The wretched Sam had no option; he got down out of the cab, assisted a little by his captor, and then took three steps back, when the solid earth failed him. He stepped into a void—the yard-wide trench of the newly dug pipe line. It was Tom Martin’s skilful support which saved Sam from a broken neck, he was directed towards the trench and virtually lowered into it. Thereafter he was covered by a heavy tarpaulin which had been in the lorry; terrified by the darkness and the sense of being buried, he tried to let out a yell. Next moment he was straddled by Tom Martin, who hissed at him, “Quietly now, or it’ll be the worse for you. I mean you no harm, but you’ve got to be quiet.”
Next moment, Tom’s hands were over the other’s face and around his neck. A scarf was tied over Sam’s mouth, effectually gagging him, and then, despite the victim’s struggles, his legs were lashed together.
“I’m going to leave you here for a bit,” said Tom; “but I shall be coming back, and then you can answer a few questions and answer them right. If you do that, I’ll let you go, none the worse—more than you deserve. Now don’t you create. I’ve always played straight by you and that’s a damn’ sight more than you’ve done by me. I’m going to cover you up, nice and safe, else the cops’ll get you in two twos, so you just stay quiet.”
There was not much else that Sam could do; the tarpaulin was pulled over his face again, shutting out the night sky, and then he realised, with ever-increasing terror, that his captor was collapsing the sides of the trench, so that earth and stones fell on the tarpaulin in ever-increasing weight. Tom Martin, who was not by nature a cruel man, lifted the tarpaulin for a moment from his victim’s face.
“You can breathe all right,” he said encouragingly, “nothing to worry about, I’ll be back and let you out after you’ve answered those questions. You stay quiet and the cops’ll never find you. You’re all snug and covered up. I’m going to move this bleeding lorry, so that they don’t come straight for you.”
With this, Martin got into the driver’s cab, after he had examined the ground behind it. There was no reason, that he could see, why the powerful vehicle could not be reversed and then driven away from this spot. If the front bumpers and wings were crumpled by impact with the bank, what did that matter to a lorry? Just as he got into the driving seat he heard the roar of another lorry starting up at the camp and he knew it had turned on to the concreted “main road” which connected the camp with the road to Kirkham. “Couldn’t be better,” he said to himself, “they won’t be able to hear me starting this one. I’ll wreck it somewhere convenient, half a mile or so away, and they can hunt for the driver there.”
He got the engine going, then into reverse gear. The cumbrous vehicle heaved itself clear of the bank, roaring and backfiring, but it kept going. The steering had not been improved by the collision with the bank, but Martin managed to head it in the desired direction and it pounded over the rough ground like a tank. He stayed at the wheel until he calculated he was a mile away from Sam’s hiding place, then he jumped, and landed unhurt, just as the lorry crashed into a hollow and more or less capsized. As its engine stalled again, Martin could hear the pursuing vehicle, about half a mile behind, and again he said to himself, “Couldn’t be better.” He ran to the road, towards the approaching lorry, waving his arms and shouting. The headlights were switched on and he ran towards the driver’s side, yelling, “The lorry’s here, sir. I heard it start up and ran after it. I didn’t catch it, but it’s here all right. The blighter wrecked it, and he’s made off down the road. You’ll catch him in two twos.”
“All right, Martin,” said Lawley. “We’ll go in pursuit. Can you find your way back and report to Mr. Bell? He’ll probably be able to haul that lorry on to its wheels again. Are you sure you can find the way?”
“Sure to goodness, sir, I couldn’t lose it,” rejoined Martin cheerfully. “The whole place is lit up like a Christmas tree.”
“Have you any idea who it was pinched that lorry over there?” asked Wharton and Martin replied:
“Not one of our chaps as far as I could tell, but Mr. Bell can sort that one out by finding if anybody’s missing. I’ll report, sir, never you fear. Sorry I didn’t catch the blighter for you, but he got into gear very quickly and off he pounded. I got hold of the tailboard, but I had to let go.”
“You did your best,” said Wharton, and Martin started running back to the camp. “That went pretty well, all things considered,” he thought. “After a few hours in that trench, reckon he’ll be ready to talk when I let him out.”
Chapter Twelve
AFTER HIS DEBATE at C.I.D. Headquarters at Leverstone, Macdonald sought out the rank and file, the constables and point-duty men, all the humble “other ranks” whose careful observation and devotion to duty form the basis whereon is
