The Stone-­Cold Dead in the Market Affair - Oram John (версия книг .TXT) 📗

Solo answered the call.

Illya asked, "Did you get the pictures?"

"I did, and I've run a check. The old man is Price Hughes, all right. He seems to be a professional eccentric but otherwise his reputation is unblemished. He has more money than Fort Knox and he spends it on good works. Apart from the nut colony you've uncovered he heads an organization for reforming ex-convicts, which he runs from his apartment in Newport Street, London."

"In Soho? That's an odd address for a philanthropist."

"I told you. He's an eccentric."

"Sure." Illya sounded unconvinced. "What about the other two?"

"The guy in the cheaters is one of his strayed lambs. A simple soul called Rafferty with a list of convictions from here to Glasgow. Grievous bodily harm, shooting with intent, mugging — you name it, he's done it. He's worked as a strong-arm man in race-track protection, organized prostitution and smuggling. But now, he claims, he's seen the light. He's been in the clear since he came out of Dartmoor a year ago."

"And Morgan?"

"That," said Solo, "is the jackpot question. You know some of the answers. He got mixed up with politics and did three years for arson. Maybe that's how he got in touch with Price Hughes. But here's the interesting thing. Before he got into trouble he was in line for a professorship at the University of Wales. It seems he was some kind of boy genius with a special bent for electronics. According to my sources he was tinkering about with one of the first experimental computers when the blow fell."

"Intriguing," Illya murmured.

"Wait. It gets better. He did his time in Wakefield, where a prisoner gets a reasonable choice of studies. Morgan elected to work in the printing shop. He knew he was washed up academically and he wanted to learn a trade.

"When he was released the Ministry of Labor found him a place with a firm that specializes in fine printing and engraving, but it didn't work out. He got restless and quit. He joined the army, volunteered for special duties, and was next heard of in one of the hush-hush outfits, forging document for the Resistance movements.

"After the war he drifted from job to job and finally dropped out of sight. He wasn't heard of again until six years ago when Price Hughes bought his farm. Morgan was the first man he hired."

Illya said, "Well, well! Things begin to add up."

"They do, indeed. There's not much doubt that the farm is the center of operations. I think it's time we stopped the presses."

"High time," said Illya. "But getting near them will be quite a trick."

He replaced the receiver and went up to bed.

At nine o'clock next morning he walked into the dining room for breakfast. And there, working earnestly through a plate of ham and eggs, sat Blodwen. She was wearing a suit of cheap tweed with a chain-store blouse. Her black hair was combed lankly and she wore all the wrong kinds of makeup.

She looked up uninterestedly when Illya walked in, then resumed her assault on the ham.

He took a chair opposite from her. The waitress brought him a bowl of cereal.

"Nice morning," he said.

Blodwen scowled. "Dim saesneg," she answered with her mouth full.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The lady do say she don't speak no English," the waitress interpreted. "A Welsh lady she is," she added unnecessarily.

"'Lady' is right," Illya said as a heavy shoe landed on his shin. He got his revenge by making the cereal really audible.

He had got to the toast and marmalade stage when Blodwen brought out a packet of cigarettes. She lit one, then started to transfer the others to a case. Somehow she fumbled the job. The case made a clatter on the table and the cigarettes spread over the floor.

Illya bent down to pick them up. So did Blodwen. Her hair brushed his cheek and he liked it.

She whispered, "The little red schoolhouse. In half an hour."

When the cigarettes had all been retrieved she straightened up, muttering grudging thanks in Welsh and walked out. She left a threepenny piece by her plate for the waitress. Illya thought it was wonderful how quickly she had picked up the customs of the country. He didn't know then that she was born in Wrexham.

He allowed her time to get clear of the hotel, then went down to the lobby and wasted fifteen minutes talking to the receptionist.

There are several schools in Corwen but he thought he knew the one Blodwen meant. It stood only about a hundred yards from the Cader Idris and it wasn't red. He strolled along to it.

She was standing outside the playground gate, holding the poodle. As Illya approached she turned to her right and began walking. He followed at a discreet distance as she cut down a long, narrow street of workmen's cottages. An old Austin twelve was parked at the curb outside a little general store. She climbed in and waited for him to come up. He opened the door, settled himself beside her and said, "Surprise, surprise! When did you get in?"

"Last night. Solo had the thought that you needed a hand." She let in the clutch and headed for the open country. The poodle snuggled into her lap and went to sleep.

"And the fancy dress?"

She laughed. "I was out at Cwm Carrog bright and early this morning, before you were out of bed. Just to see what I could pick up, as you might say.

"As you know, it's a two-story house with entrances front and back. The main entrance, facing on to the drive, has double doors. There's a single door at the back. They're faced with steel painted like wood and all the windows have steel shutters.

"Around the back of the cobbled yard there are two barns — one Dutch, one modern brick — a brick stable and cowshed. All normal as far as I could judge. Built on to the stable is a garage for two cars. They were both in when I got there. One is a big Vauxhall, number LP0094, finished black. The other is a Minivan, gray, number XL4454."

She took a notebook from the glove compartment, tore out a leaf and passed it to him. "There's the layout of the buildings."

Illya studied it carefully. He said, "Did you get into the house?"

"No. A man working in the garage stopped me. A big guy in overalls. He wore horn-rimmed glasses and spoke like a Londoner."

"Rafferty," Illya said.

"Yes? Well, I talked Welsh at him till he was in a flat spin. He told me to wait, went over to the back door of the house and knocked. Your chum Morgan came to the door. They talked for a few seconds and I think Morgan got suspicious. He called me over and started shooting questions at me.

"I told him I was starting a new job at Rhys's farm and lost my way.

"He checked and cross-checked every angle — how long I'd been in the dairymaid business, where I'd come from, which Labor Exchange had sent me to Rhys's — but all so it seemed like ordinary Welsh curiosity. Finally he seemed satisfied and gave me my route. But the other chap walked right back to the lane with me to see that I took it."

Illya asked, "You didn't see anything of Price Hughes — the old man?"

"No. Nobody but Morgan and this other fellow. Didn't you tell Solo there were six men up there?"

"Don't quote me on it," Illya said. "All I saw was three. But if Davis is right, there are seven — counting Price Hughes himself."

"That's ---Blast! What does that fool think he's doing?"

A big combine-harvester was backing slowly out of a side lane only a few yards ahead, blocking the entire road. Blodwen had to jam the brakes on hard to avoid a collision. She said furiously, "What the hell is he trying to do? He can't possibly turn in that space."