantly crouched down as inconspicuously as he could, in case he had attracted the attention of anyone on the foot-bridge or the end of the platform.

At last they passed out of sight of the station and no shout or other sign that they were noticed had been given. Rezaire drew a deep breath and clambered over the top into the friendly shelter of the empty car. He did not think he had been seen. The train clattered on southward into the gathering dusk. He did not know where it was going, but it was at least southward toward the sea and safety.

The engine labored on in the glow of the sunset. Rezaire, lying on his back at the bottom of the car, for a moment was absolutely at peace, a peace that he only wished could last forever; for he was infernally tired. He longed for sleep and freedom from worry, and yet he must still hang on. He was near safety, but he could not afford now to make a single mistake. For several hours more he must work at high pressure, foreseeing, guessing, devising plans, putting them into effect, matching himself against those who were also straining every nerve to lay him by the heels.

He rapidly surveyed the past twenty-four hours. Why, only this time yesterday he had been in Carlyle's room cutting the heads off lead soldiers, absolutely unconscious that his activities were to be so soon ended. The gang had been in existence then with perfectly working organization; now where was it? One dead, two captured, himself hotly pursued, and Vivienne he knew not where. He wondered where Viv had got to. Probably, if she had had any luck, she had got down to the neighborhood of Beaulieu ready to join him in the boat that very night. It was funny to think that out of all England she was quite close. By now she might even be safely on board the launch if it had arrived, for she knew where to find it. It seemed ages since he had left her up there on the roofs, not knowing whether she would escape or not.

A slight change in the speed of the train recalled his thoughts to the moment. He sat up and sighed. His brief rest was over. He must come back to the things of earth again, if he were to get to Beaulieu in safety.

He peeped cautiously over the top of the car. They were passing a station; he could not see the name but from his map he decided it must be St. Deny's. The next was Northam, the last before Southampton West. They put on speed again, passed over water, clattered between houses, whose long shadows lay across the train. Rezaire crouched very still, afraid lest he should be observed from one of the windows.