Sixty Days to Live (8 page)

‘Rupert will be lurking in the lounge listening for your arrival. Directly he hears the butler go to open the front door he will come out into the hall dressed all ready for his flight. He should hear what you say to his man about Fink-Drummond being in such a hurry to get off, and greet you at once with the words: “In that case it’s not much good my offering you a drink.” He’ll then
join you on the doorstep, say good night to his man, and walk with you round to the hangar.

‘I shall be there to give a hand with the plane, if necessary, and to see you off with my blessing. After which I’ll have to do a cross-country walk of six or seven miles into Epsom, knock up a garage there, and hire a car to take me back to London. Is that all clear?’

The others agreed that it was, and he went on:

‘Grand. Now, let’s see how things will pan out from there on. I can fix it this evening that a small news paragraph appears in one or two of the leading morning papers, saying that, for urgent private reasons, Fink-Drummond has left England by plane to join his wife, who is on the S.S.
Falconia
, two days out, bound for New York. The midday editions of the evening papers will carry a more prominent story:
“Ex-Cabinet Minister’s dash to join his wife on outward-bound Atlantic liner. Famous airman, Captain Brand, engaged at short notice to fly him out. Brand takes beautiful fiancée with him as passenger on trip.”

‘By midday your people, Rupert, will be getting really worried about your not having returned. They’ll ‘phone the Air Ministry and the balloon will go up. The late editions of the evening papers will carry a headline story:
“Ex-Cabinet Minister, ace airman, and fiancée reported lost over Atlantic.”

‘The
Falconia
will radio home that she is keeping a constant look-out, but has seen nothing of you. In the following mornings papers there will be a real hullabaloo, and I’m sorry to say we’ll have to cost the country a whole packet of money sending up planes to look for you; but, of course, without result. After a day or two the excitement will die down, and it will be believed that all three of you have been drowned at sea.

‘If any of Fink-Drummond’s relatives feel that there is something queer about his sudden departure, and start to make inquiries, this is what they will learn. That he was last seen at Sam’s wedding here, to-day. Then …’

‘Wait a minute, though,’ Rupert interrupted. ‘How about the chauffeur in the car that brought him down? His man is bound to wonder what’s happened when he fails to leave with the other guests.’

‘Say! I’m glad you thought of that. I must fix it. I’ll have a message sent him, when people start to go, that he’s to drive
home empty, as his chief is returning to London with the Marchesa del Serilla. That will tie up nicely with the rest of the story later on.

‘Getting back to the investigation. The chauffeur will tell Fink-Drummond’s relatives that he left here with Conchita. For a few hours Fink-Drummond disappears entirely, and no one will ever be able to find out what he did during that time, but that dovetails with this mysterious personal business on which it was so urgent that he should see his wife. The Daimler people will say that Conchita hired one of their cars to collect her at midnight, and specially insisted that the car should have blinds.

‘Their man will tell
his
story: that, having picked her up, she pulled down the blinds in the car, and he then drove her to Bryanston Square, where they picked up a man whose face he did not see; but whose description will roughly tally with that of Fink-Drummond. And this man was carrying a large suitcase, as though for a journey. The couple were then driven down to Captain Brand’s place at Cobham, where the lady paid the car off.

‘Conchita’s maid, when questioned, will say that her mistress arrived back from Sam’s wedding, and said that Captain Brand was going to take her on a night-flying trip out over the Atlantic with Mr. Fink-Drummond.

‘Rupert’s mechanics will tell their story of how he returned from Sam’s wedding to supervise their getting his plane ready for a special trip because he was going to fly Fink-Drummond to join his wife that night.

‘And Rupert’s butler will conclude the chain by informing inquirers how Conchita arrived at the house about one in the morning with Fink-Drummond, and told Rupert, in his presence, that Fink-Drummond was in such a hurry to get off that he had gone straight round to the hangar. The plane took off a few minutes later, and that is that.’

‘Marvellous!’ purred Conchita. ‘You seem to have thought of everything; except for one small point. What if he has some important dinner to-night, a speech to make, or a banquet to attend? Will they not start to search for him prematurely when he does not return to his house or send any message?’

‘That certainly is a snag to be got over. How would it be if
Rupert telephoned Fink-Drummond’s secretary to cancel all his engagements because urgent business made it necessary for him to spend the late afternoon in the City; and, after that, his plans were so uncertain that he might not be able to get back to-night? The inference afterwards would be that he’d made up his mind to join his wife at the last moment, returned to Bryanston Square, let himself in, and packed his own bag as he was in too much of a hurry to ring for any of the servants.’

Rupert shook his head. ‘The part about my telephoning’s all right, but not your inference about his returning to pack his bag. Otherwise one of his bags with his brushes, shaving tackle, and so on, would be missing from the house; and we can’t just wish them into vanishing into thin air.’

‘Sure, sure.’ Hemmingway passed a hand over his big forehead. ‘Yes, we must better that. I’ll tell you. When you ‘phone, speak to his butler. That’s less risky than the secretary, who might start asking awkward questions. Tell the butler to pack him a bag for a couple of nights away from home, then to take it to Grosvenor House, check it into the cloakroom there, and say that the Marchesa del Serilla will call for it.’

‘Do you think the butler would take such instructions from me without any confirmation from his master?’

‘You’ve been to Fink-Drummond’s house, haven’t you?’

‘Yes. I’ve lunched there two or three times.’

‘That’ll be all right, then. It’s not like asking him to let a lot of jewels or important papers out of his keeping, and he must know that you and Conchita are not the sort of people who’d enter into an elaborate plot to steal a week-end suitcase.’

‘That’s true.’

‘Then Conchita will collect the bag from Grosvenor House around midnight, and instead of picking me up in Bryanston Square I’ll be waiting on that quiet corner behind Grosvenor House where Park Street joins Mount Street.’

‘That is much better,’ Conchita conceded, ‘except that everyone will think he ran away with me.’

Rupert laughed and squeezed her arm. ‘Not as it’s my plane you’re both going in, my sweet. They’ll just believe that, as I was flying him out and you were in the secret, you helped him in his trouble by running him around to places in your car and picking up his things for him so that nobody should know, outside us
three, what sort of funny business he was occupied on or whom he saw during the evening, before he made his get-away.’

Hemmingway gave a sigh of relief. ‘Well, thank goodness we’ve sorted that. I’m most terribly grateful to you both, and I know Sam will be, too.’

‘Not a bit of it,’ Rupert smiled. ‘Let’s go and drink the old boy’s health in another glass of wine, before the happy couple depart for their honeymoon.’

‘I’ll have a drink with you later. As best man, it’s up to me to see they’ve got all their things together before they go.’

Conchita and Rupert went back arm-in-arm through the french windows into the drawing-room, while Hemmingway entered the front door. For a few moments he was busy giving final instructions and seeing the pile of luggage loaded on to the car. Then Sam came downstairs and looked across at him inquiringly.

Hemmingway nodded. ‘It’s all fixed.’

‘Good work,’ Sam smiled. ‘But if there’s any trouble, you must cable me and I’ll return at once to take responsibility.’

‘Don’t worry. I won’t have to.’

They talked together for a few moments about business arrangements during Sam’s absence, but broke off as Lavina and Margery came downstairs.

‘I think I’ve got all your things,’ Hemmingway said to Lavina, ‘but you might just check them up. I know Sam’s stuff but I’m not so used to yours.’

‘Of course I will.’ She went out with him on to the porch and together they ran over her pieces of luggage in the waiting car.

Margery, meanwhile, had turned in the other direction and was talking to Sam. From where they stood they were out of earshot of Hemmingway and Lavina but could see them just outside the open doorway.

At that moment Hemmingway held out his hand to Lavina and said: ‘Well, I’ll say good-bye now, before the crush surrounds you. Happy honeymoon.’

She looked up into those strange, wise eyes of his again and once more she had that sensation of vague fear. But Lavina was a courageous person and believed that the best way to conquer fear of anything was to face it boldly. This was fear of herself; not fear of him. And she knew that, since they would be together
so much in the future, she must root it out now, once and for all.

To prove herself she smiled back into his eyes and said: ‘Thanks so much for all you’ve done to-day, but isn’t it usual for the best man to kiss the bride?’

‘Not in the States, and I’m half American,’ he laughed. ‘I’m a poor hand at kissing people, too, unless I really mean it; and, if I did that, I’m afraid I’d make an awful hash of your makeup!’

It was said with such charming lightness that it was quite impossible for Lavina to take offence, but she was determined not to be side-tracked so she answered gaily: ‘All right, then, I’ll kiss you.’ And, standing on tiptoe for a second, she gave him a swift kiss on the cheek.

Sam and Margery had witnessed the little scene from the distance. As he turned towards her to say something he saw that her face was strained and intent.

‘May I give you a piece of advice?’ she asked suddenly.

‘Why, yes.’ He lifted an eyebrow in surprise.

‘Sack that secretary of yours.’

‘Sack Hemmingway! Good Lord, why?’

‘You’d better, unless you want your marriage broken up. He’s young, extraordinarily attractive and the type that doesn’t fall easily for women but, when they do, fall hard—and I know Lavina. All her life she’s battened on admiration. She’ll never rest until she’s made him as mad about her as all the other men she’s ever known for any length of time.’

‘Margery!’ Sam was really shocked. ‘How
can
you say such a frightful thing about your own sister?’

Suddenly Margery turned away and burst into a violent fit of tears.

Sam cast an anxious glance towards the drawing-room, flung an arm round the weeping girl’s shoulders and pushed her into the cloakroom nearby; pulling the door to behind them.

‘For God’s sake, don’t make a scene!’ he said angrily. ‘Stop crying, now. Stop it! Or your tears will mess up your face.’

With an effort Margery checked her sobbing, dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and, walking over to the mirror, pulled out her compact to make good the traces of tears left on her cheeks.

Sam was furious and he let himself go. ‘You must be downright
wicked to say such a thing to me on my wedding-day. Hemmingway’s my best man and my best friend. I’d trust him anywhere with anything, and I’d trust Lavina to the limit, too. It’s just your rotten, filthy imagination.’

She turned then, and faced him calmly. ‘I’m sorry, Sam. Terribly sorry. I should never have said that but I did believe it at the time. It was something in their attitude to each other that I can’t explain, and my wicked jealousy, I suppose. You see, Lavina’s always had everything—everything I’ve ever wanted; even the rather second-rate boy-friends, whom she couldn’t be bothered with but I would so gladly have had, all fell for her.’

Sam stared at her and realised for the first time that she was quite young, not more than twenty-six, and definitely good-looking. Not beautiful like Lavina, but very attractive in her own way; which must have made it all the harder for her that she had had to play the drudge’s part while Lavina had all the fun.

Suddenly overwhelmed with a great wave of pity he put his arms round her and kissed her. ‘You poor kid,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you didn’t mean it. Let’s never think of it again.’

The day after Sam and Lavina were married life at Stapleton Court resumed its uneventful routine. The big reception rooms were closed once more; the caterers had removed all traces of the wedding feast. Gervaise and his elder daughter, Margery, were once again in sole possession of the derelict Georgian mansion; unless one counted an entirely new and disturbing factor which had suddenly entered their quiet lives—the prisoner in the nursery.

After the departure of the wedding guests Gervaise had called in Derek Burroughs, told him of the events which had led up to the decision that Fink-Drummond must be kept a prisoner of the next few weeks and secured his assistance in putting the ex-Cabinet Minister to bed.

It was not until five o’clock the following afternoon that Fink-Drummond came out of his cataleptic state but as soon as he had recovered sufficiently to think and talk coherently he created a very pretty scene.

Gervaise had been sitting in the room reading a book while he waited for his prisoner to come round and he explained at once that, although he disliked Mr. Fink-Drummond very much indeed, he felt himself compelled, in the interests of national safety, to offer him his hospitality for some time to come. Neither arguments nor threats could induce him to take a refusal and he backed up his statement by producing an antiquated revolver that had seen service in the Boer War.

Fink-Drummond raged and stormed. He declared that all the forces of the law should be brought into operation the second he was free; that he would sue the lot of them for conspiracy and forcible detention and that they should see the inside of a prison.