Parker Pyne Investigates

He shook his head. Of all the foolish things to do! Had Reid appeared? Had he somehow or other prevailed upon the girl to trust him? What had taken her to Hampstead?

He looked at his watch. Nearly half-past seven. She would have counted on his starting at half-past six. An hour late. Too much. If only she had had the sense to give him some hint.

The letter puzzled him. Somehow its independent tone was not characteristic of Freda Clegg.

It was ten minutes to eight when he reached Friars Lane. It was getting dark. He looked sharply about him; there was no one in sight. Gently he pushed the rickety gate so that it swung noiselessly on its hinges. The drive was deserted. The house was dark. He went up the path cautiously, keeping a look out from side to side. He did not intend to be caught by surprise.

Suddenly he stopped. Just for a minute a chink of light had shone through one of the shutters. The house was not empty. There was someone inside.

Softly Wilbraham slipped into the bushes and worked his way round to the back of the house. At last he found what he was looking for. One of the windows on the ground floor was unfastened. It was the window of a kind of scullery. He raised the sash, flashed a torch (he had bought it at a shop on the way over) around the deserted interior and climbed in.

Carefully he opened the scullery door. There was no sound. He flashed the torch once more. A kitchen–empty. Outside the kitchen were half a dozen steps and a door evidently leading to the front part of the house.

He pushed open the door and listened. Nothing. He slipped through. He was now in the front hall. Still there was no sound. There was a door to the right and a door to the left. He chose the right-hand door, listened for a time, then turned the handle. It gave. Inch by inch he opened the door and stepped inside.

Again he flashed the torch. The room was unfurnished and bare.

Just at that moment he heard a sound behind him, whirled round–too late. Something came down on his head and he pitched forward into unconsciousness…

How much time elapsed before he regained consciousness Wilbraham had no idea. He returned painfully to life, his head aching. He tried to move and found it impossible. He was bound with ropes.

His wits came back to him suddenly. He remembered now. He had been hit on the head.

A faint light from a gas jet high up on the wall showed him that he was in a small cellar. He looked around and his heart gave a leap. A few feet away lay Freda, bound like himself. Her eyes were closed, but even as he watched her anxiously, she sighed and they opened. Her bewildered gaze fell on him and joyous recognition leaped into them.

‘You, too!’ she said. ‘What has happened?’

‘I’ve let you down badly,’ said Wilbraham. ‘Tumbled headlong into the trap. Tell me, did you send me a note asking me to meet you here?’

The girl’s eyes opened in astonishment. ‘I? But you sent me one.’

‘Oh, I sent you one, did I?’

‘Yes. I got it at the office. It asked me to meet you here instead of at home.’

‘Same method for both of us,’ he groaned, and he explained the situation.

‘I see,’ said Freda. ‘Then the idea was–?’

‘To get the paper. We must have been followed yesterday. That’s how they got on to me.’

‘And–have they got it?’ asked Freda.

‘Unfortunately, I can’t feel and see,’ said the soldier, regarding his bound hands ruefully.

And then they both started. For a voice spoke, a voice that seemed to come from the empty air.

‘Yes, thank you,’ it said. ‘I’ve got it, all right. No mistake about that.’

The unseen voice made them both shiver.

‘Mr Reid,’ murmured Freda.

‘Mr Reid is one of my names, my dear young lady,’ said the voice. ‘But only one of them. I have a great many. Now, I am sorry to say that you two have interfered with my plans–a thing I never allow. Your discovery of this house is a serious matter. You have not told the police about it yet, but you might do so in the future.

‘I very much fear that I cannot trust you in the matter. You might promise–but promises are seldom kept. And, you see, this house is very useful to me. It is, you might say, my clearing house. The house from which there is no return. From here you pass on–elsewhere. You, I am sorry to say, are so passing on. Regrettable–but necessary.’

The voice paused for a brief second, then resumed: ‘No bloodshed. I abhor bloodshed. My method is much simpler. And really not too painful, so I understand. Well, I must be getting along. Good-evening to you both.’

‘Look here!’ It was Wilbraham who spoke. ‘Do what you like to me, but this young lady has done nothing–nothing. It can’t hurt you to let her go.’

But there was no answer.

At that moment there came a cry from Freda. ‘The water–the water!’

Wilbraham twisted himself painfully and followed the direction of her eyes. From a hole up near the ceiling a steady trickle of water was pouring in.

Freda gave a hysterical cry. ‘They’re going to drown us!’

The perspiration broke out on Wilbraham’s brow. ‘We’re not done yet,’ he said. ‘We’ll shout for help. Surely somebody will hear us. Now, both together.’

They yelled and shouted at the tops of their voices. Not until they were hoarse did they stop.

‘No use, I’m afraid,’ said Wilbraham sadly. We’re too far underground and I expect the doors are muffled. After all, if we could be heard, I’ve no doubt that brute would have gagged us.’

‘Oh,’ cried Freda. ‘And it’s all my fault. I got you into this.’

‘Don’t worry about that, little girl. It’s you I’m thinking about. I’ve been in tight corners before now and got out of them. Don’t you lose heart. I’ll get you out of this. We’ve plenty of time. At the rate that water’s flowing in, it will be hours before the worst happens.’

‘How wonderful you are!’ said Freda. ‘I’ve never met anybody like you–except in books.’

‘Nonsense–just common sense. Now, I’ve got to loosen those infernal ropes.’

At the end of a quarter of an hour, by dint of straining and twisting, Wilbraham had the satisfaction of feeling that his bonds were appreciably loosened. He managed to bend his head down and his wrists up till he was able to attack the knots with his teeth.

Once his hands were free, the rest was only a matter of time. Cramped, stiff, but free, he bent over the girl. A minute later she was also free.

So far the water was only up to their ankles.

‘And now,’ said the soldier, ‘to get out of here.’

The door of the cellar was up a few stairs. Major Wilbraham examined it.

‘No difficulty here,’ he said. ‘Flimsy stuff. It will soon give at the hinges.’ He set his shoulders to it and heaved.

There was a cracking of wood–a crash, and the door burst from its hinges.

Outside was a flight of stairs. At the top was another door–a very different affair–of solid wood, barred with iron.