The case was shoved into his reluctant hand.
‘Now…!’ Gently’s voice sounded softer, his lids sank a little. ‘I shall need some help from you in your capacity of Kincaid. He was evidently up here ahead of Fleece, and perhaps ahead of Heslington too. But he wasn’t concealed behind the cafe, because Heslington went there to eat his lunch. Yet Fleece didn’t see Kincaid when he was coming up the track, so he must have been somewhere not immediately visible. I’d like you to suggest where that somewhere could have been, where Kincaid could see Fleece, but Fleece missed seeing Kincaid.’
It was too simple. There was only one place. Askham pointed to it tremblingly.
‘Yes… you’re probably right. It was up there on the cairn. So will you take your place there?’
‘I…’ Askham’s look of appeal was pitiful.
‘Just climb up the cairn, please. Stand at the back, where it’s highest.’
Still he lingered, as though in hope of a reprieve from Gently’s fiat; but there was no more prospect of that than of the Wyddfa beginning to melt. He clambered unsteadily on to the cairn.
‘Kincaid was sitting down, wasn’t he…?’
Askham sat, he nearly fell. He crouched with head sunk forward on his chest.
‘Right… now we’re getting somewhere. We’d better hear what Williams can tell us.’
Evans stepped back round the cairn and whistled through his fingers for the sergeant. Williams appeared, rather out of breath, apparently having read urgency into the signal. But Gently didn’t seem in a hurry.
‘What did you see from back there?’
‘I saw Askham on the cairn, sir. At least, I did when he was standing up.’
‘But when he was sitting?’
‘Well then I might perhaps have seen his head, sir. But with the sun in my eyes, I wouldn’t like to be certain.’
‘It was a sunny day on Monday.’
Gently’s eyes never left Askham. If he’d ignored him before he was paying the debt now with interest.
‘The rest of you wait here, will you?’
He turned his back on the cairn. He began to walk down the slope towards the edge of the abyss. Slowly, but with steps that didn’t hesitate, giving no indication of his purpose, he continued down to the last treacherous footing of loose rock. And there he remained, for several seconds, while Evans could feel his blood run chill: a hunched-up figure, hands in pockets, framed in the void that extended beyond Snowdon. At the end of that interval he turned again. But he moved not a step away from the edge.
‘Stand up, Askham. Take out the case I gave you.’
Askham had been watching too. Now he could scarcely get to his feet. He fumbled impotently for the case, which after all was in a different pocket. He held it out quiveringly, as though expecting Gently to take it.
‘Now light a cigarette.’
Wasn’t it asking too much? Even picking one from the case seemed an act beyond his power. The matches scattered through his fingers, he struck a couple that blew out. He got a fag lit at last, but looked unable to keep it going.
And then there was chaos.
Gently screamed; his feet thrashed wildly for a foothold. His arms flew up in a desperate windmill and the loose rock scattered from his frenzied boots. It was all so sudden, there was nothing one could do. Everything else was in slow motion… before they could reach him the inevitable happened; he lost his balance and pitched down headlong on the rocky slope of the Wyddfa summit.
The effect was appalling, no less on the others as on Askham. In a concerted rush they had sprung down the slope and now were laying panic-stricken hands on Gently. But he was up directly, thrusting them aside, striding back and up on to the cairn, to the sobbing young man with his spilled cigarette-case and the fallen cigarette, lighted ten seconds earlier.
‘ And what happened then? ’
Askham’s state was deplorable, he couldn’t get out as much as a croak. He stood swaying, blubbing, shaking like an aspen; pushing out a feeble hand towards Gently. On all of Snowdon they stood, the two of them, looking down on two countries: the implacable man who would have the truth and the defenceless youth who couldn’t speak it.
‘I d-d-d-didn’t…!’
His teeth were chattering, his lip kept getting in the way.
‘I d-d-didn’t push him… I w-wouldn’t have dared… I’d never have gone down where he was…!’
‘Then why did he fall?’
‘He h-heard me… saw me. He was st-standing like you were, looking down at the view. And then I got up and he turned round and saw me… he must have thought… and then he l-l-lost his balance…’
‘What was it he thought?’
Askham gave a great shudder. ‘He knew I wanted him… w-wanted him dead…’
‘ And what was the reason for wanting him dead? ’
The stammer sank to a whisper. ‘Blackmail… dirty blackmail…!’
The last two words were barely audible, but they seemed to go echoing down the Wyddfa cliffs.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Blackmail: dirty blackmail. Dispelling Kincaid like a mist, banishing him precipitately from the Wyddfa and back to the probable truth of his statement. It was a bitter moment for Evans as he stood staring at the two on the cairn, a moment of personal revelation which he was too honest to avoid. Out of some different level of understanding Gently had produced this confounding trump card.
‘Then he’s the one who Heslington saw!’
It had perforce to be more of a statement than a query. Once you had grasped the basic fact, the details went tumbling into place. Askham’s height came near to Kincaid’s. His build, his carriage were much the same. Glimpsed from the back at a suitable distance, he would easily pass muster for the man himself. Another point that Evans had missed.
‘Right. We may as well have our meal.’
Gently was climbing down from the cairn with a bland inconsequence of expression. But surely he hadn’t done questioning Askham, when there was so much still to be explained! All the background to that mysterious blackmail, with its deep-set roots and weary entanglements? And at the very least:
‘Won’t you charge him, man?’
‘With what?’ Gently stared at him blankly.
‘Why… I’d say…’ Evans floundered uncomfortably, feeling more and more left out of the picture.
It was a curious meal, the one they ate there, with the Olympian view rolled out beneath them. Except for Heslington, who had missed that scene, nobody had much to say for themselves. And Heslington too soon gave up trying. He could sense that something climactic had occurred. He put out feelers to Overton to find if he, Heslington, were affected, then decided that he wasn’t and got on with his sandwiches. All along there had been a growing air of confidence about Heslington.
More remarkable to Evans was the tie between Gently and Askham, which continued unaffected by the passage of the thunder. The young man had sat down by him still trembling from his ordeal, but he was soon showing more composure, and with it a sort of tremulous regard. Evans felt a twinge of jealousy; he was being ignored by Gently! He was at a loss to find a reason for the irritating phenomenon. In his experience there was little love lost between a chummie and his apprehender, especially when the chummie had been given a dose of treatment like this one.
‘I didn’t know… it was Kincaid…’
Askham had started to mutter something. He swooped on a thermos to pour some coffee for Gently.
‘Down in Llanberis I asked them… so I thought he’d come here. I had to see him of course… and that was the reason…’
And Gently grunted as though it made sense, reaching his hand for the coffee. What had happened? At what
