"Bell, Josephine - Death of a Con Man" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bell Josephine)

Death of a Con Man by Josephine Bell.

CHAPTER ONE.

The man was very well known. To the police, that is. Though not to the local force.
The crash occurred about five miles from the Wiltshire town of Brackenfield that lies between Salisbury Plain and the outskirts late evening in October, with a light mist swirling from wet ditches across the tarmac, a coach bringing a charter party back from a conference in Plymouth met head-on a black Hillman that had taken the sharp bend too fast and failed to get round it.
Apart from the mist patches, which were low lying, confusing, but not really dangerous, conditions were easy, the road dry, a clear night above, but no moon. The whole fault lay with the driver of the Hillman. It was he, except for the wrecked car, who suffered the only severe damage.
The driver of the coach had about two seconds in which to decide that the Hillman was not going to get round the bend. He swung the coach over, so it was his offside wing and the offside corner of the coach that took the crunch. The same with the Hillman, including the driver, who in spite of his safety belt, which broke, had his right arm pierced and lacerated by several long splinters of glass from his side window. He was also knocked out but not seriously concussed by the crumpled window frame striking him on the head.
The coach driver, though severely shaken, at once switched off his engine, which had stalled, and sliding across from behind the wheel climbed down on the near side into two feet of ditch water where he expected the margin of the road to be.
The cold shock to his feet and legs cleared his daz~.d mind. He splashed on to firm ground further back and opening the
rear door and the emergency exit, both quite unaffected by the crash, began to sort out the mass of struggling, screaming or stunned passengers.
Two men, sitting at the rear of the coach, had, however, kept their heads. One leaped down at once volunteering to stop the next arriving car behind and all subsequent cars. He feared a pile-up. The driver agreed. The second man had a pocket torch. He proposed to move forward to deal with traffic from the other side.
The driver then forced his way into the coach to quell the hysteria that had taken hold there and to sort out any injured passengers. Guided by his own escape, he did not expect to find anything serious, nor did he. A fair proportion of genuine shock, much hysteria, simulating shock, a few cuts. Most of his passengers had no idea what had happened. In explaining the accident to them it occurred to him for the first time to wonder what had happened to the driver of the car that had hit the coach. And the car's passengers, if any.
Cursing to himself at the thought of what he might find, he left the coach again, followed now by all those who felt sufficiently restored to be both curious and in need of fresh air.
The driver saw at once that the sensible man who had first offered help had the tail queue under control and was already discussing the situation with the drivers of the first four cars in the line. So the coachdriver made his way cautiously forward to where the smashed car lay slewed across the road. There was room for an ordinary car to pass it, but the first to arrive from the direction of Brackenfield had been a tall removal van that could not get through. The crew of this van was clustered together on the far side of the remains of the Hillman. The coach passenger with the torch was shining it past them into the car.
Dead? asked the coach driver, bitterly, feeling this fate would be nothing but an unfair escape from a juster punishment.
7
Not yet, said the van driver. Pretty poor shape, though. Arm mucked up by glass. Lost a couple of pints, I reckon. Fore I got a tourniquet on.
You a medico or something? asked the coach driver, trying to peer in at the casualty, but without much success.
Picked it up in the war, said one of the van's crew. Knows is stuff all right.
Can't we get him out of there? the coach driver asked, nervously. He had got one glimpse of a set white face with closed eyes, the head lolled over against the left shoulder, a stained and spattered shirt, legs limp and twisted, an arm bandaged tightly above the elbow, but below that a mass of torn cloth, flesh and clotting blood.
The man with the torch said, I got the first car behind the van to turn and go back to phone. He'd have to find another way round, anyhow. We ought to have an ambulance and the police before long. Listen! Isn't that them?
Sirens were wailing from both directions. The meaning of this became plain in a few seconds. The police had already diverted traffic leaving Brackenfield and were now peeling cars off the outgoing stream, to find their own way round along the side roads. This done, a police car arrived behind the van, to move it back enough to allow the ambulance that had driven round to arrive from the opposite direction, to mount the verge, squeeze past and draw up behind the smashed Hillman.
Quick work, said the man with the torch admiringly.
The police sergeant paid no attention to this, but asked what the damage was.
Casualties? he said briskly, nodding to the two ambulance men, who had just left their vehicle.
One serious, said the coach driver. The lunatic who put his Hillman where you see it.
None in your coach? asked the sergeant.
The ambulance driver went back to unload a stretcher and blankets The other man looked into the Hillman, ~nodding with pleasure at sight of the improvised tourniquet.


Glass, I reckon, said the van driver. Fair split his arm- talk about bacon machines-
Belt up! said one of his crew, retching audibly.
The ambulance man felt for the pulse at the other wrist, failed to find it, but found a faint movement in the neck. With the help of the ex-soldier the two Saint John men got the limp form out and lowered it carefully on to the stretcher.
While this was being done the police sergeant took a brief
statement from the coach driver.
Casualties? he repeated. The cause of the accident was
entirely obvious.
A good few bruises and slight cuts. Shock, naturally.
Voices from the coach, raised partly in anger, partly in distress, confirmed this view. The sergeant made up his mind.
If we get the Hillman away from your wing, can you drive
the coach into Brackenfield? he asked.
Don't know as I can.
Well, see if you've got your engine. There's enough help
here to clear you.~~
The coach engine responded. The furniture van crew produced useful slings and jacks. The coach backed away from
the ditch, many willing hands hauled the wreck from its path
and it drove slowly forward.
Take them all straight to the hospital, the sergeant
ordered. You can ring your firm from there. O.K.?