In the Mouth of the Tiger (126 page)

Again Malcolm opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

He was in serious trouble. If they suspected that he intended to do something about the Elesmere-Elliott matter, they would have sent people down to search his flat. If they found the spool of film, they would throw the book at him and he would have no comeback. He had committed a very serious offence, copying top secret material and smuggling it out of Leconfield House. That could mean twenty years in goal. At the very least. If they were so disposed they would tie his actions to the Russians – he'd seen that done before – and have him hung for treason.

But after the shock his brain had begun working again and was now spinning smoothly, assessing possibilities. He would be in some form of custody before the day was out, he was sure of that. Either prison or a psychiatric ward. So he would have to act fast
now
, throw them off balance, get clear before they could arrange his apprehension. ‘I'm sorry, D-G,' he said contritely. ‘I've not been well. I think I need help.'

Sillitoe's face softened a little. ‘I think we all rather guessed that,' he said.
‘You've been under a lot of strain . . .'

‘I'm just going to take a little walk while you check my room,' he said. ‘I need to calm down. I give you my parole I won't run away.'

Sillitoe hesitated and held up a hand, but Malcolm just smiled disarmingly and set off down the corridor. Act fast, keep them off balance.

He went straight down to the lobby and out into the street. There was a taxi passing and he jumped in, aware from the corner of his eye that Jack Douglas, the security guard, had come out after him and was waving urgently.

He paid off the taxi at the entrance to Hanover Gardens and strolled as nonchalantly as he could to his front door. He had one fright on the way: there was a policeman standing on the footpath, but he was merely a bobby on his beat who gave Malcolm a friendly nod as he passed.

As soon as he opened his door Malcolm saw that he was too late. The place had been taken apart. The papers from his bureau were scattered on the floor, the pictures removed from the walls, even the cushions on the chairs ripped open so that the stuffing covered the place like snow.

The curtains in the lounge room were down, and a quick look at the hems told him everything. The hem where he had sewn his roll of film had been slit open and the film was gone.

It was a very serious blow indeed. Malcolm sank down on the disordered lounge, the wind knocked from him as if he'd been hit in the solar plexus. Without the film it would only be his word against theirs. And they had battleships on their side.

But that changed nothing, he told himself savagely. He tapped the gun under his left armpit and gave a fighting grin. It just meant that he'd have to do the job covertly, keep under cover, establish a new life as Arthur Smith. Perhaps later on, down the track, he'd have an opportunity to expose what had been going on in MI5. Perhaps he might prevail over the forces of darkness even now.

But first he needed to escape.

He knew precisely why his flat was empty. There was a rule of evidence that anything found during an illegal search cannot be used in a criminal trial. As soon as they had found the roll of film, MI5 would have vacated the place in order to re-enter ‘legally' with a search warrant. But of course they would have left the place under surveillance. Malcolm peered out the front window. Sure enough, there was the traditional unmarked van parked on the other side
of Hanover Gardens. To make it even clearer who they were, Malcolm saw the friendly bobby wander up and speak to the people in the van, then glance sharply towards his front door.

He had only moments to get away, and clearly it couldn't be on foot. He had brought his Triumph motor cycle back from Malaya, and it was stored in his small laundry, covered with a dust-sheet. But it was in perfect order: he maintained it religiously, gave it a run once a month and ran up the motor every week.

Malcolm rolled the machine down the corridor to his front door. He peered around the jamb to see several men climbing out of the van and walking towards him across the little park that is the heart of Hanover Gardens. He had not a second to spare.

Flinging open the door, he jumped into the saddle and kicked the engine into life. The men coming towards him saw what was happening and broke into a run. Without hesitation, Malcolm let out the clutch and the Triumph leapt out of the hallway, bumped down the double front steps, and was on the road, swinging hard left.

‘Hoy!' The man leading the group from the van had a pistol in his hand and aimed it at Malcolm. ‘Stop in the name of the law!'

But Malcolm was away, the engine roaring, blue smoke streaming from his twin exhausts. ‘Stop in the name of the law?' he shouted to himself. ‘I thought that went out with the Ark!'

He thundered down Trigon Street, broadsided into Brixton Road, and then was racing south, the wind in his hair, his heart racing with excitement and happiness. He had got away, and he had everything he needed on him. The gun under his arm. Identity papers for a man called Arthur Smith, a respectable retired captain from the Royal Bedford Regiment. Enough cash to live for years in comfort without working.

He would have to dice the Triumph, of course, which was a shame, and buy a small car for cash. Then he'd rent a place, a small cottage by the sea. At Lyme Regis, perhaps, or Weymouth. Close enough to Almer but not too close.

He remembered an incident from his early days in Malaya. A tiger had escaped from a private zoo in Ipoh, disappearing into the trackless jungles of Perak. The proprietor had called into the Ipoh police station and asked if they could please find his tiger for him. How they had all laughed! Catch a particular tiger in the ulu? Easier to catch a particular fish in the sea!

Malcolm felt as if
he
were a tiger slipping into the dappled sanctuary of the jungle. Shedding the stench of his cage, ridding himself of the burden of his captivity. He tapped the pistol under his arm yet again. A particularly dangerous tiger, with a particular prey in mind.

Chapter Forty-Four

W
e had spent the day doing Christmas shopping in Bournemouth, and arrived home at dusk to see a police car parked by our front door. ‘No doubt collecting for the police Christmas party,' Denis said lightly but I felt a flutter of apprehension.

‘It's not the local police,' Tony said scornfully. ‘Can't you see it's a Jaguar? It's from the Flying Squad.'

‘You've been reading too much Edgar Wallace,' Denis said.

But it was from Scotland Yard's Flying Squad. A small, dapper man was waiting in the lounge and he rose to greet us with an outstretched hand. ‘Detective Inspector Makin, Special Branch,' he said, ‘and this is my assistant, Sergeant Little. I'm sorry to intrude, but we need to talk.' Sergeant Little also rose but apparently wasn't important enough to be included in the handshaking. He was an intelligent-looking young man with a shy smile and he retired immediately to his chair, an open notebook in his hand.

‘What is the trouble, Inspector?' Denis asked when we were seated.

‘I'm here about a man called Malcolm Bryant,' Makin said without preamble, and my heart fell like a stone. ‘I understand you know him.'

‘We know Malcolm quite well,' Denis said carefully. ‘I hope he hasn't got himself into any trouble?'

Makin clearly didn't believe in beating about the bush. ‘He's gone stark raving mad,' he said. ‘Stole top-secret documents from his work and then did a bunk. I've been given the job of finding him before he does any more harm.' He paused a moment, ordering his thoughts. ‘Scotland Yard thinks he bears a grudge against you, Mr Elesmere-Elliott, and is headed this way to do you mischief. I'm here to warn you, and to make arrangements for your protection.'

Denis took a long breath. ‘I've known Malcolm Bryant for twenty years, Inspector,' he said. ‘We might not always see eye to eye, but I don't believe that he would do me any harm. I'm quite sure there's no need for police protection.'

‘I'm afraid there is,' Makin insisted. ‘He is quite mad. He has already brushed through one attempt to apprehend him, and he was seen driving like a madman down the Brixton road. I've got a car coming up from Bournemouth that will stay here with you tonight, and tomorrow we'll organise something a little more permanent.'

Denis shook his head. ‘I appreciate your concern, Inspector, but I really don't want police protection. I think it would be rather an over-reaction, don't you?'

Makin bridled. ‘I don't think anything of the sort,' he said with a thin smile. ‘In fact, I think you're not taking this business seriously enough. But it's not my call anyway. I'm under orders to provide you with a police guard until further notice, and that's what I'm going to do.'

Denis was getting angry. I could see that in the thrust of the jaw, the thin line of his lips. ‘Use your common sense, Makin,' he snapped. ‘Bryant's gone off half-cocked, but so can we all at times. If we start treating him as public enemy number one all we'll be doing is to drive him into a corner. With a bit of give and take, I'm quite sure we can calm this whole business down without anyone getting hurt.' He hoisted himself to his feet and gestured towards the doorway. ‘Now, if you really don't mind . . .'

But Makin had also risen to his feet, and he laid a restraining hand on Denis's arm. ‘I think you should know exactly how things are,' he said. ‘I'll be blunt. Malcolm Bryant is considered by our people to be a homicidal maniac. He's completely out of control, he's headed this way, and we're almost certain he has a gun. Our instructions are to stop him getting to you, and to shoot to kill if he offers any kind of violence.'

Denis was seriously angry now. ‘I have never heard anything so damned silly in all my life,' he said. ‘Shoot to kill? Are you people mad? There are laws in this country, Inspector, aimed at making sure that nobody is sentenced to death without a fair trial.'

Makin's official smile, which had grown thinner by the moment, disappeared completely. ‘I know the laws of England, sir,' he said stiffly. ‘But I also know that if my people are dealing with a raving lunatic, I don't want them caught unprepared. You don't trifle with a mad dog.'

‘A mad dog?' Denis began, but I beat him to it. ‘Malcolm had a very bad nervous breakdown when he was out in Malaya,' I said quickly. ‘They had to send him home because he was a danger to himself and to others. If my husband doesn't appreciate your offer of protection, Inspector, I certainly do. I would very much like your people to stay.'

I shall never forget the look that Denis shot me. It was the look of a man betrayed and it sent an arrow into my heart. But I had been standing there listening to him talking like an idiot and I was absolutely determined to get the protection that had been offered. It was easy for Denis to be judicious, and balanced, and humane. He was a man, comfortable in his man's strength, but I had to think as a woman and a mother and I was horrified at the thought of a psychotic Malcolm Bryant stalking my family.

Makin turned to Denis. ‘I have a duty to keep the peace,' he said firmly. ‘I am going to have a car stationed here tonight. We'll talk about longer term arrangements tomorrow.'

After he and Sergeant Little had gone I took both of his hands in mine. ‘I'm sorry I had to say what I said, darling. Will you forgive me?'

Denis didn't answer. He stood there looking at me for a moment, and then he shrugged and disengaged his hands from mine. ‘I believe that Malcolm is a loyal Englishman, and if he's skulking around the countryside with stolen papers it's because he's been pushed too hard. He needs help, not to be hunted down like a rabid dog. But of course if you're frightened that he'll take a pot-shot at you from the rhododendrons, you have a perfect right to ask for protection. I certainly won't stand in your way.'

That wasn't fair and I grabbed Denis's hands again. ‘That was a rotten thing to say,' I said hotly. ‘I'm not frightened of Malcolm for my own sake but for yours. I don't think he intends to harm me or the children, but I
know
he hates you, and that if he gets the chance he'll kill you.'

‘I dare say,' was all Denis said, and I was so angry I could have burst.

It was rare for us to argue, but we were in the middle of a first-class row now. We sat opposite each other over dinner with our backs straight and our eyes everywhere but on each other. ‘More gravy?' Denis asked, holding the sauceboat towards me with exaggerated indifference, and I took it coolly without a word. ‘Tea?' I asked neutrally with the teapot raised, and Denis pretended he hadn't heard and pushed his cup out of the way. The children noticed, of course, and had the sense to keep their heads down, but Win babbled on completely unaware. ‘Isn't it so
nice
of the police to keep a car
here just to protect us? I'd have been terribly concerned at the thought of a madman lurking in the vicinity if they hadn't stayed ...'

Later that night I looked out and saw the police car looking very cold and lonely parked beside St Mary's, and went out to it with a thermos of fresh coffee and half a cake. The two young constables were the nicest of men. They insisted on getting out of their car while they talked to me, and I saw them shivering despite their heavy coats and the fur caps pulled down over their ears.

‘Wouldn't you like to come inside?' I asked. ‘At least it would be warm, and surely you could keep your lookout just as well?'

The elder of the two grinned. ‘We'd love to come inside, Madam. But it would be more than our jobs are worth. Inspector Makin made that crystal clear. He's quite frightened of your husband, is Inspector Makin.'

The police did come inside later that night. It had begun to sleet, and Denis had relented and arranged for the unused butler's pantry to be converted into their duty room. They were absolutely no trouble, keeping discreetly out of our way, and coming and going through the kitchen.