Behind him a motor-car engine coughed to life. He raced for the nearest wall, dived over it, and lay flat.
A pair of inquisitive sheep turned their heads to stare, then ambled over to take a closer look. Phillip twitched as one nibbled hopefully at his hair.
“Pa-aa-ah!”
it said in disgust, and started on the grass two inches from his nose.
Hearing the engine noise grow louder as the A.C. rounded the hilltop, he didn't dare raise a hand to push the beast away.
The sound of the engine retreated. Phillip rose to a crouch and peered over the wall. The maroon car was half-way down the track, heading away from him at an angle, but the driver's side was towards him. He must not move on yet.
He watched the A.C. Six reach the bottom. Crawford
climbed out to open the gate, drove through, shut it again, and zipped off back towards the main road.
Phillip rose, sparing a regretful glance for the muddy, grassstained knees of his flannels. Another pair of bags ruined! He set off at a steady run for the quarry.
The Alvis was gone.
He gazed around, hoping he'd come to the wrong spot, but no, there were the broken, wilting branches he had half noticed before. His watch showed he was five minutes late. Lucy might have given him a few minutes extra! She was on her way back to Fairacres to tell the others he had gone and done something idiotic. Fletcher would think the kidnappers knew they'd been found. What he'd decide to do, goodness only â¦
“Pssst! Phillip, is it all clear?”
“Lucy! Yes. What the deuce ⦠? Where's the Alvis?”
She emerged from the bushes, brushing her skirt vigorously. “I moved it. There's a van hidden behind those branches and I was afraid someone might come for it.”
“A brown Ford van? With a butcher's name on it?”
“Green, unmarked. It could be a Ford for all I know.”
“Never mind, it must be the one because it's them all right. They'll have painted it, to disguise and camouflage it. I say, suppose I disable it, so they can't get away?”
“No, better not. If they try to go somewhere before we're ready, they'd be forewarned. Come on, we must get back to Fairacres. The Alvis is over here.”
Phillip took two steps after her and stopped. He had been torn from Gloria's side before. He found he simply could not bear to leave her voluntarily, even if she was not aware of his presence.
Across his mind flashed Crawford's description of her: “a baby worth holding,” and his vow to return for her, ambiguously retracted.
“I'm staying,” Phillip announced. “If something goes wrong, perhaps I'll be able to help Gloria.”
“Oh bosh!” Lucy turned, exasperated, hands on hips. “If she's still all right now, nothing frightful's going to happen at least till they have the ransom.”
“That's tonight. What if Fletcher can't get things organized in time?”
“I'm sure he will. I'm coming to have considerable respect for Detective Chief Inspector Alec Fletcher. All the same, he's going to need all the men he can get, and if you go and get yourself caught before the rest arrive ⦠.”
“I shan't,” he said obstinately, “unless I absolutely have to try to protect her. Crawford said ⦠.” His voice got tied in a knot in his throat. He tried again. “They talked of harming her even after getting the money.”
“I see. But Phil, I'm not at all sure I'll be able to find the way here again. All these hills look alike to me.”
“Daisy knows it. Tell her they're at the ancient fort on Brockberrow Hill, where we used to picnic. Listen, you'd better tell Fletcher they don't trust Crawford so they may have more than one man fetching the ransom.”
“Where from?” she asked, tacitly agreeing to pass on the information, and thus to Phillip's staying.
“I don't know. They'll tell Arbuckle where and when to drop it off, and with luck he'll pass it on to Fletcher.”
“How many men are there?”
“I only saw three, but there was probably one watching the track, and maybe one in the hut with Gloria. Oh, there's a tent, too, besides the shepherd's hut. Don't want anyone falling over the guy-ropes.”
“Draw a diagram,” Lucy suggested.
Her fountain pen ran dry before he had done more than inscribe the broken circle of the mound in the margin of a page
of
The Queen
. A search in his pockets produced a handkerchief, two pound notes, small change, a Scout knife, and a propelling pencil with no lead.
“Damn! I mean, dash it.”
“Damn, by all means.” Delving into her handbag again, she sighed. “Lipstick. It'll be wrecked. Do you think Arbuckle will replace it, as well as my shoes?”
“Give him a list.” With the clumsy implement, Phillip drew the fort on top of an advertisement for a Charity Ball at the Royal Albert Hall. XT showed the position of the tent, XH of the hut, and a dotted line the beginning of the track. He studied his handiwork, dissatisfied. “Oh well, Daisy knows it. The tent's pitched just round to the left from the gateway.”
“I still think you should come back with me, to tell them yourself.”
Phillip shook his head. “I'm staying,” he said firmly, and strode off before she could confuse him with useless arguments.
Behind him the Alvis started up. It caught up with him and stopped as he climbed over the wall. Lucy beckoned.
“Here, you'd better take the biscuits and ginger-beer. Toodle-oo, old chap. Do take care!”
He watched the motor-car's duck's back rear disappear up the lane. As soon as it was out of sight, he dashed back towards the quarry. He'd be damned if he was going to let those swine make a clean get-away if he could help it.
His first notion was to remove the van's radiator hose, as an act of poetic justice. But if one of them left for some reason, he would discover the tampering as soon as the radiator boiled, which would be too soon to stop him warning the others. Whatever Phillip did must look like a natural occurrence, he thought as he reached the slate-pit.
No wonder Lucy had found the van. The conspicuous wilting leaves on the broken branches hiding it were another sign of the Londoners' lack of familiarity with the countryside. It
was a Ford all right, its green paint spanking new but applied in a decidedly slapdash fashion.
Phillip tried the rear doors, finding them unlocked. There was no tyre pump to be seen, and the tool-box contained no patching kitâin London, of course, such things were readily available.
He let the air out of the spare tyre, then stabbed one front tyre with the corkscrew on his pocket-knife. Considering the state of the lane, a puncture should come as no surprise, and spares often went flat just sitting. They would have no reason to suspect sabotage.
Grinning, Phillip sang softly to himself as he returned to the lane: “âHe had to get under, get out and get under, to fix his automobile!'”
A swirl of wind spattered his face with spots of rain as he climbed the wall again, jumped down into the meadow, and set off for his own private thorn-patch.
“M
r. Arbuckle, my lady.” The butler's air of long-suffering suggested he was becoming accustomed, if not resigned, to the American's habit of arriving at hours when no real gentleman would call uninvited.
“Show him in, Lowecroft,” said Geraldine, equally long-suffering. “Edgar, we shall go up and dress for dinner. The rest of you ⦠.” She paused, and sighed. “The rest of you and Mr. Petrie and Miss Fotheringay, should they condescend to return, will no doubt forgo that nicety if pressed for time. Daisy, you had better invite Mr. Arbuckle to dine with us.”
“Thank you, Geraldine. You see, he's ⦔
Geraldine held up her hand. “No, I don't wish to know.”
Edgar looked rather wistful, as if he wouldn't have minded a little elucidation, but he followed his wife from the drawing-room, only pausing to greet Arbuckle as he came in.
“It's sure swell of your folks, Miss Dalrymple, not to shoot off their mouths about all this to-ing and fro-ing,” Arbuckle said. Waving a sheet of blue notepaper, he advanced on Alec. “Mr. Fletcher, I've gotten the instructions for dropping off the dough. I found this in my suite at the hotel when I got back from Lunnon.”
Alec took it. “Plain Basildon Bond, like the others, but this one is in ordinary handwriting, rather shaky.”
“Gloria's,” said Arbuckle heavily, dropping into a chair. “At least she's still alive.”
Daisy, beside Alec on the sofa, craned her neck to read over his shoulder.
“Do tell,” Madge begged.
“It's directions to a quarry in the Cotswold Hills,” said Arbuckle. “I'm to go alone, at sunset, and leave the dough in the back of a van I'll find parked there.”
“And then they'll let Miss Arbuckle go?” Tommy asked hopefully.
“It's more complicated than that.” Alec frowned. “Mr. Arbuckle is instructed to go away as soon as he's dropped the money, then return at dawn to pick up directions explaining where to find his daughter. I don't like it.”
“If I do anything different, I'll never see Gloria again.”
“She says they'll be watching him,” Daisy put in.
Restlessly on edge, Arbuckle stood up again. “So things have got to go their way. I'm doing what I'm told tonight, and I better get back to the hotel so if they're watching they see me leave from there.”
“Won't you stay for dinner? My cousin asked me to invite you.”
He shook his head. “Please tell her ladyship I'd be tickled to death some other time, Miss Dalrymple, but I'm not fit for company right now, even if I could spare the time. Mr. Fletcher, I sure hope I can trust you not to call out the troopers.”
“Much as I'd like to, it's far too late to organize a police presence.”
“And you won't none of you go near this here quarry.” Arbuckle glanced around. “Hey, where's young Petrie?”
Bincombe, silent so far, opened his mouth.
Alec gave him a warning look. “Petrie and Miss Fotheringay
went to keep an eye on Crawford. Since they haven't telephoned, we assume they haven't seen anything significant.”
“At this point, it don't matter a hoot if it's Crawford or some hoodlum. There's damn-all to do but follow instructions.”
“All the same,” said Alec, “you'll telephone if they change your instructions, won't you? Or if you think of anything we can do to help?”
“Surely.” Arbuckle took back the letter and shook Alec's hand. “Don't think I don't appreciate the support you folks been giving me.”
Daisy jumped up and gave him an impulsive hug. “Gloria will be all right,” she said. “This is England, not America.”
He gave her a weary smile. Alec walked with him to the door and closed it behind him.
“I say, Fletcher, what about Lucy?” Binkie burst out at once. “It's all very well agreeing with Arbuckle, but they've been gone since before lunch. Are we just going to sit on our hands?”
“Steady, old man,” Tommy soothed. “No sense getting the poor chap upset about Lucy as well as his daughter, don't y'know. And if I'm not mistaken, Fletcher's one step ahead of us.”
“I wish I were,” Alec said ruefully. “There really isn't much we can do without more information. I don't imagine you know that bit of country, Daisy. It's rather far from here.”
“I don't know the quarry,” Daisy admitted unhappily. She had brought her friends into this thoroughly nasty business by claiming her knowledge of the countryside would help. A fat lot of use it had been so far. “We used to cycle that way sometimes, but it's on the outer edge of our range. Oh, blast, I should have copied down the directions. I can't remember them properly.”
Alec promptly recited them.
“Map,” said Binkie, and disappeared.
He returned a few moments later and they were all poring
over a map of the north Cotswolds when Lucy sauntered in.
“Don't let me interrupt,” she drawled.
Binkie bounded to her and engulfed her in a hug which made her squeak. “Where have you been?” he demanded.
“Let me breathe, darling, and I'll tell you.” Releasedâthough Binkie kept her hand in hisâshe joined the others and gazed down at the map. “The Cotswolds? You already know?”
“Only where Mr. Arbuckle's to take the money,” said Daisy. “Lucy, where's Phillip?”
“All in good time, darling. Now let me see. No, it's no good. I never could read a map. Phillip swore you'd remember the place, Daisy: Brockbarrow Hill.”
“Brock
berr
ow.”
“Here,” said Tommy, planting a forefinger on the map. “It's right next to the slate-pit I'm sure must be the quarry.”
“At least half a mile,” Lucy protested, subsiding with languid grace onto the nearest chair and kicking off bespattered shoes. “More to the top. Daisy, I'm simply ravenous. You're none of you dressed. Is dinner going to be late?”
“No. Lucy, for pity's sake, what's this about Brockberrow Hill? Did Phillip go there? Without you?”
“Let's hear the story, please, Lucy,” Alec seconded Daisy with a smile. “If you've brought the information we need, time is of the essence.”
Lucy grinned at him. “Oh, very well, Chief Inspector, though I was rather enjoying keeping you all in suspense. What it boils down to is that we followed Crawford from Cowley to Brockberrow Hill and Phillip found the kidnappers in some sort of ancient fort at the top.”
“And Miss Arbuckle?” Alec asked sharply.
“He didn't see her, but from the way they talked, he was sure she was there.”
“She'd be in the shepherd's hut,” Daisy said.
“That's right.” Lucy waved the magazine she had brought in
with her. Opening it, she said in dismay, “Oh gosh, it's frightfully smeared. I hope you remember the place well enough to make sense of this, Daisy.”
“Let's see.”
Both pages were a mess of lipstick, but between Daisy's memory and Lucy's and what they could make out, Daisy reconstructed Phillip's diagram.
“This is the fort itself,” she pointed out to the others as they clustered around. “All that's left is a high bank, of course.”
“How high?” Tommy wanted to know.
“Gosh, I don't know. You couldn't see out from the inside, only sky, but then it's the highest point for quite a way.”
“Could you see the roof of the hut from outside?” Alec asked.
“N-no, I don't think so. No, I'm sure the bank's higher than the hut, so it's much higher than a man. Perhaps ten feet?” she hazarded. “Twelve? Fourteen?”
“Good enough. How steep?”
“Steep enough to persuade one to go round and through the gatewayâhereâafter bicycling from here and tramping up the hill. But we used to climb it after the picnic, for the view.”
“Phillip must have climbed it,” Lucy said, “because he saw inside the circle and I hardly imagine he'd have trotted through the gap like a lamb to the slaughter.”
“You didn't go up with him?”
“You're joking, Alec. In those shoes? No, he came down to tell me what he'd found and overheard, then went back to keep an eye on Gloria.”
Alec groaned. “Understandable, I suppose.”
“I tried to stop him. He did promise not to try any solo attempt to rescue her unless she was in immediate danger.”
“Which means, I take it,” said Madge, “he expects a mass rescue attempt.”
Tommy nodded. “If we don't go, goodness only knows what he'll do.”
“He heard them threaten to harm Gloria even if the ransom's delivered as instructed.”
In shocked silence, everyone turned from Lucy to Alec.
“We'll go,” he said crisply. “I said I don't like this business of Arbuckle having to return to the quarry at dawn to get directions for finding his daughter. I meant it, and now we know Crawford's our man and that threats have been made, I like it still less. Lucy, what else did Petrie overhear?”
“He didn't tell me much. He saw three men besides Crawford, but he thought there were probably at least four. More than one man will go to pick up the ransom, because they don't trust each other. It's to be delivered tonight, but I gather you know that.”
“At the quarry at sunset,” Alec confirmed. “When does the sun set?”
“Nine thirtyish,” Tommy said, “with Summer Time.”
They all looked at the clock. Quarter to eight.
“It'll take an hour to get there,” Lucy said uneasily. “Maybe more if this rain gets any worse. The lane's in a frightful condition, and then there's the hill to climb. Phillip said there's probably a man watching the track, so you'd have to go round. That's assuming you're heading for the hilltop, not the quarry.”
Alec thought for a moment. “If they have hidden men watching the drop-off, it's too risky to try to grab Crawford there, besides leaving Miss Arbuckle in danger from the others.”
“Start from this side of the hill,” Daisy advised. “Take the path from Brock Farm. That's the way we always used to go. It could cut off ten or fifteen minutes.”
“All right, Daisy,” said Alec, “I'll take your word for it. You can explain later. First, does Morgan live in at the Dower House?”
“Yes. I'll go and telephone. Do you want Truscott, too? If he's not up here I can get him on the extension to the lodge.”
“Please. Pearson, find that young footman, Ernest.”
“Was you wanting me, sir?” Ernest advanced eagerly, tray in hand. “Her ladyship said to bring sherry.”
Daisy hurried out, leaving Alec to recruit the footman and deal with the question of sherry.
In the hall she met Lowecroft, coming from the direction of the family sitting room, where Edgar and Geraldine must have taken refuge.
“Will Mr. Arbuckle be dining, miss?” he asked, obviously put out. “And do you expect Mr. Petrie to return in time for dinner?”
“No, and no, and I should think Mrs. Pearson and Miss Fotheringay will be the only ones joining my cousins. If you could organize sandwiches for eight in a big hurryâsay ten minutes?âit would be much appreciated. Oh, and we'll be taking Ernest with us, I'm afraid.”
She dashed on to the 'phone, leaving the butler with his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.
Truscott promised to be ready to be picked up at the lodge in fifteen minutes, and Morgan would wait at the Dower House gates. Daisy sped up to her bedroom and flung on a warm tweed skirt and jacket and walking shoes. Alec was bound to try to stop her going along. After all her efforts she was determined to see the thing through, and Gloria would surely be glad to see a female face. Daisy refused to be left behind because they would not wait while she changed.
She had other cards up her sleeve.
Grabbing her mac, she headed for the drawing-room. She entered on the heels of Ernest, whose arms were full of electric torches.
He glanced back at her with a grin. “Sandwiches coming up, Mr. Lowecroft says, miss. I never seen him in such a pother.” He laid the torches on a table.
“Thanks, Ernest,” said Alec. “Go put on your oldest clothes and stout boots now. Hurry.”
“Yessir!”
“You two bring the Lagonda and my Austin round to the front, please,” he directed Tom and Binkie, who strode out. They had already changed, as had Alec. “Daisy, come and show me ⦠.” He stopped as he noticed her costume. His fearsome eyebrows lowered. “Oh no, you're not coming with us!”