A Fête Worse Than Death (35 page)

‘You find this exciting?' asked Mrs Verrity in surprise. ‘
Mon Dieu
, you are younger than I thought. Please, Major Haldean, be my guest.'

They set off down the tunnel, Haldean keeping up a constant flow of comment as he followed the circle of light. ‘It's widening out here a bit, isn't it? Obviously all this is man-made. It must have taken them ages to do. I'm amazed the tunnellers could breathe down here in all this chalk. They must have worn masks or something. We'll look as if we've been let loose in a flour mill by the time we get out of here. The air's not bad though, is it? I say, what's this?' He stooped and picked up a small brass tube. ‘A stray bullet. German, by the look of it. I think we're getting warmer, don't you?'

‘I am rather cold,' said Mrs Verrity distantly.

Haldean grinned. ‘That's not exactly what I meant. I mean we're –'

‘Stop!' Mrs Verrity turned, her head on one side. ‘Shine the light back up the tunnel, Major.'

Haldean obediently did so. ‘What's the matter?'

She impatiently waved him quiet. The only sound was that of their breathing. After a little while Mrs Verrity shook her head. ‘I thought I heard something. Listen!'

‘I wouldn't have thought there was anything to hear. Perhaps it's just being down here that's giving you the heebie-jeebies. I say, these tunnels aren't meant to be haunted, are they?' She ignored him, her head tilted slightly to one side. ‘Shall we get on? I'd like to know where this tunnel ends up. Strictly speaking it should be –'

‘Major!'

‘Sorry.' Haldean fell silent.

She heaved a sigh. ‘I could have sworn I heard . . . No matter.'

‘I didn't hear anything. Mind you, I wouldn't be surprised if you did start imagining things. We must be the first people to have been down here for years. D'you think there'll be rats?'

‘I sincerely hope not.'

‘Well, we'll soon find out. Come on. Best foot forward and all that, unless you want to go back?'

‘And find my way through the cellars in the dark? No, thank you, Major. I am staying with you.' They walked on, Haldean doing his best to keep up the flow of conversation, but she was at best a distracted listener and at worse an impatient one.

‘Well, there's one thing,' said Haldean, trying hard. ‘We can hardly get lost down here. Boscombe's book gave the impression there were any number of tunnels running off the main one, but we haven't passed any, yet.'

‘They must be further along.'

‘D'you think so? It must be awkward to find your way round when all the tunnels start interlinking. Be rotten to be lost down here in the dark without water. It sort of catches your throat, doesn't it? This is one of the driest places I've ever been in. I suppose you'd die of thirst in the end. You wouldn't last long, although, if someone was looking for you, a shout should carry a long way . . .' Moved by a sudden impulse, he threw back his head in a resounding bellow. ‘Hello!'

The sound rolled down the tunnel, echoing off the walls, reverberating into the far distance until it rumbled to a grumbling halt.

‘Major Haldean,' said Mrs Verrity, tightly. ‘If you do that again, I shall take the torch and leave.'

‘Sorry.' He grinned apologetically. ‘I had no idea it was going to be so spectacular, although that's not really the right word to describe a noise. My word, it was loud, wasn't it? Enough, as you might say, to wake the dead. But perhaps that's not the happiest of images, either.'

She contented herself with a look.

A few minutes later he stopped. ‘There seems to be something in the way up the tunnel. Either that or the ground's very uneven.' He took a few paces forward, then paused quietly, running the light over the humps on the floor. He took a deep breath. ‘Bodies.'

Mrs Verrity gave a whispering gasp.

Haldean went down on one knee and reached out his hand, then stopped. ‘No. I'll leave the poor devils. Their war ended quickly, at any rate.' He stood up, brushing the chalk from his knees. ‘All British. This must have been one of the parties Boscombe talks about.' He shone the torch further down the tunnel. ‘Look, there's another group down there.' He walked swiftly away before halting for Mrs Verrity to catch up with him. ‘More men,' he said sombrely. ‘Again, all British.' He focused the torch on a khaki-clad figure on the floor. ‘He was ambushed from behind. You can see where the bullet went through his back.' He flicked the light over the dead men and shook his head. ‘Some of these poor blighters were jumped as well . . . They didn't stand a chance. I say, Mrs Verrity, are you all right?'

She swallowed, and closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Walk on, please. I had no idea these – these things – were down here. Please, Major, let's go on.'

‘Right you are.' He stood for a moment, then shook his head. ‘There's damn all we can do for them now. I wonder why the Germans didn't remove the bodies? There's precious little point, I suppose. After all, they're further underground than any burial party could dig. And they were mourned long ago. It's funny, isn't it, to think that up there, over the Channel in England, there are women who remember these men as they were. And now there's nothing but bones.'

‘Is there any reason at all for us to be here?'

Haldean glanced at her. ‘Can these bones live, you mean?' She gave him an irritated, puzzled look. ‘That bit in the Bible – Ezekiel, I think it is – where the dead bones rise up and clothe themselves in sinews and flesh. It always struck me as creepy. But it's just possible these bones may speak . . . I say, you're not looking any too bright. Shall we go on?'

After what seemed a long time but was, in fact, just under ten minutes by Haldean's watch, they came to the entrance to another tunnel running off to the west. ‘I wonder,' murmured Haldean and, crouching down, he shone the light along the dust-clogged ground. ‘I bet this is the tunnel Boscombe hid in, you know. There's a very gentle depression to one side as if someone's lain there.'

‘That would have vanished after all these years.'

‘Would it? Perhaps. I may be mistaken. There's obviously been a good deal of traffic down the main part of this tunnel. Look at all the foot-marks.' He straightened up. ‘Any idea where it goes to? It was pretty well used.'

‘None. I never came this far.'

‘Shall we go down it?'

‘No. Please, Major Haldean, either find what you are looking for or admit this has been a mistake. There can be nothing down here that can tell you what happened to Richard.'

Haldean seemed rather crestfallen. ‘Perhaps I have been barking up the wrong tree,' he said reluctantly. ‘Still, as we are here, we might as well see it through to the end.'

A few hundred yards more brought them to an absolute halt. The tunnel had narrowed and now stopped altogether in a landslip. The only way was back.

‘I suppose,' said Haldean thoughtfully, ‘this is where Whitfield made his last stand. They dug him out of the rubble on the other side of this wall.'

‘And now you have seen the place where poor Richard was attacked, perhaps we can go? I have not enjoyed walking down here and I am anxious to get back to the surface. I am sorry you have not had a successful voyage, but never could I understand what you hoped to find.' She looked back at the yawning blackness of the tunnel and gave an impatient shudder. ‘And now we have to go back and it has all been for nothing.'

Haldean put the torch down on a large lump of chalk, leaned against the wall, and shook his head. ‘Not quite for nothing, Mrs Verrity. You see, I've found the evidence I came for.' He studied his nails for a moment. ‘And the case, if you would like to put it like that, is closed.'

She stared at him, then laughed. ‘What? What can you have seen that I have not? It is ridiculous what you say there.'

‘Not really.' He looked up and smiled. ‘You see, I now know who the traitor was, why and how Boscombe was murdered, why Morton was murdered, why Colonel Whitfield had such an overpowering desire to marry Marguerite Vayle, and why and how the Colonel himself came to be murdered in turn. It's an interesting tale. Slightly sordid in parts, hinging as it does on some very basic human weaknesses, but interesting all the same. Would you like to hear it?'

‘Of course. But can you not tell me on the way back, Major?'

‘Oh, this is as good a place as any. You can see what actually happened if we stay here. This landslip, for example. Such a good, solid, convincing fall of rock with Whitfield on the other side, brought down while he heroically held off the Germans. Odd that there aren't any Germans, isn't it?'

‘I – I don't understand.'

‘Don't you?' He picked a piece of chalk from the rubble and made idle patterns on it with his thumbnail. ‘Whitfield was supposed to have been in a fight. Where's the enemy? We – the British – took his word for it that beyond the wall were Germans but, as you can see, here we are on the other side of the wall and not a single Fritz in sight.'

She licked her lips nervously. ‘The bodies must have been moved.'

‘Perhaps. Strange, though, that they left all the Tommies. Unusual, that. Let's say that is what happened. They must have been a jolly thorough working party. They obviously cleared away every single spent bullet and cartridge case as well.'

She shrugged. ‘Perhaps they did.'

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps,' he repeated, drily. ‘After all, a great many things may be possible to troops who are invisible.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Don't you see, Mrs Verrity? The British were attacked from the rear.
But the only tunnel down which the Germans could have come had Boscombe lying across the entrance
. If they had passed him he would have known – and so would they. He would have been taken prisoner and spent the rest of the war behind wire, instead of coming to enliven my life in the RFC.' He tossed the chalk from hand to hand. ‘And so, on the evidence, I'm afraid that our Colonel Whitfield stands convicted not only of being the Augier Ridge traitor, but of shooting his own men. Can you imagine that? They, faces to the front, watching for the enemy, while the man who offered to lead them quietly drew his gun . . . Some of them must have known and turned but he got them nevertheless and left them here dead and dying. We're in a tomb, Mrs Verrity. They have long since ceased to live and their bodies have crumbled to dust, but their bones tell the story. Their bones spoke after all.'

She tried to laugh but it was an unconvincing sound. ‘You have the good imagination, yes? Tell me, Major, if poor Richard had done what you say, why were stolen documents and German messages found in Tyburn's things? I cannot believe Richard put them there. He would not have had the chance.'

‘Of course he wouldn't,' agreed Haldean. ‘You did that.'

There was a moment of frozen silence. Then Mrs Verrity gave a real smile. ‘So. You know. I was beginning to wonder if you did, Major Haldean. I suppose you know how I murdered Boscombe, Morton and poor, dear Richard himself?' Haldean nodded and Mrs Verrity's smile grew. ‘I was right about you, Monsieur Haldean. I thought you were dangerously clever when I met you and,
mon chéri
, I was not wrong. I should have taken care of you the night you stayed at my house. Richard wanted me to, but after his clumsy attempt to kill you, you were under the eye of the doctor and your friend, the policeman. It would not have been safe for me to take the action I wanted. Perhaps I should have risked it after all.' Her hand moved to her bag.

‘Don't do that,' said Haldean, pleasantly. ‘I'd hate you to pull a gun on me now.'

Her hand stopped and she shrugged. ‘Ah, well. It is permitted, then, that I smoke a cigarette?' With his wary eyes on her, she slipped a hand into her pocket, brought out a flat silver case and, opening it, took out a cigarette. ‘Have you a match?'

Without taking his gaze from her Haldean leaned forward with his lighter and, as the sweet smell hit his nostrils, he knew he'd been tricked. He gave a little gasp and crumpled forward.

Anne-Marie Verrity pulled deeply on her cigarette, looking at the sprawled body at her feet. Then she casually threw the cigarette down and ground it into the dust with her heel. Opening her bag, she took out a heavy, stick-shaped object with a bulge at the top, looking at it critically. It was a German hand grenade. She placed it on the ground beside her, reached in her bag once more and took out a small, blue-sheened revolver. She pointed it at Haldean, then shook her head regretfully before turning it round in her hands and holding it by the muzzle. Going on one knee beside him she carefully brushed back his hair from the temple. She raised the gun, butt end high, to strike . . . And a hand caught hers.

She whirled and screamed. A British soldier stood in front of her, tall, relentless and ghost-white with chalk.

‘We can't let you do that.' He took the gun from her numb fingers and covered her with it, but it was unnecessary. She crammed her hand into her mouth to stop the screams but the noise came out as whimpering sobs.

There were running footsteps in the tunnel and lights bouncing off the walls. Ashley, flanked by three other men, came panting up beside them. He dropped a hand on the soldier's arm. ‘Well done, Captain Rivers.' He bent down beside Haldean as he opened bleary eyes. ‘Are you all right?'

Haldean looked at Rivers and a half-smile touched his mouth. He took the proffered hand and stood up. ‘My God, Greg, she must have thought you were the living dead.' His grip tightened. ‘Thanks, old son. It might have been nasty without you.'

‘It might have been very nasty,' said Haldean thoughtfully, picking up a glass of brandy and cupping it in his hands. They were in the Wedgwood blue drawing room at Hesperus. The curtains were drawn back and through the open windows a tranquil dusk was gliding into night. Haldean sipped his brandy with widening eyes. ‘My God, Uncle, what are you giving us?