Hand in Glove Read Online Free PDF Page B

report of it on the local television news.”
    “No. I don’t think so.”
    “Then let me explain.” As Dredge did so, Derek felt a clammy foreboding rise about him. Colin would have no truck with violence.
    That was certain. But he had never been scrupulous about the prove-nance of what he bought and sold. He habitually sailed close to the wind. Sometimes too close, as the affair in St Albans proved. Could he have gone so far as to commission a burglary in order to obtain a collection of Tunbridge Ware? If he knew he could make enough out of 26

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    it, the answer had to be yes, especially if his finances were in a more than usually parlous state. Murder, of course, he would never have countenanced. Nor strong-arm tactics of any kind. But if he had misjudged his associates, if he had trusted to luck and the good sense of those who had none, then the consequences could be precisely what the police had alleged. “He is currently being held at Hastings Police Station,” Dredge concluded. “And will appear before the magistrates tomorrow morning.”
    “Does he . . . deny the charges?”
    “Unequivocally.”
    “Then . . . how does he account for the Tunbridge Ware being in his shop?”
    Dredge sighed. “He assumes it was planted there.”
    “You sound doubtful.”
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s simply . . . well, in the perception of the police, it’s exactly what he would say, isn’t it?”
    “He hasn’t suggested they planted it, has he?”
    “Mercifully, no.”
    “Then who . . . why should . . .”
    “Mr Fairfax, I don’t wish to be abrupt, but such questions are perhaps best considered at another time. My purpose in telephoning you today is to ask whether you would be prepared to act as surety in the event that the magistrates grant bail. If granted, the figure involved is likely to exceed your brother’s means.”
    Derek could have told Dredge that himself. Colin’s means had never to his knowledge kept pace with his expenditure. Too often in the past, indeed, Derek had been obliged to bail him out, literally as well as metaphorically. And each time he had sworn it would be the last. So had Colin, come to that. “What sort of figure are we talking about?” he asked defensively.
    “It’s hard to say. The police will oppose bail. The question may not arise.”
    “But if the question does arise?”
    “Then it will be a substantial sum.”
    “How substantial?”
    “I would imagine . . . somewhere between five and ten thousand pounds.”
    A woundingly large portion of Derek’s savings, then, to be forfeited in the event that Colin decided a moonlight flit to an extradition-

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    haven was in order. Even as Derek considered the possibility, he caught himself reflecting at the same time that it might almost be worth losing such a sum if it meant Colin could never again ask him for help.
    “Your brother indicated you were the only person likely to be willing to assist.”
    “No doubt.”
    “And are you . . . willing to assist?”
    “Yes. I suppose I am.”
    “Can you attend the court tomorrow morning?”
    Derek glanced at the diary that stood open on his desk. Wednesday the twenty-fourth of June contained nothing that could not be re-arranged. “Yes. I can be there.”
    “The magistrates’ court is in Bohemia Road, Hastings. Proceedings commence at ten thirty.”
    “Very well. I’ll meet you there.”
    Derek put the telephone down, lifted off his glasses and began rubbing the bridge of his nose. When he closed his eyes, the present—his sombre suit, his desk, his office, his glazed vista of Calverley Park, his every proof and appanage of age and status—floated away like gossamer in the breeze. In their place, he and Colin were children again in Bromley, Colin six years the older, as fly and daring as Derek was shy and timid. Derek had often in those days taken the blame for his brother’s antics and covered his tracks and falsified