The House Of The Bears (7 page)

‘But don’t you see, Sap, everything turns on Loretta’s fiancé. It must do.’ Drusilla had never said that to him; she rarely tried to guide him; she was against him taking part in such affairs, hating them because of grim memories of being hunted in Europe. ‘Of course it does. Everything turns on this man Garth, if you could only find him.’

The American’s hand suddenly closed about Palfrey’s wrist. In the dim light from inside the car, Palfrey saw the man’s face, no longer merry and smiling, but grim and set. The American said, in a slow voice: ‘Say, what’s this about Garth? How do
you
know Garth? If you know Garth, you must know Fyson.’

‘I don’t know either of them,’ Palfrey hesitated, then moved his hand suddenly, gripping the American’s, and twisted slightly. The man gasped and stood transfixed.

Palfrey released him. ‘Sorry. Showing off. Your grip isn’t good.’

‘Flying geese!’ exclaimed the American. ‘I didn’t think you had it in you. I asked for that.’

‘I’m in a hurry,’ said Palfrey. ‘Garth’s fiancée is lying dangerously ill at a sanatorium not far from here, and is asking for me. If I hadn’t taken the wrong road, I would be there by now.’

‘That’s a great pity,’ said the American. ‘Let’s get to my car. I guess I want to hear your story pretty badly, Palfrey.’

‘I hope to hear yours.’

The American knew of a wide stretch of road not far down, where Palfrey was able to reverse. Once that nerve-racking job was over, the rest was plain sailing. At the foot of the hill, the American’s car was parked on a grass verge; it was a Packard with a roomy body.

‘I’ll come with you, I guess,’ he said. ‘It will mean tying Fyson up and leaving him where he can’t be found, and leaving the car here. You’ll have to bring me back tonight if I can’t get a taxi.’

‘I’ll bring you if it’s necessary,’ promised Palfrey.

Together they lifted the unconscious man and carried him a little way up the side of the hill. There they left him behind a rock, bound and gagged.

‘I wonder what Inspector Hardy would think if he could see me now,’ said Palfrey.

‘Maybe you can tell him one day,’ said the American. They walked back to Palfrey’s car. ‘You’re sure Fyson won’t die on me?’

‘He won’t die. He’s well wrapped up and sheltered from the wind. I can’t guarantee that he won’t be spirited away.’

They reached the car and, with a grin, the American held out his hand. ‘You’re with Mr. Nicholas Kyle,’ he said.

‘Good evening, Mr. Kyle,’ Palfrey said, gravely. He began to talk. The man who called himself Nicholas Kyle smoked cigarette after cigarette, but did not interrupt. Palfrey omitted only his conclusions about Morne’s visit to Mylem Pool, not seeing how that could affect Kyle’s interest in the affair.

The lights of a town appeared as Palfrey concluded.

‘Well, that’s not bad,’ admitted Kyle. ‘It’s a story I would be proud to own myself, Palfrey. Are we in Wenlock?’

‘It looks very much like it.’

The sanatorium, Palfrey learned from a policeman on traffic duty in the centre of the town, was up Hill Road as far as he could drive. The road ended at the sanatorium, which overlooked Wenlock Bay. The policeman was very helpful and talkative, but he kept looking at Kyle and now and again he glanced at Drusilla.

They drove on at last, and Kyle observed: ‘I’ve been thinking about Fyson. He didn’t want you to talk to this Loretta Morne.’

Palfrey shot him a quick, amused glance.

‘Now, how did you guess that?’

‘All right. Now, Fyson has friends. While he was keeping you and your wife away, his friends might have visited the sanatorium and seen this Loretta. It’s eight o’clock now, so they’ve had time. Aren’t you worried about Loretta?’

‘Not yet. Fyson didn’t know what time I would leave Corbin,’ Palfrey pointed out. ‘If they – his friends – thought they could do what they wanted at any given time, they would not have sent Fyson to hold me up, because it wouldn’t have been necessary. Fyson stipulated midnight. As it’s only about eight o’clock now, three hours can pass before anything is likely to happen.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ said Kyle. ‘I wouldn’t be happy. I’m
not
happy. I ought to have thought of this before; I could have telephoned a message from a call-box.’ He sat quiet, but seemed on edge during the rest of the journey.

At last they reached a long building with a wide gateway over which, in neon letters, were the words:
Wenlock Sanatorium, Motorists quiet, please.

Palfrey switched off the headlights.

‘And I’m not worried, because the police have been within call of Loretta since it was known that there might be foul play,’ he said. ‘Will you wait for me?’

‘Are you trusting me with your wife?’

Palfrey smiled and went through the gateway. He did not look back, but before he reached the first flight of steps leading to the Sanatorium, he wondered if he were wise to leave Drusilla with Kyle. The man was likeable and had put the Palfreys greatly in his debt; but that did not mean that he was trustworthy. He went on, still slightly uneasy.

The policeman in the passage outside Loretta Morne’s room was a burly fellow in uniform. He eyed Palfrey up and down, asked to see his identification papers, which contained a photograph, and pronounced himself satisfied. Palfrey-said: ‘I left my wife asleep in my car, constable, and I’m a little worried about her. In this affair, unpleasant things happen. Could you keep an eye on her, do you think?’

‘You needn’t worry about
that,
sir.’

‘No?’ Palfrey showed surprise.

‘The place is closely watched, sir.’

‘Is
it, by Jove!’

‘You mustn’t forget that Sir Rufus Morne is the uncrowned king of Corshire,’ said Loretta Morne’s physician, Dr. Ross, with a tinge of sarcasm in his tone. ‘I can’t say that I think such precautions are necessary, but the police do. My kitchen staff are kept busy running out to them with cups of tea!’

As Ross opened the door, it dawned on Palfrey that the police knew more, or suspected more, than they pretended.

Loretta was strapped up rigid beneath the bedclothes, with only a thin pillow. Her face was as white as the sheets, but her eyes were brilliant. Her face was drawn and she was obviously in pain. Palfrey felt sorry; in some curious way this girl mattered to him. She looked up at him and said: ‘
I
want Dr. Palfrey.’

Ross murmured: ‘I’ll leave you now, Doctor,’ and went out. Rubber flooring muffled the sound of his footsteps.

‘
I
want Dr. Palfrey.’
Her voice was little more than a whisper. She stared at him and repeated the words, and he smiled at her and said: ‘I am Dr. Palfrey.’

‘You
are?’ Her eyes seemed to grow larger, and she looked at him searchingly for a long time. Palfrey heard a rustle of movement. He looked up, sharply, and saw a white screen and beneath it a pair of heavy boots. Another policeman, of course.

‘Dr. Palfrey’ – the man in the corner certainly could not hear her words –’you must answer me a question. Now.’

‘I will try to,’ said Palfrey.

What did it mean? What could she want to know from him? How had she ever come to know of his existence?

Her lips moved again. ‘What’ – he had to lean forward to catch her words –’what year did Dr. Halsted break – his front – teeth? What year did –’ she stopped, as if she could not find the strength to go on, but her enormous eyes were staring at him.

Palfrey stared back. What year had Halsted broken his front teeth? It was ridiculous, she was wandering, she –

Realization dawned on him, and he remembered. Cricket, for Guy’s; a flaming summer’s day; a fast bowler who kicked dangerously; Halsted in great form; an awkward one which rose higher; Halsted’s bat flashing; a gasp from the bowler, and a spurt of blood from Halsted’s mouth. What
year
?

Palfrey’s last year at Guy’s.

‘It was at Blackheath in 1929,’ he said, ‘in a cricket match against –’

‘You a
re
Palfrey!’ Her lips puckered; she was trying to smile. Her eyes closed with relief; she lay there for some time before she opened them again. She said: ‘Look in the third post – of the minstrel gallery – from the door. The third post – of the minstrel gallery –’

Palfrey murmured: ‘Yes, I will. The third post from the door.’ His mind was racing; so many things dawned upon him in those few seconds. She had confided in Halsted; Halsted had sent for him because of it; Halsted had been murdered because someone had learned that she had given him her confidence. Halsted had told her of that half-forgotten incident, so that she could be certain that she was talking to the real Palfrey. Perhaps, at that very time, Halsted had been afraid that he would die.

The third post –

Had the third or the fourth post been taken away after the ‘accident’? Would he find it intact, or had it been destroyed? A message, an explanation, a clue which she considered of vital importance, one of the reasons for her fears and for giving Garth shelter, was hidden in that post.

Thank yon,’ she said, and a few moments afterwards she was asleep.

‘Well?’ Ross’s voice startled him. On the spur of the moment, Palfrey said: ‘She gave me a message for her father.’

‘Did she say why she gave it to
you?’

An answer sprang to his mind at once. ‘Yes, Halsted had mentioned me to her.’ He was suddenly annoyed by the bright blue eyes of the doctor. ‘It is confidential, of course,’ he said. ‘I must get out to Morne House at once.’

‘Oh, yes, yes. Of course,’ said Ross. He coloured, as if he knew that he had been rebuked. ‘I will cancel the reservation I made for you at the Esplanade Hotel. Unless your wife will be staying in Wenlock?’

‘I think she’d better,’ said Palfrey. ‘It’s been very good of you, Dr. Ross.’ Most decidedly, he disliked the man.

Ross accompanied him along the rubber-floored passages in silence until they reached the hall. Then he asked whether Palfrey would like a snack.

‘I don’t think so, thanks.’ Immediately he had spoken, Palfrey realized he was hungry. He changed his mind, and smiled apologetically. ‘Well, if it could be ready in five minutes or so.’

‘Yes, I’m sure it can. Perhaps you would rather have something to take with you.’

‘That’s even better,’ said Palfrey.

‘I’ll give the instructions myself,’ said Ross, and turned away. Palfrey lit a cigarette, glanced towards a bulky man who was sitting in an armchair in the hall, with a newspaper in front of his face. There was something familiar about him. Palfrey stared. The paper moved, and Inspector Hardy smiled up at him.

‘Why, hallo!’ exclaimed Palfrey. ‘You’ve been quick!’

‘As a matter of fact, you’ve been slow,’ said Hardy. ‘I started out half an hour after you and got here first! Have you seen her?’

‘Yes.’ Palfrey lowered his voice and told the Corbin man exactly what Loretta had told him. He also gave his conclusions, voiced his questions, and waited, confident that Hardy would take a sensible view.

‘I think perhaps you’d better go out there by yourself,’ said Hardy, at last. ‘At least, without me, although I shall be on pins until I know that the third post is still standing. Of course, if you have any trouble in getting whatever is hidden there, I’ll step in, but I’ve a feeling that you’ll get more out of Morne than I ever shall. And, in any case, I’ve left two men at Morne House,’ he added, with his deep chuckle. ‘Ah, here come your sandwiches.’ He heaved himself up from his chair. ‘Now, how can I make myself useful?’

‘In several ways,’ said Palfrey. ‘You can take my wife to her hotel and get a maid to put her to bed.’ He laughed at Hardy’s expression. ‘No, she’s not drunk. She had a fall which upset her, but she’s all right. Then you can arrange for a car to follow mine across the moor, preferably with an armed man inside it.’

‘What trouble
have
you met tonight?’ asked Hardy.

‘I took the wrong road, went up the steep hill and was shot at while coming down,’ Palfrey told him. There were limits to what he need tell Hardy, and he was anxious not to betray Kyle. Later, he might have to give information about the man, but for the moment he had convinced Hardy that he was being frank. That was to try to stop me from coming to see Miss Morne,’ he went on. ‘The man outside lent me a hand and made himself generally useful. I brought him along and am going to give him the best dinner in Wenlock. I’ll have to leave you to arrange that, too, but I don’t think he will mind. Try to find him a whole bottle of whisky!’

‘
I
see,
’ said Hardy. ‘So you were shot at. I saw headlights up the hill as I turned the corner. I thought it funny, but I was in such a hurry to get after you that I took no notice. I –
now
I know why the lights were off at the sign at that corner,’ he added, his voice rising. ‘I couldn’t understand it. The light was there even during the war.’

‘Oh, the trap was nicely laid and I obligingly walked into it,’ confessed Palfrey.

Ross came up again, with a Thermos flask and a bakelite cup. Palfrey was effusive in his thanks. Outside, a man stirred from the side of the steps and said ‘Good evening, sir’ to Hardy. Palfrey concealed a smile, and walked down the steps, looking towards his car. Drusilla was still asleep, with her mouth open. Kyle must have slumped down in his seat, for Palfrey could not see him.

A moment later he missed a step. Kyle wasn’t there.

‘Your friend doesn’t seem to want that dinner,’ remarked Hardy, dryly. ‘Be frank with me, Palfrey. Ought I to look for him?’

‘That’s up to you,’ said Palfrey. ‘I wouldn’t, personally. Everything else apart, I would think it a waste of time.’

He helped to get a befuddled Drusilla from his own car to Hardy’s and drove off in a very puzzled frame of mind.

The night was clear, without a trace of mist, and the road was good. Palfrey drove fast. Next to him sat one of Hardy’s men, dark and sombre. The detective officer had already had his supper, but he accepted when Palfrey suggested a drink. He opened the Thermos flask carefully, poured a little into the bakelite cup and said: ‘I’ll have the cap.’