Strangers at Witchend, page 9
7. Friday: Villains at Work
Some two hours after Harriet's discovery of the boy in the Lone Pine camp, the man and woman known as Major and Mrs Graham were breakfasting in their room at the best hotel in Ludlow.
The man was wearing a patterned silk dressing-gown. His freshly shaven face was pink and smooth and his little grey moustache neatly clipped, but his eyes as he looked across the table to his wife were hard and cruel.
She looked, and was, in a very bad temper. When she went down later to face the world she would behave and speak as a different woman. But now she was also in a dressing-gown and her bleached hair was held in place with a net. Her face had not yet been worked on and she looked what she was - a sulky, greedy and dangerous woman.
"Now, Fred, just listen for once without starting an argument," she said as she lit a cigarette. "If we don't make a decision soon and make it together we'll be in trouble. Yesterday you wouldn't face up to facts, but now you must. Henry Jones is up to something, we don't know what. This radio shop is nonsense and a mistake too. He may do some work there himself, but the truth is he's not paying us a big enough price. We must get more out of him."
"How are we going to do that? You know the evidence he holds against us, and don't let's go into that again. Doesn't matter whose fault it is. I'm in favour of pulling off something really big between us and then getting out of the country. If we don't even try to fool him, but just work on our own I doubt if he'd go to the police. We know something about him too."
"But not enough, Fred. We don't know exactly why he cleared out of Brum, but I'd like to find out. I told him the other day, and I know I'm right, that this move out here is plain daft. We're both O.K. here for a bit on our own, but it's dangerous for us to be seen with him. We know that he moved out here as an experiment. He thinks it's safer but he can't be sure. It's not safer for us, and it's more expensive for us to sell what we buy from him. The big towns where the fools have got money to spend on pay day and at Christmas-time are where we make the easy money. And in country towns on market days when the pubs are full. No, Fred, this Henry Jones-Sid Edwards type is dangerous. He'll ditch us when it suits him, he'll rob us when he can, and he's playing several of us off against each other... I want us through with him, Fred, and that means we've got to play it very cool."
The Major fanned away the smoke from his wife's cigarette.
"You mean we'd be better off if we cut free once and for all? Better to risk what he could do with that evidence?"
"Must I spell it out for you? If you weren't so chicken when it comes to a decision we could be clear in a week... Now listen. Friend Henry is busy settling down here, but he's not too sure of himself. He as good as told us that he's got at least one chap making the stuff for us to sell. Of course he didn't fall for your stupid suggestion that he tell us who it is. Actually it was such a fool thing to say that it only proves to him how stupid you are."
Graham got up and walked over to the window.
"It's always amused you to abuse me. Don't waste your breath now. You're going to suggest that we concentrate on finding the chap who makes this Victorian stuff and try to do a deal with him? It's an intelligent idea, Molly. Depends who it is, but if Henry has got him where he wants him, he'll be as pleased to get clear as we shall and then we could work together."
She stubbed out her cigarette and lit another.
"Brilliant, Fred. You've got it. When I go out presently - and I shall take the car today - I'll make inquiries about newcomers who have recently moved into a cottage. You can't keep many secrets from country people. We'll start that way, but in the meantime it would be a good idea to keep an eye on Henry."
"Marvellous, Molly! He's got a van and a motor bike and if he goes off I'm supposed to run after him. Brilliant! And wear a false beard while I'm at it, I suppose... I agree that if you don't pick up some clues today we must try to follow him. Have to hire another car perhaps. He knows ours. And remember that he knows where we are, and it's even possible that he's having us watched. Look at the map before you go. Keep a record of some of your calls so that I report as promised... And Molly, you remember what he said about the foreign stuff? We must watch that too, because he's making a profit on selling to us. Wonder where he's getting it? He wouldn't be pleased if we found out, would he?"
She looked at him with more respect than usual and then retired to prepare herself for the day's work. This took an hour, and when she went downstairs Fred was sitting in the lounge reading The Times. He got to his feet politely and for the benefit of the other guests spoke in his Major's voice.
"Splendid, my dear. You've been quick. I'll come out to the car with you, and I do hope you have a very happy day with your old friends at the Manor. Are you sure you've everything you need?"
Ten minutes later the Major went out into Ludlow.
He had not yet had a proper opportunity of finding out anything definite about the new proprietor of The Golden Lion. Whatever finally happened to their relationship with Jones, Graham was sure there were possibilities of picking up something of real value in such a shop. It would also be interesting to see whether it was burglar-proof.
There were two people in the shop when he went in so he had a good opportunity of examining the furniture and silver on display. He was just as interested in listening to the conversation of the new proprietor.
Graham was at once aware that this man knew what he was talking about, and he was wandering towards what was probably an office at the back of the shop in the hope of seeing a safe, when the other closed the shop door after departing customers and came over with a welcoming smile.
"Good morning, sir. Don't let me disturb you if you would rather look round by yourself. I have some choice pieces here and much that is not actually on view. My name is Sparrow."
The Major dealt easily with this situation. After giving his name he gave an excellent impersonation of a retired Army officer who was hoping to settle with his wife in this area and looking for "a few quality pieces for his new home".
They had reached this stage when the telephone rang in the office and Mr Sparrow asked to be excused.
"This is The Golden Lion, Ludlow," the Major heard. "Yes, it is Sparrow here... Good morning, Sterling. I trust you travelled home in comfort yesterday. Good. Actually, no. Not very convenient. I am alone in the shop today and have a customer with me now... By all means, my dear fellow. Telephone me later at your convenience... Goodbye."
This did not tell the Major much except that Mr Sparrow would be alone here all day, but after the exchange of a few pleasantries, he broached the subject in which he was particularly interested.
"I've been wondering whether you have any Victoriana to show me, Mr Sparrow? My wife has a weakness for it. Can't say it's my taste but you know what women are. I must bring her in to meet you. She'll be fascinated by what you've got here, and no doubt I shall find myself spending more than I can afford. You know the sort of thing I mean? Fellow I know showed me one of those old mourning rings. Extraordinary object but quite valuable he said."
Mr Sparrow put down a silver mug he had been holding and did not even turn round when the shop door opened behind him.
"No, sir," he said. "I have no Victoriana. To be frank, I wouldn't buy any Victorian jewellery from any source. If you will permit me to advise you, I suggest that you examine with the greatest care anything like that which is offered to you. Be sure that it bears the official hall-mark. I must tell you, sir, that there's a lot of fake stuff about. I will have nothing to do with it."
While he was speaking, the man who had just entered the shop wandered round casually while the other two finished their conversation. Then the Major left, after promising to come back with his wife tomorrow or the next day, and Mr Sparrow turned to welcome the newcomer. This man's clothes were as unusual as his own - a tweed jacket and hat to match and old-fashioned breeches. He was middle-aged, fresh complexioned and plump, and although he smiled amiably at Mr Sparrow, the latter noticed that his eyes were shrewd. And so, it soon proved, was his conversation.
He started by congratulating the new owner of The Golden Lion on the excellence of what was on display, and then startled him by saying that he could not help overhearing his views on Victorian jewellery.
"I'm interested in this subject myself," he went on pleasantly. "I've heard about this spurious stuff but I often wonder why a chap like your last customer should be interested in such things. Didn't look the type. I heard you say you wouldn't touch it, but you're the sort of professional who would spot a fake at once."
Mr Sparrow smiled, but the smile soon faded as his plump visitor lifted up the silver mug and without even examining the hall-mark dated it precisely. Mr Sparrow was suspicious. Perhaps his visitor was a dealer who had heard that the business was for sale? He certainly knew a great deal about jewellery and antiques and, after a little, eased an awkward situation by buying a silver candlestick after correctly stating its origin.
While Mr Sparrow was packing it reverently in a box, his customer said, "I'm afraid you may think some of my questions impertinent. Truth is, I am interested in old gold and silver but I am not in the trade. I know about the fakes, but if you do have any genuine Victoriana offered to you I'd like to know about it. My name is Robert Ruddy and I'm staying for a while at the Shropshire Lad in Craven Arms. And I hope you don't mind me asking but I'm sure I've seen your last customer - the military gentleman - before. Must have met him somewhere. Do you happen to know his name and where he's staying?"
Mr Sparrow regretted that he was not given an address but gave Mr Ruddy the names of the two best hotels in Ludlow.
"He spoke as if he was staying in the town, and I think he gave his rank and name as Major Graham. If he comes in tomorrow shall I give him your name? I hope you'll pay me another visit anyway, and I'll remember your interest in genuine Victoriana."
"Don't bother to mention me to him, Mr Sparrow. I'll call at the two hotels now. I know I've met him somewhere, and as we're interested in the same subject, a talk might be entertaining. Good day to you and thank you. I'm delighted with the candlestick."
Mr Ruddy then strolled up the street into a public car park. Here he unlocked his blue Mini, put his parcel under the seat when he was sure he was unobserved and then locked the car again and continued his unhurried walk. He went to two more jewellers, made the same inquiry, and came out of each without buying anything. At least an hour had passed before he went into the Swan. He removed his tweed hat as he approached the woman at the Reception Desk and gave her a pleasant smile.
"Good morning. I do hope you can help me but I am looking for an old friend who told me that he was staying in Ludlow for a time but foolishly did not give me the name of the hotel. I am told - and indeed I can see for myself - that this is the best in the town and I think he would choose this. His name is Graham. Major Graham."
"Yes, sir. Major and Mrs Graham are here. Mrs Graham went out earlier for the day, and the Major went out into the car park a few minutes ago with two friends he met in the bar. You might just catch them."
Mr Ruddy smiled his thanks and approached the car park with caution. He was able to hide behind a large brewer's van, and what he saw gave him considerable satisfaction. A few yards away was a car in which Graham was sitting in the front seat next to the driver. Behind them a woman was looking over their shoulders at something the gallant Major brought from his pocket. After examination by both the strangers, the woman put the article in her handbag, while the man produced his wallet and passed over several notes to Graham. The latter then got out of the car and Ruddy heard him bidding the couple, whom he had undoubtedly swindled, a courteous "Good day".
The car then drove out of the yard and Mr Ruddy strolled out of cover and came face to face with Graham who was unable to conceal his surprise.
"Major Graham, I believe," Ruddy said, but without offering his hand. "I'm pleased to have found you so easily because I am anxious to have some private talk with you. We have an interest in common, Major."
Meanwhile Mrs Graham was on the hunt again. After studying the map, she drove north out of Ludlow to the small town of Craven Arms. Here she nearly lost her temper outside an hotel called Shropshire Lad when a bumbling idiot in a blue Mini stalled his car when driving out of the yard on to the main road. He nearly stalled again when he paused to raise a ridiculous little round tweed hat to thank her for waiting.
She drove up the lovely valley of the Clun to the little town of that name. At the post office she called to ask if there was an estate agent in the place as she was looking for a small property in the district. She was referred to the bigger town of Bishops Castle which she had already decided to visit, and a further discreet inquiry about newcomers to the district brought her no joy.
She was more fortunate at her next stop because here there was a branch office of an estate agent whose head office in Craven Arms she had overlooked. The young man here seemed glad to discuss the possibilities of a cottage property but had nothing to offer now. He did admit, however, that he had received several inquiries lately.
Mrs Graham then made a successful long shot.
"Now that reminds me. I wonder if one of your recent inquiries has been on my behalf? My husband has a distant relative in Birmingham - actually we haven't met for years - but I believe he did ask this man to keep a lookout for us because, come to think of it, he has recently moved to Ludlow. Would a Mr Edwards have been inquiring for a cottage property in this area?"
The young man flicked over the pages of a loose-leaf folder and looked up triumphantly. "Yes, indeed, Mrs Graham. Three weeks ago. I remember Mr Edwards now. Very striking gentleman. Very emphatic. I had to disappoint him. You are quite right. He left a telephone number in Ludlow but not an address. Now that you have explained your interest, Mrs Graham, I presume you would prefer to be communicated with direct. If you will give me your address and will inform Mr Edwards that you have done so, that might save a lot of time and trouble."
Mrs Graham thought this an admirable idea. "Too kind," she gushed. "Most thoughtful of you. We are touring just now, so I will give you my London address, but of course I may telephone you at any time while we are in these parts. You have been so kind and helpful and I do thank you for your courtesy. So rare these days."
She wrote down an address in a fashionable part of London, which was really that of a newsagent who, for a small fee, was always ready to re-direct mail to clients who liked the use of a smart address. Then the young man opened the door for her and she went on her way.
The local hotel looked comfortable so she went there for an early lunch and afterwards drove north, leaving Bishops Castle with the great bulk of the Long Mynd several miles away on her right, and farther north still the smaller, but grimmer, shape of the Stiperstones. The map suggested that the country to the west of the latter was comparatively deserted, and with interest she had noticed that "old mine workings" were indicated. She decided to follow this road as far as Shrewsbury and to look out for any cottages which might once have been used by miners. If she had been Jones, these were the sort of places in which she would be interested. She also realized that she had not yet visited any farms. She liked these exploratory visits and had often been successful in spotting valuables which she had been able to buy very cheaply. She never stole on a visit, but twice she had been able to pass on information which had resulted in successful burglaries.
She was looking out for a village called Barton Beach which had been signposted for some miles, when she saw an even more intriguing finger pointing up a narrow lane------
SEVEN GATES FARM
Private - No Through Road
Deciding that the farm was isolated and might well have considerable possibilities, she backed, turned in, and drove slowly up through a wood and then past another white gate that was fortunately open. That was two of them - five to go. The next led into a big farmyard with a group of cottages on the left and an enormous, gaunt red-brick house facing her. On the right was a barn with white doors, but where the other gates were she neither knew nor cared.
She drove into the farmyard, but somehow this place was not what she had expected. She had visited enough farms to recognize prosperity when she saw it, and although all the buildings here were in good condition and the yard was tidy, she guessed correctly that money made out of Seven Gates was earned the hard way. Behind the house loomed the great gaunt bulk of a mountain which she supposed was the Stiperstones, and altogether the whole atmosphere of the place was depressing. Even allowing for the fact that the group of buildings was isolated, she did not believe that her husband would consider it an attractive proposition for illegal entry. The farmhouse door opened and an attractive young woman walked towards the car.
Mrs Graham got out quickly and started her usual patter.
"Good afternoon. I'm so sorry to bother you but I'm afraid I've lost my way. I'm a visitor to this lovely part of the country, and as I'm always fascinated by old farmhouses I thought you wouldn't mind if I just drove up and------"
"And what?" the woman said with the sort of smile that Mrs Graham was sure she did not mean. "What can I do for you? What did you want to know?"
"I'm so sorry if I've come blundering in here at an awkward time, my dear. It's just that I absolutely adore looking over old farmhouses with thrilling oak beams and all that sort of thing, and I wondered whether------"
"I'm sorry. You've made a mistake. There are no oak beams in this house and I am much too busy to show strangers round Seven Gates. Perhaps you didn't notice that the signpost at the first gate stated that the road to the farm is private? Turn to the right at the bottom for Barton Beach and Shrewsbury and to the left for Bishops Castle and Ludlow. Good afternoon."
Mrs Graham's artificial smile faded and she flushed with anger as she got into the car. It was not often she was snubbed by farmers' wives, and she was still in a bad temper when she drove into the scattered and unattractive village of Barton Beach. There was not much life here but it was, she thought, the sort of place in which Jones might like to settle an accomplice. The pub was closed, but she knew that she was more likely to hear gossip in the village shop than anywhere else. A bell jangled as she opened the door and saw a pretty red-headed girl of about seventeen behind the counter. She was talking to a middle-aged woman who half turned at the sound of the bell. But Mrs Graham stood where she was and listened with growing interest to what the girl was saying.
