‘in which case,’ I asked, ‘what would you do if you were in their shoes?’
‘I should see that the one person who knew the truth about the boat was safely disposed of,’ was his prompt reply.
‘So you’d cut the phone and watch the road to see that she didn’t get a word to anyone?’
‘Precisely.’
‘But, don’t you see, I could walk over to St Levan or to Portcurno along the cliffs,’ Freya pointed out again.
‘Yes, but would you arrive?’ David asked. ‘I suggest we stick to the Bentley and make a dash for it.’
‘But look, this is silly,’ Freya persisted. ‘They can’t isolate a whole village. Suppose we split up and all go different ways? Anyway, you don’t know the phone isn’t just an accident. There’s quite a gale blowing and the wires may be down somewhere. It has happened before. As for the requisitioning, lots of boats are being requisitioned. It’s one of the things I’ve been dreading. That’s why I made that switch valve.’
Her point was reasonable. We hadn’t been followed from London and it would take them a long time to work out that code and discover that the key-letters CONESFRUL stood for Cones of Runnel. ‘I think Freya is right,’ I said. ‘We’re just jumping to conclusions. I suggest we drive into Sennen and I’ll phone Crisham from there. If you’ll bring a few things with you,’ I said to Freya, ‘we can decide on our next move as we go along.’
‘That seems sensible,’ she said.
David shrugged his shoulders and relit his pipe. I noticed that his eyes followed Freya as she pulled a little suitcase from beneath the bed and began packing a few things into it. When she had finally closed it, she put on a tight-fitting little cloth cap and a heavy gabardine cape.
CHAPTER FIVE
Five minutes later we were in the Bentley and moving up the valley out of Porthgwarra. Surprisingly enough David had insisted on Freya sitting in the back, whilst I went in front with him. He took the long hill slowly, and every now and then he half-leaned out of the window and stared up towards the roadway above the hairpin bend. ‘Didn’t I notice a track running off across the moor at the bend up here when we came down?’ he asked.
I didn’t remember it, but Freya leaned forward and said, ‘Yes, it doubles back along the other side of the valley to the coastguards’ houses.’
‘Doesn’t it go anywhere else?’ he asked.
‘Yes, there’s a track running away to the right to a farm and back inland to Roskestal. It’s terribly bad going.’
‘Any gates?’
‘Several, I think. Why?’
‘Oh, nothing. I just like to be sure of the lay of the land.’ He accelerated slightly as we neared the bend, and as we rounded it I saw the track running steeply down to the head of the valley. As soon as we were round the bend, David slowed up again and we climbed slowly with a fine view down the valley to Porthgwarra. The rain had stopped now and the clouds were thinning as though the sun might break through at any minute.
As we neared the top of the hill, I asked David what the trouble was. The car was barely moving and beginning to pink. ‘I’m a careful driver, that’s all,’ he said. We crept round the bend which led inland at almost a walking pace. But, even so, I was pitched forward by the suddenness with which David jammed on the brakes. The next second the gears crashed as he put the car into reverse and, with his offside door open, the car shot backwards.
I had a fleeting picture of a big American car drawn up across the road with two men standing on the grass verge. Then my whole attention was riveted to my side of the narrow road, for David, leaning out of his door, was roaring backwards round the bend and down the hill. How he managed it, I don’t know. The noise of the engine, grinding away in reverse, was terrific. We must have been doing over thirty. ‘Hold tight,’ he said, as we came to the hairpin. The car’s wheels suddenly locked over and we took the bend at its steepest point, just as the American car came into sight round the bend at the top of the hill.
Suddenly we were thrown hard back against our seats and there was a horrible screeching sound as the wheels skidded, fully locked, on the wet tarmac. Our bumpers hit the bank on the outer edge of the bend and immediately the car leapt forward, the engine roaring full out. We slithered round on to the track and took the hill at a fantastic speed. As we neared the bottom, I glanced back just in time to see the American car come on to the track, lurching and swaying like a tank going into action.
‘I hope to God the gates are all open,’ David said between set teeth, as we took the water-course at the bottom with a bump that brought the wheels hard up against the mudguards and caused us to pitch violently.
I said nothing, but I kept my hand on the handle of my door ready to jump out if necessary. The track rose steeply from the water-course until we could see the Board of Trade hut and the cones away to our left. On either side of us the sodden heathland stretched away flat to stone walls. The line of cliffs could be seen quite clearly with huge irregularly-shaped stones standing like druidical temples against the leaden sky.
Ahead of us a stone wall suddenly showed, grey against the darker heath. It cut right across the track, but the gate was open and we swept through it at near on fifty. How David held the car to the track I don’t know, for there was barely a foot to spare on either side and we were bucking madly in the potholes with yellow muddy water spurting up from our wheels and blowing across the windshield.
We were hardly through the gateway when Freya reported that the car behind was also through and gaining on us. David swore softly and I felt the speed of the Bentley increase. His face was set and he leaned slightly forward as though he would thrust his face through the windscreen to see better. The wheel was like a live thing in his hand and we pitched from side to side of the track in a most terrifying manner. ‘We’ll never beat them on this side-track,’ he said. ‘American cars are made for this sort of thing. We’re too tightly sprung. What we need is a nice windy road.’ Then he called out over his shoulder, ‘Are they still gaining on us?’
‘I think we’re just about holding the distance,’ Freya called back.
It was crazy. We were doing something between fifty and sixty. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in a car in my life. Every minute I expected the car to leap from the track and turn over, and all I could do was sit and grip my seat.
David suddenly cried out, ‘By God, I believe we’ve got them now.’ I glanced at him and, intent though he was on driving, I could see he was excited. ‘See that bend ahead? Isn’t that a gateway into a farmyard?’
I peered through the arc of clear windscreen, across which the wiper flicked rhythmically, and saw the track curving away to the left and then back again to the right in a long sweep. And at the end of that sweep was a farm. The track appeared to bend sharply round the farm between stone walls, and on the bend was an entrance to the farm. A moment later it was lost to sight and there was no possibility of our seeing it again until we were right on top of it, taking the bend.
Freya reported that the American car was drawing up on us again. I saw David steal one quick glance in the driving mirror and the car swayed violently. I gripped my seat in my excitement. We were running between stone walls now on the long bend leading to the farm. I saw the out-houses across the field to our left. I looked round. The car was less than a hundred yards behind us now. The light springing caused the body to sway and bounce far more than our own car, but the wheels were holding the track much better. There was no doubt that it was gaining.
I turned back to find that we were practically on top of the farm buildings. The track straightened up and the bend round the farm showed about fifty yards ahead. ‘Hold tight,’ David said. And at the same time I felt the brakes begin to bind. As we took the bend the back wheels began to skid. There was a horrible screeching noise as the rubber cut across the rough metal of the track. The car seemed for a moment completely out of control. The back jarred violently and there was the sound of metal against stone. Then David ground his gears, swung the wheel over the opposite way and we shot into the farmyard. Fortunately it was empty of stock and largely cobbled. David brought the Bentley to a standstill with its nose half-buried in a pile of manure. Then we shot back and came forward with our nose in the gate just in time to see the American car come round the bend, its tyres screeching and the body swaying and dipping.