by Desmond Cory
Johnny said, “Yeah, it might… Anythin’ else catch you in the powers of observation, Spencer?”
Spencer said, “Nope. Nothing at all.”
“No, there wouldn’t be,” said Johnny. He lit his cigarette and flicked out the match with his forefinger. “Okay, Inspector?”
“Yes; coming,” said Crashaw, trudging laboriously up the slope. “You want to go anywhere or shall we drop you off back at Cootsbridge?”
“Cootsbridge,” said Johnny, “if you don’t mind. I could use a wash an’ a breakfast, an’ besides, I’ve got my own car there.”
“Right,” said Crashaw. “Spencer, I’m going to put you down outside the ‘Three of Clubs’. I want you to go up and get some sort of statement out of the manager, and anybody else who happens to be around who saw Murray last night. I want to get, as far as possible, an account of Murray’s movements from eight o’clock onwards. Scout around till you get it. All clear?”
“Yes, sir,” said Spencer. He appeared faintly bored by the whole affair.
“Okay; hop in and drive there,” said Crashaw, clambering into the car with the lithe agility of a baby elephant. “Come on, Fedora.”
Johnny swung himself into the seat beside Crashaw; Spencer settled himself into the driver’s seat and let in the clutch.
“Now if we follow up these clues,” said Crashaw, “first of all we’ve got to cast around to find somebody who saw a blue Humber saloon, numberplate – er – what was it, Spencer?”
“APX 714,” said Spencer mechanically.
“APX 714, that’s it – between eleven and twelve o’clock last night. When we’ve done that, and if anything comes of the inquiry, we can search the locality for a house standing not far from the road, with a pane of glass broken. How’s that?”
Johnny blew out a thin and meditative stream of smoke. He said, “That’s all right from one point of view, Inspector. It’s fine. But it’ll be the hell of a lot of good grabbin’ the goods if the Jerries get away, an’ they will. You won’t get near the distributors, let alone the top men. The only time that course’d be justified would be if they had succeeded in getting their entire allocation of drugs over here, when they’d take any risk to get the whole lot away. Confiscation of the lot would finish ’em – drugs aren’t all that easy to get hold of an’ they’re not cheap. But, assumin’ they’re still landin’ the stuff, they’d let a whole lot of it go if it meant savin’ their organization. They might even let us find some – lay a false trail for us ’an watch us gloatin’ over our find while they’re happily ridin’ the owl-hoot behind us. These boys are the cream of German Overseas Intelligence, y’know; they’re the snake’s biceps at this sort of thing, an’ they’re twice as hard to hold.” He laughed and said, “I’ve got a nerve tellin’ all this to you, Inspector.”
“Not at all,” said Crashaw pleasantly. “In fact, you’re dead right. But it seems obvious that we must do something.”
“If in doin’ that somethin’ we get these boys nervous,” said Johnny, “I’d say it’s better to do nothin’ but wait. You realize that they probably don’t know they bumped an Intelligence man, don’t you? They musta thought Murray was an R.A.F. boy who had his head screwed on tight. On the other hand, they’re goin’ to be a trifle worried by it, an’ if they get asked too many awkward questions or see the cops nosin’ around they’re goin’ to get cold feet, shut down the organization for a few months, an’ then re-open somewhere else. An’ then we’ll have to start all over again instead of havin’ all this stuff to work on. No kiddin’, Inspector, if there are any flies on these German I-men then I’m smothered with man-eatin’ spiders; an’ I think I’m pretty good.”
Crashaw smiled. “All right,” he said, “So you think we ought to do absolutely nothing? I’d tell you to go to hell if I wasn’t sure that Holliday’ll tell me the same thing when I tell him about this.” He leant back and sighed. “Well… it should be a pleasant change to be able to sit back and twiddle my thumbs.”
Johnny said, “What might be useful would be some sort of unobtrusive check on some of the people at that joint last night. I don’t mean a check by a shadow; I guess your boys are good at that but they couldn’t be good enough to make it worth while. Just the general background is all we want.”
Crashaw produced a pencil and a small red notebook from his inside pockets and said, “First, I presume, Mr Thomas Driver.”
“But def. If the information he’s got is nothing more nor less than the position of the drug cache it’s a wonder he wasn’t bumped days ago. An’ then Arthur Trevor, who’s the manager of the ‘Three of Clubs’; an’ Paul Gann, who’s assistant manager… You understand I got nothin’ against these guys. This is just a routine sort of check-up.”
The car jerked to a stop and Spencer turned round. “Here we are, sir,” he said, “Shall I carry on?”
“Yes, go ahead,” said Crashaw. “Carry it out as a routine investigation of an accident; don’t forget.” He got out of the car and transferred his weight to the driver’s seat; the car rocked anxiously from side to side and then settled down.
He turned and thrust the notebook and pencil at Johnny. “Here,” he said. “Write down the rest of the names and who they are, and I’ll fix the rest.” He stamped vigorously on the brake, swore, tried the accelerator and the car shot off under imperfect control. He was certainly a shockingly bad driver.
Johnny took the notebook and under “Paul Gann” added in capital letters “Jack Harris.” He usually wrote in capitals as he had only found two people in the world who could decipher his longhand, and they had found it pretty difficult. After a pause he added “Davida Kane”. He then passed the book to Crashaw, who took it, thrust it into his pocket, and hurriedly swung back to the left side of the road. Johnny thought that there might very well be another fatal accident a long time before they reached Cootsbridge. However, after a purely fortuitous bit of bad luck when they met a lorry at a hairpin bend, Crashaw made good time and, pursued by the invective of the lorry-driver, pulled up at the back gate of the “Woodcutter’ s Arms” at five minutes past nine by Johnny’s watch. Johnny got out, twitched nervously once or twice, and said, “Thanks, Inspector. Say – what’s your number if I should want you?”
“Easy one,” said Crashaw. “Cootsbridge 123. Think you can remember it?”
Johnny said, “I think so. I’ll give Holliday a buzz right now. He’d better know about this.”
“Um,” said Crashaw, nodding his head. “Well, cheerio. I’ll be seeing you.”
“So long,” said Johnny. He stood back and the police car shot off, narrowly avoiding a small black dog sitting peacefully on the pavement.
Chapter Six
DRIVER
JOHNNY took a deep breath, turned round and went into the inn. He went through the narrow side-corridor to the hall, picked up the telephone receiver and asked for a Kent number. After a few moments he heard the quiet voice of Squires’ blonde switchboard operator.
He said, “Hiya, Jean. Johnny Fedora here. How you doing?”
She said, “Fine, Johnny. Missing you, though.”
Johnny said, “Yeah?” He sounded sceptical. “Look, some time we’ll have a long chat on the ’phone, all about you an’ me, but right now I want to speak to Mr Holliday. Can you grab him for me?”
“I think so,” said Jean. “But I’ll have to get his London number. Hold on tight.”
Johnny lit a cigarette while he was waiting; he did it entirely with his left hand to make it take longer. After some feminine chit-chat at the other end of the line he heard Holliday’s voice come through.
“Holliday here.”
Johnny said, “This is Fedora. I’ve got some bad news for you about Murray. He’s had an accident.”
“Oh?” said Holliday. There was a short pause. “That’s bad, isn’t it? He’s dead, of course?”
Johnny said, “Of course.”
“All right,” said Holliday. He sounded very tired. “We’d better s
ee into this. Where are you staying? ‘Woodcutter’s Arms’, isn’t it? Right; I’ll be down there this afternoon at two-thirty and you can give me the gen. Have you met Crashaw yet?”
“Yeah.”
“Good; tell him I’ll look him up at two o’clock, before I see you… How did it happen?”
“Motor crash,” said Johnny succinctly.
“How d’you think it looks? Any chance of making anything out of it?”
“Yeah, I think so. But right now it’s a bit of a mix-up.”
“Yes, it would be. Well – so long for now, Fedora. I’ll see you this afternoon.”
“So long,” said Johnny. He replaced the receiver, glanced at his watch and picked up the telephone book. He flipped through it until he came to the K’s, then picked up the receiver again and asked for a number. He leant against the wall, inhaling cigarette smoke and waiting. After a moment he heard Davida’s voice.
“Miss Kane here… who is it?”
Johnny took the cigarette out of his mouth and said, “Hi, Davida. This is Johnny. How are things your end?”
Davida yawned and said, “Oh, it’s you, tall, dark and repulsive. Damn it, do you know the time? I’ve got another two hours’ beauty sleep owing to me.”
Johnny said, “Nuts to that. I’ve been thinking things over. I think it might be a good idea if we had lunch together. How do you feel about that?”
Davida said, “I feel as if that might be a good idea. I wondered why you didn’t suggest it yesterday.”
“Swell,” said Johnny. “Where do you want me to pick you up?”
There was a moment’s pause.
“Meet me outside Henekey’s at twelve-thirty. All right?”
Johnny said, “Fine. An’ you wouldn’t be late, would you? I’ve got to see the boss this afternoon an’ it wouldn’t do for me to be late. In spite of that I think we ought to find time for a nice long chat.”
“That’s all right,” she said, “I’ve got a little shopping to do. But I won’t be late.”
Johnny said, “Good. So long, rosebud.”
He hung up, turned and walked slowly through the bar into the kitchen. The barmaid was washing some large dishes at the sink. She had, he thought, a very nice figure.
She said, “So you’re back, Mr Fedora? I saved some breakfast for you in case you wanted it.”
Johnny said, “That’s great. I could really use it… Don’t bother to take it out in the room – I’ll have it right here, if that’s okay with you.”
She said, “That’s quite all right. You sit down and I’ll serve you something. You do look a bit tired.”
Johnny collapsed into a chair, rather than sat down in it, proving the truth of her last statement. He said, “You’re going to make somebody a wonderful wife, sugar.”
She made no comment to that one whatever. She lit the gas oven and said, “No bad news, I hope.”
Johnny said, “Well, it’s not too good. A friend of mine had an accident and they wanted me to identify the body. I don’t know if you know the guy. Pilot-Officer Murray.”
“Oh no!” she exclaimed. “Not Mr Murray, him that hired the room for you?”
“Yeah. I'm sorry.”
“Oh, so’m I! What a shame. He was such a nice young gentleman. And in the R.A.F. too. Fancy flyin’ one of them airplanes all through the war and then getting killed in an accident. Makes you think, doesn’t it?”
“It certainly does,” said Johnny. She didn't know how right she was. It certainly did. It was making his head spin. He relaxed in the chair, gnawing at the end of his cigarette.
The barmaid, looking at him out of the corner of her eye, said to herself, “Shook him up a bit, I suppose. And no wonder.” She picked up the frying-pan, slid fried bread and bacon expertly on to a hot plate and set it down in front of him. She said cheerfully, “There you are, sir. Just cut yourself a slice of bread and marge if you want it, an’ the jam’s on the table. You’ll feel much better when you’ve got something inside you.”
Johnny said, “Sure I will. Nice of you to take all that trouble… Say, what is your name anyway?”
“Eileen,” she said. “Eileen Gardner.
Johnny said, “Well, thanks, Eileen.” He pronged a forkful of bacon and began to chew. Eileen walked over to the sink and recommenced work on the dishes. Johnny found that while polishing off the bacon he could derive a considerable amount of harmless pleasure from the contemplation of her ankles; which was just as well in view of the gristliness of the bacon.
He wiped his mouth, poured himself another cup of tea and said, “Eileen.”
“Yes, Mr. Fedora?”
“I’m goin’ upstairs for a bit, an’ it’s possible I shall feel tired and lie down on the bed,” he said. “You’ve gotta get me up at eleven o’clock or I’ll come down and smack you. Will you do that for me?”
“Yes, I’ll do that. Certainly,” said Eileen. “Don’t worry, Mr. Fedora.”
Johnny said, “I won’t. I think I’d enjoy smackin’ you, so I win any way.”
He picked up the tea-cup, drank the tea and walked out of the room. He walked upstairs, went along to the end of the corridor and into the bathroom. He was pleased to find that the water was very hot; he left the tap running, went back to his room, and returned carrying his toilet gear and a novel. He was rather interested in the latest developments of the story that he was reading, and this seemed as good a time as any to get on with it.
He undressed quickly, spun off the tap and lowered himself into the steaming water. Then he reached out for his copy of Jane Austen, dog-eared where he had left off reading at Alverton, and began to read.
Johnny’s best friends could not have called him a great reader, but he had a definite fondness for Jane Austen. He liked her characters, the world they lived in, the things they said. Especially he liked her women. He thought that the greatest argument against the emancipation of women was that women were no longer like that. He thought that he liked this one – Anne Elliott – the best of them all, but he wasn’t sure. He stopped reading for a moment, then grinned to himself, and went on. Whichever one he decided he liked best, he wouldn’t stand a chance with her. You could go up to one of Austen’s dames and say, “See me? I’m Johnny Fedora, one of the best men in British Intelligence. I’ve killed the Lord knows how many Germans and I’ve bust a spy ring single-handed, not to mention a blackmail gang an’ a sabotage group an’ various other things not worth mentionin’ that you won’t be able to get out of hearin’ about later. Look me over, kid, I’m hard to get.” And what would she do? Raise an eyebrow and walk off arm-in-arm with the local curate. It wasn’t any use. You might manage to make the worst hellions in Cheyney and Chandler and Chase but you’d come unstuck on those beauties all right. Johnny knew his limitations and regretted them. So he twiddled the hot tap with his right big toe and went on reading.
He finished that chapter and the next one, then tenderly dog-eared the page and threw the book on the floor. He soaped himself vigorously; got out of the bath and dried himself. He shaved, standing in front of the washstand with a towel around his middle; then dressed himself in his shirt, trousers, socks and shoes. He threw his tie over his shoulder, picked up his coat, his towel, his washing gear and Jane Austen, listened to the water gurgling obscenely down the waste-pipes, and returned to his bedroom.
He dumped his load on to a chair, lit a cigarette, pulled off his shoes, and finally rolled on to the newly-made bed with a satisfied grunt. For the next hour, Mr Fedora was Not At Home.
-----------------------
When Eileen came into the room at eleven o’clock she found him with his nose thrust firmly into the side of the pillow. His right hand was just touching the floor; he was completely relaxed. She walked over to the bed and shook his shoulder gently.
“Wake up, Mr Fedora,” she said. “It’s eleven o’clock.” Johnny rolled on to his back and stood up. He grinned and said, “Lucky I asked you to drop in, baby. I was all set to sleep from n
ow till Christmas.” He yawned; began to dress himself as the door closed behind her.
After a cursory investigation of his appearance in the mirror, he walked downstairs to the telephone. He picked up the receiver and asked for Cootsbridge 123; after a few moments’ delay, he heard the unmistakeable voice of Detective-Inspector Crashaw.
“Hi, Crashaw,” he said, “Fedora here… I’ve got a message from Holliday. He’s coming down here; says he’ll be seeing you at two o’clock this afternoon.”
“Thanks,” said Crashaw. “I know. He rang through to tell me. I was just going to ring you up, as a matter of fact. I’ve had the report from Smith about this Driver individual. Interested?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“He says that, according to Driver, Murray only saw him for a few minutes during a casual conversation, in company with several others – including his wife. As far as he can remember, they were talking about the doubtful benefits of British Summer time. He says that he had no private conversation with Murray whatsoever.”
Johnny whistled. “Well,” he said. “That’s awkward. Very.”
“It certainly is,” said Crashaw. “Smith adds a note to the effect that Driver seemed genuinely puzzled by the questions; that he was either speaking the truth, or else is a superlative actor. I think that’s true enough, Fedora; Smith’s a pretty intelligent young man, and doesn’t make mistakes about that sort of thing.”
“So we’ve got to take it that Murray was off the rails, or else that he found some sorta clue in that conversation about Summer Time. It’s coincidental, in a way.”
“You mean – his wrist-watch?”
“Yeah; that still seems sort of fishy to me. Not that I begin to understand any connection.”
“No, but the connection’s there. I see what you mean.”
“We’d better think about that. Any news from Spencer?”
“No; he’s still on the job.”
“Okay. Teuf-teuf,” said Johnny moodily.