If Anything Happens to Hester Read online

  “Both of them,” she said helplessly. “Both of them.”

  “Do you know where my daughter is?” Vane demanded.

  “No,” answered Mannering.

  “Are the police searching for her?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see,” said Vane, putting his arm round his wife’s shoulders. “What happened to our son?”

  Mannering told them, with great lucidity; then he told them about the finding of Hester’s scarf in the woods, drew a vivid picture of the police search and the speed with which the police had come to Guy’s assistance, and the urgency with which they had taken him to hospital. His voice warmed as he spoke, and the atmosphere eased. Vane was obviously trying to be rational, and his wife was emotionally exhausted but fighting to compose herself.

  “… I made sure that there was nothing else that I could do, and came to see you,” Mannering finished. “I thought you would prefer to hear from me than from the police.”

  “You’re right about that,” Vane said. “Thank you.”

  His wife made no comment, but looked intently at Mannering, as if seeing him more clearly. The reproach had vanished; she gave the impression that there was something about him which puzzled her.

  “Because I don’t think I agree with the police,” Mannering went on.

  Mrs. Vane’s eyes sparkled.

  “About my daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  “The police think that she killed this man,” Vane said, with a firmer note in his voice. “Don’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Have you any reason for saying that?”

  Mannering had been here when these two had touched the depths of despair; it was strange to see the dawning of hope. For a long time they would be pulled both ways, but if he could make sure that they had real cause to hope, he would be able to save them from touching those depths again.

  “Have you?” Mrs. Vane asked, sharply.

  “I think so.”

  “What reason?”

  “I think that Clive Morgan had made a lot of enemies, and more than one of them would have gladly murdered him,” Mannering answered. “At least one of them was in the district tonight.”

  “Are you positive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do the police know?” Vane demanded.

  “They know there were two men, but can’t be sure that they murdered Morgan.’ Mannering brushed a hand over his forehead, and added unexpectedly: “If there’s one thing I’d like it’s a cup of coffee. Could you possibly—”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Vane said, more naturally than she had spoken since he had arrived. “Don’t say anything while I’m in the kitchen, though, I want to hear every word.”

  “Let’s all go into the kitchen,” Mannering suggested.

  He watched the way Mrs. Vane bustled; kettle on, cups and saucers on a tray, biscuits out of a tin, everything hurried and yet orderly. Yet these were little indications that Mrs. Vane wasn’t in control of herself. A chair by the wall of a narrow passage had footmarks on it, for instance, and some pieces of grass.

  “… the first thing is to find Hester,” Mannering said, flatly. “While the police are searching for her as a suspect they’ll put in that little extra effort that would be lacking if they thought they had the murderer.” That wasn’t strictly true; but it would carry some weight, and was much better than saying that he wanted to keep some facts to himself, and that if he told the police that Clive Morgan had been blackmailing Rodney, the police would stop him working as he wanted to work; and as he thought was most effective.

  Vane demurred: “I’m not sure about that, Mannering.”

  “I think Mr. Mannering probably knows best,” Mrs. Vane said, quite oblivious of the way she swung round to Mannering’s side. “Mr. Mannering, you will do everything you can to help Hester, won’t you?”

  “Everything.”

  “Would you mind telling me why?” Vane asked.

  “Mike, there’s no need—”

  “Because your son asked me to, because he ran into trouble while he was with me, and because I feel responsible for it,” Mannering said. “And finally – my wife will tell you that I could never keep away from a murder investigation, I’ll do everything I can simply because I want to find out the truth ahead of the police.”

  The kettle began to boil.

  “Thank God you’re here!” Mrs. Vane said. “Mike, will you go and get the van out, as soon as we’ve swallowed this cup of coffee we must get along to the hospital.”

  “Let me run you there,” Mannering offered.

  “We’ll be better off with our own transport,” Vane said. “Thanks all the same. I won’t be two jiffs.” He went out with a brisk step, and Mrs. Vane was still alert and comparatively cheerful. Mannering did not thrust his offer at them, but had coffee and biscuits and, just after half-past two, left the bungalow. Vane was already climbing up to the wheel of the van.

  “Mike,” Alicia said.

  “We’ll be there in ten minutes, and if the news were any worse we would have heard by now.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of that,” Alicia said, her voice very low-pitched. “There’s a man in the garden.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “I saw him when the headlights of Mr. Mannering’s car shone along the shed.”

  “You’re dreaming.”

  “Oh, don’t be soft,” Alicia said testily. “We ought to see who it is.”

  There was a long pause, and then Michael said: “I know who it is, Ally.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Didn’t you expect the police to watch?”

  “Police?”

  “They’re bound to be at the front as well as the back, in case—”

  “Oh, of course,” Alicia said. “What a fool I am. In case Hester comes home, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mike!”

  “What is it?”

  “One of us ought to stay home.”

  “Why?”

  “If she should come back or ring up, and find the house empty, it would be terrible.”

  “Oh,” said Michael, in a tone which told her that he had not thought of that. There was a long pause, and then he went on: “Yes, you’re right. I’d better stay here. Do you think Mrs. Parker would go into town with you?”

  “I don’t intend to ask her,” Alicia said. “I’ll drive myself; you can get a taxi in the morning. It’s all right, Mike, I feel ten times better than I did. I don’t know how he did it, but Mannering made me believe that everything will work out all right. I’ll drive in, and I’ll telephone you if there’s any change in Guy’s condition.”

  “All right,” Michael conceded reluctantly. He did not say so, but it was almost too much to hope that Hester would get in touch with them. Alicia did not feel over-tired now, although at one time her head had ached so badly and her eyes had been so heavy that she had hardly known how to drag herself about the bungalow. Now she had to drive fast, to see Guy, to make sure that she was at hand if there were an emergency. She couldn’t get to the hospital quickly enough.

  Michael Vane watched her drive off.

  He was aware of a watching man at the back and front; probably there were others whom he could not see in any case, there was nothing he could do about it. He went into the living-room. There was an eerie quiet about a house in the small hours, and he had never been more aware of it than now. He filled and lit his pipe, and sat back in an easy-chair with his legs up on another, and within hand’s reach of the telephone; he would wake at the first ring. He felt exhausted, and realised that it would serve no purpose to stay awake for the sake of it.

  He put out the main light, left on a table lamp, and began to doze.

  He woke when a car engine sounded outside, and in a moment he was on his feet. He saw a man loom up in the headlamps of the car as it slowed down. He hurried to the front door as the driver got out, and he saw that it was Mannering. He drew aside to let him enter,
and closed the door. He felt a fierce hope, that Mannering had news.

  “Did your wife go out alone?” Mannering asked.

  “Yes. Why—”

  The glint in Mannering’s eyes suggested excitement more than foreboding, and there was eagerness in his manner as he said; “Speak quite normally and don’t exclaim. I think someone’s up in your loft. Did you know?”

  Chapter Ten

  Hiding Place

  Mannering saw Vane’s lips form the word ‘what’ and then saw him check himself and turn his head towards the kitchen. The loft hatch was in a corner of the kitchen, close to the small passage which led up to a bathroom. A ladder, pulled by a pulley and rope, was in position by the side of the wall. A chair stood by it, too; the one with the footmarks on the seat.

  “What makes you think anyone’s up there?” Vane asked, whispering.

  “I’m pretty sure that I saw someone looking down at us,” Mannering said.

  “Who—”

  “We’ll find out,” Mannering said, “but I don’t want the police to know, yet. Make sure they haven’t closed in, will you?”

  “Yes,” Vane said.

  Mannering watched him go, then stepped into the kitchen. The curtains were drawn, and there was no risk of anyone seeing in. He opened the back door, and saw and heard no one; the police were watching from some distance off, and were taking no notice of him. He closed and locked the door, and glanced up at the loft hatch, without making that too noticeable. It did not fit flush against the frame, a fact which he had noticed after seeing the little patch of mud, with a few bits of grass, on the seat of the chair by the wall.

  Vane came back.

  “There are two of them further along the road.”

  “That’s all right,” Mannering said. “We’ll keep our voices low.” He pointed to the mud and the grass, and then to a mark on the wall, as if someone had drawn a muddy shoe along it. Close to the hatch itself there was the clear impression of finger-prints.

  Vane whispered: “Hester!”

  “Go up and see.”

  Vane said: “I can’t believe it.” There was radiance in his eyes when he stepped towards the chair, climbed up on it, and placed the flat of his hand against the wooden hatch, and eased it up more. “Hester!” he whispered. “Are you there?”

  Mannering held his breath, fearful that he was wrong. There was a long pause before Vane called again, more loudly: “Hester!”

  Mannering heard the girl answer, also in a whisper, heard the slight movement as she came across the loft towards the hatch.

  “Thank God you’re safe!” Vane exclaimed, and his voice was too loud. “Thank God—”

  “Quiet,” breathed Mannering.

  Vane caught his breath, and whispered: “Hester, are you all right?” He was pushing the hatch further back, and now the girl appeared, looking rather like a sprite, auburn hair bared and loose. She was on her knees by the side of the hatch, and her eyes seemed very bright.

  “Hal—hallo, Dad.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I—I’m not hurt.”

  “Come down, and—”

  “If she comes down we’ve got to make sure she doesn’t leave any tell-tale signs behind,” Mannering said.

  “That’s all right, I’ll lift her.”

  “Her shadow mustn’t appear against the windows,” Mannering went on, urgently. “If the police think that she’s here they’ll close in at once.”

  “She can’t stay there,” Vane protested.

  “I could,” Hester whispered.

  “Lift her down, and stay in the kitchen,” Mannering said. “Hungry, Hester?”

  She sounded almost like a little girl. “I am, rather.”

  Mannering watched as Vane stood beneath the hatch, on the chair, and his daughter sat on the side, her legs dangling, and then edged herself downwards. Her father took her weight, with his hands at her waist. He lowered her until she was standing in front of him, and they were gripping hands. The girl wore the dark green duffle coat, which might look blue in some lights. Her hair was rumpled, her stockings laddered, her shoes covered with mud and pieces of last autumn’s leaves. Mannering gave them a full minute, and then asked: “How long have you been there?”

  “I came in while the police were here,” Hester answered.

  “While they were here?” exclaimed Vane.

  “You and Mr. Hennessy were talking in the front room.”

  “Good Lord!” Vane exclaimed. “You must—” he didn’t finish. “Are you all right?”

  Hester was looking at Mannering now.

  “Yes,” she answered, “but I’m scared.”

  “I’ll bet you are!” said her father.

  “Let’s deal with this appetite first,” Mannering said, and turned towards the larder. “Keep to the other side of the room, Hester, don’t stand or pass between the light and the window.”

  “All right.”

  “What happened?” her father demanded.

  She didn’t answer.

  Mannering said: “I’ll make a guess. You were with Clive Morgan, who was demanding more money, and you told him you couldn’t find it for him. You left him sitting in the car. Soon afterwards you went back, and found him dead. You were so frightened that you just ran away – into the woods. You were there when the police arrived, you knew they would soon start looking for you, and—that frightened you even more.”

  “Yes, that’s all true,” Hester said. She had fine, honey-coloured eyes. “I—I’ve never been so scared. Dad, I didn’t kill him.”

  “Of course you didn’t!”

  “The police think I did.”

  “The police can be fools,” Vane said, sharply. “Darling, why didn’t you come down when the police had gone?”

  Again she didn’t answer.

  “Hester, you must tell me—”

  “Where’s Mother?” Hester asked suddenly, as if she was determined not to answer that particular question.

  Then she looked aghast at the change in her father’s expression. Until that moment, Mannering realised, Vane had forgotten his son; excitement and relief at finding his daughter had driven the other anxiety away.

  “Dad, what is it?” The girl was suddenly alarmed. “Mother’s all right, isn’t she?”

  “Your mother’s all right,” Mannering said, “but your brother’s been injured, and he’s been taken to hospital. Your mother has gone to see him.”

  Hester backed away, losing all her colour. Then she poured out a torrent of questions about Guy, and her affection for her brother became vividly alive.

  When she knew what there was to know, Mannering pulled up a chair and helped her to sit down. She was so white that it looked as if she would faint. He put on a kettle and foraged in the larder, leaving father and daughter facing each other, silent for what seemed a long time, then suddenly beginning to talk at once. If Vane had any sense he would let the truth pour out of the girl. He tried to catch Vane’s eye, but that wasn’t necessary. Hester was now talking very quickly.

  Morgan had wanted more money, and made her promise to meet him at the Hall gates that night. She had pleaded with him for a long time, but had left him when he had started to become unpleasant. She had got lost, seen the side lights of his car and gone back to see him dead; that much she had already said. Then she had come home, walking across country, frightened, until she had reached the bungalow and seen the police car outside; she had recognised it as Hennessy’s. No one else had been about. She had come in the back way. The back door had been locked, but there was a key outside. She had felt nervous as well as frightened, the quarrel with her mother had weighed heavily on her mind, she wasn’t sure what kind of reception she would get. She had crept to the living-room, heard Hennessy talking, and realised just what her danger was. She had feared that Hennessy would want to take her away, and had climbed up to the loft.

  “I just didn’t know what to do when the police went,” she said. “Dad, I’m terrib
ly sorry, but I didn’t know what to do. I suppose I was so hungry and tired, I couldn’t see anything straight. I was afraid that Mother would be angry, that when you knew I’d taken the money you would be, too. I just felt that I couldn’t face you, I wanted to be on my own. And—I cried. I couldn’t stop myself.”

  She was sitting very upright, by a small table with tea and sandwiches by her side; she hadn’t touched a sandwich yet, all she wanted was to talk.

  “There’s an old mattress up there,” she went on. “I lay on it, and sobbed and—well, I must have dropped asleep, and woke up and heard voices. I peeped, to see who it was. I hardly slept at all last night, I haven’t been sleeping on Thursdays for weeks because I hated taking the money, but—I had to take it.”

  “Don’t ask her why,” Mannering pleaded silently.

  Vane said: “Coming here was the best thing you could have done. Whatever the trouble is, we’ll see you through it. If you hadn’t been so tired you would have known that all the time.”

  She nodded, gratefully.

  “Now eat one of those sandwiches,” Vane ordered and looked at Mannering. “Mr. Mannering—”

  Hester exclaimed: “Who?”

  “John Mannering,” her father explained.

  Hester looked at Mannering as if at a freak. A sandwich was halfway to her mouth, her eyes were open to their widest. Vane showed his remarkable capacity for saying nothing at the right time, and Mannering waited, too.

  “You’re the reason that Clive wanted more money! He said he had to have four weeks—four weeks’ pay in advance, he wanted to go away while you were at the Hall. He thought you might recognise him.”

  “Good God!” exclaimed Vane.

  “Did you recognise him?” demanded Hester.

  “As a blackmailer, yes,” Mannering answered. “He blackmailed some friends of mine, years ago. The police didn’t know. So he wanted to hide for a few weeks, did he?”

  “That’s what he said, and that’s why it was impossible to—to pay him.”

  Here was the moment.

  “Pay him for what?” asked Mannering.

  He knew that she wasn’t going to answer, saw the way her lips tightened and the determination showed in her eyes. She was so tired; drawn; frightened. The accumulation of weeks of anxiety and worry crowded upon her, but she had one secret which she intended to keep.