Blood From a Stone (14 page)

She stopped to look at the display of hats in Walpoles and was momentarily distracted by a peacock-blue brimless silk cloche hat with an embroidered ribbon and matching silk scarf, a mere five and a half guineas. Five and a half guineas! She clicked her tongue. That was well over a week's household expenses, but it was lovely. She wondered what Arthur would say ...

The little niggling sensation increased and she suddenly wished, very strongly, that Arthur was there. It was as if she was being watched. She stepped back a pace from the plate-glass window, ostensibly still looking at the hats, but actually trying to see the reflections in the curved glass.

In all the strolling crowds, no one seemed to be paying her any special attention and she unconsciously relaxed. Maybe, she thought impatiently, it was nothing more than nerves. She turned and walked briskly away from the milliners.

Arthur had warned her she could suffer a reaction to the events of yesterday. Maybe this was it. Yesterday had been dreadfully long and wearisome, and, what with reassuring little Agathe's mother, calming down Mr Duggleby, patiently answering interminable questions and putting on a brave face for Arthur, her own emotions seemed to be steamrollered into non-existence. And yet, in the privacy of her own thoughts, she acknowledged it had been a horrible shock. (
There was that sensation between her shoulder blades once more!
)

She tried to firmly put the memory from her mind as she paused on the kerb at the corner of Maddox Street to wait for a break in the traffic.

The sensation, the near physical sensation of fingers on her spine grew and she suddenly went from vague fear to near terror. It
wasn't
just nerves!

The crowd on the tight-packed pavement moved with a restless lurch, she turned her head, caught the sight of a looming shape, then there was a sharp shove in her back. She staggered forward, losing her footing on the kerb. Arms flailing, she fell forward. A car, its radiator grill suddenly huge, was above her head. She tried to twist out of the way, heard screams, shouts, a squeal of brakes, a moment of intense pain, and then there was nothing at all.

L
eonard Duggleby came up the steps of Piccadilly Circus underground station, pulling his hat over his eyes to shield them from the sun as he emerged from the depths. For a moment the light, reflecting from the innumerable windows of the tall, smoke-streaked, cream-coloured buildings, dazzled him.

Blinking in the glare, he walked towards the seemingly unstoppable stream of black taxis, yellow and red buses and patient plodding horses, all funnelled round the tall green fountain surmounted by Eros on his bronze plinth in the middle of the square.

‘Paper!' shouted a newsvendor in a hoarse Cockney rasp as Duggleby threaded his way through the crowd. ‘Get cher paper here! Murder on the train latest!'

Duggleby hesitated on the kerb, stopped, turned back, felt in his pocket for a penny, and bought a copy of the
Evening Standard.
There wasn't, he thought as he glanced at the headlines, much he could learn from the newspaper, but it was worth having a look, all the same. Newspaper in hand, he plunged back into the crowd towards the kerb.

There was a chorus of shouts, a blast of horns and the crashing of glass. The policeman on point duty gave a startled shout, then, seizing his whistle, gave a shill blast as he ran across the road. A horse pulling a furniture wagon reared in its traces, a taxi clipped the side of a car, crumpling its wheel, and a bus, the passengers on the open upper deck crying out in alarm, slewed across the road.

Leonard Duggleby felt the back of his jacket gripped and pulled. Gasping for breath as his collar bit into his throat, he sprawled in a heap on the pavement, the Cockney newsvendor towering above him.

‘What the blinkin' hell were you
doin'
?' demanded the news vendor. ‘You could have been killed, leapin' orf the kerb like that!' A sea of concerned faces gazed down at him. ‘Jumped out like a bleedin' salmon, you did.'

Duggleby pulled his collar loose and scrambled to his knees. ‘I was pushed,' he said faintly. A fit of coughing overcame him.

‘What's going on?' The policeman who'd been on point duty carved his stately way through the alarmed, if eager, spectators.

‘He woz pushed!' said the newsvendor. ‘Someone pushed this geezer into the traffic!'

‘Pushed?' repeated the policeman incredulously. ‘Who pushed you?'

Duggleby shook his head in bewilderment. ‘I don't know.' The policeman reached down his arm and Duggleby got to his feet.

A second policeman joined them. ‘What's happened?' he demanded.

Various members of the crowd eagerly attempted to tell him.

‘Hold on, hold on,' said the constable, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Quiet down, everyone! First things first. Let's get this traffic moving, for a start.' He looked to where the car and the taxi had drawn up beside the kerb, raising his voice as the driver and the motorist climbed out onto the pavement. ‘Anyone hurt? No? That's the main thing.' He ushered the crowd in front of him. ‘Move along there, ladies and gentlemen, move along! Now then,' he said, turning back to Duggleby, ‘are you all right?'

‘I think so,' said Duggleby shakily, with an unsuccessful attempt at a smile. ‘That was scary. No bones broken, thank God. In fact,' he added, straightening out his clothes, ‘I seem to be very lucky. No damage done.'

‘You go and have a sit-down in the pub, sir,' said the policeman, pointing to The Crooked Staff. ‘We'll come and have a word with you in a few minutes. And I'll need to speak to you, sir,' he added to the irate motorist who, with the taxi-driver close behind, had elbowed his way through to the circle surrounding Duggleby.

‘And I want to speak to the clown who jumped out in front of me,' snapped the motorist, a large man with a red face and an aggressive moustache. ‘What the devil happened? My wheel's a complete wreck and my lights are broken. I'll be very surprised if I'll be able to drive that car again in a hurry.' He glared at Duggleby. ‘Dammit, I nearly killed you! What the devil came over you, sir!'

‘I was pushed,' repeated Duggleby wearily.

‘'E woz pushed,' echoed the newsvendor.

‘Pushed?' The motorist snorted in disbelief. ‘Nonsense.'

‘'E woz pushed,' repeated the newsvendor, doggedly. ‘'E woz pushed.'

‘Pushed,' muttered the crowd.

The motorist stopped dead in his tracks and stared at Duggleby. ‘But dash it, man, was it an accident?' Duggleby shook his head. ‘But who pushed you? Someone who was with you?'

Duggleby shook his head once more. ‘No one was with me.'

‘But you
can't
have been pushed,' said the motorist. ‘Why, that'd mean someone deliberately tried to kill you!'

Duggleby buried his face in his hands. ‘I rather think they did.'

It was getting on for half past four when Arthur and Jack arrived back at the flat.

The door to the kitchen at the end of the corridor opened as they came in. Lizzie poked her head out. ‘Oh, it's you, sir. And you, Major Haldean.' She sounded disappointed.

Arthur paused in the act of hanging up his hat on the hall-stand and looked at her questioningly. ‘Why shouldn't it be us?'

Jack smothered a grin at this less than rapturous welcome. ‘That's more or less what you said when I arrived this morning, Lizzie. Are you expecting someone?'

‘I wasn't expecting anyone, sir,' said Lizzie, flushing as she came into the hall. ‘And I didn't mean it shouldn't be you, of course I didn't. It's just that you know the mistress asked me to answer the telephone for her? Well, Miss Leigh telephoned at gone three o'clock and said the mistress should have met her at two and where was she? I was hoping you was the mistress, if you take my meaning, because me and Cook think she's ever so brave with what happened on the train, and we were worried.'

Her face contorted into a frown of concern. ‘Cook doesn't hold with trains. She thinks as how it wouldn't be a wonder if the mistress was took funny, because her aunty – mind you, she is sensitive – was struck all of a heap for days when she had a nasty experience on a train.'

‘Whatever happened to Mrs Travis' aunt?' asked Jack inquisitively.

Lizzie pursed her lips primly. ‘Nothing I can discuss with a gentleman. But Cook and me wondered if the mistress had started to dwell on what happened yesterday and had come over all peculiar somewhere.'

‘It doesn't sound very likely,' said Arthur good humouredly. ‘I appreciate your concern but can't see Mrs Stanton coming over – er – all peculiar.'

‘What's happened to her then, sir?'

Arthur frowned. ‘As a matter of fact, I don't know. Miss Leigh rang at just gone three, you say? I wonder where Isabelle's got to?'

His face cleared as the telephone jangled beside him. ‘That's probably her now.' He picked up the phone. ‘Mayfair two-five-seven.'

Jack saw Arthur's face alter as a tinny voice sounded clearly over the telephone.

‘Excuse me,' said the voice hesitantly, ‘but is that Captain Stanton, by any chance?'

‘Yes, this is Captain Stanton.'

There was a sigh of relief. ‘We met yesterday, Captain. This is Leonard Duggleby.' He sounded ridiculously apologetic. ‘I hope you remember me.'

‘Mr Duggleby?' said Arthur, unconsciously trying to put the man at his ease. ‘Of course. What can I do for you?'

‘Well, something rather disagreeable has just happened and I ... I do hope you forgive the intrusion, but ... but ...' He swallowed and got out the words in a rush. ‘Is Mrs Stanton all right?'

Jack saw Arthur's hand tighten on the receiver. ‘As far as I know.' He exchanged a worried look with Jack. ‘Why do you ask?'

‘It's ...' The man's hesitation was maddening. ‘Look, I don't want to sound overly dramatic but ... but ...'

‘
What?
' demanded Arthur.

‘I think someone's tried to kill me,' said Duggleby lamely.

Arthur was incredulous. ‘
Kill you
?'

‘It sounds crazy, I know, but I couldn't have been mistaken, I really couldn't, and there isn't any reason why anyone should do such a thing unless it's connected with yesterday somehow. When I picked myself up, and sorted myself out, I thought about Mrs Stanton. I hope you don't mind me ringing, but she gave her address and telephone number to the police yesterday and I thought I'd remembered it correctly. I simply had to call and find out if she was all right.'

Jack saw the expression on Arthur's face. He stepped forward and took the telephone from his friend's unprotesting hand. ‘Duggleby? This is Jack Haldean. You say someone tried to kill you?'

‘I can't think of any other explanation. I was crossing Piccadilly Circus when there was a sharp shove in my back and I went sprawling into the traffic, right in front of a car. Fortunately, the driver had his wits about him, or I wouldn't be here now. I'm ringing from a public telephone in Piccadilly near The Crooked Staff. The policeman on duty told me to wait here until he could speak to me. I don't want to make a fuss, but I'm worried.'

‘I'm not surprised. I'm glad to hear you've come to no harm, Mr Duggleby. Stay where you are until the police have spoken to you.'

‘Yes, of course I will.' He hesitated once more. ‘Is Mrs Stanton all right?'

Jack glanced at Arthur. ‘As far as we know. We haven't seen her for a while.'

‘Come on, Jack,' muttered Arthur in a dried-up voice. ‘We have to find Isabelle.'

Jack nodded and spoke to Leonard Duggleby once more. ‘I need to see you. I'll be in touch soon.' He hung up the receiver.

Arthur was at the door. ‘Come
on
, Jack! We have to find Isabelle!'

‘Wait a moment.' Jack picked up the telephone. ‘Let me speak to Bill Rackham first. If anything has happened, he should know.'

Alive with impatience, Arthur waited for Jack's call to be put through. It seemed to take an endless amount of time for the connection to be made. As Bill's voice sounded over the telephone, Arthur gripped the hall table, his knuckles showing white.

‘Bill? It's Jack. I'm with Arthur at the flat ...'

Arthur strained to hear but the words – Jack's words – were coming from a dark place very far away. The brightly painted hall suddenly seemed full of shadows. He sensed rather than saw Lizzie beside him and knew she was holding her breath.

Jack put down the phone slowly. He swallowed before he spoke. ‘There was a woman knocked down on New Bond Street. She was taken to the Royal Free.' He put his hand on Arthur's arm. ‘She's going to be all right.'

Arthur closed his eyes and swayed in relief. ‘Thank God,' he muttered. ‘Thank God.'

Released from tension, Lizzie suddenly burst into tears. ‘I'm sorry,' she sobbed, dabbing her eyes. ‘I'm so sorry, but I was that
worried.
'

‘Go and make a cup of tea,' suggested Jack. ‘I think you need one. Captain Stanton and I are going to the hospital. Come on, Arthur. Let's go.'

Accompanied by Dr Hawley, Arthur and Jack entered Isabelle's room. She was asleep, her chestnut hair spread over the white pillow and one arm over the bedspread. Her face was bruised and there was a bandage round her head but she was alive. Arthur walked very quietly to her side and gazed at her speechlessly.

Dr Hawley, a brisk, no-nonsense man, stayed at the back of the room. He raised his eyebrows at Jack in enquiry. ‘I take it you identify the patient?

Jack drew his breath in. ‘Yes,' he managed to say. His voice was hushed. ‘That's Mrs Stanton.'

Isabelle's eyes flickered open. ‘Arthur?' Her voice was the thinnest of whispers.

‘I'm here,' Arthur said unsteadily.