Scandal at Six(50)

Then, suddenly, he was struck by a brilliant idea. He would go solo, obtaining unusual pets from sources which he already knew were legal, and sell them to his own clients for fancy prices, being careful not to tread on Pettison’s toes.

So, no time like the present, he thought. I shall wander round, and think about cuddly pets. Such as? He couldn’t think of any that were cuddly, unless you counted a cairn terrier puppy he had seen for sale at a recent horse market, and this was hardly a rare animal! He still had the small island mouse in his case, and took it out to look at it. It looked back at him, innocent and appealing. Easy to train, he was sure.

Not cuddly, then. Exotic and fascinating? He had seen a programme on television about a man in Australia who was rearing baby kangaroos, rescued from the pouches of their mothers, who had been killed in road accidents. Appealing and miniature? Just the job! He supposed these would be returned to the wild. But he might make a trip to Australia and run over a few kangaroos of his own. After that, he could go on to snakes, exotic and beautiful. Some people loved to handle them, he knew.

He felt suddenly excited, more cheerful. He could even take over the family farm, and operate from there. In fact, it would be much safer and far enough away from Robert Pettison to be outside his sphere of business. Once he was well established, there would be no end to ways of expanding. Lions and tigers in the cow sheds, a couple of gorillas in the hay barn, swinging from the rafters? He chortled to himself at the immense possibilities. A quick call to a courier right away would sow the seed.

He made the call, and the reply was favourable. He did not commit himself. Merely exploratory, he had said.

What now? He remembered that he had left one or two possessions in his old bed-sitter in Tresham, and decided to drive in and pick them up; then he could deliver the very special mouse to his uncle at the zoo. He clattered down the stairs and walked into the shop.

“Morning, Josie! Thank you so much for the groceries and wine. I can’t possibly allow you to give me the delicious Beaujolais. Well, if you’re sure, then thanks very much indeed. I slept like a top in your lovely bed. Or perhaps I should rephrase that! The lovely bed in your flat!”

“It snowed in the night,” Josie replied, feeling a little embarrassed. “But the sun’s shining now and everywhere is sparkling. Are you off out?”

He nodded. “Stuff to collect from Tresham,” he said.

“Have a nice day, then,” she replied. “See you later.”



*



When he arrived at the bed-sitter, he still had the key and let himself in. It smelt of damp and dirt, and he held his breath while he opened a window. How had he stayed here so long? Well, that was the past, and he had a rosy future before him now.

He began opening cupboards and looking under the bed, making sure he hadn’t left anything, when he heard a sound from the door behind him. He whipped round, and in the dark, unlit room, he saw a tall figure in the doorway.

“Justin, Justin, what are you up to now? My spies have suggested you may be a mole in the organisation. No, don’t say anything,” he added, as Justin began to bluster. “I refer to a call made not one hour ago, to our mutual friend, my guest overnight, the loyal courier? You know who I mean? You shake your head. Well, a remarkably short memory as well as a stupid brain.”

He stepped forward, and Justin was horrified to see he had a gun in his hand.

“Uncle Robert! What on earth are you thinking about? This is me, Justin, your nephew and colleague! And I have the mouse for you!”

“Ex-colleague, possibly,” said Pettison. “Get your coat. We’re leaving. Give me the key and I’ll lock up. You go first, but no silly running away. This gun is right behind you. We need to talk, Justin, and I intend that we do that in the comfort of Cameroon Hall. Now move, fast.”





Twenty-nine





They reached Cameroon Hall after a drive in total silence. Once or twice Justin cleared his throat, as if starting to speak, but his uncle’s stony face put him off, and he sat hunched up, his expression blank, as before.

Parking at the rear entrance, Pettison walked round to the passenger door, unlocked it and opened up. “Out!” he said loudly. Justin frowned. This was ridiculous. He knew perfectly well that Pettison’s gun was a toy. He used to play with one just like it. But his uncle’s evil mood—one with which he was familiar—was not a game. Robert meant business, and Justin searched his mind rapidly for an explanation for his call to the overseas supplier.

“Oh, Uncle Robert,” he said wearily, “couldn’t we drop the cops-and-robbers bit? I am perfectly willing to explain my telephone call. Obviously, that man misunderstood what I was asking.”