Dictator's Way (29 page)

“Did he say why he called to see Troya?” Bobby asked.

“No, why should he?” Ulyett asked. “Nothing in it. Business talk, that's all. Troya caters for the parties Judson throws. Waveny's our bird. It seems the bad feeling between him and Macklin was over a girl. That Miss Farrar you went chasing after. She's in it up to the neck.”

Nor had Bobby anything to reply to this, but still more gloomily foresaw how Olive, too, would almost inevitably be caught up in the revolving wheels of the great, impersonal machine whereto were due his service and his duty. Ulyett went on:

“There's no doubt about there having been bad blood between Waveny and Macklin on her account. Waveny doesn't deny he was pretty badly hit by Miss Farrar, and he seems to have got it into his head that Macklin was after her, too, and was trying to force her hand by compromising her in some way at Judson's parties. Of course, that may have been all Waveny's imagination – jealousy very likely, and nothing more. Though it's plain enough Judson put on some fairly hot shows. There's proof Waveny had been heard to use threatening language with regard to Macklin. The suggestion is he asked Macklin to meet him at The Manor on the pretext of paying back what he owed him, but really intending to have it out with Macklin in a quiet secluded spot where they wouldn't be likely to be interrupted. Perhaps Waveny just intended to give him the good thrashing he had been heard to threaten. But the thrashing turns to murder, and there you are.”

“Is that strong enough to take into court, sir?” Bobby asked. “If we put that to Treasury Counsel, won't they pick a good many holes in it?”

“They'd try,” said Ulyett, bitterly, thinking of the many times when what he and his colleagues had thought a water-tight case had gone to the Public Prosecutor's office, only to come back more like a sieve than anything else. “But there's a good deal more than that. Yates has told a story that seems to stand up. He admits he is responsible for the attack on Miss Farrar. He had an idea that Miss Farrar shared the secret that gave Macklin a hold on Judson, and thought he would try to find out what it was – probably thought he would do a spot of blackmail on his own. He broke into the cottage to make a search. Apparently he knew of it from having spent a good deal of time spying on Macklin in the hope of finding out his secret hold on Judson. He never suspected that really it was only that Judson was a big creditor. He was interrupted by Miss Farrar and he admits he threw a cloth over her head and bundled her into the garage. Then Waveny arrived, apparently following Miss Farrar. Probably he wanted a talk with her. When he found Yates there instead he got very excited, according to Yates, and Yates swears Waveny said he would give him a dose of Macklin medicine. It may be that only your arrival and Clarence's on the scene saved Yates's life. That's what he says, anyhow. You saw someone running off. Could it have been Waveny?”

“It could have been, sir. It didn't strike me at the time. It was someone about Waveny's build. I couldn't say more.”

“There's more to it, still,” Ulyett went on. “Waveny has an ugly-looking walking-stick, formidable looking thing, heavy silver knob. Well, we got hold of that and had it examined. On that handle there are traces of human blood. The group has been established. It's the smallest group known, and it is the one to which Macklin's blood belonged.”

Bobby listened in considerable bewilderment. It seemed as though a strong case were being built up against Waveny. He said:

‘‘Yates would hardly show up very well in the witness-box, would he?”

“No, very badly, very badly indeed,” agreed Ulyett. “There's more to it. The notes taken from Macklin have been traced. We haven't got them all in, but a number were passed at the West Central greyhound racing-track, and Waveny is known to be interested in greyhound racing. It seems he has a share in a small kennel. We haven't been able to find he's been at the West Central track lately, but he goes there all right, and he would be likely to think a greyhound racing-track a good place for getting rid of the notes. It all fits.”

“Yes, sir,” said Bobby. “That means taking Mr. Albert's confession for a fake.”

“Most confessions turn out duds, don't they?” remarked Ulyett. “I don't think we had better arrest yet, but we'll pull Waveny in and question him as soon as we can find him.”

“Isn't he at his address?” Bobby asked.

“No, disappeared,” said Ulyett. “Probably with the Farrar girl now she's got back. No trace of her, either, they haven't heard of her at her hat shop, and the cottage still locked up. And why has Waveny bolted unless he's guilty? Why should an innocent man run?”

“Panic,” suggested Bobby.

“It's the guilty who panic,” retorted Ulyett. “The innocent know they are innocent and so they don't, because why should they? Waveny will have to be brought in, but he seems to have found a good hide-hole for the time. I hope he's not got abroad, though I don't see how he can. We've his passport.”

“It's certainly strange he should have vanished,” agreed Bobby, vaguely uneasy.

“He'll be brought in soon,” said Ulyett, “and when we get him, he'll have a good few questions to answer. Most likely when he sees how much we know, he'll come through with the rest. They generally do.”

It was late before Bobby had completed the full report he had been instructed to write out. He had been told also that though he was to remain in touch with Headquarters in case he was required, yet for a day or two, until he had fully recovered from his recent experiences, he would be excused active duty.

Bobby would much rather have continued to take an active part in the investigation which he felt uneasily might presently lead to very unwelcome and he was still persuaded erroneous conclusions. But to himself he had to acknowledge he had not yet entirely thrown off the effects of all he had been through. He was indeed glad enough to get to bed and once there he slept so soundly it was nearly noon next day before he wakened. A late breakfast or early lunch completed the restoration of his energies, and he was feeling very much himself again when he went out to sit in Regent's Park.

There stretched out in a deck-chair in the sun he went over and over again in his mind the doubts and questionings troubling him.

Had Peter's confession been a fake?

Had the dramatic intensity with which he told his tale been merely an effort of a vivid imagination?

Was there substance in this new case the Yard seemed to be working up against Waveny?

What had become of Waveny?

Were those, the presumed employers of Macklin, who had shown such determination in pursuit upon the high seas, likely to continue their attempts on land?

Above all, where was Olive and why had she also disappeared?

Well did Bobby know as he sat there in the sunshine, gossiping nurses all around and children playing in the sun, that what lay so darkly and so heavily upon his spirits was a deadly fear that presently facts might emerge appearing to implicate Olive.

And what was there he could do but watch and be afraid?

For who could tell into what strange ways Olive might have been led by her friendship for Peter, her devotion to the cause of the Etrurian People's Party? One thing at least that long night at sea had taught Bobby and that was the strength of Peter's character, his capacity for leadership, the burning power he possessed to light others down the path he wished them to follow. Bobby himself could have said, paraphrasing Agrippa:

‘Almost thou persuadest me to be a revolutionary.'

Little though would the Yard care for such considerations, little for the motives that might lie behind any breach on British soil of British law. And only too probably would it soon become his duty to aid in the collection of evidence to support any such charge the Yard might have in mind. Yet would not even that be easier than to sit here alone and watch the nurses knit and gossip and the children play, and know nothing of what things were happening elsewhere?

Life hitherto had been simple in a way. He had seen his duty plain. He had done it to the best of his ability, helping to make firm that sense of security on which civilized life must rest. But this was different, this was all dark and tangled, and upon his heavy meditations there broke a familiar voice:

“Morning guv'nor,” it said. “You ain't been and gone and got done in then, same as they was saying?”

Bobby looked up, startled and not altogether pleased to recognise Clarence. His first impulse was to tell that worthy to clear off, and then he changed his mind, reflecting that possibly Clarence might have information to give.

“Who was saying that?” he asked.

“It was all over everywhere,” Clarence told him.

“Didn't know I was so famous,” commented Bobby.

“I wouldn't go so far as that,” corrected Clarence gravely as he lowered himself into a deck-chair by Bobby's side, “famous is what's Greta Garbo and Tommy Farr and them sort, ain't it? But all the boys knew about you turning up missing, and some sort of looked pleased like and wished as they had been there to see, and some said that for a busy – well, there was worse.”

“Nice of them,” said Bobby, quite touched at this tribute.

“Though I did hear,” added Clarence, “that up at one of the night-clubs, the Cut and Come Again they call it, there was free drinks going the night they heard.”

“Free drinks, eh?” exclaimed Bobby. “Wish I had been there.”

Clarence pondered this for some minutes. He was sure there was a catch in it somewhere but was not sure what it was. Finally he saw it and announced triumphantly:

“If you had, there wouldn't have been none.”

“Too bad,” murmured Bobby.

“I didn't put much stock in it myself,” Clarence continued. “When they told me as you was done in, I wouldn't pay for no drinks on the strength of it. I just ups and says: ‘Wait and see,' I says. ‘Talk of the devil,' I says, ‘and up he pops.'”

“True enough,” agreed Bobby.

“And I was right,” continued Clarence, “for there you is.”

“True again,” agreed Bobby, once more.

“So as soon as I knowed you was back, I came along.”

“What for?” asked Bobby. “Who told you I was back?”

“Same as you blokes knows about us blokes,” explained Clarence. “Organization. Brain work. Kept an eye constant, me and my pals, on where you doss, so as to be the first to know if you did pop up again. Which when you did, soon as I knew, I was there watching and followed you when you came out, and here I am. Got a fag, guv'nor,” he added abruptly.

Bobby meekly produced one.

“What's it all about?” he asked. “You aren't generally so anxious to interview the police, are you? More often, the other way about.”

“ Ah, but I'm running straight now,” declared Clarence virtuously, “only I'm sort of worried like – upset, if you know what I mean, and not the comfort in a glass of beer there ought to be. I don't want no more nonymous letters, saying as I've put no bloke's light out, especially now the Honourable Charles Waveny has turned up missing same as you was, only with him more like to be permanent like.”

“What do you mean? How do you know?” demanded Bobby, sitting upright.

The chair attendant came up before Clarence could reply, but that gentleman waved him carelessly aside, with the remark that his friend would pay. Bobby dutifully provided the required twopence and repeated:

“What do you know about Mr. Waveny? How do you know he is missing?”

“Ain't you blokes been asking about him at every pub he ever used?” demanded Clarence. “But she ain't going to pass nothing on to me this time, not if I know it. If she's done him in, too, that's her biz., but I ain't taking none, not if I know it.”

“What do you mean by ‘she'?” demanded Bobby.

“That there Miss Farrar.”

“If you say things like that, you'll be getting yourself into trouble,” Bobby said furiously.

“Sweet on 'er?” asked Clarence, greatly interested. “Lummy, think of a busy being sweet on a skirt what's done in a bloke what –”

“Shut up,” ordered Bobby, glaring at him. “What are you talking like that for? What do you think you know? What grounds have you for saying things like that about – about anyone?”

“Missing, ain't he?” retorted Clarence. “And if he ain't been done in, what's he missing for? And ain't she the sort as would do in any bloke soon as look at him? Remember,” said Clarence feelingly, “the way she turned that hose right on me and me mouth open, and not expecting nothing like it, so as I ain't hardly got rid of the taste of the water yet, I haven't, it sort of laying heavy on my stommick so I can feel it still.”

“I wish,” said Bobby, equally feelingly, “it had choked you for good and all, and you listen to me –”

But Clarence didn't intend to, he much preferred that Bobby should listen to him. He swept on unheedingly:

“There's more than that,” and Bobby winced a little, so uncomfortably did that phrase remind him of Superintendent Ulyett. “Wasn't it him as was at her cottage that night me and you found her pushed in her garage? After something, wasn't he? and got it, didn't he or why did he bunk?”

“Because he heard someone coming,” snapped Bobby. “Don't be a bigger fool than you can help. Waveny's being at Miss Farrar's cottage, even if it was Waveny, proves nothing.”

“Ah, you're sweet on her,” said Clarence tolerantly, “and if you wasn't, you would see it was only natural like she should want to get her own back after that garage do, and her being what she is, as shown by putting a hose on them as hadn't never done nothing to her – well, there you are. Only there's more than that, which I ain't telling you, for there wouldn't be no sense in putting a man on his own girl, nor it wouldn't be fair neither and against all natural feelings. What I have to say,” said Clarence with dignity, getting to his feet as he spoke, “had best be said to others what hasn't got no tender feelings engaged.”