The Crimson Ramblers Read online

  Tony laughed.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked.

  ‘She said: ‘There’s a smashing film at the Orpheum. What about it, ducks’?’ Billy shook his head sadly. ‘I didn’t go,’ he said. ‘There is nothing seductive and mysterious about onions!’

  There was a tap on the dressing room door and Vera’s voice called: ‘Are you ready, Billy?’

  ‘Just coming, darling,’ answered Billy, slipping on his jacket.

  ‘Hurry up,’ she said. ‘I’ll wait outside on the pier.’

  ‘All right,’ shouted Billy. ‘I shan’t be a tick.’

  He brushed his hair quickly.

  ‘Vera’s the nearest you’ll get to your seductive female,’ said Tony. ‘You’ll have to put up with her.’

  Billy went over to the door.

  ‘I might do worse,’ he said and went out.

  Andy frowned at his own reflection in the mirror.

  ‘It’s a funny thing, isn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘What?’ asked Tony.

  ‘Those two being so friendly.’

  ‘Vera’s crazy about Billy,’ said Tony. ‘She always has been — ever since she joined the company.’

  ‘Aye, I know.’ Andy nodded. ‘His brother was the pilot of that plane and Vera brought the packet...’

  ‘Good lord,’ exclaimed Tony, ‘you’re not suggesting that...’

  ‘I’m no’ suggesting anything,’ said Andy quickly. ‘But I don’t like it — I don’t like it at all...’

  *

  Everybody had gone when Tony finally left the Dome Pavilion. It was very hot and oppressive, a thick heavy heat, that made his head feel as though it was full of cotton wool. Away out to sea, along the horizon, a bank of cloud was gathering, dark solid looking cloud with livid edges, that foreshadowed a storm.

  The sea was smooth, rolling gently in to the beach with a sluggishness that had a suggestion of oil.

  Tony felt worried and depressed.

  Andy had succeeded in passing on his own uneasiness. That, and the attitude that Sharon had adopted, filled him with an acute sense of utter dejection.

  He walked along the front until he found a small cafe that was not overcrowded and had some tea. It was a good pot of tea. Not like the dishwater that he and Vera had been given that afternoon when she had told him about the man who had given her the packet to bring down. If he had never bothered about that, if he had kept his nose out of the whole business, there would never have been this trouble with Sharon...

  Coming out of the café he came face to face with Simon Beatal.

  ‘We seem destined to meet again, sir,’ said the fat man. ‘A lovely afternoon but there are storm clouds blowing up.’ He laughed. ‘Yes, sir, there are definitely storm clouds on the horizon.’ His heavy jowls shook as he laughed again and Tony noticed the tiny mole at the corner of his small mouth.

  ‘I am glad, sir, to have this opportunity of wishing you goodbye,’ continued Simon Beatal. ‘I am leaving tomorrow morning, sir, and I doubt if our paths will cross in the future.’

  ‘So you’ve given up trying to do Miss Manners out of her property?’ said Tony.

  ‘A crude way of putting it, sir,’ said the fat man, ‘but fundamentally correct. As a business man, sir, I cannot afford to waste time on a project that is no longer likely to reach fruition.’

  ‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ said Tony. ‘I suppose your friends, Hargreaves, Renton and Granger have given it up too, eh?’

  ‘No friends of mine, I assure you, sir,’ said Simon Beatal. ‘I may have considered at one period of associating with them in a purely business capacity but we have nothing in common.’

  ‘Except that you’re all consummate scoundrels,’ retorted Tony.

  ‘There are, sir,’ said Simon Beatal, ‘different degrees in these matters. I regret to have to say that the persons you mention are of the lowest. Crude, sir, crude.’ He laughed. ‘Well, sir, I wish you a very good day and prosperity for the future. I regret that it is unlikely that we shall meet again, sir.’

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t reciprocate your regrets,’ said Tony.

  ‘You are unkind, sir, you are unkind,’ said Simon Beatal shaking his head. ‘However, I bear you no malice. Goodbye, sir.’

  He moved away along the front and Tony watched his huge immaculately clad figure towering above the crowd of holidaymakers until it became lost to view.

  There was an hour and a half before he need return to the Dome Pavilion for the evening show and he decided to go for a walk. He took the path that led up to the cliff top. It was quieter here and less crowded.

  Something was niggling at the back of his mind but he couldn’t discover what it was. Something to do with Simon Beatal? It might have been but he wasn’t sure.

  Walking slowly along, he began to go over in his mind all that had happened since the girl in black had thrown that packet into the compartment of the train. He forced himself to do this in order to keep himself from thinking about Sharon. The arrival of the girl to claim the packet... the horrible moment when they had discovered the body in the basket... Vera’s connection with the other packet... Billy... the second visit of Jill Manners, interrupted by the arrival of Simon Beatal...

  And suddenly he stopped dead in his walk.

  Standing perfectly still, he stared quite unseeingly out to the now dark and heavy clouds that were massing on the horizon.

  The thing that had been worrying at his mind had suddenly become crystal clear — like something picked out with a searchlight.

  He couldn’t be mistaken, and if he wasn’t mistaken...

  He turned abruptly and began to walk rapidly back the way he had come. Half-way along the front he turned off into the town and presently came to the police station. Entering, he inquired of the sergeant in charge for Superintendent Halliday.

  ‘He’s not in, sir,’ said the man. ‘He’ll be back presently. Is there anything I can do?’

  Tony thought for a moment and then shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he replied, ‘I must see Superintendent Halliday.’

  ‘I can give him a message when he comes in,’ said the Sergeant.

  ‘Tell him Anthony Wayne called,’ said Tony. ‘Ask him if he can get in touch with me at the Dome Pavilion this evening. Tell him it’s urgent.’

  The Sergeant looked at him curiously.

  ‘Very good, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell the Superintendent.’

  Tony left the police station and made his way to the pier.

  He wanted the seclusion of his dressing room to quietly consider the startling discovery he had made. Not that he had the slightest doubt that he was right but to work out in detail just what that discovery meant.

  And by the time Andy came in to make-up for the evening show, he was certain that he had found the murderer.

  17

  The storm burst over Westpool just before ten. The rain came down in torrents and the wind lashed the sea to fury so that it smashed angrily against the rocks and broke in huge waves over the drenched promenade. The thunder and lightning were incessant, pealing and flickering over the boiling sea with the effect of an inferno. It drove the crowds of holidaymakers to seek shelter so that the front and the town were soon deserted and Westpool, that a few hours before had been so gay and noisy, was like a city of the dead.

  ‘My lord, what a night,’ said Tony as he came off the stage and met Andy in the passage. ‘The thunder almost drowned Vera’s number, and the rain on the roof sounds like a hundred drums.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Andy, ‘but it’s a wonderful house. They’re packed in like sardines.’ He hurried up on to the stage and Tony went on to his dressing room. As he nearly reached it, Sharon came out of hers. She would have passed him without speaking but he stopped her.

  ‘I say,’ he said, ‘don’t go on like this...’

  ‘I’m not going on like anything,’ she said. ‘Please let me pass.’

  ‘Didn’t Beryl talk to you?’ he asked.
>
  ‘She frequently talks to me,’ retorted Sharon. ‘I’m in a hurry.’

  ‘I mean about me,’ said Tony.

  She looked at him coldly.

  ‘I believe she did try to tell me something,’ she said, ‘I wasn’t interested.’

  She hurried away, leaving Tony staring after her.

  The stage door opened at that moment and he turned quickly to see Superintendent Halliday come in.

  ‘I’ve just got your message, sir,’ said Halliday. ‘You said the matter was urgent so, in spite of the storm, I thought I’d better come along at once.’

  He shook the water from his shiny oilskin.

  ‘I’m glad you did,’ said Tony. ‘Come in here. We shan’t be disturbed for a few minutes.’

  He ushered the Superintendent into his dressing room and shut the door.

  ‘Now, sir,’ said Halliday. ‘What’s this all about?’

  Tony told him as briefly and quickly as possible.

  Halliday listened attentively and the expression on his face changed to one of incredulity and amazement.

  ‘You’re quite sure about this, sir?’ he asked when Tony had finished. ‘You couldn’t have been mistaken?’

  Tony shook his head emphatically.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t there...’

  *

  Up on the top of North Cliff the wind reached gale force. It blew in from the sea in great tempestuous gusts that howled mournfully round the caravan that had belonged to David Manners. It shook the door and rattled the windows, driving before it the rain so that it beat a continuous tattoo on the glass.

  Inside the small living room, the red-haired girl was moving restlessly about smoking a cigarette. There was a frown on her face and she flinched as each successive peal of thunder went rolling and echoing overhead. Presently she stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray and went into the small kitchen. She made herself some coffee on the Calor gas stove and, carrying it back into the sitting room, sat down near a small table. The frown on her face deepened as she sipped the coffee. After a moment or two she looked at the watch on her wrist. It was nearly half past ten.

  A clap of thunder, louder than any of the preceding ones, seemed to shake the earth, and the blue-white glare of lightning lit up the dark squares of the small windows.

  The girl shivered and, getting up, drew the curtains.

  She had scarcely reseated herself and picked up the remains of her coffee, when there came a tap at the door. She had heard no sound of an approaching car or footsteps but the noise of the storm would have drowned any sounds.

  ‘Who is it?’ she called nervously.

  ‘It’s me,’ answered a man’s voice. ‘Open the door.’

  She went over to the door and unlocked it.

  Granger came in hastily. His raincoat and hat were streaming with water and he took off his hat and shook it.

  ‘What a night,’ he grunted, flinging his hat on a chair.

  ‘Why did you come?’ she asked. ‘What do you want?’

  She moved away from the door forgetting to relock it.

  ‘I had to talk to you,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’ she looked at him anxiously. ‘Everything’s all right, isn’t it?’

  The handle of the door turned softly and it opened an inch but they were unaware of the fact.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Granger, ‘there’s nothing to worry about. It’s all plain sailing now. Tomorrow you can go back to London — turn up at the office and wait for me. I’ll get back as soon as I can. After a few weeks I’ll register the claim...’

  ‘In whose name, sir?’ inquired a voice behind them.

  They swung round. Simon Beatal stood in the open doorway. A gust of wind came whistling in and blew round the cosy interior of the caravan. The fat man closed the door.

  ‘What the devil are you doing here?’ exclaimed Granger.

  ‘I followed you, sir,’ replied Simon Beatal. ‘An unpleasant task on such a night — but, I hope, rewarding.’

  ‘What do you want?’ demanded Granger. ‘An answer to my question first, sir,’ said the fat man smiling blandly. ‘In whose name are you registering the claim?’

  ‘Jill Manners, of course,’ snapped Granger. ‘It’s no good you thinking you’re going to get a cut in it because you won’t. It belongs rightfully to Jill and Jill’s going to have it.’ Simon Beatal laughed.

  ‘Indeed, sir,’ he said. ‘I was not aware that it was possible to register a claim in the name of a deceased person, sir.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Beatal,’ snapped Granger angrily. ‘If this is some more of your...’

  ‘Come, come, sir,’ interrupted Simon Beatal, still smiling. ‘You may be able to deceive people like Hargreaves and Renton — even Superintendent Halliday — but I, sir, am a different proposition, I assure you. I am not so easily hoodwinked, sir.’

  The red-haired girl looked at him with frightened eyes and then turned to Granger.

  ‘What does he mean?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ retorted Granger. ‘He’s up to some jiggery-pokery...’

  ‘You wish me to explain, sir?’ said Simon Beatal.

  ‘If you can,’ snapped Granger. ‘And you’d better be quick about it. I want to get back.’

  ‘Very well, sir,’ said the fat man. ‘It is quite obvious to me that it was Jill Manners who was killed. This lady is her sister, sir, Thelma Granger — your wife.’

  He bowed to the girl.

  ‘You’re mad!’ cried Granger.

  ‘Let us ask Mrs. Granger if she agrees with you, sir,’ said Beatal. ‘She is in a better position to know than either of us, since it was she who killed her sister.’

  ‘Oh, no... you’re wrong. I didn’t. Why should I want to kill Thelma?’

  ‘Not Thelma,’ said the fat man. ‘Jill. You are Thelma.’

  She stared at him in amazement.

  ‘It isn’t true,’ she said. ‘It isn’t true...’

  ‘Of course, it isn’t true,’ broke in Granger. ‘What’s the idea, Beatal? If you think you can get away with these accusations...’

  ‘Come now, my dear Mrs. Granger,’ said Simon Beatal. ‘The difference between you and your sister is slight but sufficient for an observant man. I flatter myself that I am very observant. The tiny mole at the corner of your left eye — you see, sir? Jill had no such mole.’ He laughed. ‘A small thing, sir, but conclusive.’

  ‘I never heard such a lot of utter nonsense,’ exclaimed Granger impatiently. ‘If you think you’re going to get anything by all this rubbish, Beatal...’

  ‘That is why I am here, sir,’ replied Simon Beatal smoothly. ‘I am a business man. I am willing to overlook the regrettable fact that your wife killed her sister and was also responsible for the death of that unfortunate private detective...’

  ‘I didn’t... I didn’t do anything...’ cried the girl with tears in her eyes. ‘Oh, please, Mr. Granger... You know it isn’t true.’

  ‘Of course I know it isn’t true, Jill,’ said Granger. ‘You’re making all this up, Beatal, to try and extort money out of Miss Manners. Well, it isn’t going to work...’

  ‘I must congratulate you, sir,’ said Simon Beatal. ‘You do it exceedingly well. An admirable performance, sir. Both you and your wife would be an asset to the stage, sir. But it doesn’t convince me.’

  ‘That’s too bad,’ sneered Granger.

  ‘I am not at all sure, sir, that it would convince Superintendent Halliday,’ remarked Simon Beatal. ‘However, it will prove of great interest to see. I will wish you good night, Mrs. Granger. Good night, sir.’

  He bowed and turned to the door. ‘Wait!’ said Granger harshly.

  The fat man turned back.

  ‘You wish me to stay, sir?’ he asked blandly.

  ‘You’ve no proof, you know — not an atom,’ said Granger.

  ‘A full investigation by the police would, I venture to believe, provide all the proof necessary,’ repl
ied Simon Beatal. ‘A mere hint is all that is required, sir, to start such an investigation.’

  There was a crash of thunder and the caravan shook.

  ‘What do you want?’ demanded Granger bluntly.

  ‘Now, you are being wise, sir,’ said Simon Beatal. He laughed. ‘Shall we settle for a half-share?’

  ‘No!’ snapped Granger. ‘We’ll settle for nothing!’

  He fired the shot through his pocket. The huge figure of Simon Beatal sagged and crumpled slowly. For a moment it swayed and then it fell with a thud to the floor. It twitched convulsively and then lay still.

  ‘You fool!’ cried the girl.

  Granger drew the automatic from his pocket and rubbed his thumb where the blow-back had made a reddish burn.

  ‘It was the only thing to do,’ he muttered.

  ‘Supposing someone heard the shot?’ she demanded. ‘What then?’

  ‘In this storm?’ He shook his head. ‘You couldn’t hear anything a yard away.’

  She stared down at the ungainly body and her forehead puckered.

  ‘What are we going to do with him?’ she muttered.

  ‘It’s not very far to the edge of the cliff,’ he said. ‘I could get him there, I think.’

  ‘I don’t like it,’ she said. ‘They’ll find the body and they’ll know he was shot. It won’t take very long to connect him with you...’

  ‘They can’t prove anything,’ he said.

  ‘Can’t they? You were a fool to have done it.’

  ‘It’s a bit late in the day for you to start getting squeamish, Thelma,’ he said. ‘There was nothing else to be done. We should have had him tacked on to us for the rest of our lives. Do you think he’d have been satisfied with a half-share? He’d have had the lot before he was through.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she agreed. She went over to the table and took a cigarette from a packet and lit it. Blowing out a cloud of smoke she sat down and cupped her chin in her hand.

  ‘Listen,’ she said after a pause, ‘can’t we fix this on Hargreaves or Renton?’

  ‘How?’ he asked quickly.

  ‘See what he’s got in his pockets,’ she said coolly.