Chapter Eighteen

Fenner Strikes Again

“Good-night,” said Mary Scott.

Longley was holding her hand very tightly.

“Sleep well,” he said.

“I usually do,” said Mary.

“Er—yes, good. I—er—” Longley stammered, then grinned and dropped her hand. “Sorry. I’m making a damned fool of myself! Must say this, though—I’m glad we’re in this together. ’Night!”

“Good-night, Ted.”

He took her hand again – and then Lady Bream appeared at the door of her room, and he turned and hurried away; his room was in another wing of the house.

Higby walked along the passage.

Mary went to the window of her room. It was very dark outside. Her curtains hadn’t been drawn, and she stood by the open window, looking up at the bright stars and over the shadowed parkland. She saw something move, caught for a moment in the light from the window – a dog, she thought. At any other time she might have thought more of it, but just then she was thinking of Ted Longley. He was – so good-looking. But it wasn’t only his good looks; there was something about him—

Absurd!

She’d known him for little more than twenty-four hours.

She needed no telling what he felt; that was equally absurd. She couldn’t alter facts; she felt different since leaving London, and it wasn’t simply because she was back in the country.

She turned away from the window, then went back to close the curtains while she undressed. Ten minutes later, she pulled them back, and got into bed. She didn’t go to sleep at once, but was pleasantly drowsy and comfortable. She heard a car move down the drive and wondered who was going out so late at night, but it didn’t really disturb her. She was drugged by her thoughts into forgetting that she had come here as a companion to a girl who was no longer here, into forgetting that she might not see Ted again when he left here – and he’d behaved almost as if he wanted to leave that afternoon! He might even have gone, but for Mannering. That was because of his work, of course, he would always put his work first. Rightly.

Quite rightly.

She went to sleep.

She was sound asleep, at one o’clock.

All was quiet.

There was no wind; nothing to rustle the trees outside. The night was clear and the moon was just rising, to spread its gentle light.

There was a sound.

A slight, gentle scraping noise, at the window, as if a ladder were being put into position against it.

Mary stirred in her sleep, but didn’t wake.

A man’s face appeared at the window.

The silhouette of his head and shoulders was very clear and dark, blotting out some of the stars. He rose higher, and put a hand inside the room, every movement stealthy. There was a slight creaking sound. He pressed his hand against the side of the wall, to steady himself, then put a leg into the room. Soon he was standing by the window, staring at the girl.

He turned and looked out.

Another man appeared at the top of the ladder.

The first put his hand into his pocket, drew it out holding a small rubber bag. The bag was tied at the neck with a piece of cord, and he unfastened it and then took out a pad of cotton-wool and a tiny, dark-blue bottle. As he uncorked the bottle, the other man joined him – and the pungent smell of chloroform stole into the room.

The second man went to the far side of the bed, creeping on tiptoe.

The man with the chloroform approached on the window side.

Mary lay on her back now, one arm outside the bedclothes, one bare shoulder showing just above the sheets. The man held the pad of cotton-wool in the palm of his hand, spread a piece of gauze over it, and went a step nearer – so near now that he had only to put out his hand to touch her. He went a little closer, then moved swiftly, thrusting the pad over her mouth and nose, pressing tightly. Her eyes opened, but the light was too dim to show her terror. She tried to strike out but the other man held her arms. She kicked and struggled, one bare foot poked out of the bed, she writhed desperately – but soon grew weaker as the chloroform took effect.

She lay still.

“Hurry,” said the man with the chloroform pad.

The other tossed back the bedclothes, lifted the girl and flung her over his shoulder. Then he went to the window, turned his back to it and, helped by the first man, climbed out and then went slowly down.

Mannering was on the road and the police were at the cottage.

Longley slept.

Making no attempt to conceal himself, Mannering walked about near the Whites’ cottage – and five times in ten minutes, he was challenged! It was nearly one o’clock, and he began to wish that he had stayed at the Hall. Gadden certainly hadn’t taken any chances. The back and front of the cottage was closely watched. One of the guards was Wilkinson, who told him in a shrill whisper that eight men were within call.

Just after half past one, Mannering decided to go back. He could be in bed by half past two, and would be able to catch up a little on his lost sleep. The reaction made him even more tired; he yawned incessantly as he drove. The road was too narrow and winding for him to drive fast, and the twenty miles from the cottage to Lithom Hall took him more than half an hour.

As he neared the North Lodge, he saw the lights of another car in front of him. He had passed nothing else on the road, the whole countryside was asleep; so the lights puzzled him. They were going in the same direction, which was odd, because he should have seen the glow before; the car couldn’t have been in front for long. He hadn’t passed a turning for the last two miles.

The beam of his own headlamps fell on the gates.

They were closed: usually they were kept open.

His foot went down on the accelerator, and the car shot forward. The other must have come out of the drive, or been parked near it; someone had closed the gates to hold up possible pursuit. But the people in the car hadn’t closed it; someone on foot must have done, for if anyone had got out to close the gates, it would have delayed them.

He cast quick glances right and left – and in the glow, saw the shaggy shape of a dog.

Leo!

A man was running along the grass verge.

Man and dog appeared in the headlights, the man pushing his way through the hedge. His back was towards Mannering, who couldn’t see his face.

The men in the car mattered most.

Why had they come? What had they taken away?

The books – what else could it be? Not Gloria, thank God!

The dog went out of sight, and Mannering flashed past the man; next moment he heard something strike the back of the car. There was another noise, a loud clang; a wing was hit. He didn’t turn round, but crouched low over the wheel.

The man he had passed was shooting at him.

That soon stopped.

The driver of the car in front was going fast, taking great risks. Once Mannering heard the squeal of brakes as it went round a bend. His own car held the road well, better than the one in front. The two seemed to be going at about the same speed, but gradually the Sunbeam-Talbot began to gain. The driver in front must know that he was being followed.

The road widened.

Just here there was a long, straight stretch, and there was a chance of gaining more, but little of catching up with the first car yet. Mannering took the automatic out of his pocket and rested it on the seat beside him, so that he could pick it up more quickly. He might get a chance of a shot or two; if he could puncture one of their tyres, he would have them. He thought quite coolly of the odds. There would be at least two men in the car in front, perhaps three or four; but they wouldn’t know how many were with him.

He had to see this through on his own.

He put his foot down hard, and the speedometer needle touched seventy, but the leading car was still fifty yards ahead. A hedge showing up in the headlamps told him that it had reached the end of the straight stretch. He didn’t know the district well, couldn’t be sure when there would be another chance to overtake it. If he could get alongside, he might force it into the hedge.

Faster, in spite of the winding road.

Faster!

They turned another corner, and he saw a second long, straight stretch of road – different from the first because there were great trees on either side, making a tunnel of foliage and branches. The bright green of the leaves seemed vivid, otherwise he could only see the dark shape and the red light in front.

The green was dazzling.

He narrowed his eyes.

There was less than twenty yards between the two cars now, and the road was wide enough for him to pass – or would have been, had the other car kept at the side. It didn’t, but held the crown of the road.

Fifteen yards.

Now he could see a man’s head and shoulders through the rear window. He saw something else, something which puzzled him – it looked like a man with chestnut hair. He could only just see the top of the head, and the hair looked rather long – as if someone were lying sideways.

It wasn’t a man. It was—

Mary Scott!

God!

She was in the car; leaning sideways, so that her head just appeared in the window.

Caution and fear for her drowned the tumult of his alarm. If he forced the car to crash, she might be hurt.

Had she been hurt already?

The gun felt cold to his fingers.

The other driver was good; he’d steady the car and probably save it from overturning. They were still in the tunnel of trees, Mannering couldn’t see another bend yet, so this was the time to catch up with his quarry.

Faster!

The speedometer needle crept towards seventy-five, but the leading car was travelling as fast, Mannering couldn’t draw any nearer. Soon they’d take a pot-shot at him. He mustn’t shoot until he was a little closer. If he put a bullet through that window, it might go through Mary’s head.

Why kidnap Mary?

Was he gaining?

The car was no longer just a dark blur, but a clear shape in front of him. The number-plate was easy to read, the letters very clear; it was probably a false plate, but it was worth noting the number BOR 91212. He thought that the car was a Vauxhall. At the next corner he would be able to look for the fluted bonnet, and if it was there, then—

He saw a flash.

That was all; no sound, unless it was a faint explosion merging with the hum of the two engines.

Another flash.

So one of them was leaning out of the window, shooting at him. He daren’t shoot back for fear of hitting Mary.

Flash—crack!

He heard another sound this time – a crash in front of him; the windscreen was suddenly starred with white lines. The flashes came more quickly, three in succession; he heard them clang against the wing.

They neared a corner.

A low hedge showed clearly, they were out of the avenue of trees.

Flash!

Then the leading car swung round the corner.

Mannering pulled the wheel over, scraped against a hedge, and got back on to the road, but the car was pulling badly towards the side – and he realized with a sickening sense of failure that one of the tyres was punctured. He saw the red light, much farther away now, and the fading glow of the headlamps. The red light disappeared, the glow remained.

He’d lost them.

There wasn’t a chance now.

He jammed on the brakes, flung open the door and jumped out. The nearside tyre was flat. He took off the spare wheel and began to work, leaving the headlights on and placing a torch in the hedge, to show him the wheel. Although he knew there was no chance of catching up with the others, he worked feverishly, broke a nail and swore beneath his breath. The light wasn’t good enough for him to work really quickly; he fumbled with the bolts, the brace kept slipping. Nearly ten minutes had passed before he had finished. He pushed the wheel with the flat tyre into the back of the car, threw in the tools and got into the driving seat again.

The only hope now was to have that car traced – if there were radio patrol cars anywhere in the neighbourhood, it might be done. He drove swiftly, feeling a sharp reaction. Presently he saw an A.A. box at the side of the road. He pulled up, brakes squealing, just beyond the box, got out his A.A. key and in a few seconds was at the telephone.

The man who answered him at the St. Malden Police Station was brisk and efficient, and didn’t need telling twice.

Mannering saw from a signpost that he was only two miles from St. Malden, and it was possible that the car had passed through the town. He went on, backed into a side road, and turned back towards Lithom Hall.

He had only one thought.

Why Mary?

It wasn’t until he was near the North Lodge that the obvious truth occurred to him.

She had been kidnapped in mistake for Gloria.

If that were so, then whoever had raided the Hall didn’t know Gloria by sight.

There was a light on at the side of the house, Mannering drove to that side, and saw two men standing by the stables, staring at him. They moved forward, and he recognized both Abel and Higby. Then a third man appeared, the keeper of North Lodge. All of them had overcoats over their pyjamas.

Abel reached the car door and opened it for Mannering.

“Who called you?” asked Mannering abruptly.

“Fred Mason, from the lodge,” said Abel promptly. “He heard a car, and looked out of the window—and then he saw two cars. So he came to see if anything was the matter. Was yours one of the cars?” There was a hint almost of suspicion in Abel’s manner, and Higby and the lodge-keeper appeared to be staring intently, almost accusingly.

Mannering said: “Yes. The other one got away. I had a puncture. Do you know what happened?”

“We know a ladder was taken from the garage and left outside,” said Abel. “But it was on the ground, we don’t know where they used it. We’ve been up to the library but everything seems all right there, sir.”

“It probably is,” said Mannering, and told them what had happened.

They seemed dumbfounded.

Abel broke the silence with a soft: “Did they think she was Lady Gloria, I wonder?”

Either he knew – or he was very quick on the uptake. Mannering realized with a sense of shock that there was clear indication that the kidnappers had not worked with anyone inside the house. Abel, Higby and anyone here could have told the men that Mary wasn’t Gloria. If it had been a case of mistaken identity, then neither Abel nor Higby was working with Fenner – and probably Fenner hadn’t a spy in the house.

“We must tell the police,” said Higby.

“I telephoned them,” said Mannering.

“Is there anything we can do?” asked Abel.

Mannering said: “Yes, Abel. Look for that dog—the dog that scared Lady Gloria the other evening, and also scared you.”

“Is it about?” asked Abel sharply.

Mannering said: “Yes. And it’s been missing from your father’s cottage since this morning.”

For the first time he saw Abel really taken aback. The groom moved away from him, while the lodge-keeper and Higby backed away, as if frightened of him.