“True. Damnâsorry, Daisy!âI wish I knew. What about windows?”
“Not even window-holes,” Phillip said promptly, and Daisy nodded agreement. “No holes in the walls. Actually, though one thinks of it as dilapidated, it's pretty solid except for the chimney. The bit sticking up fell into the inside bit and blocked it up an age ago.”
“No big holes in the walls,” Daisy corrected him, “but whatever was used to stuff up the gaps between the stones is gone. I saw their light through dozens of little holes.”
“By Jove, you're right! We can peep through and see what they're up to before we burst in. Let's go, Fletcher. We outnumber them two to one.”
“Good odds,” Alec acknowledged, “but they have Miss Arbuckle. With three, say, to fight us off in a narrow doorway, leaving one to threaten herâno, I don't like it. Pearson?”
“I have to agree. What's more, if we go in through the gateway
to spy on them through the chinks in the walls, we risk being seen by whoever comes out to go for the money. All he has to do is run back to warn them and they become virtually impregnable.”
Phillip groaned. “What do we do then?”
“Wait,” said Alec. “With one or more gone, we can surround the place unseen and have a much better chance of dealing with the rest. I'd hoped to station men all around on top of the bank, but it looks as if that's out.”
“Impossible,” Daisy confirmed. “The grass is too short for handholds and much too slippery for footholds. Even Binkie couldn't shove all of you up there.”
“So I'll leave Carlin watching the gateway. Let's see, who's the best runner besides Morgan?”
“Me, sir,” said Ernest eagerly. “I always win the egg-and-spoon race at the church fête.”
“I'm not so bad myself,” Phillip protested.
“Then both of you go round the other way and keep an eye on the track down to the lane. In case Carlin misses something, see which of you can get back here fastest if anyone goes down.”
Phillip and the footman hurried off around the bend.
“All right,” said Alec, “with Petrie safe out of the wayâBincombe, do you think you can put Pearson on top of the mound?”
Binkie surveyed Tommy's middling-tall but stocky form. “Give it a try,” he grunted.
Even with Truscott helping on one side and Alec on the other, Tommy proved too great a weight for Binkie to boost to the crest. After three attempts, Alec turned with a rueful face to Daisy.
“Aren't you glad I came?” she said tartly.
“I could fetch Owen back. He can't weigh much more than you.”
“That would waste time. I'm ready. I just wish I'd thought to bring some chocolate.”
Truscott delved into his pocket. “Here, Miss Daisy. Never go anywhere without it.”
“Angel!”
This time, tired by his efforts to hoist Tommy, Binkie gave her just enough impetus to reach the top safely. She lay there, nibbling chocolate, her gaze fixed on the hut. Nothing moved.
The murmur of voices came from both the hut and the track below, where Tommy and Alec were no doubt discussing a plan of attack. Every now and then, Alec called up softly, and Daisy responded with a wave to show she was still alert.
She was too damp and chilly to feel the least drowsiness, despite insufficient sleep last night. Though she would have liked to sit up and huddle with her arms around her knees, that would make her stand out silhouetted against the skyline. Still, the temptation grew as the risk waned with the daylight.
It was growing dark. Nothing moved.
And then came the growl of a motor engine and a light in the sky, headlamp beams glinting off a thousand raindrops. Footsteps pounded along the track as Phillip and Ernest arrived from one direction, Owen Morgan from the other.
Daisy strained her ears to hear their excited but hushed voices. Not that she couldn't guess what was going on: Crawford had arrived.
A flicker of light crossed the gateway and the engine's rumble was suddenly louder before it cut off. At the same moment Daisy noticed the appearance of a glimmer of light reflected from the rain falling directly beyond the hut. Twisting, she leaned as far down the slope as she could without losing her balance.
“Alec! They have a door!”
“Thanks, love. You have your torch?”
“Yes.”
“Flash once if Crawford goes to the hut, twice if he's carrying a bag, three times if anyone comes out and goes to the car. Got it?”
“Got it.”
She hauled herself back up, just in time to see a torch-beam start to bob along from the gateway towards the hut. While trying to keep an eye on it, she extricated her own torch from her pocket, reached down the bank, and flashed the button on once.
As Crawford came a little closer, the back-scatter of light from his torch revealed a bulging attaché-case in his other hand. Daisy flashed twice.
“Right, miss.” Ernest's low voice, then his footsteps, running.
Daisy glanced down. The rotters had gone and left her!
She looked back at the hut. Crawford's figure stood out momentarily against the dancing raindrops, then vanished. The light from the doorway vanished too, as the makeshift door thudded shut.
The voices within were louder now, but still unintelligible. The only light was the flecks glowing through the chinks between the stones in the wall, a galaxy of irregular stars come to rest on earth.
A shadow eclipsed a patch of stars, a man-shaped shadow. As it moved on, another took its place and then a third.
They were surrounding the hut. Daisy could not decide whether she was sorry or very, very glad she had promised to keep well out of the way. It was agony not to be able to tell what was going on.
For what seemed an age nothing appeared to happen. Then everything happened at once.
Light flooded from the opening door. A man yelled. Alec cried out, “Police! Come out one by one with your hands raised.” Someone shouted. Gloria squealed.
A few moments of ominous quiet were followed by an urgent voice. Then came a gunshot, and a scream of pain.
Alec? Her heart choking her, Daisy slid down the bank and ran towards the hut.
A
lec was pleased with the silently efficient way his men flitted across the grass and took up their posts surrounding the shepherd's hut. The light spilling from the nooks and crannies was just enough for him to make them out.
He had stationed Morgan and Ernest on either sideâboth were slightly built and too young to have seen combatâand Carlin, strong but slowed by age, at the rear. Their responsibility was to yell for help in the unlikely event of the kidnappers battering their way out through the walls, or to lend their aid if called.
That left the odds even. Surprise was essential.
Petrie, Bincombe, Pearson, and the hefty chauffeur, Truscott, lurked in a semi-circle between the hut and the gateway, beyond the reach of the light when the door opened, by Alec's reckoning. Their eyes were accustomed to the dark. Those emerging from the hut would be framed against the doorway and virtually blinded for a few moments when they moved away from it.
His ear to one of the crevices in the front wall, Alec listened to the hasty counting of rustling banknotes. Turning his head to peep through the hole, he saw the back of a frayed and grimy
coat collar, the nape of a still grimier neck, and a chequered cloth cap.
He didn't dare move to another cranny in hopes of a better view for fear of making a noise. In any case, listening was more likely to tell him what was going on, he thought, and once more he pressed his ear to the cold stone.
“You guys satisfied I haven't pulled anything on you, huh?” The American drawl dripped sarcasm.
“Looks orright, mate.”
“Then give me my passport and get out of here!” Crawford snarled.
“Aincha gonna give us a lift down to the van?”
“In a two-seater? Come off it! 'Sides, I plan to spend a while alone with Miss Gloria Arbuckle.” His tone was now smoothly complacent.
Miss Arbuckle's frightened squeak must have drowned out Petrie's gasp of outrage, quickly silenced by Pearson's hand across his mouth.
A different Cockney voice said irresolutely, “You swore you wasn't going to do nuffing to 'er.”
“Just a little chat, to give her a message for her poppa. Scram, fellas, and don't worry your little heads about us. It's been swell working with you.” The sarcasm was back.
Not for a second did Alec believe the American's disclaimer. As he listened, he wondered briefly whether to let the London roughs pass unmolested, at the risk of losing them, for the sake of concentrating his forces on Crawford. Petrie said he had disabled their van, so it was no great risk.
It was, however, too late to change the plan of campaign. Even as he reached that decision, the door opened and a large man stepped out, turning up his coat collar against the rain.
“Gorblimey, it ain't fit for a dog out 'ere! Can't see a bloody fing.”
“Use yer bloody torch, cock.”
Fumbling in his pocket, the first man walked into the darkness and Bincombe's fist. All Alec heard was a soft
thunk.
The second man, torch already in hand, moved towards a similar destiny as the third crossed the threshold.
Alec couldn't tell what went wrong. A muffled squawk alerted the third man. With an inarticulate yell he jumped back through the narrow doorway.
Springing forward, Alec cried, “Police! Come out one by one with your hands raised.”
The door started to close. Alec thrust his torch into the gap. As he leaned his weight against the splintery wood, someone shouted.
The girl screamed.
Petrie and Bincombe arrived neck and neck. Brushing Petrie aside, Bincombe charged the door, an irresistible force Alec only just managed to dodge. He burst into the hut, Alec and Petrie on his heels.
Two scruffy villains faced them, hands reaching for the roof. Behind them, visible between them, a well-dressed, pudgy man with oiled-back hair had his arm around Miss Arbuckle. His other hand held a pistol to her bedraggled blond head.
“Get out or I'll kill her,” he said, quietly vicious. “Now!”
“Oy!” One of the Cockneys swung round. “You said she wouldn't come to no 'arm!”
The American was staring at Petrie. “You!” he exclaimed with loathing, and turned on his henchmen. “You said you'd disposed of him!”
“We got rid of 'im, but like we told you, we don't 'old wiv murder. Let the girl go.” The man took a step forward. “We're done for anyways.”
“You dumb yahoos, if we're done for it's your fault!”
“Come on, mate, let 'er go. Least we done nuffing to dangle for.”
Crawford shot him.
His shriek cut through the reverberation of the shot as he fell. Miss Arbuckle wrenched herself away from Crawford, who cringed back, his gun dangling, looking sick.
“Oh God,” he babbled, “I didn't know it would be ⦠. I've never seen ⦠.” He turned away and vomited in a corner as Petrie caught the girl in his arms.
An amateur crook, Alec thought in disgust. Often more dangerous than the pros, because they didn't know what they were doing. He left Crawford and the uninjured Cockney to the others and dropped to his knees beside the wounded man.
Blood welled from his shoulder. His face was deadly pale. “'Ave I 'ad it, guv?” he asked faintly. “Din't know 'e 'ad a shooter, honest.”
“I believe you. Don't try to talk now.” Alec pressed his handkerchief to the wound. It soaked through alarmingly fast.
He needed help. He looked round to see what the others were doing, just as Daisy burst into the hut.
“Alec ⦠Oh, thank God it wasn't you!” She glanced down at the victim and gulped. “Wait just half a mo and I'll take off my petticoat. Luckily it's a waist one.”
She dashed out again, to return with a wad of white cloth. A glimpse of lace edging brought a twinge of untimely desire as Alec took it and exchanged it for his blood-soaked handkerchief.
“Can you hold it while I take off my shirt to tie it in place? Press hard.”
Pale but game, she took his place. “Who shot him? Crawford?”
“Yes.” He took off his raincoat and jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, glad he had put on a clean vest this morning. “You feel all right?”
“I can manage. It's not like in Occleswich, when I'd hit that dreadful man and you were hurt.”
Alec smiled at her. “I seem to remember you coped very competently
then, however frightful you felt. Here, let's tie it round as tight as we can. There's not much else we can do, I'm afraid.”
“He'll be in shock. We must try to keep him warm.”
As he helped Daisy bind the man's shoulder and wrap him in both their coats, Alec spared a fragment of his attention for the goings-on around them. Pearson was competently directing the rounding-up of the prisoners. Petrie still had his arms around Gloria Arbuckle and appeared to be whispering sweet nothings in her ear.
“Petrie!” Alec grinned as the young man started and blushed.
“Oh, er, by Jove, let me introduce ⦔
“Later. I'd like you to take Crawford's motor and send us a doctor. Then notify the police, and Mr. Arbuckle. You'd better take Miss Arbuckle with you.”
“Gosh, thanks. I mean, yes, of course, old man. Police? Local or the Yard?”
“Scylla or Charybdis. It hardly matters,” Alec clarified as Petrie looked blank. “I'm in hot water either way.”
“The Chief Constable,” said Daisy. “Sir Nigelâat least, let's assume we're still in Worcestershire, though it could be Gloucestershire. We must be right on the border. A Dalrymple and a Petrie, and throw in
Lord
Gerald Bincombe for good measure, and between us we should be able to talk Sir Nigel Wookleigh round.”
“Right-oh,”said Petrie. Tenderly supporting Miss Arbuckle, he moved towards the door.
Pearson stopped him. “Just a minute, old fellow. There's no need to tell Wookleigh that Fletcher was in charge of the operation. Say he's here, by all means. That will make the man sit up and take notice. But try to contrive to give the impression that he arrived at the last minute and was dragged along willy-nilly.”
“Right-oh.”
“Hurry, Phillip,” Daisy urged. “This chap needs proper medical attention. Toodle-oo, Gloria. See you later.”
Â
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Not for a fortnight did the entire cast of charactersâminus the villainsâmeet again. The occasion was a double engagement party thrown by Mr. Arbuckle at Claridge's Hotel.
The millionaire had not only asked Daisy, Alec, and Phillip for guest lists, he invited everyone who had anything to do with rescuing his daughter. Thus, in the true democratic tradition, the Dowager Lady Dalrymple rubbed shoulders with her gardener, Owen Morgan; Colonel Sir Nigel Wookleigh, Chief Constable of Worcestershire, with Detective Sergeant Tring of Scotland Yard; Lord and Lady Petrie with their neighbours' gamekeeper, Carlin.
Nonetheless, Daisy was not a little startled when her cousin Edgar came up to her and announced, “I've seen a chimney sweeper, black as the ace of spades.”
“A chimney sweeper?” she enquired cautiously, trying to resist craning her neck and peering around.
“Not uncommon, but they turn brown a day or two after emerging so one rarely sees one sooty black.”
“Butterfly or moth?” said Alec.
“Moth, my dear fellow.
Odezia atrata.
Next time you come down to Fairacres, you must stay longer and see whatever specimens I have on hand at the time.”
Daisy's family had accepted Alec as a future memberâher mother and Geraldine with reluctance, Edgar and her sister Violet with equanimity, Vi's eldest boy with sheer joy. His chums at prep school, the nine-year-old confided to his aunt, were bitterly envious of a prospective uncle who was a Scotland Yard detective.
He and Alec's daughter Belinda, the same age and allowed to attend the first hour of the party, were soon thick as thieves. The Dowager Lady Dalrymple and Mrs. Fletcher, though loath to abandon suspicion of each other, at least found common ground in mutual censure of marriage between the classes.
As for the Petries, they were so relieved that Phillip was to be an engineering adviser, not a motor-mechanic, that they welcomed Gloria and endured Arbuckle with gratitude.
Gloria, Daisy decided upon better acquaintance, had not much more sense than Phillip. However, once recovered from her ordeal, she proved a cheerful, good-natured girl, and her father's money would shield them from the world.
Half-way through the evening, Daisy and Alec, Lucy and Binkie, and the Pearsons came together by chance.
“Darling,” Lucy drawled to Alec, “I've been wondering what's become of the villain Crawford shot.”
“He survived,” Alec assured her, “thanks to Daisy's first aid. That's all I know.”
“He's recovering,” said Tommy.
“Mr. Arbuckle has retained Tommy to represent him,” Madge explained.
“He'll get off lightly then,” Alec said with a grin. “Pearson's eloquence is wasted in a solicitor's office. He belongs at the Bar.”
“Tommy persuaded the Assistant Commissioner to forgive Alec,” said Daisy. “Without ever telling an outright lie, he gave the impression that Alec didn't even know a crime had been committed until he reached Brockberrow Hill. I shall never again believe anything a lawyer says.”
“He did an excellent job of putting the A.C. in the right frame of mind,” Alec confirmed, “though if anyone can see through legal verbiage, the Assistant Commissioner for Crime is the man. What really saved my bacon, however, and led to complete forgiveness, was his discovery that Daisy was involved. Living in terror of her unorthodox methods of âhelping' the police, he relies on me to restrain her.”
“Beast,” said Daisy, but she didn't really mind. Tonight she felt as light as the bubbles in her champagne glass, with only her hand tucked under Alec's arm to anchor her to the earth.