The Enemy. Desmond Bagley
to blow Marlow apart. Your chap ought to know that.’ He sounded aggrieved.
I cursed Harrison and his ham-fisted approach; if he’d queered my pitch with the local law I’d string him up by the thumbs when I got back. I said, ‘Inspector, I told you last night I had no official connection with Ashton. It was true then, but it is no longer true. My people now have a definite interest.’
He grunted. ‘I know. I’ve been asked to make an extra copy of all my reports on the Ashton case. As though I don’t have enough to do without producing a lot of bloody bumf for people who won’t even give me the time of day without consulting the Official Secrets Act.’ His resentment was growing.
I said quickly, ‘Oh, hell; you can forget that nonsense – just as long as I can see your file copies.’
‘You got authority for that?’
I smiled at him. ‘A man has all the authority he can take. I’ll carry the can if there’s a comeback.’
He stared at me and then his lips curved in amusement. ‘You and me will get on all right,’ he said. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘First, how’s the girl?’
‘We haven’t been allowed to talk to her so she must be pretty bad. And I need a description. I don’t even know the sex of the assailant.’
‘So that means no visitors.’
‘None except the family. Her sister has been at the hospital most of the day.’
I said, ‘I think I might be able to help you there. Suppose I got Penny to ask Gillian for a description. That would do to be going on with until you can ask her yourself.’ He nodded. ‘I won’t be seeing her until later. Where will you be tonight?’
‘Theoretically off duty. But I’ll be sinking a couple of pints in the Coach and Horses between nine and ten. I’m meeting someone who might give me a lead on another case. You can ring me there. Doyle, the landlord, knows me.’
‘Okay. Now, how have you got on with the acid?’
Honnister shrugged. ‘About as far as you’d expect. It’s battery acid, and the stuff’s too common. There are filling stations all around here, and then it might have come from somewhere else.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘To me this has the smell of a London job.’
‘Have you seen Ashton?’
‘Oh, yes, I’ve seen Ashton. He says he can think of absolutely no reason why his daughter should be attacked in such a manner. No reason whatsoever. It was like talking to a bloody stone wall.’
‘I’ll be talking to him myself tonight. Maybe I’ll get something.’
‘Does he know who – and what – you are?’
‘No, he doesn’t; and he mustn’t find out, either.’
‘You blokes lead interesting lives,’ said Honnister, and grinned crookedly. ‘And you wanting to marry his daughter, too.’
I smiled. ‘Where did you get that?’
‘Just pieced it together from what you told me last night, and from what one of the uniformed boys picked up when talking over a cuppa with the Ashtons’ maid. I told you I hear secrets – and I’m not a bad jack, even though I say it myself.’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Tell me a few secrets about Ashton.’
‘Not known to the police. Not criminally. The CPO had a few words with him.’
‘CPO?’
‘Crime Prevention Officer. There are a lot of big houses around here full of expensive loot worth nicking. The CPO calls in to check on the burglar-proofing. You’d be surprised how stupid some of these rich twits can be. A man will fill his house with a quarter of a million quids’ worth of paintings and antiques and balk at spending a couple of thousand on keeping the stuff safe.’
‘How is Ashton’s burglar-proofing?’
Honnister grinned. ‘It might rank second to the Bank of England,’ he conceded.
That interested me. ‘Anything more on Ashton?’
‘Nothing relevant. But he wasn’t the one who was attacked, was he?’ He leaned forward. ‘Have you thought of the possibility that Gillian Ashton might have been sleeping in the wrong bed? There are two things I think of when I hear of an acid attack on a woman; the first is that it could be a gangland punishment, and the other is that it’s one woman taking revenge on another.’
‘I’ve thought of it. Penny discounts it, and I don’t go much for it myself. I don’t think she’s the kind.’
‘Maybe, but I’ve been doing a bit of nosing around. I haven’t come up with anything yet, but I can’t discount it.’
‘Of course you can’t.’
I stood up, and Honnister said, ‘Don’t expect too much too quickly. In fact, don’t expect anything at all. I’ve no great hopes of this case. Anyway, we’ve not gone twenty-four hours yet.’
That was so, and it surprised me. So much had happened that day that it seemed longer. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll be in touch tonight.’
I drove in the direction of Ashton’s house and cruised around slowly, making circuits on the country roads and looking for anything out of the ordinary such as cars parked on the verge with people in them doing nothing in particular. There was nothing like that so after an hour of futility I gave up and drove directly to the house.
The gates were locked but there was a bell-push which I pressed. While I waited I studied the gates in the light of what Honnister had said about Ashton’s burglar-proofing. They were of ornamental wrought-iron, about ten feet high, very spiky on top, and hung on two massive stone pillars. They barred an opening in an equally high chainmesh fence, unobtrusive because concealed by trees, which evidently circled the estate. All very good, but the gates hadn’t been closed the day before.
Presently a man came down the drive, dressed in rough country clothes. I hadn’t seen him before. He looked at me through the gates and said curtly, ‘Yes?’
‘My name is Malcolm Jaggard. I’d like to see Mr Ashton.’
‘He’s not in.’
‘Miss Ashton?’
‘They’re not in, either.’
I tugged thoughtfully at my ear. ‘What about Benson?’
He looked at me for a moment, then said, ‘I’ll see.’ He stepped to one side behind one of the stone pillars and I heard a click and then the whirr of a telephone dial. There’s a phrase for what was happening; it’s known as closing the stable door after the horse has gone.
The man came back into sight and wordlessly began to unlock the gate, so I got back into the car and drove up to the house. Benson, in his courtly Boris Karloff manner, ushered me into the living-room, and said, ‘I don’t expect Miss Penelope will be long, sir. She rang to say she would be back at five.’
‘Did she say how Gillian is?’
‘No, sir.’ He paused, then shook his head slowly. ‘This is a bad business, sir. Disgracefully bad.’
‘Yes.’ I had always been taught that it is bad form to question servants about their masters, but I had no compunction now. Benson had never struck me as being one of your run-of-the-mill house servants, least of all at that very moment because, unless he’d developed a fast-growing tumour under his left armpit, he was wearing a gun. ‘I see you have a guard on the gate.’
‘Yes; that’s Willis.