by John Creasey
‘But damn it—’ began Brian, and tried to wrench his hands away.
He did not see the man behind him with a gun, held by the barrel, already upraised. The gun fell sharply. It struck the back of Brian’s head with sickening force, and he pitched forward, his eyes rolling. No one troubled to hold him up, and he collapsed at Palfrey’s feet.
Palfrey was forced to step away, while the two men continued their search. Amongst the things they took from his pockets was the automatic, and at sight of it the officer barked: ‘It is a crime to carry firearms!’
‘I beg your pardon,’ said Palfrey humbly.
‘The English fool!’ snarled the officer to Andromovitch. ‘Tell him that we confiscate all guns!’
Andromovitch passed on the message while he was being searched. He too had an automatic, and it went to join Palfrey’s.
There was a bad moment for Palfrey while they felt his waistcoat pockets, but he had left the single red-nosed cartridge in his case, and the thin roll of paper inside the lining of his pocket was not discovered. His other papers, including his passport, were piled on one of the café tables, with the loose change from his trouser pockets in a heap alongside Andromovitch’s. Then two of the men bent over Brian and searched him roughly; the third pile grew high.
The officer turned to Andromovitch.
‘You! Tell the English fools that they are not wanted in Catania, we have no room for them. Tell them they are fortunate to escape as easily as they have done.’
‘I will,’ said Andromovitch.
‘And for patronising such a place as this, they are heavily fined,’ snapped the officer. He swept up the silver from Brian’s pile and Palfrey’s, took some of Andromovitch’s, and thrust it into his pocket. Then he barked more orders. The men with him turned and went stamping out of the café.
Brian was brought to the street and dropped to the cobbles.
The officer turned.
As he did so there was a shrill whistle from the far end of the street. Palfrey started at the sound. The officer snapped an order, and then began to run with his men in the opposite direction. As they went Andromovitch moved, running with them. Palfrey joined in, suddenly following the other’s train of thought. Palfrey caught up with the rearmost man and put out a foot; the man went crashing down. Andromovitch shot out two great arms and bowled the next two over. He redoubled his efforts, and streaked past most of the others, catching up with the officer. Palfrey had tripped up yet another man, and was able to see Andromovitch seize the officer in one great arm and literally fling him to the ground.
Palfrey drew up with the Russian, who was breathing a little too quickly.
‘That is enough, I think,’ he said.
‘Plenty,’ gasped Palfrey. ‘Nice work.’
Turning, they were passed by a dozen uniformed policemen running at high speed. Some of the police who had arrived were picking up the fallen members of the attackers, and hustling them to the sidewalk. Amongst the prisoners was the officer, whose truculence had completely faded.
‘That whistle,’ said Palfrey. ‘They had scouts out, of course, and it was a warning.’
‘Obviously,’ said Andromovitch. ‘The real police were summoned. I imagine that perhaps Clive had something to do with that. Now we have to prepare ourselves for an interview with the genuine police, Sap! We shall tell the same story, of course. We went there to have coffee, and were amazed at the interruption.’
Palfrey nodded.
The task was simplified when the captain of police who approached recognised him at once, and was full of apologies for the outrage. Dr. Palfrey would please accept the greatest of sympathies for a personal attack by a gang of ruffians. There was an element in Orlanto hostile to the authorities and the regime.
By then Brian, attended by one of the police, was conscious and on his feet, looking pale and unsteady but bright-eyed with anger.
They reached the hotel, Brian with his hat resting lightly on the back of his head to conceal the lump and abrasion. If his dusty and dishevelled appearance brought many curious stares, there was no comment, and they went together to Palfrey’s room.
Palfrey closed the door and locked it.
‘After that, there’s no point in us not being seen together,’ he said. ‘We’ve been introduced with a vengeance.’ He eyed Brian solicitously. ‘Let me have another look at your head, Brian, they may have made a clumsy job.’
‘Oh, it’s all right,’ said Brian. ‘The thing that kills me is that we let those swine get away without doing anything to stop them.’
‘We’ve learned something,’ said Palfrey. ‘By the time I’ve seen Don Salvos this afternoon, and interviewed the police again, we’ll have learned much more. But what we know is disturbing enough.’
‘All we’ve learned is that there’s a gang of cut-throats, dolled up in ersatz uniforms, who scuttle away at the sight of the police,’ said Brian explosively.
‘Oh no. Rather more than that,’ said Palfrey pensively. ‘The cut-throats are frightened of the police, agreed, but powerful enough to dare to raid the café. Now we know why Hermandes was so frightened, why the man he called lose was in such danger. With an organisation like that able to work in daylight, what can it do at night? It can terrorise the population, or those members of the population it chooses for its victims. Nazi-backed, of course, that’s as plain as a pikestaff. Clive knows of it, and is scared by it, and he is not a man to be easily frightened. I wonder,’ he added quietly, ‘whether Clive will turn up here again?’
‘If you ask me, he took you along there so that you’d get shanghaied again,’ said Brian.
Palfrey raised his eyebrows.
‘A trap? Oh, I don’t think so. Both he and Hermandes were genuinely scared when Manoel and the girl gave the warning.’
‘What did Hermandes want?’ asked Andromovitch.
‘To know just what I was doing in Orlanto,’ said Palfrey. ‘He doesn’t know any more now than he did when he first saw me.’
‘Do you think he will return?’ asked Andromovitch.
‘It isn’t going to surprise me,’ admitted Palfrey. ‘But I’ve something else to do. I want to try to make sure that José isn’t spirited away from Don Salvos’ home, and more precautions will have to be taken.’ He played with a lock of his thin hair. ‘I shall have to talk to Don Salvos soon,’ he added quietly. ‘And the quicker the better, I think. Will you two take a rest while I go?’
‘What will you get out of him?’ demanded Brian.
‘I don’t know,’ admitted Palfrey. ‘A full story of the unofficial gestapo, I hope.’ He smiled. ‘Anyhow, wish me luck!’
Chapter Ten
Rodriguez y Taza Salvos
On the side of a tree-clad hill, with the white Moorish roofs of houses showing between the green foliage and the square, red tiles of modern-style roofs on other estates stretched out beneath it, was the home of Rodriquez y Taza Salvos, the Good Samaritan of Orlanto. From the glass-enclosed verandah on which the old man was lying Orlanto could be seen, a vista of white and red buildings, the more crowded, poorer quarters contrasting with the wide boulevards and the great buildings of the centre of the city.
The verandah was not too warm. A fresh breeze came in from the Atlantic, and the windows were open. It caught all the sun there was, but the breezes ensured the coolness and the freshness that his malady demanded.
He looked an old man.
His hair and long, carefully combed beard were alike snow-white. His delicate, handsome features might have been chiselled by a master who had taken a patriarch for his model.
He idly watched the sparse traffic coming up the road. Then he frowned, and leaned forward a little.
The long car which brought Palfrey to the house on the hill disappeared once it turned the drive. Don Salvos waited, his eyes narrowed and reflective, until Palfrey’s firm footsteps drew near. Palfrey came in, smiling, his round shoulders and weedy frame contrasting with the square angularity of the Catanes
e, who extended a white hand.
‘I saw you coming, Señor Palfrey.’
‘I saw you sitting here, counting the cars,’ smiled Palfrey. ‘And how are you feeling?’
‘I feel much better, but I was concerned in case—’
Palfrey laughed.
‘The trouble with a man who has been sick,’ he said, ‘is that he always suspects that he will remain sick until the end of his days. The quicker you are better the more I shall like it. So will a lot of others, Don Salvos.’
‘Others?’ demanded the Catanese.
Palfrey spoke quietly, remembering that the Marquis of Brett had told him that if this man would return to the political stage he would have the support of the whole country; that was enough to convince him that Don Salvos had influence; and men with influence needed to know what had happened that day.
‘The poor people who are victims not only of circumstances but of oppression, Don Salvos. This morning—not more than two hours ago—I had a nasty experience in Orlanto. I think you should know about it; you may be able to help.’
‘I am appalled!’ exclaimed Don Salvos. ‘What was it, señor?’
Palfrey told him quietly, watching the man’s face all the time. He saw Don Salvos tighten his lips until they showed only in a thin line, and something of the glow faded from his eyes. Palfrey’s low-pitched voice did not falter, and he drew a vivid picture of the outrage. As he approached the end of his story, he unclasped his knees and stood up, saying:
‘And so, Don Salvos, I found operating in Orlanto an illegal organisation, wary of the police it is true, and yet powerful and strong enough to enforce its will on some of the people. It surprised and perturbed me. You are a person of great influence in Orlanto, and’ – he eyed the older man steadily – ‘no one would seriously doubt that, if the official action against these armed bullies was strong enough, it could be stopped.’
Don Salvos looked over the smiling hills to the peaceful ocean, and said as quietly as Palfrey: ‘That is true, my friend, but you overlook a matter of great importance. The over-riding factor in whatever happens in Orlanto, and in the whole of Catania, is money. Our people are loyal and true friends of your country, but many of them are starving, and when a man is hungry he does not ask where his food comes from. I express myself clumsily, but you understand my meaning.’
‘Is the difficulty with the common people?’ asked Palfrey. ‘Or is it with the leaders?’
‘It is everywhere,’ said the old man simply.
‘It starts with the leaders,’ said Palfrey energetically. ‘They are bribed, of course, or some of them are. But …’ he shrugged. ‘This is a question of politics, and I am a doctor. But it worries me, Don Salvos, and when I return to England and report what I have seen, it isn’t likely to be well received.’
‘I no longer have influence,’ said Don Salvos. ‘I am a member of the Cores, yes, but I have no position.’
‘You have the support of nine people out of ten,’ said Palfrey vigorously. ‘You can stir them to a sense of urgency, you can make them understand what is happening.’
‘I will think over what you have said, señor, and perhaps there is a way in which I can help. Meanwhile’ – Don Salvos’ smile lost a little of its sadness – ‘I am beginning to wonder what you will ask tomorrow! First, hospitality for a poor sufferer, and I gladly granted it. Next, a home, where others can be cared for, and as gladly I agreed. Now—’
‘A sanctuary for the people you love,’ said Palfrey quietly.
He left the other soon afterwards, even more thoughtful than when he had entered.
Don Salvos had made no attempt to deny the strength and growing power of the organisation, so far nameless to Palfrey. Nor had he sprung at the opportunity to act against it, as Palfrey had half expected. It might be that he was nervous, perhaps afraid; and that was reasonable enough in a sick man. Palfrey frowned to himself as he walked through the quiet, secluded house towards the other sick man’s room.
Here there was no glass-enclosed verandah, but a bed was drawn up by a wide, open window, and there was a strong, fresh breeze.
‘José’ was sitting as Don Salvos had been, upright on pillows, and with a book near him. His hair was as white as the older man’s, and it was difficult to believe that he was no more than thirty-four. A few days of rest, treatment and good food had made a considerable improvement; his cheeks had filled out a little, although he remained painfully thin, and the neck of his nightshirt, open a little, showed that the weals thus revealed were healing well.
He looked up at the opening of the door, and then smiled in welcome.
‘Good morning, señor. I did not expect the pleasure of seeing you today.’
‘I had to come near,’ said Palfrey. ‘I couldn’t pass by.’
He made the usual inquiries, and looked at the report-sheet that a nurse, attending both the invalids, had kept. He was satisfied that José’s condition was not incurable, although it had been sharply aggravated by his recent suffering. He imagined that beneath the man’s welcoming smile there was deep anxiety, perhaps apprehension; José could see one of the roads from Orlanto, and from time to time he must wonder whether someone coming up that road intended to visit him with a far different purpose from Palfrey’s.
They talked for ten minutes, and then Palfrey stood up.
‘I have just seen Don Salvos, Señor José. We spoke for some time. I am going to tell you what we talked about, and then leave you until tomorrow. After you have had time to think, you may decide that it is safe to tell me more, and that I might be able to help.’
He told his story and saw the other’s eyes grow fierce, unlike Don Salvos’, and he finished by saying: ‘Until tomorrow, señor.’
‘You have given me much to think about,’ said José.
He walked from the house to his car, not ten yards away from him. A liveried chauffeur, in Don Salvos’ employ and loaned to him for the duration of his stay, was standing and staring towards the lime trees growing near by. He did not move as Palfrey neared him, but turned abruptly when Palfrey spoke.
‘I am sorry, señor, I did not hear you.’
‘That’s all right,’ smiled Palfrey.
‘I was amused,’ said the chauffeur, opening the door. ‘A little creature, but lively! You should have seen him spring from tree to tree!’
Palfrey, half-way inside the car, stopped abruptly.
‘What little creature?’ he demanded.
‘Why, señor, the monkey. Sometimes a little brown one will be in these grounds, but this was a new one, a grey one, señor. They are comical, si?’
As the car sped back to Orlanto, Palfrey wondered if the owner of the monkey had followed him. He could make sure of that only by leaving the house. If the object of the visit was Don Salvos or – and much more likely – José, he could do more by returning to the city and making arrangements for the house to be watched by night. He did not think there was any immediate danger by day.
He left the car at the Prago Commercio, on the pretext that he had shopping to do, dismissed the chauffeur, and then walked slowly to the hotel. As far as he could tell he was not followed. He went immediately to his own room, and had hardly closed the door before the telephone rang.
‘Dr. Palfrey speaking,’ he said into it.
‘Thank the Lord you’re back!’ exclaimed Brian. I’ve been stalling Clive for the past hour. Can you come now?’
‘Yes. Where are you?’
‘In the lounge.’
‘And Stefan?’
‘He’s close by.’
‘I think it will be better for you all to come up here,’ said Palfrey.
Clive entered, quickly.
He was not so self-confident as he had appeared before, and clearly the shaking-up of the morning had worried him. He eyed Palfrey with a new expression in his eyes.
‘You can run pretty fast, Clive.’
The Englishman coloured furiously.
‘If you’d had any sen
se you would have come with me.’
‘I had nothing to fear from them,’ Palfrey retorted.
‘You’ll be a marked man because of it,’ said Clive, with conviction, ‘Don Salvos or no Don Salvos.’
‘Then I’m a marked man,’ said Palfrey. He paused at another tap, and Andromovitch entered. ‘Hallo, Stefan,’ he said. ‘I thought you wouldn’t be long.’
Clive started. ‘Stefan? Do you know each other?’
‘We are acquainted,’ said Andromovitch sardonically.
‘Stefan was there to look after me at the café,’ said Palfrey. ‘Clive, although I think precious little of your behaviour this morning, I’m going to give you the credit for having good motives, and you may as well know now that Andromovitch, myself and Debenham are old acquaintances.’
Clive backed to a chair, and brushed his hand across his forehead.
‘Well, I’m damned! All of you?’
‘The three of us,’ said Palfrey. ‘This will be Brian.’ He paused until Brian had entered, and added: ‘Lock the door, will you? … thanks. We’re about to have a talk with Mr. Clive,’ he added heavily. ‘A reversal of this morning’s interview, but before that we’ve other business to look after. Can you get in touch with Hermandes by telephone, Clive?’
‘Ye-es.’
‘Then you’d better telephone him now,’ said Palfrey, pointing his pipe towards the instrument, ‘and advise him to send several of José’s friends to the house on the hill. There’s a possibility of trouble there. A possibility, no more, but after the bother we’ve had to keep José safe, we don’t want to throw him away again.’
Clive snapped, Tie mustn’t be caught.’
‘Then get busy,’ said Palfrey.
From the way Clive talked into the telephone the others gathered that he had some difficulty in persuading Hermandes to act without having more knowledge of the reason for the advice.
‘A difficult man to convince,’ murmured Andromovitch.