Palfrey made up his mind then. ‘Mac, will you go back to Drusilla, send her for the police and wait at the entrance yourself?’
‘I’m quite game to stay here.’
‘I know you are. But I’d rather you went.’
‘All right,’ said McDonald. He bent down and gripped the cord. ‘Don’t go too far in, will you?’
He went off, his shuffling footsteps sounding clearly. The cord, which Palfrey was holding, quivered with his grip. Kyle put out his torch and said: ‘I suppose you were right. I’ll lead the way.’
‘Right-ho,’ said Palfrey.
Both of them held the cord. They went more quickly than before, but still carefully, for they did not want to make a noise. Suddenly, they reached a corner. Kyle turned, murmuring a warning to Palfrey to go slow. Then he stopped abruptly.
‘What is it?’ Palfrey’s voice was sharp.
‘A light,’ said Kyle, softly. ‘Plenty - far off.’ He went on, and Palfrey turned the corner. The light, in the roof, spread a faint glow about the smooth rocks. They quickened their pace. A faint murmuring sound reached them.
Men were talking!
The light grew brighter as they went along. The voices were echoing about the caves.
A man was saying: ‘Well, I think we ought to get out while we can.’ It was an ordinary English voice. ‘We’ll leave him; it’s the only thing to do.’
‘We’ve
got
to get him away!’
The first speaker swore. There was a moment of silence. Kyle was peering round a corner. Palfrey looked over his shoulder. He saw that Kyle had a gun in his hand, and it gave him a measure of confidence.
The silence lengthened.
Kyle moved a little further forward, and Palfrey was able to see the man who was lying on a blanket, at full length. A living skeleton – for he
was
alive, his lips were moving slightly as he breathed through his mouth. Apart from that, he looked like a dead man.
Two men were sitting on garden chairs, staring at each other. One was short and very thin, the other taller, plump, and dressed in a huge teddy bear coat. A diamond ring on his finger scintillated in the light – the multi-coloured light which came from the other side of the cavern.
Iron railings and a flight of steps divided the first part of the cavern in two. Beyond, on one side, were the three men. On the other an incredible sight met the eye. It looked like a tiny village, snow-covered roofs and lights shone from them. Palfrey stared at it, and then, out of the dimness of the past, memory served him. He had seen this before, a village, a snow village –
Swiss Village,
that was it. The ‘buildings’ were reflections of the stalactites in the roof of the cave. The ‘village’ was water, a smooth shallow sheet of water, protected, he could see, by glass.
The small man said: ‘We’ve got to get him away.’
‘
I’ll
get him away,’ said Kyle and stepped forward.
The two men jumped up; one chair crashed, the little man backed to the wall and thrust his hand towards his pocket. ‘That’s enough!’ snapped Kyle, but the little man ignored him and his hand disappeared. Kyle said ‘All right’, and fired.
The roar of the shot was like thunder. The roof seemed to shake. Palfrey shot a swift glance upwards, expecting to see something fall. Echoes were rolling round, near and far away, but nothing happened to the cave, only to the little man. He took his hand away. Blood was spilling from it. He staggered back against the wall and raised his wounded arm.
Kyle bounded up the steps.
‘That’ll do for you,’ he said, and with a movement almost too quick for Palfrey to follow, he put his hand into the fellow’s pocket and took out an automatic. ‘Catch, Palfrey!’ he called, and made as if to throw the gun. He did not throw it, however, but grinned at Palfrey’s expression and handed it to him. ‘You’ll feel safer with that,’ he said. ‘Sol, I would like to take you with me too, but I’ve got enough on my hands.’ He was speaking to the fat man.
‘Ky – Kyle, I–’
‘I know, I know. You’re a good guy really. You’ve mixed with the wrong people. Like Garth.’ He said to Palfrey: ‘I’m going to get Garth away. Don’t be foolish enough to try to stop me. I
want
the guy.’
‘Carry him down the steps,’ said Palfrey, in a strained voice. ‘Just carry him down the steps, and let him die in your arms.’
Kyle said: ‘That lie won’t work!’
‘If you move him, you’ll kill him.’
Kyle stood undecided. He shot a swift glance at the plump man, who stood terrified, with his hands level with his chest. The little fellow had not uttered a word; he was feeling his right forearm and looking down stupidly at the dripping blood.
‘He won’t be fit to talk for weeks, even if he lives,’ Palfrey said. ‘Do you want the other men?’
‘I know all they can tell me.’
‘Then get out,’ said Palfrey. The police won’t be long. It’s your only chance. Garth is worthless; he’ll be worthless to anyone for a long time. There’s a slim hope of saving him, but it’s so slim I wouldn’t like to risk a penny on it.’
Suddenly the light went out.
Darkness fell upon them like a blanket. Time seemed to stand still. Then came a movement, a savage oath, a bump. ‘Stop him!’ cried Kyle. Palfrey felt something brush past him. Then a vivid flash of light showed the little man running, the plump man turning, and Kyle grabbing at the little man’s coat. The flash was gone before Palfrey saw anything else, and another thunderous roar boomed and beat about his ears. He did not know whether anyone else was hurt, but he knew the shot had come from the foot of the steps. Another shot, and this time the flash was further away. He heard the roar, followed, close to him, by the sound of a bullet hitting the rock. Kyle bellowed:
‘Watch Garth!’
Watch Garth; the fool, did he think Garth could move?
Watch Garth!
One of these men would try to deal a death blow. Palfrey stepped forward as a torch flashed out close to his feet. It shone on Garth. Palfrey kicked at it. He caught the hand which held it, and the torch fell, but did not go out. The man with the light sprang up and leapt at Garth. Palfrey closed with him. A small man, wiry, slippery, twisting and turning, writhing in Palfrey’s grip–
Something pricked Palfrey’s arm. A knife!
Dead Rose ... her throat cut. ...
Palfrey tried to bring up his knee, but the man was too close.
He felt the prick of the knife again, beneath his right ear. He got one hand up, clutched, felt the fingers and grasped the wrist. If only he could find the spot! When he had been showing off to Kyle, it had been easy enough. He found it, twisted, and the man squealed and dropped the knife.
The torch rolled over a ledge and went out. The man was limp in Palfrey’s grip. Would he remain like that or was he foxing? He wasn’t foxing. Then another torch shone out, and Kyle said: ‘Are you all right, Palfrey?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s fine.’ The beam travelled over the floor of the cave, picking out some of the colours. It fell upon Garth’s face and stopped. Garth was still breathing. ‘I’ll be seeing you,’ said Kyle, and he turned the torch towards the steps, went down and walked away.
His footsteps faded. Only the heavy breathing of his prisoner sounded above Palfrey’s breathing. They seemed to stand like that for an age, and then there were other sounds, the sounds of several people approaching. A light went on not far away, and a man called out: ‘Are you there? Are you there, Sap?’ That was McDonald.
‘Sap!’
That was Drusilla.
‘All safe,’ called Palfrey.
On the following morning, a little after eleven o’clock, Palfrey was in the Chief Constable’s office at the Corbin Police Headquarters.
The police had been uncommunicative. He wanted to know what had happened to Kyle.
Cartwright said: ‘Why didn’t you tell us about Cheddar Gorge, Dr. Palfrey?’
‘I wanted to give Kyle a chance of talking freely,’ said Palfrey, ‘and I thought he would sheer off if he knew the police were at hand. Has he talked yet?’
Cartwright said: ‘You are in a better position to know that, aren’t you?’
Palfrey’s smile broadened. ‘So he got away?’ In spite of the two frowning faces opposite him, he laughed. ‘It was a good effort, you must admit.’
‘I do
not
find it amusing,’ said Cartwright.
He leaned forward on his desk, and said slowly: ‘Dr. Palfrey, you may have the best of motives in behaving so oddly. You may have the
fullest
authority. I do not know. I do ask you to realize that we have been extremely patient. You should tell us the
whole
truth.’
‘My statement does,’ said Palfrey. He was puzzled. What did the man mean by ‘You may have the fullest authority’? Didn’t he know that Palfrey had no authority at all, and was feeling more than a little uncomfortable about it?
Hardy said abruptly: ‘Why two departments can’t work together, I don’t know.’
‘Departments?’ echoed Palfrey. ‘What –’ He paused, and understanding dawned upon him. His first reaction was one of sheer astonishment. ‘Departments!’ he repeated. ‘If you mean Z.5, I haven’t worked for Z.5 for a long time.’ If they had thought him an Intelligence man, it explained why they had given him so much rope. It meant, also, they had not believed that an ordinary private individual would carry on as he had. It would not be easy to justify himself. Cartwright might get nasty. Hardy’s tolerance might have been inspired
only
by his belief that a different Government department was involved.
‘Is this
true?’
asked Cartwright, and his eyes seemed to bulge.
‘Gospel truth,’ said Palfrey. ‘All my own work. An excuse, perhaps; I
have
been rather used to doing whatever wanted doing and asking about it afterwards. A bad habit in a private citizen, of course. I’m sorry. I do see –’
Hardy snorted and then he began to laugh. Cartwright also saw the funny side. Palfrey smiled, warily at first, then broadly; then he, too, chimed in with a laugh – of relief. These were good fellows, open to reason, but –
why
had they suspected that Intelligence was concerned in this affair?
Palfrey lounged on the bed and Drusilla sat in the hotel armchair, looking at Palfrey and listening to the rain. It had rained steadily since the previous night, and Corbin was covered by a mist that was really cloud. The hotel was quiet, for it was the middle of the afternoon.
‘Well, what are we to do?’ asked Palfrey. ‘No further formal request for assistance yet, you understand; the matter has been left in abeyance. On the whole, I suppose they have fair reason to be satisfied. That Mayfair telephone number, the house where Rose had been staying –’
‘Was she on the stage?’
‘Yes. In a musical at the Hippodrome in Bristol,’ said Palfrey. ‘I’ve no doubt the police are pretty busy among the cast, but I don’t see that they’re going to make much progress. The man who had that final shot at Garth, and whom I managed to hold, killed Rose. The knife that was used was found in his pocket, with his finger-prints on it. The man Sol was eager to give corroborative evidence, apparently. The fellow Kyle shot isn’t a talker, but with the knife, the prints and Sol, the case is clear.’
‘Have they found out anything else?’
‘A little. Garth has been in the caves since he left Morne House. Apparently the caves have been used for some time as a hiding-place for loot. There are several unexplored caves – I believe the word is ‘undeveloped’ – leading off the main arches. They’re rarely inspected. Garth was hidden there, and the murderer and the man Kyle shot visited him from time to time. So did Frenchie and Rose, I gather. After Frenchie was taken away, Rose went haring to see Sol and brought him back with her. Sol was the man through whom the others received their instructions from our mystery man.’
‘Has he talked?’ asked Drusilla.
‘Hardy says he doesn’t seem to know very much. The police probably won’t confide in me altogether, you know, but I think in this case Hardy’s telling the truth.
‘The manager of the cave is very upset,’ Palfrey went on. ‘He’s been here today. He can’t be blamed. These people were clever and careful, and hid their traces well. Now we,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘have a pretty problem on our hands: what to do next?’
‘What
can
we do?’
‘I don’t know. The Morne angle is an obvious one. Kyle will probably try to get in touch with us again. And there’s at least a possibility that I shall be asked to give an opinion on Garth. Small wonder Halsted wanted me to see him. The man’s just wasted away. It might be cancer, of course, but Halsted would have recognized that. I’m hoping he
will
recover, but the report from the hospital is pretty grim.’
Drusilla said: ‘I wonder how Loretta is.’
‘The same thought sprang to my mind. And who put the stuff in my tea? I think –’ The telephone bell rang. Palfrey answered the call.
‘This is Susan Lee.’
‘Oh, Susan Lee. I don’t think I have had the pleasure –’
Drusilla jumped up.
‘Susie!’
she exclaimed, and Palfrey had a quick mental vision of the girl who had driven the Packard down the gorge, let Kyle out, and driven off again.
‘Oh, so it’s you, is it?’ he growled.
‘I would very much like to talk to you, Dr. Palfrey. I’m speaking from the telephone near the hotel exchange... . Yes, in the lounge. Shall I come up or will you come down?’
Palfrey said: ‘I’ll come down. At least, my wife will. You had better, for the moment, be a friend of my wife.’ He rang off, with her laugh echoing in his ears.
‘My dear, sweet, simple, innocent husband,’ said Drusilla, ‘your friend Nicholas Kyle has kidnapped two people under your own dewy eyes, he travels armed wherever he goes, he leads a gang of law-breakers which is at least three strong, has treated you as if you were dirt beneath his feet –
and,
my precious darling, he is wanted by the police. There is a price upon his head. You have been dealt with by two forgiving gentlemen whose leniency is a thing to marvel at, but, as you once said, you don’t want to wither away behind prison bars.
You
didn’t come here to see Susan Lee or whatever she calls herself. You didn’t ask her to come. She has come herself, doubtless because Kyle has told her that you will probably be fool enough to see her first before telling the police about it, but –’