“Who’s Mr. Robison?” Andrew persisted, ignoring an attempt by Ruth to draw him from the landing stage.
“I told you who he is.” The mechanic was less affable. “He has a garage, if you wish to know.”
“In Britsea?”
“Along the London road.”
“Who’s the owner of the craft?”
“That’s not my business.” The mechanic straightened himself. “And it’s not yours. This is private property. You have no rights here. You wish to look at the windmill, no one is going to object.” He took his pipe out of his mouth.
Ruth whispered: “For heaven’s sake, let’s go.”
Andrew stepped in front of her and glared down at the mechanic.
“I’m well aware it’s private property,” he snapped. “It belongs to this lady; all of it-the mill, the cottage, the yawl. What’s more, she hasn’t ordered any repairs by Mr. Robison or anybody else. You can leave the engine alone. Now get out of that craft and take yourself off, before I bring the police here.”
The man reached down and picked up a broken hammer from the sail locker. He stepped onto the deck and faced Andrew menacingly. For a moment he looked dangerous; then he changed back to the affable mechanic and smiled a slightly bewildered smile. He put his pipe back in his mouth.
“There must be a mistake,” he said, “though how that can be, I cannot explain. Mr. Robison is not usually confused. The craft by the windmill, he said to me, and there’s no other windmill here nor another craft. You talk to Mr. Robison. He’ll be here any minute. Promised to give me a hand with the engine because the owner’s in such a hurry. Quiet at the garage, we are, so Mr. Robison…” He broke off as he turned to look towards the track across the marsh from the slight elevation of the deck. “See, he’s coming now!” he said. “You can speak.”
The newcomer, like his mechanic, had a bike, but instead of riding he was wheeling it and balancing a jerrican on frame and handlebars. He was a tall man in an overlong grey raincoat, and he had a cloth cap pulled down over his eyes. When he leaned the bike against the wall of the mill and lifted the jerrican from it, he was obviously lifting the full weight of petrol. He came down the knoll with the long grey coat flapping against his legs, and Andrew saw that under it he was wearing slacks and a seaman’s sweater of rough blue wool.
Pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fit together, and Andrew had bitter thoughts as he looked upon them. He had been right after all to suspect the man in the long coat. He had been followed to the Blandish Gallery the day before. He had led the man to Ruth Meriden and she had been trailed to Groper’s Wade. And Charley Botten had been right in his theory about the tramp in the rubbish dump. It was very easy to remove one’s hat and coat and hide them for a moment or two, and, hatless and coatless, anyone might be mistaken for a local inhabitant. This fellow had watched Ruth start on her way across the marsh, and the direction she took had been clue enough for him. He had waited for her to return. Then, no doubt, he had started to explore. Once the yawl had been found, he and his mechanic had lost no time. Andrew stared into the dark deep-set eyes that had focused on the Dufy in the window of the Blandish Gallery, and once more he had an odd feeling of familiarity, a sense of having seen the man somewhere else in different circumstances.
The mechanic said: “I’m glad you have come, Mr. Robison. These two people are trying to make trouble. The man claims that the woman owns the craft we have instructions to repair. I have told him there must be some mistake. Perhaps you will be able to straighten the matter out.”
“By all means let us straighten the matter out.” The newcomer put down the jerrican on the edge of the landing stage. “We need to speak plain without making fictions. The Dr. Maclaren knows there is no mistake. So, I think, does the Fraulein Meriden. Before I have had only the distant pleasure to see you, gracious Fraulein.”
He touched his cap and made a slight bow, and in that moment of mocking gesture the sharp ferret like features of a face that had the immobility of a ventriloquist’s dummy were fully revealed. Andrew knew him. The chambermaid at the Risler-Moircy had called him Herr Schlegel. He had waited that morning in Brussels to inspect the suite from which Kusitch had been taken in the night. Now the dark eyes that were the living part of the face had the same evil assurance.
“The Herr Doktor and I have met once before,” he said. “He showed kindness to me. He left in the room of the man Kusitch an empty envelope. When I find an empty envelope, I have the conviction there may have been something in it. I hope the Herr Doktor will continue to co-operate.” He turned to address the mechanic. “I believe that will be his best policy-best for himself, best for the gracious Fraulein. What do you think, Haller?”
Twelve
Schlegel, Robison! There might be many other aliases, but they would all add up to Kretchmann and Haller- Inspector Jordaens’ friends. And that meant…
Andrew checked his thoughts. This was not the moment for internal argument. It was equally futile to abuse himself for his folly in exposing Ruth to danger. Now, as Haller, with a smile, stepped from the deck of the yawl onto the landing stage, Andrew retreated a step from Kretchmann and drew the girl towards him with an arm round her. His one thought was to protect her, but, even as he made the gesture, he realised its stupidity. He needed both arms free at this moment. The tactical possibilities were limited. First he must knock Haller into the creek with one well directed blow; then he must batter Kretchmann to an insensible pulp. Child’s play for the conventional hero, but he was not a conventional hero. He doubted his ability to execute even the first part of the programme.
“For myself,” Kretchmann said, “I am always agreeable to co-operate. I am full of the friendliness and peace when people are reasonable. I hope the gracious Fraulein is reasonable. She has, I think, not so much interest in this little boat. On the other hand, my friend and I have the great need for it, to make a journey. It is not our wish to steal, only to borrow. Somewhere or other your property will be found and returned to you, Fraulein. Meanwhile, you and the Herr Doktor will be able to take up residence in your cottage. I hope you had a hearty meal at midday, because I am afraid we have no supplies to leave you. But perhaps the police will find you.”
“You can’t lock us up in that place,” Ruth protested.
“Oh yes. It is certain,” Kretchmann said in his dead voice. “The necessity is to be regrettable, but I can see no alternative. What do you think, Haller?”
“Kill them,” said Haller. “We don’t want witnesses.”
“My friend learned his English from a London war prisoner. He speaks like the native,” Kretchmann asserted. “He loves the English very fondly, but he has little patience. He is interested only in our journey. We shall leave this evening.”
“Why do you want the craft?” Andrew demanded. “If you think there’s anything of value in it, you’re wrong.”
“You have searched?” Kretchmann managed to contort the lower part of his face into a smirk of amusement. “Kusitch told you something, but are you sure he told you enough?”
“I’m sure someone has been here before you.” Andrew released his hold on Ruth and moved an inch or two away from her. While facing Kretchmann, he was watching Haller, waiting for the moment when the man would be off guard. “There’s nothing in the craft,” he insisted.
“Then there is no reason why you should object if we take a little trip in it.”
“I do object. It is Miss Meriden’s property. You’ve no right to move it.”
“Perhaps the gracious Fraulein will not be so difficult. I do not care for difficult people. That was the great fault in your friend Kusitch.”
“Talk will never make the engine work.” The impatient Haller turned to Kretchmann as he made his protest, and that was Andrew’s moment. He hurled himself forward, putting all his weight into a blow that would topple the man into the creek. But Haller was not there to receive the blow. Before Andrew could recover his balance something hit him with sickening force in the back of the neck. He sprawled forward helplessly and saw a boot coming up to meet his face. It grazed the side of his head, but there was sufficient force in the impact to stun him. Through a mist of pain he heard Ruth cry out. Then the boot drew back again. There was a moment of terror; then a light blazed in his head and he felt himself sinking.