Without Lawful Authority

by Manning Coles

  13. Bells on Their Boots

  “I am glad you have come,” said the Middelkirke inspector to Houys. “I have been telephoning your office for advice on this case today, but they told me you were out. I am quite sure this prisoner is no more insane than I am, and as for having fired at the taxi, his pistol was clean when I examined it. At the same time, he did assault my police. There is Bastien, who has a jaw of the most painful; Bouget’s eye is as you see yonder, and Le Clerc’s nose is broken.”

  “What is all this?” asked Hambledon privately of Denton.

  “I was had for a mug,” said the tall man gloomily. “An ass, a mutt, an idiot, and a fool—I am all of them. I stepped into a taxi, was driven out miles into the dunes beyond Middelkirke and told to get out there. There was an automatic within a foot of my midriff, so I complied. He then drove away and left me.”

  “Did you fire at the taxi?”

  “Of course not. I couldn’t hit his tires in the dark and I’ve only got a thirty-two, not an anti-tank gun. I let him go and walked into Middelkirke with my shoes full of sand. On rounding a corner I became aware of a number of dark figures who immediately closed in on me. I thought it was some more of ’em and hit out. I was not in a very good temper. Eventually I was overpowered and borne away, and it then transpired I’d been fighting the police. Why didn’t they say they were police? I’d have been pleased to meet them. They ought to have bells on their boots. They ought to have luminous buttons. They ought to have luminous noses and breathe through mouth organs. They ought——”

  “All right, all right,” said Hambledon. “I’ll explain it away.” He turned to Houys and told him what had happened, and the Belgian endeared himself to England forever by managing not to laugh. He arranged matters with the inspector in a few swift sentences; Hambledon provided compensation for damages, and Denton apologized all round.

  On the way back to Ostend Houys asked if he could describe the taxi driver, and Denton said only in such a manner as to relieve his own feelings, not in any way which would be helpful to the police. The man had a wart on the back of his neck as well as numerous others all over his immortal soul; otherwise there was nothing. Besides, it was dark in the dunes.

  “I heard one piece of news just before we left Ostend,” said Houys to Hambledon. “I had made a few enquiries about our friend the manager; I wondered whether he had really gone to South America. He did not.”

  “Where’s he gone, then?”

  “To heaven, I trust,” said Houys piously. “He was found dead in an alley off the docks in Rotterdam with his head bashed in. He had his passage ticket in his pocket.”

  “He had reason to be frightened,” said Hambledon. “Will you tell Madame Perigoux?”

  “I think I will write her the sad news; I do not like tears when I am not the cause. If I wish people to weep, that is another matter,” added Houys grimly.

  When they arrived again at the Hotel Malplaquet, Madame Perigoux met them.

  “There is a man who has come,” she began, “with a note from M’sieu Richten, authorizing him to open the safe. A M’sieu Albert something—here is his card.”

  “What have you done with him?”

  “I did not know what you would wish, m’sieu, so I told him the manager’s office was occupied this evening by workmen repairing the electric fire and asked him to return tomorrow. He said he would come in the morning.”

  “You have done well, madame. In the morning we shall be pleased to see him. Now, messieurs, a little dinner, yes? And then bed for me. I am used to a peaceful office life, not to rushing about in police cars, interviewing lunatics!”

  “I was wondering,” said Hambledon, “whether Richten put his gloves on before he wrote that note.”

  “Fingerprints, eh?” said Houys. “Madame, if you would lend us Richten’s note for a short time we will return it——”

  “Have it by all means,” she said. “It is in the wastepaper basket by the reception desk. I threw it in there when I had read it—his fingers had touched it; I felt a repulsion; you understand? I will go and fetch it.” She sailed out of the office.

  “I shall hope to hear something tomorrow,” said Houys, “of the other Brussels taxi—the one Richten drove away in.”

  Madame returned carrying a pink wastepaper basket with a gilt rim; it was half full of screwed-up paper, but the lady had a baffled expression.

  “It is not here, messieurs. I will look again at all these pieces, but it is not here. I threw it on the top.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Hambledon, “to look any further. It isn’t there; they thought of that one.”

  “But the impudence of the most brazen——”

  “Madame,” said Houys, “we are dealing with the Boche.”

  * * *

  Hambledon and Denton were just finishing their coffee and rolls next morning when Houys entered the room, and Hambledon asked him if he had breakfasted.

  “At seven-thirty, my friends.”

  “Then it’s nearly time you had another,” said Denton. “Getting up early is very uneconomical; one gets so hungry.”

  “A cup of coffee, perhaps, while we are waiting for the good M’sieu Albert Bertrand—M’sieu Richten’s messenger. I rang up my Brussels office this morning to ask what news of the taxi Richten was in; they knew something about it already. On Monday afternoon two taxi drivers complained to my police that their taxis had been stolen. You will guess that these were the two taxis seen standing outside the Hotel Malplaquet in Ostend the same evening. Later that night one of them was found abandoned at the Northern Station at Brussels. This was the one Richten had gone away in, because you remember M’sieu Denton’s taxi was found outside the Kursaal here in Ostend on Tuesday morning. My men enquired at the Northern Station whether anything was known about the passenger who arrived in this taxi. By one of those strokes of luck we always deserve and so seldom get, the porter who took Richten’s luggage was a friend of the real taxi driver’s and was surprised to see a stranger driving the car instead of his friend, though he had no time to ask questions. He remembered all about it; he told us Richten travelled in the same compartment with a Brussels businessman who was also travelling to Köln. He is now back in Brussels, and my police are asking him for everything he can remember about a tall man with a black beard who travelled with him last Monday. He will tell us; he is a good man. I shall hear again in an hour’s time.”

  “It looks as though anyone desiring to interview Richten will have to go to Köln,” said Denton casually, with a glance at Hambledon.

  “A delightful city,” said Houys warmly. “A pleasant trip if one has the time.”

  “If I ever go to Köln,” said Hambledon enigmatically, “I shall have all the time there is between now and Judgment Day. I would rather Richten came back.”

  Presently a waiter came and murmured something in Houys’ ear. He finished his coffee hastily and said, “The gentleman we expected has come. I told Madame to admit him to the manager’s office at once. Shall we stroll along?”

  The hall of the Malplaquet had several new guests that morning, all men, who stood or sat about, chatting idly of this and that. One was dressed as the Belgian idea of an English tourist, in a loud tweed suit and monumental boots. Houys looked them over with a casual but comprehensive glance, appeared satisfied, and led the way to the office door. The new visitors regrouped themselves in positions conveniently near this door and went on talking; just outside it stood Madame Perigoux in a listening attitude, and Houys and the two Englishmen joined her. From inside the door there came the sound of one complaining in German. “Thieves,” he said audibly. “Robbers. Bandits. Jews and the sons of Jews. Rascally double-crossers.”

  “He seems annoyed,” said Hambledon.

  “Mrs. Hubbard’s dog Albert,” remarked Denton.

  “Eh?” asked Houys, and Hambledon explained that when she got there the cupboard was bare and so the poor dog had none.

  “Shall I ask the ‘poor
dog’ what ails him, messieurs?”

  “If you would, madame.”

  She went in and held the door ajar so that they could hear her asking what it was which distressed him. He replied in angry tones that the safe was empty; the contents had been stolen; there were confidential papers in there and money, lots of money. She had better produce them all, at once, or it would be the worse for her.

  “For me, I have not touched your safe,” she said indignantly, “and as for you, if you threaten me it is you who will regret it.”

  “You dare to argue with me, woman? You will find that there is a law even in Belgium which punishes evildoers.”

  “You probably stole them yourself,” she said contemptuously, “and you will accuse me to cover yourself to your masters.”

  Houys pushed the door open and walked in. “I thought I heard someone invoke the law,” he said mildly. “M’sieu Albert Bertrand, I believe.” He stared hard at the man and added, “Last time we met you had a beard, I think, prison breaker. I am Houys of the Belgian police, and you are my prisoner, M’sieu le Capitaine.” He snapped his fingers sharply; Hambledon and Denton found themselves being gently pushed aside, and the new visitors slid into the room. As they entered the prisoner was so ill advised as to produce an automatic, but one kick from the large boot of the pseudo tourist sent it flying before it could be fired.

  “Scoundrel, you have broken my wrist!” yelled the prisoner, nursing it and dancing with pain. “You will pay for this when the time comes, you——!”

  “Remove the prisoner,” said Houys cheerfully. When the party had filed out he turned to Hambledon and said, “You are without doubt my good genius. Here is a man who was concerned with Dombret and Lutger in the theft of the plans of the Albert Canal fortifications. He escaped from jail; at least that is the official story. In point of fact, the escape was connived at by the prison governor, who subsequently regretted it. Bertrand’s own government must think very highly of him; the price they paid the governor was colossal.”

  “He had his share of impudence to come back to Belgium after that,” said Hambledon.

  “I say again we are dealing with the Boche. Would you be interested to hear his examination?”

  “Beyond measure,” said Hambledon eagerly. He was provided with a seat in a police car on its way to the police station, and beside him, as it happened, sat the gendarme in the surprising tweeds and mountaineering boots. On the way he appeared to be busied with something on the floor of the car.

  “What is it?” asked Hambledon. “Am I in your way?”

  “But not in the faintest degree, m’sieu. It is but these boots. They are too big for me outside and too small inside, as it were. I remove them,” and he did.

  The prisoner, with his arm in a sling, did not take kindly to his examination and only replied to questions with threats of what would happen to them “someday soon” if they did not release him at once, with apologies. Houys wearied of him.

  “To quote a neighbour of ours,” he remarked, “ ‘my patience is exhausted.’ You are an escaped prisoner, if not worse, and you will go back to jail to complete your sentence.” He paused to read a note from Hambledon which was handed to him; it ran, “The prisoner has a wart on the back of his neck like the missing taxi driver.” Houys asked privately if there were, by chance, any of the Middelkirke police on the premises.

  “There is one who came with some reports.”

  “Ask him if he saw the taxi driver who made a complaint about his passenger on Monday night.”

  A gendarme went away to enquire and returned, bringing the Middelkirke policeman with him, who identified the prisoner as the taxi driver in question. Houys nodded at Hambledon and proceeded.

  “Albert Bertrand, you will be remanded in custody while certain tests are made with the automatic pistol which was taken from you at the Hotel Malplaquet.”

  “What folly is this?”

  “It is known that you were connected with the murderers of Raoul Delapre, late manager of the Malplaquet, at Rotterdam on Tuesday night. It is desired to ascertain whether the bullet which killed him was fired from that automatic.”

  “You become more half-witted every minute,” said the prisoner contemptuously. “The man wasn’t shot at all; he was hit on the head with——” His voice tailed off.

  “How did you know that?”

  “I—somebody told me——”

  “Liar. Nobody knew except the police, and not many of them; it was kept a secret. I am not, Bertrand, the only half-witted fool in this room,” added Houys complacently. “You will be handed over to the Dutch to stand your trial for complicity in that murder.”

  “Who cares?” said Bertrand defiantly. “You will find that I shall not be in prison long, believe me. The day will come——”

  “Remove the prisoner,” said Houys contemptuously. “How convenient it is,” he went on, speaking to Hambledon as the proceedings terminated, “when such men as he commit a murder in the countries they dishonour with their presence. They can then be locked up comfortably without international inconvenience.”

  “How true,” said Hambledon. “We hang them, which is even better. We haven’t got any further in the matter of Richten, though, have we?”

  “I will try and persuade the Dutch to ask the German authorities for the extradition of a certain Victor Richten, description so-and-so, suspected of being concerned in a murder at Rotterdam. We shan’t get him, of course, but it will be amusing to hear what they say.”

  “They will deny all knowledge of him, naturally,” said Hambledon, “but it may earn him a black mark. Such as he are not supposed to render themselves conspicuous, though in point of fact the rule doesn’t seem to worry Richten. He had the impudence to try a little kidnapping in England recently—happily he was not too successful; at least he was the only one who got away.”

  “Impudence, it is the Boche,” said Houys once more. “Ah, m’sieu, if you knew the things they do in my poor country which we have not the strength to resent. The intrusions, the insistences, the so-called tourists, the travel agencies, the hotel proprietors—it makes one sick. That prisoner tonight with his threats—— This Sudeten business—how will it end?”

  “In war,” said Hambledon with conviction. “Either now or later, but war in the end.”

  “That is my opinion also. My poor deluded country—since the Franco-Belgian defensive alliance was given up the government hopes that if we give no offence and swallow all their insults we shall be allowed to remain neutral. The folly, m’sieu! The madness! The Boche plays with the small countries like the big cat with the little mice, just a pat now and again to keep us quiet, but what happens to the mice when the cat is ready? I fought in the last war, m’sieu. Now I look into the future and envy my brother who died last year.”

  “I cannot reassure you, m’sieu. Your government will not collaborate with ours in the slightest degree; when at last you wish to it may be too late. Still, if it comes it comes; we must beat him harder next time, that is all.”

  Houys was called to the telephone, somewhat to Hambledon’s relief, for what was there to say? The black shadow had grown till it fell across the world, and these people had thrown their chances away.

  The Belgian returned, saying that his office in Brussels had reported upon Richten. The Brussels merchant who had travelled with him in the Cologne train had been near him when they passed the customs on the frontier. Richten was evidently expected, for he was met and cordially greeted by three men whom the merchant knew to be Nazi officials.

  “He has got away,” said Houys. “I will give the Dutch authorities all the data I have, but it will be useless. It may make him a little more careful in his behaviour when he comes here again, but I doubt even that. Where the Boche is concerned, it is we others who have to be careful in our behaviour,” he added bitterly.

  “Courage, my friend,” said Hambledon. “When the time comes we will change all that, and it will stay changed this time.”
He took a cordial farewell of the Belgian and returned to the Hotel Malplaquet to rejoin Denton. “Now we return to London,” said Hambledon cheerfully, “where I hope to meet one John Marden. It will be a pleasure. Also, I dislike the atmosphere of Belgium at the moment; there is a feeling of impending doom which I personally find depressing.”

  “Like the farmyard before Christmas,” suggested Denton, “if the farmyard knew what was coming. By the way, you remember the fellow who called himself Smith?—I don’t mean me but the Johnsons’ servant from the funny house in Apple Row.”

  “Yes. Common names you people do take; I’d forgotten him for the moment. He said the late-lamented manager here was his brother, didn’t he?”

  “I wonder if it was true,” said Denton. “I wonder how much he liked his brother.”

  “So do I. So much so that I’d like to break the sad news to him myself just to see what happened. I can’t, though, by the way; he’s been deported.”

  But the police had no news of Marden for Hambledon on his arrival in London, and two days after his return things began to happen in Europe which drove his unidentified assistants into the background of his mind. On the evening of September the 12th Hitler addressed his faithful Party assembled at Nürnberg for their annual Congress, and Hambledon, in his flat overlooking St. James’s Park, turned the dial of his wireless set to the Berlin wave length to hear him. Fräulein Ludmilla Rademeyer, in an upright armchair on the opposite side of the fire from Hambledon’s, knitted a sock for him and listened to the voice of the Fuehrer, her eyebrows rising higher every time the scolding tirade rose to a screech. Reck, sitting by the table near the lamp, put down the photographs he was examining with a magnifying glass—he was an enthusiastic amateur photographer—and listened also, the deep lines in his thin face growing deeper as the speech continued. Hambledon himself sat huddled deep in his chair, staring at the fire, an unlighted cigarette forgotten between his fingers and the muscles at the corners of his jaw working as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. “The misery of the Sudeten Germans is without bounds!” yelled Hitler. “These Czechs intend to annihilate them. They are being oppressed in an inhuman and unbearable manner——”