M Beaton - There Goes The Bride

‘How did you find out?’ asked Agatha.

‘James saw you leave and called on Mrs Bloxby and then called on me to save you from a fate worse than death.’

‘I can take care of myself,’ said Agatha, lighting a cigarette.

Charles stood up, poured himself a cup of coffee, and said, ‘I was listening at the door. I heard him say he was going to France and would be back a week on Saturday and would see you on Sunday.’

‘So what? Are you going to follow me down to Hewes?’

‘I’ve an idea. I think he’s smuggling something. We could go to the port, Hadsea, hire a boat and go upriver and lurk on the other side of the stream from the Brosses’ property and see if he brings anything in during the night on the Saturday before he’s due to meet you.’

‘Not another boat!’ Agatha told Charles about her adventures in the dinghy.

‘No, no,’ said Charles soothingly. ‘We’ll get something ferociously high-powered. I’ve got friends in Hadsea. I’ll phone and see what I can get fixed up.’

‘Why this sudden enthusiasm for detection?’ asked Agatha. ‘I felt sure you were chasing some girl.’

‘Me? No, just sloping around,’ said Charles. His beautiful Tessa had wanted to go to a rock concert. Charles endured a weekend of noisy bands, pouring rain, mud and the determined cheering and enthusiasm of Tessa. Love died in him when he found the communal toilets blocked up and when Tessa told him not to be such a wimp and find a convenient hedge.

Hadsea was a small fishing port at the mouth of the river Frim. To her relief, the sea was calm. On Saturday Charles helped her board a large motor cruiser. ‘This can do forty-four knots,’ he said proudly.

‘Have you checked about the currents in the river?’ asked Agatha uneasily.

‘I checked. I’ve got the maps. I know where the currents are. There’s even a saloon with a bar. Go below if you like and I’ll shout for you when we’re nearly there. Borrowed it from friends. They’re as rich as anything.’

They must be, thought Agatha, as she went into the expensively appointed wood-panelled saloon. There was a bar in the corner. She poured herself a large gin and added tonic as the powerful engines began to roar. Agatha was determined to stay where she was until they arrived at their destination. She did not like boats. On a coffee table was a selection of magazines. She picked them up and flipped through them, reflecting it was surely a sign of age when she did not recognize many of the celebrities. Of course, with the advent of reality TV, it was possible to become a celebrity without really having done anything, studied acting, or achieved anything amazing in sport.

She was perfectly sure they would not find out anything sinister about Sylvan. She deserved a little fling, she told herself. It was all very well to be moral about casual sex, but when it turned out to be a long time since one had had any at all, morals became weak and shifting. Besides, by now the British police would have been in contact with the French police, and if there had been anything criminal about Sylvan, he would have been arrested.

The saloon was warm and comfortable. Agatha was tired after the long drive and drifted off to sleep, only awakening when she heard Charles hailing her and realized the engines had stopped.

She climbed up and joined him, staring at all the gleaming instruments. ‘It looks like the cockpit of the Concorde,’ she said. ‘Where are we?’

‘A little downriver and under the trees on the opposite bank. It’s as dark as pitch. Now we wait. There’s no sign of any boats at the jetty.’

‘When do you think he’ll come?’

‘Maybe soon. It’s just after midnight. Now, think about this, Aggie. If he were an innocent yachtsman, he’d have come earlier.’

‘What if he’s decided to come back by plane, car or train?’

‘Always uses his boat. It’s called Jolie Blonde. He’s a great favourite down at the harbour. Always presents for the customs people at Christmas and a big donation to the local lifeboat. Doesn’t that strike you as suspicious?’

‘He might just be a very generous man. He’s got a lot of money. Not all men are such tightwads as you, Charles.’

‘Miaow!’

Agatha stifled a yawn. ‘So we sit here all night?’

‘I’ll do a deal with you. When it gets up till two or three in the morning, we’ll call it quits. Listen!’

It was a very still night, and faintly in the distance they could hear the throb of an engine.

A large cruiser painted some dark colour sailed up to the jetty and the engines were cut. A tall dark figure made the boat secure and then went below.

‘Damn,’ muttered Charles. ‘Don’t tell me he’s going to spend the night on his boat.’

They waited impatiently. ‘There’s a lot of banging and moving going on,’ said Charles. The tall dark figure they guessed was Sylvan reappeared and said something. Six smaller dark figures climbed from the boat and stood on the jetty.

Charles nipped to the front of his boat where there was a powerful lamp and shone it straight on the group on the jetty. Sylvan’s startled face stared into the light. Beside him stood six Chinese men.

Sylvan untied the tender and leaped back into his boat. A roar of engines and he shot off down the river.

‘Chase him,’ yelled Agatha.

‘No, phone the police. They’ll alert Hadsea. And get them to pick up those poor sods. I hate this. They probably gave Sylvan their life savings to get smuggled in.’

Agatha phoned the police and then they waited. The Chinese stood patiently. ‘They’re waiting for someone,’ said Agatha. ‘I bet it’s the owner of that Chinese restaurant. He probably moves them on to work as slave labour somewhere.’

At last they could hear police sirens. ‘Lights are going on in the house,’ said Agatha. ‘The Brosses must be at home. They must be involved in this.’

A police launch was the first to arrive. Then Jerry Carton appeared, shouting to his dogs as police cars roared down the grass on the riverbank.

‘And do you think we’ll get any thanks for this?’ complained Charles. ‘Not a bit of it. They’ll be on board soon. We’ll need to go into the police station at Hewes and they won’t believe in my lucky guess for a minute. They’ll think we’ve been withholding information.’

They were interviewed separately. Detective Superintendent Walker, flanked by Boase, was in a high temper. He said he was sure they knew all about the smuggling and instead of informing the police had decided to play at being detectives. His temper was further inflamed by the news that Jerry had escaped.

‘May I remind you, I am a detective,’ complained Agatha, ‘and without us you’d have got sweet damn-all. I suppose you’ve arrested Bross-Tilkington.’

‘No, why? As far as we can gather, he had nothing to do with this.’

‘You must have lost your wits. George’s best friend is unloading Chinese at the bottom of his garden and he doesn’t know anything about it? What about his security-dog man?’

‘Jerry Carton has disappeared. We are looking for him. We are also interrogating Mr Bross-Tilkington, but he seems genuinely bewildered. It was Mr Dubois who suggested hiring Jerry and then Sean.’

‘Well, I’m sure when you bring Sylvan Dubois in, he will inform you that they were all in cahoots.’

Walker’s eyes flickered uneasily and he glared down at notes on the desk in front of him.

‘You’ve lost him!’ exclaimed Agatha. ‘You’ve let him get away.’

‘He got out into the Channel but the coastguard will soon pick him up,’ said Walker heavily. ‘Now, if we can get back to the questioning…’

Later the following morning, when Agatha and Charles, who had slept on their boat, woke up, Agatha phoned Patrick to ask him if his contact in Hewes could come up with any news. Patrick had heard about the hunt for Sylvan on the radio news that morning. ‘They’ve a fat chance of catching him,’ he said.