Gale Warning (10 page)

I wiped the sweat from my face and threw a frantic look round.

The road, of course, was empty: there was, I knew, no turning for two or three hundred yards: and, though for the most part the highway itself was open, at this particular spot tall banks were hiding the country on either side.

Unable to stand such blindness, I flung myself at the bank beside which the car was berthed; and a moment later I was overlooking a meadow of very fair grass. This was studded by several magnificent trees and, since the herbage was green and the sunshine was very bright, the patches of shade which they threw made what was a pretty picture into a striking scene. As though to humour some painter, a number of good-looking Jerseys were leisurely eating their fill, while, sunk in the trees in the distance, I saw the gleam of a farm. A dog and two little children were clearly in charge of the herd, but, since the meadow was fenced, their duties were light: this in a way was as well, for the three were sitting down with their backs to the cows and their six eyes fast upon Audrey, who I afterwards found was telling a fairy-tale.

The dog was the first to see me, and told the others by growling that I was there. Then Audrey looked round and saw me – and put up a hand and waved.

As I drew near, she spoke.

“Are you terribly cross, St John?”

“I’m too much relieved,” I said.

“But why ‘relieved,’ St John?”

“You don’t deserve it,” said I, “but – to find you safe.”

Audrey addressed the children, speaking in French. “I told you,” she said, “that he was the sweetest thing.”

With that, she introduced us.

Jeanne Marie was five, and her brother was six: and both were very clean and very polite: and both, I am sure, believed that I was Audrey’s husband – or if they did not, then it was not Audrey’s fault.

She patted the ground by her side.

“Sit down, my darling. We’re on parade, you know. So take a leaf out of my book and don’t let the side down.”

As I took my seat, she turned to the children again.

“Monsieur,” she said, “is more clever than any dog. I left him four miles from here, and I never said where I was going, and he never saw me go. Yet, you see he has found me within the hour.”

Jeanne Marie regarded me, finger to lip.

“That,” she said, “is because he loves Madame so much.”

“I never thought of that,” said Audrey. She threw me a dazzling smile. “Is that how you did it, St John?”

“I like to think so,” said I, with the blood in my face.

Audrey addressed my tell-tale.

“You’re perfectly right,” she said. “I think I’m very lucky, don’t you?”

Jeanne Marie smiled at me and then looked down at her feet.

“It is not for me to say.”

“Oh, you home-wrecker,” said Audrey. “And what does Edouard think?”

The boy regarded me straightly: then he returned to Audrey, who plainly had all his heart.

“I think Monsieur is luckier still.”

Audrey shook her head.

“You’re wrong,” she said. “He’s very much nicer than me – and I ought to know.”

“Audrey,” I said, “have a heart. When you talk like that, I want to burst into tears.”

With the tenderest look, she put out her hand for mine. Then she returned to the children and told them what I had said.

They nodded approvingly.

“It does not surprise me,” said Edouard.

Jeanne Marie went further.

“That,” she said, “is quite right. It shows that Monsieur loves Madame more than himself.”

“Can’t we change the subject?” said I. “That child’s too old for her age.”

Audrey strove not to laugh.

“Play up, m-my darling,” she quavered. “Don’t let the side down.”

I took a sudden decision.

“It’s time we were going,” I said, and, with that, I got to my feet and put out my hands for hers.

She gave them me, and I pulled her up to her feet. But I did not let her hands go. So we stood very close together, face to face.

“I’m very sorry,” I said. “I’ve been all sorts of a fool. But I’m wiser now. And I was so thankful to find you – my darling girl.”

Then I drew her to me and kissed her – to Jeanne Marie’s great delight, for she came to me, all smiling, and asked me to kiss her, too.

But Edouard regarded me gravely. And when I took him aside to give him a hundred francs, he would not take it from me: so Audrey had to come and put it into his hand.

We spent two hours in Rouen, before going home that day: and since, though I did not know it, she had a skirt in the car, we were able to berth the Lowland and prove the city on foot. To say I enjoyed myself means nothing at all, for Audrey was at the very top of her bent; and the pleasure she had of, surely, as simple an outing as ever two people took, made me still more ashamed that she should have waited so long for such a holiday. But when I told her as much, she only took my arm and entered a jeweller’s shop and, selecting a silver lighter, ordered this to be engraved with the initials ‘St J.’

“When will it be ready?” she said.

“At mid-day tomorrow, Madame.”

“Thank you,” said I. “We’ll pick it up after lunch.”

I spoke more truly than I knew.

It had been in my mind for us to lunch at Rouen and dine and dance at Dieppe; but when, some two hours later, we entered our stable-yard, Bell was there to greet us – with a telephone-slip in his hand.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said, “but I think we’re off.”

Audrey and I together pored over the precious words.

Stand by for Dieppe. Meet Rowley Rouen Cathedral tomorrow mid-day.

Forty-eight hours had gone by, and Audrey, pencil in hand, was watching my face as I dealt with the telephone. Behind her, Bell stood like a statue, betraying no sort of emotion, not seeming to breathe: and Rowley, keen-eyed and smiling, was standing beyond him again, with the tray which he had been using still in his hand.

And then I heard Mansel’s voice.

“I rather think that’ll be John.”

“It is,” said I. “I’m here.”

“Good,” said Mansel. “I thought you’d like to know that all is OK. The car in question was shipped twenty minutes ago. Ring up tomorrow somehow to say where you are.”

“I will,” said I.

“Take care of your lady friend and give her my love.”

“I will.”

“Till then – goodbye and good luck.”

“Goodbye,” said I, and he put his receiver back.

I put mine back and looked round.

“The curtain’s up,” I said. “His car was put aboard twenty minutes ago.”

I think everybody relaxed.

“What else did he say?” said Audrey.

“He only sent you his love and wished us good luck.”

Audrey glanced at her wrist.

“How soon do we start?” she said.

“At midnight, please,” said I. “His boat will come in at two: and I think we ought to be there by half-past one.”

“I’ll see the cook right away, and then I shall go and lie down. Why don’t you do the same? Bell or Rowley will call us at a quarter to twelve.”

“Perhaps I will,” said I. “Is everything packed?”

“All but the food, sir,” said Bell. “I’ll see that’s put in the cars the very last thing.”

“Well, take it easy, then, for the next two hours. And Rowley, too, of course. It might make a difference tomorrow – you never know.”

“Very good, sir.”

I got to my feet.

“Before we break up,” I said, “there’s one thing I’d like to say. I’ve shown you the line which I think we should try to take. But I haven’t consulted Plato: and Plato may not agree. At a moment’s notice, therefore, we may have to scrap it all and to take some sudden action for which we are not prepared. We shall have no time to think, much less to consult; for if we hesitate, our man will be lost. Now if this should happen to me, I shall act on my own: and everyone else must do exactly the same – and ring this villa up as soon as he possibly can. We’re going to get home tomorrow – no doubt about that. But we’re going to get home on instinct, and nothing else. Of that I’m perfectly sure. And instinct’s a damned good horse but you’ve got to give him his head.”

“Very good, sir,” said Audrey, before Bell or Rowley could speak.

And then she was gone, and the three of us were laughing because we could do nothing else.

Though we left the villa at midnight, we might, as things turned out, have stayed there till six o’clock, for Plato remained aboard until half-past eight.

I had feared that he might do this – in fact, to tell the truth, I was pretty certain he would: but he could, had he pleased, have landed at two o’clock, and so we had to be ready in case he did.

Had he disembarked at two, he could have taken the road a long time before it was light; but though the darkness would have helped him to get away, it would also have stood a pursuer in very good stead. Indeed, I should have been thankful if he had taken this course, for he could never have driven without any lights: but this we could have done, because we knew the country so well: so he could never have seen us, although we were close behind, and we could never have lost him, because of the light he shed.

But if I could see this, so could Plato. So Plato took it easy and never left the steamer till half-past eight. But we spent a wretched night, for, as though to make it still harder, the Customs’ landing hours were not only two and eight-thirty, but also half-past five: so we had no rest at all, but had to stand to three times, when once would have done.

Still, the weather was fine and warm, and, thanks, of course, to Bell, we were able to bathe and breakfast in somebody’s private flat in the heart of the town. I strongly suspect that the owner was never aware of the flying visit we paid, for the caretaker spoke in whispers and seemed immensely relieved when we took our leave: but we were too thankful to ask any awkward questions and made our way back to the Lowland like giants refreshed.

I shall never forget one moment of all that day, but for some strange reason I seem to remember most clearly the ‘shining morning face’ of the town of Dieppe. It was by no means lovely, and its toilet was very slight; but the sunlight made it look cheerful and the rapid change of its expression from that of a sluggard to that of a business man must, I think, have arrested the most preoccupied mind. The streets, from being silent, became in a short twenty minutes the very abode of uproar of every kind, and where there had been no movement, something approaching tumult seemed to prevail. I think it was the bustle and racket which stamped those particular moments so deeply upon my brain, for I had been accustomed to working in peace and quiet, and I found the hubbub distracting – now that I needed my wits as never before.

Of one thing I was quite sure – that Plato’s vigilance would be, so to speak, at the flood, when first his car began to move off from the quay. Every being he saw would be suspect, and if any car behind him appeared to be going his way, he would simply pull into the pavement and let it go by. As like as not, he would make a tour of Dieppe, his chauffeur driving and he looking out of the window at the back of the car: and if he chose to do that, we were either bound to lose him or bound to betray our interest in his excursion. And so we had decided to let him go as he pleased until he drove out of the town, and then – but not before – to fall in behind; for by that time, I hoped, the edge of his suspicion would have been taken off.

Here I should say that six roads run out of Dieppe. But that, from our point of view, was not so bad as it sounds, for the six fall into two groups, and three run out to the east and three to the south. Again, as luck will have it, each group of three has a common starting point, where if a man will stand, he can see, without moving, which road any vehicle takes.

These starting-points were at opposite ends of the town, and though to man them both was simple enough, the line of communication between the two was far too long to be kept by a force like ours. Yet, for obvious reasons, touch had to be maintained, and Plato’s passage signalled the moment he had gone by. Indeed, if this were not done, half our force would not only be left at the post, but be out of the race.

At half-past eight that morning, the Lowland was in a side street, commanding the shapeless nave from which, as so many spokes, ran the south-bound roads: Audrey was in the Lowland, whose hood was up: and I was sitting outside a café, some forty or fifty yards off, pretending to read a paper, but really regarding the Lowland with all my might. A taxi was awaiting my pleasure, the width of the pavement away, and its driver knew where to go and was ready to move.

Disposed in just the same way as were Audrey and I, Bell and Rowley were watching the east-bound roads. This meant that Rowley and I were much further apart than I liked, and I would have given the world for a proper connecting-file: but beggars cannot be choosers – we were but four: and if our arrangements were clumsy, they were the best I could think of, and that is the honest truth.

So the four of us sat and waited – for a Swindon ‘sports saloon,’ bearing an English number and GB plate. Rowley, of course, had described it from bottom to top, but in fact we all knew it by sight, for, one by one, that morning we had viewed it where it was standing upon the quay.

Now why Plato kept us waiting, we never shall know: but he did not leave Dieppe till a quarter past nine. At that hour, with the tail of my eye, I saw the Swindon slide into and out of my view.

As I got to my feet, Audrey’s near-side direction indicator rose and fell – rose and fell twice over…to say that the Swindon had taken the Rouen road.

As the Lowland pulled out to follow, I flung myself into my taxi and cried to the driver in English to go like hell. But I think that he understood – or perhaps he saw the hundred-franc notes in my hand.

Now that I had to do it, it sent me half out of my mind to drive away from the chase: but somehow or other Bell and Rowley had to be fetched, and, as I have said, I had thought of no other way.

I must confess that my driver wasted no time, but fought his way through the traffic, as few would have dared to do, swinging and swerving and darting, as though he were out to win some obstacle race: for all that, it seemed an age before we took some corner, I think, upon only two wheels, and there was Rowley standing a hundred yards off. He saw me before I saw him, and had paid his taxi off before we were by. Then he turned to run for the Vane, beside which my taxi drew up…

And then we were both in the Vane, and Bell was driving like fury the way I had come.

The hunt was up.

Now it was of the utmost importance that I should take my place in the Lowland as soon as ever I could, for the Lowland was our first string, and Audrey at present was doing a double duty which Mansel himself, I think, would have sought to evade. In a word, she was observing and driving, too: and though that is easy enough when you are up in the air, it is very much harder to do when you are down on the road. But before I could take my place, we had to come up with the Lowland – and Audrey and Plato had had about six minutes’ start.

One terror, at least, I was spared – that, without our knowing it, they might have turned off the main road: but of that we had no fear, for Audrey had by her side a basket of phials of red paint, and it had been arranged between us that if she left the main road, she should drop a phial on to the surface to tell us where she had turned.

So we whipped up the Rouen road at eighty-five, Bell with his eyes on the distance and Rowley and I observing the mouths of the by-roads and straining our eyes for a tell-tale splash of red paint.

Then—

“There she is, sir,” said Bell. “Just the other side of that lorry. I saw her turn in.”

Half a mile ahead a lorry, going our way, was approaching a rise, and, as I looked, the Lowland rose up beyond it and into our view.

I heaved a sigh of relief.

“Well done, indeed,” said I. “And now there’s a switchback coming. Let’s try and run alongside in one of the dips.”

“Very good, sir.”

“When I’m gone, keep your eye on us. If I want you to pass, I’ll say so. If you lose us, make straight for Rouen and try the main roads out. But there’s not much fear of that, if you shift like this.”

“We didn’t ought to, sir; but you never know.” As we left the lorry standing – “I don’t see him yet, sir,” said Rowley.

“You will in a second,” said I. “He’s down in a dip.”

And so he was.

As the Lowland sank into the first of the switchback’s dales, the Swindon rose out of the last, six furlongs ahead.

Audrey had seen us coming.

As the Lowland sailed out of its dale, her hand went out, and when we had breasted the first of the switchback’s hills, there was the Lowland at rest in the second dale.

Bell ran alongside, and Rowley opened the doors. I was out and in in a flash.

“Goodbye, you two.”

“Good luck, sir.”

Audrey let in her clutch.

“Well done, my beauty,” said I.

“And you, St John. But listen. I think he’s going to turn off. He hesitated just now, but he didn’t like the look of the road.”

“Just in time,” said I. “If you’re right, he’ll turn at Paletot, a mile ahead. Not too fast round that bend: we can see it from there.”

We took the bend at thirty, to see the Swindon approaching the four cross roads.

Sure enough, the car slowed down and then turned to the right.

“Let her go,” said I, and signalled to Bell to stop.

“Let him see us go by. We needn’t follow him there.”

We overran the cross roads by a hundred and fifty yards.

As I flung out of the car—

“Tell the Vane to stand by,” I said, “but to keep out of sight. He’s got to take one of two roads – if he values his springs. But be ready in case he doubles, before I’ve time to get back.”

Two hundred yards away, a ruinous ivy-clad tower was commanding the stretch of country through which the Swindon must pass. I had proved it two or three times, and I knew it would serve my turn.

As Audrey backed into a farm-yard, to go about, I vaulted over a gate and ran for my precious view-point as hard as I could. Then I climbed its crumbling stair and settled myself at what was once an embrasure and now was a gap.

My binocular showed me the Swindon – approaching a sturdy plantation which grew upon rising ground. Though I could not see the road, I knew that, just short of the wood, the Swindon would have to turn to the right or the left: and once she had made her choice, I knew where she must come to and where we could pick her up.

I watched her comfortably. Except for a tumbril, the road behind her was bare. If Plato had had suspicions, they ought to be fading away.

The nearer she drew to the junction, the slower she went. Then she turned to the right very slowly and came to rest. A quarter of a minute later, the chauffeur’s head came out. Then the Swindon began to move back – past the mouth of the road she had left. And then she had switched to the right and was on her way back…

I was down the stair in a flash and was racing over the sward: but I need have had no concern, for when I came up to the gate, the Lowland was not to be seen, but Audrey was watching the cross roads from the opposite side of a wall.

“He’s coming back,” I panted. “You get back to the Lowland. I’ll take your place.”

I dared not show my head as the Swindon went by, but, as I was sure she would, she turned to the right – that is to say, she headed once more for Rouen, and that, without hesitation, after the way of a horse who means to go home.

I watched her swing round a bend…

Then Audrey drove out of the farm-yard, and twenty seconds later the Vane drew up alongside.