The Secret Vanguard (23 page)

He nodded. ‘Yes. And so does Appleby. They have it pretty well covered from this side. But there’s that mess of women: three boatloads probably of genuine old wives. Look how close they’ve contrived to bunch them before the doors…
And
there!
’

Suddenly the boathouse was open: the doors which Sheila remembered as having the appearance of utter neglect had vanished with the speed of capital machinery; one of the little clump of boats had shot inside; and in the same moment two of the others had been overturned, leaving a dozen women floundering in shallow water.

‘No shooting there for a few minutes,’ Dick said. ‘And to secure those few minutes if needed is what this whole flummery was gotten going for. And now for what they’ve had hidden inside.’

‘I fear,’ said Hetherton, ‘that it can be nothing less than–’

‘Sure. And here it is.’

A slanting grey snout had appeared from the boathouse; in a matter of seconds a small grey flying boat was floating free on the loch, its wings gracefully unfolding themselves as if it had been a living thing. There was a roar of the starting engines, a choke, a further roar, and the craft was scudding rapidly up the loch. It cleared the area of the boats and the bobbing women – and as it did so Sheila heard for the first time the sound of something like battle. But the rattle of small arms lasted only for a minute; the flying boat, climbing steadily, was out of range up the loch.

And Sheila stared, unbelieving. It is hard to see in a flash that one is beaten… And then she grabbed Dick’s arm again.

‘Dick, it must have been hit; look how it’s travelling – like a hurt bird.’

‘Not hit.’ The voice was Rodney Orchard’s beside them. ‘Spot of engine trouble: I could hear it as they were taking off. Not tuned up. They weren’t planning this desperate emergency exit; they were going off quietly by car. They may come down. But more probably they’ll get through. Clever chaps. Damn my idiotic holiday and damn that formula. Find another perhaps…’ He sat down limply on the grass.

They could see Mackintosh turn round and run for the road: run for one of the lorries which would take him to the nearest telephone. But that would be far too late. Already the flying boat was a speck on the horizon. Sheila turned and looked at Appleby: he was gazing fixedly into the western sky. And so was Hetherton. ‘It’s the aeroplane we saw before,’ he said. ‘I believe it is coming this way. Can we signal? Will the soldiers, I wonder, have wireless or a heliograph?’

It looked as if Appleby was making similar inquiries: he was pointing and talking rapidly to the officer beside him. The officer shook his head; Appleby turned away and broke into a run; in a few seconds he had disappeared behind a fold in the ground. ‘A resourceful man,’ said Hetherton. ‘But one scarcely sees what he can do. The aeroplane is flying due east, and will pass over the loch perhaps a couple of miles away. Would a volley from the soldiers attract its attention, and is there somewhere where it could land?’

Dick shook his head. ‘There may be some possible landing ground some miles away, but that’s not the point. The flying boat, even if running badly, is making out of Scotland at two hundred miles an hour. Only an immediate intelligible signal is any good. Strips of stuff on the ground would do it, but there’s no time for that…
Ah!
’ He paused, listening. ‘We’ve heard that sound before.’

They had indeed heard it before: it was the roaring engine of their motorboat. And a second later the little craft shot into view, just beyond the last of the bobbing rowing boats. Appleby was in it alone. And it leapt down the loch.

Soldiers lined the banks, immobile and staring; on the terrace clustered the bewildered women; above the marquee the Union Jack and the Scottish Standard blew in a freshening breeze. It was like some bizarre regatta… And suddenly the motorboat crazily wheeled. It was going all out; behind it curved a knife-edge of foam; it wheeled again and almost turned over; there was a smother of spray and it was off once more on another curve, like a giant white chalk sweeping over blue paper… And, high in air, the plane banked, turned, appeared to hover.

Sheila shut her eyes and counted twenty slowly. ‘Dick,’ she asked, ‘has he done it?’

‘He’s doing it. More slowly now. He’s been spotted and can be less spectacular.’

‘And the aeroplane,’ asked Hetherton. ‘Will it possess some form of wireless communication?’

‘Three separate systems. Don’t worry.’

It was evening as the train drew out of the quiet Highland station. Hetherton, who had mysteriously provided himself with a copy of the
Journal of Classical Archaeology
, settled himself comfortably back in a corner. ‘I am sorry that Appleby and that interesting fellow Orchard are not travelling with us,’ he said. ‘But it was necessary that they should fly. Appleby tells me that he has to deliver Orchard at an important conference, and that then he himself has an overdue appointment with a burglar in Putney. And, Sheila, you will leave us at the next station: Colonel Farquharson will meet you. So our little company is breaking up. Mr Evans, what are your plans?’

Dick Evans had a newspaper before him; he shook his head absently, slightly sombrely.

‘I myself return to my very commonplace round.’ Hetherton shook his head regretfully and was silent for a moment. ‘I wonder,’ he asked suddenly, ‘if
anything
can be retrieved at Dabdab?’

The engine, whistling eerily in the dusk, gave the only answer. They travelled in silence. And then Dick said: ‘Here it is.’

Sheila looked up sharply. ‘What?’

‘Just the end of our adventure. Quite a scoop for the local press.
The Forres, Elgin and Nairn
Gazette
–’

‘A good title.’

‘–
Northern Review and Advertiser
–’

‘Is that the same paper?’

‘Sure.
Northern Review and Advertiser, Strathspey and Badenoch Times
… Shall I read it?’

‘Do.’

‘“
Stop Press. Residents in the district this morning witnessed an impressive display of aerial strength when extensive manoeuvres were carried out over the Moray Firth. Among the machines engaged were, it is believed, a number of the new Hurricane fighters recently described by the aeronautical correspondent of our distinguished contemporary
The Times.”’

Hetherton laid down his journal and chuckled. ‘Capital,’ he said. ‘I like that.’

‘“
The exercises were marked by an accident, fortunately not of a serious character, near Forres. In the course of the morning guests at the Hydropathic establishment were startled by gun fire and a loud crash, and it was found that a flying boat, of a type at present unidentified, had made a forced landing near the summit of Cluny Hill, narrowly missing the Nelson Monument, a well-known landmark which commemorates the connection with the district of the great admiral’s friend, Captain Hardy.

‘“
According to a reliable report emanating from official quarters
–”’

Hetherton chuckled again.

‘“
According to a reliable report emanating from official quarters none of the Royal Air Force personnel on board the machine sustained any serious injury.”’
Dick grinned. ‘We can take that as entirely true.’ ‘
“The shock, however, had for a short time a curious effect upon some of the crew, who appeared to hold the dazed belief that they were operating under actual battle conditions and had been forced down on enemy territory. Certain measures which had to be taken to meet this remarkable circumstance are believed to be responsible for unfounded rumours now in circulation. Interviewed by telephone at Inverness, a high official of the Coastal Command announced that all the occupants of the machine were receiving appropriate treatment in comfortable
quarters. It was likely that they would not again be effective units of their force for some time.
”’

‘The Secret Vanguard,’ Sheila said. There was silence. The train rocked through the evening. She peered out. ‘It’s going to be dark early. Great shadows and masses of cloud.’ She began to collect her things. ‘We didn’t do badly.’

‘It’s a round to you,’ said Dick. He smiled. ‘I’m glad that I got tied up in it.’

‘And I’m glad you got
untied
– there in the croft. It would have been a different story but for that.’

‘Yes.’

There was no longer silence. Hetherton had put down his journal again and was looking at them gravely, a little sadly. ‘You remember the last chapter of
Rasselas
?’ he asked. ‘It is called a Conclusion in which nothing is Concluded. That is so with us. And you must neither of you think that because war is coming other things must go for good. The shadows are dark over Europe; so dark’ – he smiled – ‘that Caravaggio himself might be baffled by them. We must wait, knowing that always there are torches which do not go out.’

‘Meantime,’ said Dick, ‘I suppose there is nothing to be done.’ He looked at Sheila.

The train had stopped. She rose. ‘Nothing.’

He opened the door. Through it came the same indefinable mingling of scents that had come to her at Perth. The smell of Scotland.

She said goodbye.

John Appleby first appears in
Death at the President's Lodging
, by which time he has risen to the rank of Inspector in the police force. A cerebral detective, with ready wit, charm and good manners, he rose from humble origins to being educated at 'St Anthony's College', Oxford, prior to joining the police as an ordinary constable.

Having decided to take early retirement just after World War II, he nonetheless continued his police career at a later stage and is subsequently appointed an Assistant Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police at Scotland Yard, where his crime solving talents are put to good use, despite the lofty administrative position. Final retirement from the police force (as Commissioner and Sir John Appleby) does not, however, diminish Appleby's taste for solving crime and he continues to be active,
Appleby and the Ospreys
marking his final appearance in the late 1980's.

In
Appleby's End
he meets Judith Raven, whom he marries and who has an involvement in many subsequent cases, as does their son Bobby and other members of his family.

These titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels