Lonely Road (13 page)

She was staring at him, dumb with horror. “Please … ” she whispered in the end. “Please tell me. What happened to the driver?”

He paused for a moment, as if he didn’t quite know what to say. “I am afraid, Miss Gordon,” he said very gently, “we don’t quite know what happened to the driver. It was all so utterly burnt up, you see.”

It was a moment before she realised what he meant; then for a minute I thought she was going to break down. But she had guts, that girl, and all that happened was that she began fumbling at the catch of her handbag, mechanically trying to open it. It would not come undone and she stood there fumbling at it desperately, her head bent down. I don’t know what it was she wanted out of it, perhaps a handkerchief.

“Come,” said Norman, “there’s nothing to distress yourself about. We don’t know that this is your brother’s lorry. Perhaps it may not be.”

She swallowed once or twice. “I—I should know Billy’s
lorry,” she said at last. “I think so.” She looked up at him pitifully. “It had horse-shoes on it.”

He spoke to her very gently, immensely kind. “Then let’s just have a look at it together,” he suggested. “Two heads are better than one, aren’t they? And you can tell me if you see anything you recognise.”

I stood there looking on at this dumbfounded, amazed at the cleverness of the man. He had said nothing that was not true. It was true that the lorry had been burning fiercely when it was discovered, true that he knew nothing of the driver’s fate. I could see that he would get the whole of the evidence he wanted without the slightest difficulty; if she had anything damaging to tell she would commit her brother up to the hilt without ever knowing she had injured him. The whole of her examination was being cast into the form of an inquiry into the supposed death of her brother, and she would tell everything she knew.

A more educated, more sophisticated girl might possibly have broken out of the snare that he had made for her by puzzling over the circumstances that had brought her to that yard; she might have smelt a rat. I could see that Norman had nothing to fear from that. The girl was very nearly in tears, hanging back a little from the wreckage in the corner that he was trying to get her to inspect.

“Come, Miss Gordon,” he said, “we must just have a look at it, you know.” There was an air of gentle authority in his voice which made her come to him at once. Together they walked slowly up the length of that tangled, rusty mass of iron.

They moved round to the front. I saw her stop, I saw the muscles of her face working. I saw her catch her breath as she pointed to something on the ruins of the radiator. I couldn’t see what it was from where I was standing. I saw Norman bend down to her, infinitely solicitous.

“Is that like your brother’s?” he asked gently.

She nodded once or twice, dumbly. “It was a little one—just like that. He—he said it was a donkey’s.… There was a big one on the back.”

Norman inclined his head. “We found a big one on the road, underneath,” he said quietly. “It must have been nailed on to some wooden part.”

There was an infinite silence in the yard.

“Come,” said Norman, “just one more look, and then we’ll go indoors. I want you to tell me if there’s anything else that you can recognise. There might still be some mistake, you know.”

They walked together slowly down the other side. The steering column was bent and twisted down; the thin bare core of the wheel stood up forlornly. Below the wheel a little clip was mounted carrying a ring, a clumsy, amateurish fitting at the best. She laid her hand on this.

“He used to put his pipe in that,” she said in a low tone. “He put it on himself, because he told me.” She turned to him with a trembling lip. “Please—mayn’t we go indoors now?”

“I think we may, Miss Gordon,” he said kindly. “There’s nothing more that we can do out here.” He hesitated for a moment, and then said: “I am so very, very sorry.”

She made no reply to that; I don’t think she was capable of saying anything. She walked across the yard with him towards the door we had come out of; Fedden and I followed them a few paces behind. It seemed to me that the art of criminal investigation had advanced a step or two since Sherlock Holmes.

At the door Fedden made another effort to get rid of me. “There’s nothing more for you to stay for, if you’d like to get away,” he said. “We can take care of her now, and send her back up north.”

I gave him a grim stare. “I should prefer to stay,” I said shortly. “I want to see what fancy game you gentlemen are going to play with her.” He winced at that, as I had meant he should.

He said something or other, but I brushed past him and followed Norman into the office. He was already seated at the table there, the girl opposite to him. He gave me a sharp glance as I came in, which I ignored; I knew that he could
do nothing to eliminate me without arousing her suspicions. I took up a stand on the far side of the room, half turned away from them, looking out of the window. Fedden came in and closed the door, and stood by me. At a corner table there was a sergeant taking notes, armed with a notebook and pencil.

“Now, Miss Gordon,” Norman was saying, “just one or two questions that we have to ask, about this accident. I am sure you won’t mind.”

She looked up at him dumbly.

“First of all, what was your brother’s name?”

She answered in a low voice: “William Hartop Gordon.”

“And his age?”

“He was thirty last October.” So she was older than I thought.

“Where did he live?”

“It was somewhere in Birmingham, but I don’t know the address. He used to be in Wolverhampton, up till about a year ago.”

“Was he a married man?”

She shook her head without speaking.

“Do you remember where he lived in Wolverhampton?”

“He was in lodgings. Twenty-nine Elmer’s Crescent was the address.”

Norman smiled at her kindly. “Just one or two more questions, Miss Gordon.” He paused. “When did you see your brother last?”

She swallowed. “In Leeds. I think it was about a month ago. You see, he came and booked me out.”

“I see,” said Norman; “and you went out with him. Did you go in his lorry?”

She tried to speak, and failed. She shook her head, and then she said, a little piteously: “Please, do you think I might have a glass of water?”

The sergeant rose, lumbering from his table, and went out of the room; he returned in a minute with a dripping cup. She took it from him gratefully and drank; Norman sat patiently till she had finished.

“That’s better,” he said kindly. “Now, Miss Gordon, did your brother work for anybody? or was this lorry his own property?”

She said: “I think it was his own.”

“I see.” He was silent for a minute, and then: “Did he ever tell you what work he used to do, or who he used to work for? I mean, whose loads he used to carry in the lorry?”

She said: “Oh, yes.” I swung round sharply by the window, and she stopped and looked at me.

“That’s enough of this damn foolery,” I said harshly.

There was a momentary silence. I stood there staring down at Norman at the table, watching the deep colour mounting in his face. He turned and beckoned to the sergeant, who got up and came towards me. “I’ll see you about that afterwards, Commander Stevenson,” he said easily. “In the meantime, perhaps you wouldn’t mind waiting outside?”

The sergeant opened the door for me.

I laughed shortly. “If you like,” I said. “In that case I shall go straight up to town. I can get a question asked about this matter in the House to-night.”

Fedden stirred uneasily beside me, and I swung round viciously on him. “Yes, by Christ,” I said, “and you’ll be in it, too. Chief Constable of the County!” And I laughed again.

“Don’t be a fool, Stevenson,” he retorted, not unkindly. “You must go home and leave this thing to us.”

“I’m damned if I do,” I said.

The girl sat staring at us, red-eyed and uncomprehending, gripping a little wad of handkerchief in her lap. Norman got up from the table. “I think it would be better for us to talk this over outside,” he said smoothly. “In consideration for Miss Gordon.”

“I don’t,” I said curtly.

I crossed the room to where the girl was sitting by the table. “You’d better come along with me,” I said. “We’re going home.”

“Sit down!” said Norman sharply. She collapsed into her chair again, and I saw a tear fall down her cheek. He turned
on me, red with anger. “As for you, sir, you must get out of this room. Go to town or go to hell for all I care. Get out!”

I put one foot up on to a chair and stared at him; there was an awkward silence after that outburst. “I’m a friend of Miss Gordon’s,” I said at last. “I want this inquiry adjourned till she has had an opportunity to consult her solicitor.”

Fedden broke in. “Don’t talk such nonsense,” he said irritably. “The girl hasn’t got a solicitor.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Louden, Jenkinson and Priestley are acting for her,” I replied. “Either Jenkinson or his junior will be here to-night.”

Norman broke in: “That’s a London firm.”

“Don’t be a damn fool,” I said sourly. “Do you think I put my business with a hedge solicitor?”

There was a momentary silence, and I followed up: “I would have you understand that I am making formal application for an adjournment of this inquiry, in order that Miss Gordon may take legal advice. You clearly understand that, Major Norman?—and Colonel Fedden?” I swung round on the sergeant. “You too. You may have to give evidence on this in Court. You understand what I want?”

“That’s enough,” said Norman sharply. “He understands well enough.”

The girl stirred beside me as if she wanted to say something, but I silenced her with a motion. “Look here,” I said to Norman, “you want to get to the bottom of this thing; so do I. I want to know who cracked me on the head that night. But I’ll be no party to a trick like this.”

Fedden stirred. “Have you any alternative procedure to suggest?” he asked coldly.

I eyed him for a moment. “None at all. My solicitor deals with legal—and illegal—matters of this sort for me. I think you will find that he is able to suggest some alternative procedure to this sort of thing.” I paused. “I imagine that he will advise Miss Gordon to make a statement to you, under his guidance.”

Norman interposed: “She can make a statement now. This
matter is urgent.” He swung round on me. “You’re playing the fool with matters you don’t understand. How do you know what this delay may mean?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “You’ll have to take your chance of that. You’ve waited four days for me to bring her here, and you can wait a fifth for her solicitor.” I considered for a moment. “I’ll say this for her: Miss Gordon will give you a statement of some sort to-morrow afternoon.”

“To-morrow morning,” he said.

I shook my head. “It can’t be done. Jenkinson can’t get here till late, and Miss Gordon won’t be fit to work with him to-night. To-morrow afternoon.”

He turned on his heel and swung over to the door. “You’d better see your friend off the premises,” he said bitterly to Fedden, and then he was gone. Fedden said something or other, but I ignored him and turned to where the girl was sitting by the table. She turned a tear-streaked face to me.

“Please, Mr. Stevenson,” she said—“oh, I mean, Commander Stevenson—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean——” She abandoned that sentence and started again. “I don’t quite understand what’s been happening,” she said, a little pitifully.

I smiled. “I know you don’t,” I said. “I’ll tell you about it when we get home. We’ll get along now and”—I searched my brain for words of feminine comfort—“you can have a cup of tea and a bit of cake, and lie down for a bit if you want to. Come on.” I stared around. “Got all your things?”

She got up and picked her bag up from the table. “There’s one thing you may as well know right away,” I said. “Your brother’s all right. He wasn’t in that lorry when it got burnt up.”

She stared at me. “Did he go to Hammersmith?” Fedden was there, all ears, and I said hurriedly: “That’s enough about that.”

I spoke sharply, I suppose, because she started crying in real earnest then. I was too much occupied in getting her out of the building before she put her foot in it again to pay much heed to that. I got her out and into the Bentley in double
quick time, and she sat there crying by my side as we slid out of the town. A policeman on point duty looked curiously at us as we swept past, and I wondered if he thought I was abducting her. If I were, I reflected, it was from the police.

She dried up after a mile or two, but all that drive we never spoke a word. I thought it best to leave her to herself, and so we went along in silence all the way. We got back to the house at about half-past twelve. I left the car standing on the drive and took her through into the library, sat her down in a chair, reached out for the telephone and put in a trunk call to Jenkinson. Then I turned to her.

“Now,” I said, “what are you going to have? Cup of tea? Lunch will be ready in about three-quarters of an hour.”

She shook her head miserably. “Please, I don’t want anything.”

I stood there looking down at her, and thought that I had never seen a girl less likely to enjoy her lunch than this one. I rang the bell, and told Rogers to get her a cup of Bovril and some toast. It was the best thing I could think of. “You needn’t have it if you don’t want it when it comes,” I said. “You can just sniff at it and then go upstairs and lie down if you want to.”

She smiled up at me weakly. “You’re ever so kind to me.” And then she said: “I don’t understand a bit what happened over there.”

“No,” I said, “I don’t suppose you do.” I paused for a minute, and lit a cigarette. “It’s a very long story and I’m not going to tell you now—not all of it. I’ll tell you after dinner to-night, when you’ve had a rest. But the bit you want to know now is this.”

I paused, and looked at her reflectively. “Those men over there were police officers,” I said. “Did you know that?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t know who they were.”

“Well,” I said, “you know now. They were playing a trick on you. They wanted to find out something about your brother.”