by John Creasey
“I don’t yet understand why Mr West is here.” Mortimer sounded peevish. “Until you arrived these crimes all took place outside this country, didn’t they?”
“I’m puzzled, too.” Gregory spoke with a bluntness which suited his solid figure. “These were murders committed in England.”
“They were indeed.” Raymond spread his hands over the desk and the bright polish reflected a gold ring on the little finger of the left hand. “Is there any reason why these crimes should not have had their origin in England? Our resident manager, Lancelot Smith, appears to have felt some responsibility and conceivably connived at the crimes. We have no information about that but consider it most unlikely.”
Shaw frowned. Roger sat silent.
“Marcus Barring is wanted for murder and attempted murder, and he came right here to Sydney,” Shaw said carefully.
“Couldn’t the New South Wales Police have handled that on their own?” enquired Mortimer. Fat and good-time boy he might be, but he was also waspish. “Scotland Yard’s responsibility is surely in England, where the crimes were committed. Even the alleged crime at Hong Kong is on a Crown Colony, not in Australia.”
Shaw glanced at Roger, who still didn’t speak. The attack – and it was an attack – seemed to embarrass Shaw, and he moistened his lips. His voice was gruff.
“We came here to discuss the best thing to do to protect your ships,” he said. “Not try to shelve responsibility.”
“We’re not shelving any responsibility.” Mortimer Flag eased his spotless white collar from his pink neck.
“The truth is, Superintendent,” Raymond interpolated, speaking mildly and looking so straight at Shaw that it seemed as if he was pretending that Roger wasn’t there, “we have spent most of the morning discussing this affair. It appears that one officer of our ships – a man to whom we once had some obligation – was dismissed for bad conduct. His brother, who was a member of the crew, left in protest. Such things have happened before, and doubtless will again. Apparently these men had some reason for hostility to some of the ship’s passengers while in England – not to officers or crew, but to passengers. We have come to the conclusion that this is not necessarily connected with the Blue Flag Line, unless you can prove that it is.”
He still avoided Roger’s eyes.
“I say it is,” Shaw asserted roughly. “I say that what happened to the Koala could happen to the Kookaburra.”
“And I say that is nonsense.” Raymond Flag’s voice was icy.
“It’s guff, that’s what – plain guff.” Gregory shifted his position.
“As the legal authority on the board I have no hesitation in saying that this is guesswork, with no basis in fact,” Mortimer stated. “Coming from anyone else it would most certainly be dangerously near slander and defamation.”
Shaw’s look at Roger seemed to hold appeal, saying it was past time Roger interrupted. Roger sat silent, glancing from man to man, each of whom studiously avoided looking at him, quite sure what he should do.
Shaw took the bull by the horns.
“So you won’t co-operate. Is that it?”
“Give us one single reason – valid reason – why we should co-operate and we will do everything we can to help,” Raymond said smoothly. “Until we have it there is nothing we can do.”
“Nothing you will do, you mean?” Shaw was nearly out of temper.
Gregory pushed his chair back and stood up.
“Don’t be so damned rude. There’s nothing we can do because we think you’re trying to use us to pull Scotland Yard’s coals out of the fire. My God! If the rumour spread around that you thought one of our ships—”
“All of your ships, gentlemen.” Roger spoke for the first time, so unexpectedly that he startled the others.
“You’re out of your mind!” Gregory almost shouted. “If this rumour gets around, what do you think will happen to our stocks? They’ll go down with a bang. What do you think will happen to our customers? They’ll find other ships. It’s difficult enough to get business as things are – with this, it would be ten times worse.”
“As it was with the Barring Line before you made them bankrupt,” Roger put in.
“It’s happened to a dozen shipping companies. It isn’t going to happen to this one.”
“I wonder.” Roger smiled at Shaw and stood up. “We’d better go, Luke.”
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Shaw was angry for a different reason now.
“Perhaps Mr West has nothing to say,” Raymond Flag put in sarcastically.
“Not to you, gentlemen,” Roger said. “As the Blue Flag Line won’t co-operate, we’ll obviously have to find someone who will. Those ships have to be warned. There are about four thousand human beings on them, and even if you’re not interested in capital loss, other people will be very interested in the loss of human lives.”
“There’s no one else you can go to,” Mortimer said; he was pulling at his collar.
Roger grinned at Shaw.
“Apparently Mr Flag hasn’t heard of the power of the Press. But we really ought to get along. It’s getting late.”
He put a hand on Luke’s arm and they turned away. For a moment there was utter silence, and even Luke seemed baffled. Then Roger saw his face split into a grin, and he snorted and smothered a laugh. He opened the door as Raymond Flag called out, “Are you threatening us?”
Roger swung round on his heel. He felt completely on top of the situation but as he raised his voice his lips twisted, as if he could hardly control his anger.
“No I am not threatening you. I am telling you that in my considered opinion there is lethal danger to one or more ships of your line, and there is no way of finding out which one without your co-operation. So I am going to cable my office in London, and release the story of the danger to the ships. I shall ask all public authorities to co-operate in warning the ships’ masters. The London papers will pick the story up within a few hours, all Australian papers will have it in the morning. If that’s the kind of publicity you want, that’s what you’ll get. Your ships must be warned one way or the other.”
He turned back to the door.
“Good on you,” Luke Shaw whispered.
“You have not yet convinced us that a warning is necessary,” Raymond Flag insisted, but there was a placatory note in his voice. “Come and discuss this reasonably.”
“Oh, no,” Roger said. “Superintendent Shaw used plenty of reason, and you flatly refused to listen. Either we warn the ships through your normal channels by sending coded instructions to the masters for a complete search of each ship for concealed explosives, or we do it through the Press in plain English. Which is it to be?”
The three Flags, Gregory standing, the others sitting, looked at one another with silent admissions of defeat. Raymond made a good effort at least to restore some dignity to the directors’ position.
“If the police are so convinced that this is necessary, we will of course co-operate. How soon can you have the message ready for coding?”
Luke Shaw, poker-faced, his jubilation showing only in his eyes, dipped his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
“Here it is,” he said.
Every Master of a Blue Flag Line ship received the message by radio that day. Ships in the Indian Ocean, the Pacific, the Atlantic, ships in ports as far apart as London, New Orleans, Hong Kong, Saigon, Buenos Aires, Colombo, Fremantle, and Sydney, all had the message. It read:
Reason to believe attempt to sink your ship might be made by member of passengers or crew. Carry out comprehensive search for explosive immediately and radio result to police headquarters Sydney and a copy to Ocean House.
“Every ship will report all clear,” Mortimer Flag said as Roger and Shaw checked over the list of ships and places. “Perhaps y
ou’ll then admit that it’s a waste of time.”
“Let’s wait for the result, shall we?” Shaw said bluffly. “Now what we want to know is whether any of you can give us an idea what it’s all about.”
“We do not think the ships are in danger,” Raymond said coldly. “So we certainly can’t help you there.”
“You don’t think the Barring family is gunning for you, do you?”
“We do not,” said Raymond. “That is an old affair. We paid the old man a sum in compensation, purely ex gratia, and gave those of his sons who wanted a position the security they needed. There is no reason at all to believe that they are carrying out any vendetta.”
“Lancelot Smith killed himself,” Roger reminded him. “You’ve seen a note of the statement he made before he died.”
“Lancelot Smith suffered from delusions,” Raymond declared, still coldly. “We had no reason to think that they affected his general efficiency. It was Smith who supervised our take-over of the Barring Line. He always felt some degree of responsibility. Paul and Marcus Barring made some threats against him, and he was nervous from then on. That is why we sent him to the London office.”
“He stated quite positively that what happened to the Koala could happen to any ship in the line,” Roger pointed out.
“He believed the Barrings sank the Koala. No one else did. He roused the suspicions, and as a result there was a delay in the findings of the Court of Inquiry, but the findings, when promulgated, were quite clear; there was no evidence as to the cause. The two Barring brothers ran a launch service at the Great Barrier Reef, and their launches crossed the Koala’s course. Certainly there was no evidence against the Barrings; had there been, presumably the police would have acted.”
“We’d have acted,” Shaw growled.
Five minutes afterwards the two detectives left the office; no one shook hands, the atmosphere was cold, almost hostile. They were in a police car outside the office when Shaw spoke thoughtfully, his jubilation gone.
“They seemed pretty sure of themselves, Handsome. We couldn’t have fooled ourselves, could we?” When Roger didn’t answer, Shaw went on, “If we get an all clear from every ship, it will look as if they know what they’re at. If I’d stuck my neck out like you did yours, they would be after my blood.”
“They can’t get at mine so easily,” Roger said mildly.
They settled down, and the chauffeur leaned over and handed a large envelope to Shaw.
“That was delivered half an hour ago, sir. The messenger said it was urgent.”
Shaw ripped the envelope open, found a photograph, and pulled it out. It was the right way up, and both men stared at an unfamiliar face but one which was vaguely like Limm’s.
A typewritten note on the back said:
Benjamin Limm, of Cowra, NSW. Now prospecting in North-Western Australia.
“You see that?” breathed Shaw. “Our man isn’t Limm.”
“Let’s get to his hotel, fast,” said Roger.
18
Arrest
The policeman at the front of the little hotel looked drowsy in the afternoon sun, but he straightened up and was alert enough when Shaw and Roger got out of the car and hurried towards him.
“They’re both inside,” he volunteered.
“Got eyes at the back, too?” demanded Shaw.
“I’d have been told if they’d left, wouldn’t I?”
“I hope so,” Shaw said forbiddingly.
He led the way in. There was no one in the small office, but a notice said, ‘Ring for Service.’ They went upstairs.
A policeman at the second landing, said, “All okay, sir.”
“Heard anything from them?”
“He’s in her room again – spends most of his time there.” The man grinned. “Golden opportunity, I’d say.”
“No one asked you,” Shaw said short-temperedly.
Roger felt the tightening of tension which had been with him so often since the finding of Denise Morrison’s body. On the way, misgiving had crowded his mind, too. He would not suffer personally if the Blue Flag Line ships reported all clear, but it would create other problems, and the Flags certainly wouldn’t co-operate. He even began to ask himself whether it was possible that Lancelot Smith had suffered from delusions, and whether these killings were divorced from the ships entirely.
They reached the girl’s door, which was marked 9.
Shaw banged on it.
There was no immediate response, but a curious kind of noise, almost like a gasp. Then springs, as of a bed, creaked and twanged. Shaw knocked again.
“Who is it?” the man posing as Benjamin Limm called. He sounded out of breath, and now there were other sounds; as of scuffling.
“Superintendent Shaw. I want to talk to you.”
“Come back in five minutes,” Limm called.
“Open this door in two minutes flat or I’ll break it down.”
The girl’s voice sounded, “What can they want?”
Limm didn’t answer. Roger heard a soft footfall on the far side of the door and instinctively braced himself. So did Shaw. The door opened inwards, so it couldn’t be banged in their faces but Limm might have read the danger signals, and be preparing to rush them.
He stood in the doorway, face dusky red with anger. He had on his trousers, socks, and shirt.
“What the hell do you want?”
“To know who you are,” Shaw said curtly. “Cut out the indignation. If you and the girl decide to have a tumble it’s no business of ours. What matters is keeping her alive. What’s your name?”
“Benjamin Limm?” asked Roger. “Or is it Solomon Barring?”
“Solomon Barring!” gasped Doreen.
All the anger drained out of the man’s face. Roger realised that he had not anticipated the discovery even after the peremptory call. His colour faded, the aggressiveness in his powerful body died away into consternation.
“Oh no,” Doreen whispered. “No.”
“You won’t alter facts—” Shaw began, but Roger gripped his arm, and he stopped immediately. The two men were on the same wavelength in most things, as Roger had learned when Shaw had visited London.
Benjamin Limm, alias Solomon Barring, turned away from then and looked at Doreen. There was something almost pathetic in his attitude. He held his arms out towards her, but not at full length, it was as if he expected a rebuff.
“Dorry, it’s not what you think,” he said hoarsely. “It is not anything like that.”
“You’re their brother. And they killed Denise. And I—” Doreen broke off, and looked as if she would burst into tears. Then suddenly fury exploded inside her, she was touched with surpassing beauty as she flung herself at the man.
“You devil!” she cried in a shrill, penetrating voice. “You devil.”
She struck Solomon Barring in the face, and struck and struck again. He stood without giving ground. She struck again and again until red weals showed, and redder scratches, too, but her lover did not yield at all. The girl raised her hands to strike still more but suddenly dropped them. She turned away from the rumpled bed and stood staring at the wall.
“Dorry,” Solomon Barring said, “please list“I don’t want to hear.”
“Dorry—”
“Go away! I hope I never see you again.”
Solomon Barring closed his eyes. He seemed oblivious of the two detectives, of everything except this girl. His lips opened but no words came and he closed them again. Slowly, painfully, he turned away and approached Roger and Shaw. It was a movement of submission, of absolute defeat. He did not speak but gave a little jerky nod.
“I want your explanation,” Roger said.
“Not—not here.”
“Yes, here.”
The man beg
an to show fight.
“No. Let’s get out.”
“You can’t have it all your own way,” Shaw said. “We’re in a hurry. You’re Solomon Barring.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Why pretend you were someone else?”
“Because—because I didn’t want to sail on a Blue Flag ship under my own name.”
“Why take Limm’s?” Roger demanded.
“For God’s sake let’s talk about this in the car – anywhere but not here.”
“Just talk,” Shaw ordered harshly.
Solomon Barring looked as if he would throw himself at them, would do anything to get away, but they blocked his path, two tall and powerful men. He glanced round at the girl, but all she did was to cross to the bed and sit down, her back to the men.
“I believed my brothers were planning some crime against the Kookaburra,” Solomon said at last. His voice was very hoarse. “Something Paul said one night when he’d had too much to drink made me suspicious. Neither of them would tell me anything.”
He paused as if he were physically weary, and standing was an ordeal.
“At the time of the take-over I hated the Blue Flag Line as much as they did, but I couldn’t keep on hating. They could. That’s why I moved out to the country, away from Sydney. We didn’t meet very often, but whenever we did the subject always came up, and they seemed to get worse instead of better.”
“What was your father’s attitude?” asked Roger.
“Dad? He just gave up,” Solomon said. “The Blue Flag Line gave him a kind of golden handshake, enough to keep him in comfort. Losing the ships hurt him in a lot of ways, but it didn’t turn him bad. The worst thing it did was to kill my mother – the worry of it was too much for her. At one time it looked as if the whole family would be without a penny, and Mum and Dad had inherited the Line from their families, it was everything to them. Dad couldn’t get a grip on himself for a long time. He went up to the North Coast of Western Australia, did a bit of fishing and played around with the mother-of-pearl business, but it was years before he was anything like himself again. It hurt me to see him. It made my brothers mad. That’s the truth – it drove them mad. All they could ever think of was revenge.”