Noonday and Night

CHAPTER 12

No Coaches on the Roads

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There was a long pause. Dame Beatrice looked enquiringly at her secretary, but realised that the pause was a pause for thought. At last Laura raised her eyes and spread out her hands in a gesture of helplessness.

‘Ah!’ said Dame Beatrice, with satisfaction. ‘I wondered when you were going to ask me that.’

Laura, accustomed as she was to having her mind read, gaped at her employer and then grinned.

‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘You don’t catch me out like that. Just what do you think I’m going to ask you?’

‘If this Commando dagger, with its blade which must measure, midway down the length, at least seven-tenths of an inch across, was used to assassinate Noone and Daigh.’

‘So what’s the answer?’

‘I do not know, and I am not prepared to guess.’ Her tone was so final that Laura said,

‘I don’t think I’ll bother to go back to bed. How early can we telephone the police about this break-in?’

‘There is no hurry. Contact them after breakfast, if you will.’

‘There’s another point which is bothering me a bit, you know.’

‘Oh, dear! You mean our intruder’s acumen.’

‘Yes, that’s it. From the moment I heard the first sounds downstairs, right up to the moment I came in here, into your room, not more than a minute or two could have passed.’

‘Indeed? Yes, I expect you are right.’

‘Well, now, how did this man, with five bedrooms and your upstairs consulting-room to choose from, come straightway to where you were sleeping?’

‘That is, presuming I was the person he intended to murder. What did you think of the wig I had spread so artistically over the pillow? One learns a great deal from the Sherlock Holmes stories, does one not? The dog which did nothing in the night? The life-like bust which appeared to throw a perfect silhouette of Holmes’ profile against the window-blind?’

‘When are you going to see Honfleur again?’ asked Laura, dismissing these questions as persiflage.

‘When our night visitor has had time to realise that I am not proposing to give his name to the police. I might, however, ask you to go and see Mr Honfleur.’

‘But you are going to report the break-in?’

‘It is my duty as a citizen to do so,’ replied Dame Beatrice solemnly. ‘Well, off to your bath, or whatever you intend to do before breakfast. I am for bed.’ She removed the black wig which was attached to the smashed mask, excavated a kind of Guy Fawkes figure encased in hessian from beneath the coverlet, placed the lot in a vast oak chest at the foot of the bed, retired to rest and resumed her light slumbers. Laura went down the garden to the well-screened swimming pool, discarded her pyjamas and dived in.

‘ “I am sent,” ’ quoted Laura to a worried Basil Honfleur, ‘ “with broom before, to sweep the dust behind the door.” Or, of course, under the carpet, just as Dame B’s policy may dictate.’

‘Her policy? She told me on the telephone that an attempt had been made on her life. Can that possibly be true?’

‘I was an eye-witness. Goggle-eyed and petrified, too, I don’t mind telling you. Look here, what is going on around this coach-station of yours?’

‘I wish I knew. Three drivers gone and no knowing when there might have been a fourth, except…’

‘Except?’

‘They’ve struck. Say it isn’t good enough. Say they are not prepared to take any more coaches out until this whole matter is cleared up and the murderer found.’

‘Well, I suppose their attitude isn’t really surprising, is it?’

‘From one point of view perhaps it is not. However, I have one shot left in my locker. I am meeting them tomorrow at eleven and I am going to suggest that I send them out in twos. It means cancelling certain of the tours, of course. I’m working on that at the moment, because I shall try to cancel the least profitable ones and, anyway, the whole thing needs a tremendous amount of reorganisation. There are still a number of coaches out on the road, I’m thankful to say, but unless I can do something to stop the rot, the drivers are going to be got at by these dissidents as soon as the coaches come back, and then the rest of the men will be persuaded to join in the strike.’

‘I take it they won’t need much persuading.’

‘Is Dame Beatrice upset by her dreadful experience?’

‘No. I telephoned my husband at headquarters and he is seeing to it that she is under complete protection until Carstairs and Knight are pulled in.’

‘Who is Carstairs?’

Laura looked surprised and said:

‘A mysterious sort of chap who owns a bungalow on the hillside above the Saighdearan hotel. Nobody seems to know much about him. Apparently he’s a bird of passage, sometimes there, but mostly not. It was in his bungalow that Vittorio was found murdered.’

‘What!’

‘I though you knew. Sorry if I’ve given you a shock. It’s in this morning’s paper. I though you must have seen it.’

‘Vittorio murdered? I can’t believe it. What on earth was he doing in Saighdearan?’

‘Visiting this man Carstairs, apparently. Or, of course,’ said Laura, as though she had just been struck by the thought, ‘I suppose Vittorio could have been staying with Carstairs. He seems to have been sleeping in Carstairs’ bedroom when he was stabbed.’

‘Stabbed? Like the other two?’

‘Well, yes,’ admitted Laura. ‘Like them in that only one blow, and that a shrewdly lethal one, seems to have been struck, but, of course, a different weapon may have been used.’

‘Did you and Dame Beatrice know about this – this third murder – when I came to lunch?’

‘Oh, yes, of course. We knew of it before we left Saighdearan.’

‘Yet neither of you mentioned it.’

‘The news hadn’t been made public, you see. But haven’t you looked at your newspaper this morning?’

‘I haven’t had time. I’ve been working out these double-driver schedules since before breakfast. I’ve done nothing but swallow a cup of coffee. I haven’t even looked at my correspondence. I suppose I’d better do that.’

‘And I’m hindering you,’ said Laura. ‘Anyway, we thought you’d be interested to hear our news.’

‘That somebody broke into the Stone House last night and attempted to murder Dame Beatrice?’

‘That’s what it looked like to us.’

‘God bless my soul!’

‘It reminds her, she said, of the editor of that newspaper in the Wild West when some indignant reader tried to shoot him. It meant that he really was getting somewhere with a series of articles he was writing to expose some local racket or other. Dame B feels she’s getting somewhere over tracking down these murderers. Well, I’d better let you get on.’

‘One thing,’ said Honfleur, ‘we’ve had lots of cancellations already, so there won’t be all that many letters to send out advising people that their tour has been called off. How I do hate paying back all those fares, though. We make them pay us well in advance, you see, so, of course, all that money has to be returned if it’s our fault they can’t go. As a matter of fact, we refund most of it for any cancellation so long as they give us fair notice that they are not able to make the trip. Goodwill and fair dealing are everything in this game.’

‘In every other game, too, one hopes.’

‘Yes, of course. Now, Mrs Gavin, what exactly is all this “sweep the dust behind the door” to which you referred?’

‘Ah, that, yes. Dame B wants to know whether you are in touch with Conradda Mendel.’

‘Conradda? How does she come into it?’

‘I don’t know. Probably she doesn’t.’

‘I haven’t seen or heard of her since that dinner she attended when I entertained Dame Beatrice and Vittorio. You remember?’

‘From hearsay, yes.’

‘Well, I understood that Conradda had sold her shops and emigrated. That is all I know. To go back to something you mentioned earlier: what did you mean about Carstairs and Knight being pulled in? Knight has disappeared, just like Noone and Daigh. Has Dame Beatrice any reason to think that he is still alive?’

‘I suppose so. We found no body at Saighdearan except Vittorio’s, so she thinks it’s possible that Knight is still alive. The police have combed and honeycombed the neighbourhood around Saighdearan, but have found nothing to suggest that he has been murdered – unless he’s Vittorio, of course,’ Laura added, struck by a sudden idea.

‘Quite impossible. I knew them both. They are not in the least alike,’ said Honfleur. ‘Whatever made you think of that?’

‘It was a wild suggestion,’ said Laura.

‘At any rate, Knight has disappeared,’ said Honfleur.

‘Yes, he certainly has,’ agreed Laura. ‘By the way, supposing he turned up again safe and well, would your drivers resume work? That’s one of the things I was sent to ask you.’

‘But neither you nor Dame Beatrice knew that my drivers were on strike until you came here today.’

Laura wagged her head.

‘We didn’t know,’ she admitted, ‘but Dame B gave me to understand that it was a fair assumption and, as usual, she turns out to have been right.’

‘Well, I hope she’s right about Knight, too, and that he’ll turn up,’ said Honfleur, beginning to fidget with a pencil.

‘You want to be busy, I know,’ said Laura, ‘so I won’t keep you any longer. It was a long shot about Conradda, but Dame B thought there was just the chance that you might be in touch with her.’

‘Sorry, no.’

Laura took her leave, remarking, as Honfleur opened his office door for her:

‘Best of luck in getting your men back to work.’

‘I may succeed, if Knight is alive and you can find him for me.’

Laura returned to the Stone House to find Dame Beatrice watched over by a private detective, a retired police-sergeant, whom Laura’s husband, in response to an urgent call from his wife, had sent along. Dame Beatrice gravely introduced him to Laura and he retired to the kitchen, leaving them together.

‘What news from the Slough of Despond?’ she enquired.

‘It’s that, all right,’ said Laura. ‘His drivers are going on strike. Could his job be in danger if they do? Apart from that, he knows nothing about Conradda, but Vittorio’s death has knocked him all of a heap. He seems to be a very worried man.’

‘The loss of three drivers and an impending strike would be quite enough to account for that.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘There is another factor, too, which may be causing him uneasiness. I have been in touch with one of his directors. It appears that a big merger is on the way. There are four coach-tour companies in the area, one of which is an off-shoot of a very much larger concern based on a Midlands network. It seems that agreement has been reached and that this mammoth concern will take over County Motors after the end of next season.’

‘So Honfleur could be made redundant, you think?’

‘It is more than possible. These mergers do not tend to improve every employee’s position and prospects. Mr Tedworthy, who gave me help over the affair at Hulliwell Hall, is a case in point.’

‘I wonder how long Honfleur has known about the merger? He’s never mentioned it, has he?’

‘Perhaps it is too sore a subject. I wonder how my guardian angel will get on with Henri and Celestine in the kitchen? I deprecate the fact that you have saddled me with an incubus.’

‘I don’t regret it,’ said Laura. ‘The sound of that thug smashing away at that dummy on your bed will haunt my dreams.’

The crucial days of the following week, so far as Basil Honfleur was concerned, were Saturday, Sunday and Monday, counting Saturday as the first day of the coach-tours week, as the company always did.

Dame Beatrice telephoned from the Stone House on the Friday afternoon at about four to ask how things were going. Honfleur, who had been about to return to his house, was lugubrious.

‘I had to talk with the strikers,’ he said, ‘and got my assistant to waylay every driver as the coaches arrived at the depot after such tours as had been on the road before all this disaffection got really serious, and I put it to them. Unless the remaining tours were carried out, and the rest of our commitments honoured, I told them, their jobs and their futures were in jeopardy. We are due to be taken over and made part of a huge combine, you know, after the end of the next season. I stressed this and promised that County Motors would do their best to protect every man’s interests when the take-over came about, but that it was going to be difficult, if not impossible, for me to speak up for men who seemed determined to chuck their jobs away.’

‘And what effect did this have?’

‘Very little, I’m afraid. There was a lot of muttering and then one chap said that they’d better lose their jobs than their lives, and I could tell that the other fellows agreed with him. This was on Friday. I am calling another meeting at eight on Sunday evening, when the nine-day tours which have been on the road get back, but, frankly, I haven’t much hope. The drivers who were supposed to be going up to Scotland tomorrow morning have stuck their feet in and absolutely refused to budge.’

‘How many tours does that affect?’

‘More than I care to think about. There won’t be the Skye tour, or the one which goes up to John o’ Groats, Royal Deeside is off and and so are the Trossachs, the Ayrshire and Arran tour and the nine-day tour of the Central Highlands. In fact, ironic though it may sound, the only fellow willing to take a coach out at all at present is the driver who takes the party to Swansea to embark on the ferry to Cork, and he is none too keen to do even that much. Even the drivers who do the foreign tours are dragging their feet because they have to take passengers to spend a night in Southamption before crossing to Le Havre. Pusillanimous twits! I only just stopped myself from calling them a bunch of cowards.’

‘It might have been injudicious, under the circumstances in which you find youself, to have called their courage in question. Did you make them the offer you outlined to Laura, that you would send them out in twos?’

‘Yes, I did. The trouble is that they no longer trust each other.’

‘That is serious. Let us hope for a miracle – in other words, that Driver Knight will turn up safe and sound.’