A Hundred Thousand Dragons (11 page)

Jack shrugged. ‘Vaughan and Madison would have to have some time to plan what they were going to do. And, if the A.N. Others really were involved, they'd have to get hold of them somehow or other. No, it's not that which bothers me, it's the lack of time. I wonder, granted how desperate the circumstances were, if it's possible. Somebody set fire to that car and that somebody could so easily be Vaughan. If Vaughan drove over and arranged the body, he had to do it between half-past five and quarter to seven. He can't have done it earlier because both he and Craig were seen by Oxley and he can't have done it later because he was seen by Oxley and the other servants, too.'

‘It's not impossible, though, is it, Haldean?' said Ashley. ‘I quite like the idea. It explains things, you see.' He gestured at the road. ‘We're doing much the same journey now and I grant it's going to take longer than thirty-seven minutes, but you're not pushing it, are you?'

‘Having to follow Brough is cramping my style somewhat. Besides that, with one of the leading lights of the Sussex Constabulary sitting beside me, it wouldn't be tactful.'

‘What if you did push it?'

Jack turned the idea over for a few moments. ‘I'll tell you what. This car's as fast as a Rolls-Royce. Would you do the journey with me to see if the shot's on the board? I'd like you there, not only to verify the time but to bail me out if I get nabbed for speeding.'

‘All right,' said Ashley. ‘It'd be nice to know if it is possible. We should set off at half five, to try and stay as close to Vaughan's supposed times as much as possible. I'll be busy for the rest of the day, but we could do it tomorrow, perhaps.'

‘OK,' agreed Haldean. He reached out and patted the dashboard of the Spyker. ‘Can you believe it? An excuse to put this old girl through her paces and all in the name of the public good. This is
my
sort of detection.'

SIX

J
ack looked up as Ashley came out of Market Breeden police station and down the steps to where the Spyker was drawn up by the side of the road. It was five o'clock on a fine spring evening.

‘I very nearly had Isabelle and Arthur along for the ride,' said Jack, opening the passenger door for Ashley. ‘Belle's convinced Vaughan's guilty, you know.'

He caught Ashley's look and held up his hands pacifically. ‘Don't blame me. I didn't say a dicky-bird. Brough told Doris Tiverton that it was their car, so to speak, that had gone up in smoke and she immediately told her young man, whose mother keeps the fishmongers in Market Breeden, who gave the news free to anyone who brought six penn'orth of cod or a nice piece of haddock. The Stuckleys got the news with an order of hake and Marjorie was on the phone to Isabelle right away. As Isabelle knew I thought there was something dodgy about the crash, it took her about two ticks to decide that as it was Vaughan's car, Vaughan must have bumped someone off and incinerated him, together with the Rolls-Royce. She says she can see it in his eyes, although exactly when she got to stare into Vaughan's eyes is something that beats me. Anyway,' he added, climbing into the car, ‘I've asked everyone to keep the gossip under their collective hat for the time being.'

Ashley laughed ruefully. ‘It'll take a bit more than a look in someone's eyes to convict them, thank goodness. The fact it was Vaughan's car in the fire will be in the papers tomorrow, in any event. Do they know Craig's involved?'

Jack nodded without speaking. It was odd, this shrinking reluctance he had to say Craig's name. Odd, but Isabelle understood, and so did Aunt Alice.

‘It can't be helped, I suppose, but for the time being, we're keeping quiet about Craig. I don't like the idea of Vaughan being talked about as a possible murderer, either. At the moment it's a tragic accident.'

‘Don't worry,' said Jack. ‘I argued the toss with Isabelle, you know, because although I think it's possible that Vaughan's guilty, that's all I think, and Arthur . . .' He hesitated. ‘Arthur thinks Craig's a far more likely murderer than Vaughan. Who he murdered is another question, of course.'

Ashley looked at him sharply. ‘What does Captain Stanton know about Craig?'

‘He was with me in Claridge's when Craig took exception to my presence.' He smiled reflectively. ‘He's a good sort, Arthur. He didn't demand to know what it was about.'

Ashley, who had been about to not demand, but at least ask, what was behind the encounter in Claridge's, took a leaf out of the absent Arthur Stanton's book. ‘I've been on to the Travellers' Club, by the way,' he said after a pause. ‘The secretary was very helpful. They haven't seen Craig since Saturday morning, but it's not unusual for him to disappear without mentioning it. He told me a few details, most of which we know. Craig's got no family and no close friends, not in this country, at any rate. He can drive, though. Apparently some of the members have heard him mention it, but he doesn't like motor cars much.'

‘If he doesn't like cars, he's probably not much of a driver,' said Jack thoughtfully. ‘That might or might not be important. By the way, have you got the results of the post-mortem, yet?' he asked, as the car picked up speed.

‘Yes, as far as they go. Dr Wilcott apologized for how little information he'd been able to gather, but the body was badly affected by the fire.'

‘Is it a man or woman?'

‘It was a man, which I must say I was relieved about, but that's more or less all he could say. The body was so badly damaged, he couldn't tell me the age or the height or anything much. The man had all his own teeth, but that was about it. One thing he could verify though, was that the victim was dead before the fire started. There was no smoke or soot in the lungs.'

‘Ah,' said Jack in deep satisfaction.

‘As you say, Ah. Wilcott thinks he died as a result of that blow to the temple, but what caused it he can't say. He couldn't find anything in the car to account for it, so it looks as if your idea about the body being placed in the car after death is right.'

‘Everyone a winner,' murmured Jack. ‘It's a bit of a long shot, having seen the fire, to say nothing of the remains, but was there anything left on the body which could identify the bloke?'

‘Perhaps,' said Ashley unexpectedly. ‘There's a metal card case which might help, together with the remains of a wallet, some loose change, a watch, and a key. The key has a fob and looks as if it belongs to a club or hotel, rather than a private house. The wallet's too charred to be any use but the card case is more hopeful. I got the report and the things from Wilcott just before I came out. Wilcott tried to open it but it was fused shut by the heat. It was in the man's inside jacket pocket and had been sheltered by his arm to some extent. Wilcott had to cut it loose.'

‘That sounds pretty gruesome,' said Jack with a shudder. ‘I know it's sentimentality, but I'm glad it's not a woman.'

‘So am I,' agreed Ashley, as Jack negotiated a corner. ‘Anyway, come back to the station with me after we've finished. If all else fails we can have a crack at it with metal cutters. Something else has come up, though, that could kick all our ideas into touch. That Madison chap didn't show up at the Savoy either last night or the night before.'

Jack gave a low whistle of surprise. ‘Didn't he, by Jove? Did he leave any message at the hotel?'

‘No.'

‘But . . .' Jack let his breath out in an apprehensive sigh. ‘I don't like the sound of that.'

‘Neither do I. I telephoned the Savoy to speak to Mr Madison, and they said they hadn't seen hide nor hair of him since Saturday morning. I'm getting Scotland Yard to look into it. I've already spoken to your pal, Inspector Rackham, and agreed to go up to Town tomorrow. If Mr Madison is there, I need to interview him. If not, Rackham and I are going to take a look at his hotel room.'

‘The Savoy, eh? D'you know,' said Jack with a significant glance, ‘it's a pleasant place. Particularly good for lunches and afternoon tea and so on. Morning coffee, too. I'd like to have coffee at the Savoy,' he added meaningfully.

‘Not at the ratepayers' expense, you don't,' said Ashley. ‘However, there's nothing to stop you buying a cup of tea and a currant bun off your own bat.' He caught the question in Jack's eyes and laughed. ‘And – I suppose I should have said this in the first place – Inspector Rackham did wonder if you'd be able to give Madison's room the once-over with us.'

‘Good old Bill,' said Jack with a delighted smile. ‘Thank you, Ashley, invitation accepted with pleasure. I'll be there in my best bib and tucker, posh hotels and haunts of the rich for the use of. But what d'you think could have happened to Madison?'

‘I don't know. We worked out that if Vaughan was guilty, Madison was involved, so he could have made a run for it, I suppose. I'll tell you something else, though. After I drew a blank at the Savoy, I spoke to the ticket collector who was on duty at Market Breeden station on Saturday evening. Four people boarded the seven-thirty train to London and the ticket collector recognized them all as locals. So whatever train he did catch, it wasn't the one he said he was going for.'

‘If he caught the train at all,' said Jack softly.

Ashley looked at him. ‘So that's the way your are thoughts are going, is it? I must say it had crossed my mind too.'

They drove on until they came to the turning for Two Bridges. Jack drew the car into the slanting shadows at the side of the road, turning it round so they were facing up the hill. They were, he realized, in the same spot where the diamond-tyred car had waited. It was a good spot to keep an eye on Vaughan's. They were sheltered from the house by the trees but could easily see anyone coming or going. He looked at his watch. It was twenty-five past five. They had five minutes before they had to go.

Jack switched off the engine and took out his cigarette case, offering it to Ashley. ‘I hope we manage to come up with some hard facts soon,' he said after a while. ‘We've got too many theories buzzing around at the moment.'

Ashley looked at his watch. ‘It's gone half five. Let's start, shall we? At least this'll tell us if one of our ideas is credible.'

‘OK.' Jack started the car. ‘Hold on to your hat. This is going to be quick.'

Once out on the Chavermere Road, Jack opened up the throttle and the Spyker leapt forward, leaving a comet trail of dust behind. Within minutes they slowed to a crawl to negotiate their way through the vexingly quaint streets of Chavermere and over the narrow packhorse bridge on to the thankfully straight length of the Haverly Road. Jack put his foot down again. The needle flickered and settled to around fifty.

‘This is about as fast as I can go,' shouted Jack over the sound of the engine. ‘Any more and we'd be in the ditch.'

They gunned up a hill and twisted away to the right, flashing past a solitary cart trudging its way home. They caught a glimpse of the carter's white, startled face as he receded into the distance. Jack geared down as the road turned and Ashley felt the car lift slightly before Jack increased the speed at the sight of a long straight stretch before him. The sun was behind them, throwing long shadows forward as they raced between fields and ditches and lines of oaks and elms.

They were on the road to Lower Haverly when, far in the distance, a cowman stepped into the road and waved them down. Jack braked, skidded, and braked again, running the Spyker to a halt. The cowman stood in the middle of the road, looking placidly at the approaching car. He gave a sign to a boy standing by a field gate, behind which stood a herd of cows. The boy opened the gate, fastened it with a loop of rope to a stone post standing by the side of the grass verge and, stick in hand, slowly ushered the mooing cattle across the road. The cowman leaned against the gate, drew his pipe out of his pocket and lit it with great deliberation. In the evening light, with the banked-up clouds streaked pink against the clear blue of the sky, it was a scene which could have been painted by Constable. It was timeless, rustic and unbelievably irritating.

‘Look at the blasted man,' said Jack in mounting exasperation as the cowman, wreathed in blue-grey fumes, watched his charges idle into the opposite field. ‘He could be posing for a still life.'

Ashley raised himself up from his seat. ‘Hey, you there! Do you always move the herd at this time?'

The cowman looked up, thought for a few moments, and sucked on his pipe before replying. ‘Yes, zur. Evening milking.'

‘Do you remember stopping a big car, a Rolls-Royce, the night before last?'

The cowman plunged into deep thought. ‘Yes, zur,' he said eventually. ‘Very impatient, he was. Why, do you know him?'

‘If it was a bloke with a beard, yes,' said Jack.

‘That's the one.' The cowman smiled slowly. ‘It'll learn him to hurry. He had to stop so sharp he broke his lamp, he did, on that post,' he said, pointing. ‘He asked me to hurry my cows, but you can't hurry cows.' As if to add point to his words, he turned to watch the dawdling cattle amble through the gate.

Jack, itching to get on, turned to Ashley in exasperation. ‘Honestly, if it was Vaughan, I'm surprised he didn't murder this chap while he was about it. This is knocking minutes off our time.'

‘And off the Rolls-Royce's,' Ashley reminded him. ‘At least we know PC Marsh's Rolls came along here. Get ready, Jack, they're nearly through now.' The cowman slapped a dilatory cow on the behind, closed the gate with painstaking care and sauntered across the road.

With a sigh of relief, Jack let in the clutch, and concentrated on getting the Spyker back up to speed. The long stroke of the engine growled, picked up the pace, and for a few brief, exhilarating minutes, the needle flickered around sixty. Then the road curved round the lee of a valley and started to snake between rolling downs. Jack had no choice but to drop down to forty and, as he crested a hill and saw the lights of Lower Haverly, throttled back to the sedate, if legal, limit of twenty.