Trusted Like The Fox (13 page)

With a feeling of suffocating happiness Grace knew this time he meant the compliment. He went on before she could think of anything to say. “You haven’t told me your name. Won’t you?”

“Grace,” she said, hesitated, remembering that the newspaper had mentioned her name, decided to lie. “Grace Stuart.”

He smiled. “A fine old historical name. May I call you Grace?”

She flushed scarlet.

“Yes,” she said, looking down at her plate. “Oh, yes, please.”

This time he laughed. “We’ll have to have a serious talk before long, but there’s still a lot to do. You get on with breakfast. As soon as I’ve finished I must get that stretcher out of the way. It wouldn’t do for anyone to find it here.”

She suddenly thought of Ellis.

“How is — he?”

Crane shook his head. “He’s bad, but I’ve got him to bed and he seems comfortable. Perhaps you’d better keep an eye on him while I’m out. I shan’t be long. He’s still unconscious and he’s been raving. Did you know he speaks German? He’s not a German, is he?” She was aware that he was looking at her intently.

“Oh, no . . . his name’s David Ellis. I — I’ve seen his identity card.”

“Funny. He’s talking a lot of rot in German . . .”

Grace looked blank. “Rot?”

“Never mind,” Crane said abruptly, finished his coffee and pushed back his chair. “I’ll get off if you’ll excuse me. I want to plant that stretcher somewhere before anyone spots it’s missing. I’ll take those clothes you borrowed too.” As she made to rise he waved her back to her seat. “Finish your breakfast. You must be starving. When I come back we’ll have a talk.”

She sat at the table long after the click of the gate swinging to told her that he had gone and left her alone with Ellis.

What was going to happen to her? she asked herself. What plan would he make for her when he returned? She was uncertain now about his love for her. There had been no light in his eves when he had looked at her, and yet he was so kind and understanding. She bit her lip with vexation when she thought of the fright she had given him. It was understandable for him to have looked like that although at the time he had frightened her. He had looked ghastly . . . terrified . . . almost as if . . . but she caught herself up. Guilty? Why should she think he had looked guilty? Was that being loyal after all he had done for her? She got up quickly, cleared the table and put the plates, cups and breakfast things on the trolley and pushed it into the kitchen.

She’d better look at Ellis, she thought, although now Ellis meant nothing to her. Her mind was obsessed with Crane and Ellis was a nuisance, likely to interfere with Crane’s plans for her.

She opened the bedroom door, entered.

Ellis lay on his back, his face flushed, his hands clenched at his sides. He opened his eyes as she came up to the bed and stared at her.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said in a low weak voice. “Where have you been?”

“You’ll be all right,” she said, stooping over him. “You’re ill, but you’ll be all right.” She spoke without thinking, aware with a slight feeling of shame that she did not care what happened to him.

“How do you know I’ll be all right?” he muttered, ugly rage in his eyes.

“You must keep quiet . . .” she began, broke off with a strangled gasp as his hands shot up and caught her round her throat. He dragged her down on top of him so that she sprawled across the bed, helpless in his grip.

“You bitch!” he snarled at her. “You don’t give a damn now you’ve found a fancy man. You’re selling yourself to him, aren’t you? I know. You bitches are all alike. You trade yourselves for clothes and a full belly. You don’t care what happens to me. Do you think he’ll care? He’ll throw me out . . . turn me over to the police . . . so long as he can get what he wants out of you!”

Terrified, Grace struck blindly at him, her fist hitting him in the face. His hands slipped off her throat and he went limp, the effort of holding her being too much for him.

She scrambled away from him, leaned against the wall, her face white and her breath coming in laboured gasps.

“You’re wrong,” she said. “I’m going to look after you . . . I said I would and I won’t break my word, but you mustn’t talk like that.” She suddenly became angry, “How dare you say anything against him. He’s kind! Do you hear? He’s kind! Something you don’t even know the meaning of.”

Ellis closed his eyes.

“Oh, shut up,” he sneered. “He only wants one thing, and he’ll get it from you, you weak, stupid little fool. Get out of my sight.”

“You mustn’t talk like that,” she said, shocked. “I want to help you, but I won’t if you say things like that, and besides it’s bad for you to excite yourself. You must keep quiet.”

Ellis waved her away, and then suddenly stiffened. “What’s that?” he asked, listening. “There’s someone out there.”

Grace ran to the window, peered through the white muslin curtains. Her heart turned a somersault when she saw a tall figure in police uniform coming slowly up the drive.

“It’s the police,” she said, jumping back.

Ellis snarled, showing his teeth.

“Do something, you fool,” he said. “Get me a knife or something. They won’t take me alive.”

She seemed to gain courage from his cringing terror.

“Don’t make a sound,” she said. “I won’t let him in. If I can keep him talking until Richard comes back . . .”

Ellis whispered frantically, “Give me a knife . . .”

There was a sharp ring on the bell, followed by a loud double rap on the knocker.

Without looking at Ellis, her face white, Grace went from the bedroom, down the passage to the front door.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Inspector James was a lean, grizzled man of sixty who had seen service as a Regimental Sergeant-Major in the 1914-18 war.

Tall, upright and impressive to look at, he stood on the doorstep, his keen eye examining Grace with interested but courteous scrutiny. The rambling report he had received from P.C. Rogers had raised his curiosity, and the confidential chat he had had with Mr West and Mr Malcolm had shocked him.

“He says the woman is his sister,” Mr West had said, while Mr Malcolm had smiled superciliously. “I don’t believe a word of it. She’s dressed all right, of course, but anyone with half an eye can see she’s his fancy bit. They’re no more alike than I am like you, and besides, she looks like a little shop girl.”

“And what’s more,” Malcolm had put in, “they’re up there together unchaperoned.”

Although disturbed by the robbery at the clubhouse, James was far more startled to learn that secretive adultery was being committed in the village, and he hoped that a gentle hint in the right direction would terminate the sordid affair before it became village gossip.

Inspector James considered it was the duty of the upper classes to set a high moral example, and since Crane was an exceedingly rich young man, and in spite of the fact that he took little active interest in the affairs of the village, James still regarded him as a man of considerable influence. He thought it was in the worst possible taste for Crane to have some young woman living with him, and in spite of the subterfuge of saying that she was his sister, rumours would soon be rife and the whole moral structure of the youth of the village might easily be undermined.

Inspector James was expecting to be confronted by a blonde beauty with scarlet finger-nails and even perhaps in a clinging negligé. He was therefore considerably surprised and perturbed when he found himself face to face with Grace. He saw immediately that she was not a member of the upper class and realised why Mr West and Mr Malcolm had voiced their suspicions. This young woman just could not be any relation of Crane’s. Unlike Rogers he was not misled by the way she was dressed. Here was a young woman of the lower classes, he decided, of no particular breeding, attired in an extremely expensive but admittedly (and here he was a little disappointed) modest frock, with an unusually good figure and pretty legs (Inspector James had an eye for pretty legs, a subject he shared with nobody). Although the young woman was obviously nervous, there was nothing shameless about her, and James found himself thinking it would be pleasant if his own daughter was as modest as this young woman seemed to be.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he said, saluting and inclining his ramrod figure. “I hope I’m not disturbing you by such an early call, but I understand you may be able to give me some information concerning a robbery at the Taleham Golf Club that took place in the early hours of this morning. I am Inspector James, and this district is in my care. Up to now, I may say, it has been a very pleasant charge, but this robbery has spoilt a record of fifteen crimeless years.” A wintry smile crossed his face. “You will appreciate, I’m sure, ma’am, that people are nervous these days, and it would never do to let them think that we’re in for a crime wave. Enough of that is going on in London at the present moment, and we don’t want any of it here.” He stroked his grey moustache, shook his head dolefully. “There’s only one way to stamp out a crime wave, ma’am,” he continued, his eyes never leaving Grace’s white, tense face. “Immediate action must be taken to arrest the offender, and that, ma’am, is why I have called on you. Any information you may be able to give me will be treated as confidential and will be acted upon with discretion.”

Grace found the tall, lean figure was bearing down on her, and she gave ground, hypnotised by the gentle voice and the steady stream of words.

Before she knew what was happening, James was in the hall, closing the front door behind him.

“You have a nice place here, ma’am,” he said, glancing round. “Not every newly-married couple can claim a home as nice as this. From what I’ve seen of most of the new houses and that nasty utility furniture it’s better to stay single.” He edged his way towards the sitting-room. “It’s most kind of you to let me in, ma’am,” he went on. “I’ve had a long, tiring walk and I’m not as young as I was, although I mustn’t grumble considering I’ve had four years of trench warfare and have been twice blown sky high by high explosives.” He opened the sitting-room door, stood aside to allow Grace to enter.

“I — I don’t know anything about the robbery,” she burst out, now thoroughly frightened.

The inspector apparently did not hear this statement. He selected the most comfortable chair in the room and lowered himself into it with a grateful sigh.

“A very restful and beautiful room if I may say so, ma’am,” he said, then glanced up, his eyes suddenly piercing. “I am addressing Mrs Richard Crane, I presume?”

“Oh no,” Grace said, her face turning scarlet. “I’m not Mrs Crane.”

James raised his eyebrows. He appeared to be too astonished to speak for a few moments. “Not Mrs Crane?” he said at last. “Now, that’s very odd. It’s not like me to make a mistake. Very odd indeed. I understood there was a young lady staying with Mr Crane, and I naturally supposed she was his wife. I did hear somewhere that he had married recently or am I thinking of someone else?” He shook his head. “I may be. An old man’s failing, I’m afraid. At one time my memory was remarkably good, but these days it’s unreliable.” He shook his head again. “The penalty of old age.”

Grace stood by the door, her knees weak and her heart hammering against her ribs. She said nothing, waited.

“Perhaps you’re Miss Crane?” James went on, his face lighting up hopefully.

“I — I’m Mrs Julie Brewer,” Grace said desperately, remembering the name by which Crane had introduced her to the Club Secretary. “I’m Mr Crane’s sister.”

“I see,” James said, looking at her thoughtfully. “His sister, eh? I see.”

There was a long, painful silence, then James went on, “Well, Mrs Brewer, perhaps you can help me. I understand you were on the golf course early this morning. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“What time were you there?”

“About nine o’clock.”

“About nine o’clock,” James repeated, taking a notebook from his pocket. “I think I’ll make a note of that. As I’ve already mentioned my memory is not what it was. So you were on the golf course about nine o’clock. Were you with Mr Crane?”

“I was alone at the time,” Grace said, looking anywhere but at the inspector. “Mr Crane promised to give me a lesson and I was late. I — I overslept and he went without me. I was trying to find him when — when your — the policeman saw me.”

“I see,” James said, nodding. “You’re deaf, I understand?” he went on gently after a pause. “You didn’t hear the police constable shout to you.”

Grace looked away. “Yes, I’m deaf,” she said bitterly.

“Very sad, I’m sure,” James said, watching her, “The results of the war?”

Grace nodded.

“And did you see anyone besides Mr Crane while you were on the course?”

“Only Mr West and Mr Malcolm and the police officer.”

“No one else?”

“No.”

“You’re quite sure of that? I understand Mr Crane saw a man carrying a bundle under his arm. Did you see him?”

“No.”

“So you can’t help me at all, Mrs Brewer?” James asked, and tapped his notebook thoughtfully with his finger-nail.

“I’m afraid not. If — if you’ll excuse me now I have things to do.”

A frosty expression came into the blue eyes. Inspector James was not accustomed to be dismissed by a member of the lower classes.

“All in good time, Mrs Brewer,” he said. “I should like a few particulars about yourself in case I should need to contact you again. May I have your address?”

“I’m staying here,” Grace said, clenching her lists behind her back.

“Will you be here long?”

“Yes.” She wanted to tell him to mind his own business but his uniform cowed her.

“One more thing,” James said, rising to his feet. He was now firmly convinced that this young woman was not Crane’s sister. There was no resemblance, and besides anyone could see she was out of place, in spite of her good clothes, in this luxury bungalow. “May I see your identity card, ma’am? I make it a rule to note the numbers of all identity cards of visitors who are staying some time in the village. It assists in many ways.”

Grace felt her face turn white. The room spun before her eyes and she knew James was watching her with suspicious interest. But she made an effort and pulled herself together.