RGL e-Book Cover©
Based on a vintage magazine cover
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.
RGL e-Book Cover©
Based on a vintage magazine cover
SOMEBODY once said that Life—with a big L—begins at forty. I've never believed this for two reasons. First that it rather sounds like someone making the best of being forty, and secondly because I've always found that life—with a very big L—begins at parties.
If you think back you'll probably agree with me. I'm sure you'll be able to remember all sorts of nice—and not-so-nice—things that have happened as a result of a good or an indifferent party. The reason? Well, I suppose everyone is putting their best foot forward. The women are being as charming and delightful, as well dressed, as they know how, and the men—well some men go to parties to drink cocktails and others go to look at the women. Sometimes they go for some other reason....
I went to Yvette Sterling's party because her house was on my way out of town, and also because I wanted particularly to know the quickest route to Betchworth Park Golf Course. Yvette is a great golfer. She's played every course in the country and I was certain she'd be able to tell me. I wanted to know quickly because I felt that I ought not to waste a great deal of time.
It was ten-thirty and darkish when I arrived. And I wasn't able to speak to Yvette for quite a time. She was surrounded by crowds of admiring friends. Eventually, when she did see me, she came quickly over to where I was standing by the service table and positively hissed in my ear.
'My dear,' she said, 'first of all you're looking devastatingly lovely, but the great thing is that there are two utterly delightful men here whom you must meet. They're both terribly interesting and have done the most wonderful things in the war. But one of them—Hugh Delayn—is definitely psychic and immediately you came into the room he said that he must meet you. Probably he's already tuned in to your psychic aura or whatever they call it.'
I said: 'Yvette.... I don't particularly want to meet anyone. I want you to tell me the way to Betchworth Park Golf Course. I...'
'Of course,' she said. 'That's easy. Fulham Road, Putney Bridge, Kingston By-Pass to Dorking. First left at the Dorking roundabout and there you are. Now....'
I turned and saw that two young men had joined us. They were very nice-looking, well-dressed, young men. Their clothes were absolutely right—almost too right, if you know what I mean. They stood there looking at me with that rather fatuous expression adopted by men when they're waiting to be introduced.
Yvette said: 'This is Major Hugh Delayn.... and this is Captain Cleve Stenning. Mrs. Adela Haynes.'
The Delayn person looked me right in the eyes. He had a humorous expression about his mouth but his eyes were not smiling. I thought perhaps he'd had rather a tough time in the war. He looked like that.
He said: 'Immediately you came into the room, I felt awfully interested in you. I felt that I knew all sorts of things about you.'
'Oh dear,' I said. 'I do hope they're nice things. Yvette has been telling me that one of you is psychic. I suppose you're the psychic one?'
Cleve Stenning nodded. 'He really is, Mrs. Haynes,' he said. 'You wouldn't believe it to look at him, would you? But he definitely is. I know.'
'How terribly interesting,' I said. But I wasn't a bit interested really. I've never been able to work up any real enthusiasm about psychic young men.
Major Delayn smiled. A rather serious sort of smile. 'There are moments when it is a rather useful attribute—this psychic business, I mean. This is one of them. May I have a word in your private ear. I think it's important.'
Yvette laughed. She said: 'He's going to give you the gypsy's warning, my dear. I'd better run along, otherwise he might tell me something I don't want to hear about a dark-haired man or something.'
She disappeared into the adjoining room. Captain Stenning went away too, after murmuring something. Then Major Delayn put his hand under my elbow and piloted me towards a spot near the door that was fairly quiet and free from people.
I'm beginning to feel quite scared,' I told him. 'I do hope that you're not going to tell me something too awful for words.'
I leaned against the wall by the open door. Out of the corner of my eye I could sec Captain Stenning in the hall. He had taken a novel from one of the book-shelves and was flipping over the pages. I thought he seemed a rather lonely sort of person.
Major Delayn dropped his voice. 'I want to convince you that I know what I'm talking about,' he said. 'Let me tell you a few things about yourself. You are on your way to Betchworth Park Golf Club Course. When you get there, you will look for a certain house, the distinguishing marks of which have been given to you. When you find the house you will hand over a package of documents which you collected in Whitehall about half an hour ago and take a receipt for them.'
I looked at him in amazement. 'But how do you know this?' I asked. 'How can you know it?'
He smiled. 'Please don't ask questions,' he said. 'And leave here as soon as you can. Remember those documents might be vital.'
'But they're not,' I protested. 'I was told....'
He sighed. It was almost a sigh of boredom. 'Very often perfectly nice people like you, Mrs. Haynes, are asked to deliver a package of documents and are told that they are not important. In fact they might be terribly important—so important that you are asked to carry them because you are just about the last person that an enemy agent would suspect to be a sort of unofficial King's Messenger. Do you see?'
I nodded. 'I think I do,' I answered. 'But I also think that it's terribly clever of you to know about it. I've never known any psychic person to be so awfully well informed.'
I threw another look out of the corner of my eye towards the hall. Captain Stenning was standing there between the bookshelf and the door. The idea occurred to me that he might almost be on guard—standing sentry so that no one should interrupt the tête-à-tête that was in progress between his friend and me.
Major Delayn produced a gold cigarette case, offered me a cigarette and lit it. He looked at me through the flame of the lighter. He said very softly: 'Perhaps I'm not really psychic at all. Perhaps that's just a gag.'
'You mean that you've been detailed to keep an eye on me?' I said. 'So that there's no possibility of those documents going astray.'
He nodded. 'That is just what I mean,' he said. 'And it's getting late. Don't you think you ought to be on your way?'
'I do,' I answered. I gave him a very bright smile. 'I should have been on my way already if it had not been for your psychic act,' I went on. 'I merely came in here to get the quickest route from Yvette. Now I'll be going. Perhaps one day we'll meet again.'
He gave me an awfully nice smile. 'I'm sure we shall,' he said. 'Au revoir—and good luck!'
I said goodbye to Yvette and went downstairs. I was thinking of what Major Delayn had said. The documents began to seem more important—if not ominous—every moment.
When I got outside and looked for the car, my heart stood still. It was gone. I felt quite panic stricken. I asked the hall porter who was standing in the entrance what had happened to it.
'It's quite all right, Madam,' he said. 'You see there are a lot of cars here and we can't have the entrance blocked. Some of them have been moved round the corner. One of the chauffeurs moved them.'
I went round the corner. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the Jaguar, sleek and shining in the light of a street lamp. It was head and bumper on between two other cars with not an inch to spare.
But I need not have worried. A chauffeur, very trim in a blue uniform, said: 'I moved your car round, Ma'm. I'm afraid it's rather a tight fit. Would you like me to get it out?'
I said I'd be glad if he would. Then I thought that whilst I was waiting I might as well go back and get a book I'd forgotten—one I'd asked Yvette to lend to me. I walked quickly round the corner and up the short staircase to Yvette's flat.
The door was open. I went into the hallway and, right in front of me on the hall table, was the book—Crimson Rambler by Dechats. It was obvious that Yvette had left it for me.
I picked it up and went downstairs once more. The chauffeur had succeeded in getting my car out of the line. I gave him half-a-crown, got in and drove off.
I felt vaguely uncomfortable and unhappy. And not only vaguely. The chauffeur who had moved my car had adjusted the driving seat for his own convenience. It was too far back for me. I felt angry with him and myself and everyone else. I pulled the car into the kerb, somewhere in the Fulham road, switched on the dashboard light and adjusted the seat to its usual position. As I did so I looked down on to the floor of the car in front of the passenger seat. The book Crimson Rambler was lying where I had put it, but the front page was open and there was some writing on it.
I picked up the book and looked at the pencilled note. The handwriting was not Yvette's, and anyhow, at first glance, the words did not seem to make sense. Someone had written—'The Tiger at twelve at twelve'—which, when you come to think of it, is not a fearfully illuminating message.
I dropped the book on to the floor, re-started the car and drove on. When I got outside Putney I began to put on pace. I wanted to get this business of delivering the package over, because for some reason which I could not fathom it seemed to me that the matter was getting a little out of hand.
On the Kingston By-Pass I began to speed. I watched the speedometer needle pass the sixty mark and took a look in the driving mirror. Behind me, maintaining their distance with uncanny precision, were a pair of powerful headlights. Not an unusual thing, but I didn't like that either. I came to the conclusion that I didn't like anything very much.
I began to think about Major Delayn and Captain Stenning. If these two young men had been detailed to look after me, to speed me on my way, then it seemed fairly obvious to me that Sir Charles must have thought there was good reason for such a process; that my apparently innocent mission might easily be dangerous; that he was a little scared about me, which when you come to think of it really did not make sense.
I took another look in the driving mirror. The headlights were still behind, about eighty or ninety yards, I thought, and staying there. They made no attempt to pass.
I began to think about the book Crimson Rambler. It was funny, I thought, that Yvette had said nothing about it when I was there; that she should have left it in the hall on the chance of my picking it up on my way out. But had she left it in the hall?
A new vista opened up in my mind. I remembered Captain Stenning standing in the hall with a book in his hand, writing something on the fly' leaf. Supposing, for the sake of argument, it was he who had written those words, 'The Tiger at twelve at twelve.' Just supposing....
I leaned over and switched on the dashboard light. I looked at the clock on the dashboard. Automatically, as I saw the time, which was half-past eleven, I looked at my wrist-watch to check it. My wrist-watch said eleven twenty-five. I thought that was funny because my dashboard clock always lost and never gained. Then I looked down at the floor and saw, on each side of Crimson Rambler, a tear or cut in the floor-mat.
Then I realised.....
Women aren't supposed to be awfully good at logical deductions. We are supposed to be intuitive creatures, but I spent the next four or five minutes indulging in a great deal of logical deduction. Occasionally, during the process, I glanced in the driving mirror and saw that the headlights were still following me, still seventy-five to a hundred yards behind.
I'd got to do something. I began to realise that I was in ratter a bad spot. I've been in bad spots before and usually managed to get out of them, but I didn't like this one. Not at all. I wondered what I was going to do.
Just then I ran underneath the Dorking railway bridge and started on the stretch of road that leads to the roundabout. Arrived there I knew that I must take the left turning to Betchworth Golf Course, and then, half-way up the straight stretch, my headlights picked up the telephone box. I promptly turned them off.
I put on the brakes and stopped the Jaguar. I stopped immediately by the telephone box. I pushed Crimson Rambler under the seat, then got out of the car and looked behind me. Sure enough, some seventy yards behind, just past the railway bridge, the headlights that had followed me stood stationary. I congratulated myself on my promptness in switching off the headlights.
I went into the telephone box and fumbled in my small handbag for two pennies. It was only when I realised that I had no coppers that I also realised that I didn't need any. Three minutes afterwards I came out of the call box, got into the car and started off again. The headlights behind me started too.
But I felt slightly—but only slightly—happier. I'd at least done something about it.
The roundabout was directly ahead. I swung left on to the Reigate Road. Two hundred yards down, my headlights picked up a sign 'Betchworth Park Golf Course'. I swung right up a steep hill. Two minutes' driving found me on the Course.
I was on a road that bisected the golf course. A pale moon had come out and by its light I could see the rolling greens and fairways on each side of the road. Somewhere ahead, about a mile or so I imagined, was the house I was looking for.
I slowed down. As I did so the car behind me drew level; and then, systematically and deliberately, began to edge over, forcing me to drive nearer and nearer to the ditch on the left-hand side of the dirt road.
I sighed. I thought: Well, my dear, here it is and I hope your luck's in. I cut the engine, braked to a standstill and sat, my hands resting on the wheel awaiting whatever fate had in store for me.
The other car—a Bentley—pulled up twenty-five yards ahead. I heard the door open and shut, and a man got out and came back towards my car. As he approached I could see that he was smiling. Obviously, I thought, he's awfully pleased about something or other.
It was Major Delayn. I thought it was going to be Major Delayn. I would have betted on it.
He said: 'Well.... I hope you've had an interesting drive, Mrs. Haynes. And now what about those documents?'
I smiled at him very brightly. 'I don't understand,' I said. 'Exactly what do you mean?'
The smile faded from his face. He looked very grim. Now I could see the high cheekbones and the tight lips and the cold eyes clearly. I didn't like him at all.
He said: 'I am not Major Delayn and Stenning wasn't Stenning. We are what you would call enemy agents. We know what those documents are and I propose to have them. The package was bulky and therefore it is not on your person. Your coat and skirt fit much too well—' He cast an appreciative eye over me. 'So the documents are in the car. Where are they? Produce them.'
I said: 'I shall do nothing of the sort.'
He sighed. Then, almost casually, he opened the door of the car, took my right wrist in his hand and began to twist my arm. I bore it as long as I could and then yelped with pain.
He said: 'You'd better tell me. Next time I'm really going to hurt you. I shall make you talk eventually, I promise you.'
I shrugged my shoulders. I was quite furious and my eyes still full of tears from pain and anger.
'I suppose that eventually I should have to talk,' I said. 'But the documents are not in the car. I got rid of them.'
'When you stopped by the roundabout?' he asked.
I nodded. 'It's no good my trying to be brave,' I said, 'There's a telephone box at the roundabout. I put the package under the telephone directories on the little shelf inside.'
He smiled at me. 'I think you are telling the truth,' he said. He leaned over and removed the ignition key from the dashboard. 'That's so you can't run away,' he said. 'It will take you quite a time to walk to civilisation and by that time I shall be far away. Good-night.'
He went back to his car, got in, backed and turned and drove past me. I looked at my watch. It was seven minutes to twelve and I calculated that it would take him a good five minutes to drive back to the roundabout, stop at the telephone box and look for the documents.
I got out of the car, opened the boot at the back, and found the heavy jack. I went round to the front of the car, opened the bonnet and took a fearful swipe at the petrol feed. It was a good shot. I smashed the pipe and the petrol began to dribble out. I put the jack away and closed the boot.
Then I scrambled over the low fence that separated the road from the golf course and hurried to the nearest green.
The moon was a little brighter now and I could see that this was the eleventh green and the usual arrow indicated the direction of the twelfth. I hurried towards the twelfth green keeping in the shadow of some lime trees on the way. I didn't want to be seen at that moment.
The twelfth green was shaped like a dog's hind leg. The curved part was only a yard or two from the road that ran through the course in the direction of Brockham. There was lots of scrub and coppice, and quite a few trees, and I was able to make my way towards the road without being too obvious. When I got to that part of the rough that was nearest the road, I stopped and stood behind a tree, trying to relax and make up my mind about one or two small points that were worrying me at the moment.
But I had very little time to make up my mind about anything because, at that moment, I heard the sound of a car; it seemed to be coming from the opposite direction—from Brockham village. It stopped within six or seven yards of my tree, on the grass verge. Nothing happened for a moment and then the door opened and Captain Stenning got out.
He stood for a minute or two looking over the golf course. Then he began to walk towards the twelfth green, passing within a few feet of me in the process.
I let him get well away from me. I waited until I could see him standing by the silver beech tree on the side of the twelfth green and then I slipped from behind my tree and went over to the car. I was there for two or three minutes, after which I emerged into the open and began to walk without any attempt at concealment towards the twelfth green.
But if I looked fearfully nonchalant I did not feel it. Candidly, I wasn't feeling at all brave because it was obvious to me that if Major Delayn—or whatever his real name was—was dangerous, then Captain Stenning—or whatever his real name was—was just as bad medicine. Hill it wasn't any good looking scared whatever I felt.
The moon was brighter now and as I walked over the well-kept green I could see the look of amazement that appeared on Captain Stenning's features for a fleeting moment.
I said brightly: 'Good evening—or is it good morning, Captain Stenning? I've come to tell you that I don't think Major Delayn will turn up. Do you mind very much?'
He said sarcastically: 'So you don't think he'll turn up? And why not, dear Mrs. Haynes?'
'First of all,' I said, taking out my cigarette case and extracting a cigarette with fingers that were a trifle shaky, 'first of all he did not get your message. The one you wrote on the front page of Crimson Rambler and left in the hull for him to see on his way out. You see I went back after you'd gone and picked up the book. Mind you, I had a certain amount of difficulty in working out what "The Tiger at twelve at twelve" meant. Then suddenly I got it. It meant "The Jaguar at twelve o'clock at the twelfth green." I thought it only polite of me to turn up and tell you that he wouldn't be coming. In fact I doubt If you'll ever see him again—well, not for some years anyhow.'
A spasm of something not very nice crossed his face. He said in a low voice: 'Exactly what do you mean by that?'
I tried to keep my voice steady. I said: 'By this time he's in the hands of the Dorking Police. You see, when I was on my way down here I realised that I was being followed. I also realised that having heard me ask Yvette Sterling for the best route down here, that you had come on ahead after leaving that message and that Major Delayn was carefully following me down here. Then I conceived the rather bright idea that you two people might not be what you seemed to be. So I stopped my car at the telephone box at the Dorking roundabout, left the documents which you want so badly under the telephone directories, and then called through to the Dorking Police and asked them to send down at once, collect the documents and wait for Major Delayn, who was a not-so-nice person, and take him along to the Police Station and wait until Whitehall sent further instructions about him. Then I drove on to the golf course, where Major Delayn caught up with me and twisted my arm until I was forced to tell him where I had hidden the packet of papers. Naturally I did not tell him that I'd spoken to the police. So he carefully removed the ignition key from my car and went back to get the documents. He must have been awfully disappointed when he got there and found the police waiting for him.'
There was an ominous silence. Then he laughed bitterly. He said: 'It's amusing that two very old hands at the game like Delayn and me can be made fools of by a pretty woman. But it can happen. I congratulate you.' He clicked his heels and made me a little bow. 'Now I will bid you good night,' he said. 'I do not feel inclined to fall into the hands of your Dorking Police as well as my friend.'
'I can believe that,' I said cheerfully, 'but don't rely too much on driving away in that Jaguar of yours. You see, just now, before I came over here, I cut the petrol feed pipe.'
For a moment after I'd told him this glorious lie— because of course I hadn't cut the petrol feed pipe of that car; I'd only stood beside the car for a minute or two to pretend—I thought he was going to strangle me. Then he had the bright idea which I had prayed would come to him. He said: 'Did you leave the ignition key in my car?'
'Yes,' I answered. 'Why?'
'You aren't so clever after all,' he said grinning. 'Your car is a Jaguar—the same model as mine. Delayn took the ignition key away from your car, but the key from mine will fit it. I shall drive away in your car. I only regret that I have not more time at my disposal. I would very much like to strangle you.'
He looked as if he meant it too. I was awfully relieved when he went away.
I watched him as he went back to the car, leant inside and took away the ignition key. I prayed that he would not open the bonnet of the car. I sighed with relief and happiness when he did not. Then he began to walk quickly along the road.
I leaned up against the tree for a moment. I thought that life could sometimes be very funny. I wondered what he would have said if I had told him that he had driven my Jaguar away from the party; that the packet of documents was under the driver's seat; that he'd been sitting on them most of the evening!
I calculated that by this time he would be half-way to the other car. I hurried round the edge of the green, keeping in the shadows, to my car. I opened the door, got in, opened the cubby trap in the dash-board and found my spare ignition key that I always keep there.
Then I got out, pulled up the driving seat and sighed with relief when I saw the packet of papers where I'd put it. I got back, started up the car and drove like a fiend down the road towards Brockham. I knew that the house I was looking for was near Brockham Green—the last house on this road. I imagined Captain Stenning trying to start up the other car; not being able to; feverishly examining it to discover what was wrong and then finding out that it was his car and with a smashed petrol pipe.
I began to feel just a little bit odd. This is the time. I thought, when the danger is all over, that a woman is entitled to faint. I came to the conclusion that I was not going to do anything of the sort. But I felt awfully relieved when I saw the white house with the gables and the red roof and swung the car into the drive.
THE people to whom I had to give the documents were very nice,
and it was one o'clock, and after I'd eaten a sandwich and drunk
a small glass of whisky and soda, I thought I might ring up Sir
Charles.
He came on the line in a hurry. He said: 'By jove, Adela, you've been having an evening, haven't you? The police at Dorking came through to me and gave me your message, after they'd got the so-called Delayn. I sent a couple of men down at once. Incidentally, they've picked up Stenning too. Apparently they found him wandering about near the railway station trying to get away. It seems he hadn't any means of transport. Are you all right? I expect you are, knowing you. And what happened?'
'It's a long story,' I told him. 'I'll tell you tomorrow when I see you. It might have been rather nasty except for the fact that Stenning was driving a Jaguar—exactly the same model as mine—and I stopped at a party to get the quickest route and someone moved the cars and Stenning got into my car thinking it was his own and drove down here to meet Delayn who was to follow me down. I do hope that someone will tell Stenning that he was sitting on the documents all the time!'
He said: 'You've been pretty good. I'll buy you a new hat tomorrow.'
'You'll buy me half-a-dozen new hats,' I told him. 'I suppose Delayn and Stenning were Nazis?'
'Of course,' he said. 'Two very clever agents. They've been here for a long time apparently. Members of the Werewolf organisation. You know, Adela, I wouldn't have put you on this job if I'd the slightest idea that they were on the look-out for you.'
'Of course not, Charles,' I answered brightly. 'You'd have put a tough man on the job, wouldn't you? Someone with brains, I've no doubt. Is that what you mean?'
He said: 'Er.... No, I didn't mean that at all.'
'You better hadn't mean it,' I murmured. 'Otherwise I'll have to buy a dozen new hats. Good night, Charles, and no thanks to you that I'm still alive and all in one piece.'
'You're my best operative, Adela,' he said. 'I don't know what I'd do without you.'
I said good night and rang off. Then I thought I'd get through to Yvette. Her parties always go on until the small hours.
When she came on the line I said: 'I took that book Crimson Rambler away from your hall, Yvette. I'll bring it hack tomorrow.'
She said: 'Don't worry, darling. It's a most uninteresting book—no use to anyone. By the way, did you find your golf course all right? Whatever did you want with a golf course at that time of night?'
'I just wanted to think, sweet,' I said. 'I like wide open spaces.'
She said vaguely: 'Do you, dear? Well, of course you know. Don't you think that Major Delayn and Captain Stenning were awfully nice people? I wonder who asked them. I didn't.'
'Maybe they just dropped in on the off-chance of meeting someone they knew,' I said. 'Perhaps they saw me arrive and slipped in quickly. I think they were fearfully nice.'
'And so psychic,' said Yvette. 'What did Delayn tell you when he took you aside at my party?'
'Nothing much,' I said. 'He said that he thought he was going away for a very long time.'
'How odd,' she said. 'Well.... good night, dearest.'
I hung up the receiver and went outside. The Jaguar was parked just inside the drive. I got into it, switched on and started for London.
I said: 'Well, Jaguar, I'm awfully glad that you were the tiger at twelve. I don't know what I'd have done without you.'
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.