Appleby Plays Chicken (18 page)

Appleby shook his head. ‘It isn’t possible to go as far as that.’ He hesitated. ‘You understand, Dr Faircloth, that all this is highly confidential?’

‘By all means. And I may truly say that I support a very tolerable character for discretion.’

For a moment Appleby was silent. He might have been admiring the orotundity of this last turn of phrase on Faircloth’s part. Then he finished his brandy. ‘Not to put too fine a point on it,’ he said, ‘this man Farquharson is a professional blackmailer.’

Faircloth received this confidence with notable aplomb. ‘My brief observation of Farquharson’s bearing’, he said, ‘would have inclined me rather to the supposition that he was a blackmailee. But perhaps I coin a word.’

‘If you do, it’s a perfectly comprehensible one. And as blackmail is a crime, and a grave one, it is of course true that every blackmailer is potentially on every other blackmailer’s list. Farquharson is, in fact, a convicted blackmailer; and they are commonly extremely cautious in their future operations. His presence down here may be entirely innocent.’

Faircloth nodded. ‘And even if he is in Nymph Monachorum for what we may term professional purposes, are these at all likely to be related to our affair?’

‘My guess is that they are. That secret meeting on Knack Tor, together with a sudden burning of what were in all probability some sort of papers, looks to me to belong within a context of blackmail.’ Appleby rose. ‘Anyway, I’m going to have a little conversation with Colonel Farquharson now.’

‘I believe you’ll find him in his room. It’s Number 10. He seems to work away at something there with a typewriter.’

‘Thank you. And I need hardly ask you to keep our discussion entirely between ourselves.’

‘My dear Sir John, you can rely on me. This is a most distressing business, and I am only too anxious that it should be cleared up. And – do you know? – I am a little concerned about Pettifor. A delightful man, I judge. But sensitive, very sensitive. His young men’s involvement in those terrible risks has upset him, I can see. And now some quite different trouble has come along. I shall be rather glad when we see him back.’

If Appleby thought this solicitude for a very slight acquaintance remarkable, he didn’t say so. ‘A brother?’ he asked. ‘Living near here?’

‘So I understand. And Pettifor has gone off in his car. I hope it doesn’t let him down. He was having trouble with it this morning. I don’t know why people run these elderly cars.’

Appleby thought there was rather an obvious answer to this one, but that it didn’t require embarking upon. ‘I think’, he said, ‘that I’ll try to persuade this Farquharson to take a little stroll. His kind are sometimes more communicative when they are sure there can be no eavesdroppers. And there’s a moon. And the night’s surprisingly mild.’

Faircloth nodded. ‘I hope you will tell me what happens. I am most interested in what you have told me about Farquharson. He strikes me as promising… Do you know, I believe I could become quite an amateur of crime?’

There was certainly a clatter of typewriting from Farquharson’s room. Appleby knocked and walked in. The occupant was working at a small table piled with books and papers, and there were more of these on the bed. He turned and looked at Appleby sombrely but without any appearance of hostility. ‘Good evening,’ he said.

‘Good evening, Colonel. You will remember me as a little involved in the afternoon’s operations. My name is Appleby.’

‘Yes, indeed. Sir John Appleby. Bad show, that. But might have been a damned sight worse.’

‘Decidedly. I hope I’m not interrupting you too inconveniently.’

‘No, no. I put in some time of an evening working at my regimental history. Not a regiment that ever did much in a spectacular way. But I was glad to take the job on. Whiles away the time of an evening.’

‘And by day you fish? Did you have good sport this morning?’

Farquharson took a moment to consider this. ‘I didn’t take my rod out, as a matter of fact. Hung about, rather. Thought one of those lads might care for a tramp. But they were all hard at their books. Examinations ahead, it seems. I admire their application. Never much at it myself.’

‘I wonder whether you’d care for a short walk now?’

Farquharson didn’t appear particularly surprised at this invitation – nor much gratified either. But he pushed his typewriter aside and stood up. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘It’s not a bad night. We might ask Pettifor too. And any of the lads.’

‘Pettifor has gone off in his car. He’s had bad news about a brother. And, as a matter of fact, Colonel, I thought you and I might have a confidential talk.’

Farquharson gave what might have been a small sigh, and nodded. This proposal didn’t seem to surprise him either. ‘Is it your idea’, he asked, ‘that all this shooting is in some way connected with people in the hotel?’

‘It’s a possibility I have to consider.’ Appleby spoke cautiously. ‘You know how, for a start, Henchman walked straight into it.’

‘Straight would be the word, if you ask me. Nothing wrong with that boy.’

‘Probably not. But then there’s another odd fact in the way the whole lot of you turned up later.’

‘At the kill, eh? Perfectly true.’ For a moment Farquharson appeared to give this careful consideration. ‘We might have been staging a sort of alibi – is that the word? Making it clear, I mean, that we weren’t operating behind the scenes. It was that fellow Faircloth, I think, who suggested the jaunt. Not on your list of suspects, I’d suppose. They say he’s a parson. Time on his hands, though. And that’s not a blessing, believe me.’ And Farquharson took a restless turn about the room. ‘Overcoat? I think not.’

They went downstairs and through the hall. Timothy Dumble and Arthur Drury were standing, tankards of cider in hand, before a map that hung on the wall. They appeared to be engaged, politely and obstinately, in some interminable topographical argument. Appleby nodded to them, and they looked at him curiously as he went past, but without addressing him. Outside, the moon was up in a clear sky, and the quiet village street appeared to be already asleep beneath it. Appleby walked a few paces with his companion, and then stopped. ‘Will you wait just a couple of minutes?’ he asked. ‘I think I must have left my pipe in the smoking room.’

‘Certainly. I’ll just take a turn down to the bridge.’ Farquharson had produced a pipe of his own. ‘Surprisingly mild. Might be June.’

Appleby hurried back to the George. The two young men were still standing before the map. ‘Come with me,’ he said briskly. ‘Both of you.’

They followed him like a shot, and were halfway upstairs before Timothy Dumble ventured to ask a question. ‘Where to, sir?’

‘Colonel Farquharson’s room.’ Appleby had got out a penknife and was opening it. ‘As quick as we can.’

‘I say!’ Timothy was delighted. ‘You want us as assistant burglars?’

‘No. Only as witnesses – witnesses of quite a small job I have to do. A long shot, I’m afraid.’

‘Long shots are quite the go today, sir.’

‘Quite so. And this is another that mayn’t come off. But it’s worth trying, all the same. Mark what you see, gentlemen, but don’t tell a soul.’

Timothy nodded happily. ‘Mum’s the word,’ he said. ‘And I’ll see that Arthur here doesn’t blab.’

Appleby’s short walk, whether or not it was agreeable to Colonel Farquharson, didn’t last long. The two men were back in the George within half an hour. And they parted at the foot of the staircase without a word.

Timothy Dumble was still in the hall. This time he was alone – sprawled across an armchair, and idly turning over the pages of a magazine. But as soon as Farquharson had vanished he spoke in a low voice. ‘I say, sir!’

Appleby strolled over to him and sat down. ‘Yes?’

‘I don’t know if I’m just making a fuss. The sort of alarms that have been happening today rather start one imagining things, I suppose. And when you, sir, set about playing odd tricks on retired military men–’

‘Never mind about that.’ Appleby cut this apologetic rambling short. ‘Has something happened?’

‘I don’t know. But David isn’t in his room. And he did go to bed. I know he did.’

Appleby glanced quickly about him. ‘You’ve been to see?’

‘Yes – just since you went out with that glum soldier. David’s had the hell of a day, if you ask me, and it did just occur to me to stick my head in quietly and see that he was all tucked up and slumbering. He’d vanished.’

Appleby frowned. ‘Lavatory – something like that?’

‘I don’t think so. I went back just five minutes ago, and there was still no sign of him.’

‘Clothes?’

‘I didn’t look.’ Timothy blushed, as if he felt that this was to have slipped up badly. ‘Or rather, I do remember that bluey was there.’

Appleby was perplexed. ‘Bluey?’

‘It’s what he calls his old windcheater. And his shorts – I do remember now that they’re on a chair. But, of course, he’d had a bath and changed before dinner.’

‘Come along.’ Appleby was on his feet, and he didn’t look pleased. Timothy led him silently to David Henchman’s room. The bed-clothes were thrown back. The windcheater and shorts were certainly on a chair. And David’s pyjamas had been tossed on to a hook on the back of the door.

Timothy peered into a wardrobe. ‘Gent’s pinstripe still here,’ he said. ‘So he hasn’t gone off in his glory. Cavalry twill bags and modest Old Boy’s blazer vanished. That’s it.’

‘How many of you are there?’

‘Of Pettifor’s lot? Five others. Ian, Tom, Arthur, Leon, and the infant Ogg. I think they’ve all gone to bed now. Certainly Ian has. He’s supposed to have done something silly to a shoulder.’

‘Go round the whole bunch – will you? But don’t have them flocking round with cries. Bring any of them that knows anything along here. And tell the others to stay put.’

‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Timothy, who had been in the Navy, vanished at a soundless double. He was back within a few minutes. ‘None of them knows a thing. But Ian’s vanished too.’

‘Dancer? Isn’t he supposed to be laid up?’

‘They’ve bandaged him, or something. I suppose he can get about.’

‘And he’s the one that David would – well, choose?’

‘Him or me.’

‘What’s the difference?’

Timothy considered this. ‘Ian would do madder things.’

‘I see.’ Appleby didn’t look as if he thought this too good. ‘But you wouldn’t say that David himself is hare-brained?’

‘Not a bit. But he can get it into his head that something’s up to him. And then he’s hopeless – absolutely pitiful.’ Timothy put a lot of commiseration into this. It was plain that he admired David Henchman. ‘Do you think his disappearance – and Ian’s – is part of the mystery?’

‘Well, not a mysterious part of it. I’ve a notion, that’s to say, of what they’re up to. But I don’t know where they are – and, wherever it is, I don’t know what pointer took them there. Has either of them got a car?’

Timothy shook his head. ‘No. But Ian has an arrangement with Leon Kryder – that’s our quiet American – and can always borrow his motorbike. Shall we go and look?’

They went downstairs and out into the inn yard. An old skittle-alley at the back had been converted into garage space, but it was too narrow for the line of doors to close upon other than small cars. Timothy glanced into one empty space.

‘Pettifor’s not back yet. Somebody said something about an accident to his brother at Tremlett.’

‘Tremlett – what’s that?’

‘It’s a manor house on the coast. Pettifor’s elder brother’s the squire there. Or he’s that among other things. I’ve a notion he’s eminent in some way. You can tell that Pettifor’s frightfully proud of him. I hope it isn’t a bad accident… By jove, that Faircloth type has taken his car out too. And here’s where Leon’s bike’s kept. Vanished, you see.’

‘Something of an exodus, in fact.’ Appleby glanced up at the windows of the George. They were now for the most part in darkness. ‘Surely Dancer couldn’t drive a bike with a strapped-up shoulder?’

‘Oh, David could make it go.’ Timothy paused for a moment, and then seemed to find something sinister in Appleby’s silence. ‘I say! Is there anything we can do?’

‘About these two young men? I’m afraid not. Or not directly and with any immediate effect. Which is bad.’

‘You think they’ll get into danger or something?’

‘I do.’ Appleby was unemotional. ‘And at the moment, it’s just something they must take their chance of. I’ve no means whatever of running them speedily to earth. And I’ve got another job on hand.’

Timothy Dumble was again silent. And when he did speak, it was in an anxiously casual way. ‘Can I help, by any chance?’

Appleby nodded. ‘Yes. You can.’

There was little nocturnal traffic in these parts, and the moonlit run to Tremlett took only half an hour. Appleby drove his car fast on the high road, but on leaving it for a narrow winding lane that dropped between high banks towards the sea his pace had been everything that safety required. So he certainly wasn’t responsible, Timothy knew, for the accident that nearly overtook them. Up the hill and round a corner dead in front of them a car had come hurtling, without warning and without lights. They had scarcely realized its presence when the driver switched on a dazzling beam full in their faces. Appleby swerved to the left so that the perpendicular earthen bank seemed to be grazing Timothy’s shoulder. There was a rush of air. The hurtling car was behind them and had vanished round a bend.

‘The unutterable ass!’ Timothy appeared more indignant than alarmed. ‘Going along at that pace without lights, and then losing his head and turning on that bloody great beam.’

‘You didn’t see the chap?’

‘Good lord, no.’

‘Nor even what make of car it was? No more did I.’ And Appleby laughed. ‘We can’t get him for dangerous driving, I’m afraid. Just take the torch and have another look at the map. Could he have been coming from anywhere except Tremlett?’

‘The road goes a little farther along the coast, with tracks going down to two or three coves before it peters out. He may have been having quiet fun – or just intercourse with nature – down one of them.’