Traitor's Purse (3 page)

‘Is his own reward,’ supplied the girl without moving her head. ‘All the same,’ she went on carefully, ‘I don’t see what else you could have done. After all, if a stranger is polite enough to talk to one in a railway carriage and nutty enough to fall over one’s bag and stun himself in getting out the least one can do is to take him to hospital.’

‘I can think of less,’ said the old man, grunting into his muffler. ‘Can’t you, Campion?’

‘Yes, yes, I can.’ The man in the back of the car was not thinking what he was saying. Campion, He seized on the name eagerly and tried to think that it was familiar. At first he was convinced that it was, and relief rushed over him. But the next moment he was not sure again and despair returned. It was an unnerving experience and he felt for a cigarette.

Finding that he had no pockets, he leant forward automatically and discovered in the dark a packet and a lighter tucked into the case at the back of the front seat. He was actually smoking before he realized the significance of his behaviour. He must have known the cigarettes were there. He had taken one as naturally as if he had done it a hundred times before. The explanation was obvious. He had. He was in his own car.

He lay back to think it over. His head was abominably sore but his mind was clear. It was only his memory which had deserted him and, if he could not remember, at least he could put together what facts he had.

The one clear conclusion to be drawn from present developments, he decided, was that he and the girl were up to something – or at least she certainly was. She was protecting him the whole time, feeding him with story after story and doing it very well, almost as though she were used to it. Perhaps she was.

The conviction that she was his wife came slowly. The more he thought of it the more likely it became. Here she was, driving his car, looking after him like a mother, lying for him like a heroine. George’s car indeed! For the first time since he had recovered consciousness in the hospital ward he saw a ray of comfort in his prospect. The abysmal loneliness of his position was spanned. Apart from his tremendous relief he was also suddenly delighted and he peered at her again in the darkness.

She drove very well, with confidence and with an unusual sympathy for the machine. He appreciated that. So many people approached the petrol engine as if it were something vindictive, to be mastered with daring and a firm hand. He liked her voice too. It was clear and well bred, without being affected, and it was also engagingly immature. Her face he could only just remember from his brief glimpse of her in the entrance hall of the hospital, but he liked the carriage of her head and the courage and dignity in those small square shoulders.

His spirits rose. If she were his wife he was all right. It had gone through his mind once or twice that he might be a crook of some sort. The notion had so depressed him that he was inclined to discount it as unlikely on those very grounds. But he had opened the fire cupboard with the hairpin and there had been that mysterious remark about money made by the bobby to the nurse. Why should it have looked odd when he had been found with a lot of money on him? Why should the authorities have taken it for granted that he had
slugged
a policeman? Had anyone seen him do it? Had he done it? He did not feel a particularly violent man. What sort of person was he, anyway?

The final question pulled him up with a start. He had no idea. Physically he appeared to be fairly tall and he was thin. He had plenty of hair and his teeth were his own. Without a mirror he could tell no more.

His impression of the girl was that she was young, perhaps very young, and he considered the question of his own age thoughtfully. He was fit and, apart from a natural shakiness after his experience, which, whatever it had been, had left him with aching limbs and a reeling head, he felt fairly athletic. He wondered. He was clearly not a boy but, on the other hand, surely he was not old? Finally he plumped for twenty-nine. It was a nice age anyhow and he felt no more.

He began to feel better, almost adventurous. The big car was brushing aside the miles and he had half persuaded himself that the police-slugging episode was part of some past delirium when the elderly man stirred himself.

‘I see where we are now,’ he said contentedly. ‘We must have come fifteen miles out of our way.’ He broke off abruptly and laughed, the silly little high-pitched giggle of a foolish old man. ‘I mean five miles, of course,’ he added clumsily. ‘I don’t know what made me say fifteen.’

The man who had been told that his name was Campion glanced up sharply in the darkness and the shadowy tide of anxiety rolled up into his mind once more.

‘It’s not far now, anyway.’ The girl’s cool voice was comfortingly matter-of-fact. ‘If you don’t mind, Mr Anscombe, we’ll put you down at your house and rush on to change. Aubrey has put the meal back to eight-thirty and we can’t in all decency be late. We’ll see you there, shan’t we?’

‘Yes, yes, I shall be there.’ The old man sounded enthusiastic. ‘I never miss an opportunity to dine at the Institute now that Aubrey is the skipper. I remember his predecessor, the great Doctor Hale. He was an able fellow but nothing like Aubrey. Lee Aubrey is one of the big men of our time.’

‘Yes,’ said the girl thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I think he may be. He’s not afraid to surround himself with brains.’

Anscombe grunted. ‘A particularly brilliant man on his own account,’ he announced didactically. ‘We were more than lucky to get him here at Bridge. I remember the famous session when his appointment was announced to the Secret Conclave. As Hereditary Secretary to the Society I was very much congratulated, but I said “Don’t thank me, Masters of Bridge” – that’s the customary address, you know – “Don’t thank me. Thank the man himself for coming to us.”’

He settled himself in his seat and sighed. It was clear to Campion that he was talking of matters very near his heart. Pride and more than a touch of pomposity glowed from him.

Anscombe? The name meant nothing to Campion. But Bridge, and the Institute, struck a vaguely familiar note. He fancied that they were well-known terms, something he had heard about all his life.

Presently the old man spoke again.

‘Aubrey is a wealthy man too, you know,’ he said. ‘It’s not generally known, but he donates the whole of his two thousand pound salary to some scholarship fund in the north. His private income must be considerable. Still, it suits him, you know. He has a unique position which no money in the world could buy, and a house which is virtually a museum-piece, also not for purchase. You’re comfortable there, aren’t you?’

‘Very. It’s a glorious house, isn’t it, Albert?’

It took Campion some seconds to realize that she was talking to him, but his response, when it did come, was manfully enthusiastic.

Mr Anscombe turned in his seat.

‘You’re tired,’ he said. ‘That experience of yours took it out of you. That sort of thing often does. London is exhausting, too. What are you wearing? A mackintosh? I can hear something rustling but I can’t see you. It’s very warm in here. Why don’t you take it off?’

‘No. I don’t think I will, thanks.’ To his horror he heard
himself
beginning to laugh, but again the girl came to his rescue.

‘Leave him alone,’ she said. ‘He’s in disgrace. He’s taken the wrong car, led us miles out of the way, and now he dozes off smelling like a bicycle shop. You’ll have to give up oilskins, Albert, at any rate for wear in a confined space. Still, we’re practically there. This is your gate, isn’t it, Mr Anscombe? You wouldn’t think it awfully rude of us if we didn’t take the car into the drive, would you?’

‘Oh of course not, of course not. I’m late myself. Thank you very much for all your kindness. I feel I forced myself on you this afternoon, but you’ve been so very good, so very good.’

He was hoisting himself out of the low seat with difficulty as he spoke and his hollow foolish voice squeaked and trailed away as he landed himself safely on the pavement and closed the door. Through the window the remaining passenger caught a glimpse of him disappearing between high stucco pillars towards a steep dark house beyond.

‘Silly little man,’ said the girl suddenly. ‘He’s left his parcel. I shan’t be a moment. I’ll take it to him.’

‘That’s all right, I’ll do that,’ Campion said hastily, fumbling for the door handle.

‘You can’t in those clothes.’

‘Yes, I can. He won’t see me. Or if he does he’ll have to realize I’m an eccentric. Where’s his baggage?’

She turned towards him in the darkness.

‘It’s books, I think,’ she said. ‘Here you are,’

He took the square parcel and staggered out after the departing figure. It was brighter than he thought and he did not call to the man but came up the small drive quietly. The front door was already closed when he found it, and, rather than knock, he laid the package on the step and hurried down the drive to the waiting car again.

With the departure of Anscombe the very car seemed more comfortable. The girl let in the clutch softly and they slid away. The man, who was still trying to remember if his name really was Albert Campion, leant forward. Now that
he
was alone with this delightful if unrecognizable wife of his he felt unexpectedly embarrassed about coming to the vital point. She was having such an extraordinary effect on him. He was so very glad of her, so childishly content and happy to find her. He wished to God that she would take his head on her heart and let him go to sleep. It was ridiculous to have to ask her to tell him her name.

‘It is all very difficult,’ he began awkwardly.

‘I know.’ Her agreement was so heartfelt that it silenced him. ‘It’s frightful, and there’s absolutely no time to talk and get it straight. We’re here already and we daren’t be late, it’ll look so fishy.’

She swung the car up a steep incline and through a columned gateway as she spoke.

‘I only found out where you were by a miracle. I’d been waiting down at the station as we arranged. I got rid of Anscombe until four o’clock, but after that I had to carry him around with me, telling him one dubious tale after another. I had to bring him because he insisted. He said he had to see his dentist and he asked Lee Aubrey if I’d give him a lift. Lee made a personal request of it and I couldn’t refuse without sounding suspicious. So there he was.’

The car had not stopped. As far as Campion could see they were rolling through some sort of park. The girl was still talking. She was nervous and a little breathless.

‘He’s a terrifying old boy, isn’t he?’ she demanded. ‘Flat mental deficiency for ninety-nine per cent of the time and single flashes of acuteness. You don’t know whether it’s silver showing through the disguising tarnish or the last few flecks of plate on the old tin spoon. Our only hope is to get down to the meal and behave normally. Have you got anything under that decontamination outfit? Can we leave it in the car?’

‘It all depends where we’re going,’ he said. ‘I’m in pyjamas … awful grey flannel things.’

‘What?’ She stopped the car in her astonishment and turned to him. ‘What happened? You’re not hurt?’

‘Oh lord no,’ he said, warmed by her anxiety. ‘I’m all right really. I only got knocked out.’

‘Oh that was it, was it?’ she said, much more relieved than he had expected her to be and far less surprised. ‘The man in the paper shop simply whispered “hospital”. I didn’t get an opportunity to talk to him at all. The place was full of people and there wasn’t time. It was nearly five then and I had the wretched Anscombe inside. That old man knows something, I swear it.’

‘More than I do,’ said Campion grimly.

To his surprise she caught him up. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s what I thought. We’ll bear him in mind. I say, I am glad you’re all right. It never went through my mind that you might have gone to the hospital as a patient. When I saw you charging out in the deep-sea-diver costume I thought some kind friend had lent it to you to hide the tramp’s garbage. I’ve got your change in the luggage hatch. That’s what was worrying me so when you didn’t turn up before Anscombe returned. I didn’t see how I was going to get it to you before he saw you. Well, it’s silly to change now, isn’t it? You’ll have to smuggle yourself in.’

The man laughed. She was charming and he was very tired.

‘Anything you say, lady,’ he said. ‘Where do we go?’

‘I think that side door,’ she said, ‘don’t you? The one that leads up out of the yard where we leave the car. I know it’s bad form for house guests to use the back stairs, but we’ll just have to look badly brought up if we’re seen. You could always shout “Fire!” again of course, but that might not help in the long run.’

He sat watching her silhouette as she manoeuvred the big car skilfully into a narrow entrance by the side of a large dim building. She was an astonishing young person, as practical and energetic as a child and utterly without affectation. He thought her voice was the coolest and most comforting sound he had ever heard.

She parked the car and he climbed out, stiff and unsteady, into a neat old-fashioned stableyard with cobbles under his
feet
and the low graceful lines of Georgian outbuildings just visible in the faint light. By the time he emerged she had already opened the luggage hatch and was tugging at a suitcase within.

He took it from her and would have put his free arm round her shoulders, but she did not notice his gesture and it occurred to him that he did hot usually exhibit such open affection. He was wondering a little at himself when she called him from the house.

‘Come on, Albert. It’s awfully late.’

He found her waiting for him in a dark arched doorway.

‘Two steps up,’ she said. ‘Come on. It’s got a blackout gadget which turns out the light when you open the door.’

As the wood closed softly behind him the small passage in which they stood lit up and in a soft yellow glow the comfortable flagged and panelled interior of a perfect Georgian house emerged. A baize door opposite him clearly cut off the reception half of the establishment and a narrow flight of oak stairs on their left led to a similar door on the first floor. The girl made for this upper door and as she ran up the staircase he suddenly saw her and recognized her, the first real and familiar thing to emerge in the terrifying darkness of his mind. Her thin young back under the perfectly cut brown tweed of her suit, her red curls, and her small brown hand on the bannister were all suddenly well known and inexpressibly dear to him.