“Now,” said Fell, “is there any way we can get out of here and avoid the press?”
“I’ll get you a driver to take you to Moreton. Hide down in the back seat and he’ll drive you straight out.”
¦
At the Moreton hotel, Maggie left her suitcase on the bed and went to Fell’s room which was next to her own. She sat down on the bed and suddenly burst into tears. “We’re safe here,” said Fell, putting his arms around her. “Poor Maggie. Look, I’ll drop the whole thing. Forget about the damn robbery.”
Maggie dried her eyes. “It’s not that,” she said shakily. “I’m being silly. It’s my little car. When I was living with Mother, it was the only place I felt free and safe. It was my own little tin world.”
“We’ll rent one.”
“It costs so much to rent one, Fell. There’s a garage just outside of town. I saw it when we drove past. They’ve got second-hand cars for sale. I phoned the insurance company before I left. My car wasn’t worth anything, but they are sending an assessor to look at the wreck and they’ll pay up quite quickly.”
“Okay, we’ll go and get a car and then have some sleep.”
They bought an old Rover at a garage which had a range of second-hand cars. “I would have taken something smaller and cheaper,” said Maggie, as she drove off.
“It’s a nice red,” said Fell naively, for he knew nothing about cars. “I like the colour of this one.”
“I hope it lasts. It’s got more than one hundred thousand miles on the clock.”
“We’re mobile, anyway. Let’s go back and get some sleep.”
¦
Fell woke Maggie at seven in the evening. She bathed and changed and then they both went down for dinner.
“Let’s leave our spying on Tremp for tonight,” said Fell.
“All right,” said Maggie, relieved. “But don’t you think we should tell Dunwiddy about Tremp? I mean, why not?”
“We’ve left it a bit late. He’ll say, why didn’t we tell him before?”
“I suppose so,” said Maggie reluctantly. “And we should have told him about the attempt on your life when you were pushed in the river. Aren’t you frightened, Fell?”
“Not yet. It’s odd, but I seem to be moving in a strange world where the unacceptable has become acceptable.”
“So we go on?”
“Yes, we go on.”
? The Skeleton in the Closet ?
Eight
IN the morning, before they could set out, they were visited by two men from the Special Branch. The questions began again. Had either of them ever been in Northern Ireland? Had they any Irish relatives? Neither had, which was unusual; a great proportion of the populace of the British Isles having Irish ancestry somewhere in their family tree.
“I really don’t think the IRA would bother with a little market town like Buss,” said Fell.
“They hide out all over the place on the mainland,” said one of the men. “Ten years ago, a lodging house over on the other side of Buss was raided, and bomb-making equipment, guns, and a quantity of Semtex were seized. That’s all for now. But if you plan on changing your address, let the police know.”
Then Dunwiddy phoned. He said that they should let him know when they planned to return and a police guard would be put on Fell’s house. “In that case,” Fell said, “we might go back tomorrow.”
He and Maggie drove off to Bramley-on-the-Hedges. “Instead of parking outside the house,” said Fell, “we’ll park right outside the village stores and see if we can spot him in the village.”
“And what good will that do?” asked Maggie nervously.
“I want him worried,” said Fell. “I’m getting very angry at the attempt on our lives.”
After an hour, a little group of villagers began to gather outside the shop, staring angrily at Fell and Maggie, who were parked on the opposite side of the road.
“I don’t get it,” said Fell. “Why are they so hostile?”
“I don’t know.” Maggie looked nervously at them. “You know, Fell, I wish we had told Dunwiddy about someone trying to push you in the river. I wish we had confided in him more.”
“I know,” said Fell. “But I was so worried about that Andy Briggs business. I still am. They’ll have been questioning and questioning the neighbours, and I’m scared that one of them might remember seeing someone like Andy. Oh, God, what if old Mrs. Moule chatters on about us doing the garden in the middle of the night and they start searching the garden and find the cash box? Think of the questions. Then old Mrs. Wakeham will need to tell them about the money, and everyone will know I’m a bastard and the tax people will be after me. You know, there’s been quite a few stories in the newspapers about some householder or another surprising a burglar and hitting him over the head and ending up in court themselves, charged with assault.”
“One of them’s coming over,” hissed Maggie.
A powerful-looking woman with a chiffon scarf tied over a head full of rollers was bearing down on them.
“People like you are a disgrace,” she hissed. “Why can’t you leave poor Mr. Tremp alone? You lot are like jackals. If you want money, then go out and work for it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Maggie.
“Just because he’s won the lottery doesn’t mean he should pay out to every layabout.”
“The lottery!” exclaimed Fell.
“Don’t act the innocents with me. The poor man was hounded by people looking for a handout. He thought he was free of them. We don’t want your sort in this village.”
“Actually,” lied Fell, “we don’t know what you are talking about. We’re looking for a place to stay and we thought this village would be a nice place. We’ve changed our minds. Drive on, Maggie.”
With relief, Maggie shot off. They drove in silence and then Maggie stopped at the side of the road. “The lottery!” she said. “Do you believe it?”
“They believe it, anyway,” said Fell. “Wait a bit. If he was so plagued by people wanting money from him, his win must have been in the papers. What about phoning Peter?”
“Oh, he’ll want a story from us.”
“So we’ll give him a story, Maggie. We’ve been interviewed by the police so many times that one more interview won’t matter.”
¦
Peter, in answer to Maggie’s phone call, arrived at the hotel accompanied by a photographer.
¦
Maggie talked to the manager, who said they could use the little residents’ lounge on the ground floor. Peter cast a longing glance in the direction of the bar across the hall, but got down to the interview. Fell and Maggie were sitting together on the sofa. At one point during the questioning, Fell took Maggie’s hand in his. Maggie held his hand tightly. Peter looked at their joined hands and scowled, but the story was too important to let personal feelings interfere with it and so he pressed on.
When he had finished and photographs had been taken, Maggie asked him if he had found out anything about Johnny Tremp’s lottery win.
“Yes, it was in the
“Something like that,” said Fell ruefully. “But don’t put it in your story.”
“It’s all right. I’ve got enough without using it. Anyway, Johnny has the reputation of being a nasty character. He’d probably sue you for defamation of character. Maggie, can I have a word?”
Maggie and Peter walked outside the hotel. “I didn’t realize you pair were so close,” said Peter huffily.
Maggie could still feel the warm clasp of Fell’s hand. “We were going through a bad patch, but we’re all right
