Trusted Like The Fox (17 page)

Ellis was glad of the opportunity to lie quiet and make plans; to consider what best to do.

Crane had handled the fingerprint business with brilliant audacity. Although he had only given them the sketchiest idea of what he had done Ellis gathered that Crane was friendly with Inspector James’s daughter. Apparently Crane’s influence was considerable, and he had been able to persuade her to get hold of the watch, to wipe it clean of fingerprints and to substitute her own prints on it in the place of Grace’s. She had done this apparently without asking for an explanation, and Crane hadn’t said what reward he had given her for taking such a risk. He merely said, perhaps a little mysteriously, “she’s in my debt and I knew I could rely on her. It was really very simple. So now neither of you have anything to worry about. I know James. When he receives the report from headquarters that the fingerprints on the watch are not recorded he’ll drop the whole business. He is a man who lives by rule of thumb, and he has great faith in reports. You can both stay here as long as you like.”

So the immediate danger seemed over, but Ellis was not satisfied. Crane had said nothing to him about his own future, nor had he again referred to the fact that he knew Ellis was Cushman. He had kept away from Ellis, talking to him only in Grace’s presence. Ellis felt that Crane had something up his sleeve and was biding his time. It was an uncomfortable feeling; it worried Ellis.

There was no mistake about it: Crane was a smooth card. The way he had handled the inspector’s daughter showed that. Even Ellis wasn’t capable of such finesse and cunning, and he prided himself on being smart.

Then there was Grace. The change in her during the day had been nothing short of miraculous. She had suddenly become pretty, her eyes bright where before they had been lustreless and miserable. The new clothes made a tremendous difference to her, and Ellis couldn’t keep her out of his mind, picturing her as she lay on the bed beside him, pinned down by his hand on her throat. He found himself wanting to see her again, watching the clock impatiently, wondering how much longer she was going to be before she came to see if he wanted anything.

There was no doubt that she had been good to him. Not many girls could have set his leg as she had done: why even that fat little nigger of a doctor had been impressed.

Ellis thought back to the moment when he had decided to save her from arrest: when she had been stealing from the woman’s purse and had been caught. He had had a feeling then that her destiny was to be linked with his. Instinctively he had known that she would be worth helping, and that she would repay his help a hundred times over. He was lonely, had need of a companion and had thought at first that he had been landed with a gutless, snivelling little bitch, but he had been wrong; had misjudged her. The caterpillar had turned into a butterfly: the transformation was electrifying.

Ellis frowned. Was he falling in love with the girl? he asked himself. Always coldly analytical of his own feelings, he pondered the question. It was possible. Hate, they say, is akin to love, he thought, and he had treated her brutally enough; even hated her. Now his feelings were changing. It was an odd sensation for a man of his callousness and brutality to be moved by a chit of a girl like Grace, and yet he was moved; he could not deny it. It would be nice, he thought, if she came in now and was kind to him. He didn’t want a lot of slop; that was something he couldn’t stomach, but he would have liked her to sit by the window and talk to him. He didn’t care what she said; she was so illiterate that she couldn’t possibly interest him no matter what she had to say, but he wanted to hear the sound of her voice, to look at her, to have her near him.

He moved restlessly. She was in love with Crane. Anyone with half an eye could see that. Crane with his good looks, his wealth, his suave manners was just the kind of fellow a girl like Grace would fall for. It was natural. She was young, frivolous, without standards, educated by the movies; what could one expect? That didn’t matter, Ellis decided, so long as Crane didn’t interest himself in her. There lay the danger. If Crane behaved as he should behave, he’d quickly put her in her place. But if he happened to be interested in women (and a big, fleshy fellow like him was certain to be over-sexed, Ellis thought bitterly), then there was danger; although, he argued, reluctant to face up to the more likely possibilities, a fellow like Crane would surely surround himself with fashionable beauties, the kind of women you see in Vogue, showing off clothes (and themselves too, for that matter!). Crane could get chorus girls down from London, fast bits from the West End hotels who were not above selling themselves for a good time: the real stuff; women who knew what was what, knew how to dress, how to please men, not a deaf little stupid like Grace.

But Grace suited Ellis. Oddly enough, he decided, she was his type of girl. He hadn’t ever thought of having a girl before, but now he considered the idea he decided Grace was the one for him.

But Crane — Crane kept cropping up in his thoughts. Surely a fellow like Crane wouldn’t bother with Grace? But suppose he did? Suppose he was one of those swine who thought it fun to take on a girl as innocent and naive as Grace? There were such men. Suppose Crane was one of them? Suppose at this very moment he was trying it on? Ellis felt sweat on his face. He’d kill him! He half sat up in bed, then with a gesture of frustrated fury, he lay back again. It was all very well to think of killing Crane, but how to do it? He was half Crane’s size and, besides, he was chained to the bed. It wouldn’t be easy. It’d need thought.

Then perhaps there would be no need to kill Crane. There was no point in working one’s self up if Crane was not interested in Grace. No point at all. He’d wait and see; watch Crane.

It was after seven o’clock before Grace and Crane returned to the bungalow. He heard the front door close, and Crane say something in a low voice. Grace laughed; the sound of her laughter was to Ellis like the touch of a hot iron. He squirmed in the bed, the whole of his mean little mind writhing with jealousy. He waited, listening, willing them to come to him, but they didn’t, and a moment later, he heard another door close and then a long silence brooded over the place.

He lay still, his eyes on the clock, miserable, lonely, waiting for them to come. “I’m ill,” he thought, “and in pain, and they don’t give a damn. They haven’t thought of me all the afternoon. I might have needed something, but they’re too wrapped up in themselves to bother about me. You wouldn’t treat a sick dog as they’re treating me.”

When the hands of the clock crept round to half-past seven, he heard Grace’s light tread and then the door opened.

He was about to complain, to abuse her for neglecting him, but the angry, bitter words died in his throat. He scarcely recognised her as she stood in the doorway, her face flushed, her eyes bright with suppressed excitement. She had on a wine-coloured dress, the skirt of which reached to the floor in full, graceful lines, and was cut low on her shoulders, revealing her creamy white skin that stirred him more than he had ever been stirred before in his life. Her hair was dressed in an upsweep, and a collar of gleaming diamonds glittered at her throat.

This was a new Grace: a glamorous woman, the sight of whom drove Ellis into a frenzy of jealousy and alarm. He realised that dressed as she was, looking as she did, she was a woman whom Crane could love; she no longer looked the naive, stupid little half-wit he had known twenty-four hours ago. She was something: the real stuff. A woman to excite the worst in any man.

“Do you like me?” she said with an excited giggle. “He made me dress like this. He’s ever so kind. Look at these diamonds. They’re real. Honest! They’re real diamonds. Aren’t they wonderful?”

Still Ellis could say nothing. He stared at her, feeling a hungry longing for her, an overwhelming need to have her for himself.

“I thought you’d be surprised,” she went on, delighted to see his obviously bewildered expression. “I scarcely believed it was me when I looked in the mirror.”

Then he saw through the glamour, saw her innocence and he knew instinctively that she was in danger. Crane had designs on her. He must have. He wouldn’t have dressed her up like this, given her diamonds unless he meant her harm.

He found himself in despair that he might lose her, and he forgot about himself, forgot his pain and that he would hang if the police caught him; all he could think of was her: to open her eyes to her danger; to convince her that Crane was not kind but cunning and dangerous. (And Crane had dared to call him a fox!
Treason is but trusted like a fox
. He had said that, but what of him? He was to be trusted even less.)

“Come here,” Ellis said, struggling to speak calmly. “I wouldn’t have believed you were the same girl.”

Grace moved into the room. The long dress gave her poise, and she moved smoothly as if she was being drawn along on wheels. She stood by his bed and looked down at him. He realised bitterly that she was not thinking of him. She was only thinking of herself, coming to him because there was no one else in the bungalow to whom she could show herself off.

“So he gave you those diamonds?” he said slowly, his eyes watchful and hurt.

“Isn’t he kind?” she said happily. “Of course they’re only lent to me. They belonged to his sister, Julie . . . . the one who died.”

Without knowing why, Ellis felt a cold wave of fear run down his spine.

The one who died
. . . Why should those words strike fear into him? It was as if he were suddenly able to look into the future, to see danger for her, and for a brief moment, he fancied a shadow lay between them: something tangible, black and frightening, and he struggled up in bed, pointing at her.

“Be careful you don’t die too,” he said. “He means you no good. I know it. You’re mad to accept things from him.” Then suddenly, still not thinking of himself, he jerked out, “Go! Leave me. Get out of here before it’s too late. Do you hear? Get out of those things and go!”

She stared at him, shocked by his frightened eyes and the despair on his face.

“Don’t stand gaping at me,” he exclaimed, beating his fist on the eiderdown. “Get out and save yourself! He’ll harm you. I know he will. There’s something about him. He’s devilish . . .” He broke off as he saw Crane standing in the doorway, smiling, but his eyes dark.

“What an odd word to use — devilish,” Crane said, looking at Ellis, who glared back at him. “You mustn’t frighten the poor girl.” He wandered into the room and stood beside Grace who looked up at him, her eyes worried, her face a little pale. “Doesn’t she look nice?” he went on, smiling at her. Watching them, Ellis saw Grace’s face light up when Crane smiled at her, and the worried expression went from her eyes.

Ellis could think of nothing to say, and after the first glance, he could no longer bear to look at them. He stared out of the window, his fists clenched, his face a hard mask of misery.

“How have you been getting on?” Crane asked cheerfully. “Is there anything I can bring you . . . a book perhaps?”

“Get out!” Ellis snarled at him. “Leave me alone.”

“Funny chap, isn’t he? Crane said to Grace, leading her to the door. “We’ll get him some supper. Perhaps that’ll sweeten his temper.” His hand rested on Grace’s bare arm. “Shall we tell him?” he went on, pulling her against him.

Grace broke free and went quickly from the room. Ellis did not see her face, but he knew she was confused and shy. He had, however, seen with sick horror, Crane’s familiar caress.

Crane glanced at Ellis, a sudden shifty expression in his eyes. “We’re celebrating tonight,” he said, and added as he was about to leave the room, “I’m opening a bottle of pop. You must congratulate me. Grace has promised to be my wife.”

PART THREE

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Except for the blue-painted lamp over the entrance and the blue and white sign:
Police
on the gate, the Taleham Police Station looked what it was: an old world cottage.

The front room had been converted into the office (much against Mrs James’s wishes) and the rest of the house was given over to the inspector, his wife and daughter, Daphne, for their living quarters.

Police Constable George Rogers was seated on the hard Windsor chair before the inspector’s desk. In half an hour’s time he was due for his evening patrol; he was not looking forward to bicycling along the hot, dusty lanes, a task he undertook, winter and summer, wet or fine, twice daily. It was always an uneventful trip and he had long lost his first enthusiastic ambitions to make an arrest, catch a poacher or even rescue a beautiful young lady from assault. He was only too anxious to get the patrol over and return to the station. For two years (ever since he had had the good fortune to be sent to Taleham) Rogers had adored Daphne James from afar. He was prepared to admit to his more intimate friends that he was scared of her, but that did not alter the fact that he was head over heels in love with her. In his most pessimistic moments he realised that Daphne would never be his. He knew he wasn’t in her class. For that matter no one in the village was in her class except, of course, the gentry. She was as out of place in Taleham as an orchid on a coster barrow. She wasn’t meant for village life and she was always telling him so. She had the looks and the figure for the stage, the films — Hollywood.

Rogers knew she was friendly with Crane. Now Crane was the kind of bloke you’d expect Daphne to be friendly with, Rogers had reasoned time and again. Crane had a big 38 h.p. Buick, a luxuriously furnished home; he dressed well, had the right manners, and plenty of money.

But that didn’t prevent Rogers from loving Daphne, and at this moment, he was listening to the sound of her voice as she talked to her mother in the kitchen.

The heavy clump of the inspector’s boots coming along the passage aroused Rogers, and he hurriedly crossed over to his own little desk that stood in the draughtiest corner of the room.

The door opened and James came in. He carried a small despatch case that had been delivered but a moment ago from Headquarters.