‘Apparently Lang spun him a yarn. Told him he’d recently returned from Batavia where he’d worked for a rubber company, and was spending a few months in England prior to returning to Holland. Said birdwatching was his hobby and he was writing a treatise on the migratory habits of certain northern European species. Even that wasn’t enough to persuade Bainbridge, who’d taken a distinct dislike to him, so he added a line about having lost his wife in the East to cholera and wanting somewhere secluded to mourn her passing. Our friend seems to have mistaken his calling: he should have been writing romantic novels. Bainbridge said he held out till Lang volunteered to rent the place till the end of the year, cash down. It was too good an offer to refuse. His client’s a widow who needs the money.’
Sinclair had handed the phone to Meadows when he’d finished, but the clerk had exchanged only a few words with his employer, who’d already been informed of the situation by the chief inspector.
‘Mr Bainbridge says I’m to stay as long as you need me sir,’ he’d told Sinclair in a tone of resignation after he’d replaced the receiver. ‘I’ll have to lock up, anyway.’
‘You needn’t worry about that, Mr Meadows. We’ll see to it.’ The chief inspector had got over his annoyance with the clerk. He was regretting his earlier harshness. ‘You can leave now. You’ve got your bicycle, have you?’
‘Oh, yes, sir.’
‘Then you’d better be off. It’ll be dark soon.’
‘Well, if you’re sure, sir…’ Meadows was already looking for his coat and attache case.
The light was beginning to fade as Madden walked up with Billy to where he’d left his car near the top of the wooded ridge, both of them striding along briskly in the cold breeze that was blowing. Glancing sideways, Billy noted the familiar scowl of preoccupation on his old chief’s face.
‘Don’t worry, sir. We’ll get him.’
‘I hope so, Billy. I hope so.’ Madden had paused by his car, smiling now. ‘Well, at least I’ll be out of your hair.’
‘Sir?’
‘It’s my impression you’ve been keeping an eye on me, Sergeant Styles. Did Mr Sinclair give you an order to that effect?’
Billy had grinned, but said nothing.
‘Well, you can both relax. I’m on my way.’ Madden had chuckled.
Approaching the top of the ridge now, driving carefully over the rutted track, he came on the figure of Henry Meadows. The clerk was pushing his bicycle up the slope, which steepened over the last twenty yards or so. Bulky in his coat, and with the added burden of his attache case, which was strapped to a carrier on the back of his bike, he was making heavy weather of the climb. Hearing the sound of the car behind him, he moved off the road. Madden drew to a halt.
‘Would you like a lift, Mr Meadows? I’m going by Midhurst.’
‘Oh, goodness, sir… thank you.’ The doleful look on the clerk’s fleshy face was dispelled in an instant. A smile of relief took its place.
‘We can put your bike in the back.’
Having done so, they were soon on their way again and within minutes had rejoined the paved road.
‘What an afternoon, sir! I still haven’t got over it.’ Seated beside Madden in front, with his hat, containing his bicycle clips, perched upside down on his knees, Henry Meadows seemed disposed to relive his experience. ‘The men bursting in like that. I don’t know when I’ve had such a shock.’ He hesitated, unsure whether to continue. ‘Sir, what’s he done, this Mr De Beer? No one would say.’
‘I can’t tell you that, I’m afraid.’ Madden glanced at him. ‘But you can take it he’s a dangerous man.’
Silenced by these words, the clerk swallowed.
‘What did you make of him?’ Madden switched on his headlamps. Although it was not yet dark, the light was dull and leaden.
‘Nothing, sir. I mean, we hardly spoke. He must have known I was coming: he’d left a note on the kitchen table with the keys. If I’d have been ten minutes later he’d have gone. But he never said goodbye or anything; he just drove off.’
‘He was in a hurry, was he?’
‘Oh, yes… no doubt of that.’ Meadows nodded. ‘He looked at his watch twice, I remember, even in the few minutes we were there together. It was as though he had somewhere to go, somewhere else to be.’
‘Somewhere else?’ Madden repeated the words. But his attention had shifted to the road ahead where a bus had appeared, blocking their forward progress. He saw a group of men bearing tools on the verge beside the vehicle and realized they had reached the roadworks, where the surface narrowed. The bus was motionless; the driver seemed to be waiting for him to make way.
‘There’s a parking area just behind us, sir.’ Meadows had noted the problem. ‘It’s for Wood Way. Ramblers going to the Downs use it.’
Twisting about, Madden saw the space he was referring to and put the car into reverse. When he reached the entrance to the gravelled area, he spun the steering wheel hard and continued backing into it, avoiding a small van that was parked there. The bus had already begun moving forward.
‘Sir?’ Meadows spoke beside him. He’d turned round in his seat while Madden was reversing and he was still looking back.
‘Yes?’ Madden’s eyes were fixed on the bus as it lumbered past.
‘That car of Mr De Beer’s… the one the chief inspector was asking me about. He wanted to know the model, but I couldn’t tell him…’
‘I remember… what about it?’ Madden changed gear and they started forward.
‘It was just like that one over there.’
Madden put his foot hard on the brake. Turning, he peered through the narrow rear window and saw, on the far side of the parking area, half hidden by the overhanging branch of an oak tree, the vehicle Meadows was indicating. He changed into reverse again and backed rapidly across the area, wheels spinning on the loose gravel. As they drew near the spot, he saw that the car was a black Ford sedan.
‘Come on. Let’s have a look at it.’
Meadows was on the side nearest and as he opened the door to descend he let out a yelp of excitement.
‘It’s his! It’s the same car. Look – there’s his trunk! The one I saw.’ He was pointing.
Madden had already seen the object. Brassbound, and bare of any label, it occupied the rear seat. Swiftly, his heartbeat quickening with every second, he tried the doors and found them locked.
‘Mr Meadows – get your bicycle out!’
He spoke in a low tone, but the clerk responded as if stung, springing to obey. He dragged the machine from the back of their car, then turned to find Madden standing on the running board of the other car looking about him. His eyes moved in a slow circle; first he peered at the trees bordering the parking area on this side, then swung round to look in the other direction, where the country was more open; finally, he shifted once more on the cramped running board and gazed up at the wooded ridge that ran parallel to the road they’d come on.
‘I don’t see him.’ Madden murmured the words to himself. He turned his glance on the clerk, who was standing nearby, bicycle at the ready, but with the stunned look of one who wasn’t sure what would be asked of him next.
‘I need your help, Mr Meadows.’ Madden stepped down from the running board. ‘You must ride back to the cottage as quickly as possible and tell Mr Sinclair – the chief inspector – that De Beer’s car is here.’
‘Ride back?’ If Henry Meadows was dismayed by the prospect, he managed not to show it. The day had been a hard one for him, but now he rose to the challenge. ‘Yes, of course… I’ll go at once.’ As he bent to fix his bicycle clips he heard a hissing sound and glanced up to see Madden, on his knee, letting the air out of one of the Ford’s tyres.
‘You can tell Mr Sinclair he won’t be going anywhere.’
‘Yes, sir. Right, sir.’ In the intervening seconds, Meadows had shed his coat, tossing it into the back of the car. Hoisting one plump leg over the saddle, he mounted the bicycle and moved off, wobbling on the gravel at first, but then picking up speed.
‘And Mr Meadows!’ Madden called after him.
