7:   THE COTTAGE WITH THE PARROT

A paper fluttered down in front of Palfrey’s face. One corner was ablaze. He put out a hand and snatched at it, put that fire out, screwed the paper up and pushed it into his pocket as he scrambled to his feet. The smoke was thick and harsh; the flames were more subdued now, except those on the floor, where they had caught the carpet.

‘Those papers!’ cried Cartwright, in a muffled voice. ‘Damn the flames! Hardy, look for those papers!’

‘I am!’ called Hardy.

‘I’ve got ‘em,’ called Palfrey. ‘Let’s get out.’ He raised his voice, calling ‘Fire’. The door was flung open. The draught fanned the flames; someone shouted; a man rushed in and took Drusilla by the arm and dragged her out. Cartwright was furthest from the door, but moved swiftly. With Hardy and Palfrey, he was jammed in the doorway, and in front of them a man was standing holding a fire-extinguisher.

‘Mind! Out of the way!’ Cartwright cried. ‘Mind!’

They got through into the passage, and the man squirted a foul-smelling chemical on to the flames. Someone else rushed in with great alarm.

McDonald, who had taken Drusilla out of the room, appeared by Palfrey’s side.

‘Did you get the papers?’ Cartwright demanded, smoothing down his hair, which was singed on one side. He made way for another man with a fire-extinguisher, but smoke was driving them further from the room.

‘I got the only one that matters,’ said Palfrey. ‘You’ve still got your copies, Mac, haven’t you?’

‘Safely in my pocket.’

Palfrey took out the tracing paper, and Cartwright said in alarm: ‘It’s burned!’

‘Only at the tip, like my fingers,’ said Palfrey, ‘but we shouldn’t grumble about that. I fancy someone saw you holding it up against the window, Colonel, and acted on impulse. Nice people. Fire bombs to hand, morphine available as required, chloroform on tap, not to mention a so far unidentified poison which killed Halsted.’ He opened the paper out, to smooth it, but stopped and stared down.

‘There’s something on it!’ exclaimed Drusilla.

‘Yes,’ said Palfrey, in a smug voice. ‘The heat brought it out. The simple things!’ He smoothed the paper out and, while people pushed past them and a testy manager complained that they were in the way, they looked at the drawing. It was like the road plan, with short, straight lines leading off from a main line which went from north to south; they knew that because of the only other mark on the paper, the drawing of a compass. ‘Well, we oughtn’t to grumble,’ added Palfrey. ‘What we ought to have done was to get outside and find the customer who started the show. No luck, I suppose?’

‘Hardy didn’t lose any time,’ said Cartwright.

Hardy came back with a negative report. The fire-raiser had been seen from the main dining-room window, but no one could remember what he looked like. He had gone across the garden, through the small orchard and, presumably, into the town. Hardy said that he would have the whole force out looking for him that afternoon.

‘Well,’ said Palfrey, ‘this looks like our fade-out.’

‘Are you going back to London?’ asked Cartwright.

‘Yes. I must for a day or two.’

 

It was not difficult to arrange for a colleague to take over his appointments for the following week. Over the week-end, Palfrey saw two or three patients whom he was anxious to treat personally and thus eased his conscience. He was more excited than he allowed Drusilla to see. She, too, was filled with excitement which she tried not to show.

On the Saturday evening he telephoned Hardy, who expressed himself delighted to hear from him. How was progress, asked Palfrey? There wasn’t any progress. Nothing else had happened; nothing had come from the tracing and nothing from the code and cipher. It completely puzzled the cipher experts, in spite of its apparent simplicity. A man in London was still working on it, but was of the opinion that they had not got the key on the two sheets of paper. An inspector from Scotland Yard was in Corbin now, but had made no headway. Hardy said that he was a very good fellow, a better man could not have been sent, but he also understood the difficulties of dealing with Morne and Morne House.

Hardy supposed that Palfrey had not changed his mind.

‘You don’t seriously think that I could do more than you and a Yard man,’ said Palfrey.

‘But I do, Palfrey. I wouldn’t think so, normally, but with Morne I’m quite sure. He doesn’t often take a liking to anyone, you know; his attitude towards you is quite exceptional. Understandable, of course, but exceptional.’

‘I see,’ said Palfrey, mildly. ‘Well, I’m weakening. Don’t be too surprised if I look in some time on Tuesday.’

‘I shall expect you,’ Hardy declared.

‘If he goes on like this, I shall need a new size in hats,’ said Palfrey to Drusilla.

 

Hardy replaced the telephone in his office, studied his shoes for a few moments, then got up, put on his hat and coat, and drove to Cartwright’s home, which was on the outskirts of Corbin.

‘I’m still not sure about Palfrey, sir,’ he said, after greetings had been exchanged. ‘He said that he might come down on Tuesday. What I can’t make up my mind about is whether he really came down here because Halsted sent for him, or whether he was already interested in the business. It’s all very well to say that Z.5 has been disbanded since the war. I daresay it has. But Palfrey was a prominent agent, and he might be used by Intelligence now.’

‘Had you thought of that before Morne gave you the idea?’ asked Cartwright.

‘I suppose I hadn’t,’ admitted Hardy, ‘but I’ve got the bee in my bonnet now. I don’t mind admitting that I shall feel annoyed if he is working for Intelligence. We had more than enough of that kind of thing during the war, didn’t we?’

Cartwright nodded.

“They’d come down, poke about, arouse suspicion and get into trouble, and when they’d gone we’d be told they had been sent by the London people. They might at least tell us in advance who they are. I don’t ask to be taken into their confidence, but unnecessary secrecy gets under my skin.’

‘Obviously,’ said Cartwright.

Hardy laughed self-consciously. ‘Sorry if I’m putting it rather strongly, sir. But I do feel strongly. It’s on our beat, when all’s said and done. I suppose it was excusable in wartime, but surely it isn’t in peace.’

‘I don’t disagree with you,’ admitted Cartwright. ‘What I do say is that nothing will shift the people in Whitehall. They’re as immovable as Wenlock Cliff! You’re right, of course; they did come down here a great deal during the war. That wasn’t surprising; we know that Huns landed from U-boats somewhere near the cliff.’

‘We never found who helped them to get away,’ said Hardy.

‘So that’s worrying you, is it?’

‘Yes, sir, it is,’ said Hardy. ‘When you come to think about it, there isn’t a better place than Morne House for hiding a man for a few days. It’s my opinion that Garth had some pull over Morne and found sanctuary by exerting pressure. Miss Loretta knew it, and fell in with it. If Morne had anything to do with sheltering spies, that would be a strong enough hold, wouldn’t it?’

‘It’s all surmise,’ objected Cartwright.

‘I know, sir, but it would explain a great deal. It would also explain Palfrey being sent down here by Intelligence. Isn’t there any way you can find out what Palfrey is doing?’

‘I don’t know of a way,’ admitted Cartwright. ‘You’ve told our friend from Scotland Yard about this, I suppose.’

‘Oh, yes, I’ve told Wriggleswade,’ said Hardy. ‘He’s of the same mind as I am, sir. Intelligence gets a bit above itself. If I had my way now –’ He broke off.

‘What would you do?’ asked Cartwright.

‘I’d have Palfrey watched,’ said Hardy, and looked appealingly at his chief. ‘I’ve even got the man in mind – young Rundell. He doesn’t miss much. What do you think about it, sir?’

After a pause, Cartwright said: ‘Yes, I’m rather taken by it. Is Rundell free now?’

‘He reported back from leave this morning. He wasn’t due until Monday; he’s mustard keen.’

‘Well,’ said Cartwright, and smoothed his blond moustache. ‘We ought to tell Wriggleswade.’

‘But wouldn’t that spoil it?’ asked Hardy. ‘I suppose we couldn’t do it without, but – well, sir, you could leave it to me to tell him and I could leave it to you. That wouldn’t do for long, I know, but only the time between now and Tuesday matters. Directly Palfrey gets into Corshire we can tell Wriggleswade. If we tell him now, he’ll suggest a Yard man keeping an eye on Palfrey, or else he’ll pooh-pooh the very idea. He’s a bit inclined to throw his weight about, you know.’

‘Oh, yes, but he’s not a bad fellow,’ said Cartwright. ‘All right, talk to Rundell.’

 

Detective-Sergeant Rundell, of the Corshire C.I.D., left for London on the Sunday morning, fully briefed, determined and convinced that he had been given the chance of a lifetime. It would require exemplary patience and might be trying, but he was confident.

He felt bewildered when, on the Monday afternoon a little after two o’clock, Palfrey and his wife drove into Cheddar Village, parked the Talbot and walked towards the Gorge. While they were parking, Rundell took the opportunity to send a telegram to Hardy.

 

Palfrey locked the door of the car and turned with Drusilla towards the Gorge. It was a bright, sunny day and there was a surprising number of people taking the same road. One party of schoolchildren made a crocodile fifty yards long on the happy trek to the wonders of the caves – wonders announced on notice-boards and in shop-windows and by a hoarse-voiced man who stood at a corner, showing sightseers the way.

‘Did you see the snub-nosed chap?’ Palfrey asked Drusilla, ‘That nose was in London, not far behind us when we stopped for lunch, and this very minute has gone into the post office.’

‘So we’ve been followed,’ said Drusilla. ‘Do you know who it is?’

‘I haven’t the faintest notion. Stranger to me. Dark hair, dark jowl, a bit of Corshire about him, I shouldn’t wonder. I always knew that my treatment of Kyle got under Hardy’s skin.’

‘That wasn’t surprising,’ said Drusilla.

‘No. I wonder if Mac’s here yet?’

‘He’s probably been waiting since dawn,’ said Drusilla.

McDonald, on being told of their decision, had expressed himself delighted. It had been agreed that he should go on ahead and meet them at the cottage with a parrot in the window. McDonald seemed to enjoy the prospect of a mysterious journey and encounter with the American.

‘There’s a green cottage,’ said Drusilla, her voice rising.

‘One green cottage, two green cottages,’ murmured Palfrey, looking towards the left of the road. In front of them were the great cliffs of the gorge rising like bulky, forbidding sentinels, dark grey and light intermingling, some scrub and grass on the lower slopes, but the higher bleak and bare.

The cottages stood close together a little way ahead of them. Outside was a notice-board offering eggs and bacon and chips for 3s. 6d. There was a small queue outside the door.

‘There it is!’ exclaimed Drusilla, and moved her arm as if to point.

Palfrey held it by her side.

‘Don’t forget Snub-nose,’ he said. ‘But you’re right, begod, there’s a parrot.’

They passed the window where the parrot was squatting. It was the cottage which offered bacon and eggs and chips, and there was no chance of getting in immediately. Palfrey glanced at his watch; they had ten minutes to spare.

‘What shall we do?’ asked Drusilla. ‘We must be here at half past two.’

‘The truth is that I’m worried about Snub. I don’t mind being followed, but I don’t want him to see where we go, and there isn’t much chance of losing him here. We could go for a long walk, but that would make us too late, and – Oh-ho!’ He broke off, with a gleam in his eyes. ‘It’s a simple matter, really. Most things are. The caves. Crowded with sightseers. See the queue waiting to go in – not a large one. We will tag ourselves on the end of it. I believe it’s dark inside.’

‘They have lights.’

‘Not everywhere, surely.’

They joined the queue. It was longer than he had thought, for the cave entrance was up steps and the steps were lined with people.

‘It’s twenty-five past two,’ said Drusilla.

‘And Snub has joined the queue,’ said Palfrey. ‘He’s seven people removed. Hallo, we’re moving!’

Coins were rattling in the pay-box. A guide was calling out into the road: ‘Hurry up, now. The next tour is about to start.’

Palfrey put down a two-shilling piece and hurried with the rest of the crowd through a narrow entrance, dimly lighted, at the beginning of the cave. A guide was regimenting the people and giving instructions.

‘Is Snub here?’

‘Just coming in, and looking anxious,’ said Palfrey. ‘He’ll look more anxious in a moment. Isn’t it lovely and dark in front?’

‘You needn’t worry about the darkness,’ said the guide. ‘I’ll switch the lights on as we go through. It wouldn’t do to keep them on all the time, you see, except a few pilot lights. It’d spoil the effect.’

A single dim light cast a diffused glow. The crowd, nearly sixty strong, was gathering about the guide. Some distance ahead there was another glimmer of light. The guide, with the natural showman’s gift, went on talking. Palfrey looked round and could see heads outlined against the roof, but could recognize no one.

‘Take off your hat,’ he whispered to Drusilla.

She obeyed without question; Palfrey removed his.

‘We’ll see the first show and then duck for it,’ said Palfrey. ‘If I read this fellow aright, he’ll switch the light off when we’ve finished this one, and get us all worked up and eerie; he knows his job. That will be our best chance, I think.’

Drusilla felt for his hand. Palfrey squeezed.

‘Now, ladies and gentlemen–’ said the guide.

Palfrey edged towards the far side, to put as many people between himself and Snub as he could. Drusilla still clutched his hand. People were too interested to worry; several were moving about to get a better position, and his own movements were not noticeable. He looked at Drusilla, The light was concentrated on The Fonts, famous stalagmite basins, and was not bright enough for him to see her clearly, and she was close by him; Snub, some distance away, could not possibly pick them out. He squeezed Drusilla’s fingers, and whispered: ‘This is it.’

The light went out.

There was still a dim light, but they could not see a yard in front of them. The guide was moving, people were shuffling, it was eerie and fascinating. The air was cold.

Palfrey reached the wall, felt along it, and tip-toed along, with Drusilla close, stumbling over feet, trying to accustom himself to the darkness. It was not easy, nor would it be easy for Snub.

Palfrey bumped into the wall. Then he saw a glimmer of light and a moment later they were in sight of the entrance. He kept to the side, so that if Snub were suspicious and followed them he could not see them outlined against the light. Half-way along, he paused. There was no sound of footsteps.

‘Snub is enjoying himself,’ murmured Palfrey. ‘We’re all right now.’

They were breathless when they reached the green cottage. There was one welcome sight: the queue had gone. Palfrey glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearly a quarter to three. In spite of his assurance to Drusilla, he was worried in case Kyle had become impatient.

They went in, and saw McDonald sitting in a corner, drinking tea and reading a newspaper. He glanced up and winked. Palfrey winked back.

‘What-ho!’ squawked the parrot. ‘Time for tea!’

‘Oh, hallo,’ said Palfrey. ‘There doesn’t seem to be much room here, old lady.’

There was no room at all, but a woman came bustling through a doorway and said that there was room in the garden, if they would like it.

A few large coloured umbrellas, faded by weather, were dotted about among garden chairs and tables. It was cold enough, but half a dozen couples and a small party had dared the weather, and the sun was shining straight into the garden.

In the far corner sat a man, alone, almost bald, with a nutcracker face. .

He looked up and saw Palfrey.

He frowned.

It was only the slightest knitting of his brow, and might have been accidental, but Palfrey took its meaning. This was Kyle, but he did not want to be recognized yet. Palfrey led Drusilla to a table from-which he could watch the man, and, when they were seated, explained.

‘I suppose it means he’s watched,’ said Drusilla.

‘Yes. Not an easy job to spot the villain.’

In the cave there had been an element of amusement at getting rid of Snub. All that was changed. The man Palfrey had met on Wenlock Hill had been a merry soul, akin to McDonald. This man looked ill-tempered, solitary, and as hard as his weather beaten face. He was in the middle-thirties, Palfrey judged.

The woman came up with a loaded tray, walking up the steps as if they were gentle slopes. She made a bee-line for the Palfreys.

As she turned away after serving their meal –

‘Hey, missus!’ the nut-cracker man spoke, and Palfrey frowned, for his accent was not American but broad Lancashire. ‘Hey, missus,’ he repeated for all those present to hear. ‘When tha’ cooms oop again bring us another dish of tea.’

‘Yes, sir, thank you.’

The woman went off; the man went on eating. Palfrey picked up his knife and fork. ‘We’d better start eating,’ he told Drusilla.

‘Is that Kyle?’

‘I’m not sure. I’ve only seen him in darkness before. See if anyone is paying him much attention, will you?’

He looked one side of the garden, Drusilla the other. The large party chattered, couples leaned forward and spoke in whispers.

Except one couple.

A man and woman, youngish people, dressed in town clothes, the woman rather smart, the man neat and dapper, were sitting over their bacon, egg and chips. They did not speak. Now and again they looked towards the nut-cracker man, as if they, too, were trying to decide whether they knew him. The woman was good-looking in a bold way; she wore too much lipstick and rouge, and her hair was rolled in a golden net. The man was of different quality. He had dark, sleek hair, heavily oiled and brushed straight back from a high forehead. There was something foreign about his sallow face.

Nut-cracker got up.

As he moved towards the steps, the other couple got up and put a ten-shilling note on their table. Nut-cracker went down the steps, walking like an old man. The others followed him. It was too deliberate to be accidental; they were following him.

The Palfreys got up.

‘Stay with Mac,’ Palfrey whispered, and hurried ahead of Drusilla.

McDonald looked up as Palfrey went out in the wake of the others. Palfrey jerked his head back towards Drusilla, and mouthed the words ‘Take care of her’. He did not know whether McDonald understood him.

Out in the road, Kyle was walking up the gorge. The others followed him as far as the cave which the Palfreys had visited. Then the girl, after a word from the man, left him and walked up the steps towards the cave. Palfrey hung back, for he could see at a greater distance now. The sallow man went on, and Palfrey saw that he had his hand in his pocket.

Kyle did not change his pace and the sallow man kept up with him. Palfrey did not know whether to keep well behind or to hurry and force an issue. There was something frightening in this slow, deliberate chase; for it was a chase.

The sallow man called out, abruptly: ‘Kyle! ‘

Kyle did not answer or stop.

‘Kyle!’ The sallow man gained a little. Palfrey quickened his step.

No one else was about. There were no cars. The three men seemed to be alone in the vastness of the gorge. The only sound was their footsteps. The sallow man did not once look round, although he must have known that he was being followed. The three of them went on, the sallow man gaining on Kyle.

Kyle stopped, moved towards the side, and sat down on a boulder.

There was another, larger, boulder between Palfrey and the sallow man, and Palfrey crouched behind it, his hat in his hand. For the first time the foreigner looked round. He seemed satisfied that they were alone. He went up to Kyle and spoke, but Palfrey could not hear the words.

Another car came up the gorge, a Packard with a big body. Palfrey remembered Kyle’s Packard, and then he saw the driver, a man, with a woman sitting next to him. Palfrey hardly noticed the woman; his eyes were fixed on the man, whom he could see quite clearly, for the car was slowing down. He looked exactly like the ‘Kyle’ of the green cottage!

The sallow man continued to talk. The Packard drew level with them, then stopped with a squeal of brakes.

The sallow man turned . . .

The ‘Kyle’ to whom he had been talking got up and hit him!

It was a powerful blow to the stomach, and the foreigner had no chance to protect himself. He doubled up. The door of the Packard opened, the motorist ‘Kyle’ leaned out, and the two men between them bundled the foreigner into the back of the car. A woman shouted! Palfrey, half-turning, saw the foreigner’s girl-friend running desperately towards the scene, and running behind her was the man with the snub nose.

Another car came humming up the gorge.

The Packard door slammed. The foreigner was inside, with the two ‘Kyles’ and the woman. The fair-haired woman was screaming “Stop him! Stop him!’ A passing cyclist stared in astonishment, braked hard, and nearly came off. Brakes squealed behind Palfrey. He looked round and saw Snub on the running board of a small car which he had presumably commandeered. He uttered the word ‘Police’, as the car flashed past in the wake of the Packard, but the Packard had disappeared. Palfrey did not think the small car was fast enough to catch it.

The woman with peroxide hair stood shaking her fists no longer shouting. Suddenly she turned round. She was sobbing and gasping, but she ran down the gorge and Palfrey followed her at a smart pace. As she drew level with the caves, Palfrey saw McDonald and Drusilla approaching. They were staring at the frantic woman, and so were most of the other people in this more populous part of the gorge. Palfrey beckoned, and Drusilla hurried towards him.

‘Follow her, will you?’ Palfrey said urgently. ‘Not out of the village. Messages to the Cliff Hotel.’

‘Yes,’ said Drusilla. She turned at once and went hurrying after the frantic woman, while McDonald stood undecided. Palfrey joined him.

‘This is Drusilla’s job,’ he said. ‘We can’t go everywhere the woman can.’

‘What’s been happening?’

‘As daring a piece of kidnapping as I’m ever likely to see,’ said Palfrey and laughed in sheer admiration. ‘It was perfectly done. By two Kyles.’

‘Two Kyles.’

‘Yes. And Snub’s gone hurrying after,’ said Palfrey. ‘Sorry,’ he added. ‘I’m not quite myself.’ He looked after Drusilla, now nearly out of sight, and added: ‘I suppose it was wise to let her go alone.’