where he would be speaking. The stable block was off to the right. When the vehicle drew up outside the portico, Thornhill would be obscured as he came out of the door. It was when he stepped up into the open carriage that he would present a target. That moment was crucial. The man simply had to fire with deadly accuracy and the job was done.
He moved from place to place before he settled on the exact spot from which he would shoot. Shielded by thick bushes, he had an excellent view of the forecourt. There were hours to go yet. He was able to retrieve his rifle, take it to his chosen position and settle down. Since there would be a long wait, he had brought bread and cheese to eat. In case his nerve faltered, he had a small flask of brandy but he did not think it would be required.
It was early evening before there was any sign of movement. The doors of the stable block were opened and a horse was led out. It had already been harnessed. Two men pulled out a landau from the stable and fitted the shafts into the harness. One of the men disappeared for a minute then emerged again in a frock coat and top hat. He climbed up onto the driving seat and picked up the reins, flicking them and calling out a command to the horse. The landau headed towards the house. The gardener, now weeding a flowerbed, waved to the driver.
Watching it all from his vantage point, the man held his weapon ready. His heart was pumping and sweat was starting to break out on his forehead. As his hands trembled a little, he felt that he needed the brandy, after all, and gulped it swiftly down. It gave him courage and stiffened his resolve. His moment had finally come. Raising the weapon, he put the butt into his shoulder, crooked his finger around the trigger and took aim. After rumbling across the gravel, the landau pulled up outside the house.
There was a momentary wait then the front door opened and a tall figure stepped out, one arm in a sling. He opened the door of the carriage and took a firm grip so that he could pull himself up with his other hand. In that instant, with Giles Thornhill completely exposed, the man tried to control the tremble that had come back into his hands and pulled the trigger. His victim collapsed in a heap.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was only a single shot but its effects were remarkable. A man collapsed in the landau, birds took to the air in fright and the horse reared and pulled with such force between the shafts that the driver had difficulty in controlling it. Perhaps the most remarkable thing was that the gardener leapt over his wheelbarrow and sprinted towards the bushes in the distance as if he had been waiting for a signal to do so. The assassin had already taken to his heels. Convinced that his mission had been successful, he gathered up his telescope and weapon before running off into the undergrowth.
The sharp crack of the rifle shot seemed to resonate for an age, rising above the squawking of the birds and the frantic neighing of the horse. Happy and exhilarated, the assassin ran on until the noises began to fade behind him. They were replaced by another sound and it made his blood congeal. He could hear a body crashing through the bushes behind him. Somebody was chasing hard and seemed to be gaining on him. He tried to quicken his pace but he was hampered by the heavy rifle and troubled by cramp from having stood in the same position for so many hours.
He was still hundreds of yards from the edge of the estate. There was no way he could outrun the pursuit. When he came to a clearing, therefore, he stopped and waited. Breathing hard and gripped by panic, he turned round. He tossed the telescope to the ground. Since he had no time to reload the rifle, he grabbed it by the barrel to use as a club. He could hear running feet getting closer all the time, swishing their way rhythmically through the grass. Whoever was following him had to be stopped or even killed.
He began to shiver with fear. Shooting a man from a distance had been easy. Confronting and overpowering someone prepared for action was a very different matter. There would be a fight. If his pursuer were armed, he would have the advantage. The assassin was no longer in control and that was frightening. Holding the rifle, he stood ready to strike. He then got a first glimpse of the man, coming through the trees at a steady pace. The next second, the gardener burst into the clearing and saw him.
It was no time to hesitate. Palms sweating, the man swung the rifle with vicious intent, hoping to knock out his adversary with a single blow. But the gardener was agile as well as fast. He ducked beneath the makeshift club and got in a solid punch to the other man’s stomach that made him gasp in pain. Dropping the rifle, the winded man tried to run away. Flight was in vain. The gardener was quicker and stronger than him. Overhauling him within seconds, he dived on the assassin’s back and forced him to the ground, sitting astride him while delivering a relay of punches to his head and body that took all resistance out of him.
Having subdued his man, he pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and clipped them on to the man’s wrist so that he was pinioned from behind. The gardener could afford to relax. His quarry had been caught, pacified and restrained. It was time to roll him over.
‘Well,’ said Victor Leeming with a grin, ‘I was hoping that you and I would meet again, Mr Chiffney. You attacked me from behind the last time. We met on equal terms today.’
Leeming’s grin froze immediately. The person on the ground was not a cross-eyed ruffian with an ugly face but a fair-haired young man who was gibbering with terror. It was not Chiffney.
When he stepped back into the hall of the house, Robert Colbeck took off the sling he had been wearing to support his arm and handed it to a servant. Giles Thornhill looked on in admiration.
‘That was a very daring thing to do, Inspector,’ he said. ‘It was daring and extremely rash. I watched it all through the window. I thought you’d been hit.’
‘I only pretended to be, sir. I wanted him to think I’d been killed so that he’d run off. Sergeant Leeming will catch up with him.’
‘Why take such a risk?’
‘I didn’t think I could persuade you to do so, Mr Thornhill.’
‘It would have been suicide.’
‘No,’ said Colbeck. ‘He fired at you from fifty yards before and missed. He’d have been farther away this time. I was trading on the fact that he’s not a marksman and might therefore be nervous with a weapon in his hands. If he’d been a ruthless killer, you wouldn’t still be alive. I had to offer him a second chance to shoot you.’
‘Then I’m deeply grateful,’ said Thornhill, ‘and I’ll be writing to your superiors to tell them so.’
‘Be sure to mention Sergeant Leeming, sir. He not only tended your garden for several hours, he was in the right place to give chase when the shot was fired. We knew it would come from those trees and they must be seventy yards away. From that distance,’ said Colbeck, ‘I had the feeling that I could pass for a Member of Parliament.’
‘Do you think the sergeant will have affected an arrest?’
‘I’m sure that he has, Mr Thornhill.’
‘What I want to know is who exactly that devil is.’
Colbeck indicated the door. ‘Let’s go and meet him.’
Victor Leeming did not waste any time trying to question his captive. Hauling him to his feet, he shoved him against a tree to take a close look at him. Pale-skinned and square-jawed, the prisoner was tall, well-favoured and in his early twenties. He wore old clothing that blended with the surroundings. Leeming retrieved the rifle and slung it over his shoulder. Holding the telescope in one hand, he used the other to take the man by the scruff of the neck and propel him along.
As they walked back towards the house, nothing was said. Glad to have captured him, the sergeant was disappointed that he had not caught Dick Chiffney. That would have been a real triumph. Though the man made one desperate attempt to break free, Leeming was too quick for him. He stuck out a foot and tripped him up. Pitching forward on to the ground, the captive bruised his forehead and dirtied his face. He got no sympathy from the sergeant. Pulling him to his feet again, Leeming took a firmer hold on his collar and hustled him along. Having tried to shoot a distinguished politician, the young man had also done his best to kill a Scotland Yard detective. After the long walk back to the house, he would, in time, take a shorter one to the gallows.
Colbeck and Thornhill waited side by side on the forecourt. The horse had now calmed down, the birds were singing once again and peace had been restored. Leeming came out of the trees with his prisoner ahead of him. When the young man saw that Giles Thornhill was alive and unharmed, he let out a cry of dismay. All his efforts had
