Touch and Go (29 page)

It came to an end at last, and they drove back to the hotel according to plan. It seemed as if Geoffrey Hildred's flow of words had failed at last, for he sat silent in the taxi whilst Lucilla chattered about the play.

“They were all such idiots,” she declared. “Why didn't they go and do something instead of just mooning around and talking about themselves? I do hate people who can't get a move on.”

Geoffrey did speak then. He said in a curious flat, gentle voice,

“I hope it won't spoil your night's rest. You mustn't miss your sleep, my dear.” And with that the taxi stopped before the hotel.

John sprang out with some relief. He said,

“You'll take the taxi on?” And then in a minute the three of them were there on the pavement and Geoffrey was being driven away.

Sarah felt a most blessed sense of relief. What had she been afraid of? He was gone, and the three of them were here together, she, and John, and Lucilla. They were a family. It was going to be like this always—she, and John, and Lucilla. It felt very good indeed.

They went up the steps and into the hotel.

CHAPTER XXXI

The taxi drove on with Geoffrey Hildred round the top of the Square and out of the narrow street which runs in between Nos. 40 and 41. Another turn, and the taxi drew up before a block of flats. Geoffrey got out, separated the legal fare from the loose silver in his pocket, added a generous tip, and went in.

He rang for the lift, conversed affably with the porter who took him up, and, getting out at the third floor, let himself into his flat with a latch-key. He stood in the hall with his hand on the door-knob. It was as if for a moment he relaxed. The day had been a hard one. To be constantly on your guard; to contrive, fitting one bit of your puzzle so deftly to the next that there shall be no sign of a join; to hold pleasant converse through the strain of an awkward and dangerous situation; to dare in the teeth of risk; to be within an ace of succeeding and to fail, and, failing, to keep an unwavering purpose and show no sign—these things put a pretty heavy strain upon a man. Geoffrey Hildred leaned against the inner side of the door and eased himself from the strain. The geniality of his expression was gone, leaving the features heavy with fatigue. The florid colour looked patchy and hard. The shoulders sagged into a forward stoop.

It was for no more than a minute. Then he straightened up, took his hand from the door, and walked into the first room on the right. It was a very comfortable sitting room—a man's room, with big leather chairs, a table strewn with papers and magazines, and a deep couch. There were Persian rugs on the floor, and a few really beautiful pieces of Chinese porcelain on the mantelpiece and in a cabinet which stood between the windows. The crimson curtains were drawn. A shaded reading-lamp glowed on a low table by the couch and showed Ricky lying there at full length. He had a magazine in his hand, but it was impossible to say whether he had been reading it. He started as his father came in.

Geoffrey Hildred had resumed his customary expression. He shut the door behind him, switched on the overhead light, and settled himself in one of the large arm-chairs.

“Well, my boy,” he said, “we had quite a successful evening.”

Ricky's face twitched. He flung up an arm to shield it and said in an uneven voice.

“What do you mean? What's happened?”

Geoffrey Hildred frowned. You had to use the material to your hand, but really Ricky's nerves—He shook his head a little as he said reprovingly,

“Nothing has happened. Nothing was due to happen.”

Ricky sat up with astonishing vigour.

“I wish you wouldn't say things like that!”

Geoffrey's eyebrows rose.

“Why, I suppose the servants have gone, haven't they? But you're quite right—we mustn't be careless. Just make quite sure they're all off the premises, and then put the chain on the door.”

Whilst he waited for Ricky to come back, his fingers beat a tattoo on the arm of the chair. He was going to have trouble with Ricky; he could see that. And he was tired—tired. He clenched his hand with a jerk. He wasn't too tired to finish the game.

Ricky came back.

“They've gone—and I'm going to bed.”

“It's scarcely worth while, is it?” said Geoffrey Hildred.

Ricky came a step nearer.

“I'm going to bed. I'm not going on any farther. I don't care what you say—I'm not going on. I don't care if we're ruined. It's better to be ruined than dead. You're just trying to get me to put my head in a noose, and I won't do it. I tell you I'm through!”

“Well, well,” said Geoffrey Hildred—” so you say. But have you the slightest idea what being ruined is going to be like? I'm afraid you haven't. I've tried to spare you, you know, and I'm afraid it's been a mistake. I ought to have taken you more fully into my confidence. Just shut that door and come and sit down. I don't think you'll really be quite so indifferent to being ruined when I've told you a little more about it.”

Ricky plunged sulkily down on the sofa and stared at his father with shifty, nervous eyes.

“I know Jack can put you into court if he chooses. But he won't choose. After all he's a relation.”

Geoffrey Hildred lifted his hand and let it fall again.

“My dear Ricky, that's puerile. He won't be able to help it. There is a settlement on Lucilla under his grandfather's will, and the fact that a good deal of it has gone will be beyond his power to hush up if he ever comes to go into the accounts. He would expose himself to the charge of being an accessory after the fact. So you see you are talking nonsense. There was a time about three years ago when I could have handed everything over and cleared enough to make us very comfortable for life. If Jack had come back then—well, I shouldn't have risked any further transactions. But with Henry at the other side of the world and no chance of his return—I used to get most deplorable accounts of his health—I was, most unfortunately, tempted to continue. And then, as you know, the roof fell in.” He paused for a moment, waited to see if Ricky would speak, and then went on. “When you say you know that Jack can put me into court, you are a good deal under-stating what is likely to happen—what is bound to happen—unless we take steps to prevent it. I don't know if the idea of penal servitude attracts you. You would of course get a lighter sentence than I should. And you are young. You would probably be a free man again before your thirtieth birthday. That is still young, and I dare say you would be able to make a new start, though it's never easy for a penniless, discredited man to get on his feet again.”

Ricky sprang up, quivering from head to foot.

“What do you mean? What are you talking about?
Prison?
” he said.

Geoffrey looked a mild reproof.

“My dear Ricky, don't you realise the position? Misappropriation of trust funds is, I fear, the name that will be given to my well-intentioned financial operations, and you will find that there is ample documentary evidence of your, shall we say, collusion? You may get off with a light sentence, but you will have no chance at all of convincing a jury of your innocence.”

Ricky collapsed again upon the sofa and buried his head in his hands with a groan.

“What can we do?”

Geoffrey Hildred regarded him complacently.

“Why, what we planned to do. I think you must see that it is necessary and—” He made a slight gesture with his hand. “Forgive me, my dear boy, but I really cannot see what you are boggling at. It isn't as if it would be your first attempt, though I'm sure we both hope it will be your last.”

Ricky looked up sulkily.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don't want to allude to past failures, but you did push her off the bank and under Miss Trent's car—didn't you? And without any prompting from me either. It was a bold stroke that might easily have succeeded, but after that you can't expect me to take your scruples very seriously.”

Ricky stared at him gloomily.

“She'd made me mad. I didn't care what I did to her. I asked her to marry me, and she laughed at me and said—” His voice choked with rage.

Geoffrey Hildred nodded.

“Yes, she called you a white rabbit. Very silly of her, but she's still a schoolgirl.”

Ricky sprang to his feet and began to walk about the room. “She made me mad, and I didn't care what I did. I pushed her, and I'd have been glad if she'd been killed. But I can't do it in cold blood, I tell you. Why don't you do it yourself if you're so keen on it?”

“I do wish you'd sit down,” said Geoffrey Hildred, and as Ricky threw himself on the sofa again, he continued in a calm judicial voice. “I should just like to point out that up to the present most of the risks have been mine. I'm not complaining that it is so.”

“You made me go down to that beastly school of hers and set light to her curtains.”

“Well, there wasn't much risk in that, either to her or to you. There's one point about a school—you can always count on everyone being just where they're expected to be at any given moment.”

“You made me put the screws in her pocket too.”

Geoffrey Hildred laughed pleasantly.

“A most dangerous job, Ricky! Come, come, you must admit that so far the risks have been mine. That was a narrow shave at Holme Fallow, and a piece of real bad luck that Jack should have been so near. When Miss Trent turned her torch on and I saw him, I thought the game was up. Well now, my boy, about to-night—I would certainly undertake the job myself if it didn't involve climbing in at that bathroom window. I'm afraid that's a little beyond me. But really the whole thing is simplicity itself. You go round to the back, do the bit of climbing, which is easy enough for you, push back the catch of the bathroom window, and get in. You'll find this palette knife will do the trick. It's an old-fashioned catch and moves very easily. I have put the cylinder of gas all ready in your old rucksack. I don't think you'll find it at all in your way for the climb.”

Ricky had his chin in his hands. He stared at his father and said nothing. Geoffrey Hildred continued in his equable voice.

“Leave the window unlatched and slip the bolt of the door. Then put on your gas mask—it is in the rucksack. If anyone does catch sight of you after that, you will be very well disguised. By the way, I should wear your Burberry. Everyone looks alike in a Burberry. Now listen carefully. You must deal with Jack first. He's in 45 at the end of the passage. Unless he's changed a lot, he's a sound sleeper—all the Hildreds are. There isn't any bolt on the door. If he's locked in, this little contrivance will turn the key from the outside. You'll be able to tell from his breathing whether he's deeply asleep. Bring the nozzle well down over his face and turn on the gas. When he's off, shut and latch the window, turn the gas fire on full, and leave him, taking care to shut the door. Then get back to the bathroom and lock yourself in again. This key opens the communicating door to Lucilla's room. I got the inpression of the lock last time Marina stayed there. It's the room on the right as you come in. Repeat the process with the gas, shut and latch the window, make sure that the door is bolted on the inside, then turn on the gas fire and come away, locking the communicating door behind you and taking care to bring away the key. You then have only to unlock the bathroom door and climb out of the window, shutting it behind you. The fact of its being unlatched will occasion no remark. At least half a dozen people will have had baths, and any one of them might have left it like that. At the inquest it will be perfectly evident that Lucilla, in a fit of derangement, went along the passage and turned on the gas in her father's room, afterwards returning to her own room, where she locked herself in and once more turned on the gas. She will be found in a room with two locked doors and a latched window, and I think it is quite impossible that the least suspicion should be aroused. You will wear rubber gloves throughout, so there will be no finger-marks. Move the gas taps with the little instrument I gave you for turning the key. You don't want to disturb the prints which will naturally be there. I don't suppose anyone will think of looking for them, but it is just as well to be on the safe side.”

Ricky stared at his father. He had a fixed, sulky look. He said,

“It won't go right. If you'd been going to bring it off, you'd have brought it off already. Look at this afternoon.”

Geoffrey nodded.

“I know—very disappointing. But I wasn't counting on it. It was a good chance, so I took it, and if it hadn't been for Sarah Trent, it would have come off. There was just room for me to get my stick level with Lucilla's waist, and I got in a good hard push. They'd both have been under the train if Miss Trent had not interfered.”

Ricky laughed unpleasantly.

“Your Miss Trent hasn't been a shining success—has she? If she hadn't brought that fellow Darnac down, we'd probably have got it fixed for up Cilla to marry me. I can't think what you wanted to drag them in for.”

Geoffrey Hildred made a rather weary gesture.

“Oh, my dear Ricky—need we go over all that again? If you can't see how important it was to be able to show that we surrounded Lucilla with young companionship, that we did everything that was possible to counteract her morbid tendencies—” He shrugged his shoulders and sat up. “That's enough. If we bring off this job, we're safe. If we don't, we're done. Which is it to be? If Marina comes in for the property, we shall have the management of everything. She'll sign anything I put in front of her, and when she dies everything is ours. Come—you can't hesitate.”

Ricky looked at him, a long angry look. Then he looked away.

“I suppose I'll have to do it,” he said.

CHAPTER XXXII