Cargo of Eagles (27 page)

‘I think that mother and daughter talked and dreamed about that boast to the exclusion of everything else in the world. They moved from town to town over the years so that they could never be traced, waiting for the great moment when their hero was free.

‘In the mean time a lot of people suspected that Teague had come ashore from the barge
Blossom
that night and had hidden something in Saltey—possibly at The Hollies. Jonah Woodrose and Wishart for example.

‘The only person who refused to share in the dream was Teague himself, once he was arrested. Every sort of pressure was put upon him but he never spoke.

‘Jane Felgate died but her daughter watched and waited. She refused to believe that her father would keep his secret once he was free. She arranged for him to disappear as soon as he came out and paid for his board with a woman called Medway, who is the mother's half-sister, by the way.'

The girl was now crouching on the bench so that only the swarthy curls at the nape of her neck were visible. Again she flung up her head as if she were about to protest but her breath caught in her throat and no words came.

Mr Campion's diffident murmur continued.

‘I think I should explain that Miss Jensen is not short of money. How her income is made is not my business but I suspect that the police are investigating it rather carefully and her time is running short. A man called Dashwood has been arrested and they are looking for the woman he worked with. When they discover, as they will, who she is, they are bound to make other deductions about Askew's death. But what matters to us now is the sequence of events.

‘Miss Kytie's death and her unexpected bequest to Dido upset everyone's calculations. It seems she was a mischievous old thing and it's on the cards that she may have had a shrewd suspicion that something had been hidden at The Hollies. She had a curious sort of aunt-and-nephew relationship with Teague. He did odd jobs for her and gave her presents. In return she may have turned a blind eye to any use he made of the house when she left it untenanted. It might—just might—explain why she decided to put everyone's nose out of joint and leave the place to a stranger. Villagers have very long memories and I think half the population of Saltey was waiting for her to die so that the house could be forced to give up its secret—if it had one.'

He turned to Dido.

‘This is where you came into the picture. When the news about the will got around, Jonah Woodrose had the idea of scaring you off by getting Wishart to write those letters, hoping you'd sell out without a fight and he could get his hands on the property.

‘Miss Jensen also began to take an interest in the new owner. She even got herself a part-time job in the Swallow Café so that she could keep an eye on your movements. Do you recognise her, now?'

Dido surveyed her coldly.

‘Ye-es,' she said at last. ‘I do now. She was a rotten waitress. I often wondered why she never smiled and generally kept her back to me. How did you find that out?'

‘I didn't,' said Mr Campion, modestly. ‘It was simply a logical guess. The woman who ran the café was talking about useless part-timers when I went there.

‘The real upset to her plans came when Teague was released. This must have been quite a shock. Remember, she'd never seen him except possibly in an old photograph. I think they were in touch with each other in a cautious furtive way after her mother died, but she had no idea of what he was really like. Instead of a hero there was nothing but a broken, frightened old man, a poor chap who wanted only peace and quiet—no more secrets, no more adventures.

‘Miss Jensen had to do some sharp re-thinking. She may have been baulked for a little, but she certainly wasn't stupid.

‘Her idea, in fact, was remarkably ingenious. Both Teague and Burrows had what you might call trade marks which were well known here in Saltey—a silver bullet, a trick with a stone and a patched eye. She set out very successfully to establish a reign of terror by suggesting that they were both back and looking for trouble. By conjuring up the impression that they were around she drew everyone's attention in the wrong direction. She knew her father would be suspected, but even if he were winkled out of his hiding place he would have no difficulty in proving his innocence.

‘In the meantime he provided the perfect bogey man to scare anyone who knew more than was good for him into making a move. She started the trail by leaving his pocket book at the café to make sure that the police got the message. She had a lot of willing help of course, from her tearaway friends though I very much doubt if they knew quite how they were being used, even when they were beating up Jonah and the unfortunate man Sibling.'

He turned to Morty. ‘The chap who raised a bruise on your head—Moo Moo, I expect—was probably acting without instructions, paying off a score on his own behalf. But it all helped the illusion. Burrows got the credit for that one.

‘This whole exercise failed because nobody in fact had very much to conceal. Like Miss Jensen they were waiting for a cat who refused to jump. That didn't deter the lady: she and her friends raided and smashed every smugglers' hideaway in the place and broke into all the secret stores and bolt holes she'd learned about from her mother's knee.

‘Only The Hollies remained. On the short list now, and when our boys began to turn their surveying instruments on to the grounds she couldn't resist coming back for a final search. Not the neatest of traps, perhaps, but it worked.'

Morty straightened his back.

‘You took a chance,' he said. ‘Dido might have been hurt.'

‘She wasn't part of the plan.' Mr Campion was apologetic. ‘I'm afraid she wasn't deceived by our apparently off-handed behaviour. She made her own investigations.'

Dido looked up and for the first time placed a hand over Morty's.

‘It doesn't matter any longer,' she said. ‘The important thing is the reason for all this trouble. Albert, do you know the answer?'

He paused before replying as if he was re-considering a difficult decision.

‘Yes,' he said, finally. ‘Yes, I do. The question is really one for Miss Jensen and she may not like the truth when she sees it.'

He turned to the girl. ‘You've come a long way to satisfy your curiosity. It might be wiser, even now, to leave well alone. You could walk right out of this room and as far as we are concerned no one will follow you.'

She shook her head without looking up. Her hands remained clenched, the knuckles white with tension. It was some time before she answered, speaking quietly and slowly, almost to herself.

‘Anything hidden here belongs to my father. He fought for it. He did time for it. He's paid for it. It's nothing to do with anybody else. It's his.'

Mr Campion sighed and pulled back the chair he had been leaning on.

‘As you wish,' he said, wearily. ‘In a way it does belong to your father. Charlie, will you keep an eye on the lady? I want to move the table first.'

Morty jumped to his feet, pulling Dido after him. ‘Do you mean to say it's here—right under our feet?'

‘Right under our feet. It's as simple as that.'

A dusty space was cleared in the centre of the room. Beneath the threadbare turkey carpet there was a large rectangular cast iron grid which fitted flush with the yellow and red tiles of the floor. Its fellows could be found in the aisle of any Victorian church.

Lugg had provided himself with a small crowbar and with the aid of one of the surveyors he prised the diamond patterned screen from its socket. The cavity beneath contained two heavy, cast iron pipes, running from end to end, a part of the heating arrangements for the conservatory.

‘Ingenious,' said Mr Campion. ‘You could pass a mine detector over this without discovering anything remarkable though I doubt if James Teague thought of that one. Even the police had it up when they were looking for a gun. Evidently there wasn't a gardener or plumber in the search party, which is just as well.

Dido peered into the cavity.

‘What did they miss?'

‘The real pipes don't come this way at all. They run round the walls and are heated by a stove on the other side of the wall. This was James Teague's private store cupboard built out of what used to be a pool for watering flowers. There is an old photograph of it on my bedroom wall showing a draining table above it covered with prize begonias. These pipes are just intelligent camouflage fixed to a false floor. Even the hooks to lift the whole thing out have been standing in a corner for twenty years.'

He looked around him.

‘This is the moment of truth.'

Morty and Dido stood very close to each other, their arms linked. Slowly Lugg and his helper lifted the pipes and the floor beneath them in one piece until they were level with the tiles. Slowly they dragged the burden to one side exposing a deeper cavity flanked by grey concrete walls.

The hanging lamp shone directly upon the thing that lay in the pit: a sprawling wreck, half skeleton, half mummy which had once been a man. Wisps of rotting blue clothing clung to the bones and heavy seaboots covered the feet but the skull from which the jaw still hung was parchment yellow and naked.

The shocking quality of the sight was emphasised by the reactions of everyone in the room. Death had come violently and suddenly to this stranger, blotting him out like a fly on a windscreen. It did not matter if he had died yesterday or lain there for a century: the impact of sudden irrevocable finality filled the room. The young men looked down, absorbed the shock, looked away, then returned to stare curiously. Morty held Dido back, his arm about her shoulder. Mr Campion alone watched Doll Jensen, his eyes cold and speculative.

Her voice, strangled to a whisper broke the petrifying silence.

‘Christ,' she muttered. ‘He's looking at me. He's not dead.'

Mr Campion shook his head. ‘I'm afraid he's very dead indeed. You are looking at the body of Thomas Alfred Burrows and somewhere in his rib cage you'll no doubt find a silver bullet. He was wearing his glass eye when he was killed. His trademark has outlived his body.'

The girl stepped closer to bend over the pit. The vivid blue eyeball stared back from its socket giving the bones an expression of suspended life, a leering secretive grimace which changed oddly to simple astonishment as the light caught it. She straightened herself and began to laugh in a high pitched, mirthless wail which was more frightening than the thing beneath her feet.

Dido considered her coldly for a moment and then, releasing
Morty's arm she moved round the cavity. Two smart slaps across the face with a left and a right, rocked the dark curls backwards and silenced the screams. Charlie, standing behind Doll, caught her by the shoulders and shook her.

‘That's enough of that. Here, sit down. Put your head between your legs, if you feel faint.'

He lifted her off her feet, dropped her on to a chair and tried to bend her forward. She thrust him away and began to sob quietly and uncontrollably, hugging herself and weaving her body from side to side.

Dido eyed her professionally but without pity.

‘There's very little wrong with her. She's had a shock—haven't we all?—but she's as tough as nails. The question is, what do we do with her?'

‘The answer to that,' said Mr Campion, ‘is simple and uncharitable. We do nothing. We're none of us policemen. A good counsel could probably demolish my theories even if they resulted in a charge. My responsibilities here are to the living, to the future.'

The sobbing had stopped and as he turned to the girl she raised a blotched white face, streaked with mascara. She was still frightened, still choked with shock, but an instinct for self preservation flickered in her eyes.

‘I think you must go now. I think you must go right away—indeed you would be remarkably foolish if you ever tried to come back. I hope you understand that?'

She nodded almost imperceptibly, glancing from one face to the next, making certain that he spoke for them all.

‘What about that—that thing?'

Campion waited before answering.

‘That thing, as you call it, is your father's secret. As far as you are concerned it must stay that way. You should be on your way.'

She stood up and shook herself, straightening her shoulders as if she had been freed from carrying a heavy knapsack and sidled carefully round the dark hole in the centre. Lugg
opened the door into the garden and stood back for her to pass but on the threshold she hesitated and turned directly to Morty.

‘You wouldn't . . . ?' she said and paused. The question answered itself. ‘No, you wouldn't.'

When she reached the far end of the lawn she began to run.

AS LUGG CLOSED
the door the remainder of the group turned to Campion. He was sitting forward in a chair, his hands clasped between his knees, staring absently into the cavity in front of him.

‘What now?' said Morty. ‘Is this the end of the whole god-damned business? Is this what the entire shooting match was about? A matelot who was murdered twenty years back?'

The thin man looked up as if he found the question surprising. ‘Oh, no. Not the end. In a sense it is only the beginning. Dr Jones, speaking professionally, would you prescribe tea at this moment? I'm afraid the dawn is going to sneak up on us very soon. Lugg can arrange it if you agree?'

The tension had broken and Dido gave a sigh of weariness and relief.

‘Speaking professionally,' she said, ‘I prescribe Farmer's tea, thick, hot and strong. But for the love of mike anywhere else but here—the kitchen, perhaps. I'll give him a hand.'

Mr Campion rose to his feet.

‘Charlie and the boys,' he said, ‘have a rather tricky job ahead of them. They are about to compound a felony and we are all, I suppose, accessories before the fact. But Burrows has served his purpose and I think his remains should be discreetly removed. If you and Morty agree, he can be transferred very efficiently into oblivion.'