The Trespass(50)

“You’ll have to get off at Purley,” the driver told him. “I’ll give you a shout, all right?”

“Yes. All right.” When the bus had pushed on half a mile or so he fished in his pocket for his mobile. He dialled a number.

“Charles? Look, I’m in a spot of bother. Can you pick me up? I’m sorry to – you have? That’s excellent.” He listened to Charles describing the agenda for tomorrow’s flight. He’d been lucky. Their slot was booked for 10 a.m. “Where? Hang on.” Dracup peered out of the window. “Purley – Oxford Road – on the way to Pangbourne, you know? Twenty minutes? Make it fifteen and hopefully I’ll still be here. I’ll explain when I see you. Thanks, Charles. Bye.”

Dracup fell back into his seat. Traffic was moving swiftly and he thanked whatever life-preserving force was looking out for him that this wasn’t happening in rush hour. The bus rumbled on.

He disembarked at Purley and waited an anxious five minutes until eventually Charles pulled smoothly alongside.

Charles leaned out of the window and grinned. “Hop in, old boy.”

Dracup eased his aching body into the front seat of Sturrock’s Citroën. Bach was playing softly on the stereo and Charles as usual seemed on top form.

“This is all very exciting, Si. What’s the scam?”

“Someone tried to kill me.”

Sturrock’s face assumed a concerned expression. “Well, in the light of what you told me earlier, I’m hardly surprised. But are you absolutely sure? You’ve been under a lot of stress –”

“I saw his eyes, Charles…” Dracup realized that Charles intended to retrace the bus route back into town. “I’d rather go in the other direction if that’s all right with you. He may still be on the Oxford Road – or heading this way.” Dracup recalled the impact of the fist, how it had shaken the bus.

“No problem – we’ll go via the motorway.” Sturrock U-turned the Citroën and headed out through Purley Beeches to Pangbourne.

Dracup shifted uncomfortably in his seat, massaged his leg.

“Are you hurt?” Sturrock shot him an enquiring look.

“It’s nothing. Fell over a bicycle.”

“Trouble with you, Simon, is you’re not fit. Got to keep the joints active when you get to our age.” Sturrock turned briefly to gauge Dracup’s reaction.

“Charles, I’m not in the mood.”

Sturrock’s face fell. “Sorry. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Dracup almost laughed at Sturrock’s deflated expression. He felt as if he’d just reprimanded a precocious schoolboy. He leaned back on the headrest and closed his eyes. “I didn’t mean to bark, Charles. My nerves are a bit frayed.”

Sturrock stole another glance at Dracup. “Quite understandable. Stiff drink and an early night in order, I’d say. You can have a shakedown on the sofa.”

Dracup grunted. “No luxury spared, eh?”





Dracup held up finger and thumb in response to Sturrock’s refill enquiry, and resisted the urge to down the shot in one. Charles had a fire burning in the hearth and a reflective glint in his eye as he replaced the brandy on the mantelpiece and stood with his back to the flames, rubbing his hands in anticipation of conversation. But Dracup was exhausted. He no longer felt confident about his deductions, nor his African plan. In the homely surroundings of Charles’ digs it all seemed preposterous, a desperate shot in the dark.

“Any better?” Sturrock prompted. “Bit of colour coming back, I’d say.”

“I’m knackered, Charles. I can’t think straight. It all seems – quite mad to me.”

“You didn’t sound mad earlier on. And you have the evidence.”

“Had. Potzner and co have it now.”

“You said you had a copy –”

Dracup looked at Sturrock’s earnest face. His eyes shone like an excited child’s.

“Of the sketch? Yes, I have a copy.”

“May I see it?”

Dracup reached into his jacket pocket and produced the set of folded A4 sheets.

Sturrock spread them out on the table and adjusted his glasses. “Hm. There’s something about this that rings a distant bell. But I’m damned if I can think what it is.” Sturrock sat back and perused his wall-to-wall bookshelves. “Sceptre of Noah you say, sceptre of Noah...” He tutted and scanned along the dusty shelves with a long forefinger. “Nope. Can’t think where I’ve seen that reference.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Dracup frowned. “Staff of Moses, maybe.”