Mystery Mile (23 page)

‘He helped,' admitted Campion. ‘He and George really did the thing between them. A good old-fashioned put-up job, in fact. You see,' he went on, turning to Marlowe, ‘things were getting too hot.'

‘They pinked us the first evening you got down – Datchett turned up. I didn't recognize him, and for the moment he put the wind up me. I thought he might be the Big Bezezus himself. Then poor old St Swithin shot himself. I was in the dark over that – I am still, up to a point. It's quite obvious now that this chap and his pals are being employed by Simister, and for a very good reason. This chap had just the outfit that the Big Noise needed. He seems to have a collection of informers all over the country – gossips, small agents, and the like. Kettle was one of them. That sort of reptile provided him with his best
clients. They collected the evidence; Datchett collected the blackmail. Not a certificate “U” production.'

‘I don't quite get this,' said Marlowe. ‘Did that fortune teller try to force the old minister to double-cross us?'

‘That's about it,' said Campion. ‘He probably realized that Kettle would be precious little help to him, apart from spotting us in the first place, and he wanted St Swithin to give him the goods from inside.'

‘And St Swithin shot himself rather than do it?' said Giles.

Campion hesitated. ‘I'm afraid,' he said at last, ‘that it was a pretty substantial threat which Datchett held over him. I fancy the old boy must have been sucked dry long before this. It was obviously some sort of exposure that he feared and he had no means to buy himself off any longer.'

‘But what could he have feared?' said Biddy. ‘It's absurd.'

‘We can't tell what it was, old dear' – Campion spoke gently – ‘but what I do know is that his last thought was to help us, and he did it in a most effective and practical manner. He sent us sound advice which arrived in the rather melodramatic fashion that it did only because he was so desperately anxious that only the person who was directly concerned should understand it.'

‘That was you,' said Giles.

Campion nodded.

‘I wasn't any too quick on the up-take,' he said. ‘The messages didn't come in their right order. Yours, Biddy, “Danger”, should have come first. That was to break any illusions we may have had about Datchett as a fortune teller. Then there was Alaric Watts – one of the most interesting old men I've met for a long time. When in doubt, I fancy, St Swithin appealed to Alaric Watts, though he never took his principal trouble to him. And then, of course, there was the red knight. I didn't get that until I went over to see Watts. It appears that he has a great pal next door who is an old fossil monger. In his somewhat hefty back garden the early Britons built a church, bits of which he ferrets up from time to time. While they were on one of these pot-hunting expeditions they dogged up a toenail as big as a dining table, which cheered things up all round. The
press got wind of it, and old Cluer – that's the man I've been talking about – barricaded himself in and made a kind of fortress. No one was allowed in or out without their G.F.S. badge.

‘St Swithin, God bless him, knew all this, and it had probably occurred to him before that it was just the place for anyone who wanted to avoid publicity for a bit. He dared not see us again, for fear of losing his nerve. That's why he wrote.'

‘But why did he send a chessman?' said Marlowe.

‘If you'll look at the paper over there,' said Campion, ‘you'll see. The name of the estate next door to Alaric Watts is Redding Knights. There's a stream there where the old tin-hats used to have a wash and brush-up, I understand. That was St Swithin's only way of telling us without writing the name, which might conceivably have been seen by anybody. That explains why I wanted you all to be as secret as an oyster about it.'

‘Good Lord, you knew the whole time!' said Marlowe.

Giles looked at Isopel. The girl coloured faintly and met his glance.

‘I knew too,' she said. ‘Albert told me the next morning.'

‘
Toujours le Polytechnic
,' said Mr Campion hurriedly.

‘How on earth did you manage it?' said Biddy.

‘It was the little grey books that did it,' said Campion. ‘After half an hour's reading my head swelled up. Within two hours I had qualified as a motor salesman, whereas before I used to sell pups. After three days –'

‘Chuck it!' said Giles. ‘How did you do it?'

‘The ordinary Bokel Mind,' began Mr Campion oracularly. ‘Deep, mysterious, and replete with low cunning though it is, is nothing compared to the stupendous mental machines owned by those two losses to the criminal world, George Willsmore, and 'Anry, his brother – who pips him easily in the matter of duplicity, by the way. In all my wide experience I have never come across two such Napoleons of deceit. They staged and arranged the whole affair, whilst I looked on and admired. Such technique!

‘I persuaded your father,' he went on. ‘I pointed out that if I had a clear field and him out of danger, there was just a chance
that our friends might be persuaded to show their hands. They have, up to a point, but not far enough. The old boy was very sporting, and, as I said, George and 'Anry did the rest. The remarkable disappearing act was nothing like as difficult as it looked, thank heaven! You must remember, both time and place were prearranged. 'Anry discovered the dead yew, and devised the whole scheme. George was waiting for your father inside the maze. Mr Lobbett's tour was personally conducted by him. They toddled down that ditch which you discovered so inopportunely, Giles, only instead of going on to the road they ambled along the side of the hay field. The grass, being pretty high then, together with the depth of the dyke, hid them completely. From that they got quite easily into the mist tunnel without being observed. There's a hut down there, isn't there, Giles? Well, he changed there, since yokel garbage was absolutely necessary. 'Anry's wife's brother from Heronhoe was waiting in a rowboat just where the mist tunnel runs into the creek. It was high tide, you remember. He paddled your father down the river to a strip of coast where our good friend Alaric Watts was waiting for him in a car. There you are – quite easily done. 'Anry fixed the note on Addlepate's collar. That was your father's idea. I confess that, knowing the animal, I was dubious about that part of the scheme, but it worked all right.'

Giles was looking at him in undisguised horror.

‘George and 'Anry got Mr Lobbett into a boat where the mist tunnel runs into the creek?' he said. ‘I didn't know anyone would dare it.'

Campion eyed him curiously.

‘I don't get you.'

Giles shrugged his shoulders.

‘It's the most dangerous bit of “soft” on the coast,' he said. ‘The sea's encroaching every day, so it's impossible to mark it. I'm always expecting that old hut to disappear.'

‘I didn't know that,' said Campion quietly. ‘I've underestimated those two. They're Machiavellis. Anyhow, they got him away safely, all right. George's one lapse occurred in that matter of the suit. He had orders to destroy it, but having a
son-in-law who is a Brummel of Canvey Island, his frugal mind suggested that the clothes might come in useful for him. That's how the rather serious misunderstanding which led to Biddy's abduction occurred.'

‘Kettle simply untied the parcel, then?' said Marlowe.

Campion nodded. ‘I imagine he was going through all our correspondence at the time. I chatted to George on the subject. He swore to me that he'd buried the clothes in the mud. Kettle, he insisted, must have dug them up again. That story didn't wash, but it put me straight on to Kettle's track; however, like an ass, I wasn't fast enough.'

‘Sounds like a bit o' the Decameron to me,' said Mr Lugg unexpectedly. ‘Without the fun, as you might say.'

‘It is a bit of a mouthful,' said Giles, ‘coming on top of everything else. What's the next move? We're all pretty well dead-beat, and I state here and now that the girls are out of it for the future.'

‘Quite right,' said Campion. ‘“Over my dead body,” as Lugg would say.'

‘I'm all for that,' said Marlowe.

The two girls were too tired to protest Biddy was already more than half asleep.

‘I suggest,' said Mr Campion, ‘that I go down to Redding Knights straight away. I think we've got about four hours' start. That's why I haven't been hurrying. Oh, they're sure to get wind of that photograph,' he went on, answering Giles's unspoken question. ‘That's one of those certain things. Half the crooks in London probably know there's a reward in a certain quarter for information about the judge. I'll set off right away, then.'

‘I'll bring a couple o' pennies down for yer eyes,' said Mr Lugg, ‘And I'll see you laid out proper.'

‘You'll stay where you are,' said Campion. ‘You're going to be a ladies' maid for a day or two. A mixture of ladies' maid and bulldog.' He turned to the girls. ‘You couldn't be safer in Wormwood Scrubs.'

‘That's right,' said Mr Lugg. ‘I'll get my 'armonium out to-morrer. Give 'em a spot of music to cheer 'em up.'

‘Must you all go?' Biddy looked at Campion imploringly.

Giles interrupted his reply. ‘Marlowe and I are going with Campion,' he said stubbornly.

‘That's so.' The young American nodded. He went over to Biddy, and for a moment they spoke together.

‘I say, there's one thing,' said Giles suddenly, looking up. ‘Are you going to do all your rescue work in your giddy two-seater?'

‘Don't insult her,' said Mr Campion. ‘I've had her since she was a tricycle. Still, I hardly think she's fit for Flying Squad work. You will now shut your eyes, and Uncle Albert will do one of his pret-ty con-jur-ing tricks, kid-dies. Lugg, I think this is just about the time to catch Brother Herbert, don't you?'

Mr Lugg became supercilious immediately. ‘Very likely,' he said, adding gratuitously: ‘Sittin' up 'arf the night, excep' on business, is my idea of a vice.' He went to the telephone. After listening for some moments his expression changed to one of bitterest contempt, and he held the receiver some distance from his ear. ‘Mr Rudolph would like to speak to ‘is brother,' he said. There was an indistinct reply, and Mr Lugg's scow! darkened and his little eyes glittered with sudden anger. ‘Yus, and look nippy about it, my young gent's gent,' he said bitterly; then, turning to Campion, he mimicked a voice of horrible refinement: ‘'is Lordship is 'avin' ‘is 'air curled and may be some moments comin' to the phone.'

‘Hair curled?' said Campion.

‘I dunno. Cleanin' is teeth or somethink silly. 'Ere 'e is, sir.'

Campion took the phone.

‘Hullo, Sonny Boy,' he said, grinning into the instrument. ‘Did she accept you? It'll cost you seven and sixpence. Better buy a dog. Yes, boy, I said
dog.
I say, where's the Bentley? Could you send her round? No, Wootton can leave her here. Oh, and by the way, Ivanhoe, now you're sober you might point out to the family that you can only disinherit an offspring once. One offspring – one disinheritance. Make that quite clear. Yes, I know it's four o'clock in the morning. You'll send the bus at once, won't you? Yes, the business is looking up. I'm going to buy some braces with your crest on if the present
boom continues. Cheerio, old son. I shall expect the car in five minutes. Good-bye.'

He rang off. ‘Once more into the breach, dear friends,' he said, smiling at them. ‘We'll take some brandy in a flask, Lugg. Look after the ladies. Don't let them out We won't be more than a couple of days at the most.'

‘Two young females in this 'ere flat,' said Lugg. ‘Well!'

‘Shocking!' agreed Campion. ‘I don't know what my wife would say.'

Marlowe stared at him. ‘Good Lord, you haven't a wife, have you?' he said.

‘No,' said Mr Campion. ‘That's why I don't know what she'd say. Get your coats on, my little Rotarians.'

THEY DROVE ALL
through the dawn: out of the city into Essex, and from Essex into Suffolk.

Marlowe and Giles dozed in the back of the Bentley. Campion sat at the wheel, his natural expression of vacant fatuity still upon his face.

But throughout that long drive, in spite of his weariness, his mind was working with unusual clarity, and by the time they turned into the drive he had come to an important decision.

They stumbled out of the car, sleepy and dishevelled, to find themselves outside an old house, ivy-covered and half hidden by towering cedars. There was an air of darkness and shadow in the big garden, of privacy undisturbed for centuries.

An old man admitted them to the house, accepting Campion's explanation with quiet deference.

‘Mr O'Rell is having breakfast with the vicar, sir,' he said. ‘Will you come this way?'

‘That's your father's
nom de guerre
,' murmured Campion to Marlowe. ‘I wanted to call him Semple MacPherson, but he wouldn't stand for it.'

They followed the man into a room which ran all along one side of the house. The outside wall had been taken down to allow space for a long creeper-covered conservatory, and it was here, sitting at the top of the stone steps leading down to a sloping lawn, that they found Judge Lobbett and his host at breakfast.

Old Crowdy Lobbett sprang up at the sight of them. His delight at seeing his son again was evident, but on seeing Giles's bandaged face he turned to Campion with considerable anxiety.

‘Isopel and Miss Paget – are they all right?'

Marlowe answered him. ‘Quite safe now, dad. But Biddy had a terrible experience. Things have moved some.'

The old man was eager for explanations, but Alaric Watts came forward and he paused to introduce him.