17

Deeper in the Mire

‘I came because I disbelieved Dick,’ said Olivia. ‘Because I thought Mr. Garth should have an opportunity to speak for himself. And I think …’

Catesby moved towards her, hands clenched and eyes blazing.

‘Are you saying you think I lied?’

‘Oh, don’t be a goop, Dick!’ she snapped. ‘I mean I think you were mistaken. You admitted you didn’t see him well, and that someone else was in the flat.’

‘I saw enough,’ said Catesby, partially mollified.

Garth raised his eyebrows. He hoped he was putting up a good show, but the gaze of Arnold K. Livesey was disconcertingly shrewd. He met it with a smile, drawling his words:

‘It looks as though there’s been a case of mistaken identity,’ he said easily. ‘Whatever my misdeeds, I’ve done nothing that could create a situation like this.’ He glanced at Olivia: ‘What is it … does someone think I was mixed up in that attack on you?’ Then swung round to Catesby: ‘Good Lord … is that why you snarled in my face this morning?’

‘You see?’ cried Olivia, to the others.

‘I can see you’re under the spell of this smooth-tongued rascal,’ Livesey told her flatly. ‘I’m not. It’s time you went back home, my girl!’

Olivia flushed but said nothing. Garth sent her a communicating smile, shrugging slightly in well-simulated bafflement: letting her know that he did not include her in his growing resentment.

‘Now, if anyone would care to inform me …’ he began, his voice quiet but much harder, now.

‘Kindly allow me to discuss this with Garth,’ George Kent said pontifically. ‘David, my flat was burgled last night, while I was out. A set of papers … highly important papers … to do with Mr. Livesey’s mission here … was stolen. Catesby declares that he saw you at the flat.’

‘Oh?’ Garth glanced at Catesby as at a specimen on a slide, then back at George. ‘I was not at your flat last night, of course. Since Catesby was, and the papers are missing, perhaps he can tell you something about it?’

‘I had given him permission to go to the flat,’ said George stiffly. ‘I am afraid that counter-accusation won’t get you anywhere, David.’

Garth’s jaw set.

‘Let me impress upon you, George, just how little taste I have for these kangaroo court tactics! Suppose we leave police matters to the police?’ He turned a bleak gaze on the younger man. ‘You did say you had called them? I hope that, at least, can be relied upon! And now, suppose you all get out?’ He glared from one to the other until his gaze reached Olivia. His expression relaxed at once and he said quickly: ‘Miss Livesey, you’re the only one who has been reasonably decent about this … and probably you’re the last to have reason to be. I appreciate it very much indeed.’

“That’s … oh!’ She flushed again. ‘Can’t you convince them?’

‘I’m staying around till the police come,’ Catesby announced. ‘You’re not getting any chances to clear out, Garth. I’m not as dumb as that!’

‘There’s plenty of room on the landing,’ Garth told him, moving sharply towards him.

Catesby backed, raising his fists … and was clearly baffled when Garth merely crowded him, his hands by his sides, and he found himself jostled towards the door while the others looked on.

‘Now see here …!’ he began, angrily.

Garth shot out his right hand, taking him by surprise and getting his right wrist in a vice-like grip. Catesby swung a powerful left, but Garth shifted his head and as the punch missed, opened the door with his free hand and propelled him out of the room.

He held the door open.

‘Next, please!’ he said, ironically. ‘Unless, of course, you are prepared to discuss this matter like reasonable people?’

He was not sure how they would react. If the powerfully-built Livesey refused to leave peacefully, he would have problems: Catesby would clearly come to his aid. George he discounted.

‘Well, gentlemen?’ he invited. Then heard footsteps start up the stairs. They were heavy and deliberate and belonged to at least two men.

Catesby beamed triumphantly as they appeared.

‘You’re late!’ he greeted them.

A very large man in a grey suit, with white-flecked sandy hair and moustache … a man who looked as if he had been in a flour-mill and hadn’t managed to get rid of the last faint dusting of flour … ignored the young American and advanced into the room. Behind him, a second man, in police uniform, took up a stance by the door.

‘Which is Mr. Garth?’ demanded the dusty-looking man.

‘I am,’ said Garth, stiffly, ‘But …’

‘I am Superintendent Miller, of Scotland Yard,’ declared the large man. He took a card from his waistcoat pocket and handed it over. ‘I have a warrant for your arrest, sir, and a warrant to search this flat.’

Garth felt his heart-beat quicken.

‘You can’t be serious?’ he demanded incredulously. The card bore out the man’s statement of identity and the second man took folded papers from his pocket: the warrants, obviously. In a sudden panic, Garth thought that Hammond and his colleagues had failed him. Sudden anger was succeeded swiftly by cold fear.

‘It isn’t a joking matter,’ said Miller stolidly. ‘It is my duty to warn you that anything you …’

Garth stared.

‘But this is outrageous!’ he exploded. ‘You’ve charged me with nothing … I am guilty of nothing which would possibly justify an arrest!’

‘The detention order has been issued under Regulation 18B,’ Miller explained, laconically. ‘Come along, sir, please!’

Garth clenched his fist. Catesby was grinning over the superintendent’s shoulder and Livesey looked complacent. George seemed troubled … a picture of a man doing a duty he found repugnant. Olivia.…

Olivia was looking at Garth as if no one else were in the room. Garth found the intensity of her gaze very comforting; it was all that was. He drew a deep breath and spoke quietly and with greater composure.

‘If you’ve paid attention to absurd charges by a hot-headed young fool, I suppose there’s nothing I can do about it, yet. But I insist these people are removed from my premises, before I go. Miss Livesey will doubtless be glad to leave. The others …’

Livesey shrugged his massive shoulders and strode to the door.

‘I’ve seen all I want to see,’ he snapped. ‘Livvy!’

Olivia stared mutinously at him as he turned his head, impatient. Catesby was still grinning … Garth longed to knock the smile off his silly face. Then the girl moved, reluctantly. Near Garth, she paused; and her smile was very warm and friendly.

‘I’m sure it won’t be too long before you get everything put to rights,’ she told him. ‘Au revoir, Mr. Garth!’

Garth found himself shaking a small hand; felt the warming pressure of it, and smiled at her as Livesey muttered under his breath, and the grin disappeared from Catesby’s face. He felt suddenly very much better.

And when George approached, with an awkward: ‘David, I can’t say how …’ he smiled and interrupted him.

‘It’s all right, old man … none of your doing! As soon as I get it cleared up, we’ll have a chat … find out what’s at the back of it all.’

‘Good,’ George nodded. ‘Good!’ And went out swiftly in the wake of the others.

When their footsteps had faded, the uniformed policeman glanced a query at the superintendent, then nodded and closed the door, leaving the two of them alone in the flat.

Garth somehow stayed silent and proffered his case: he did not know quite how to take Miller, whose expression was enigmatic as he accepted a cigarette.

‘Thank you, sir,’ he said, equably. ‘I’m sorry I had to act like that.’

Garth stared, uncomprehending.

‘What do you mean?’

Miller chuckled.

‘Well, it must have been well done! I thought you’d probably guess. I’m the liasion officer between Scotland Yard and Department Z, Mr. Garth. The information was lodged against you, and ostensibly it had to be investigated. As soon as it was realised that Mr. Livesey was coming here, it was decided to act quickly … convince him that action had been taken. You’ll be released for lack of evidence, of course.’

Miller beamed, obviously enjoying himself, and Garth said:

‘Well, I’m damned!’

‘Meanwhile, if you’ll come with me to Cannon Row, sir, I think Mr. Hammond would like a word with you there. Er … do you think that you can look angry with me? We may well be watched and it would be advisable to maintain appearances.’

He chuckled again as Garth assured him:

‘I shall look positively fiendish towards you!’

Garth laughed with him: the relief was a tremendous tonic. So was the sense of his strange new job’s importance. He would hardly want any further proof of Hammond’s credentials after this!

As they emerged into Jermyn Street, he glared at Miller, who had gone down one step in front of him. He saw Catesby standing on the other side of the road; obviously waiting to enjoy his discomfiture. There was no sign of Olivia or her father—but further along from Catesby, was the unmistakable figure of Russi.

Garth stared involuntarily.

Russi stared at him with no sign of recognition. But Garth was suddenly aware of an unpleasant feeling of insecurity. The knowledge that he was under such constant surveillance from all sides was a chilling thought. Hammond and his associates were one thing: the fact that there was no move he could make that Russi and Ryall would not also know about, was something else again.

The eager anticipation he had felt at the prospect of seeing Hammond and reporting the advent of the little man in black, faded. He felt a presentiment of danger … Russi’s flat expressionless stare had somehow chilled him: left him tense and apprehensive.

He stumbled, suddenly … and clutched at Miller for support as he lost his balance. The uniformed policeman put out a hand to steady him and then gasped: a strange gasp more like a choking rattle in his throat.

Garth straightened up, staring in utter disbelief at the small hole which had suddenly appeared in the man’s temple, just beneath his helmet. The steadying grip on his arm slackened, and the policeman slumped to the ground. But not before Garth had seen a trickle of blood coming from that small hole.…

‘What the …!’ Miller exclaimed. Then in almost the same split-second, put one huge hand to Garth’s shoulder and sent him flying backwards.

Something small and black flashed in front of Garth’s eyes as he fell. He was being shot at!

Miller had probably saved his life, he knew: had certainly thrust him out of immediate danger. At the Wellington Street end of the road, a small man stood by a car, the gun in his right hand held well into his waist.

Garth caught a glimpse of him as he fell: no one not looking towards him could have seen the gun, and there was no one between him and the man. He saw a flash of flame, pale in the bright sunlight, and a bullet thudded into the pavement by his side. Sparks flew and stone chippings stung his face, and he rolled across the pavement … all he could do, to make him a less vulnerable target. Miller put a whistle to his lips and as a piercing note echoed up and down the street, Russi began to walk swiftly away from the scene.

The man with the gun, realising he could do little more, vainly fired twice more at Garth’s moving figure. Then he jumped into the car. As he did so, two men came pounding into the street their footsteps like thunder in Garth’s ears … and he recognised Mike and Mark Errol. They were on the right side of the road and closing on the gunman, as he started up and began to drive away.

Mike Errol was nearer than his cousin. And as the gunman took a hand off the wheel and turned to fire point blank at him, Mike simply ducked, then made a flying leap and reached the running-board.

Then Mark reached the car’s other side as it began to skid across the road. All Garth could see, now, were Mike’s legs and behind as he leaned into the car.

Across the road, Catesby was staring wide-eyed at the scene. Then he went forward, his square chin thrust out: an ‘i’ll-put-this-right’ expression on his face. Garth saw him reach the car, and then heard Miller rasp to a constable who came running in response to that piercing summons:

‘Get a doctor, man!’ Anxiety and outrage cut through his stolid-seeming calm: ‘Now, damn you!’

He was down on his knees, examining the wound in the side of the first policeman’s head. The bleeding was very free now, and the man’s eyes were closed. Obviously, he had lost consciousness: but his lips were still twisted in pain.

Scrambling to his feet, Garth called, pointing directions:

‘There’s a Dr. Williams … fifty yards along. On the right.’

‘Thank you, sir!’ The P.C. hurried off and Garth fumbled suddenly for cigarettes. He felt badly shaken and had to fight back a wave of nausea as the reaction hit him.

That could … and perhaps should, he felt bleakly … have been him lying there. It had been a cold-blooded attempt to murder him … and that Russi knew something about it, he had no doubt at all. As yet, his mind could not even begin to work out just why he should have been the intended victim….

Miller got to his feet and spoke gruffly:

‘There won’t be much a doctor can do.’ But he was looking impatiently along the street, in the direction the doctor should come.

Garth eyed the injured man helplessly, for a moment, then turned his attention to the Errols, the small car and Catesby. Catesby, at this moment, was helping Mike to lift the driver from the car. The man was kicking and struggling and once Garth saw him try to bite at Catesby’s nose. The American smacked him, flat-handed and his struggles grew quieter.

Garth thought: I must remember not to show that I know the Errols.

Because he would go on with this, he knew. The reason for his attempted murder was beginning to dawn on him, then: and he felt stiff with cold.

Miller, despite his bitterness at the P.C.’s fate, was methodically searching along the ground. Suddenly, he bent down and retrieved something.

‘What is it?’ Garth queried, as he held it up.

‘One of the bullets,’ said Miller. ‘The ruddy swine.’ He spoke dispassionately, but his face was flushed as he glanced away, along the street.

Then his expression suddenly changed—and he began to sprint towards the Errols.

Staring after him, Garth saw that the little gunman was kicking and struggling far more violently than before, and heard him crying out—shrieking as if in pain, rather than shouting. Mark Errol had not been touched by the man’s hands or feet, yet now Garth saw him reel back against the window of a shop, his hands at his face. Catesby was bending over the gunman, who was writhing on the pavement.

‘Get back, you fool!’ Mike shouted, pulling at him. ‘Get back!’

Catesby straightened up. ‘Why? What …?’ he began, indignantly.

The two words travelled clearly along the street, before Catesby gasped and like Mark Errol, clapped his hands to his face. And as Mike pulled him further away the gunman’s struggles, which had reached a terrible crescendo, grew noticeably weaker.

Miller reached the scene, and this time Garth could not hear what was said. But he did see Mike Errol put a restraining hand on the superintendent’s arm.

Then the gunman’s body was suddenly quite still.