Scandal at Six(93)

*



Later, when it was completely dark, a vehicle drew up outside the shop, stopping under the security light. Justin, back upstairs and dozing in front of the television, heard the engine, pulled his curtain back a little and looked out. There was a long, dark shape and a man had lowered a ramp at the back. He was slowly bringing out a wheelchair with a figure completely wrapped in rugs. Justin let the curtain fall back, quickly switched off all his lights, and checked that his door was locked. He had no need to guess who was in the wheelchair, and he had no wish for a conversation with Pettison at the moment. He was too tired, and the fact that the scheming old sod had arrived in the dark did not bode well. He would wait to see what would happen next.





Fifty-two





Making very little noise, the man and wheelchair disappeared through the side gate, and then Justin could hear crunching on the gravel path that led to the back of the building. He must have left the gate unlocked, he realised with dismay, and grabbing a warm jacket and a large torch, he went silently down his stairs and out into the backyard. He could see from a light carried by the figure in the chair that they were approaching the pigsty.

“Stop! Stop at once!” he shouted, switching on his own torch. They stopped, and he made his way down over the wet grass to where they stood.

“Uncle Robert!” he shouted, as if the man in the chair was deaf. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Good evening, Justin my boy,” said a sepulchral voice from inside the wrappings. “We are paying a social visit, but with a purpose. How are you? And how’s my Betsy?”

“Glad to hear you’ve regained the power of speech, you old fraud,” Justin said crossly.

The wheelchair attendant, warmly wrapped in scarves and an all-embracing overcoat, leaned forward and whispered something in Pettison’s ear.

Pettison laughed. “Later,” he said. “Now I must take a look at the new consignment of goodies. I believe you have them safely in here? I would like to take them back with me to the hall. I have now discharged myself from hospital care, and I am not too ready to trust leaving them in your care. From what I hear from my spies, you have been changing things at the zoo. Without my permission, unfortunately. It suited me to remain what you unkindly called a fraud, and I am now much improved.”

“I thought as much,” said Justin. “Now, Uncle, this is madness! We can’t move bees in the middle of the night. That tarpaulin at the top is only tacked down. Supposing we drop the hive?”

“My friend here is very strong, though he doesn’t look it. Open up, please, and then we’ll make an inspection. Of course, if they’re all dead, you’re welcome to keep them!”

Justin was beginning to shiver, in spite of his warm coat, and stepped forward. “If you insist,” he said. “And if I let you have a look, will you agree to go back to wherever you belong, and come along another day and do this sensibly?”

“Open up!” Pettison said, in a suddenly harsh voice. “At once!”

“Can’t you get out of the chair? Your legs are probably as miraculously restored as your voice! It would be so much safer,” said Justin anxiously. He had a feeling that everything was being taken out of his hands.

“Of course not! I truly lost the use of my legs in that bloody fall! Now, will you open up, or will my friend here make sure you do?”

Justin sighed. “No need to threaten, Uncle. And honestly, I can’t believe a word you say. The tarpaulin’s nailed down. But I can open the bottom half door, and Tarzan here can push you in, if you’re determined to do it. You’ll see the hive in the corner. I advise you to make it a short inspection.”

In great trepidation, he opened the padlock, drew back the bolt and opened the lower door. The tarpaulin flapped in a sudden gust of wind, making a loud noise. One corner of it came free, but the rest remained fixed in place. The attendant, bending over, pushed Pettison inside.

Justin waited for a few seconds, and then heard a shout, two loud shouts, and then the attendant reappeared, pushing the tarpaulin completely free of the doorway and waving his arms around his head. “Bloody hive fell over,” he yelled.

Justin stepped forward to rescue his uncle, but the well-wrapped attendant shoved him hard to one side, pulled the half gate shut and secured the bolt and padlock. Justin grabbed his sleeve, but he wrenched himself free. “Run for your life, Brookes!” he shouted, but the scarves muffled his voice. He sprinted up the grass and disappeared into the darkness.

Justin could hear the buzzing now, growing louder. “Uncle Robert!” he shouted, and, galvanised into action, he wrestled with the door. Though he could have sworn he left the key in the padlock, he couldn’t put his hand on it. There was no way out for the wheelchair.