Missing Person (24 page)

‘Sometimes? What d’you mean, sometimes?’

‘Well, there’s that ruddy bolster,’ said Dan.

‘You weakling,’ said Tilly, ‘are you complainin’ about one or two little taps?’

‘No, just mentionin’ them,’ said Dan. ‘Anyway, how about me proposition? Tell you what, I’ll make it a quid a week. Like you said, Tilly, me girls need a bit of motherin’ by someone who’ll be around every day, and you’ll probably still be able to do some dressmakin’.’

‘I don’t know I ever met anyone with more nerve than you’ve got, and why I’m standing ’ere—’

‘Bubbles and Penny-Farvin’ like you,’ said Dan.

‘That’s it, come the old acid,’ said Tilly.

‘And I like you meself,’ said Dan. ‘Also, I meant it when I said you’d look even better in tights than Elvira.’

‘Where’s me fireside poker?’ said Tilly.

‘Tilly, I hope you ain’t goin’ to forget you’re a lady again,’ said Dan.

‘It’s because I’m a lady that I’m goin’ to poke your eyes out,’ said Tilly. ‘Ladies don’t invite blokes with evil eyes to gawp at their legs.’

‘On me honour, it was accidental,’ said Dan. ‘I had no idea you hadn’t finished dressin’.’

‘Yes, you did, you ’ad a very good idea,’ said Tilly. ‘Just stay where you are, Mr Rogers, while I pick up me poker.’

‘Ruddy hell,’ said Dan, and beat a retreat. Tilly closed the door and sat down at her sewing-machine. For some reason she wanted to laugh. That cheerful Charlie, what a joker.

The June night was dark now. She sat in the bright glow of the gas mantle. The window opposite hers was a blankness, and nor was there any light in the kitchen below. She wouldn’t be surprised if the people there were all out at the pub. Mrs Harper liked a drop all right, and her husband and brother-in-law probably did too.

Tilly did a thirty-minute stint on her machine before going to bed.

Mr Finch came to, for the second time. On the first occasion, he had been rendered unconscious again. His head was a fiery ache. The chopping blow had been ferociously efficient.

He was on a bed, a large piece of sticking-plaster over his mouth. He was handcuffed, and there was a padlocked chain around his ankles. The light was on, gaslight.

He had come out of the hotel and walked to his car to wait for his wife. A man and a woman got out of a car parked opposite his. The woman had a map in her hand, and she and her companion spread it over the bonnet of the car. She called to Mr Finch.

‘I say, old chap, could you help us?’

Mr Finch went across.

‘What kind of help do you want?’ he asked.

‘We’re looking for a little place called Upper Hale, south of Farnham, but it doesn’t seem to be on the map.’

‘It’s north of Farnham,’ said Mr Finch, and the man moved aside to let him point it out on the map. It was then that the first blow was dealt, a vicious chop to the back of his neck. He blacked out. He was in the car when he first came to, and dusk had arrived. The car was travelling, the man next to him on the back seat, a second man driving, and the woman in the passenger seat. Weakly, Mr Finch lifted his head and attempted to say something. A hand turned him, and the second blow arrived. He blacked out again.

‘What luck,’ the chopper had said after the car had been driven away from the hotel.

‘The luck of the righteous,’ said the driver, and laughed. ‘To have seen him when we had merely come to look things over, and then to have heard him state his destination.’

‘You could say it was the luck of the righteous,’ said the woman.

‘What else?’ said the chopper. ‘It stayed with us, he came out of the hotel alone while we were wondering what to do about his wife.’

‘What a chase,’ said the driver, ‘first to Farnham, then to the hotel.’

‘I had a satisfying feeling the day was marked out in our favour,’ said the chopper.

‘The day’s not over yet,’ said the woman, ‘we have to get him safely into hiding.’

‘That means not until it’s dark, not until it’s late enough for London to be asleep,’ said the chopper.

‘London never sleeps, don’t you know that?’ said the woman.

‘We shall take no risks,’ said the driver, ‘not after fortune has favoured us.’

‘God bless the righteous,’ said the woman.

The conversation was in German.

‘You are awake?’ The man who had felled Mr Finch was standing beside the bed. Mr Finch turned his aching head. With an effort, his eyes examined the room. It had an old familiarity about it. He had lodged for several years in just such a room, and in a house rented by Mrs Maisie Adams, a woman of resilience, who was always striving to rise above poverty. ‘You are awake?’ The question came again, and Mr Finch looked up at the man, tall and self-assured.

With sticking-plaster over my mouth, he thought, I’m expected to answer?

He could nod, of course. So he did.

‘I telephoned you not long ago,’ said the man. ‘Do you remember? I asked if you were Edwin Finch, formerly Paul Strasser of Frankfurt-on-the-Maine.’

Mr Finch’s eyes flickered.

‘Do you remember?’

Mr Finch nodded again.

‘Good. There are other things we want you to remember. However, it’s late, so we shall put you to sleep and begin talking to you tomorrow. But first, perhaps, you would like to use the toilet.’

Mr Finch nodded yet again. If he was in need of one other concession, it was the removal of the plaster.

‘Very well. We are going to free your mouth and take off the handcuffs and chains, but if you give us any trouble we shall gag you again and probably break your right arm. Do you understand?’

Mr Finch fully understood. He knew the type. Again he nodded. A second man appeared. The handcuffs were removed and the chains unpadlocked. Fingers peeled off the sticking-plaster. Then he was taken to the lavatory next to the room. Back on the bed a few minutes later, the leg chains were re-fixed. His brain was clearing, and he was quite calm. He had his own kind of resilience. He gave himself over to thinking, but was not allowed prolonged reflection, and was forced to accept an injection in his arm that put him to sleep. His last thoughts before the drug laid total claim on his consciousness were of his wife Maisie and the fact that the man had spoken to him in German.

The light was turned out, and not long afterwards the house fell silent.

The waiting had placed an almost impossible strain on
Chinese
Lady, and she suffered it with tight lips. She felt Boots ought to have rushed about in a search for Edwin, asking questions of people. There must be some people in the area who had seen her husband, there must be some such people somewhere around. At the same time, however, she was not without faith in her son’s conviction that they had to talk to Captain Arnold.

The hours went by, and at ten minutes to midnight, Miss Jordan, who was still up, knocked again. A little ruefully, she informed Boots that Captain Arnold was still not back.

‘Although I like the sound of the gentleman,’ said Polly drily, ‘it’s a little inconvenient of him to stay out so long.’

‘He’s an unconventional type,’ said Miss Jordan.

‘I don’t mind the unconventional,’ said Boots, ‘I was simply hoping he’d favour an early night.’

‘And I was hopin’ a lot more could have been done than just waitin’,’ said Chinese Lady.

‘But, Nana, what could we have done when we haven’t known how to start?’ said Rosie.

‘It’s a headache to all of us, Rosie love,’ said Chinese Lady.

‘That car is our one hope,’ said Boots, not for the first time, ‘especially as we know it was the odd man out.’ He had spoken to the manager, and asked him if any guests had vacated their rooms this afternoon, guests who had cars. The manager, checking with Miss Jordan, said no. Well, then, said Boots, did any other people, in addition to his mother and stepfather, stop at the hotel just for tea? The manager, after further checking, said no. It was mostly on Sunday that motorists pulled in for tea. Boots said can I trouble you further by asking if anyone called this
afternoon
to enquire about rooms without actually making a reservation? Miss Jordan said no to that, which left Boots feeling only Captain Arnold could be of any real help. ‘That car,’ he said now, ‘contained a person or persons who parked here but didn’t use the hotel.’

‘Well, old thing,’ said Polly, ‘that’s suggesting the person or persons pulled in to sit and wait, don’t you see.’

‘Wait for what?’ asked Chinese Lady.

‘Ye gods,’ said Polly, ‘yes, wait for what?’

‘We’re keeping you up, Miss Jordan,’ said Boots.

‘I’ll stay up all night, Mr Adams, if that’s a help to you,’ said the receptionist.

‘I’d like to only know one more thing,’ said Boots. ‘Does your porter station himself at the entrance to the hotel all day?’

‘He’ll be there whenever guests are expected,’ said Miss Jordan, ‘but he has other duties that take him away. Why do you ask?’

‘I’m wondering if he was at the entrance when my mother and stepfather arrived, and if he saw another car pull in a little while after them,’ said Boots.

‘I’d have to ask him,’ said Miss Jordan.

‘I can answer that,’ said Chinese Lady. ‘He was in the lobby when Edwin and me walked in.’

‘Nana,’ said Rosie, ‘did you notice another car come in after you and Grandpa pulled in?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ said Chinese Lady.

‘Were there any cars behind you as you approached the hotel?’ asked Boots.

‘There was a bit of traffic all the time,’ said Chinese Lady. ‘Oh, lor’, are you sayin—’

‘Never mind,’ said Boots, not wanting too much to
be
discussed in front of Miss Jordan. ‘What are we left with at the moment?’

‘With the hope that Captain Arnold can tell us something about the car and who was in it,’ said Polly.

‘Just a description of the car would help if it was a little out of the ordinary,’ said Boots.

‘You’d need the help of the police then,’ said Miss Jordan.

‘We’ll see,’ said Boots, glancing at Polly. Such help might come from her father. Sir Henry knew something of Edwin Finch’s background, and he was also acquainted with the anonymous figureheads of British Intelligence. Such people, in view of Edwin’s work, would almost certainly conduct a search for the car. ‘Miss Jordan, as we’re stuck at the cross-roads, I think the most practical thing now is for all of us to go to bed and buttonhole Captain Arnold at breakfast. Or does he take breakfast in bed whenever he’s had a late night?’

‘He’s a regular guest here, a bachelor,’ said Miss Jordan, ‘but I’ve never known him to take breakfast in bed, however late he’s been overnight.’

‘We’ll wait until morning, then,’ said Boots.

‘Goodnight, sir,’ said Miss Jordan, ‘I do hope you all get some sleep.’

It was well after midnight when Chinese Lady finally went uneasily to bed, with Rosie lending her sympathetic company. Boots and Polly retired to their own rooms on the opposite side of the corridor. The rooms were adjoining, and Boots noted a communicating door. Knowing something of Polly and her devil-may-care attitude, he wondered if the communicating door had anything to do with the fact that she had booked the rooms herself. He tried the door. It was
locked
. He accorded it a brief smile. He undressed and put on a pair of pyjamas. The estimable Miss Jordan had somehow found clean nightwear for all of them. He got into bed, heaping the pillows to help him sit up and think. It would not go out of his mind, the certainty that the car seen by Captain Arnold held some clue to his stepfather’s disappearance. And with that certainty was the suspicion that the disappearance had something to do with Edwin’s cloak-and-dagger profession. Outside of that, nothing made sense.

About to douse the bedside light, he heard a soft sound. The communicating door opened and in came Polly, wearing a borrowed wrap and a bedtime smile. She looked admirably younger than thirty-three. Her hair style, her vivaciousness and her smooth skin had always favoured her in respect of her years.

‘I thought that door was locked,’ said Boots.

‘Oh, it was, darling, yes,’ said Polly, ‘but the key was on my side.’

‘What’s the idea?’ asked Boots.

‘Nothing important, old love,’ she said. ‘It’s more of a feeling.’

‘What kind of a feeling?’ asked Boots, eyeing her guardedly as she sat down on the edge of the bed.

‘The feeling that you cut short the conversation when you realized you’d arrived at the possibility that someone had been following your stepfather,’ said Polly.

‘Yes, I think my mother had seen that,’ said Boots, ‘and I felt it best to say no more in front of Miss Jordan.’

‘But that young lady has made herself invaluable,’ said Polly. ‘It’s the way you look at her.’

‘I’ve got that kind of look?’ said Boots.

‘Don’t play “Little Boy Blue” with me,’ said Polly,
‘you
know damn well how to make young women like Miss Jordan go weak at the knees. Hell’s bells, don’t I do that sometimes when you condescend to look at me?’ Her wrap moved. She didn’t seem to move herself, but her wrap did. It parted at her thighs, and the sheen of grey silk stockings caught the light. A suspender clip winked. ‘God, me at my age, nearly thirty, having my knees give way.’

Boots let ‘nearly thirty’ pass.

‘You’re coming undone, Polly,’ he said. ‘As for the possibility that my stepfather may have been followed, that’s something best kept to the family. I’m against having people peering into the family window.’

‘You’re against anything that might blow your family’s washing into the high street,’ said Polly. ‘God give me patience, how much longer do I have to wait?’

‘For what?’ asked Boots.

‘To get into bed with you.’

Boots, not unaware of how splendid her legs looked in their sleek silk stockings, said, ‘Well, Polly old love, much as I care for you, I don’t think we’d make a very good job of bedding down together, not while circumstances are as they are, bloody depressing.’

‘One day,’ said Polly, ‘you’ll run out of excuses. D’you find it easy to resist me?’

‘Is that a serious question?’ asked Boots.

Polly eyed the top two buttons of his pyjama jacket, both of which were undone, smiled her brittle smile and said, ‘Do you strip well, Boots?’