Hand In Glove Part 53

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cigarettes and stale garlic on his breath. "You will say nothing to Miguel?" he whispered.

"Nothing. You have my word."

He deliberated a moment longer, then said: "Es el primero de octubre."

CHAPTER.

TWO.

I'm afraid Chief Inspector Golding's out, Miss Ladram," came D.C. Finch's voice down the telephone. "Can I help?"

"I'm simply calling to see if there have been any developments."

"None, I'm afraid. Hasn't Mrs Abberley been keeping you up to date?"

"I haven't liked to trouble her."

"Ah. I see. Well, there's been no response so far to the appeal in the French press for Madame V to come forward. And nothing's come to light in Spain either. So . . ."

"We're none the wiser."

"I wouldn't say that. Urgent enquiries are continuing. No effort's being spared."

"I'm sure. But it's a month today since my niece was kidnapped, isn't it?"

"Er . . . Yes. Yes, it is."

"And still nothing."

"Would you like Chief Inspector Golding to call you when he returns?"

"No, thank you. I have to go out myself. I'll 'phone him. Later."

They were doing their best, Charlotte knew. But their best was pitifully inadequate. As soon as she had put the telephone down, she headed for the door. A journey to Rye lay ahead of her. She had not visited Jackdaw Cottage since putting it on the market two months ago. But the estate agent had now found a buyer, one who was eager to 320 R O B E R T G O D D A R D.

move in as soon as possible. The emptying of the house could therefore no longer be postponed and Charlotte had decided to put matters in hand without further ado. Part of her was glad to have a practical task to address. It was a distraction her mind badly needed.

At Lewes Prison, Colin Fairfax was grinning broadly at his brother across a bare table in the visiting room, which was otherwise deserted.

"Word's got round," he announced. "I can do virtually whatever I like here now. They know I'm not staying long."

"According to Dredge," Derek replied, "things certainly look promising."

"Promising? I should say so. Spicer's been arrested, hasn't he? It's only a matter of time now before they find some forensic evidence linking him to the scene of the crime."

"Is that what Dredge told you?"

"They know he did it, Derek. Where did he get the money to set himself up with a yacht in Burnham-on-b.l.o.o.d.y-Crouch if it wasn't a pay-off from Maurice Abberley for services rendered?"

"You don't have to convince me."

"No. But I do have to thank you. Dredge tried to hog the credit, but it's clear to me where it really belongs. With you. You've done more to help me than I ever deserved. And to think I doubted your commitment! You've come up trumps, Derek. I'd be proud of you if I weren't so grateful."

"There's no need to thank me."

"But there is. It's why I was so glad you could come today."

"I was on my way to an auditing job in Newhaven. It was no problem to stop off."

"Tough job, is it?"

"Not particularly."

"Then why are you looking so glum? To judge by your face, you'd have thought I'd just been sentenced to hang, not thrown a lifeline."

"Because . . . Well, it was Charlotte Ladram who supplied the tape recording and the private detective's report. Without them, the police would never have started looking for Spicer."

"And it's good to know one member of that family has a conscience. But so what?"

"So what?" Derek bridled. "She's lost her brother as well as her H A N D I N G L O V E.

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aunt, Colin. And her niece has been kidnapped. None of this was her fault."

"Nor mine." Colin sat back in his chair and c.o.c.ked his head. "You haven't taken a s.h.i.+ne to the girl, have you?"

"Of course not. I'd just like to be able to repay her generosity."

"By riding out on a white charger and rescuing her niece?"

Derek stared hard at his brother. "Imprisonment hasn't blunted your sarcasm, I see."

Colin raised his hands in mock surrender. "Sorry. I don't mean to pry. If you and she . . . Well, what can you do to help?"

"Nothing."

"Hence the gloomy physog?"

"I suppose so. Besides . . ." Derek leant forward and lowered his voice. "It hasn't been made public, but the kidnappers have said they'll kill the girl if they don't have what they want by the eleventh of October."

Colin whistled. "And today's the first."

"Exactly. Time's running out. All too quickly."

CHAPTER.

THREE.

Charlotte had just begun to take stock of what needed to be removed from Jackdaw Cottage when Mrs Mentiply arrived, intent on discharging her housekeeping duties to the bitter end.

Well-intentioned though the dear soul undoubtedly was, Charlotte had hoped to avoid her, since they had not met since Maurice's death and Mrs Mentiply could be relied upon to be as curious as she was sympathetic. In the end, it seemed easier to surrender to her eagerness for information, to let her make coffee for both of them, then answer her innumerable questions as best she could.

"Mr Mentiply and I were terribly shocked to hear about your brother, my dear. And your niece as well, of course. How is Mrs Abberley bearing up under such an awful strain?"

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R O B E R T G O D D A R D.

"Remarkably well in the circ.u.mstances."

"Is there still no news of the girl?"

"None, I'm afraid."

"Perhaps it's a blessing dear old Miss Abberley isn't alive to witness such sad times for her family."

"Perhaps it is."

"Whether she'd approve of the people who'll be living here I don't know. Have you met them?"

"No. But the estate agent said-"

"Stuck-up lot. None of Miss Abberley's refinement. I shouldn't care to work for them even if they asked me."

"Well, that's for you to decide, of course. But they made a good offer. I couldn't-"

"Oh, I didn't mean you should have turned them down. Not on my account. You have more than enough to worry about without pan-dering to my likes and dislikes."

"It is a worrying time."

"Of course it is. And if there's anything I can do-or Mr Mentiply-anything at all, you've only to say the word."

"It's kind of you, but-"

"Haven't the police any clues as to what's become of the poor girl?"

"Precious few."

"Or why she was kidnapped?"

"They're trying to find a recipient of a letter Beatrix sent. A woman in France whose surname begins with V. They think she may know something."

Mrs Mentiply clicked her tongue. "Sounds like looking for a needle in a haystack."

"It is, rather."

"I mean, whereabouts in France?"

"Oh, in or near Paris. It doesn't narrow the field very much, does it? If Beatrix had ever mentioned knowing somebody in Paris, it might be different, but she never did. I don't suppose she ever said anything to you about Madame V?"

"No. I'm afraid she didn't. V, you say?"

"Beginning with V."

"In Paris?"

"Yes."

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Mrs Mentiply shook her head dolefully. "It means nothing to me." Then she summoned a smile. "Would you like another cup of coffee?"

"No, thank you."

"I'm sorry I didn't bring any biscuits. If I'd known you were coming . . ."

"It really doesn't matter."

"Only it's always nice to have a biscuit with coffee, isn't it, or a choc-" Mrs Mentiply broke off. Her face slowly compressed into a frown.

"What's wrong?"

"Or a chocolate," she said slowly.

"Are you all right, Mrs Mentiply?"

"What?" She looked across at Charlotte, then down at her empty coffee-cup. "Why, I've just had the strangest thought."

"About what?"

"Miss Abberley used to give me these chocolates, you see, Christmas and Easter, regular as clockwork. 'You have them,' she'd say. 'They're from a friend. I haven't the heart to tell her I don't like them.' Well, as you know, she didn't have a sweet tooth, not her, but I- They were sent to her twice a year for as long as I can remember. A gift from a friend."