by John Creasey
‘And now you have a pen-picture of the five people with whom you will be working,’ said the Marquis. ‘The only one you know, even slightly, is Drusilla Blair.’
Brian rubbed his chin and smiled.
‘I’m still trying to make myself believe that.’
‘The only reason Drusilla will be with you,’ said the Marquis, ‘is because no one on the other side suspects her part in espionage. Her concerts here and in America entitle her to travel more or less at will, of course. However, you’ll get on well with Drusilla, and also, I think, with Palfrey. When you meet Palfrey you will find it equally hard to believe that he is playing a part in this. I selected him at Drusilla’s urgent representation.’ That was another half-truth. ‘She knew that a doctor was needed—you can see why, of course?’
Brian nodded. ‘If we get these poor beggars out of jail, they’ll probably need medical attention.’
‘More than that,’ said the Marquis gravely. ‘Reports from all the concentration camps make it clear that there is more tuberculosis than any other disease of the virulent type, a fact common to the occupied lands. Palfrey has developed a treatment which is simple enough in its administration, and in many cases he will probably be able to save the lives of the rescued men.’
Brian nodded without speaking.
‘Palfrey, then, will be invaluable from that point of view, and as far as I have been able to discover he meets the other qualifications. Van Hoysen, the American, is a different type. I don’t know him well, but he has been warmly recommended by Washington, and it was obviously wise to have an American in the squad, if it were possible. Van Hoysen is tough’ – the Marquis’s lips curved a little – ‘and very downright in his manner, a brilliant linguist and one of the few Americans I know who can, if he chooses, speak English without an accent.’
‘I’m looking forward to meeting him,’ said Brian.
‘You’ll meet them all in a day or two. The fourth man is Stefan Andromovitch, already on his way to Orlanto from Kuibeshev. The Soviet was approached at the same time as America, and declared for the idea immediately. I don’t know Andromovitch at all, but several of our men in Russia have met him, and the reports are excellent. Several of the men we want to get out of Germany are Russians, and Andromovitch will be invaluable with them—and I think with the others. The fifth man,’ continued the Marquis in his summing up, ‘is Labollier, a man who himself escaped from prison eighteen months ago, and instead of getting straight to France, or coming over here, travelled about Germany and brought back a vast amount of information without once being suspected. All the rest of you—including van Hoysen, who spent two years in Germany some time ago—know the Continent fairly well, but Labollier knows it like the palm of his hand. He will see you right on topographical details.’
Brian fingered his glass, looking across the table with unveiled admiration.
‘You aren’t leaving much to chance,’ he said; ‘and it couldn’t be much more comprehensive.’
‘Everything is left to chance!’ exclaimed the Marquis with sudden and surprising vehemence. ‘The whole success of the venture will depend fifty per cent on luck and fifty per cent on your ability to move quickly and take advantage of the slightest opportunity. But, Brian, I don’t want to hide anything from you. If I were to hear in a month’s time that all six of you had disappeared without a trace, it would not surprise me.’
Brian grimaced.
‘Let’s keep it cheerful!’ he protested. He raised his glass, waited for the Marquis to follow suit, and then said: ‘To the fifty per cent of luck!’
‘So far I haven’t seen you turn a hair,’ smiled the Marquis. ‘True, I didn’t expect you to, but it’s pleasant to have fond hopes realised! Well, you have about nine hours left in London. I want you to get down to the South Coast after taking a few hours’ rest, and catch the morning ’plane to Orlanto. I’ll have a car at your flat by six-fifteen in the morning, and I’ll send a packet to you this evening. What are you going to do with yourself meanwhile?’
‘Take a last, lingering look at London,’ said Brian with a mock-frown. ‘Shall I see you again before I go?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said the Marquis. ‘I have an appointment at three o’clock, in Whitehall, and several social engagements during the evening—I must keep up my pretence of being a reprobate! Seriously, I can’t avoid these engagements, which is why I had you here for lunch.’ He glanced at a clock set in the wall, and raised his eyebrows. ‘It’s twenty to three now. I must be off.’ He stepped towards Brian, hand outstretched. ‘Au revoir, Brian. I won’t say good bye. Remember that if I were thirty years younger I’d be with you myself.’
‘I’m just beginning to believe it,’ said Brian. ‘I’m not even sure you won’t turn up, sooner or later.’ His banter covered his emotion as he shook hands, then saluted, and turned smartly from the room.
Christian let him out of the house.
Brian stepped into Brierly Square, glanced in both directions, and then began to walk swiftly towards Oxford Street. He was deeply immersed in his thoughts and gave no heed to others near by; consequently he did not know that from the corner of the Square a slim, sleek man followed him, not ostentatiously, but at a pace which matched his own.
Chapter Five
Brian Gets a Black Eye
Only the sleek man followed Brian, and was observed by no one in Brierly Square who might have sent a warning. Brian reached Oxford Street, pausing in his thoughts enough to take some care in crossing the road, and then walked towards Wimpole Street.
Before the war he had rented a flat for his own use and convenience, but since property and flats in London had become scarce he had shared it with friends in the Services. Thus it was that the flat was rarely empty, although its occupants might change from day to day.
Only Brian was using it now.
He went in, dropped his hat, stick and gloves on to a table, and lit a cigarette.
Then he sat down to write several letters, long overdue and never likely to be written if he waited until he reached Orlanto. He was in the middle of the third when a ring at the front doorbell made him start. He pushed letter and pen aside, and went to open the door, wondering whether one of the other joint occupants of the flat had arrived. Instead, he saw a small woman standing there and smiling vividly. She was a pretty creature, dressed in a green linen two-piece, hatless, with golden hair burnished by the sun which shone behind her.
‘Darling!’ she exclaimed. ‘Brian, how lovely to see you!’ She flung herself towards him, entwining what she could of his large waist in her arms, and staring up at him. ‘Sweetheart. I just couldn’t wait for you to call me, I had to come the moment I heard that you were in town! Fifi told me; she saw you. How long leave have you got, honey? Don’t say forty-eight hours. I couldn’t bear as little as that!’
Brian disentangled himself. Had the bright grey eyes of the girl been more shrewd they must have seen that he did so without reluctance and that he hastily closed the door and kept behind her.
‘Not forty-eight,’ he said. ‘Not any at all, May. I’m on my way through London from one unit to another, and just took a few hours off.’
‘Oh, how hateful!’ May le Fleur widened saucer-like eyes and stood staring up at him from her five feet one. ‘Darling, what can we do in a few hours?’
‘I’d planned some sleep and an early dinner,’ said Brian.
‘Sleep! Honey, you are a scream, aren’t you? Of course you don’t mean it. Why I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t take me out somewhere when you did have the opportunity. Oh, I know—I’ve discovered the cutest place at Richmond. It’s warm enough to sit by the river and have some tea, then we can have dinner there. Have you got the car?’
‘No,’ said Brian.
‘Well, we can take a taxi,’ declared May carelessly. ‘Oh, look at all the letters you’ve been writing! Is there one to me?’ She went swiftly towards the letters, and Brian said heavily: ‘They’re to all my other lovel
ies, and I hadn’t half finished.’ He deliberated on his best course of action. He had no particular desire to go to Richmond, but on the other hand a blow by the river would do him good, and he would have plenty of time for reflection on the way to Orlanto. A scene with May was the last thing he wanted as a parting memory of London, and he decided to take the line of least resistance.
An hour and a half later they were sitting in the garden of a small café backing on the Thames at Richmond. The café was passable, the cakes and tea well up to war-time standard, but the only thing which gave Brian any idea as to why May was so enthusiastic was a small notice above the door declaring that the River Club was open until one o’clock a.m. As conversation meandered on, he gathered that May was meeting some friends there at ten o’clock, and he marvelled at the effrontery of her admission that, as he would not be free, she would stay in Richmond rather than return to town with him. Nevertheless he was relieved, and correspondingly lighter-hearted. May chattered on, trilling idly on this and that, producing a flow of personalities and petty spites which left him gasping. Then suddenly she broke off.
‘Oh, Brian, look at that. A monkey! Isn’t he a dear? Don’t you love monkeys?’ She jumped from her seat and approached the little animal which had appeared from the wall of a nearby garden and was peering down at her. A light wind ruffled her peroxided hair, blew her skirts above her shapely knees – she was a miniature Venus, thought Brian, no woman could have a better figure.
Along the alleyway leading to the river and towpath came a man, tall, burly, roughly clad, with a choker about his neck and rubber knee-boots reaching half-way along his thighs. A scur-visaged individual, thought Brian, and then bridled when the man growled: ‘Who d’yer think you are?’ He was glaring at May. ‘Leave ’im alone, can’t yer?’
‘But he’s so sweet!’ trilled May, oblivious to disapproval.
She stretched her hands up towards the monkey, which darted farther along the wall. Had the waterman been less of a lout Brian would have been amused. As it was, he decided that the best thing was to let the rudeness pass, for he had a rooted objection to making a scene, and May had asked for a rebuff. On the other hand, she had not asked for the heavy push which sent her against the wall.
‘Leave ’im alone!’ the waterman snarled.
Brian reached the couple in three long strides. The waterman turned a ruddy, florid face towards him. His little eyes were insolent, and he went on: ‘Who might you be? Want anyfink ’ere?’
‘I think you’re forgetting yourself,’ said Brian. ‘Are you all right, May?’ She was leaning against the wall, startled that anyone should do her even mild violence. ‘An apology’s called for. What about it?’ Brian went on.
The waterman leered at him.
Something clicked in Brian’s mind.
It dropped into position because he caught a glimpse of three other men approaching down the alley. Two of them were huskies, like the waterman. The third was tall and sleek. In a flash it came upon Brian that the encounter was no accident; the deliberate insult to May, even the rough handling, was a calculated business.
He went no further than that before May said: ‘Brian, hit the pig! Go on!’
The last thing he must do, thought Brian hastily, was to become involved in a fracas which might injure him or delay his journey.
‘May, get back to the table,’ he said sharply.
‘Hit me, would yer?’ said the waterman harshly. ‘We’ll see about that!’
In a moment the situation was transformed; it was either a fight or an unqualified withdrawal – and it occurred to Brian that the withdrawal would be prevented by the trio now on the towpath. The waterman shot out a clenched fist a fraction of a second before Brian ducked. The punch took him in the left eye, proving so painful that it made him gasp and sway backwards, but he side-stepped at the same time to make another wild swing miss him.
May screamed.
Brian felt his left eye closing, but had good enough vision with his right. He sent a hook to the waterman’s chin which landed heavily, and gave him a momentary satisfaction, for it was repayment in full for the blow in the eye. Moreover, it made his adversary slip, and Brian followed with a pile-driver to the stomach which sent the waterman reeling back against the wall. The monkey set up a shrill chattering, and May screamed again.
Then heavy footsteps came clearly. Brian swung round, to see the other two huskies close at hand. He struck out wildly, for he was off his balance. He managed to land a blow on a man’s ear, but then they cannoned into him, making no effort to avoid his blows. Their weight carried him towards the river, and May’s screaming reached a new high note.
The sleek man drew near.
Brian had no time to see that. All he could do was to try to save himself from falling, but he failed. He struck his head on the gravel of the towpath heavily, and his senses reeled. He felt himself being half-lifted and half-dragged towards the river, and no amount of kicking and struggling availed him.
Someone snapped: ‘In with him!’
The river was not far away. He caught a glimpse of its ruffled water, and then felt himself hoisted over the bank. He sprawled downwards. The drop was no more than seven or eight feet, but he struck the water with an almighty splash and went under. The shock of the cold immersion cleared his head enough to make him stop struggling, and he reached the surface, knowing that the river was no more than a foot or two deep just there. But he saw the huskies waiting on the bank to prevent him from getting back, and at the same time a small boat neared him. A sweep of an oar, coming through the water and seeming accidental enough, took him off his balance. Another sweep, and the blade of the oar cracked the water close to his head.
‘My oath,’ thought Brian, ‘they mean to get me!’
Everything seemed very quiet when he broke water.
He saw the opposite bank only ten yards away, struck out for it, and finally dragged himself to his feet. No one was standing there, for the river on that side was deserted, but a crowd had gathered about the River Café. He caught a glimpse of the aggressive waterman running fast along the towpath, and saw him dive into an alleyway leading to the High Street. He saw nothing of the two men who had sent him into the water. There was no sign of the sleek man, but the occupant of the boat had pulled inshore and was clambering up the opposite bank.
Brian waited long enough to regain his breath, and then swam the river again.
When he stood up, close to the bank, he heard the boatman declaring roundly that he had tried to help the ‘fella’, who had ignored the oar he had pushed out.
May’s acquaintance with the staff of the River Café made it easy for him to secure a small room in which to take off his clothes, and get a hot bath. Before he went to the room he arranged with May to return by taxi to Wimpole Street, and to bring him a clean uniform.
Steaming in the bath, he reflected deeply on what had happened.
‘They did come at me, and it was deliberate. There was no accident about it, they wanted me dead. I can’t tell the police that without being asked a welter of questions, and I can’t get in touch with Uncle Jocelyn at short notice.’
Footsteps raced up the stairs. After the merest pretence of a tap at the door May burst in.
‘Brian!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’ll never believe it, but when I got to the flat your clothes were all over the place, and your bureau—well, you’ve never seen such a sight. The papers were everywhere, and all your suit-cases had been opened out and things thrown everywhere. Isn’t it wicked?’
Brian agreed somewhat heavily that it was wicked.
He returned to Wimpole Street by taxi. The prospect of clearing the flat was not an inviting one, and the disorder he found there was even worse than May had predicted. Glumly, he set about the task of tidying it, thankful only that nothing could have been discovered of importance. The Marquis had passed on no papers, but had given him his instructions by word of mouth. He had said, however, that during the evening a small pack
et would be delivered. Brian had a moment of anxiety lest it had been found and taken, but at nine o’clock a tap on the door heralded an unostentatious-looking little man holding a brown-paper packet in his hand.
‘Captain Debenham?’
‘That’s right,’ said Brian.
‘I think you are expecting this, sir.’ The man passed over the packet, somewhat larger than a box of a hundred cigarettes, and went off immediately.
Brian opened the packet with considerable eagerness.
The tin inside the paper contained a small, serviceable-looking automatic, and three clips of seven cartridges. On one of the clips was a piece of paper, and the Marquis’s fine handwriting was on it. Brian unrolled the slip, and read:
In this clip is a cartridge with a red mark on the nose. The cartridge is a dummy, and contains instructions you will open in Orlanto, after you have made contact with Palfrey and Drusilla.
There was no signature.
Brian raised an eyebrow, looked for and found the marked cartridge, eyed it for some seconds, and then put it into a pocket of the suit he proposed to wear on the ’plane to Orlanto. By then he was feeling tired, and his bruised eye was throbbing. He was affected sufficiently by the attack at Richmond and the evidence of careful preparations against him to bolt the door and fasten the bedroom window so that it was a few inches open but could not be forced easily. Then he set an alarm clock for five-fifteen and turned in.