Hit and Run

I

I had a sandwich lunch and then drove back to my bungalow. While I ate the sandwiches and on my way back, my mind was busy, but I didn’t come up with anything helpful. I was more convinced than ever that there was something very phoney about this accident. I was certain Lucille had lied to me about how the accident had happened. The situation had become more perplexing after I had looked over the ground. It was so obvious now she must have seen O’Brien as he was coming towards her. She could not have slowed down and she must have driven straight at him. With such an obvious set-up, she could expect no mercy from any jury, and it was even more obvious to me now why she was so anxious for me to take the blame.

But my immediate problem was what I was to do with the Cadillac. Sooner or later, if the police search was going to be as thorough as they claimed, they would find it in Seaborne’s garage.

The Captain of Police had announced that anyone who damaged his car after the time of the accident would have to report the damage immediately, and explain how it had happened.

I wondered if this ruling could offer me a way out. If I drove the Cadillac hard against the garage door upright, and then telephoned the police, would they accept my explanation that I had damaged the car in this way? Had the damage been done only to the front of the car, I felt I might have been on fairly safe ground, but the two deep scars on the bodywork would not be consistent with ramming into the garage upright, and those two scars could easily arouse the police’s suspicions.

But at least it was an idea, and I decided to keep thinking along this line. I was still thinking about it as I unlocked my front door when my mind was abruptly switched away from it as I heard the telephone bell ringing.

I entered the lounge and picked up the receiver.

‘Mr. Scott?’

I recognized Watkins’ voice, and I stiffened, wondering why he should be calling.

‘Yes, speaking,’ I said.

‘Mr. Aitken asked me to call you, sir. He said it was possible you would still be at home,’ Watkins said. ‘If you could spare the time, Mr Aitken would be glad if you could come over.’

‘But I’m supposed to be relaxing on the golf course,’ I said. ‘Can’t you tell him you couldn’t contact me?’

Watkins coughed.

‘I suppose I could, sir, but Mr. Aitken gave me to understand the matter was urgent. However, if you think…’

‘No, it’s okay. I’ll be over. He wants me right away, of course?’

‘I believe he is waiting for you, sir.’

‘Okay, I’m on my way,’ I said and hung up. For a moment or so I stood staring at my reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece. I looked a little pale and my eyes were scared.

Had Lucille lost her nerve and told him? Had she got her word in first? Aitken had ordered me to take the weekend off and to relax, so why this sudden summons, unless there was trouble?

I left the bungalow, went down to the Pontiac and drove fast to Aitken’s place.

During the drive my mind was as panicky as an old lady’s who has heard a noise under her bed.

I parked the Pontiac beside a grey Buick convertible that stood on the tarmac before the marble steps leading up to Aitken’s terrace. I got out and walked up the steps.

As I reached the top step and looked along the wide terrace I saw Aitken in pyjamas and a dressing-gown, a rug over his legs, lying in a lounging chair. He had with him a big, broad-shouldered man who sat in an upright terrace chair, his back turned to me.

I paused. My heart was thumping and my nerves were crawling as I looked at Aitken, who turned his head, saw me and waved. His leather, whisky-red face softened slightly into a welcoming grin and I felt suddenly a little sick. The relief of seeing that grotesque smile hit me like a physical blow. He wouldn’t be smiling if he were after my blood.

‘There you are, Scott,’ he said. ‘Were you going out to golf?’

The other man turned and I felt a sudden cramping sensation in my stomach. I recognized him immediately. He was: Tom Hackett; the man who had seen Lucille and me leaving the bungalow on the night of the accident: Tom Hackett, Seaborne’s pal.

He looked at me, then got slowly to his feet, his red, good-natured face lighting up with a broad grin.

‘Hello, there,’ he said and extended his hand. ‘So we meet again. R.A. tells me you’re going to be his head man in New; York.’

I took his hand, aware again that mine felt cold in his warm, firm grip.

‘Sit down, sit down,’ Aitken said irritably. ‘Were you on your way to golf?’

‘I was about to change when Watkins called me,’ I said, moving over to where he lay and sitting down in a chair near Hackett’s.

‘I’m sorry. I told you to get a game in. I meant you to,’ Aitken said, running his fingers through his sparse hair, ‘but when Hackett turned up, I thought you should meet him.’

I looked politely at Hackett, then back to Aitken again. I had no idea what it was all about, but at least it didn’t seem to be trouble.

Aitken looked over at Hackett and grinned his sneering little grin.

‘This young fella’s been working too hard,’ he said. ‘I told him to take the weekend off: to play golf and find a pretty woman. You turning up like this has spoilt it for him.’

Hackett laughed.

‘Don’t you believe it. He may have missed his golf, but he didn’t miss out on the other thing.’ He turned to me with a wide grin. ‘Did you, boy?’

My smile was stiff, but I somehow managed to keep it in place. I didn’t say anything.

Aitken looked sharply at me, then at Hackett.

‘Oh? What do you know about what he’s been up to?’ I found my hands were turning into fists and I put them in my trouser pockets.

‘Never mind: the guy’s got a private life, hasn’t he?’ Hackett said and winked at me. ‘The fact is, Scott, I’m coming in on this New York venture. I’m putting in some of my money. When R.A. told me you were going to handle the office, I wanted to meet and talk to you. That’s about it, isn’t it, R.A.?’

Aitken scowled. He disliked anyone taking charge of the conversation just as he disliked being side-tracked, but he said in a fairly genial tone: ‘Yes, that’s it. Well, here he is for you to talk to.’ He turned to me. ‘Hackett is putting up a hundred thousand dollars, and he naturally wants to make sure you’re the man to look after his money.’

‘From what R.A. tells me, you must be okay,’ Hackett said, leaning back in his chair, ‘but there are one or two points I’d like to cover with you. You don’t mind answering a few questions, do you?’

‘Why, no,’ I said, relaxing a little. ‘I’d be glad to.’

‘They won’t touch on your private life,’ he said and smiled. ‘How a man lives outside the office is no concern of mine, unless, of course, he gets mixed up in some mess or scandal.’ The jovial face was still jovial, but the eyes were now a little too steady and searching for me to meet. I took out my cigarettes and hid behind the business of lighting up. ‘I don’t suppose you aim to mix yourself up in any scandal, do you?’ he went on.

Aitken moved impatiently.

‘There’s nothing like that about Scott,’ he growled. ‘You don’t imagine I employ men who get mixed up in scandals, do you?’

‘I’m sure you don’t,’ Hackett said and, leaning forward, he slapped me on the knee. ‘I’m a great little kidder. Don’t pay my attention to it. Now, suppose you tell me about your qualifications?’

Maybe he was a great little kidder, but he wasn’t kidding me. He knew something or suspected something. I was sure of that. Had he guessed the girl he had seen me with was Lucille?

I told him about my qualifications, and then answered a series of searching questions to do with my career. He also asked me questions about my plans for the New York office, the staff I would need, where the office would be located and so on. Finally, he seemed satisfied and he sat back, nodding his head.

‘You’ll do. You’re a regular R.A. man, and that’s good enough for me.’ He glanced over at Aitken. ‘And he’s putting up twenty thousand?’

Aitken nodded.

‘And he’s to get five per cent on the gross as well as his salary?’

‘Yes.’

Hackett brooded for a moment, and I was expecting him to say he didn’t agree with the percentage, but he didn’t.

‘Okay. They’re damn good terms, Scott, but I bet you’ll earn them. When do you put the money up?’

‘Next Thursday,’ I told him.

‘Okay, R.A. You’ll have my cheque at the same time. Okay?’

‘Suits me fine. I’ll have the whole thing fixed through Webster. You know him, don’t you?’

‘Yeah—a good man.’ Hackett got to his feet. ‘Well, we mustn’t keep Scott from his golf.’ He

offered me his hand, ‘I’m;’ sure you’re going to make a big success of the job. I wish you luck.’

‘Thank you.’ I shook his hand then turned to Aitken. ‘If that’s all…’

I broke off as Aitken stared past me down towards the long twisting drive.

‘Now what the devil is this?’ Aitken growled.

I looked in the same direction.

A dark blue car with a red flasher and a siren horn on its roof was coming fast up the drive.

I felt myself turn rigid.

There were four men in the car—all cops.

II

A big man, wearing a grey, crumpled suit and a lightweight hat pushed to the back of his head got out of the police car. His fleshy face was hard and sunburned. There was a mass of freckles across his short, flat nose. He looked what he was: a tough-cynical, suspicious cop.

He looked up at Hackett and me as we leaned over the balustrade, then he started up the steps, moving slowly as if he had plenty of time and was in no hurry to reach us.

Two uniformed cops had spilt out of the car and now stood around in the aimless way cops have. The driver remained at the wheel.

The plain-clothes man finally arrived at the top step and came over to us, moving slowly and deliberately.

I watched him came, my heart beating fast, my mouth dry. I wondered, the way all guilty people must wonder at the sight of a cop, if he had come here to arrest me.

He walked across the terrace, his big feet coming down on the hot stonework with a slight slapping sound, and he stopped in front of Aitken.

‘Detective-lieutenant West, City police, sir,’ he said. The Captain’s compliments. We are asking for your co-operation.’

Aitken stared up at him, his expression puzzled.

‘What is it? What’s the Captain want?’

‘It’s to do with this hit-and-run case. Maybe you’ve read about it in this morning’s papers.’ West’s voice was slow and heavy. ‘The Captain aims to check every car in the city for damage. If it’s okay with you, Mr. Aitken, we’d like to look your cars over.’

Aitken started to get a bloom on his face.

‘Look at my cars? Why? You don’t imagine I had anything to do with it, do you?’

I looked quickly at Hackett. He was leaning against the balustrade, his heavy face showing his interest.

West tilted his hat a little farther to the back of his head. His forehead was glistening with sweat.

‘No, sir, we don’t think that. But we’re checking every car in town. You have a chauffeur. Maybe he used one of your cars last night. I didn’t say he did, but a check would clear him. The Captain said if you objected, I wasn’t to bother you.’

Aitken’s face took on a deeper hue.

‘My chauffeur didn’t use any of my cars last night,’ he grated. West’s face became expressionless.

‘Okay, sir, the Captain said not to persist, but if your chauffeur didn’t use any of your cars, someone else might have.’

‘None of my cars have been out since I broke my leg,’ Aitken Said, his voice tight with rage. ‘You’re wasting your time.’

West lifted his heavy shoulders.

‘It’s what I get paid for. If you object to me looking at your cars, that’s okay with me. I’ll leave it and report back to the Captain.’

‘Listen to him!’ Aitken exploded and turned to Hackett. ‘This is a fine example of how these guys waste our money!’ Four men to check four cars! I’ll write to Sullivan about this! Just because some fool got himself knocked over and kill there’s all this uproar.’

‘The driver didn’t stop,’ Hackett said mildly. ‘You can blame this officer, R.A. He’s only doing his duty.’

Aitken drew in a long breath.

‘Okay, go and look at my cars! I don’t give a damn! Go ahead and waste the money I pay out in taxes. Go on: but off this terrace!’

‘Thank you,’ West said, his face expressionless. ‘Would you tell me where the garage is?’

Aitken turned to me.

‘You know where my garage is?’

I said I did.

‘Then take this man and show him, will you? And keep with him. See none of his men kick a panel in. Just watch out there’s no evidence manufactured to get my chauffeur into trouble.’

I walked to the head of the steps and West plodded after. We went down the steps to where the uniformed men were waiting. West shook his head at them, and we went past them, leaving them standing motionless in the sun.

When we were out of sight of the terrace, West said quietly: ‘Do you work for that guy?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Rather you than me.’ He took off his hat and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket. ‘I thought my chief was the world’s worst, but I can see he’s not even trying compared to this guy Aitken.’

I didn’t say anything.

We walked past the Pontiac and the Buick. West paused and stared at the two cars.

‘Know who they belong to?’

I had taken the precaution of removing Seabome’s licence tag and substituting my own, but I knew if he wanted to he could easily check the licence number against the tag, and then I’d be sunk, but I didn’t dare tell him I had borrowed the car. I hesitated only for a split second.

‘The Pontiac’s mine. The Buick belongs to Mr. Hackett, the guy up on the terrace.’

Moving slowly and deliberately, West walked around the two cars. He stood staring at them for some seconds, then moved back to where I stood, tense, my hands gripped behind my back.

‘Well, there’s nothing wrong with either of them, is there?’ he said in a conversational tone. ‘You said yours was the Pontiac?’

‘That’s right’

‘May as well give you a clearance certificate now: save my boys calling on you. What’s your name?’

I told him.

He took a pad of printed forms out of his pocket and began to write.

‘Address?’

I told him.

He looked over at the car, wrote some more, then ripped the sheet from the pad.

‘This is the Captain’s idea,’ he said. ‘Maybe it’s not so lousy. This certificate clears your car from this date. If you dent your fender or damage your car in any way, you don’t have to bother to report to us. If you get stopped, all you have to do is to show the certificate. This is quite a job; checking every damn car in town.’ He pushed the form at me and I took it. ‘Don’t lose it. It might save you a headache.’

‘I won’t lose it,’ I said and put the paper away in my wallet as if it were a million-dollar bill.

‘The Captain’s full of bright ideas,’ West went on. ‘That’s why he’s a Captain, but then, of course, he doesn’t have to do the work. He sticks his fat backside into a chair and keeps it there. Not that I blame him, you understand. I dare say I’d do the same if I were a Captain. Right now he has every man on the force hunting for this hit-and-run joker. Can you imagine? Everyone on the force, calling on houses, turning over garages, setting up road-blocks, going around in circles until they don’t know their brass from their oboes, if you will pardon my French.’ He was staring sightlessly at me, not seeing me, half taking to himself. ‘Know what our Captain is? He’s a newspaper cop. He loves publicity. He thrives on it. Did you read the crap he handed out to the press this morning? About O’Brien?’ He suddenly got me into focus and his eyes looked into mine. ‘Between you and me, O’Brien was the worst man on the force and we have a few choice specimens, believe you me. He was lazy and a no-good and spent most of his time trying to dodge his work. He took bribes and he wasn’t above a little blackmail if he thought he could get away with it. He was a punk right through. The Captain knew it. Only last week, he told me he was going to get rid of him. And instead, the punk has to get himself run over, and we have to run ourselves ragged to find the guy who killed him. Know how much sleep I’ve had since he was killed? Exactly one hour and ten minutes, and that’s only because I took a nap in the car, and I’ll be lucky if I get any more tonight.’

I stood in the hot sun, listening to this. As I had never hear a police officer talk this way before, I was as bewildered as I was surprised.

West suddenly grinned, showing his big white teeth.

‘You don’t have to take me too seriously, Mr. Scott,’ he said. ‘Every now and then I sound off. It does me good. Although I know O’Brien was a no-good punk, and although I know when he died it was good riddance, I intend to find the guy who killed him. It’s a bad thing for the force when one of its men gets killed. An effort has to be made, and we’re making it, and we’ll find him. It’ll probably take time, and it won’t be easy, but we’ll find him, and then I’ll be able to relax again.’ He dropped his cigarette on the ground and put his foot on it. ‘Now let’s go and look at your boss’s cars, not that they had anything to do with it, but I have to give him a clearance certificate. Just where are they?’

‘By the swimming-pool, just around here,’ I said.

‘A swimming-pool, huh? How the rich live!’ West shook his head and started to walk along the drive while I trailed after him. ‘You like working for a rich man, Mr. Scott?’

‘I can take it or leave it,’ I said.

‘Yeah, I guess that’s the only way. He could be a bastard. There’s that look in his eyes the Commissioner has. Money gives a guy an inflated feeling of power. I don’t like guys with power. I don’t like guys with a lot of money. When they get that way, they have to throw their weight around. I bet Mr. Aitken leans on people pretty heavily every so often.’

I didn’t have to think up a suitable remark to this as we turned the corner and came upon the fourcar garage and the swimming-pool.

Standing poised on the high-dive board was Lucille. She was sideways on to us and she didn’t see us. She wore a white bikini that just concealed the parts of the body not suitable for public viewing. The rest of her body was a golden brown and her thick chestnut hair lay around her shoulders and reached nearly to her waist. She made a picture standing up there that brought West and me to an abrupt stop as if we had walked into a brick wall.

She raised up on her toes, swung her arms wide, then launched herself off the board.

She went down in a graceful, perfect dive and hit the water with scarcely a splash and came up, shaking her hair out of her eyes. She turned on her back with her hair floating out around her and swam slowly towards the steps leading out of the bath.

‘Well,’ West said and drew in a slow breath.

He removed his hat, took out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat band while he watched Lucille climb out of the bath, and then walk along the side of the bath, the water glistening on her brown skin, the white bikini plastered to her body like a second skin.

We stood there like stone men, watching her until she disappeared into one of the cabins.

Then West turned and looked at me. His small grey eyes were sleepy and his thin, hard mouth was curled into a small incredulous smile.

‘That his daughter?’

‘That is Mrs. Aitken.’

‘Mrs. Aitken?’

‘Yes.’

‘You mean she’s that old punk’s wife?’

‘She is Mrs. Aitken.’

He blew a long silent whistle.

‘She doesn’t look more than twenty.’

I was losing patience as well as getting jittery with these remarks.

‘Well, that’s scarcely my fault, is it?’

He stared at me, momentarily surprised, then he nodded. ‘That’s right, it’s not your fault. Well, well, the guy certainly makes use of his money, doesn’t he?’

Leaving me, he strolled over to the garage, swung up the tilt-up doors and went in to examine the cars.

I stood in the sun and waited.

Lucille came out of the cabin. She was now wearing a scarlet halter, white shorts and pair of sandals. She carried the two little pieces of wet rag that made up her bikini and she walked quickly around the bath towards me.

I realized the effect West would have on her unless I warned her before she ran into him, and I went towards her.

She looked up and saw me.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw West come out of the garage. I quickened my pace and reached her as West shut the garage doors.

‘This man is a police officer,’ I said, speaking fast. ‘He’s not looking for you. He’s only checking the cars. There’s nothing to worry about.’

Maybe I shouldn’t have jumped it on her like this, but I hadn’t much time. Anyway, she went as white as a fresh fall of snow, and for one awful moment I thought she was going to faint.

Her eyes grew large and dark and, under her heavy tan, the change of colour gave her an odd mottled look.

Then I heard the gentle slapping of West’s feet as he came towards us. He didn’t seem in a hurry, but he reached us quicker than I would have thought possible.

He came up beside me, his breath whistling down his thick nose, and I knew he was staring at Lucille, and when I turned, that was what he was doing.

She stared back at him like a rabbit staring at a snake.

My voice sounded husky as I said: ‘This is Lieutenant West. Lieutenant, this is Mrs. Aitken.’

West said in his slow drawl, ‘Good afternoon, madam. I’ve just been checking the cars, I expect you’ve read…’ but that was as far as he got.

Lucille turned abruptly and walked away. She didn’t exactly run, but her slim brown legs took her over the ground at quite a pace.

West turned and watched her go. Neither of us said anything until she had run up the steps and out of sight.

‘Sort of snooty, huh?’ he said, cocking his head on one side. ‘High-hat, would you say?’

‘What’s a police officer to her?’ I said, trying to sound casual. ‘After all she’s a rich man’s wife.’

‘That’s right.’ He took off his hat and wiped the sweat band with his handkerchief. It seemed to be a habit of his. ‘Now I wonder what was on her mind. Did you see how she changed colour?’

‘Did she?’

I began to move towards the terrace, my heart bumping unevenly against my ribs.

West fell in step beside me.

‘Yeah. She changed colour. Quite a doll. With a shape like that it seems a waste to have married an old guy like Aitken.’

‘If it worries you all that much, why don’t you take it up with him?’ I said curtly.

West glanced at me and smiled a tired smile.

‘I’m not all that in love with my job, but I don’t aim to lose it. Would she have a lover, do you think?’

‘Why not ask her, if it’s any of your business?’ I said, turning to glare at him.

He rubbed his big hand over his sweating face and sniffled a yawn.

‘I’d like to, but I don’t imagine she’d tell me. Does she ever use any of Aitken’s cars?’

My heart skipped a beat.

‘Did you find any of them damaged?’

‘No. The chauffeur keeps them nice. He probably has to.’

‘Then it’s no business of yours if she uses them or not. But if it will set your mind at rest, she hasn’t a driving permit so the answer is she doesn’t use them.’

He squinted at me.

‘Just because she hasn’t a driving permit,’ he said slowly, ‘doesn’t mean she doesn’t take a car out sometimes. Some people take chances. How come she doesn’t drive?’

I was suddenly scared I had said too much.

‘Maybe you’d better ask her,’ I said. ‘What business is it of yours?’

‘Look, friend,’ he said quietly, ‘you don’t have to get touchy. It’s my job to ask questions. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t have to. I’m a cop. When something happens out of the way, I wonder why. I’m wondering why she turned into a ghost when she saw me. A girl with her looks and her shape usually has plenty of confidence. It should take more than a cop to fazz her, but she was fazzed all right. Why? What’s on her mind? You don’t turn that colour at the sight of a cop unless your conscience is taking a beating. What’s biting her, I wonder?’

‘How should I know?’ I said through stiff lips.

He patted my arm absently.

‘That’s right. How should you know?’

He moved past me and headed towards the terrace.

I went after him, but kept far enough behind him so as not to enter into another conversation with him.

He gave Aitken four certificates, clearing his cars.

Aitken took the certificates and tossed them contemptuously on the terrace table. West then gave Hackett a certificate for his car.

‘I guess that’s about all,’ he said, looking around at us. ‘Thanks for your help, sir.’ This to Aitken. ‘And for yours too.’ His small eyes moved to me. Then in a silence you could lean on, he plodded across the terrace, went down the steps to the waiting police car.

‘Well, I must say that’s a wonderful way of wasting tax-payers money,’ Aitken growled. ‘Of all the damned nonsense I’ve run into…’

‘Would you say that?’ Hackett asked, lifting his heavy eye-brows. ‘They’re trying to find the man who killed a policeman. To them it is important. They know the killer’s car is damaged. This is the surest way of finding his car,’ he waved his certificate. ‘Sooner or later, they will come across a car that is damaged and hasn’t a certificate, then they will have found the killer. Personally, I think it’s a smart idea.’ He turned to me. ‘Well, we’re holding you off from your golf.’ He stretched his massive frame. ‘And I’ve got to be running along too.’ He looked over at Aitken. ‘The wife will be wondering where I’ve got to. So long, R.A., this venture of ours is going to be a lot of fun,’ and he shook Aitken’s hand.

‘I hope so,’ Aitken said. ‘A lot depends on Scott.’

Hackett slapped me on the shoulder.

‘He’ll handle it. Well, I’ll get off. Look after that leg, R.A. The sooner you’re up and about again the better.’

There was more talk before Hackett and I crossed the terrace together and walked down the steps to where our cars were parked.

‘You won’t forget to come over to my hotel,’ Hackett said. ‘I’d like you to meet the wife.’

‘That’s nice of you,’ I returned. ‘The trouble is R.A. expects me to come here every night and that limits my time.’

‘Yes, I can see that. But try and find time.’ He paused beside his Buick, looking over at the Pontiac. ‘I see you’re still using Jack’s car.’

I kept my face expressionless with an effort.

‘Yes, but not for much longer. I should have my car back soon.’

The shrewd eyes moved over my face.

‘What did you say was the matter with it?’

‘It’s leaking oil.’

He nodded.

‘Cars can be hell. Coming down here, I blew a gasket. It doesn’t seem to matter how much one spends buying a car, something or other goes wrong sooner or later.’

I wasn’t kidding myself he was talking because he liked the sound of his voice. I was sure a punch line was coming and I tensed myself, waiting for it.

‘Have you met R.A.’s wife?’ he asked abruptly and his eyes were sudden searchlights on my face.

I hadn’t expected that punch to be quite so direct nor so hard. I flinched. There was nothing I could do about it. It had been hard enough to get under my guard.

‘I—I’ve seen her.’

He nodded.

‘I’ve seen her too.’ He looked away from me as he opened his car door. ‘Some girl. I’ve often wondered why R.A. married her. She’s a young man’s girl. He’s much too old for her. When a girl that young marries a man nearly forty years older than she, she becomes rank poison to any young fella who happens along.’ He grinned cheerfully at me. ‘Though why I’m sounding off like this to you I can’t imagine. A sensible guy like you wouldn’t go for rank poison, now would you?’ He patted my arm and got into the car. ‘Don’t forget to come and see us when you have time,’ he went on, poking his genial face out of the car window. ‘So long for now: hope to see you soon.’

I remained motionless as a shop-window dummy and watched him drive away.

I knew then he had recognized Lucille as she had come out of my bungalow last night, and in his odd, kindly way, he was waving a red light in my face.

I was aware my breathing was coming fast and hard as walked over to the Pontiac and got in. For several tense seconds I sat staring through the wind-shield, then leaning forward, stabbed at the starter button and drove fast down the drive and headed towards my bungalow.