‘You can’t tie her up,’ she insisted. ‘It’s indecent.’
‘It’s practical. With a gag in her mouth, she won’t be able to call for help.’ Taking Imogen by the shoulders, he forced her to sit down on an upright chair. Cullen returned with two lengths of rope. ‘Truss her up like a turkey, Manus. I want her to sit there quietly until we come back for her.’
‘Leave it to me, Terence,’ said Cullen, standing behind Imogen.
‘No,’ she said with more anger than fear. ‘It’s inhuman.’
‘And I won’t let you do it,’ vowed Rhoda, dashing forward to snatch the ropes from the sergeant’s hands. ‘I’ll stop you somehow.’
Whiteside reacted at speed. Grabbing the maid from behind, he spun her round then slapped both of her cheeks with such force that she fell backwards onto the bed. Cullen retrieved the ropes.
‘I did warn you that Captain Whiteside wasn’t a gentleman,’ he said, grinning.
They got there well in advance of the time stated and took up a position in the trees. As he surveyed the scene below, Colbeck noticed that there was now a significant difference to what they’d seen earlier. Running through the heart of the vale was a busy stream, glistening in the sunshine. The only visible place to cross was over a stone bridge. When they’d driven down to it on the previous day, he and Leeming had seen that it was just wide enough for a trap to go across. Larger vehicles would have to use a much bigger bridge over a mile away or ride even further afield to cross by means of a ford. Even a trap could not cross the stone bridge now. A massive rock had been rolled into place so that it restricted the width by almost two feet. There was no way that Sir Marcus would be able to move the obstruction on his own, so he’d be quite unable to cross the stream. The kidnappers wanted no pursuit when they made their escape.
The telescope picked up something else of interest as well. On top of the rock and held in place by a small stone was a piece of white paper, flapping in the breeze. Colbeck believed that the paper contained the instructions for Sir Marcus. It meant that the kidnappers were already there, concealed in the copse on the other side of the vale. Their own telescope would undoubtedly be in use. Taking his watch out, he checked the time, then turned to Sir Marcus.
‘There’s the best part of twenty minutes to wait,’ he said.
‘I’m not sitting up here that long,’ answered Sir Marcus, impatiently. ‘I want my daughter back.’
‘You’ll find a letter waiting for you on the bridge.’
Sir Marcus climbed back into the trap and lifted up the leather bag containing the ransom. Loath to part with it, he accepted that he had no choice if he wished to see his daughter alive again. He put the bag between his feet, snatched up the reins and flicked them. The horse trotted forward and the trap soon came into full view of anyone overlooking the vale. Colbeck saw something glinting among the trees.
‘It’s a telescope,’ he said.
Tallis was rueful. ‘You should be driving that trap.’
‘Sir Marcus has to go this time, sir.’
‘Why did you have to agree with him? In situations like this, I expect you to support me without equivocation.’
‘You gave the wrong advice.’
‘I feel the same,’ said Leeming. ‘We had to do as the kidnapper ordered.’
‘Sergeant,’ hissed Tallis, making him draw back into the undergrowth, ‘next time you wish to rid yourself of your mindless opinion, think twice before you open that disastrous orifice known as your mouth. I’ve heard more than enough nonsense coming out of it for one day.’
‘Then the same stricture applies to me, sir,’ said Colbeck, siding with his friend. ‘The sergeant is only endorsing what I said. Why don’t we all maintain a companionable silence and concentrate on the exchange? That’s what brought us here, after all.’
Sir Marcus Burnhope was not enjoying the ride across the vale. To start with, he was unused to driving a trap. When he was at home in Worcestershire, his coachman satisfied all his travel requirements. Cabs served him well in London. He was now thrust into a novel situation, bumping over uneven ground and trying to control a horse that seemed to have a strange obsession with lurching to the left instead of following the commands of its driver. Sir Marcus had to tug hard on the reins to keep the animal heading towards the bridge.
There was a secondary problem. He became nervous. When he’d insisted on being involved in the exchange, he’d done so with complete confidence. There’d been no whiff of fear to trouble him. Now that he was on his way to the fateful encounter, doubts and anxieties emerged. Without any weapon at his disposal, he was on his way to meet two deserters from the army, hardened men who’d routinely borne arms and been taught to use them. All of a sudden, Sir Marcus realised how brave Colbeck had been in impersonating him at the first exchange. Making light of the fact that a gun was probably trained on him, the inspector had walked imperturbably into an open field. Sir Marcus, on the other hand, was deeply perturbed. His hands began to shake. The only thing which kept him going was the prospect of securing his daughter’s freedom. Between his feet, the leather bag with the money in it seemed hot against his ankles. Sweat broke out on his brow and under his arms.
It was a long ride to the bridge but he eventually reached it, bringing the horse to a halt nearby. He saw the piece of paper fluttering in the wind and alighted from the trap. When he moved the stone and read the message, it was blunt.
PUT THE MONEY ON THE ROCK
Sir Marcus raised his eyes to scan the wooded ridge above him but saw no sign of life. There was not even a bird in the sky. He walked back to the trap and picked up the bag. It felt vastly heavier now and he had to cradle it in his arms. Taking it halfway across the bridge, he lowered it onto the rock with misgivings.
Then he waited.
Crouched among the trees, Colbeck was also waiting. Through the telescope, he watched with great interest and gave a commentary to Leeming and Tallis. The superintendent soon tired of hearing everything second-hand and he reached out.
‘Let me have the telescope,’ he said.
‘You have to adjust it very carefully,’ warned Colbeck.
‘Just give it here.’
Taking the instrument, he tried to peer through it but he seemed to be looking through a milky circle of glass. Everything was indistinct. He became tetchy.
‘I can’t see what’s happening,’ he complained.
‘Nothing is happening, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘Even the sergeant and I can see that. Nothing whatsoever is happening at all down there.’
In fact, a great deal was happening to Sir Marcus Burnhope. He was, by turns, worried, frightened, appalled, sickened, hopeful, depressed, cold enough to shiver and hot enough to sweat freely. It was deliberate, he told himself. They were deliberately making him wait while they checked that he was absolutely alone. The longer it went on, the more uneasy he became. He began to wonder if the kidnappers were simply playing games with him. It was almost a quarter of an hour before he saw the trap rolling out of the trees on the other side of the stream. Sir Marcus envied the skill with which the man was driving, zigzagging at speed down the incline, then getting increased pace out of the horse once they’d reached more level ground.
Beside the driver was a woman and Sir Marcus first thought that it was his daughter. He stretched out his arms to welcome her, only to drop them by his sides again when the trap got close enough for him to recognise Rhoda Wills. He rallied. Her appearance was at least a positive sign that the kidnapper was prepared to honour his commitment. Turning his attention to the man, he studied him with an amalgam of interest and loathing. This was the kidnapper who’d seized Imogen and held her captive. Sir Marcus had an overpowering urge to kill the man but he had neither the weapon to do it nor the strength even to move. The sheer enormity of what was involved in the confrontation had paralysed him.