Dennis Wheatley - Contraband

A few moments more and he could see the sea again; the north Kentish coast where it runs towards the Thames estuary. Westgate, Birchington and Herne Bay lay somewhere ahead of him.

The other plane was dropping now towards a great belt of trees a little inland from Birchington. Their massed foliage stood out darkly in the faint starlight against the flat arable land which surrounded them on every side. The ring of trees was at least two miles in circumference and several broad open spaces in its centre suggested that the place was a private park.

From his greater altitude Gregory watched the solitary plane through his night glasses as it descended. Another moment and, circling into the wind, it floated down towards one of the bare patches in the very heart of the great belt of trees.

Instantly Gregory swung away to the south again; knowing that immediately the other plane landed its engine would be switched off and the roar of his own machine would attract attention.

Diving now to gain speed he headed away from the big tree girt enclosure, then flattened out and returned ten minutes later at a height sufficient only to ensure escaping that aerial death trap, the grid system, with its thousands of pylons now forming a network over England.

As he sighted the tall treetops again, standing out stark and black against the naked Thanet landscape, he decided to chance any pylons and risk a landing. A broad field lay below him. He could not guess if it was corn already harvested or stubble, but switching on his landing light he turned his plane towards the prevailing wind, and came down gently.

His luck was in. The plane bounded lightly for fifty yards and he was able to bring it to a standstill without turning over.

'Stay here,' he shot at Rudd. 'If the village constable happens to be on the prowl after poachers say we had to make a forced landing and that I've gone for petrol. Better get out the corkscrews and picket the plane in case the wind gets up. The machine we followed may have nothing to do with the outfit I'm after, but anyhow I'm going into this place to find out a bit more about it. I may be away some time.'

'I get you, sir,' Rudd muttered, and Gregory tumbled out on to the ground.

The field was ridged with coarse stubble; but he was soon out of it and across the low ditch into a winding lane which followed the curve of a thick, six-foot hedge, overhung by the leafy branches of massed trees on its far side.

The place was evidently a private park and a splendid site for secret landings, Gregory thought, remembering the several fine open meadows, separated by patches of woodland, but all enclosed within this outer belt of trees which surrounded it entirely.

He ran lightly along the lane, hoping to find a break in the hedge or a place where he could scramble over easily, but it was in good repair and he covered two hundred yards before he found a suitable spot.

A grassy bank below the hedge sloped up a little for a foot or more and from it protruded the stump of an old tree. By mounting on the stump he was able to fling himself bodily on the top of the hedge and slip down on the far side.

It was pitch dark there and he did not dare to use his torch; not knowing how deep the ring of trees might prove at this point and fearing that a light might be spotted by the people who had landed in the plane.

He ran into a tree trunk, barked his knee, and swore angrily then, more cautiously, with hands extended in the darkness, he crept forward. The eerie silence of the night shrouded glade was broken only by the snapping of twigs beneath his feet.

As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom he could just make out the boles of the big trees in time to avoid them, but the belt was much deeper than he had supposed, almost a strip of woodland, and he had to tiptoe a hundred yards before he emerged into the open.

He found himself then in a meadow, but there was no house or outbuilding in sight, such as he had expected. Turning right he warily continued his advance, sticking closely to the line of trees in order to be able to take cover behind them, if necessary, at a moment's notice, until he came up against an iron fence which bordered a gravel drive.

Remaining in the field he broke cover and proceeded, parallel with the drive, towards the centre of the park. After what seemed an interminable time the big field ended and he came to another wood. Clearing the fence he plunged again into heavy darkness down the driveway between the overhanging trees.

A moment later he caught a glimmer of light through the tree trunks and tiptoed forward until he reached the edge of the wood. Upon his left there was another great open space, a lawn with meadows beyond, perhaps, and on his right the drive broadened into a wide sweep before a long three storied house, up to which trees and bushes grew at both its wings.

The light came from an uncurtained downstairs window and by it Gregory could see clearly now a big closed car drawn up in front of the porch. As he watched, the light in the window was switched off, then four people came out of the darkened doorway and got into the car.

The engine of the motor purred. Next moment the beam of powerful headlights threw a golden glow on the gravel drive. Quick as a cat Gregory leapt back into the shadows and crouched there, dazzled for the moment by the blinding glare, and almost certain that his presence must have been discovered; but the car turned on the sweep and roared away in the opposite direction from which he had come, down the west drive which led to the Birchington Gate of the park and the road to London.

His glimpse of the car's occupants was brief but the man at the wheel and another seated beside him, like chauffeur and footman, had been wearing leather jackets so Gregory guessed them to be the pilots of the plane, while Lord Gavin Fortescue was hunched in the back seat and, next to him, wrapped in heavy furs above which her delicate profile rose as beautiful as a cameo, Sabine had been sitting.

Gregory released his breath with a little sigh of satisfaction at the success of his hunch to follow the solitary plane. It had led him to Lord Gavin's headquarters in England, which was, perhaps, more valuable even than finding one of the places where the contraband was landed.

As soon as the car had disappeared he stepped out from the trees and examined the front of the house. It was now in total darkness and the whole place seemed to be unoccupied. He scanned the lawns before it for the plane, but that was nowhere to be seen, so he assumed it had been run into a hangar, and tiptoed towards the far end of the house to see if he could find any building in which it might be garaged.

Passing through the shrubberies there he came upon some greenhouses and then two high windowless buildings which he thought might have been built for squash or as covered tennis courts.

He beat a gentle tattoo with his fingertips upon the locked door of one of these while he considered the situation. He felt that his luck was very definitely in tonight and that the house might hold all sorts of interesting secrets. This was far too good an opportunity to try and unearth some of them for him to even think of rejoining Rudd and flying back to London yet awhile. The problem was how to force an entry into the house?

Behind the big brick buildings he could just make out, in the faint starlight, a row of outhouses, stables and garages. Proceeding between them with a cautious, almost catlike step, he passed a fifteen foot brick wall with espaliered fruit trees on it; the eastern extremity of a fine walled garden. Turning right, he found himself at the back of the house itself. This too was wrapped in heavy silence and no light came from any of the windows.

Tiptoeing forward across the gravel, so that it barely crunched under his feet, his shoulders hunched, his eyes alert, like some prowling cat, he stalked along the rear side of the house, examining each window with the aid of his torch, which he now no longer feared to show as the place seemed to be quite deserted.