Traitor's Purse Read online

  ‘I appear to have been the last person to have seen him alive.’ The remark seemed to be the most cautious he could make in the circumstances, but it was not altogether fortunate. Amanda, who followed Aubrey into the room at that particular moment, heard it and said the first and natural thing to come into her head.

  ‘I was there too,’ she said, ‘unless you saw him in the garden when you followed him in.’

  Everybody looked at Campion. Aubrey and Hutch looked because they knew where Anscombe had died and Amanda and Pyne looked because the others were looking.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Campion. ‘I followed him into the garden with a parcel he’d left in the car. I didn’t catch him, though, so I put the package on the doorstep and went back.’

  There was another pause after he had spoken and again it was broken by Pyne.

  ‘What an extraordinary thing to do, old boy,’ he said and laughed awkwardly.

  Campion hesitated, remembering his reason for not ringing the door-bell, and meanwhile Amanda leapt to the rescue.

  ‘We were so late,’ she explained. ‘I was jittering in the car in case we didn’t have time to dress. I begged Albert not to be a moment and he wasn’t.’

  ‘How long would you say you were, sir?’ The Superintendent was making hieroglyphics on the back of one of his depressing envelopes.

  ‘I don’t know exactly. A minute and a half, perhaps. I went straight up the path and I came straight back again.’

  ‘You didn’t meet anyone or hear anything?’

  ‘No. What was there for me to hear?’

  Hutch was magnificently deaf to the question.

  ‘I think I’ll ask you to step across with me, if you don’t mind, sir,’ he said briskly. ‘I’d just like to see exactly where you put that parcel. We haven’t come across it yet.’

  ‘I’ll come too, shall I?’ Amanda’s young voice was eager, as usual, and Campion found it very comforting. She at least was definitely on his side.

  The Superintendent was dampening, however.

  ‘No, Miss – er – Lady Amanda. That’ll be quite all right,’ he said firmly. ‘I won’t disturb Mr Aubrey’s dinner party more than I can help. If I want any more from you I’ll know where to find you, shan’t I?’

  ‘You’ll come back later on, then, Hutch.’ Aubrey spoke for the first time since his return from the drawing-room and Campion, glancing at him, saw that he was annoyed by the whole situation. It was such an unexpected reaction that he noticed it and filed it for future reference. Such magnificent aloofness from the ordinary point of view was impressive. However, Aubrey caught his glance and evidently realized that he had betrayed a weakness, albeit a somewhat godlike one, for he smiled at Campion awkwardly and murmured apologetically, ‘It’s absurd, but I believe I’m worrying about my wretched duties as a host. One finds oneself doing incredible things like that.’ His complete frankness was disarming, as also was his sudden return of gaucherie. All the same he did not change his mind and Campion saw himself delivered over to Hutch, alone and unprotected.

  While he had someone with him to use as a stalking horse he felt he had at least an outside chance of getting by with his damning disability undiscovered, but alone he felt that the Superintendent must detect him in five minutes. Some of his old alarm must have shown itself in his face, for as he turned from Aubrey, Pyne suddenly laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

  ‘I’ll come along with you,’ he said. ‘Any reason why I shouldn’t, Super?’

  The touch of belligerence in the question was unmistakable and Campion was aware of Hutch’s bright eyes regarding him curiously. He forced himself to meet them squarely and to his intense relief and surprise the policeman shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘None at all,’ he said grudgingly. ‘We’ll go at once if you don’t mind. The Chief Constable will probably be there by now and we can’t keep him waiting.’

  He led the way and they followed him, Pyne still holding Campion’s shoulder.

  As Campion passed Amanda she looked up at him and winked. It was such a swift gesture and her face remained so composed both before and after it that he was hardly sure it had happened. At the same moment Aubrey touched her arm and drew her back into the hall towards the dining-room.

  The three men made the short journey on foot. It was a ghostly night. The moon had come out of the clouds and was riding high and serene, her blunt horns cutting into the sky, but the ground-mist had become thicker, so that the Superintendent, marching along in front, looked like a ridiculous bust of himself, his head and shoulders alone clearly defined in the cold light.

  They passed down the drive with the gravel crunching under their feet and out of the misty sea around them other buildings, some of them very square and modern, rose up on either side in the middle distance.

  Pyne shook his head. ‘You can’t help handing it to Aubrey,’ he remarked, panting a little, for they were walking fast. ‘In seven years he’s turned this place from a museum into a living brain factory. There’s more valuable work done in these twelve acres than in any other place in the country. He’s got breadth of vision, that chap. I’ve never met such a personality, have you? It gets me every time.’

  Campion hardly heard him, but his voice, friendly and matter of fact at his elbow, was very reassuring. He wondered how long he had known the man and what degree of friendship was theirs. It seemed ridiculous to think of it but they might be partners, or school-friends, or members of the same profession.

  They passed through the wrought-iron gates and, turning on to an old and narrow pavement made of the thin rectangular flags of other days, they came up to the entrance through which Campion had last seen Anscombe disappear. There were several cars drawn up against the kerb and a shadowy figure in uniform came out to challenge them.

  While Hutch was talking to him, Campion grew acutely aware of Pyne. The stocky man had become unnaturally still. He was standing on the pavement looking up at one of the high stone pillars of the gateway which rose up white in the moonlight.

  ‘Interesting?’ he murmured to Campion, and there was just a shade more than the ordinary casual question in the remark.

  Campion looked at the gate pillar and saw nothing more than the heraldic leaden eagle on the top. It was a nice piece of period decoration but too small and in no way remarkable.

  ‘Charming,’ he said politely and turned back to the man. The light was deceptive but he thought he saw a gleam die out of the bright round eyes.

  The Superintendent’s minion had stepped aside by this time, however, and the little procession moved on into the dark garden. Just before he passed behind it Campion glanced at the pillar again. He caught it at an angle and saw upon its smooth surface something he had not noticed before. His heart jolted violently and once again all the old dark anxiety, which was mingled with an exasperated yet fearful curiosity, swept down on him, strangling him like a garotter’s scarf. In shallow relief, and now outlined by the shadow which the angle gave it, the house number showed up clearly. It was a 15.

  Campion’s first reaction after the shock was one of complete relief and his first impulse was to turn to Pyne as to a proven friend, a brother in some misty conspiracy and the first man in whom he could confide, but second thoughts brought misgivings. The dead man, Anscombe, had also indicated that he attached some special significance to the number, and he had not been a friend – or at least Amanda had not seemed to think so. It occurred to Campion that he was pinning a lot of faith on to Amanda. Pyne was friendly and evidently knew him well, perhaps even better than the girl. He fancied he was accustomed to having many friends. He decided to await his opportunity and put out a feeler on the subject. God knew it was as well to go cautiously!

  Just then there was not much time for investigation. As he entered the drive Hutch crossed over to him and walked by his side, while, to his intense discomfort, he found that the sergeant had come up at his other elbow, separating him from Pyne.

  ‘Just show us ex
actly what you did, sir.’ Hutch spoke formally and it occurred to Campion that the words were very familiar, as if he had heard them many times before, which was absurd. He did what was required of him and pointed out the exact spot in the corner of the doorstep where he had deposited the bundle.

  ‘It was not a big parcel,’ he said. ‘It measured about six by five, I should think. I took it that it was a couple of books.’

  Hutch seemed satisfied. ‘You just went away without ringing,’ he remarked.

  It occurred to Campion that the literal truth, which was that he happened to be dressed up as a fireman and did not wish to be seen, might be misunderstood, so he repeated his original story about the hurry. The Superintendent made no comment.

  ‘One does things like that every day,’ said Pyne, obviously with only the best intentions. ‘They only sound so jolly fishy when something happens. You’re being damned mysterious, Superintendent. There’s no question of foul play, is there?’

  ‘There’s always a question, sir.’ Hutch sounded reproachful. ‘I’d like you to see him, Mr Campion. He’s been taken into the house. Lead the way, will you, Sergeant?’

  Even in his uncertain state Campion realized that the request was extraordinary from a policeman to a layman. It seemed hardly likely that Hutch had reverted to the ancient custom of confronting the suspected murderer with the body of his supposed victim, and it went through Campion’s mind for one wild moment that he might himself be some sort of eminent pathologist, but he dismissed the theory immediately since the idea conjured up no answering memory.

  Yet, as they stood in the brightly-lit bedroom, overcrowded with furniture and still full of the medicine bottles, books, and intimate personal impedimenta of the dead man, again Campion was touched with that sense of the familiar. He knew the scene was pathetic and expected it to be so. Moreover, he felt no qualms as he looked down at the body on the solid old-fashioned mahogany bed.

  Anscombe was lying on his face and the pillows had been removed, so that his head received no support. He was still clothed in the light raincoat which he had worn in the car, and it and the suit beneath it had been cut to facilitate an examination of the larger vertebrae.

  The four men, Campion and the Superintendent, Pyne and the sergeant, stood round the bed in complete silence. If Campion and the police were stolid, Pyne was rattled. His heavy cheeks were several shades paler and his paunch drooped. He whistled through his teeth.

  ‘Horrible,’ he said. ‘He’s broken his neck, hasn’t he? How on earth did he do it?’

  The Superintendent turned away from the sprawling body with the dreadful unnatural angle of the head and looked at Campion earnestly.

  ‘There’s a little bit of a lawn on the left of the drive,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if you noticed it? It’s very dark there, hidden from the road by the wall. Well, in the middle of this lawn there’s a sort of ornamental basin, a lily-pond I think they call it. It’s in a saucer-shaped hollow and there’s a ring of very shallow brick and stone steps leading down to the actual water. We found him on his back, lying across the flight, if you see what I mean.’

  ‘As if he’d slipped on the lowest step and hit the back of his neck on the highest?’ Campion put the question without noticing the clarity of the picture in his mind.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Hutch and glanced meaningly at the body.

  ‘What an astonishing thing to do!’ The explosion came from Pyne. ‘In the first place what was he there for?’

  ‘That’s what we’re hoping to find out, sir,’ said Hutch shortly and he looked again at Campion, who, catching the expression in his eyes, could not make up his mind if it was suspicion which he saw there or merely anxious enquiry.

  At any rate he did not let it bother him. At that particular moment he had something even more alarming to consider. Ever since he had first seen the body he had felt less lost and more sure of himself, as if the dark curtain across his brain were already practically transparent, and now it had come to him up out of the shadows, but with all the conviction of certain knowledge, that he knew perfectly well how the man had been killed and what the weapon was which had murdered him. He did not attempt to argue with himself. He simply knew two things for facts, just as he knew that milk was white and ink was black. He knew that Anscombe had been struck from behind on the base of the skull by a man of full height and considerable strength. The blow must have dislocated the vertebrae and the actual cause of death was probably asphyxiation. Moreover, the murderer must have been experienced: that was the certainty which stood out in his mind. The murderer was an old hand, a killer, a professional. As for the weapon, it must have been a length of lead pipe, possibly stocking-covered since there was no mark on the man’s collar.

  Campion could see the thing quite distinctly in his mind, a long thin murderous bludgeon bound with bicycle tape as like as not.

  The Superintendent’s questioning eyes still resting upon him brought him out of his reverie with a jerk and he felt his clothes clinging clammily to his body as a possible solution to this new mystery presented itself. Suppose he had slugged the policeman? Suppose not only that, but that he had also slugged Anscombe? That was what had happened to Anscombe all right; he had been slugged.

  Campion collected himself. It was absurd. He could not have done it. Even if his mind was not playing him monstrous tricks he could not have done it in the time. Amanda knew. Amanda had said distinctly that he had come back at once.

  The Superintendent was waiting, his comic country face as grave as a judge’s.

  ‘We found him on the steps,’ he said. ‘The doctor’s still waiting to think over his opinion. What would you say, Mr Campion?’

  The younger man stood still, moistening his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. At that moment, if it had not been for one thing, he would have made a complete statement of his condition and the terrors crowding through his head. The thing that prevented him was the letter in his pocket. A glimpse of Pyne’s worried fat face had reminded him of it just in time. Pyne must know. After that deliberate question about the 15 on the gatepost, Pyne must know. He must get Pyne alone. He forced himself to eye Hutch calmly. It was a touchy business, God knew, like handling high-explosives in a fire.

  ‘If Anscombe fell rigidly,’ he said, ‘arching his back to regain his balance, you know, then he just might have done it like that. Still, we’re in the hands of the doctor, aren’t we?’

  He could have bitten out his tongue for using that ‘we’. He had no idea why he’d done it. The moment it left his lips it stuck out like a signpost. However, if Hutch saw it he ignored it. He seemed relieved but unhappy.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, sighing. ‘That about sizes it up. Would you care to see the steps?’

  Since he had clearly made up his mind to show them, there was no way of avoiding the inspection, but as they crowded into the little pit of darkness at the side of the house and stared by the light of muffled torches at the meaningless jumble of stones and bricks, as unreal and confusing as pantomime scenery in the unnatural glow, Campion edged closer to Pyne. It was difficult to choose a sufficiently non-committal opening but at last he ventured a sighting shot.

  ‘Not much like the old days,’ he said heartily.

  Pyne seemed engrossed with the exhibit, or at any rate he took some seconds to reply. Then his cheerful murmur came briskly out of the darkness.

  ‘When we were in the States together, you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’ Campion did not wish to be drawn into any further reminiscences until they had had time to talk, but it was not going to be so difficult after all. They were old friends; that was the main thing.

  His immediate hopes were defeated a minute or two later, however, when they were all three walking back to the Principal’s house together. At the Institute gates Pyne took his leave somewhat abruptly.

  ‘I must get back at once,’ he said. ‘You know what work is, Superintendent, and you know where to find me if you want me, don’t you? I’ll see
you in the morning, Campion. This is a bad business, Super. I believed it’s turned me up a bit. I’m a novice, you know. I feel like a kid at the hunt who’s been blooded.’

  He stumbled off down the road, the policeman looked after him and laughed soundlessly.

  ‘I’m afraid we’ve upset that stomach of his,’ he said. ‘Serve him right for nosing in. Look here, Mr Campion, I shan’t come back with you now because I’ve got to wait for the Chief. I don’t know what’s delaying him. He ought to have been here hours ago. I only came along here because I wanted a word with you in private if I could get it. I wasn’t quite accurate up at the house when I said we hadn’t found the parcel. I wanted an excuse for getting hold of you. We had found it, of course, just exactly where you’d put it. I didn’t want to go into it up there because in some ways it’s rather peculiar, and I thought you might be particularly interested. Do you know what it contained?’

  He bent closer and a trick of the light gave his face a menace which it did not normally possess.

  ‘Close on four thousand pounds in cash,’ he said softly. ‘I found it interesting because we had another case earlier today in Coachingford when a lot of money cropped up. It’s been a very funny business altogether over there, with one of our fellows laid out and an unknown in hospital. When I come along I’ll tell you about it.’

  To Campion it seemed that the great starry arc of the sky above him reeled over and back like the lid of a bacon dish, but if the Superintendent knew what he said his game of cat and mouse was inhumanly effective. He gave no sign of meaning more than his actual words, but just before he turned on his heel and left his victim to go up the drive alone he made one further remark which was, if anything, even more annihilating than the first.

  I wonder at that fellow Pyne sticking to us like that,’ he said earnestly. ‘Curiosity seems to drive some people off their onion. He only met you three days ago. He told me that himself last night. And he doesn’t know me at all. You wouldn’t think any man would thrust himself forward like that, would you? I’ll be seeing you later, then.’