Emergency in the Pyrenees

by Ann Bridge

  Colin wondered privately how blowing up Lacq would really serve France, but he left that aside.

  ‘Do you help Communists across the frontier now too?’ he asked, almost gaily, as Bonnecourt got up and refilled their glasses; after two cognacs he felt rather less tired.

  ‘My friend, for a reasonable sum I help anyone across the frontier. After all, one must live. But the English pay best—and for longer.’

  Colin stared at him.

  ‘May I know what you mean? Did you ask money from all these Royal Air Force’—he used the full French phrase—‘men whom you led to safety?’

  ‘But naturally not; I took them as they came. They were in need. But presently I was employed by the British Intelligence Service’ he said, looking amusedly at Colin—whose face, at this startling statement, completely gave him away.

  ‘Ah! So the “ordinary Englishman” is connected with Intelligence! No wonder he is so well-informed’ Bonnecourt said merrily. ‘Doubtless he telephoned to London this afternoon from Pau, and learned much. Certainly it was not old Fourget who told you de Lassalle’s name.’

  Colin took his time. ‘Are you still on the pay-roll of Intelligence?’ he asked at length.

  ‘This I too am not telling you, just now! But had we not better be a little more frank with one another? You have helped me; I should wish to help you. After all, in a sense we are colleagues, or have been.’

  But Colin’s ingrained caution had taken the upper hand again; he did not wish to go too far with Bonnecourt until he had had the chance to check with Hartley as to the hunter’s present status with Intelligence. However he did not hesitate.

  ‘I always prefer frankness’ he said. ‘What do you want me to be frank with you about?’

  ‘Had you advance information that these two would be coming over from Spain? Were you sent up to look out for them?’

  Checking on Pamplona, Colin thought!—but this was plain sailing.

  ‘Definitely not’ he said. ‘I was simply taking one of my walks to get an idea of the frontier—and of course keeping an eye open for the paths you and your fellow-smugglers find so useful—probably with heavy knapsacks!’ He grinned at Bonnecourt, who grinned back at him. ‘I came up on this side, as I think I told you, by the path they ought to have taken, and saw them on the Spanish slope; I traversed across to get a good look at them, and so I came to see the old man fall. You know the rest.’

  Bonnecourt was silent for a moment.

  ‘Is he actually dying?’ he asked then.

  ‘The surgeon didn’t go quite as far as that. But if I were you, Bonnecourt, I should waste no time about getting that idiot de Lassalle away. If Maupassant were to come round enough to be able to speak, and the police come up here and find that silly fool, you’ll be in for trouble.’

  ‘I take him tonight.’

  ‘Good. Then I don’t think I’d better delay you’ Colin said, getting up.

  ‘No—un petit moment—and a little more frankness!’ Colin sat down again.

  ‘What am I to be frank about this time?’ he asked, smiling.

  ‘I have reflected,’ Bonnecourt said, rather slowly. ‘You are right in saying that the villagers here amuse themselves by watching all that goes on; but I have the best reasons for knowing that what they report is seldom at all detailed, or clear.’

  Colin guessed what was coming.

  ‘I suppose you really mean accurate’ he said, a little trenchantly—‘though you don’t want to use the word.’ Bonnecourt laughed.

  ‘Monnro, you are fully up to standard! Yes, I mean that.’

  ‘Alors?’

  ‘So was it la belle Portugaise who described to you the contents of this young simpleton’s knapsack? I know that she comes up in the evening to fetch the milk for Madame your sister from the farm above this house, and she is almost the only person you had time to speak with.’

  Colin thought fast. He realised that he had perhaps been injudicious in saying quite so much, earlier, about de Lassalle’s performance at the pool, though it had undoubtedly brought results.

  ‘Look, let’s do a deal’ he said. ‘We’d each rather like to help the other, but we both have our job to do. If I undertake not to ring up and alert the police, either on this side, or in Spain, will you guarantee not to have all that stuff fished out of the pool and disposed of elsewhere?’

  ‘Why must it be left?’

  ‘Because I want to see it.’

  ‘And of course report?’

  ‘But naturally. What I don’t propose to report, locally anyhow, is who was meeting these two types, and going to drive them on to—well, where they hoped to use what they brought!’

  ‘Entendu. Only local reports would inconvenience me—London is far away! So it was la Portuguaise?’

  ‘Just a second. There’s one other thing I’d like to know first.’ Ever since he heard Luzia’s story one part of Colin’s mind had been fidgeting about the canvas camera-case which the girl had described—why have something so elaborate merely to carry a time-clock in?—it could easily have been wrapped in a handkerchief. He had a vague, hovering notion that this might have some significance for him.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘What exactly is the purpose of the canvas case that the time-clock was being carried in?’

  Bonnecourt grinned broadly.

  ‘Quelle astuce! It is a gas-mask container.’ He grinned more broadly than ever at Colin’s expression when he brought out this statement. ‘I see that this explains itself! Now, when do you wish to conduct your search in the pool?’

  ‘Early tomorrow—“first light”, as our Transatlantic allies say. So I really must get to bed now.’ He got up. ‘Do remember that I’ve spent most of today succouring O.A.S. personnel!’

  Bonnecourt gave a rather sardonic smile.

  ‘And doing a little long-distance telephoning, and ascertaining some useful facts. Not a wasted day! But was it la Portugaise who saw de Lassalle?’

  ‘Yes, it was.’

  ‘Ah. You should employ her! Well, tell me when you have seen all you need to see, cher collègue!—for I cannot leave all that dangerous stuff in such a public place.’

  ‘I’ll do that’ Colin said. ‘Thanks for the drinks, Bonnecourt.’ He left.

  On his way home Colin considered what he had heard. Bonnecourt had been right in surmising that the words ‘a gas-mask container’ had rung a bell in his head; his mind went back to that room in the office in London, where the grey-haired clerk had given him some briefing about Lacq, as well as the notes on frontier characters. For many sections of the great plant the workers had to wear gas-masks, carried in canvas cases; the sight of these of course aroused no suspicion, and it had already happened at least once that the nerve-centre at Lacq—the narrow, but immensly long control-room, with instruments registering all the different gas-wells—had been damaged by explosives brought in by saboteurs in gas-mask holders. How stupid of him!—he ought to have guessed at once what Luzia’s ‘camera-case’ was. But why had Bonnecourt told him this? What an enigma the man was.

  When he got in Colin went across the great room to the three stoves, and switched off the Buta-gaz from under the sauce-pan with his soup—most of it had boiled away. Then, very quietly, he stole upstairs; but in the sitting-room Julia was still up, in an armchair by the fire, knitting away at some baby-garment in white wool—the sight of her, so unusually occupied, smote him with almost a wave of love for his cousin. He went over and kissed her.

  ‘You’ve had a long day’ she said. ‘Whisky? It’s there under the window.’

  Under Julia’s régime at Larége whisky, so appallingly expensive in France, was reserved for ‘long days’—otherwise people had to make do with sherry or Vermouth. In spite of his cognacs with Bonnecourt Colin felt like a whisky, and a talk with Julia in the pleasant warmth of the wood fire, and the soft light of the lamp by which she was knitting—he poured himself out a glass. ‘Not for you?’

  ‘No—bad for baby
! How’s that poor old creature?’

  ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if he’s dead by now—they weren’t very hopeful at the hospital.’

  ‘Why did the young one come back with Bonnecourt? I thought he was all set on being with his friend.’

  ‘Oh, so Luzia’s told you she saw him? And about his goings-on at the pool, too?’

  ‘Yes. Colin, I think her guess about them may be right.’

  ‘I know that it is—dead right!’

  ‘Oh. Did you get on to London from Pau?’

  ‘Yes. They knew about them.’ He went on to tell her how Bonnecourt had been waiting for the two Frenchmen at the auberge, and of his impulsive decision to get the young man taken back into Spain.

  ‘So that’s what he does! Has that silly creature gone?’

  ‘I expect they’re on their way now. But J., darling, I’m wondering if I did right?’

  ‘What are they? Commies?—or O.A.S., as Luzia thinks?’

  ‘Luzia always seems to be right! They are O.A.S. But you see I had a feeling that I didn’t want Bonnecourt to get into trouble—which would certainly have happened if the police had contacted that dolt!’ It was an immense relief to Colin to spread his problems out in front of Julia and get her views, which in the past had usually proved sound.

  ‘It’s a bit early to decide whether you did right or not,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I wish we knew more about Bonnecourt—besides the Heriots liking him so much, and what he did for our people in the war. But sometimes one’s hunches are right.’

  ‘I do know more. He told me tonight that he’s been enrolled, and paid, by Intelligence.’

  Julia laughed, her long laugh.

  ‘If that’s true, it’s really funny! And of course it would justify your hunch completely. But you’ll have to check with London on that.’

  ‘I shall do that tomorrow. Another job first. Is Luzia in bed?’

  ‘Yes—she went some time ago.’

  ‘Oh, well I shall have to rout her out early tomorrow—don’t pay any attention to us. We’ll be back for breakfast. Goodnight—bless you.’

  Colin went up the further flight to his room, took a shower, and got into bed; he set his immensely powerful alarm-watch for 4.45 a.m., put it on the little bed-table, and switched off the light—almost immediately he fell asleep.

  Being roused by the alarm next morning from his heavy and exhausted slumbers felt like having the living heart torn out of his body; but he went downstairs in his pyjamas, and tapped on Luzia’s door.

  ‘Entra’ a sleepy voice muttered—he went in.

  ‘Could you get up and dress, and come down with me to the farm? I want to check on all that stuff before people are about.’

  ‘Of course. In ten minutes I am ready.’ She switched on her bedside lamp—Colin noted with approval that the girl didn’t sleep with her face smothered in cream; her beautiful pale skin was its natural self, her long black hair spread out over the pillow.

  Day was just breaking as they left the house; the light strengthened as they walked through the sleeping village; by the time they reached the farm one could see fairly clearly.

  ‘You stay here’ Colin said, as Luzia stood and stared at the pool. ‘Tell me where to go—and then you can signal: right arm if I’m to go right, left if left.’

  ‘To the far end. Do you see a small clump of rushes? About a metre beyond that is the spot.’

  Colin walked down to the pool, rolled up his shirt-sleeves to the shoulder, and lying flat on the grass reached down into the water and felt about—he could touch the bottom, but felt nothing but mud. He looked back at Luzia; her right arm was extended like a sign-post. He edged along the turf, his hand still exploring in the water; presently his fingers felt the roll of flex—he pulled this out, looked at it, and put it back. Next he found some small packages; these too he looked at and replaced. What he wanted was the clock, and at last his searching fingers found it; he drew it out, rinsed off the mud, and put it in his pocket. The gas-mask container he couldn’t find, but that didn’t matter—the Office would know all about those already.

  ‘This is all you bring?’ Luzia asked when he rejoined her.

  ‘Yes—I’ve got the important thing. We know about the rest.’

  Larége was slowly coming awake as they walked back. Troops of cows were moving deliberately up towards the pastures; men with scythes over their shoulders were setting out to cut the year’s second crop of hay in their tiny fields—with the strong Pyrenean sun they would make it and cock it in 48 hours. The pair brewed coffee in the big room, and ate the crusty bread with appetite—then Colin went back to bed and had two more hours sleep before, again roused by his alarm-watch, he drove down to Pau.

  He went first to the hospital, where he learned from another, younger house-surgeon that old Maupassant had died in the night without recovering consciousness. But if this was the Monsieur Écossais who had witnessed the accident, the surgeon said, he believed the police wished to interview him. Colin said he would look in on them.

  ‘I think they go up to Larége to see Monsieur.’

  ‘Oh well, that is all right—I am returning.’

  But he did not hurry over his return. Julia and Luzia could be counted on to give nothing away, or be in the least indiscreet—cast-iron witnesses, both of them! He drove to the Hotel de France and ordered, and ate, a second petit déjeuner; then he telephoned to London. Hartley was by now in the office—‘Well, what about that rücksack?’ he asked at once.

  ‘Yes, they had some of the doings with them—flex, a clock, and a little of what else you might expect.’

  ‘Got this?’

  ‘Got the ticker—I left the rest.’

  ‘And what about the type who acts as bear-leader?’

  Colin spoke slowly and carefully. ‘You must be a bit clever about this. Have you got the old list of our helpers in this part of the world in the last war handy?’

  ‘I’ve got it in my head’ Hartley responded briskly. ‘I’m older than you!’

  ‘Oh, fine. Well, pay attention. Was there a good short among them?’—he stressed the two words.

  ‘Say that again.’

  ‘Good short.’

  There was a moment’s pause—then a loud laugh came down the line, all the way from London to the Pyrenees. ‘Oh, Bernardin! Yes, of course; the best of the lot! Why—you don’t mean to say he’s the one?’

  Colin realised that Bernardin would be the code name used (as always) by Intelligence for real people.

  ‘Yes. Is he still with us?’

  ‘I’d have to check on that. I rather fancy so, on a small retainer basis.’ The laugh came down the line again, louder than ever. ‘Well, I’ll be damned! The old bastard!’ After a pause—‘And what about the young one who came in too?’

  ‘I lost sight of him—I think he must have slipped off’ Colin replied, disingenuously. ‘The old fellow’s dead.’

  ‘Did he tell the coppers anything?’

  ‘No—he never spoke again.’

  ‘Oh well, that’s all to the good’ the man in London said heartlessly. ‘Have they been at you?’

  ‘They’re coming today, I gather—I ought really to get back to see them.’

  ‘All right. When are you going over to the other side? You might drop that time-piece on the boys at P.—they’ll get it to us.’

  ‘Tomorrow, I thought.’ Colin understood that ‘P.’ meant Pamplona. ‘That all?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, I think so. Jolly good show! Oh wait—one other item. Anything on Tarbes yet?’

  ‘No, I’ve had no chance.’

  ‘Well have a look round when you get back. Write a report from P.—it’ll be brought over.’ Another pause. ‘Damn B!—the old rascal!’ Hartley said. ‘Good enough. ‘Bye.’

  When Colin got back to Larége he found that the police had called, and been dealt with as prudently as he expected. Julia had assured them that M. Monnro had made a full constat to the agent in the hospital the pr
evious day, and asked if they had no record of it? Of course they had; and in her usual convincing fashion Julia had described the bringing down of the injured man: ‘We placed him on that sofa, where Messieurs are now sitting’—the police shifted uneasily in their seats. And Dr. Fourget had said he must be got into the hospital at once, and the young M. Heriot had taken him in his so large car, where he could lie at full length. (At this point in her narrative Julia made a mental note that someone must ring up Dick and cause him to bring back the mattress and all those pillows and bolsters belonging to the Stansteds.) Oh, certainly—in reply to further questions—she had seen the younger man; he had seemed quite distracted! He too had driven off to Pau, but she could not say in which car—perhaps in the Doctor’s, perhaps in that of her cousin.

  ‘She was marvellous’ Luzia said to Colin, as Julia recounted all this. ‘So frank—and so untruthful!’

  ‘What did you say?’ Colin asked, grinning.

  ‘Nothing—I left it to Julia! I pretended I did not understand French, and showed them my passport; this convinced them that I was just a foolish foreigner.’

  ‘Are they coming back?’ Colin asked Julia.

  ‘They didn’t day so. They would have liked to get more on the young man, but unless they picked something up in the village they’ve got nothing to pin it onto Bonnecourt—and after all no one but us saw Lassalle, if that’s his name, come here, and he drove away in your car. So lucky that this is the last house but one—no village spying.’ She paused, and glanced at Luzia. What could she say that she had left upstairs, and wanted fetched?

  But for Luzia the glance was enough.

  ‘I go to fetch some water’ the girl said, and went out with the earthenware jug. Blessing her pupil’s quickness—‘Was B. working for us in the War?’ Julia asked.

  ‘Yes—when I said “Good Short” Hartley knew at once. His code name was Bernardin.’

  ‘Then it is funny, after all’ Julia said.

  ‘So Hartley thought’ Colin said. ‘He couldn’t be sure without checking, but he seemed to think he might still be on the payroll.’

  ‘If he is, that’s funnier still’ Julia said. ‘You and he supposed to be working against one another!—and in fact chums, hand in glove—and you and I both protecting him from the lawful authorities of his own country.’