A Journey by Night
For the first few miles, while they were still in the traffic,
Prenderby contented himself with keeping the disguised Rolls in sight.
It would be absurd, he realized, to overtake them while still in
London, since they were acting in an unofficial capacity and he was
particularly anxious not to arouse the suspicions of the occupants of
the car in front of them.
He went warily, therefore, contriving always to keep a fair amount of
traffic between them.
Martin was exultant. He was convinced by his own theory, and was
certain that the last act of the Black Dudley mystery was about to
take place.
Prenderby was too much absorbed by the details of the chase to give
any adequate thought to the ultimate result.
Abbershaw alone was dubious. This, like everything else connected with
the whole extraordinary business, appalled him by its amazing
informality. He could not rid his mind of the thought that it was all
terribly illegal – and besides that, at the back of his mind, there
was always that other question, that problem which had caused him so
many sleepless nights since his return to London. He hoped Martin was
right in his theory, but he was sufficiently alarmed by his own secret
thought to wish not to put Martin’s idea to the test. He wanted to
think Martin was right, to find out nothing that would make him look
elsewhere for the murderer.
As they escaped from the tramway lines and came out into that waste of
little new houses which separates the city from the fields, they and
the grotesque old car in front were practically alone on the wide
ill-lighted roads.
It was growing cold and there was a suggestion of a ground mist so
that the car in front looked like a dim ghost returned from the early
days of motoring.
As the last of the houses vanished and they settled down into that
long straight strip of road through the forest, Prenderby spoke:
‘How about now?’ he said. ‘Shall I open out?’
Martin glanced at Abbershaw.
‘What do you think?’ he said.
Abbershaw hesitated.
‘I don’t quite see what you intend to do,’ he said. ‘Suppose you
succeed in stopping them, what are you going to say? We have no proof
against the man and no authority to do anything if we had.’
‘But we’re going to get proof,’ said Martin cheerfully. ‘That’s the
big idea. First we stop them, then we sit on their heads while they
talk.’
Abbershaw shook his head.
‘I don’t think we’d get much out of them that way,’ he said. ‘And if
we did it wouldn’t be evidence. No, if you take my advice you’ll run
them to earth. Then perhaps we’ll find something, although really, my
dear Martin, I can’t help feeling –’
‘Let’s kick him out, Prenderby,’ said Martin, ‘he’s trying to spoil
the party.’
Abbershaw grinned.
‘I think we’re doing all we can do,’ he said. ‘After all it’s no good
letting them out of our sight.’
Prenderby sighed.
‘I wish you’d decided to overtake,’ he said. ‘This is a marvellous
road. It wouldn’t hurt us to be a bit nearer, anyway, would it?’
Martin nudged him gently.
‘If you want to try your speed, my lad,’ he said, ‘here’s your
opportunity. The old lady has started to move.’
The other two glanced ahead sharply. The Rolls had suddenly begun to
move at something far beyond her previous respectable rate. The red
tail-light was already disappearing into the distance.
Prenderby’s share in the conversation came to an abrupt end. The Riley
began to purr happily and they shot forward at an ever-increasing pace
until the speedometer showed sixty.
‘Steady!’ said Martin. ‘Don’t pass them in your excitement. We don’t
want them to spot us either.’
‘What makes you so sure that they haven’t done so already?’ said
Abbershaw shrewdly, and added as they glanced at him inquiringly, ‘I
couldn’t help thinking as we came along that they were going very
leisurely, taking their time, when there was plenty of other traffic
on the road. As soon as we were alone together they began to move. I
believe they’ve spotted us.’
Prenderby spoke without looking round.
‘He’s right,’ he said. ‘Either that or they’re suddenly in the deuce
of a hurry. I’m afraid they’re suspicious of us. They can’t possibly
know who we are with lights like these.’
‘Then I say,’ cut in Martin excitedly, ‘they’ll try to dodge us. I’d
get as near as you can and then sit on their tail if I were you.’
Abbershaw said nothing and the Riley slowly crept up on the other car
until she was directly in her head-lights. The Rolls swayed to the
side to enable them to pass, but Prenderby did not avail himself of
the invitation. Eventually the big car slackened speed but still
Prenderby did not attempt to pass.
The next overture from the Rolls was as startling as it was abrupt.
The little rear window opened suddenly and a bullet hit the road
directly in front of them.
Prenderby swerved and brought the Riley almost to a full stop.
‘A pot-shot at our front tyre,’ he said. ‘If he’d got us we’d have
turned over. Martin, I believe you’re on the right tack. The cove is
desperate.’
‘Of course I’m right,’ said Martin excitedly. ‘But don’t let them get
away, man, they’ll be out of sight in a minute.’
‘Sorry,’ said Prenderby obstinately, ‘I’m keeping my distance. You
don’t seem to realize the result of a tyre-burst at that pace.’
‘Oh, he won’t do it again,’ said Martin cheerfully. ‘Besides, he’s a
rotten shot anyway.’
Prenderby said no more, but he was careful to keep at a respectable
distance from the Rolls.
‘They’ll start moving now,’ said Martin. ‘We shall have our work cut
out if we’re going to be in at the death. Look out for the side
turnings. Do you know this road at all?’
‘Pretty well,’ said Prenderby. ‘He’s heading for Chelmsford, I should
say, or somewhere round there. I think he’ll have some difficulty in
shaking us off.’
The big car ahead was now speeding away from them rapidly and
Prenderby had his hands full to keep them anywhere in sight. In
Chelmsford they lost sight of it altogether and were forced to inquire
of a policeman in the deserted High Street.
The placid country bobby took the opportunity of inspecting their
licence and then conceded the information that a ‘vehicle of a type
now obsolete, and bearing powerful lamps’ had passed through the town,
taking the Springfield road for Kelvedon and Colchester some three
minutes before their own arrival.
The Riley sped on down the winding road through the town, Martin
cursing vigorously.
‘Now we’re sunk,’ he said. ‘Missed them sure as Pancake-tide. They’ve
only got to nip into a side road and shut off their lamps and we’re
done. In fact,’ he went on disconsolately, ‘I don’t know if there’s
any point in going on at all now.’
‘There’s only one point,’ cut in Abbershaw quietly. ‘If by chance they
are going somewhere definite – I mean if they want to get to a certain
spot in set time – they’ll probably go straight on and trust to luck
that they’ve shaken us off.’
‘That’s right,’ said Martin. ‘Let’s go on full tilt to Colchester and
ask there. No one could miss a bus like that. It looks as if it ought
not to be about alone. Full steam ahead, Michael.’
‘Ay, ay, sir,’ said Prenderby cheerfully and trod on the accelerator.
They went through Witham at a speed that would have infuriated the
local authorities, but still the road was ghostly and deserted. At
length, just outside Kelvedon, far away in the distance there appeared
the faint haze of giant head-lights against the trees.
Martin whooped.
‘A sail, a sail, captain,’ he said. ‘It must be her. Put some speed
into it, Michael.’
‘All right. If we seize up or leave the road, on your head be it,’
said Prenderby, through his teeth. ‘She’s all out now.’
The hedges on either side of them became blurred and indistinct.
Finally, in the long straight strip between Marks Tey and Lexden, they
slowly crept up behind the big car again.
‘That’s her all right,’ said Martin; ‘she’s crawling, isn’t she?
Comparatively, I mean. I believe Abbershaw’s hit it. She’s keeping an
appointment. Look here, let’s drop down and shut off our head-lights –
the sides will carry us.’
‘Hullo! Where’s he off to now?’
It was Michael who spoke. The car ahead had taken a sudden turn to the
right, forsaking the main road.
‘After her,’ said Martin, with suppressed excitement. ‘Now we’re
coming to it, I do believe. Any idea where that leads to?’
‘No,’ said Michael. ‘I haven’t the least. There’s only a lane there if
I remember. Probably the drive of a house.’
‘All the better.’ Martin was enthusiastic. ‘That means we have located
them anyway.’
‘Wait a bit,’ said Michael, as, dimming his lights, he swung round
after the other car. ‘It’s not a drive. I remember it now. There’s a
signpost over there somewhere which says, “To Birch”, wherever “Birch”
may be. Gosh! No speeding on this road, my children,’ he added
suddenly, as he steered the Riley round a concealed right-angle bend
in the road.
The head-lights of the car they were following were still just visible
several turns ahead. For the next few miles the journey developed into
a nightmare. The turns were innumerable.
‘God knows how we’re going to get back,’ grumbled Michael. ‘I don’t
know which I prefer; your friend with the gun or an attempt to find
our way back through these roads before morning.’
‘Cheer up,’ said Martin consolingly. ‘You may get both. Any idea where
we are? Was that a church we passed just now?’
‘I thought I heard a cow,’ suggested Abbershaw helpfully.
‘Let’s catch ’em up,’ said Martin. ‘It’s time something definite
happened.’
Abbershaw shook his head.
‘That’s no good, my dear fellow,’ he said. ‘Don’t you see our
position? We can’t stop a man in the middle of the night and accuse
him of murder without more proof or more authority. We must find out
where he is and that’s all.’
Martin was silent. He had no intention of allowing the adventure to
end so tamely. They struggled on without speaking.
At length, after what had seemed to be an interminable drive, through
narrow miry lanes with surfaces like ploughed fields, through
forgotten villages, past ghostly churches dimly outlined against the
sky, guided only by the glare ahead, the darkness began to grey and in
the uncertain light of the dawn they found themselves on a track of
short springy grass amid the most desolate surroundings any one of
them had ever seen.
On all sides spread vast stretches of salting covered with clumps of
rough, coarse grass with here and there a ragged river or a dyke-head.
Far ahead of them the old black car lumbered on.
Martin sniffed.
‘The sea,’ he said. ‘I wonder if that old miracle ahead swims? A bus
like that might do anything. That would just about sink us if we went
to follow them.’
‘Just about,’ said Michael dryly. ‘What do we do now?’
‘I suppose we go on to the bitter end,’ said Martin. ‘They may have a
family house-boat out there. Hullo! Look at them now.’
The Rolls had at last come to a full stop, although the head-lights
were still streaming out over the turf.
Michael brought the Riley up sharply.
‘What now?’ he said.
‘Now the fun begins,’ said Martin. ‘Get out your gun, Abbershaw.’
Hardly had he spoken when an exclamation came down the morning to
them, followed immediately by a revolver shot which again fell short
of them.
Without hesitation Martin fired back. The snap of his automatic was
instantly followed by a much larger explosion.
‘That’s their back tyre,’ he said. ‘Let’s get behind the car and play
soldiers. They’re sure to retaliate. This is going to be fun.’
But in this he was mistaken. Neither Whitby nor his companion seemed
inclined for further shooting. The two figures were plainly
discernible through the fast-lightening gloom, Whitby in a long dust
coat and a soft hat, and the other man taller and thinner, his cap
still well down over his face.
And then, while they were still looking at him, Whitby thrust his hand
into his coat pocket and pulled out a large white handkerchief which
he shook at them solemnly, waving it up and down. Its significance was
unmistakable.
Abbershaw began to laugh. Even Martin grinned.
‘That’s matey, anyway,’ he said. ‘What happens next?’