“I’m going to try and reach Harborshire by nightfall. Let’s not stop for any unnecessary reasons.”
“I’m not hungry, if that’s what you’re getting at. I should be, but I’m not. I’ve no appetite at all.” He stared at the palms of his hands again. “Madame Lavinia. She set the freaks against us. She’s Nicholas Haver’s widow. Remember? The imitation Lemuel Peach, the vicar. She said we met in Munich back in 1925, but I don’t recall that at all. I thought at first she meant she was Rosie Wagner, but she wasn’t. Rosie was an unkneaded lump of dough, as plain and as unappetizing as an unbaked biscuit. Lavinia was something else. You have the strangest expression. Regrets, Miss Adair, regrets?”
She was staring with alarm at the rearview mirror. “What’s happening?” asked Hitchcock.
“I’m not sure. There’s a lorry gaining on us. I haven’t noticed it before.”
“Well, move over and let him pass! Isn’t that the courtesy of the road?”
“I don’t think this lorry driver is interested in courtesy. I think he’s only interested in us.”
With an effort, Hitchcock twisted in his seat and looked out the rear window. A large red lorry was gaining on them. As it swerved, he could read the lettering on the side, PECHTER CIRCUS.
“It’s a circus lorry! And I can see the man at the wheel. It’s him! The one dressed as an Indian! What the hell’s he trying to do? Let him pass, damn it, let him pass!”
“He doesn’t want to pass! He wants to run us off the road!”
In the black sedan, Herbert was voicing a string of oaths. He had courteously let the red lorry pass him until he read the name of the circus and then realized Hitchcock and the woman were in trouble. But it didn’t make sense. No one should want Hitchcock dead. But perhaps the woman. Nancy Adair. His foot on the accelerator had it pushed to the limit, but the lorry was obviously equipped with a sophisticated engine. He cursed again louder.
Nancy struggled to keep control of the steering wheel while Hitchcock waved a fist at the lorry driver. The lorry kept hitting the back of their car, the only surcease occurring when he was forced to pull in behind them to avoid colliding with cars coming from the opposite direction.
“Try pulling into a driveway!” cried Hitchcock. “There’s one coming up ahead! Do you see it?”
“Yes, yes, I see it!” The car jarred violently as they were again hit from behind.
She swerved sharply into the driveway. It was overgrown with weeds and foliage, badly rutted; driver and passenger were jolted and bounced as though they had landed in a cement mixer. A few feet ahead of them was what looked like an abandoned granary, a now sorry-looking wooden edifice with its doors hanging from rusty hinges. The lorry shot past the driveway; possibly the maniac at the wheel had missed seeing Nancy’s maneuver, which had taken place around a curve in the road that briefly obscured his vision.
“Look out!” shouted Hitchcock as Nancy, having difficulty in decelerating the speed of the car, crashed past the worm-eaten doors into the building. A rope hoist hung from beams overhead, once used to raise the grain to the storage bins above. Bearing down on the brakes, Nancy finally brought the car to a halt under the hoist. Both turned to look out the back window and with relief saw no sign of the circus lorry.
And then the ground began to give way beneath the car.
“We’re sinking into a pit!” cried Nancy as she wrenched open her door and flung herself out of the car. Clumsily, Hitchcock groped for his door handle. The car dropped farther into the pit.
“I’m trapped!” cried Hitchcock.
“I’ll get help!” shouted Nancy and ran out to the road.
Hitchcock sat quietly, beads of perspiration trickling down his brow. If he sat still, he cautioned himself, if he tried not to move, perhaps the car would settle where it was. And if it didn’t settle, how far down would it plunge? he wondered. How deep were the pits in granaries? Deep. Very deep. The car moaned, and the floor groaned, and Hitchcock felt the car slipping slowly farther into the abyss beneath him. Our father who art in heaven…
Herbert saw Nancy come running out of the driveway. He also saw what she didn’t see. The circus lorry had reversed and was heading backward. The door opened and the roustabout in his Indian suit jumped down and chased after Nancy. Herbert slowed down. The roustabout caught Nancy around the waist and rudely lifted her off her feet, carrying the screaming, struggling woman back to the lorry. Herbert didn’t seem in the least bit interested in rushing to her rescue. Once Nancy had been shoved into the front seat of the lorry, the roustabout got in, and with an agonizing grinding of gears, the lorry went tearing away. Herbert steered into the driveway and parked while sizing up Hitchcock’s predicament.
Nigel Pack had come home for a change of clothing. It looked as if another all-night session was ahead of him with the firm. There’d be no rest for the weary until the Hitchcock case was satisfactorily resolved. He had tried phoning Violet to tell her he’d be home, but there was no reply. Out shopping again, probably, decided Nigel, and what for now? She’d sent a birthday gift to her father earlier in the week, and they’d had another of their knockdown drag-outs earlier that morning about her profligate spending of money on un- necessaries. He thought that problem had been settled then.
After slamming the front door shut behind him he shouted, “Violet!” followed by a louder “Violet?” He went to their bedroom. Her closet door was open. Immediately he realized her overnight bag was gone. The stupid bitch! I distinctly forbade her going to her parents’ to celebrate her father’s birthday. The stupid, willful bitch! He crossed to his
