The Beekeeper's Apprentice - Laurie R. King [138]
“Of course what?”
“Your maths tutor is a woman. I might have known.”
“Didn’t you know? I thought I told you. But she’s not blonde, you see, so—”
“And where is she now? Kindly quit blithering, Russell. I should greatly enjoy catching this woman if she is so kind as to walk into our trap, so I shouldn’t have to spend the rest of my life dodging bombs and pretending to detest the very mention of your name.”
“Oh. Yes. But she is. I mean, she withdrew my watchers today while I was in the library. She may have guessed what I was doing, or she may have just decided to go ahead, but the telephone lines to the village are down, so I thought—”
“Right you were, Russell, and that means we must fly. Can you put on some more sensible clothing? There may be rough work ahead of us.”
I plunged into the next room and into my young man’s mufti in two minutes flat, and in another thirty seconds had my boots on and the gun and a handful of bullets in my pocket.
The two of us created quite a sensation clattering down the stairs. The hypochondriac down the hall had just come out of the bathroom when we came running towards her. She screamed and clutched her dressing gown to her chest as we flew past.
“Men! Two men in the hall!”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Di, it’s me,” I shouted ungrammatically.
She leant over the stairwell with several others to watch our de-scent. “Mary? But who’s that with you?”
“An old friend of the family!”
“But it’s a man!”
“So I noticed.”
“But men aren’t allowed in here!” Their protests faded above us.
“Russell, I must use Mr. Thomas’s telephone—Ah, here he is. Par-don me, Thomas.”
“I beg your pardon, reverend sir, may I help you? Miss Russell, who is this? Please, sir, what do you want? Sir, the telephone is not for public use. Sir—”
“Mr. Thomas, is my car ready?” I interrupted while Holmes awaited connexion.
“What? Ah, yes, Miss, they said they would bring it out for you. Miss, who is this gentleman?”
“A friend of the family, Mr. Thomas. Dear me, I hear Dianne at the top of the stairs. Do you think you should perhaps see what she wants? You know how highly strung she is. No, Mr. Thomas, you go help her; I’ll show this friend of mine out. Yes, friend of the family. Very old. Yes. Good-bye, Mr. Thomas, I’ll not be back in tonight.”
“Or tomorrow night,” shouted Holmes. “Come, Russell!”
The car was warmed up and running at the kerb, and the garage man quickly got out when he saw us coming, then paused with his hand on the door.
“Is that you, Miss Russell?”
“Yes, Hugh, thanks a million. Bye.” He winced as I squealed the tyres, but after all, it wasn’t his motorcar. Holmes did more than wince before we were out of Oxford, but I didn’t hit anybody, and only brushed the farm cart slightly. It wasn’t his automobile either, and what do men know about driving?
When I had settled the Morris down to a slow blur on the black and narrow road out of Oxford, I turned to Holmes.
“What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I say, Russell, do you think—that is, is this the proper speed for this particular road and these—watch the cow—these particular conditions?”
“Well, I could go a bit faster, if you like, Holmes. I suppose the car would take it.”
“No, that was not what I had in mind.”
“Then what—Oh, of course, you want an alternate route. You’re right as usual, Holmes. Reach behind you and get the maps; they’re in that black pouch there. There’s a hand torch in the pocket. Holmes, your eyebrow has fallen off again.”
“I’m not surprised,” he muttered, and peeled off the rest of the disguise.
“You make a fine priest, Holmes, very distinguished. Now, those maps start with Oxford and work their way down to Eastbourne. There’s a point in a few miles where we can get off to the left. It’s marked as a farm track. Do you see it?”
Holmes claims that night’s ride took ten years from his life, but I found it quite exhilarating to be rocketing along unlighted country lanes at high speeds with the man I hadn’t been able to properly speak with