The Affair of the Mutilated Mink (32 page)

I'm a pro, and I'd have had a helmet and protective suit.'

'It's either this, or Gerry drowns.' He threw his leg over the saddle and kicked at the starter.

With a roar that reverberated like a dozen engines round the gallery, the motor burst into life. Hugh rode it to the centre of the room, turned it to face the door of the gun room, and backed it until the rear wheel was tight against the outer door. Beyond the far door of the gallery the collection room stretched ahead, a sort of passage running between the display cases. The other men had done their job. The plank was in position. It looked a tiny target, yet at the same time absurdly close.

Hugh closed his eyes, said a silent prayer, squeezed the clutch, engaged bottom gear, and twisted the throttle to give maxirevs. The engine howled.

Hugh opened his eyes, put all his weight on the saddle, pulled up on the handle-bars to give optimum grip under the rear wheel, and let out the clutch. The bike rocketed forward.

For the first time Hugh felt the full power of the machine's engine. Accelerating at an enormous rate, he shot across the gallery and into the gun room. As he tore along it he kept his gaze fixed on the ridiculously narrow plank. Two inches out and he'd tilt it and go crashing into the wall or the balustrade. Then his front wheel had hit it - dead centre.

There was a jolt, and for a split second he was climbing the steeply sloping ramp. The next second he felt a blast of cold air on his face, and he was flying. For a moment he saw everything laid out below him like an aerial photograph: the terrace, the path, the grassy bank, and the icy waters of the lake.

He wasn't aware of the moment he parted company with his bike. He just knew that suddenly he was sailing through the air like a bird. He felt an instant of wild, insane elation, and then he was plummeting feet first towards the lake.

Miraculously he managed to remain upright, and had the presence of mind to take a lungful of air. Then he was immersed in freezing blackness - sinking, sinking, sinking . . .

* * *

As Hugh hit the water every breath on the balcony was held. He'd landed seven yards from the car, in which Gerry was still struggling desperately to free herself. The water was now one inch from the top of the door. They waited, no one moving or making a sound. Seconds seemed like hours.

Then Hugh's head broke water. He stared, gasping, around him, spotted the car, and started a fast crawl towards it.

Lord Burford gave a gasp. 'By Jove, he's made it!'

But even while he spoke the car was continuing to sink. Then Hugh had reached it. He heaved the door open and water cascaded into the car. In seconds it had reached Gerry's shoulders. Hugh took a deep breath and once more disappeared beneath the surface.

Even though Gerry was straining upwards to the limit of her reach, the water had now got to her chin.

Then the horrified watchers saw her head suddenly vanish beneath the water like an angler's float. Lady Burford gave a little cry.

But the next moment they realised what had happened. Hugh had grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her down, as the only way of easing the tension on the handcuffs and releasing her.

Further nerve-racking seconds passed. But then the two heads, the dark and the red, appeared together, moving slowly but safely from the car as it finally sank beneath the water.

Just then a sight never before and never again to be seen at Alderley was observed: Merry weather appeared - running. He came around the corner of the house and threw himself down on the bank, exactly as Hugh and Gerry reached it. Ten seconds later, with his help, they were out of the water.

Gerry fell against Hugh and he put his arms around her. They stood locked together, the water dripping from them. The countess let out a long shuddering sigh. 'Thank heavens.'

Meanwhile, however, Paul had reached the other bank and had been desperately trying to scramble out. But although the bank here was less steep, it was very slippery, and he kept falling back. He took the gun from his mouth and threw it up onto the grass. Then he made one final effort and at last managed to heave himself up out of the water, at almost the same moment as Merryweather was helping the others ashore. Paul lay gasping for a few seconds, then dragged himself to his feet. He looked up and saw Hugh and Gerry together. Abruptly his expression changed to one of malice and rage. He bent, snatched up the revolver, and aimed it straight at them.

In the nick of time, Hugh saw the danger. As Paul fired he threw himself flat, pulling Gerry down with him. Merryweather, too, dropped to the ground and the bullet passed harmlessly over them. Paul took aim a second time.

At that instant the Earl and Countess were deafened by a loud report from beside them. Paul fell as though poleaxed. He made an attempt to rise, then collapsed again and lay still.

Lord and Lady Burford swung round to see Wilkins in the act of lowering the Earl's rifle from his shoulder. He gazed at them. Suddenly he looked very tired. Then he seemed to collect himself.

'Oh, I beg your pardon, my lord. Do forgive me for using your gun without permission.'

Lord Burford let out his breath in a long gasp. He put his hand on Wilkins's shoulder. 'Any time, Wilkins, any time at all.'

The Countess drew herself up. 'Well, everything seems to be over. Oh, dear, that girl! Always in some sort of scrape. George, you really must have a serious talk with her.'

Chapter Twenty-Three

'Well, Wilkins,' St. John Allgood said in the small music room later, 'that all ended very satisfactorily.'

'I suppose so, sir.'

Two hours had passed. Two ambulances and a doctor had arrived and departed, as well as more policemen. The body of Paul Carter had been removed to the mortuary. Ned Turner had been taken to the nearest hospital, Mabel accompanying him. Maude Fry had been arrested and escorted by Sergeant Leather to the police station. Arlington Gilbert and Cyrus Haggermeir, both strangely subdued, had retired to their rooms. After a hot bath, a deeply shocked Geraldine had been given a sedative and sent to bed, and the Countess was still with her.

'Yes, indeed,' Allgood went on. 'Nasty things, murder trials. Unpleasant for all concerned. Always a chance, too, of the prisoner getting off on a technicality. If not, hanging. Messy business. So, in a way, good thing he had that gun of mine, after all, eh?' Allgood gave a short, forced laugh.

'Perhaps Lady Geraldine wouldn't think so, sir.'

'Maybe not. But all's well that ends well. Good shot of yours. Unfortunately, I was out of reach of a gun myself, watching from a gallery window. But I had every confidence in you.'

'Very good of you, sir.'

'Not at all. Had from the start, of course. And realised you'd had quite a bit longer to work on the case than I, and were probably close to cracking it. So let you get on with it. Put on a bit of a show, false accusations and all that, in order to distract attention from you and your investigations.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'I, er, suppose you'll be making a statement to the press?'

'No doubt, sir. And you needn't worry. I've no intention of grabbing all the glory. I'll see you get full credit, just as though we were equal partners.'

'Ah. Yes. Very good. Er, thank you.' He looked at his watch. 'Well, must be getting back to London. Heavy case load waiting. It's been a very, um, interesting investigation.'

'I'll make sure you get a copy of my report, sir. And that your Commissioner does, too.'

'Oh, I don't really think there's any need to trouble—'

'No trouble, sir. I'm sure my Chief will want one sent. They're old friends, I understand.'

'Oh, I see.' Allgood gave a sickly grin. 'That'll be something to look forward to, then. Now I really must leave. Chalky's waiting outside with the car. Bye, er, old man.'

He went hurriedly out. Wilkins shook his head and gave a sigh. 'Three Great A's, indeed!' he said aloud. 'Reckon he coined that himself. He's not in the same class as Mr Appleby or Mr Alleyn.'

* * *

Just as Allgood departed, Merryweather entered. 'His lordship's compliments, sir, and would you care to join him in the library for some refreshment?'

'Ah, come in, my dear fellow.' Lord Burford got to his feet. 'Toddle over to the fire and sit down. We want a full explanation of this extraordinary business.'

'We', apart from the Earl himself, consisted of Rex, Hugh — a quite different Hugh, with a cheerful expression and a face flushed as a result of both a hot bath and the stream of thanks and compliments which had been showered upon him — and Ann.

'Very well, my lord, if you insist.' Wilkins sat down and stretched out his feet to the blazing fire.

The Earl pressed a glass of whisky into his hand. 'Now start talking.'

'Right, my lord. But let me say first that with both Carter and Miss Lorenzo dead, a great deal has to be surmised or inferred. The main outline's clear enough, but a lot of the minor details can only be guessed at.'

Ann said, 'But don't keep saying "I imagine" and "perhaps" and so on. Just give us the most likely outline, as though you actually
knew
all the facts.'

Wilkins collected his thoughts. 'I suppose the first thing to say is that Paul Carter was a professional villain of the nastiest sort. For years now he's been living by his wits, mostly off women. This case started about six years ago when he went to northern Italy to climb the Matterhorn. While he was there he met a girl called Gina Foscari. She was a nice girl, and she invited him home to meet her parents. Mr and Mrs Foscari took to him as well, and asked him to stay. They were a pleasant, middle-class family, not especially well-off. Virtually their only valuable possessions were some jewels, which had been in the family for several generations, and which eventually would have been Gina's.

'I needn't go into the story in detail, but one day the girl and Carter just disappeared, together with the jewels. Two weeks later the girl's body was found. She'd fallen from the third floor balcony of a hotel where she and Carter had been staying as man and wife. There was no sign of Carter, nor of the jewels. It was never known whether he'd pushed Gina off, or simply abandoned her and she'd killed herself. Mr Foscari had to identify the body. The shock was too much for him. He had a heart attack and died a day or two later.

'Carter, of course, hadn't given the Foscaris his real name. Moreover, he'd told them he was American. Police inquiries were therefore directed across the Atlantic and were naturally unsuccessful.

'The relevance of all this is that Mr and Mrs Foscari were the uncle and aunt of Laura Lorenzo. She was very close to them, and had been to Gina. Her own parents were dead and she had no brothers or sisters, so it was a personal tragedy for her. Now, it so happened that she had met Carter briefly, having paid the Foscaris a flying visit while he was staying with them.'

Rex said, 'So when she turned up here, he recognised her.'

'Not at first, sir. She hadn't made her reputation in those days. She was just a fairly small-time actress, and it's probable she was introduced to him by her family name, Laura Lorenzo being a stage name. Also, I imagine she's changed her appearance - hair style and so on - quite a lot since then. On the other hand, however, she herself did have an excellent memory for faces.

'Years passed. Then six or eight weeks ago,
The Londoner
magazine carried a highly complimentary article on Miss Lorenzo. Her London agent sent her a copy. In the society pages I here was a photograph of Carter and Lady Geraldine at a charity ball.'

'And she recognised him from that?' Ann said.

'Not positively, miss. If she had, I think she'd have notified the police immediately. My belief is that she wanted a chance to study him closely and at length, in order to be quite sure. Mr Haggermeir's visit here gave her the opportunity. She arranged for that phoney telegram to be sent to her and just turned up here, knowing she'd almost certainly be invited to stay. She knew there was a good chance Carter would be staying here as well; but if he wasn't, she could no doubt make friends with Lady Geraldine and meet Carter later through her. Well, at first she was lucky. He
had
been invited. Things, though, didn't go quite as she'd anticipated. She convinced herself that Carter was the man she was looking for, but she was put off by the fact that she also recognised Mr Turner, though wasn't able to place him. He denied knowing her, but she was certain. He was here under a false name and was therefore quite probably a villain. She must have asked herself if there could be any connection between him and Carter: had she years ago seen them together?

'Something else that bothered her was Mr Haggermeir's strange coolness. She'd expected him to be overjoyed at the prospect of signing her up. We know, of course, that her arrival embarrassed him intensely, because he actually had no intention of making a film here. Nevertheless, it must have been a blow to her ego. We must remember that she was first and foremost a professional actress. Although she came here to trace her cousin's killer, signing with Mr Haggermeir would probably be the necessary concomitant to that. It was going to be a big step to take. Hence her interest in the script, and in Mr Gilbert's attitude to adapting it, was quite genuine.

'I think it's possible that a further factor which unsettled her was uncertainty about Lady Geraldine: she didn't know if her ladyship was another of Carter's potential victims (in which case she ought to be warned against him); or if, on the other hand, she might conceivably be a partner in crime. According to Sergeant Leather, Mrs Turner told them yesterday that Miss Lorenzo questioned her quite closely about Lady Geraldine's past brushes with the law.

As a result of all these doubts and questions, Miss Lorenzo dithered about what to do next. Then sometime on Saturday, probably around lunchtime, Carter recognised her. We can never know how — the odd giveaway word, the chance meeting of eyes. Perhaps, for all we know, she actually came out in the open: identified herself by her real name, and challenged Carter. But in whatever way it happened, she'd effectively signed her death warrant. He was playing for the biggest stakes of his life. For over a year he'd been exerting all his charm on Lady Geraldine, a lady who - begging your pardon, my lord - will one day inherit a huge fortune. And he believed he was on the point of winning her. Nothing, not the merest hint of a scandal, even if no crime could be proved against him, could be allowed to stand in his way. Whatever the risk, Miss Lorenzo had to be silenced.'