Sky High (24 page)

‘What an awful—’

‘It’s all right,’ said Liz. ‘I went to sleep again. When I woke up I’d forgotten all about it. It came back to me when I was talking to you. By the way, Hubert’s coming over to-night. Tim and Sue are on this Belmouth jaunt with me, and they’re all stopping for dinner. Would you like to make a fifth?’

Bob pulled out a fat engagement diary and looked at it.

‘I’d love to’ he said, ‘but I daren’t promise it. We’ve got a council of meeting this afternoon. It won’t stop before six, and an Education Committee of which I’m supposed to be Chairman immediately afterwards. I’ll drop in on you for coffee and pick up Rupert. Can you feed him?’

‘If he eats as much as he did on the last choir outing,’ said Liz, ‘he won’t need any supper. Quite the reverse, as the Channel passenger said to the steward. Here he is at last. Got everything?’

‘Yes, thank you, Mrs. Artside,’ said Rupert politely.

‘Sandwiches, mackintosh, gun, dagger, knuckledusters? All right. Off we go.’

Lovers of Belmouth assert that the early autumn is its best season. It is by no means empty. At Belmouth, as the advertisements tell you, you can enjoy yourself all the year round. But the crowds which throng its beaches, hotels and pleasances from June to September have thinned out. The hotel staffs find time to draw breath and attend to the wants of those discerning people who take their holidays out of season.

The dunes, which are the particular glory of Belmouth, put on their autumn heather mixture as the little bathing chalets are shut up one by one. From time to time, now, inhabitants can be seen looking forth and taking the air; like elderly tortoises, peering out from the fastness of their shells to find if summer is really gone for good.

On to this peaceful scene descended two busloads of the combined choirs.

‘Now remember,’ said Liz to her little contingent. ‘You two tinies are to go with Miss Mallory. She’s kindly promised to look after you.’ The two youngest Hedges children looked rebelliously at Lucy. She didn’t quite measure up to their idea of an ideal companion for a day at the seaside. ‘You others’—she looked at the three elder Hedges and Rupert—’can go where you like provided you’re back for tea at the Pavilion at four. We’re having sausages, and I’ve particularly asked for them to be served first, so if you’re as much as a minute late you probably won’t get any. Subject to that you’re free to do what you like, provided you don’t break the law or get dirty or drown yourselves.’

‘We’ve arranged to take
our
boys to a concert of music this afternoon,’ said Mrs. Um.

‘I’ve no doubt they’ll be the better for it,’ said Liz blandly.

She herself intended to have lunch and spend the afternoon with an old friend, the widow of General Dakers, who had come to Belmouth to die seventeen years before and had easily outlived the fondest expectations of her family and her insurance company.

‘Well, that’s everybody except us,’ said Liz. ‘I’m sorry Sergeant Gattie couldn’t come. Annoying they should have found him a last-minute job today. What are you two planning to do?’

‘First,’ said Tim, ‘we’re going to the fun fair. I haven’t been in a real dodgem for years. I may even throw for a coconut. After that all is in the lap of the Gods.’

The day started well. The silliest things were fun to do with Sue there gravely assisting. They had several hectic bouts in the dodgems, being crashed into from behind by Rupert and Maurice. The boys were both scarlet in the face, and seemed to have shaken off the two younger Hedges.

They ate lunch economically in the saloon bar of a small public house at the end of the front where Tim played Shove Ha’penny with an ancient lobster fisherman and lost three light ales in succession.

After lunch they strolled off the extreme end of the front and on to the dunes.

The sun looked genially down. A small but persistent wind blew in from the sea.

‘What would be nice,’ said Tim sleepily, ‘would be to find a place in the sand which gets all the sun, but none of the wind, and lie down in it until it’s time to go and eat sausages in the Pavilion.’

‘Suits me,’ said Sue calmly.

They walked out on to the dunes. The task they had set themselves seemed childishly easy, but, as all who have tried it will know, proved curiously difficult.

Some of the sand hollows were deep enough to be out of the wind, but into these the sun hardly penetrated. Others were full of sun, but full of wind also. When they finally thought they had found a suitable one they looked up and saw that they had come directly within view of one of the few chalets which was still occupied. Two elderly ladies were sitting in it, dressed in beach outfits, and playing a two handed game of cards. They suspended operations to stare at Tim and Sue. Tim and Sue moved on.

By now they had reached the western and most deserted tract where the cliff steepened and the dunes turned into cattle pasture.

‘Let’s try this one,’ said Tim hopefully. ‘It’s got lots of sun and the wind’s dropping anyway.’

‘Looks all right,’ said Sue. ‘I don’t think there’s anyone in
that
monstrosity.’

She pointed to a little box of pink wooden planks. It was the last and most secluded of all the chalets and a board nailed crookedly, across an upright, announced that it was called ‘The Retreat’.

‘Looks as if it’s been empty for some time,’ agreed Tim. ‘Lonely spot. We can both sit on my raincoat if I spread it out – what’s the matter?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Sue. ‘I think it’s all these horrible things that have been happening. Imagination, I dare say.’

‘Never mind imagination,’ said Tim. ‘What did you think you saw?’

‘It was just as you were saying how empty that place looked. I saw a face at the window.’

‘Hmp,’ said Tim. ‘It doesn’t seem possible. There’s six inches of sand across the back door, and half the windows are broken. I don’t think anyone can be living in it. Might be trespassers. Don’t see why they should peep at us. I’ll go and turn them out.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Sue, hastily.

They climbed up and walked across to the hut. The boundaries of the garden had disappeared into the drifting sand which lay deep over everything. Sue pointed. Two fresh sets of tracks led up to a side door. There they got a bit mixed, as if the two owners had stood about. But there were no tracks coming away.

A thick, hot, silence lay over everything. Tim tapped on the door with his fingertips. The silence remained unbroken. He tapped a little harder. Under his pressure the door swung open.

Tim peered inside. It was a small and dust-choked lobby, with two more doors leading off it, both shut. The silence was absolute, more absolute than natural. It was the silence of held breath.

Something caught Tim’s eye. He bent his head to look. Then he said to Sue, and for the first time his voice sounded serious, That door wasn’t just forced. Someone’s picked the lock, I guess. And pretty neatly, too. I really think you’d better—’

He gestured with his arm.

‘Certainly not,’ said Sue in an indignant whisper. ‘If there’s any shooting I want you right in front of me.’

‘As you like,’ said Tim. He moved up to the left hand door, opened it with a quick kick, and jumped in.

The room was empty. There was a little cheap beach-hut furniture; the most solid piece was a cupboard, the doors of which hung open. Tim went down on one knee and looked at the lock. ‘Picked this one too,’ he said. ‘All skill, no force. Quite an operator.’

‘The other room,’ said Sue urgently.

Tim heard it too. He crossed the intervening space at a lumbering trot, kicked open the second door, and went through.

The noise they had heard was someone trying to open a window which had long been unopened.

‘Good God,’ said Tim.

‘Rupert,’ said Sue. ‘Maurice. What on earth are you up to?’

Two very white faces stared up at them.

Rupert recovered first.

‘We were exploring,’ he said.

‘All right,’ said Tim. ‘You were exploring. But explain just how you opened the front door – and the cupboard. You didn’t do that with a bent pin.’

‘I—’ said Rupert.

‘He—’ said Maurice.

Any further explanations were cut short by the falling out from under Rupert’s coat of a curious-looking instrument.

Tim picked it up.

It was about ten inches long, of bright steel. One end was formed into a sort of double handle, one fixed and one moveable. The other end was formed like a sort of flat key with two wards, rotating on a screwed thread. The wards moved independently, as the handles were turned.

‘I see,’ said Tim. As he did, with horrible clarity. ‘Where did you pick this up?’

Rupert’s mouth was a thin line.

‘Rupert,’ said Sue. ‘It was you, then – you opened the poor-box – you did it when you went out of the room during practice—’

Rupert said nothing. He did not even bother to turn his head. Maurice started to snivel.

‘And he shared it with you,’ said Sue, turning on him fiercely. ‘That’s how you got the note. Isn’t it?’

Maurice was made of softer material than Rupert.

‘I never took it,’ he said. ‘Rupert took it.’

‘Shut up,’ said Rupert.

‘Go on,’ said Tim. ‘Let’s hear the truth.’

‘He took it,’ said Maurice. ‘We went splits. He said it would be all right, see. I never touched the box. He opened it with that thing of his.’

‘Where did you get that pick-lock?’ said Tim.

‘He got it—’ said Maurice. ‘He found—’ He got no further. Rupert was at his throat. They went down in a cloud of dust with Tim on top of them.

It only took him a few seconds to prise them apart but Maurice was already scarlet and the marks of Rupert’s fingers stood out on his neck.

‘You say a word,’ said Rupert, ‘and I’ll kill you. Understand. Kill you.’

‘What on earth are we going to do,’ said Sue.

‘The first thing,’ said Tim, twisting his hand even more firmly into Rupert’s collar, ‘is to find Liz.’

Berowne:

‘Light seeking light doth light of light beguile So ere you find where light in darkness lies

Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.’

Liz had just arrived at the Pavilion when they got there. Luckily it was still nearly empty.

They pulled chairs up to a big corner table and told her the story.

‘You mean they broke into a hut and stole.’

‘There wasn’t anything there to steal,’ said Rupert. It was difficult to say whether he was regretful or repentant. ‘We were just practising—’

‘Look here,’ said Tim. ‘You stay with the boys, Sue.’ He turned to his mother. ‘Is there anywhere here we can be private? And is there a telephone?’

‘I know the manageress,’ said Liz. ‘I think she’d let us use her office.’

The manageress was surprised but agreeable. She had known Liz for twenty years and admired her style greatly.

‘It’s terribly untidy,’ she said.

‘Never mind,’ said Liz. ‘It’ll do splendidly. Just for five minutes. Bit of a crisis.’

‘One of the boys?’

‘Two of them, actually. Now Tim. What’s it all about?’

Tim put his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out the curious instrument he had taken from Rupert.

‘If it had just been a matter of breaking into an empty beach hut,’ he said, ‘we wouldn’t have worried, at least, not unduly. A bit of mischief worth a thick ear, but nothing more. This is what takes the whole thing out of the infants’ class.’ He nodded down at the bright piece of steel on the table.

‘What is it?’ Liz moved it delicately with her gloved finger tip and the steel winked back at her.

‘It’s a very beautiful and precise piece of craftsmanship,’ said Tim, ‘known as a pick-lock. You put it into the lock, like a key, and turn
that
handle until you’ve lifted the retaining spring – it’s got a tight screw thread which will hold back even a strong spring – then you fiddle with
this
handle until the gate of the lock slides across, and there you are. Simple, quiet and effective. There are parts of London where you could get three months just for being found with one of these in your possession.’

Liz jumped a couple of squares.

‘So it was Rupert who opened our poor-box—’

‘I fancy so. And split the proceeds with Maurice. But that isn’t the main point, is it? The question is, where did he get this jigger from? You don’t buy them at ironmongers, you know.’

He handled the bright instrument lovingly. As he moved the handles the two tiny levers opened and shut like the mandibles of a Picasso crab. ‘Precision work,’ he said. ‘Small enough to operate quite a tiny lock, but strong enough for a big one, too.’

‘Does Rupert
admit
that he robbed the poor-box?’

‘Maurice admits it. Rupert isn’t saying a word.’

‘What on earth are we going to do?’ said Liz, helplessly. ‘We can’t just let them sit down and scoff sausages with the rest of the choir as if nothing had happened, but I don’t see that we can actually lock them up until the coach goes. If only—’

‘What about telephoning Bob? It wouldn’t take him long to get down here in that car of his and he could take both boys straight back.’

‘Bob? Yes, I suppose we could do that.’ She seemed curiously unenthusiastic. ‘I don’t think we shall be able to get hold of him just now. He’s at a council meeting.’

‘Have him paged. They must be able to get at him somehow. Suppose his house was on fire.’

Liz took a deep breath, turned squarely on Tim, and said: ‘I think it’s about time you knew that Bob – oh, hullo. Yes, who is it?’

‘Only little me,’ said the manageress. ‘There’s a man asking for you.’

‘A man?’

‘A big man,’ said the manageress coyly. ‘Oh, here he is.’

Jim Hedges appeared. ‘Finished my work,’ he said. Thought I’d come and look you up. Am I in time for tea?’

‘My goodness, Jim,’ said Liz. ‘How glad I am to see you. Have you brought your car with you? Good. Then I’ll allow you five minutes for a cup of tea and you’re on your way back again.’