Three people were pacing the quadrangle of Deanfriston College as the sun gradually penetrated the dispersing mist.
Only Ruth looked fresh, well-groomed, and wide awake. She had returned from her roundabout journey late the previous night and gone straight to bed, unaware of the drama that was taking place on the Pevensey Marshes. After daybreak, however, she had lost no time in running Holt and the Inspector to earth and learning of the latest developments.
‘Will Julie pull through, do you think?’ she asked.
‘The doctors give her a fifty-fifty chance,’ Hyde answered.
‘She’s the one person who can tell us who Christopher is.’
‘I’m afraid we can’t wait for Miss Benson to tell us.’ Hyde was emphatic. ‘Even if she survives she may lie in a coma for days. Also, there’s no guarantee that she’ll do all the talking we’d like, even if she does regain consciousness.’
‘But do we have to broadcast that fact?’ Holt asked quietly.
The Inspector halted and gave him a level glance. ‘As a matter of fact, the same thought had been running through my head. Keep her under lock and key and spread the word that she’s recovering rapidly and will soon tell all.’
‘No, that’s too dangerous,’ Holt objected. ‘Remember what happened to Curly. I’ve no great love for Julie Benson, but her life won’t be worth a row of beans once it gets out that we expect her to turn Queen’s Evidence.’
‘Couldn’t the Inspector put a guard on her?’ Ruth suggested.
‘No, it’s too big a risk,’ Holt assured her. ‘When Christopher is finally brought to trial, the Crown will want all the evidence it can get, and Julie must be alive to give it. As I see it, there are two alternatives open to us. If we announce that Julie’s dead, what effect do you think that would have, Inspector?’
Hyde paced the quadrangle again, ignoring the occasional groups of passing students who stared curiously at him and then turned away to gossip energetically about the latest rumours. Work seemed to have come to a standstill at the College now that Professor Dalesford had been attacked and his secretary attempted suicide.
Eventually Hyde returned to his companions’ side. ‘Trying to fake Julie’s death could be rather tricky. We’d have to go through the motions of having an autopsy, we’d have to arrange for the body to be removed from the College, and there’d have to be some form of funeral or cremation service – all under the curious eyes of the College, not to speak of Christopher and his friends. I doubt if we could get away with it. And if it leaked out that we were trying to bamboozle the public I could expect to find my name at the bottom of the pension list within twenty-four hours!’
‘I fully agree,’ said Holt. ‘From the practical point of view, things could go wrong. But I meant what would be the likely effect on Christopher and Company?’
‘Considerable relief, I should think,’ the Inspector replied. ‘They might feel so secure as to do something foolish and play straight into our hands. On the other hand, with Vance dead and this Jules Dunant arrested it’s just possible they’ll all dive for a hole in the ground and stay there for months to come.’
‘Which is just what we don’t want!’ urged Holt. ‘That brings me to the alternative. We let it be known that Julie is alive, but at the same time we let word leak out that she’s already begun to confess. Abe Jenkins is still hanging around the area, and for once he could be of use to us. He’d have it in the headlines before you could say “Sensation!” “Suicide Girl Talks.” “Arrests Expected Hourly.” – that sort of thing … Now what effect would that have, would you say?’
Ruth was delighted by the prospect. ‘It would be like the small boy at the Guy Fawkes’ party who threw a lighted squib into the whole collection of fireworks!’
Inspector Hyde’s normally unemotional features seemed to catch some of Ruth’s animation. ‘It’s certainly worth a trial! We’d have to plan it carefully. I’d need at least four hours to set the trap. The whole idea could prove disastrous if any one of them slipped through our fingers.’
‘But do you think the guilty ones will bolt as soon as they hear that Julie is talking?’ Holt persisted.
‘I’m prepared to take that gamble. Just give me enough time to get my men posted, and a short-wave radio hook-up from various observation posts to a central headquarters, then you can toss your lighted squib into the box of fireworks, and we’ll see who runs first.’
‘And what will you do when they start running?’ Ruth asked.
‘Follow them.’
Shortly after Hyde had left the College and returned to Eastbourne, where he had the unhappy task of telling Mr and Mrs Scranton what had happened to their son, two new members joined the nursing team who were keeping an unbroken vigil at Julie Benson’s bedside.
A team of road workers drove up to a spot on the East Dean road within sight of Antoinette’s bungalow and set up a workmen’s hut. The short-wave radio set inside it enabled this team to keep in direct touch with Inspector Hyde’s Command Post.
The baker’s delivery van which was keeping a close watch on Jimmy Wade’s activities at the lodgings he had taken in nearby Ocklynge was also equipped with short-wave radio.
The unobtrusive man who had been shadowing Ashley Milton since his interrogation at police headquarters was reinforced by a middle-aged couple who seemed content to spend all their time sitting near the bandstand. This position commanded a good view of The Golden Peacock, and they even repaired to the restaurant itself and enjoyed some excellent coffee. Communications were more difficult for this couple – they had to rely on public call-boxes – but their reports were nevertheless prompt and efficient.
The shadowing of Henri Legere seemed at first an insoluble problem, but he obligingly solved it himself by turning up at The Golden Peacock during the course of the morning and, a bare half-hour later, driving off in Milton’s Saab in the direction of Newhaven. There, the plain-clothes men disguised as dockhands, whose job it was to keep the Sunset under observation, reported that Legere had boarded the luxury vessel carrying a considerable amount of personal luggage.
With all the suspects under surveillance, Hyde was ready to toss the burning squib …
His first move was to summon Abe Jenkins and one or two other crime reporters to an informal press conference. Jenkins came hurrying from the Grand Hotel, where he had been trying to extract some exclusive copy from Mr and Mrs Scranton as they packed, preparatory to leaving for London and America. Mrs Scranton was nearing a nervous breakdown and Robert Scranton had been rather abrupt. Though resigned to learning the worst about his son, he was scarcely enthusiastic at having his bereavement plastered all over the sensational press.
This hostile reception had left Jenkins with a bitter tongue. ‘What sort of parents are they, I’d like to know!’ he commented in a loud voice as the small conference gathered. ‘They aren’t even waiting for the funeral before they scuttle back to America.’
‘Abe,’ said a rival journalist, ‘you’re just sore because they wouldn’t give you some juicy copy. If you’d learned to handle people with a bit more tact you might have found out that the boy’s remains are being flown to the Scranton place in Minnesota. What on earth is there to keep them hanging on here – happy memories of burning cars, or just the sight of your lovely face?’
Inspector Hyde rose to subdue a ripple of amusement, and then read out a prepared statement giving the official version of the events on the Pevensey marshes and the subsequent attempt by Julie Benson to take her own life.
Questions followed, thick and fast. Some of them had to be deftly avoided; some could be answered without endangering the plan.
‘Are you quite certain it was Vance Scranton in the burning car?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he die of burns or suffocation?’
‘A combination of both, we think. The results of the autopsy will be announced shortly, just as soon as we have them.’
‘Why was he killed?’
Another voice added, ‘Yes, and why did he fake his own death ten days ago, and substitute that Scottish student’s body for his own? What’s it all about, Inspector?’
‘I’m afraid we haven’t got all the answers yet,’ Hyde replied. ‘Miss Benson broke down during her testimony and the doctors have ordered complete rest before we may question her again. But what we have learnt is that Vance Scranton was an important member of an international organisation gambling for very high stakes. It’s my personal guess – and this is most definitely off the record, gentlemen – that for reasons of his own he decided to quit. Whether he wanted to branch out on his own or whether he simply wanted to get out and go straight, I don’t know. At any rate, he must have decided that the simplest and safest way of severing connections was to counterfeit his own death. I repeat that this is strictly off the record and largely what a friend of mine calls “inspired guesswork”.’
‘You say these people were gambling for high stakes. Can you be a bit more explicit?’
‘I’m afraid not. In the interests of security, and until certain persons have been apprehended, the police are not in a position to divulge this fact.’
‘Because you don’t actually know the answer?’ said Abe Jenkins, a veneer of joviality coating a vicious barb.
‘We know it, Mr Jenkins, have no fear.’
‘I heard a rumour that Miss Benson hasn’t recovered from her overdose of sleeping tablets,’ Jenkins probed.
Hyde looked affronted. ‘Are you trying to say that she is dead and that the authorities are concealing the fact?’
Jenkins gave a knowing smile. ‘Don’t look so shocked, Inspector. It wouldn’t be the first time you tried to pull the wool over our eyes.’
Hyde’s manner was curt and anger glinted in his eyes. ‘Miss Benson is alive. You may talk to her doctors and nurses any time you wish, and you may look through a screen and satisfy yourself that she is breathing. Are there any more questions?’
‘Yes.’ A reporter from a respected county paper stood up. ‘There’s some concern among the public at the apparent inactivity of police investigations. Since the first murder at Deanfriston College more than ten days have passed and four people possibly connected with the case have been killed. When can some arrests be expected?’
The Inspector stood up, signalling the closure of the conference. A taut silence filled the room. With not the slightest attempt at melodrama he looked at his watch and said casually, ‘Within a very short space of time, gentlemen.’
The room emptied as a wild rush for available telephones took place. Hyde knew it would be only a matter of hours before the evening newspapers blazoned the news of imminent police action. The radio and television news services would report it even sooner. The squib had been well and truly ignited.
Hyde hurried off to his Command Post and there he found Holt and a very worried looking Sergeant waiting for him in the room adjoining the main radio room.
‘What is it, Sergeant? You look as if the heavens are about to cave in.’
‘I think they are, sir.’ The Sergeant handed him a typewritten report. ‘This is the post mortem on Vance Scranton’s body. The second paragraph is the one that made me sit up!’
‘Me too,’ murmured Holt.
Hyde sank into a chair and studied the document with a set face. On reaching the second paragraph he uttered a single colourful exclamation, then read in complete silence to the end.
The room was still heavy with silence when the door burst open and Ruth swept in. One quick glance at the faces of the three men told her there had been a major development.
‘Something’s happened!’ she proclaimed at once. ‘What have I been missing?’
‘We now know for sure how Vance was killed,’ Holt answered. ‘It definitely wasn’t an accidental fire.’
‘Tell me.’ Ruth took off her coat and threw it over a chair.
‘Well, as you know, Vance agreed to meet me on the road to Pevensey. He thought I had the ring. Somehow, Milton – whom we thought was still in London – must have got word of this meeting. Anyway, Milton got to the rendezvous first …’
‘But why should he do that?’ Ruth asked, really puzzled. ‘He couldn’t have wanted the ring – he’d already found it and given it to the police.’
‘Via Jimmy Wade,’ Hyde reminded her. ‘Don’t forget we’ve not proved that story yet.’
‘It couldn’t have been the ring Milton was after, Ruth,’ Holt explained. ‘You see, if he knew about my appointment with Vance he must also have known I was the one who was supposed to have the ring. He didn’t try to get it from me – so I think we can assume that what he wanted was Vance in person.’
‘According to this report,’ Hyde said stiffly, ‘Milton must have got there first and shot Vance—’
‘Shot him!’ Ruth looked stunned.
‘Yes, there’s no doubt about it. It’s in the post mortem. He was shot.’
‘This is what we think must have happened,’ said Holt. ‘Milton had an accomplice with him. I imagine the accomplice drove off, with the body, in the Volkswagen which Vance had borrowed, and Milton stayed put, waiting for me.’
‘But why?’ queried Ruth.
‘I was to be Milton’s alibi. When I came on the scene he gave a very convincing performance of a man with nervous hysteria – he let rip with a hail of bullets at my headlights. That was to make sure that I’d abandon my car and make the return journey in his Saab. Meanwhile, the accomplice set fire to the Volkswagen and then screamed out. It was the scream that fooled me! I thought it was someone dying in agony from the flames. I was wrong; Vance was already dead. They set fire to the car in the belief that the body would be so charred, so thoroughly burned, that we’d never suspect the real cause of death.’
‘Milton had the nerve of Old Nick!’ Hyde said incredulously. ‘Instead of trying to ignore the fire he insisted on leading the way over the marshes and then identifying the body. I’d never have thought a man could commit murder and then have the gall to take a detective by the hand and show him the body!’
‘It’s astounding,’ said Holt. ‘The only slip-up was the gun. That may provide a definite link with the murder.’
‘How?’ asked Ruth.
‘He’d already shot Vance – that was one bullet fired. And we’ve also got some bullets from the Mustang, fired from the same gun. They’ve been sent to the Ballistics department and if they tally with the one found in Vance’s body, it’ll be Milton’s undoing.’
‘Then what are we waiting for?’ Ruth exclaimed. ‘Can’t you arrest Milton on the spot?’
‘I just want confirmation from the Ballistics people, that’s all. Then we’ll have a watertight case.’
‘We’re waiting to hear from them now, Miss,’ the Sergeant added.
As the afternoon wore on the atmosphere at the Command Post grew more and more tense. Holt and the Inspector looked tired and strained. Even the habitually cheerful Ruth began to look a little jaded.
Then at last one of the radio-telephone sets in the adjoining room sprang to life.
‘It’s Station Three calling, sir!’ someone shouted through the half-open door.
Hyde pushed back his chair and bolted to the set. A switch was flicked and he was handed a microphone.
‘Hyde here. Go ahead, Three.’
‘The party we’re interested in has just left her bungalow and is driving away in a green Mini Minor, direction Eastbourne.’
‘Get on her tail immediately! Report the moment she stops anywhere!’ Hyde replaced the microphone on its hook, looking perturbed. ‘What worries me is the fact that we’ve no radio contact with the roadworkers’ van that’s tailing her. They’ve got a stationary set that works all right in the roadmenders’ hut, but it’s no use in a moving vehicle. They’ll have to rely on call-boxes.’
A few minutes later the Inspector’s worries were dissolved in a startling manner.
Station Four, shadowing Jimmy Wade, reported that he had dashed out of his lodgings in Ocklynge and into a green Mini Minor which had driven up outside and stopped for only a few seconds. Station Four’s bakery van was equipped with two-way R/T, so both Wade and Antoinette were safely under control. As the reports came in, detailing the route they were taking, it became obvious where their destination lay.
Twenty minutes later all doubt was removed.
Hyde barked commands to the technicians in the radio room. ‘Alert Station Five! Tell them to keep a sharp look-out for the arrival of a green Mini Minor, and to contact Station Four which will arrive on her tail!’
Ruth whispered to Holt, ‘Which is Station Five?’
‘My guess is Newhaven,’ came the reply.
‘Guess correct,’ Hyde said over his shoulder. He ordered maps of the English Channel and pored over them.
‘Are you going to let those two board the Sunset?’ Ruth asked in astonishment.
‘If that’s their plan, yes.’
‘And you’ll let them sail?’
‘Again, yes, if that seems to be their plan.’
‘But that’s slipping the country! Can they do that?’
‘It isn’t a criminal offence if their passports are in order. I want to see where they’ll go.’
Ruth loooked at her watch. ‘How are you going to manage that? It’ll soon be dark.’
Hyde smiled reassuringly. ‘We’ll manage – with the help of radar.’
A telephonist called out, ‘Ballistics on the wire for you, Inspector!’
Hyde hurried to take the call. When he returned a minute later a grim nod told Holt and Ruth all they needed to know. ‘The same calibre! – Sergeant, I want two squad cars, fully-manned and armed, immediately! We’re picking up Milton. He carries a gun and can use it effectively!’
As he bustled from the room he patted Ruth’s shoulder. ‘Sorry, Ruth, this one’s not for unarmed civilians. You stay behind and hold the fort. We’ll be back within a quarter of an hour.’
Ruth looked more jaded than ever.
In the squad car en route to The Golden Peacock Hyde said pensively, ‘In a way I’m almost sorry I’ve got to arrest Milton. I’ve no choice, of course, it’s my duty to pick him up. But I’d have preferred to have him wandering around free, just to see where he’d lead us.’
‘Never mind,’ said Holt. ‘At least we’ve got three of them tucked away on the Sunset. I wonder which is Christopher?’
Hyde shrugged his shoulders. ‘Let’s ask Ashley Milton.’
Unfortunately Mr Milton was not at home.
Nobody knew, at first, how it had happened. The plain-clothes couple on duty near the bandstand swore that he had not left the restaurant by the front entrance; the man watching the back door was equally certain. A thorough search of Milton’s private apartment revealed nothing other than some hints pointing to a hasty departure.
It was not until many vital minutes had elapsed that some muffled moans from the Ladies’ Lavatory attracted the search party’s attention.
The door was locked and they had to break in by force. There they discovered a scarlet-faced elderly woman, bound and gagged and minus her jacket and skirt. When the mortified lady had been released and supplied with temporary covering only a very unobservant person would have failed to notice how exceptionally tall she was, for a woman.
Just about as tall as Ashley Milton.