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.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I
During the afternoon I had a long, lonely session with my thoughts. Hackett’s hint bothered me, but as he didn’t seem ready to make trouble for me, I felt I had to get that out of my mind and concentrate on the main problem, which was the Cadillac. I was sure that if I could think of a way to get the car repaired, I could cope with the rest of my problems.
It wasn’t until late in the evening that I suddenly saw how I could do this in safety. I happened to take from my wallet the certificate Lieutenant West had given me, and on examining it, I suddenly realized he had unwittingly handed me the solution.
In completing the form, he had put down only the licence number and had omitted the make of the car. I saw then that if I put the Pontiac’s number plate on the Cadillac, the certificate would clear me if I were stopped while taking the Cadillac to my local garage to get the damage repaired.
For several seconds I stared at the certificate, scarcely believing the solution could be this simple. There was a risk that if I were stopped by a policeman he might check my licence tag against the number plates. If he did that, I’d be sunk, but I decided I would have to take this risk.
I decided it would be too risky to change the number plates before dark. I had still a couple of hours ahead of me before sunset, and it occurred to me, while I was waiting, to call Lucille and tell her I had found a possible solution. I knew her nerve had been badly shaken by West’s unexpected appearance and I wasn’t going to take the risk of her losing her nerve at the last moment just when it looked as if I had the problem licked.
I crossed over to the telephone and called Aitken’s house.
Lucille herself answered.
‘Ches here,’ I said. ‘Can you talk?’
I heard her catch her breath sharply.
‘Yes. What is it?’
‘I wanted you to know I’ve found a way out,’ I said. ‘I think it’s going to be all right, I think I’ve really got it fixed.’
There was a pause. I could hear her quick breathing.
‘Do you really mean that?’ she asked finally.
‘Yes. It’s going to be all right. We’re both going to be in the clear.’
‘But how?’
‘I can’t talk over an open line. I wanted you to know right away. It’s going to be fixed, and you don’t have to worry any more.’
‘I see.’ Her voice sounded curiously flat, ‘Well, all right.’
‘You can relax now,’ I said. ‘You just take it easy.’
‘All right,’ and the line went dead.
I put down the receiver, frowning. Her reaction puzzled me. I had expected her to have been pleased and relieved. It was almost as if she were disappointed that I had found a solution.
As it was still too light to go out to Seabome’s place, I sat on! my terrace and brooded, waiting impatiently for the sun to go down. It wasn’t until half past eight that I got the darkness I had been waiting for.
I left the bungalow and went down to the Pontiac. Then I drove over to Seaborne’s house.
It took me a little time to get the licence plates off the Pontiac. I had to work by my flashlight and the screws had rusted in, but I got the plates off finally. Then I went up the drive to Seaborne’s garage, unlocked the doors and shut myself in before turning on the overhead light.
The rear number plate on the Cadillac came off easily enough and I put on the Pontiac’s plate. Then I came around to the front of the car. There I found the screws on the front pi were badly rusted in and I had a struggle to shift them.
I was lying on my back, half under the car, struggling with the screws when suddenly I heard a faint noise outside.
I froze, gripping the spanner, while I stared up into the darkness of the Cadillac’s engine. I heard nothing except the faint sound of the sea coming in-shore and die sighing of the wind in the palm trees. I remained motionless, my ears straining, my heart thudding, still sure I had heard a sound outside, but not quite convinced that my imagination was playing me tricks.
As I heard nothing, I finally decided I had imagined the noise and I bent once more to the task of shifting the last of the obstinate screws.
I had just got the screw free when I heard the garage doors creak.
My heart seemed to turn a somersault. From where I lay I could see part of one of the doors: it was opening! I knew it couldn’t be the wind. I had pushed the doors shut. It could mean only that someone was forcing the doors open.
I began to wriggle out from under the car. Before I could get clear of the front bumper, the overhead light in the garage went out. Then I heard the garage doors swing wide open.
It was too early for the moon. The sky I could see through the open doors was inky black with only a few stars. I was in a hell of a panic as I forced myself out from under the car.
Then, just as I was getting to my feet, the Pontiac number plate clutched in my hand, there was a blinding flash of light followed instantly by complete darkness.
For a second or so I crouched motionless, completely witless, then I heard the sound of someone running away, and immediately my mind adjusted itself and I realized what had happened.
Someone had crept up on me with a flashlight camera and had taken a photograph of me as I crouched before the damaged Cadillac, the Pontiac number plate in my hand.
A surge of fear and rage ran through me. I dropped the number plate and ran out of the garage.
Whoever it was who had taken the photograph was now running up the road. I could hear the sound of the footfalls distinctly, and from the sound I knew it must be a man running. No woman could run as fast and as evenly as that.
I went after him. Rage gave me added speed, but the darkness of the moonless night hindered me.
At least I knew the road. I knew a couple of hundred yards or so beyond my bungalow was a big clump of flowering shrubs and palm trees. Beyond this clump was the open road, and it remained open until it reached the highway. On either side of the road were sand dunes that offered no cover. If this man got beyond the clump of shrubs, I must catch him, unless he could run a lot faster than I, and I doubted that.
I hared down the road faster than I’ve ever run before. And then as I drew near the clump of shrubs and palm trees, I pulled up, panting, to listen. I heard nothing, and that told me the man had run off the road and had taken shelter in the shrubs.
I had no doubt that this man was the one who had telephoned Lucille and then me this morning.
This man was set to blackmail me. He had a photograph of me now that could get me a ten-year sentence, and I was determined he wasn’t going to slip through my hands. I’d fix him if it was the last thing I did.
I wished now I had brought my flashlight with me. The darkness pressed in on me, and I could only see the dim outline of the palms against the dark, night sky. Somewhere just ahead of me, this man was hiding. I moved forward, being careful to make no sound as I reached the clump of shrubs. It was then I realized the difficulty that faced me. The shrubs loomed out of the darkness as a big dark mass. I was sure he was in there somewhere, but, without a light, he was going to be difficult to flush.
The noise I made as I moved into the shrubs must have told him I was in there looking for him.
I got half-way into the undergrowth, then I stopped to listen. There was no sound. I was sure he was close by, probably within touching distance, crouching in the darkness, probably as scared as I was and hoping I would pass him.