Rainbow's End

CHAPTER EIGHT

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No,’ sighed George, in response to Bunty’s unasked questions. ‘Not a step further forward than we were this morning. Several more reports of dented wings, none of ’em relevant. Rainbow played golf with his foursome, sure enough, and locked a briefcase firmly away while he did it, but as far as we can discover, no one even remotely connected with him was playing at the same time, even if they could have got at his case, which they couldn’t without grave risk, because the traffic in and out was brisk, and you don’t play tricks with lockers unless you’re fairly sure of being undisturbed. At the gallery on Saturday he was among the local artists, who aren’t really his cup of tea, and at the Music Hall show all the trade was present, and he might have let something drop to somebody, but if so, none of those we’ve interviewed got a whiff of it.’

‘So it’s as open as ever,’ said Bunty, dishing up in the kitchen. ‘It’s what we could have expected. He wasn’t a man who generated passions about him. Something quite cold, like greed, knocked Rainbow off. Greed trips over itself sooner or later, or trips over something else quite harmless and incidental. Like Bossie, for instance?’

‘As a matter of fact,’ owned George, relaxing into a tired man’s enjoyment of his dinner, after a long day of having no time to be hungry, ‘I was thinking of going up and having another session with Bossie, now he’s home and easy, and his exploits are out in the open. He’s had time now to let things relax, and let’s hope they’ve relaxed into focus, not out. There just may be something more he can tell us.’

‘That reminds me,’ said Bunty abstractedly. ‘Thespis is back in town! You remember Toby Malcolm’s travelling theatre? They’ve got a three-day stand from tomorrow, in the Grammar School grounds. They were just getting that odd contraption of theirs fitted up when I came by before tea.’

‘Really?’ Mention of this one glowing success always cheered George, who had seen a lot of failures in his time. ‘I might just drop in and have a natter with Toby on the way. He cuts a lot of ice with Bossie. Senior and junior partners in crime once upon a time – it has to count for something when the big boy turns legitimate.’

In the grounds of Comerbourne’s oldest and most illustrious school, still obstinately referred to as the Grammar School though it was well advanced in the process of going comprehensive, there was ample room for Toby’s three wagons that put together into a rather ramshackle sort of enclosure, and when George arrived there in the dusk the assembly was already complete. October is too late for outdoor theatre in the evenings, and the season of little festivals is over. Presumably schools would have to provide the bulk of support for the rest of the viable travelling year, until Thespis holed up for the winter in some small, friendly town, where at least a few shows could hope for support around Christmas. The seven people, four young men and three girls, who ran the enterprise were shuttling between their odd little theatre and their living van with mute, daemonic purpose, doing mysterious things, and carrying about with them items of costume and equipment even more mysterious. They looked rapt and happy, as people do who are doing, at no matter what material cost to themselves, exactly what they want to do.

Toby came out from the door of the auditorium, which incorporated a ticket-office more restricted than any sentry-box, and saw George crossing from the car-park. He came to meet him at a joyful trot, a coil of cable in one hand and a cassette deck in the other, his thick brown hair bouncing over one blue eye, and a broad, benevolent smile spreading from ear to ear.

‘Mr Felse – hullo! Are you after a play-bill? I’m sure Mrs Felse would show one for us, I nearly gave her one this afternoon. But I was stuck like the Colossus of Rhodes at the time, trying to link the third van on. D’you like our set-up? Come and have a look round inside, it’s quite safe now. Bounces a bit, but it won’t when we’ve got an audience in.’

‘Thanks, but I’ll wait until we come to the show. Actually I’m thinking of running up to see the Jarvises at Abbot’s Bale, and I wondered if you’d be free by this time to come with me.’

‘No, really?’ Toby beamed satisfaction. ‘You must be reading my mind. I’ve already promised to go up and stay overnight, now we’ve got this outfit all set up. I should have been on my way in about ten minutes more. But what with the price of petrol, and all that, I’d just as soon leave the old bike behind, and be driven up there in style. D’you mean it?’

‘Of course I mean it. But what about getting back in the morning, if you’re staying over?’

‘Oh, not to worry about that! I’m sure Sam will drive me down, and drop off Bossie in Mottisham on the way, give the school bus a miss for once. Hang on a couple of minutes, and I’ll get rid of this stuff.’ And Toby turned and galloped enthusiastically to the company’s living van and leaped into it like a faun, to reappear in a few moments, hauling on his wind-jacket as he ran.

‘I always try to see Sam and Jenny whenever I can. Anyhow, it’s home really – apart from that old heap over there, which is home, too, in its way. I’m hawking tickets, by the way, you won’t escape. With luck Jenny might plant a few for us up the valley.’

‘You get me a real lead out of Bossie,’ promised George, as he started the car and drove out from the school gates, ‘and I’ll buy tickets for every night. You playing in person?’

‘Yep! Edgar in Venus Observed. Fry’s supposed to be old hat, but we always do well with him, and he’s such a joy to speak. Edgar “hangs in abeyance”, if you remember. That’s usually my fate, partly because I’m the handiest dog’s-body we’ve got behind the scenes.’

He would be a charming, slightly ominous Edgar, with infinite potentialities. Very suitable casting, George considered.

‘That was our Perpetua you saw trotting across with her arms full of curtains – the one in the tattered jeans. Face like a perverted elf, but she can speak verse like nobody’s business. But what did you mean about getting you a lead out of Bossie? He’s not in any trouble with the law, is he?’ His voice, though light, was also slightly anxious. You never knew what an eccentric genius like Bossie might turn his hand to.

‘Certainly not with the law. You probably haven’t been following the local press, and in any case it was only a five-line paragraph. Bossie got knocked down by a car – no, don’t worry, he’s fine, nothing but bruises.’

‘I didn’t know!’ said Toby, concerned. ‘Sam never said a word about it when I called this morning.’

‘No, well, he’d be leaving it until you could see for yourself there was no damage. You’d have heard all about it tonight. But the thing is, there’s a possibility – in fact, we’re treating it as a very strong possibility – that his accident was no accident. Bossie happens to have come much too close to this case that’s bugging us. You’ll have read, at any rate, about Rainbow’s murder?’

Toby was gaping at him, aghast. ‘Well, yes, of course, I’ve seen all the headlines. But— You’re not seriously saying that somebody tried to run Bossie down with a car? On purpose?’

‘I’m saying just that. It so happens that Bossie played a certain trick on Rainbow, using a faked antique as bait, and through watching to see what effect his plans were having, he actually saw Rainbow fall, and saw his murderer go to make sure he was dead, and plunder the body. Bossie hasn’t been able to identify the murderer, or give us any hint that will help us to finger him. It was a very dark night. Unfortunately,’ said George grimly, ‘we have good reason to be sure that the murderer was able to identify Bossie! Hence the attempt on him. We’ve suppressed any mention of that, naturally, and every care is being taken of him from now on, though it wouldn’t do to make that too obvious. What I’m hoping is that now, being further from the event, and in talking to you, not answering police questions, however tactfully phrased, he may pop up with something he doesn’t even realise he knows, something that will give us a lead. I’ll gladly make myself scarce, if that will help, and leave you to see what you can do with him in the safe surroundings of home. He thinks a lot of you.’

‘So do I of him,’ said Toby in a small, shocked voice, and sat and thought about this indigestible revelation for some minutes in silence. ‘Obviously I’ll do anything that may help,’ he said at last, dazedly. ‘But how in the world did he get himself into such a jam? Good lord, what does Bossie know about faking antiques? The man was a dealer, and knowledgeable, it would be tough going to fool him, even for a pro. Bossie didn’t have anything he could even make halfway presentable for a job like that.’

‘Apparently he did. He told us all about it quite frankly, except that he said he’d found it among the old magazines and papers in a chest in the church tower. That we doubt. There seems no reason at all why just one leaf should be there, when the rest is nineteenth-century trivia, but he sticks to his story. All he did was doctor it up a little, and clearly it did engage Rainbow’s attention – and someone else’s, too – not because of Bessie’s effort, but in spite of it.’

‘Leaf!’ whispered Toby, enlightened and appalled.

‘A single leaf of vellum. It bore characters we’re led to believe might date back to the thirteenth century. And we’re fairly sure it never came from among the old copies of Pears’ Annual and Ivy Leaves up there in the tower. Though why he should tell us everything else, but clam up on where he got it, is more than I can work out.’

‘Oh, help!’ said Toby childishly, in a very small voice indeed. ‘Now isn’t that just like him, the idiot! I’m afraid I know where he got it. And why he wouldn’t tell you. It’s got to be the same one. I know where he got it, because I gave it to him. And I know why he wouldn’t tell you that. Because I pinched it, and he knows it, and he probably thinks you’d run me in for it like a shot, even now, if he blew the gaff on me. Bossie would never split on a pal. Oh, now we may really be able to get something more out of him, if he sees it’s all come out, and nobody’s after my blood. Hell, it was years ago, when I was young and daft.’

‘Tell me all!’ invited George with interest. ‘This is the first lucky break we’ve had. This was while you were at school up there?’

‘The last year. I never turned down a dare in those days, they only had to throw one at me and I did it, however idiotic. I can’t remember who it was, but one of the kids bet me I couldn’t break into Mottisham Abbey and get out again without anyone knowing. So of course I did. It was easy, anyhow, I’d broken into far trickier places than that. I brought this bit of parchment out with me just to prove I’d really been there, I didn’t consider it was of any value, or that I was pinching anything that mattered. It was a trophy, that’s all. I gave it to Bossie as a souvenir, and of course he was sworn to secrecy. Silly kid’s stuff, but then, I was a silly kid!’

‘Well, he certainly kept his oath.’ George drew hopeful breath. ‘Who knows, it may be a load off his mind to know it’s all out in the open, and nobody’s putting handcuffs on you for it. It may even sharpen up his memory to produce a clue for me. So that’s where it came from – the abbey! We ought to have thought of that possibility.’

‘I don’t know why. There never was any word said about any records surviving there, the place has always been reckoned a dead loss, without a history.’

‘Yet this came from there. And it really looks as if Rainbow was killed to get possession of it. Not for itself alone, no doubt – for what further it might lead to. Bossie didn’t know his own strength!’ They were already through Mottisham, and heading for Abbot’s Bale on an almost deserted road. George accelerated purposefully. The sooner they got to Bossie now, and relieved him of the fear of disloyalty to his idol if he talked freely, the sooner they might move on to pursue the real provenance of the membrane that had been the death of Rainbow.

‘Do you remember exactly where you picked up this leaf? Was it in the house itself?’

‘No. I did get into the house, mind you,’ owned Toby candidly, ‘I had to, that was the dare. But I didn’t like to take anything from inside there, not even to prove it. No, this was in the stables, in the rubble and weeds under the one wall. I took it for granted it was rubbish, lying there among old junk of planks and mortar, and yet it was something special. I thought it would do nicely.’

It had done nicely for Rainbow, and brought Bossie Jarvis into considerable danger.

‘Is there really something so important about it? Now you’ve had time to get it vetted…?’

‘We’ve never even seen it,’ said George. ‘We know of it from Bossie, and from one person to whom Rainbow showed it, and that’s all. If there’s one thing certain, it is that at this moment the murderer has it.’

They passed the first cottages of Abbot’s Bale, rounded the wall of the churchyard, and turned into the comparative darkness of the lane where Bossie had suffered his adventure. ‘This,’ said George, ‘is just about where he was hit.’

‘That funny, fool kid!’ sighed Toby thankfully. ‘Praise the lord, you’ve got a thumb firmly on him now, he can’t get himself into any more trouble.’

At about this time Bossie was just threading a wary way through the shrubberies, where he had been holed up comfortably enough in a derelict shed with his provender, and had eaten most of it. The students measuring and brushing and marking had gone on working as long as even a gleam of light remained, but they were all gone now, and the whole enclave was silent.

Bossie emerged where the bushes came closest to the brick walls of the stable-block, and allowed him to peer out from cover towards the archway. He remembered the pattern of the gate clearly, and considered that he had two ways of getting to the inner side. One, the bars might very well be wide enough apart to allow him to wriggle through; he was small-boned and agile, and cats can get through wherever their whiskers will pass, as every student knows. Two, the gate did not reach to the summit of the archway, and its surmounting spikes were purely decorative, and could be circumvented with ease. He had no doubt that he could climb it if necessary.

The shadowy bulks of walls and trees loomed immense in the remnant of the light. It appeared to Bossie as still fairly light, for his eyes had grown accustomed to it, having spent some waiting hours adjusting as twilight fell and night came on. But in fact it was a very respectable darkness, as large and awe-inspiring as the silence that was its natural music. There was nothing stirring, not a soul living but himself, and the infinitesimal, furtive night-life of bird and beast. The shrubbery at his back felt like a forest, virgin and strange, but not unfriendly. He was not afraid. When he had stood motionless for some minutes, listening and watching, and was sure he was solitary, he slipped across to the solid reassurance of the wall, worked his way along it to the archway, and slid into the deep embrasure to consider his mode of entry. It was almost disappointingly simple. On the cat principle, he was convinced he could go wherever his head could go, and his head passed between the bars with ease. Sideways, lissom as an eel, Bossie followed his head into the cloister.

It was annoying, after that achievement, to discover that the gate, though meticulously latched, had been unlocked all the time!

Willie Swayne’s Land-Rover was parked in the drive of Sam Jarvis’s cottage, filling the narrow space from clipped hedge to grass-verged rose-bed. The front door of the house was open, and several people were involved in obviously valedictory exchanges just within. George drew up behind the Land-Rover and got out of the car, with Toby hard on his heels.

Barbara Rainbow, with a cotton scarf wreathed round her curls, and her long, elegant body swathed in clinging sweater and black slacks, was talking and laughing in evident familiarity with Jenny Jarvis, as if they had known each other for years. And Jenny was holding before her a small, elaborate casket of polished wood and delicate gilt, and shaking her head deprecatingly over it. Behind them Sam and Willie hovered, complacent.

‘He doesn’t deserve it,’ Jenny was saying, turning the musical box about admiringly in her hands, ‘and you only promised to show it to him, not to give it! I should think better of it now, if I were you.’

She had her own ideas as to why Barbara had created this occasion to call on Bossie again, and bring Willie the Twig with her. A pity they’d picked this particular night, and missed him. Bossie was transparent, for all his intellect, and Barbara was a clever woman. Being in love at Bossie’s age can be excruciating, but is sometimes surprisingly easily cured. At twelve nobody breaks his heart on the unattainable, and one glance at Willie the Twig in sole possession would have ended that episode. Barbara had even gone to some trouble to ditch all her glamour, though the result happened to be every bit as alluring as when she was in full war-paint.

‘There are ten of these things,’ said Barbara, ‘and I am not going into business, that’s flat. Whoever buys the collection won’t miss this one. And at least we can be sure it’ll be appreciated.’

That was when Toby appeared, to be greeted with delight and drawn into the group at once, so that Barbara and Willie were deterred from completing their farewells and leaving. George, an ambiguous figure at this hour, when he might or might not be on duty, waited for the social exchanges to come to a natural end.

‘Lovely to see you again, Toby,’ said Jenny, and kissed him heartily. ‘I hope you’re hungry? I know you said you couldn’t make it for dinner, but I kept some for you, anyhow. Mrs Rainbow, you remember Toby Malcolm? We brought him with us to your house-warming.’

‘Of course I remember,’ said Barbara cordially. ‘He was the best dancer in the room, we did a real exhibition tango together. And of course you already know Willie Swayne—’

‘Ever since he clouted me for pinching birds’ eggs when I was thirteen,’ acknowledged Toby, having sized up the situation between these two in one shrewd glance. ‘And then showed me where to watch for otters. Has he taken you there yet? He doesn’t show everybody!’ One minute flame of male rivalry, mutually understood and enjoyed, subsided again peacefully. Toby couldn’t help erecting his plumes for anyone as stunning as Barbara, and Willie, secure in possession, could only be flattered. ‘Mr Felse gave me a lift up,’ Toby went on, reverting to business as soon as was decent. ‘I shall have to cadge a ride back in the morning. He wants to talk to Bossie again.’ He amended, firmly stressing his own involvement : ‘We want to talk to Bossie.’

‘I doubt if you’d get anything more out of him, George,’ said Sam. ‘But anyhow, bad luck, he isn’t here.’

‘Not here?’ Toby was almost absurdly taken aback. ‘After a tumble like the one I hear he took, I didn’t think he’d be out of the house yet.’

‘He went back to school today,’ explained Jenny. ‘The doctor said he could, he’s perfectly fit. And he rang up this afternoon from Audrey Mason’s, and said could he stay overnight there and go to a birthday party with her Philip. Audrey’s often had him before, and of course nothing had been said earlier, because they didn’t expect him back so soon. He’s quite all right with them, you know.’

‘And he knew I was coming tonight?’ demanded Toby, outraged and disbelieving.

‘I told him. But he still wanted to stay. I was surprised myself,’ admitted Jenny.

Toby turned and looked at George, and suddenly and violently shook his head. ‘I can’t believe it. Not just like that! There’s got to be a catch in it. He’s up to something!’

‘What do you mean? What could he be up to?’ But Sam was willing to believe in the possibility of all kinds of complications where his son was concerned. ‘He intended staying after school in any case,’ he recalled, frowning. ‘He told me this morning, a whole bunch of his class were going to tour the abbey—’

‘The abbey!’ blurted Toby, and gaped at George in wild speculation.

They had all caught the unease by then, and were staring in doubt and misgiving. George said quietly: ‘I think. Jenny, it would be a good idea to ring Mrs Mason. No point in trying to be diplomatic, time could be important. If he’s there, well and good, it’s just his mother fussing, wanting to make sure he’s all right, and behaving himself. If he isn’t, and hasn’t been… well, then it’s out in any case. Then I’ll take over.’

Jenny looked back at him steadily, and steadily turned pale. Without a word she crossed to the telephone and made the call, and all of them watched in intent silence.

‘Hullo, Audrey? This is Jenny Jarvis. Can I have a word with our Bossie?’ Quite a crisp, practical voice, and then the tight, white look as she listened, and they knew what she was hearing, mild wonder and an immediate disclaimer, and the sharp curiosity not yet expressed. ‘He isn’t there? You haven’t seen him, and you weren’t expecting him! I know, it does sound crazy, but don’t hang up. Yes, I was under the impression he was with you, but there isn’t time just now to go into it. Maybe you can help. Wait, I’ve got someone else here to speak to you.’ She held out the receiver to George, her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Nothing, of course! He isn’t there. She knows nothing about him. But he did ring from a house, not from a box.’

‘From there, you may be sure.’ George took the line. ‘Mrs Mason? Superintendent Felse here. No, no cause for alarm, I merely called in here to talk to the boy again, in case he had anything to add to what he’s already told us. Obviously you’ll have gathered he’s mislaid for the moment, but as he seems to have arranged French leave himself, I’d write it off as a rather inconsiderate prank on his part. But in the circumstances we’d naturally prefer to run him to earth as soon as possible. I believe your boy’s a classmate of his. Do you think I could have a word with Philip? He may just have overheard something at school that will give us a lead. I won’t frighten him.’

Philip came on the line sounding already considerably scared. Better make the questions such that he need only answer in monosyllables, the mother would undoubtedly be listening.

‘Philip, you can help, if you will. All I want to know is whether Bossie Jarvis telephoned home from your house this afternoon, an hour or two after school ended. He did? Yes, I know, he asked if he could, and you let him, that’s all right, why shouldn’t you? And your mother wasn’t in, I guess? She’d gone to the library – yes, I see. Did you hear what Bossie had to say when he rang up? No, never mind, just tell me if I’ve got it right. He said he was staying overnight with you, to go to a party, so they wouldn’t expect him home at all until tomorrow after school. Is that it? And he made you promise not to say a word – I know! All you need tell your mother is simply that you let him use the phone when he asked. But tell me this, did he tell you anything about what he was really going to do? All right, I believe you.’ It was what he would have expected. Bossie wouldn’t confide his fell purposes to anyone unnecessarily. His own special bunch, accomplices at all times, were another matter. ‘Now you hand over to your mother again, and stop worrying. You’ve done all you can to help us now.’ And to the concerned and suspicious mother he said cheerfully: ‘Thank you, Mrs Mason, I’m sorry we had to bother you. Don’t let Philip distress himself, he simply let his friend call home from your house when he asked. Quite natural, and not at all his fault if it was for a wrong purpose.’

He might have some explaining to do, though, about why he hadn’t mentioned doing Bossie that simple favour. That was his worry, however one might sympathise with him. George held on to the telephone after he had cut the call.

‘Mind if I go ahead, Sam? Philip knows nothing beyond the fact that he span you a yarn to cover up something else he wanted to do. Hullo Jack? George Felse here. You know young Bossie’s gang better than I do. Get up here and round up any of ’em you can get hold of. Wait, I’ll get the list from Sam, I’m calling from his place. Sam, did he mention who was going with him on this abbey trip?’

Sam named them, the first faithful few Bossie had named. George relayed the information briskly. ‘I’ll stay here on call until you find at least one of ’em. The thing is, we’ve lost Bossie. He laid a smoke-screen – yes, quite definitely of intent – to cover a night’s absence. No one knows where he is, not until you collar Ginger or one of the others. Get with it!’

‘I’m gone,’ said Sergeant Moon, and hung up without a single question. George called the Mottisham Abbey number, which by this time at night would ring only in the caretaker’s flat in the lodge. But there was no answer from John Stubbs.

‘He probably makes a complete round at night,’ said Sam, straining to catch the distant, insistent ringing. ‘He may be the other side of the grounds. And we don’t know that’s where Bossie’s likely to be.’

‘Yes,’ said Toby, ‘we do. The whole day has been his show. That parchment of his came from there, and he was the only one who knew it, and if that gang went there today, it was because he gave the orders.’

Sam said ruefully: ‘He said they were planning a special project.’

‘You can say that again!’ agreed Toby. ‘But it was Bossie’s project, and very special. Shouldn’t we just go straight down there, Mr Felse?’

‘Wait till we hear from Jack Moon first. But I’ll get someone to go in from the station at Comerford.’

And after that they waited, all of them, even Barbara and Willie the Twig too involved to break away, all waiting for Sergeant Moon to come up with one of Bossie’s chorister-gangsters, and prise his general’s secrets out of him. Jenny, white-faced but grimly composed, sat nursing the musical box that contained a tiny china shepherd, complete with ribboned crook and angelic lambs, and played ‘The Shepherd on the Rock’, though she had quite forgotten that she was clutching it as if it had been a charm to retain hold of her own strayed lamb.

It was a quarter of an hour before Sergeant Moon called back, which seemed an age, though actually it was good going, in view of what he had to report.

‘Believe it or not, yours isn’t the only missing lad tonight. It’s infectious. Ginger Gibbs came late for his tea, moped around an hour or so, and has since disappeared. No panic there yet, he often goes off on his own ploys until getting on for ten, but his folks don’t know where to look for him. Spuggy Price has also made off again, and being a couple of years younger he is expected to be in before now, and they’re getting annoyed about it. Gwen the Shop says her Bill and those two, and maybe Jimmy Grocott, too, she thinks she heard his voice, had their heads together in her store-shed at the back, round about half past seven. Since then she hasn’t seen any of them. But I’ve run one to earth for you finally – little Tom Rogers. He wasn’t at the meeting in Gwen’s shed, but he was with the gang this afternoon. Seems they all went round Mottisham Abbey together, and after they came out, Bossie said he was going to get in and have a hunt round during the night. He wouldn’t let anybody else stay, but they saw him in through the fence up the back lane before they quit. Tom thinks they must have got more and more worried about it after they got home, and made up their minds they must go back, and either fetch him away or stand by him. That’ll be Ginger, is my guess. Got the germ of a conscience. Anyhow, this lad’s pretty sure that’s where they’ll all be. You don’t want Tom, do you? I know everything he knows, now.’

‘No, send him home to bed. We’ve got enough of them on our hands. We’re on our way down. If you get there before us, see if you can locate the warden for me, and hang on to him if you do find him. There’s no getting in touch with him by ’phone so far. Nobody’s answering.’

‘Stubbs?’ Sergeant Moon took that up sharply. ‘That’s interesting, because I got a flash from Brice in Birmingham, just before you called me out. He’s been following up all the connections there, and came up with a nice little item on Stubbs. Before he came to this job at the abbey, and started frequenting the Rainbows, it seems he was courting steady in the city. Young woman in the antiques business. Dropped her after he got in with Rainbow on his home ground, and clapped eyes on Mrs Rainbow. You’ve got it! – before that he was mashing the Lavery girl!’

‘Toby, come with me,’ said George. ‘You know the exact place Bossie’ll be after. Sam, I know you’ll want to be on hand, too.’

‘I’m coming,’ said Jenny firmly, and put down the musical box gently on the hall table, astonished to find her fingers stiff and bloodless when they released their hold.

‘We’ll be enough. Jenny. No panic now, we know where he is, we’ll go and get him.’

‘We don’t know it’ll be that simple. We don’t know what he’s set in motion. You know him! I want to be there.’

‘You come on down after us with Barbara and Willie, then.’ He caught Barbara’s eye, saw the glance she exchanged with Willie, and knew that he was understood. The Land-Rover would be driven down to Mottisham at an unwontedly sedate pace, and parked discreetly away from the main action, in the hope that by that time Bossie would have been hauled out of hiding safe and sound. Not that Jenny was a hysterical type, far from it; but once already her infant prodigy had almost got himself murdered, and parents are apt to overreact to that sort of thing.

‘Come on, then!’ said George, and led the way out to his own car at a run, with Toby and Sam on his heels. The greater their start, the better.

The night was dark, moonless and overcast. Traffic was always light up here at night, and the sense of the border hills closed in even on lighted roads, like the shadow of history, age-old and solitary and quite unmoved.

‘Now suppose you tell me,’ suggested Sam, with arduous calm, ‘just what you know about all this business that we don’t know.’ And Toby told him the reason for Bossie’s misplaced loyalty. Apart from that they were all silent until they turned into the lane that led to the gates of the abbey, when Toby suddenly said aloud: ‘I wish now I’d never touched the bloody thing!’

‘Oh, come off it!’ said Sam comfortingly. ‘I wish I had a quid for every time I’ve said something like that. What makes you think you should be any different?’

There was one police car waiting for them, as well as Sergeant Moon’s ancient Ford. The portion of the drive between the old entrance gates and the ticket-kiosk was still shrouded in its overgrown trees and shrubs, and hid unusual activities very efficiently. Jack Moon came out of the darkness to meet them as they climbed out of the car.

‘I sent a couple of the lads round to look for the place where the kid got in. We’ve got it pinned and covered now, if he slips out that way. We’ve made no other move yet.’

‘And Stubbs still isn’t around?’ The resident warden was no scholar himself, his orders as regards the work in hand came from Charles Goddard, but his responsibility for the site, like his authority within it, was absolute, and he should have been there. ‘What are his free nights, do we know?’

‘We do,’ said Moon flatly. ‘On Wednesday, Thursday and Friday he can be away the entire day if he likes, but he’s responsible for security from six o’clock on. Saturday and Sunday evenings he has a relief to make the evening rounds, so he’s free from closing time. The rest of the week he’s in sole charge, apart from the help he gets during the day, which is voluntary but usually plentiful. This is Tuesday, and he should be here. He may be, but if he is, he’s taking a hell of a time over making the round of the property. It’s big, but not that big.’

‘With or without him,’ said George, ‘we’re going in.’

‘That’s what I thought, so I fetched Grainger along with me.’ Grainger was the best man in the Midshire force on locks, and happened to live in Moon’s territory. ‘The telephone switchboard is in the ticket-office, we’re going to need that, and of course the office is locked. Even if Stubbs is off with the keys to everything in his pocket, there should be a second set in there somewhere. Has he got your authority to break in?’

‘As fast as possible,’ said George without hesitation, and led the way. Authorisation could be legalised afterwards.

‘History repeats itself,’ murmured Toby, following, and shook his shoulders to dislodge a foreboding that was not so easy to jettison. ‘Well, I got out again all right!’