The House Of The Bears (11 page)

‘Oh, yes, but he’s not a bad fellow,’ said Cartwright. ‘All right, talk to Rundell.’

Detective-Sergeant Rundell, of the Corshire C.I.D., left for London on the Sunday morning, fully briefed, determined and convinced that he had been given the chance of a lifetime. It would require exemplary patience and might be trying, but he was confident.

He felt bewildered when, on the Monday afternoon a little after two o’clock, Palfrey and his wife drove into Cheddar Village, parked the Talbot and walked towards the Gorge. While they were parking, Rundell took the opportunity to send a telegram to Hardy.

Palfrey locked the door of the car and turned with Drusilla towards the Gorge. It was a bright, sunny day and there was a surprising number of people taking the same road. One party of schoolchildren made a crocodile fifty yards long on the happy trek to the wonders of the caves – wonders announced on notice-boards and in shop-windows and by a hoarse-voiced man who stood at a corner, showing sightseers the way.

‘Did you see the snub-nosed chap?’ Palfrey asked Drusilla, ‘That nose was in London, not far behind us when we stopped for lunch, and this very minute has gone into the post office.’

‘So we’ve been followed,’ said Drusilla. ‘Do you know who it is?’

‘I haven’t the faintest notion. Stranger to me. Dark hair, dark jowl, a bit of Corshire about him, I shouldn’t wonder. I always knew that my treatment of Kyle got under Hardy’s skin.’

‘That wasn’t surprising,’ said Drusilla.

‘No. I wonder if Mac’s here yet?’

‘He’s probably been waiting since dawn,’ said Drusilla.

McDonald, on being told of their decision, had expressed himself delighted. It had been agreed that he should go on ahead and meet them at the cottage with a parrot in the window. McDonald seemed to enjoy the prospect of a mysterious journey and encounter with the American.

‘There’s a green cottage,’ said Drusilla, her voice rising.

‘One green cottage, two green cottages,’ murmured Palfrey, looking towards the left of the road. In front of them were the great cliffs of the gorge rising like bulky, forbidding sentinels, dark grey and light intermingling, some scrub and grass on the lower slopes, but the higher bleak and bare.

The cottages stood close together a little way ahead of them. Outside was a notice-board offering eggs and bacon and chips for 3s. 6d. There was a small queue outside the door.

‘There it is!’ exclaimed Drusilla, and moved her arm as if to point.

Palfrey held it by her side.

‘Don’t forget Snub-nose,’ he said. ‘But you’re right, begod, there’s a parrot.’

They passed the window where the parrot was squatting. It was the cottage which offered bacon and eggs and chips, and there was no chance of getting in immediately. Palfrey glanced at his watch; they had ten minutes to spare.

‘What shall we do?’ asked Drusilla. ‘We must be here at half past two.’

‘The truth is that I’m worried about Snub. I don’t mind being followed, but I don’t want him to see where we go, and there isn’t much chance of losing him here. We could go for a long walk, but that would make us too late, and – Oh-ho!’ He broke off, with a gleam in his eyes. ‘It’s a simple matter, really. Most things are. The caves. Crowded with sightseers. See the queue waiting to go in – not a large one. We will tag ourselves on the end of it. I believe it’s dark inside.’

‘They have lights.’

‘Not everywhere, surely.’

They joined the queue. It was longer than he had thought, for the cave entrance was up steps and the steps were lined with people.

‘It’s twenty-five past two,’ said Drusilla.

‘And Snub has joined the queue,’ said Palfrey. ‘He’s seven people removed. Hallo, we’re moving!’

Coins were rattling in the pay-box. A guide was calling out into the road: ‘Hurry up, now. The next tour is about to start.’

Palfrey put down a two-shilling piece and hurried with the rest of the crowd through a narrow entrance, dimly lighted, at the beginning of the cave. A guide was regimenting the people and giving instructions.

‘Is Snub here?’

‘Just coming in, and looking anxious,’ said Palfrey. ‘He’ll look more anxious in a moment. Isn’t it lovely and dark in front?’

‘You needn’t worry about the darkness,’ said the guide. ‘I’ll switch the lights on as we go through. It wouldn’t do to keep them on all the time, you see, except a few pilot lights. It’d spoil the effect.’

A single dim light cast a diffused glow. The crowd, nearly sixty strong, was gathering about the guide. Some distance ahead there was another glimmer of light. The guide, with the natural showman’s gift, went on talking. Palfrey looked round and could see heads outlined against the roof, but could recognize no one.

‘Take off your hat,’ he whispered to Drusilla.

She obeyed without question; Palfrey removed his.

‘We’ll see the first show and then duck for it,’ said Palfrey. ‘If I read this fellow aright, he’ll switch the light off when we’ve finished this one, and get us all worked up and eerie; he knows his job. That will be our best chance, I think.’

Drusilla felt for his hand. Palfrey squeezed.

‘Now,
ladies and gentlemen–’ said the guide.

Palfrey edged towards the far side, to put as many people between himself and Snub as he could. Drusilla still clutched his hand. People were too interested to worry; several were moving about to get a better position, and his own movements were not noticeable. He looked at Drusilla, The light was concentrated on
The Fonts,
famous stalagmite basins, and was not bright enough for him to see her clearly, and she was close by him; Snub, some distance away, could not possibly pick them out. He squeezed Drusilla’s fingers, and whispered: ‘This is it.’

The light went out.

There was still a dim light, but they could not see a yard in front of them. The guide was moving, people were shuffling, it was eerie and fascinating. The air was cold.

Palfrey reached the wall, felt along it, and tip-toed along, with Drusilla close, stumbling over feet, trying to accustom himself to the darkness. It was not easy, nor would it be easy for Snub.

Palfrey bumped into the wall. Then he saw a glimmer of light and a moment later they were in sight of the entrance. He kept to the side, so that if Snub were suspicious and followed them he could not see them outlined against the light. Half-way along, he paused. There was no sound of footsteps.

‘Snub is enjoying himself,’ murmured Palfrey. ‘We’re all right now.’

They were breathless when they reached the green cottage. There was one welcome sight: the queue had gone. Palfrey glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearly a quarter to three. In spite of his assurance to Drusilla, he was worried in case Kyle had become impatient.

They went in, and saw McDonald sitting in a corner, drinking tea and reading a newspaper. He glanced up and winked. Palfrey winked back.

‘What-ho!’
squawked the parrot. ‘Time for tea!’

‘Oh, hallo,’ said Palfrey. ‘There doesn’t seem to be much room here, old lady.’

There was no room at all, but a woman came bustling through a doorway and said that there was room in the garden, if they would like it.

A few large coloured umbrellas, faded by weather, were dotted about among garden chairs and tables. It was cold enough, but half a dozen couples and a small party had dared the weather, and the sun was shining straight into the garden.

In the far corner sat a man, alone, almost bald, with a nutcracker face. .

He looked up and saw Palfrey.

He frowned.

It was only the slightest knitting of his brow, and might have been accidental, but Palfrey took its meaning. This was Kyle, but he did not want to be recognized yet. Palfrey led Drusilla to a table from-which he could watch the man, and, when they were seated, explained.

‘I suppose it means he’s watched,’ said Drusilla.

‘Yes. Not an easy job to spot the villain.’

In the cave there had been an element of amusement at getting rid of Snub. All that was changed. The man Palfrey had met on Wenlock Hill had been a merry soul, akin to McDonald. This man looked ill-tempered, solitary, and as hard as his weather beaten face. He was in the middle-thirties, Palfrey judged.

The woman came up with a loaded tray, walking up the steps as if they were gentle slopes. She made a bee-line for the Palfreys.

As she turned away after serving their meal –

‘Hey, missus!’
the nut-cracker man spoke, and Palfrey frowned, for his accent was not American but broad Lancashire. ‘Hey, missus,’ he repeated for all those present to hear. ‘When tha’ cooms oop again bring us another dish of tea.’

‘Yes, sir, thank you.’

The woman went off; the man went on eating. Palfrey picked up his knife and fork. ‘We’d better start eating,’ he told Drusilla.

‘Is
that Kyle?’

‘I’m not sure. I’ve only seen him in darkness before. See if anyone is paying him much attention, will you?’

He looked one side of the garden, Drusilla the other. The large party chattered, couples leaned forward and spoke in whispers.

Except one couple.

A man and woman, youngish people, dressed in town clothes, the woman rather smart, the man neat and dapper, were sitting over their bacon, egg and chips. They did not speak. Now and again they looked towards the nut-cracker man, as if they, too, were trying to decide whether they knew him. The woman was good-looking in a bold way; she wore too much lipstick and rouge, and her hair was rolled in a golden net. The man was of different quality. He had dark, sleek hair, heavily oiled and brushed straight back from a high forehead. There was something foreign about his sallow face.

Nut-cracker got up.

As he moved towards the steps, the other couple got up and put a ten-shilling note on their table. Nut-cracker went down the steps, walking like an old man. The others followed him. It was too deliberate to be accidental; they were following him.

The Palfreys got up.

‘Stay with Mac,’ Palfrey whispered, and hurried ahead of Drusilla.

McDonald looked up as Palfrey went out in the wake of the others. Palfrey jerked his head back towards Drusilla, and mouthed the words ‘Take care of her’. He did not know whether McDonald understood him.

Out in the road, Kyle was walking up the gorge. The others followed him as far as the cave which the Palfreys had visited. Then the girl, after a word from the man, left him and walked up the steps towards the cave. Palfrey hung back, for he could see at a greater distance now. The sallow man went on, and Palfrey saw that he had his hand in his pocket.

Kyle did not change his pace and the sallow man kept up with him. Palfrey did not know whether to keep well behind or to hurry and force an issue. There was something frightening in this slow, deliberate chase; for it
was
a chase.

The sallow man called out, abruptly: ‘Kyle! ‘

Kyle did not answer or stop.

‘Kyle!’
The sallow man gained a little. Palfrey quickened his step.

No one else was about. There were no cars. The three men seemed to be alone in the vastness of the gorge. The only sound was their footsteps. The sallow man did not once look round, although he must have known that he was being followed. The three of them went on, the sallow man gaining on Kyle.

Kyle stopped, moved towards the side, and sat down on a boulder.

There was another, larger, boulder between Palfrey and the sallow man, and Palfrey crouched behind it, his hat in his hand. For the first time the foreigner looked round. He seemed satisfied that they were alone. He went up to Kyle and spoke, but Palfrey could not hear the words.

Another car came up the gorge, a Packard with a big body. Palfrey remembered Kyle’s Packard, and then he saw the driver, a man, with a woman sitting next to him. Palfrey hardly noticed the woman; his eyes were fixed on the man, whom he could see quite clearly, for the car was slowing down. He looked exactly like the ‘Kyle’ of the green cottage!

The sallow man continued to talk. The Packard drew level with them, then stopped with a squeal of brakes.

The sallow man turned . . .

The ‘Kyle’ to whom he had been talking got up and hit him!

It was a powerful blow to the stomach, and the foreigner had no chance to protect himself. He doubled up. The door of the Packard opened, the motorist ‘Kyle’ leaned out, and the two men between them bundled the foreigner into the back of the car. A woman shouted! Palfrey, half-turning, saw the foreigner’s girl-friend running desperately towards the scene, and running behind her was the man with the snub nose.

Another car came humming up the gorge.

The Packard door slammed. The foreigner was inside, with the two ‘Kyles’ and the woman. The fair-haired woman was screaming
“Stop him! Stop him!’
A passing cyclist stared in astonishment, braked hard, and nearly came off. Brakes squealed behind Palfrey. He looked round and saw Snub on the running board of a small car which he had presumably commandeered. He uttered the word ‘Police’, as the car flashed past in the wake of the Packard, but the Packard had disappeared. Palfrey did not think the small car was fast enough to catch it.

The woman with peroxide hair stood shaking her fists no longer shouting. Suddenly she turned round. She was sobbing and gasping, but she ran down the gorge and Palfrey followed her at a smart pace. As she drew level with the caves, Palfrey saw McDonald and Drusilla approaching. They were staring at the frantic woman, and so were most of the other people in this more populous part of the gorge. Palfrey beckoned, and Drusilla hurried towards him.

‘Follow her, will you?’ Palfrey said urgently. ‘Not out of the village. Messages to the Cliff Hotel.’

‘Yes,’ said Drusilla. She turned at once and went hurrying after the frantic woman, while McDonald stood undecided. Palfrey joined him.

‘This is Drusilla’s job,’ he said. ‘We can’t go everywhere the woman can.’

‘What’s been happening?’

‘As daring a piece of kidnapping as I’m ever likely to see,’ said Palfrey and laughed in sheer admiration. ‘It was perfectly done. By two Kyles.’