‘Well?’ she said, after she had let in the clutch.
‘The name of the house is Cottam’s,’ said Gascoigne. ‘And these fellows are down on their luck. They’ve come from Poole Harbour, lost their way after Brandencote, and have been all night on the road. They’ve just about had enough of it. Ought to have been back by now. Nothing but trouble all the way. Never been to the house before, and will take care they never go again. (I’m glad you weren’t there to hear their language!) Anyway, they’ve given us a reason for calling. The ice is wanted urgently, so I’ve promised to say they are coming with it and I’m to swear it isn’t their fault that they’ve been so long upon the road.’
‘What do they think the ice will be used for?’ asked Laura. Gascoigne laughed.
‘They didn’t say what they thought it would be used for, but they said they could tell the people what to do with it when they got it, which is not, perhaps, quite the same thing. Of course,’ he added, ‘as we don’t know that the house with the four dead trees is now called Cottam’s, it’s quite possible that our destination is not the same as theirs. It was no good describing the house to them, because they only know it by name.’
‘But we do know it’s called Cottam’s! Mrs. Bradley and I know. Are the people called Cottam, or only the house?’ said Laura quickly.
‘The people are called Gonn-Brown.’
‘Gonn-Brown? But that’s a film company! I’ve seen their offices in Wardour Street. Mrs. Bradley vetted the psychiatry in one of their films.’
‘Really?’ said Gascoigne. ‘Remind me of that a bit later. Like the heavenly Yvonne Arnaud, (in Tons of Money) I’ve got an idea!’
‘Well, here’s the house,’ said O’Hara. ‘Drive past it, Miss Menzies, and we’ll park the car where it can’t be seen from the windows.’
Laura took the extremely narrow turning very slowly, and the car bumped over a culvert and then over a humped bridge a little farther along.
‘About here,’ said O’Hara.
Laura pulled up, and the three got out. She locked the car, and then they strolled back along the way by which they had come until they reached the gates. These were propped wide open, and the notice board with its terse instruction to keep out was now covered by a piece of paper affixed to the board by four drawing pins.
The paper read TRADESMEN ONLY.
‘This is us,’ said Gascoigne. ‘Look here, you’d better not come up to the door, Mike, in case you’re recognized. And you, Miss Menzies…’
‘I’m coming,’ said Laura flatly. ‘A man and a woman are far less remarkable than one or other on their own. Just give the message about the ice-cart, and then we’ll see how they react.’
Gascoigne did not argue. They walked up to the ecclesiastical door, and Laura stood looking at it whilst Gascoigne pulled at an ancient bell. They could hear this clanging, and then came the sound of footsteps along a stone-flagged passage. A woman opened the door. She was younger than middle-aged (but not at all youthful), full-fleshed, handsome and blowsy. Laura, with the swiftness of a panther, slipped to the outside of the porch.
‘Good morning,’ said Gascoigne to the woman. ‘We promised to bring a message. The ice you are expecting is on its way, but the lorry has broken down. They’ll be here as soon as they can.’
‘The ice?’ said the woman. ‘I don’t know anything about it. I’ll enquire.’
She went to the back of the house, leaving the front door open. Gascoigne watched her all the way along the stone-flagged passage until a door closed behind her. Laura made tracks for the gate. The woman returned. She looked Gascoigne over as though she were memorizing his face, and then said :
‘Sorry you’ve had your trouble. No ice expected here.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ said Gascoigne.
‘I’m sorry you’ve been troubled,’ she repeated, and closed the door very gently in his face, giving him, as she did so, a lustful and conciliatory smile. It was evident she had had no eyes for Laura.
‘Thank goodness for your comely face,’ said the latter, when Gascoigne joined her. ‘You could have knocked me endwise! That was the woman from Newcombe Soulbury, that was! Ah, well, let’s wait and watch the lorry drive in. There’s something delightfully fishy about all this—or don’t you think so?’
She walked beside Gascoigne slowly back to the car. O’Hara was not to be seen. They climbed in, and had scarcely done so when a car came from the opposite direction, slowed down, and stopped. A boy got out from beside the driver, and went forward to open the lodge gates.
‘Well!’ said Laura. ‘What do you make of that? That’s the kid from the hotel! The one who threw rocks at me the other morning!’
The boy pushed the gates back as wide as they would go, and the car drove in past the lodge.
Of O’Hara there was still no sign. Gascoigne lit a cigarette for Laura and another for himself, and had scarcely put away his lighter when O’Hara dropped over the high brick wall which shut the house off from the road, came down in the ditch, picked himself up and hurried towards the car.
‘The boy seems in a hurry!’ said Laura, starting the engine as O’Hara opened the door and scrambled inside.
‘That woman you spoke to… I was hiding in the bushes… she’s the one at the farm… the one who told me she was alone in the house. And those people who drove up just now…’
‘Are the man and the boy from our hotel at Slepe Rock. Yes, we know,’ said Laura.
‘And there goes the ice-cart,’ said Gascoigne, as the lorry drove in at the gates. ‘All liars, aren’t they?’
‘I don’t know about liars, but they may be murderers,’ said O’Hara. ‘I heard that man who came with the kid—I heard him speak. That’s the fellow called Con, I’m almost certain.’
Chapter Twelve
—«♦»—
‘ “Ha!” thought she as she looked at it through the window. ‘Cannot I prevent the sun rising?” ’
Ibid. (The Fisherman and His Wife)
« ^ »
Now what?’ said Laura, full of pleasurable excitement as the car drove on towards the farm. ‘What do you think we ought to do?’ she added, elucidating this query.
‘Return, one of us, and suborn that old man with the barrow,’ said Gascoigne readily. ‘We shall find out what he knows of the people from Slepe Rock, and perhaps he can tell us what the ice is to be used for, although I should rather think he can’t. Pull up round the next bend, anyway, and I’ll go back, and see what I can find out.’
‘Both of us will go back,’ said O’Hara firmly.
‘But you may be recognized, and that would hardly do.’
‘It can’t be helped. You stay here,’ added O’Hara to Laura, ‘and be ready to help us make a dash for it if anybody chooses to be annoyed. Good-bye. We will see you later.’
‘You’ll see me sooner,’ retorted Laura. ‘What do you think I am? If there’s going to be any fun I’m all for being in the thick of it. None of this women and children business with me! I’m a lot older than either of you, and, furthermore, I’m Mrs. Croc.’s accredited representative. Besides…’
‘All right, then,’ said O’Hara, hastily. ‘If you feel like that about it, I think you’d better come. What do you say, Gerry? Shall we take her with us?’
The handsome Gascoigne assumed a reproachful expression, but did not voice his sentiments, and the car was reversed as far as the nearest gate. Here Laura turned it, and the three were soon near the house with the four dead trees.
‘This is about as far as we should go, I think, before we get out and walk,’ suggested Laura.
‘And now,’ said Gascoigne, when they were almost opposite the gate, ‘you two had better stand by, I think, whilst I contact our aged friend. He won’t talk to three of us at once.’