The Crime at Black Dudley (17 page)

‘There's only one way to handle these customers, therefore,' he said. ‘The first thing is to overpower those two and get their guns. Six of us ought to be able to do that. Then the two best shots had better take those revolvers and scout round for the others. The important thing is, of course, that the first bit of work is done in absolute silence. I believe that once we get those two guns we can lay 'em all by the heels. We shall be prepared, we shall be organized – they won't. What do you say?'

There was a moment or two of silence. Martin Watt was the first to speak.

‘Well, I'm for it,' he said.

‘So am I,' said Wyatt quietly.

Abbershaw hesitated, and Prenderby too was silent, whilst Albert Campion remained mild and foolish-looking as if he were looking in on the scene from outside.

Abbershaw was thinking of Meggie. Prenderby too had his fiancée clinging to his arm. Mr Campion appeared to be thinking of nothing at all.

‘After all, it does seem to be our only chance.'

It was Prenderby who spoke, and the words stirred Abbershaw.

What the boy said was perfectly true. He turned to Kennedy.

‘All right,' he said, ‘I'm with you.'

Kennedy looked pointedly at Albert.

‘And you?' he said.

Albert shook his head. ‘Oh, I'm not standing out,' he said. ‘I don't like these rough games, but I don't shirk them when they're thrust on me. What do we all do?'

Mr Kennedy appeared to have the whole plan clear in his mind.

‘It's quite simple,' he said, leaning his chin in his un-wounded hand and bending forward, an intent expression in his eyes.

‘Let
me
shape your career for you!' quoted Mr Campion brightly. Kennedy reddened angrily and dropped the pose, but he went on doggedly.

‘My idea,' he said, ‘is that three go down to dinner with the girls. I'm afraid they'll have to come or the men will smell a rat. They start food, and the other three fellows wait outside the door until one of their laddies is at work on the side table and the other serving the dishes at the big table. At that moment someone knocks a glass on to the flags. That's the signal. Then the blokes outside the door charge in and seize the carver. One of 'em gets his arm. Another stuffs a hanky in his mouth, and the third stands by to slog him over the head if necessary. Hang it, we can't go wrong like that. The only thing is they mustn't suspect us. We've got to take them by surprise. It's the simplest thing going as long as we don't make a row.'

‘Yes,' said Mr Campion, standing up with sudden solemnity. ‘A very clever idea, but what we have to ask ourselves is: Is it quite fair? Three men on to one. Come, come, we must remember that we are British, and all that. Perhaps we could each tie a hand behind our backs – or shall I offer them single combat instead?'

Chris Kennedy rose to his feet, and walking across to Mr Campion spoke quietly but vigorously.

Mr Campion blushed.

‘I didn't think you'd take it like that. You will have it your own way, of course. I shan't say anything.'

‘You'd better not,' said Kennedy, and walked back to his
seat. ‘Abbershaw, you, Michael, and Mr Campion had better go down with the girls, and Wyatt, Martin, and I will wait for the signal of the broken glass. Who's going to do that? It had better be a girl. Miss Oliphant, will you do it?'

Meggie nodded.

‘As soon as one man is at the carving-table and the other serving us,' she said.

Kennedy smiled at her. ‘That's it,' he said. ‘Now is that clear?' he went on, glancing around him, his eyes dancing with excitement. ‘Abbershaw, you get the bloke's arms, Prenderby, you're responsible for gagging the sportsman! –'

‘Yes?' said Campion, who was apparently gibbering with excitement. ‘And what can I do?'

‘You stand by,' said Kennedy, with something suspiciously like a sneer on his handsome young face.

‘Oh, very well,' said Mr Campion, looking considerably disappointed. ‘I'll stand ready to dot the fellow with a bottle if necessary.'

‘That's the idea,' agreed Chris Kennedy somewhat grudgingly, and returned to the others. ‘Of course,' he said, ‘it'll be a bit of a shock for the two lackey-thugs to see you all turning up bright and happy after your adventures; still, I think the idea is to walk in as if nothing had ever happened. You can indulge in a certain amount of bright conversation if you like, to put them off the scent. That's where you'll come in useful,' he added, turning to Campion. ‘Talk as much as you like. That's the time to be funny.'

‘Righto,' said Mr Campion, brightening visibly. ‘I'll show them my two-headed penny. I'll be awfully witty. “They laughed when I sat down at the piano, but when I began to play they knew at once that I had taken Kennedy's Patent Course. How they cheered me on – ” '

‘Oh, shut up,' said Martin Watt, grinning good-naturedly. ‘The fun starts at dinner, then. Oh, and by the way, when we've pinched these fellows' guns, what do we do with the laddies? Leave them lying about?'

‘I've thought of that,' said the indefatigable Kennedy; ‘we tie 'em up. I've been collecting portmanteau straps.
That'll do it, you'll find. We'll lash 'em both into chairs and leave 'em there.'

‘Yes,' said Martin, ‘and next? When we've fixed up all that, what happens next?'

‘Then somebody takes charge of the girls,' said Kennedy. ‘They lock themselves in some safe room – Miss Oliphant's bedroom just at the head of the stairs, for instance. Then the rest of us form into two parties with a revolver each and storm the servants' quarters, where, with a certain amount of luck, we shall get another gun or two. Then we can let out at some of these lads who amble round keeping an eye on us after dinner. We'll tie 'em up and raid old Dawlish's quarters.'

He paused and looked round him, smiling.

‘As soon as we've got everyone accounted for, we get the girls and sheer out of the house in a body. How's that?'

‘Sounds lovely,' said Mr Campion, adding after a pause, ‘so simple. It'll be rather awkward if someone makes a noise, though, won't it? I mean you might have the entire gang down on you at the one-gun-per-three-men stage.'

Kennedy snapped at him. He was thoroughly tired of Mr Campion's helpful suggestions.

‘There just hasn't got to be any noise,' he said, ‘that's the point. And by the way, I think you're the man to stay with the girls.'

There was no mistaking his inference, but to Abbershaw's surprise Mr Campion seemed to jump at the idea.

‘Righto,' he said, ‘I shall be delighted.'

Chris Kennedy's answering remark was cut short, rather fortunately, Abbershaw felt, by a single and, in the circumstances, highly dramatic sound – the deep booming of the dinner gong.

The six young people went down to the big dining-hall with a certain amount of trepidation. Jeanne clung to Prenderby, the other two girls stuck together, and Abbershaw was able to have a word or two with Mr Campion.

‘You don't like the idea?' he murmured.

The other shrugged his shoulders.

‘It's the risk, my old bird,' he said softly. ‘Our pugilistic friend doesn't realize that we're not up against a gang of racecourse thugs. I tried to point it out to him but I'm afraid he just thought I was trying to be funny. People without humour always have curious ideas on that subject. However, it may come off. It'll be the last thing he'll expect us to do, anyway, and if you really have burnt that paper it's the best thing we could do.'

‘I suppose you think I'm a fool,' said Abbershaw, a little defiantly. Campion grinned.

‘On the contrary, young sir, I think you're a humorist. A trifle unconscious, perhaps, but none the worse for that.'

Their conversation ended abruptly, for they had reached the foot of the staircase and were approaching the dining-room.

The door stood open, and they went in to find the table set for all nine of them, and the two men who had acted as footmen during the week-end awaiting their coming. They sat down at the table. ‘The others won't be a moment, but we'll start, please,' said Campion, and the meal began.

For some minutes it seemed as if the funereal atmosphere which surrounded the whole house was going to damp any attempt at bright conversation that anyone might feel disposed to make, but Mr Campion sailed nobly into the breach.

Abbershaw was inclined to wonder at him until he realized with a little shock that considering the man's profession the
art of talking rubbish in any circumstances might be one of his chief stock-in-trades.

At the moment he was speaking of food. His high voice worked up to a pitch of enthusiasm, and his pale eyes widened behind his horn-rimmed spectacles.

‘It all depends what you mean by eating,' he was saying. ‘I don't believe in stuffing myself, you know, but I'm not one of those people who are against food altogether. I knew a woman once who didn't believe in food – thought it was bad for the figure – so she gave it up altogether. Horrible results, of course; she got so thin that no one noticed her around – husband got used to being alone – estrangement, divorce – oh, I believe in food. I say, have you seen my new trick with a napkin and a salt-cellar – rather natty, don't you think?'

He covered a salt-cellar with his napkin as he spoke, made several passes over it, a solemn expression on his face, and then, whisking the napery away, disclosed nothing but shining oak beneath.

His mind still on Mr Campion's profession, Abbershaw was conscious of a certain feeling of apprehension. The saltcellar was antique, probably worth a considerable sum.

Mr Campion's trick was not yet over, however. A few more passes and the salt-cellar was discovered issuing from the waistcoat of the man-servant who happened to be attending to him at the time.

‘There!' he said. ‘A pretty little piece of work, isn't it? All done by astrology. For my next I shall require two assistants, any live fish, four aspidistras, and one small packet of Gold Flake.' As he uttered the last words he turned sharply to beam around the table, and his elbow caught Meggie's glass and sent it crashing to the floor.

A little breathless silence would have followed the smash had not he bounded up from his chair immediately and bent down ostensibly to gather up the fragments, jabbering the whole time. ‘What an idiot! What an idiot! Have I splashed your dress, Miss Oliphant? All over the floor! What a mess, what a mess! Come here, my man, here: bring a dust-pan
and broom with you.' He was making such a fuss and such a noise that no one had noticed the door open, and the somewhat self-conscious entry of Chris Kennedy's little band. No one, that is, save Campion, who from his place of vantage half-way under the table had an excellent view of the feet.

At the moment when Martin Watt leapt forward at the man by the carving table, Campion threw his arms round the other man-servant's legs just below the knees, and jerked him back on to the flags with an almost professional neatness. Within two seconds he was seated astride the man's chest, his knees driven into the fleshy part of his arms, whilst he stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth. Abbershaw and Prenderby hurried to his assistance and between them they strapped the man into a chair, where he sat glaring at them, speechless and impotent.

Kennedy's party, though less neat, had been quite as successful, and Chris himself, flushed with excitement, now stood with his man's loaded revolver in his hand.

‘Have you got his gun?' he said, in a voice which sounded hoarse even to himself, as he indicated Campion's captive.

‘No,' said Abbershaw, and began his search. Two minutes later he looked up, disappointed.

‘He hasn't one,' he said at last, and even the man himself seemed surprised.

Kennedy swore softly and handed the gun which he held to Martin.

‘You'd better have it,' he said. ‘I'm hopeless with my right arm gone. Now, then, Campion, will you go upstairs with the girls? Abbershaw, you'd better go with them. As soon as you've seen them safely locked in the room, come back to us. We're making for the servants' quarters.'

They obeyed in silence, and Abbershaw led Campion and the three girls quietly out of the room, across the hall, and up the wide staircase. On the first landing they paused abruptly. Two figures were looming towards them through the dimness ahead. It was Jesse Gideon and the heavy, red-faced man whom Abbershaw had encountered outside
Dawlish's door in his search for Meggie. They would have passed in silence had not Gideon spoken suspiciously in his smooth silken voice.

‘Dinner is over early?' he said, fixing his narrow glittering eyes on Meggie.

She replied coldly that it was, and made as if to pass on up the stairs, but Gideon evidently intended to prolong the conversation, for he glided in front of her so that he and the surly ruffian beside him barred her progress up the stairs from the step above the one on which she was standing.

‘You are all so eager,' Gideon continued softly, ‘that it almost looks like an expedition to me. Or perhaps it is one of your charming games of hide-and-seek which you play so adroitly,' he added, and the sneer on his unpleasant face was very obvious. ‘You will forgive me saying so I am sure,' he went on, still in the same soothing obsequious voice, ‘but don't you think you are trying Mr Dawlish's patience a little too much by being so foolish in your escapades? If you are wise you will take my advice and keep very quiet until it pleases him to release you.'

He spoke banteringly, but there was no mistaking the warning behind his words, and it was with some eagerness that Abbershaw took Meggie's arm and piloted her between the two men. His one aim at the moment was to get the girl safely to her room.