“We’re travelling as a party,” Roger said. “If you go back, you take us with you.” He paused. “That woman’s dead in there—you might as well know that.”
“Take Davey,” John said. “That’s all.”
“You damned fool!” Roger said. “Do you think Olivia would let me carry on even if I wanted to? We’ll find them. To hell with the odds.”
Pirrie looked round, blinking mildly. “Have you reached a decision?” he inquired.
John said: “It seems to have been reached for me. I suppose this is where the alliance ceases to be valuable, Mr Pirrie? You’ve got the valley marked on your road map. I’ll give you a note for my brother, if you like. You can tell him we’ve been held up.”
“I have been examining the situation,” Pirrie said, “If you will forgive my putting things bluntly, I am rather surprised that they should have left the scene so quickly.”
Roger said sharply: “Why?”
Pirrie nodded towards the gatehouse. They spent more than half an hour there.”
John said dully: “You mean—rape?”
“Yes. The explanation would seem to be that they guessed our three cars were together, and cut off the straggler deliberately. They would therefore be anxious to clear out of the immediate vicinity in case the other two cars should come back in search of the third.”
“Does that help us?” Roger asked.
“I think so,” Pirrie said. They would leave the immediate vicinity. We know they turned the car back towards the North Road because they left the gates shut against traffic. But I do not think they would go as far as the North Road without stopping again.”
“Stopping again?” John asked.
Looking at Roger’s impassive face, he saw that he had taken Pirrie’s meaning. Then he himself understood. He struggled to his feet.
Roger said: There are still some things to work out. There are well over half a dozen side roads between here and A.1. And you’ve got to remember that they will be listening for the noise of engines. We shall have to explore them one by one—and on foot.”
Despair climbing back on his shoulders, John said:
“By the time we’ve done that…”
“If we rush the cars down the first side road,” Roger said, “it might be giving them just the chance they need to get away.”
As they walked back, in silence, to where the two cars stood, Spooks put his head out of the back of the Citroen. His voice was thin and very high-pitched. He said:
“Has someone kidnapped Davey’s mother, and Mary?”
“Yes,” Roger said. “We’re going to get them back.”
“And they’ve taken the Vauxhall?”
Roger said: “Yes. Keep quiet, Spooks. We’ve got to work things out.”
“Then we can find them easily!” Spooks said.
“Yes, we’ll find them,” Roger said. He got into the driving seat, and prepared to turn the car round. John was still dazed. It was Pirrie who asked Spooks:
“Easily? How?”
Spooks pointed down the road along which they had come. “By the oil trail.”
The three men stared at the tarmac. Trail was a high term{92} for it, but there were spots of oil in places along the road.
“Blind!” Roger said. “Why didn’t we see that? But it might not be the Vauxhall. More likely the Ford.”
“No,” Spooks insisted. “It must be the Vauxhall. It’s left a bit bigger stain where it was standing.”
“My God!” Roger said. “What were you at school—Chief Boy Scout?”
Spooks shook his head. “I wasn’t in the Scouts. I didn’t like the camping.”
Roger said exultantly: “We’ve got them! We’ve got the bastards! Ignore that last expression, Spooks.”
“All right,” Spooks said amiably. “But I did know it already.”
At each junction they stopped the cars, and searched for the oil trail. It was far too inconspicuous to be seen without getting out of the cars. The third side road was on the outskirts of a village; there the trail turned right. A sign-post said: Norton 1½ m.
“I think this is our stretch,” Roger said. “We could try blazing right along in one of the cars. If we got past them with one car, we could make a neat sandwich. I think they would be between here and the next village. They sheered off sharply enough from this one.”
“It would work,” Pirrie said thoughtfully. “On the other hand, they would probably fight it out. They’ve got an automatic and a rifle and revolver in that car. It might prove difficult to get at them without hurting the women.”
“Any other ideas?”
John tried to think, but his mind was too full of sick hatred, poised between some kind of hope and despair.
Pirrie said: “This country is very flat. If one of us were to shin up that oak, he might get a glimpse of them with the glasses.”
The oak stood in the angle of the road. Roger surveyed it carefully. “Give me a bunk-up{93} to the first branch, and I reckon I shall be all right.”
He climbed the tree easily; he had to go high to find a gap in the leaves to give him a view. They could barely see him from below. He called suddenly:
“Yes!”
John cried: “Where are they?”
“About three-quarters of a mile along. Pulled into a field on the left hand side of the road. I’m coming down.”
John said: “And Ann—and Mary?”
Roger scrambled down and dropped from the lowest branch. He avoided John’s eyes.
“Yes, they’re there.”
Pirrie said thoughtfully: “On the left of the road. Are they pulled far in?”
“Clear of the opening—behind the hedge. If we went at them from the front we should be going in blind.”
Pirrie went across to the Ford. He came back with the heavy sporting rifle which was his weapon of choice.
He said: “Three-quarters of a mile—give me ten minutes. Then take the Citroen along there fast, and pull up a few hundred yards past them. Fire a few shots—not at them, but back along the lane. I fancy that will put them into the sort of position I want.”
Ten minutes!” John said.
“You want to get them out alive,” Pirrie said.
“They may—be ready to clear off before then.”
“You will hear them if they do. It will be noisy—backing out of a field. If you do, chase them with the Citroen and don’t hesitate to let them have it.” Pirrie hesitated. “You see, it will be unlikely that they will still have your wife and daughter with them in that case.”
And with a small indefinite nod, Pirrie started off along the road. A little way along he found a gap in the hedge, and ducked through it.
Roger looked at his watch. “We’d better be ready,” he said. “Olivia, Millicent—take the boys in the Ford. Come on, Johnny.”
John sat beside him in the front of the Citroen. He grinned painfully.
“I’m leading this well, aren’t I?”
Roger glanced at him. “Take it easy. You’re lucky to be conscious.”
John felt his nails tighten against the seat of the car.
“Every minute…’ he said. “The bloody swines! God knows, it’s bad enough for Ann, but Mary…”
Roger repeated: “Take it easy.” He looked at his watch again. “With luck, our friends along the road have got just over nine minutes to live.”
The thought crossed his other thoughts, irrelevantly, surprisingly; so much that he voiced it:
“We passed a telephone box just now. Nobody thought of getting the police.”
“Why should we?” Roger said. “There’s no such thing as public safety any longer. It’s all private now.” His fingernails tapped the steering-wheel. “So is vengeance.”
Neither spoke for the remainder of the waiting time. Still without a word, Roger started the car off and accelerated rapidly through the gears. They roared at the limit of the Citroen’s speed and noisiness along the narrow lane. In less than a minute, they had passed the opening to the field, and glimpsed the Vauxhall standing behind the hedge. The road ran straight for a further fifty yards. Roger braked sharply at the bend, and skidded the car across to take up the full width of the road.