The Crime at Black Dudley (26 page)

‘Oh, he won't do it again,' said Martin cheerfully. ‘Besides, he's a rotten shot anyway.'

Prenderby said no more, but he was careful to keep at a respectable distance from the Rolls.

‘They'll start moving now,' said Martin. ‘We shall have our work cut out if we're going to be in at the death. Look out for the side turnings. Do you know this road at all?'

‘Pretty well,' said Prenderby. ‘He's heading for Chelmsford, I should say, or somewhere round there. I think he'll have some difficulty in shaking us off.'

The big car ahead was now speeding away from them rapidly and Prenderby had his hands full to keep them anywhere in sight. In Chelmsford they lost sight of it
altogether and were forced to inquire of a policeman in the deserted High Street.

The placid country bobby took the opportunity of inspecting their licence and then conceded the information that a ‘vehicle of a type now obsolete, and bearing powerful lamps' had passed through the town, taking the Springfield road for Kelvedon and Colchester some three minutes before their own arrival.

The Riley sped on down the winding road through the town, Martin cursing vigorously.

‘Now we're sunk,' he said. ‘Missed them sure as Pancaketide. They've only got to nip into a side road and shut off their lamps and we're done. In fact,' he went on disconsolately, ‘I don't know if there's any point in going on at all now.'

‘There's only one point,' cut in Abbershaw quietly. ‘If by chance they are going somewhere definite – I mean if they want to get to a certain spot in set time – they'll probably go straight on and trust to luck that they've shaken us off.'

‘That's right,' said Martin. ‘Let's go on full tilt to Colchester and ask there. No one could miss a bus like that. It looks as if it ought not to be about alone. Full steam ahead, Michael.'

‘Ay, ay, sir,' said Prenderby cheerfully and trod on the accelerator.

They went through Witham at a speed that would have infuriated the local authorities, but still the road was ghostly and deserted. At length, just outside Kelvedon, far away in the distance there appeared the faint haze of giant head-lights against the trees.

Martin whooped.

‘A sail, a sail, captain,' he said. ‘It must be her. Put some speed into it, Michael.'

‘All right. If we seize up or leave the road, on your head be it,' said Prenderby, through his teeth. ‘She's all out now.'

The hedges on either side of them became blurred and indistinct. Finally, in the long straight strip between Marks
Tey and Lexden, they slowly crept up behind the big car again.

‘That's her all right,' said Martin; ‘she's crawling, isn't she? Comparatively, I mean. I believe Abbershaw's hit it. She's keeping an appointment. Look here, let's drop down and shut off our head-lights – the sides will carry us.'

‘Hullo! Where's he off to now?'

It was Michael who spoke. The car ahead had taken a sudden turn to the right, forsaking the main road.

‘After her,' said Martin, with suppressed excitement. ‘Now we're coming to it, I do believe. Any idea where that leads to?'

‘No,' said Michael. ‘I haven't the least. There's only a lane there if I remember. Probably the drive of a house.'

‘All the better.' Martin was enthusiastic. ‘That means we have located them anyway.'

‘Wait a bit,' said Michael, as, dimming his lights, he swung round after the other car. ‘It's not a drive. I remember it now. There's a signpost over there somewhere which says, “To Birch”, wherever “Birch” may be. Gosh! No speeding on this road, my children,' he added suddenly, as he steered the Riley round a concealed right-angle bend in the road.

The head-lights of the car they were following were still just visible several turns ahead. For the next few miles the journey developed into a nightmare. The turns were innumerable.

‘God knows how we're going to get back,' grumbled Michael. ‘I don't know which I prefer; your friend with the gun or an attempt to find our way back through these roads before morning.'

‘Cheer up,' said Martin consolingly. ‘You may get both. Any idea where we are? Was that a church we passed just now?'

‘I thought I heard a cow,' suggested Abbershaw helpfully.

‘Let's catch 'em up,' said Martin. ‘It's time something definite happened.'

Abbershaw shook his head.

‘That's no good, my dear fellow,' he said. ‘Don't you see our position? We can't stop a man in the middle of the night and accuse him of murder without more proof or more authority. We must find out where he is and that's all.'

Martin was silent. He had no intention of allowing the adventure to end so tamely. They struggled on without speaking.

At length, after what had seemed to be an interminable drive, through narrow miry lanes with surfaces like ploughed fields, through forgotten villages, past ghostly churches dimly outlined against the sky, guided only by the glare ahead, the darkness began to grey and in the uncertain light of the dawn they found themselves on a track of short springy grass amid the most desolate surroundings any one of them had ever seen.

On all sides spread vast stretches of salting covered with clumps of rough, coarse grass with here and there a ragged river or a dyke-head.

Far ahead of them the old black car lumbered on.

Martin sniffed.

‘The sea,' he said. ‘I wonder if that old miracle ahead swims? A bus like that might do anything. That would just about sink us if we went to follow them.'

‘Just about,' said Michael dryly. ‘What do we do now?'

‘I suppose we go on to the bitter end,' said Martin. ‘They may have a family house-boat out there. Hullo! Look at them now.'

The Rolls had at last come to a full stop, although the head-lights were still streaming out over the turf.

Michael brought the Riley up sharply.

‘What now?' he said.

‘Now the fun begins,' said Martin. ‘Get out your gun, Abbershaw.'

Hardly had he spoken when an exclamation came down the morning to them, followed immediately by a revolver shot which again fell short of them.

Without hesitation Martin fired back. The snap of his
automatic was instantly followed by a much larger explosion.

‘That's their back tyre,' he said. ‘Let's get behind the car and play soldiers. They're sure to retaliate. This is going to be fun.'

But in this he was mistaken. Neither Whitby nor his companion seemed inclined for further shooting. The two figures were plainly discernible through the fast-lightening gloom, Whitby in a long dust coat and a soft hat, and the other man taller and thinner, his cap still well down over his face.

And then, while they were still looking at him, Whitby thrust his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a large white handkerchief which he shook at them solemnly, waving it up and down. Its significance was unmistakable.

Abbershaw began to laugh. Even Martin grinned.

‘That's matey, anyway,' he said. ‘What happens next?'

Still holding the handkerchief well in front of him, Whitby came a pace or two nearer, and presently his weak, half-apologetic voice came to them down the wind.

‘Since we've both got guns, perhaps we'd better talk,' he shouted thinly. ‘What do you want?'

Martin glanced at Abbershaw.

‘Keep him covered,' he murmured. ‘Prenderby, old boy, you'd better walk behind us. We don't know what their little game is yet.'

They advanced slowly – absurdly, Abbershaw could not help thinking – on that vast open salting, miles from anywhere.

Whitby was still the harassed, scared-looking little man who had come to ask Abbershaw for his assistance on that fateful night at Black Dudley. He was, if anything, a little more composed now than then, and he greeted them affably.

‘Well, here we are, aren't we?' he said, and paused. ‘What do you want?'

Martin Watt opened his mouth to speak; he had a very clear notion of what he wanted and was anxious to explain it.

Abbershaw cut him short, however.

‘A word or two of conversation, Doctor,' he said.

The little man blinked at him dubiously.

‘Why, yes, of course,' he said, ‘of course. I should hate to disappoint you. You've come a long way for it, haven't you?'

He was so patently nervous that in spite of themselves they could not get away from the thought that they were very unfairly matched.

‘Where shall we talk?' continued the little doctor, still timidly. ‘I suppose there must be quite a lot of things you want to ask me?'

Martin pocketed his gun.

‘Look here, Whitby,' he said, ‘That is the point – there are lots of things. That's why we've come. If you're sensible you'll give us straight answers. You know what happened at Black Dudley after you left, of course?'

‘I – I read in the papers,' faltered the little figure in front of them. ‘Most regrettable. Who would have thought that such a clever, intelligent man would turn out to be such a dreadful criminal?'

Martin shook his head.

‘That's no good, Doc,' he said. ‘You see, not everything came out in the papers.'

Whitby sighed. ‘I see,' he said. ‘Perhaps if you told me exactly how much you know I should see precisely what to tell you.'

Martin grinned at this somewhat ambiguous remark.

‘Suppose we don't make things quite so simple as that,' he said. ‘Suppose we both put our cards on the table – all of them.'

He had moved a step nearer as he spoke and the little doctor put up his hand warningly.

‘Forgive me, Mr Watt,' he said. ‘But my friend behind me is very clever with his pistol, as you may have noticed, and we're right in his range now, aren't we? If I were you I really think I'd take my gun out again.'

Martin stared at him and slowly drew his weapon out of his pocket.

‘That's right,' said Whitby. ‘Now we'll go a little farther away from him, shall we? You were saying – ?'

Martin was bewildered. This was the last attitude he had expected a fugitive to take up in the middle of a saltmarsh at four o'clock in the morning.

Abbershaw spoke quietly behind him.

‘It's Colonel Coombe's death we are interested in. Doctor,' he said. ‘Your position at Black Dudley has been explained to us.'

He watched the man narrowly as he spoke but there was no trace of surprise or fear on the little man's face.

He seemed relieved.

‘Oh! I see,' he said. ‘You, Doctor Abbershaw, would naturally be interested in the fate of my patient's body. As a matter of fact, he was cremated at Eastchester, thirty-six hours after I left Black Dudley. But, of course,' he went on cheerfully, ‘you will want to know the entire history. After we left the house we went straight over to the registrar's. He was very sympathetic. Like everybody else in the vicinity he knew of the Colonel's weak health and was not surprised at my news. In fact, he was most obliging. Your signature and mine were quite enough for him. He signed immediately and we continued our journey. I was on my way back to the house when I received – by the merest chance – the news of the unfortunate incidents which had taken place in my absence. And so,' he added with charming frankness, ‘we altered our number plates and changed our destination. Are you satisfied?'

‘Not quite,' said Martin grimly.

The nervous little doctor hurried on before they could stop him.

‘Why, of course,' he said, ‘I was forgetting. There must
be a great many things that still confuse you. The exact import of the papers that you, Doctor Abbershaw, were so foolhardy as to destroy? Never revealed, was it?'

‘We know it was the detailed plan of a big robbery,' said Abbershaw stiffly.

‘Indeed it was,' said Whitby warmly. ‘Quite the largest thing our people had ever thought of undertaking. Have you – er – any idea what place it was? Everything was all taped out so that nothing remained to chance, no detail left unconsidered. It was a complete plan of campaign ready to be put into immediate action. The work of a master, I assure you. Do you know the place?'

He saw by their faces that they were ignorant, and a satisfied smile spread over the little man's face.

‘It wasn't my secret,' he said. ‘But naturally I couldn't help hearing a thing or two. As far as I could gather von Faber's objective was the Repository of the Bullion for the Repayment of the American Debt.'

The three were silent, the stupendousness of the scheme suddenly brought home to them.

‘Then,' continued Whitby rapidly, ‘there was Colonel Coombe's own part in von Faber's affairs. Perhaps you don't know that for the greater part of his life Colonel Coombe had been under von Faber's influence to an enormous extent, in fact I think I might almost say that he was dominated absolutely by von –'

‘It's not Colonel Coombe's life, Doctor Whitby, which interests us so particularly,' cut in Martin suddenly. ‘It's his death. You know as well as we do that he was murdered.'

For an instant the nervous garrulousness of the little doctor vanished and he stared at them blankly.

‘There are a lot of people interested in that point,' he said at last. ‘I am myself, for one.'

‘So we gathered,' murmured Martin, under his breath, while Abbershaw spoke hastily.

‘Doctor Whitby,' he said, ‘you and I committed a very grave offence by signing those certificates.'

‘Yes,' said Whitby, and paused for a moment or so, after which he brightened up visibly and hurried on. ‘But really, my dear sir, in the circumstances I don't see that we could have done anything else, do you? We were the victims of a stronger force.'

Abbershaw disregarded the other's smile and spoke steadily.