Authors: Winston Graham
âJames, please just tell me what has happened. Shall I come over?'
âI should be obliged. I was going to ring the police but thought I would speak to you first. If I ring the police now you should all be here about the same time.'
âWho is there now? Who is with you?'
âNobody. I'm quite alone â except for these two.'
âGod Almighty ⦠There were no witnesses, then?'
âNo.'
âThe â the house is empty? How did you get in?'
âJust walked. The front door was open.'
Gaveston's mind was working fast. âWho is the other man?'
âHis business partner â the fellow I met before â Angelo Smith.'
âI presume â if what you say is true about them â I presume they must have attacked you? Eh? Isn't that true? You'll have been acting in self-defence?'
âA good lawyer might say so. It didn't feel that way.'
âLook â how far am I from this Partridge Manor place?'
âAbout ten minutes, I suppose. Might be a bit more. You take the Princes Risborough road from your place and turn left just before you get in there. Upper Kimble is only a few miles on, and you take the second or third turning â anyway it's by a telephone box. Big stone posts, and the gates seem to be left permanently open.'
âI'll come at once. And listen, James â'
âYes?'
âDon't touch anything. I mean don't touch anything
more.
Sit in a chair and wait for me. You say the front door is open?'
âYes. I am on the first floor.'
âThere are no servants? Mrs Colton is out?'
âYes. I believe â I think she has gone to the theatre in Stratford.' âWell, then, I'll come right away. And James.' âYes?' âDon't ring the police until I come.'
Gaveston took his wife's Mini. It was less conspicuous than the old Alvis, and as it was double locked away in a separate garage there was less chance of its being booby-trapped.
He found the house at the second attempt and saw James's estate car parked outside the front door. There was no moon, and a cloudy sky made the evening dark. Only one light in the house, shining brightly through two windows over the front door. Henry drew on a pair of surgical gloves and went in. Whatever help he was able to offer James, it was instinct to avoid implicating himself.
Upstairs James was sitting awkwardly in an easy chair, an empty brandy glass on the floor beside him. His face was flushed and new lines showed on it.
He said: âWell, there we are.'
Errol Colton lay on his face among the wreck of the work table. Suitably, photographs were strewn all over him. Henry's knees cracked as he stooped beside the body. He dragged off one of his gloves to feel for a pulse, to lift an eyelid, to put a finger on the skin, which was already cooling.
He drew on his glove again and stood up.
âCertainly. There we are. What
possessed
you? ⦠Where is the other man?'
âDownstairs in the hall, I presume. He went over the banisters.'
Henry found a chair. âI think I need some brandy too.'
âIt's not very good,' said James. â But it helps.'
âFor God's sake.' Henry took a gulp. âI told you I was worried about you, old friend. I
warned
you â only yesterday was it? â saying you shouldn't allow your suspicions to get â to get out of hand. But this ⦠Merciful Christ! How did it happen?'
In brief jerky sentences James told him. Henry kept shaking his head in disbelief. When he had done James looked at his watch.
âI don't know what time Mrs Colton will be back, but I wouldn't want her to find us sitting here like this. It would be better to ring the police right away.'
âThis Smith man â downstairs ⦠are you sure he's ⦠I should take a look before we do anything else ⦠He might only have been knocked out â¦'
As he put his glass down Gaveston looked at the small revolver lying on the floor half-covered by a photograph of a pretty dark girl of about fourteen â who might now be fatherless.
âDon't move.'
He left the room and switched on the landing light and the lights in the hall. James heard him going downstairs. The tension had now drained out of him, so that all he wanted to do was lie down and sleep. The acute pain in his ankles was curiously dulled, as if there were other claims on his mind's attention. It would be a new experience to sleep in a cell. Before then, he supposed, there would have to be the official warning and then the signed statement:
I, James Locke, of sound mind and body, hereby state that tonight the something of May I did feloniously kill one, Errol Colton, and also
⦠He'd had nothing to do with lawyers since Janet left him â except for the brief employment of Alan Webster to represent him at the inquest. But Webster wasn't a criminal lawyer. Henry would know someone more suitable. What would it be, manslaughter or murder? Diminished responsibility? Some hopes. He had felt no diminished responsibility at all. Regret? Remorse? It hadn't happened yet. An eye for an eye? New Testament feelings might settle in later. God, he was exhausted.
Gaveston came back into the room, mopped his forehead. In answer to James's look he said: âOh, he's dead all right. Whether it was the fall â¦'
James felt his bruised hand. âLook, the telephone is over there. Or shall I just dial nine-nine-nine again?'
âJames,' Gaveston said, and breathed out deeply. â That man downstairs. I know him. I knew him thirty years ago. He's fatter but there's no mistaking that split eyebrow. I knew him in Cyprus. He was a leading member of EOKA, and quite the nastiest. His real name is Angelo Apostoleris.'
âOh? â¦'
âHe was much wanted by the British. He was more ruthless than Dighenis â you know, Grivas â and much more brutal. I would have loved to have caught him.'
âNow you have.'
âNow I have. Or you have. It puts things in a different light. Coming up the stairs I've been thinking. I can't explain more but I think we should get out.'
âGet out?'
âYes. In fifteen minutes we ought to be gone.'
âWhat about the police?'
âIt's their problem. Let them puzzle it out. Listen, James, can you stir yourself?'
James stared at his friend. â Oh yes. But â'
âYou know, I thought your conspiracy theory about Stephanie's death was so much moonshine. But if a chap like Apostoleris is involved I can believe anything. Tell me, what did you handle in this room?'
They were outside in seven minutes. Gaveston, all his bones creaking, had moved with the speed of a young man. Everything James had touched or was likely to have touched was wiped down with a damp cloth. The photographs and the folder had been gathered up and put into a pillowcase Henry had found in a neighbouring bedroom. âWe can't risk one of those â they're perfect for prints â they've
got
to go with us.' Glasses wiped, door handles wiped, banisters, chair arms, the work table, bottles, even the wall on the landing. James's legs would just get him downstairs. When he reached the bottom he listened to Henry's movements upstairs; he sounded as if he was dragging Errol across the room to the door.
He came down gasping for breath. âWe shall never deceive the police â for long but if it could be â made to look like a quarrel between them â it will help to confuse things. Now into your car and drive home. Got that?'
âYes, I suppose so. But â¦'
The sticks went into the car first and James was shoved in after. âI can't see that there is going to â'
âDrive carefully â and think it over on the way. Apostoleris â is no loss to the community, and I doubt if Colton is. Can you trust â your Mrs Aldershot?'
âAbsolutely.'
âShe will swear that you had not been out tonight?'
âOh, yes.'
âFred Barnes I can trust â in the same way. Fortunately Evelyn isn't â home. She is never â good under cross-examination. If there â has to be any. Now go.'
James started the car. âMy car â'
âI know. It's a risk but it's worth taking. When you get home burn â everything â those photographs â
all
your clothes, down to your shoes, socks, walking sticks. Everything. Strip yourself â'
âIf I do that â'
âYou have an incinerator to heat your greenhouses?'
âYes.'
âIs it lit?'
âYes.'
âThen use it. Goodbye.'
âHenry,' James said, âI had no intention of involving you in this. Not in any illicit way.'
âI had no intention of â being so involved. But it has happened. I'll telephone you early tomorrow. Now go.'
At 8.30 the telephone rang in James's bedroom. He lifted it off and Henry said: âHow are you?'
âChrist, I don't know. Very sore.'
âIs remorse breaking in?'
âWell, I couldn't abide the thought of Mrs Colton coming home and finding ⦠what she would find.'
âI appreciate that. It would have been better if a police car had been winking outside. But only marginally better. She still had the shock to be faced. Did you do what I told you?'
âMary Aldershot was still up, so she has become an accessory after the fact.'
âYour sticks?'
âVery reluctantly. I have a spare couple, but they are not as light.'
âOld friend, I have been giving this matter some thought in the night.'
âSo have I!'
âMy feeling is that my attempt to fool our friends the police will not be successful for long. But the chances of
your
being traced are fairly low. Of course your car might have been seen turning in to Partridge Manor, but it's unlikely. The fields on the other side of the lane are all pastureland. Only one house is in sight, and that is on the hill.'
âHow do you know? It was dark when you came.'
âI drove over this morning as soon as it was light. To continue, if no one saw you turn in, it is unlikely anyone saw your car parked there, as the shrubbery hides the drive from the lane. When I came over it was very dark, so I think it unlikely anyone saw me. So â¦'
âSo?'
âI have a feeling you may yet be in the clear. I presume that is what you wish to be?'
âWell â¦'
âThe urge to confess was strong in you last night.'
âIt was not so much an urge to confess as a feeling that there was nothing else I could do!'
âBut it seems there may be.'
James shifted his elbow and took the telephone in his other hand. The side of his right hand was painful but no bruise showed. âListen, Henry, you're in a position of some authority, Bursar of an Oxford college, still with many contacts in the Ministry of Defence and some with the police. If Mary has become an accessory in this affair, how much more you! It would go very badly for you if this came out. You have Evelyn to think of and a still fairly young son.'
âI considered all that in the night. But by then most of the boats were burned, weren't they. And unless you decide to split on me, there's still nothing to connect me with this affair. Fred will swear in any court in the kingdom that I did not stir from the house last night. I spent the whole evening writing in the study. Fred came in twice to bring me drinks.'
âSo I am now a â well, whatever you want to call me, and three more people are accessories. It is a big price to pay for a fit of temper.'
âIs that what it was?'
âNot quite.'
Henry said: âFor me, of course, everything was changed by my recognition of Angelo Apostoleris. It seems likely that your suspicions â which I didn't believe â were in some way correct. However Stephanie died, Colton was a member of a criminal organisation â by association and almost certainly in fact. We must sit this one out.'
âI haven't thanked you at all. Whatever I say seems inadequate, but â you must know what I feel.'
âI think so. Let's say it's a partnership. Have you seen the morning papers?'
âOnly
The Times.
But it's surely too early.'
âYes. I bought them all. I shall be off to Oxford in a minute or two â business as usual. Are you up yet?'
âJust.'
âKeep a low profile for a day or two. Tend your garden. You know I don't think anyone could believe what you did last night â being as lame as you are.'
James said: âThese last few years I've had to make a lot of use of my arms.'
âWell, your appearance is an added insurance. Let's keep our fingers crossed.'
âIndeed,' said James.
âIndeed,' said James.
As he hung up he saw the police car arriving at the front door.
James's father, Sir Charles Locke, KCMG, after being Counsellor in Paris, had completed his diplomatic career as British Ambassador to Chile and then to the Netherlands. He had looked on his only son as destined for Eton and the Guards, but Margaret Locke said she didn't much care for Old Etonians â except the one she married â so James went to Charterhouse. Then when higher education beckoned he took a fancy to the stage, and when war broke out he was a vividly handsome young man playing in the touring company of
French Without Tears.
Rather to the astonishment of his father who had come to look on him as a lost cause, he left the company and by pulling various strings not unassociated with his father's distinguished position, managed to get himself into the army as a humble Fusilier. After Dunkirk, which he missed, he volunteered for the Parachute Regiment but was turned down on medical grounds and instead was gazetted as a second lieutenant in the Royal Fusiliers.
However, assessing eyes had been turned on him and his application, and he was one day invited to leave Aldershot, take train and bus at the country's expense and visit a building near Trafalgar Square, where he was interviewed by a French colonel and his knowledge of the French language intensively tested. Then he was asked whether he would be willing to be parachuted into France. Having said yes he was escorted out of the back entrance and reported to an aerodrome on the HampshireâSussex borders on the following Monday for extra training. Three weeks later he disappeared into the unknown terrain of occupied France.