SAUL WAS DELIGHTED TO see the change in the weather. It had been heavy going along the lane past the two farms and up to Tortown. His legs ached with the effort of wading through the snow and he was tired and hot. When he reached the edge of the open moor he breathed a great sigh of relief and stretched his aching back, throwing his arms wide. Pulling off his woolly hat, he let the wind tug at his hair. He stuffed the hat into his pocket and debated as to whether he should remove his jacket. The trouble with wet-weather gear was that it made you feel so hot and sticky but he knew the danger of getting overheated and then cooling down too quickly. He decided that he would rest for a moment to get his breath before the steep pull up to the lane and, taking off his rucksack, he finished the last of the coffee and the sandwiches.
He stood for a moment, watching the sky, enjoying the clear golden light and then, turning his back on the glory in the west, he started to climb to the lane. The wind was cold and he was glad that he hadn’t removed his jacket. He should, with luck, come out almost opposite the small track leading to the cottage. Not long now! His heart bounded up with excitement and then he paused, staring up at the lane. He could hear the sound of an engine revving. He strained his eyes. Yes, there it was! A Fourtrak at the bottom of Lower Barton track. The driver was attempting to turn it and it slid and kicked as though he were unused to handling it. Saul started forward. The Fourtrak had achieved its turn and started back along the lane. As it did so, two figures appeared, running down the track waving and shouting, but the Fourtrak didn’t stop.
Saul raced up the last few feet. He gained the lane just ahead of the Fourtrak and flung himself at the driver’s door. The man was a complete stranger to him and as Saul wrenched the door open he struck out, cursing as the vehicle skidded. Saul stumbled and swung outwards with the door but managed to retain his grip. The engine roared as the driver pressed his foot full down on the accelerator and the wheels screamed as they skidded on the snow. Cursing, the driver took his foot off the accelerator, and the tyres suddenly gripped the snow so that the door swung in again. Saul managed to gain a foothold and seize the man, who struck him full across the face. Saul lost his footing and the door swung out again. Saul hung on for dear life as his feet began dragging through the snow and he was towed along, the door half open. The stranger shouted as he saw the Range Rover coming towards him and he turned the wheel. The Fourtrak left the road to bump and jolt over the rock-strewn moor until coming to an abrupt stop as it rammed a larger boulder. Saul was thrown forward, his shoulder crashing into the half-open door. Pain lanced down his arm and he let go of the door to fall, semiconscious, into the snow.
MICHAEL AND CHRIS WERE out of their vehicle in moments, Chris’s feet sliding from under him so that he ended up on his hands and knees. Freddie and Jon panted towards them, shouting.
‘. . . prisoner . . . stop him!’ gasped Freddie. ‘Christ!’ He paused for a second to drag in some breath. ‘He’s getting away . . . ’
Michael, trying to take in the fact that Freddie was here and that Jon was with him, turned to join in the race across to the Fourtrak where John, staggering from the driver’s seat, stood for a moment as though stunned before setting off over the moor. It was Jon who brought him down. Redoubling his efforts he sprinted ahead and caught him round the legs in a traditional rugby tackle. The others were close behind and Freddie flung himself down, seizing John’s arms and doubling them up behind his back. He lay perfectly still and his arms were limp.
‘I think he’s knocked himself out,’ said Freddie.
‘Serve him right! ‘ Jon stood up and eased his back. T m getting too old for this sort of thing. Roll him over. Let’s have a look at him.’
Cautiously, Freddie rolled the man over. His eyes were closed and a trickle of blood ran down from his forehead.
‘That’s him!’ said Chris.
‘Who, the prisoner?’ Michael stared down at him. ‘How can you be so sure?’
‘They showed his picture on television. It’s definitely him. Is he all right?’
‘Hit his head as he went down. I think he’ll be OK,’ said Jon, who was still rather breathless. ‘Anyone got anything we can tie him up with?’
‘There’s some binder twine in the back of my wagon,’ said Freddie. ‘That’ll do for now.’
‘Hello, Michael.’ Jon grinned at his cousin. ‘Fancy meeting you here!’
Michael smiled a little but his face was white. ‘I might have guessed you’d be here. You always did enjoy a scrap,’ he said as Freddie went for the binder twine. ‘What the devil’s going on? Are Hugh and Polly OK?’
Jon nodded. ‘Quite safe and unhurt.’ He pointed to the man on the ground. ‘He was at the cottage but we turned up before he could do anything. He pinched Freddie’s Fourtrak and tried to make a getaway. And then that chap appeared from nowhere and saved the day.’ He nodded towards Saul, who had rolled on to his knees and was trying to rise.
Michael gave an exclamation and hurried over to him. ‘Saul! Where the devil have you sprung from? What’s wrong with your arm?’
Saul was holding his left shoulder with his right hand. He tried to smile. ‘I think I’ve bust my collarbone. Is it the prisoner? Is Polly OK?’
‘It seems so. I don’t really know what’s going on. I gather he pinched Freddie’s Fourtrak.’ He assisted Saul to his feet as best he could. ‘We must get you up to the cottage. Jon says that Polly and Hugh are OK but they must be absolutely terrified. Let’s get you into the car and home.’
Jon and Freddie could be seen, on their knees, tying the prisoner securely. Chris came over to Saul and Michael. ‘OK? What’s he done?’
‘Broken his collarbone, he thinks,’ said Michael briefly. ‘Can you get us up to the cottage? I must see Polly and Hugh and see what we can do for Saul. We may need to get him to a doctor.’
‘I’ll go and get her started.’ Chris ran back to the lane.
‘I want to see him first.’
Michael hesitated. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘If you must. He’s knocked himself out.’
As they approached, Freddie got to his feet and came to meet them. ‘I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you, young man,’ he said to Saul. ‘Where on earth did you spring from? If you hadn’t clung on like that he’d have got away.’ He looked more closely at Saul. ‘My goodness, your face looks sore. Did he do that?’
Saul nodded and grimaced. ‘Tried to dislodge me. Can I have a look at him?’
They reached Jon and the man on the ground and Saul stared curiously down at him. A large discoloured lump was rising on his forehead, his face was very pale and his breathing laboured.
‘I think he must have hit a rock when he went down,’ said Jon, who continued to kneel beside him. ‘Doesn’t look too healthy to me.’
‘Come on, we ought to hand him over.’ Freddie turned to Michael. ‘There was a police Land Rover patrolling earlier. We’ll try to catch it. Otherwise it means going into Tavistock.’
‘Are we still mobile, Freddie?’ asked Jon.
‘I should think so. He hit a rock so all he’ll have done is bend the bumper a bit. I’ll go and start her up but you’ll have to carry him over. I’m not risking coming down here. You can’t see what’s under the snow.’
Presently both vehicles were under way. Freddie’s, carrying the prisoner with Jon in attendance, bumping slowly down to the road and Chris, Michael and Saul in the other, heading for the cottage.
THE KITCHEN WINDOWS LOOKED away to the moor at the back of the cottage and so Polly didn’t see Michael arrive. Because she had thrust the bolts across, Michael was unable to open the front door with his key. He hesitated. He guessed what she had done and also guessed that she had done it because she was frightened. What would she do if he rang the bell? Or should he go round to the back of the cottage and see if she was in the kitchen? Michael was both sensitive and imaginative and he could foresee the effect on a nervous person if she were to see someone looming up at the window without warning. Better to hammer on the door and ring the bell. At least she could peer out from either the sitting room or the study and see who it was. He rang the bell in several short bursts—having some idea that this might sound less threatening than one long peal—beat a tattoo on the glass window of the porch door and shouted at the same time.
‘Polly! It’s OK, Polly! It’s Michael. Everything’s all right now!’
At the first sharp trill of the bell Polly gave a strangled shriek, jerking upright in her chair and waking Hugh, who stared up at her. Max struggled up from his deathlike sleep and Ozzy started to bark. Before Hugh could remember the traumas of the day, he heard the knocking and ringing. Scrambling down, he ran towards the door.
‘Mummy!’ he cried. ‘Mummy’s home!’
‘Wait, Huge!’ shrieked Polly and the tone of her voice made him hesitate and stare at her. ‘Wait,’ she said more calmly as she tried to smile normally.
The door to the porch was made of solid oak, so she couldn’t see who was outside although she could hear a man’s voice shouting. Catching Hugh’s hand, her heart thudding, Polly went through the hall—followed by the dogs who remained there to bark—and into the sitting room. She edged up to the window, watched by a puzzled Hugh, and peered cautiously out. Her heart bounded gloriously upwards. ‘Michael,’ she cried and he heard her and turned to wave reassuringly to her, indicating that he couldn’t get in, but Polly had gone.
‘It’s Daddy!’ she cried to Hugh. ‘Daddy’s here!’ And panting with relief she flung herself at the bolts and the locks, dragging back the doors until she could see him—and how tall and strong and safe he looked—and then he was inside, picking up Hugh in one arm and holding Polly with the other.
He managed to get into the kitchen despite the fact that Hugh had both arms round his neck in a stranglehold and Polly was clinging to him, crying and laughing at the same time as the dogs led the way, tails wagging.
‘Everything’s quite all right,’ he said, sitting down at the table with Hugh on his lap. He smiled at Hugh, who was chattering about brothers and presents and pictures and snowmen and something called Don. ‘Sounds wonderful, old chap,’ he said. ‘Mummy sends her love and so does your new brother.’
Hugh got down to find the picture he had coloured and Michael looked at Polly.
‘Oh, Michael,’ she said shakily. ‘What happened? Freddie was here. And then they all ran off and left me on my own. I was so frightened. Where is he now?’
‘Don’t worry a bit. We caught him further down the road. He tried to get away in Freddie’s Fourtrak. Freddie’s taking him down to the police station. He got knocked out when we tackled him but I think he’ll live.’
Polly stared at him with round horrified eyes. ‘The police?’ she whispered. ‘Oh, Michael. I suppose so but how awful for you. Why didn’t you warn me about him?’
Michael was studying the picture of the multicoloured Holy Family. ‘It’s lovely, Hugh. I shall take it to show Mummy.’ He glanced up at Polly. ‘But I didn’t know, either. And by the time I found out, the telephone lines were all down.’
Polly looked surprised. ‘Didn’t know . . . ?’ she began, but before she could get any further there was a commotion in the hall and Chris appeared supporting a pale but smiling Saul. Polly’s mouth dropped open.
‘Saul!’ she said in disbelief.
‘Hello, Polly,’ he said. ‘Are you OK?’
She nodded, quite unable to utter a sound.
‘He’s been very brave,’ said Michael, getting up. ‘He walked nearly all the way here to make sure that you were safe and then found himself in the middle of a fight, saved the day and got wounded for his pains.’
‘Oh, no!’ Polly looked horrified. ‘Oh, Saul. Your face! Did he attack you, too?’
‘He did. I think my collarbone’s bust.’ He looked exhausted.
‘Come on,’ said Chris. ‘Got a first-aid kit, Michael? I want to have a look at him and get him bandaged up. Don’t worry,’ he smiled at Saul, ‘I’ve done the course. At least I should be able to make you comfortable if Michael’s got some bandages.’
Michael took a box down from a cupboard. ‘Should find all you need in here. Want any help?’
‘I’ll give a shout if we do. We’ll use the bathroom, if that’s all right with you. A cup of coffee or hot tea would probably be a good idea.’
‘Of course.’ Michael went to fill the kettle. ‘Give him a couple of painkillers while you’re up there.’
They went out and Polly shook her head as if to clear her mind.
‘Drink!’ said Hugh. ‘Want drink.’
Mechanically, Polly stood up, swung him into his high chair and put his colouring book and his crayons on the tray.
‘Why not do a picture for Daddy,’ she suggested, ‘while I make us a cup of tea? Michael . . . ’ She turned to him. ‘What did you mean when you said you didn’t know? And what difference did it make the phones being off? Didn’t you know that your cousin’s wife and child had died in an accident?’
‘What?’ It was Michael’s turn to look amazed. ‘Wife and child? Do you mean Jon? He’s not married, never has been!’
‘But he told me himself!’ cried Polly. ‘He said that they’d died in an accident. I thought that’s why he was so peculiar and why he was going to hit me with the spade when Huge fell over.’
‘Going to hit you with a spade? Jon?’
‘Yes—but Freddie arrived. He would have done except he saw Freddie and ran indoors.’
‘Wait a minute, Polly.’ Michael held up his hands. ‘Let me get this quite straight. Jon told you that he had a wife and child who’d died in an accident and then threatened you with a spade?’
‘Well, not quite like that,’ admitted Polly. ‘He told me earlier about his wife and child. And then, when Huge fell over and started to cry, he said I wasn’t fit to look after him. He picked up the spade . . . ’
‘Hang on. What is all this about a spade? What spade?’
‘Hugh and I were making a snowman.’
‘I can’t believe this! When did Jon arrive?’
‘Just before lunch. He’d had to abandon the car and had been walking for hours.’
‘Well, if he was here then, when did . . . ?’ He broke off as the doorbell pealed and Max started to bark. ‘That’ll be Freddie and Jon,’ he said. ‘Now I can get to the bottom of this.’ He went out looking rather grim, not noticing that Polly had turned pale.
‘. . . met the Land Rover at the end of the lane,’ she heard Freddie say. ‘Gave the fuzz a bit of a turn.’ He came into the kitchen and smiled at Polly. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘What a perfectly dreadful experience. Thank God we were in time. Sorry we rushed off and left you like that.’ He went to her and put his arm round her, uncaring of what anyone might think. ‘All over now.’
Polly stared at him and then looked past him as Michael appeared with Jon, who smiled at her. ‘Hello,’ he said.
She smiled mechanically at him but turned to Michael. ‘I thought you said . . . ’ She paused. ‘Where is he?’ ‘Who?’
‘Jon!’ said Polly, looking scared.
Michael frowned, puzzled. ‘But this is Jon. My cousin Jon.’
‘What! But that’s not Jon,’ said Polly.
As all three men gazed at Polly, the door opened and Chris ushered in Saul, whose arm now reposed in a very professional-looking sling,
‘That’s a bit better,’ said Chris. ‘Let him sit down comfortably. Got that tea ready?’
‘No.’ Michael looked distractedly at the boiling kettle. ‘Hang on a minute. Polly, what do you mean? This man is my cousin Jon. Isn’t he the man you said came before lunch, told you his wife and child died in an accident and threatened you with a spade?’
Everyone now stared at Jon, who looked quite nonplussed.
‘No, it wasn’t him,’ said Polly, her voice rising with panic. ‘It was the man you chased.’ She looked at Freddie. ‘You saw him. He was going to hit me with the spade.’
Freddie nodded. ‘That was the escaped murderer,’ he said gently. ‘Got out of Princetown last night. Sheer luck we turned up when we did.’
Polly opened her mouth once or twice but no words came. Her lips framed the word ‘murderer’ and Michael pushed her gently into a chair by the table. He began to make the tea.
‘You obviously didn’t know about the escaped prisoner,’ he said, keeping his voice level. ‘He got out last night and his car went off the road at Merrivale. Do I take it that the man Freddie and Jon chased was the man who turned up here?’
Polly nodded. The five men watched her in silence.
‘He was standing at the gate,’ she said at last. ‘The phone and electricity had gone off. I thought you might come, if you phoned and couldn’t get through. And I thought it was you. It was snowing and I couldn’t see that clearly. I called to him.’ She paused and swallowed, her eyes grew huge with terror. ‘Dear God! I actually asked him in!’
‘But what made you think he was Jon?’ Michael placed a mug of hot sweet tea in Saul’s good hand but he was too riveted by Polly’s narrative to even thank him.
‘He said he was!’ cried Polly. ‘He said his car had gone off the road and he’d been walking for hours.’
‘And he actually said he was my cousin Jon?’ Michael put Hugh’s beaker of tea on his tray and gently ruffled his hair. Hugh looked up from his colouring and smiled; Michael gave him a tiny wink and nodded reassuringly.
‘Yes!’ cried Polly. ‘No.’ She shook her head, making a terrific effort to remember. ‘I called to him and when he wasn’t you I said . . . Oh, my God! Yes. I said you must be Jon, or something, and he seemed quite surprised.’
‘He probably was,’ put in Chris. ‘His name actually is John. John Middleton, I think. Must have given him quite a turn.’
‘That was it!’ Polly was remembering now. ‘Only, you see, I thought he was surprised to see me here. So 1 immediately explained that you and Harriet were in Plymouth and I was all on my own.’ She shut her eyes and shivered. ‘Jesus! I dragged him in and made him have a bath!’
All five men reacted simultaneously. She opened her eyes and stared at them. Michael pulled himself together and put a mug of coffee beside her.
‘Drink up,’ he said quietly. ‘What happened then?’
Polly obediently took a great gulp of coffee and stared at him tragically. ‘I gave him your clothes to wear,’ she said.
This was too much for Michael. He put his hands over his face and then he began to laugh. ‘Sorry, love,’ he said, still laughing, ‘but you’ve got to admit it’s got its lighter side. You are the only woman of my acquaintance who would drag a convicted murderer in, run him a bath, give him your host’s clothes and then cook him lunch. You did give him lunch?’
Polly nodded glumly. ‘Soup. Soup and bread and cheese. And coffee.’ But, somehow, Michael’s laughter had taken much of the horror out of the story and the colour began to come back into her face, although when she told them about the spade she still shuddered. ‘Max hated him. I couldn’t understand it. He growled and growled. But it was Ozzy who went for him. Max would have done but he was slower.’
Everyone looked at Max, who yawned in a casual manner and looked rather deprecating.