“So what has this Gilbert woman been up to, or aren’t I allowed to ask that?” she enquired, settling herself into an easy chair.
Maynard replaced the cup into its saucer and put it down on the table. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that Mrs Jefferies, Official Secrets Act and all that, and I must stress to you that what we have discussed this morning must go no further than this room.”
“I understand,” she replied, her eyes showing a look of amazement at what she had been told.
*
Griselda had felt intimidated since Guntram’s return from Bristol; his mannerism towards her had changed, which frightened her. He had said nothing about his meeting with the other agent or what had been discussed, all of which made her feel uneasy knowing what he was capable of. She decided when she got back to Coaley that evening to contact Berlin herself, irrespective of what Guntram said; with him having made all the transmissions of late she found it a little strange that there had been no further instructions for her. Although trained in the art of espionage and having a reasonably good rate of accuracy when it came to shooting, she had never had to put the latter into practise. She had seen the look of satisfaction on his face after returning from Moreton Valence as he sat and cleaned the remainder of the dead soldier’s blood from the knife; the ‘silent killer’ he had joked, opening and closing it several times. Leaving her office at the allotted time she quickly made her way to the station and was able to get a seat for the whole of the journey to Coaley but as the train came to a stop in the station she didn’t move as a sudden feeling of foreboding swept over her. She stared at the only other passenger in the compartment who was engrossed in an evening newspaper and who paid her no heed. Did she know him? He looked vaguely familiar; most probably she’d seen him travelling on the train before, they could have shared a compartment together if he was a regular user like herself. He caught her looking at him and she automatically turned away. Out of the corner of her eye Griselda watched him neatly fold up the newspaper and lay it on his lap, then from his inside pocket take out a silver cigarette case.
“Do you mind?” he asked, politely.
“No, not at all,” she answered impulsively.
Silence rained for a few moments as she watched him go through the sequence of taking out a cigarette and lighting it.
“Oh! Do excuse my manners, would you like one?” he asked, flicking open the case and leaning towards her.
“Thank you,” she answered, taking a cigarette and the light when it was offered.
“The nights are getting colder,” he commented, turning slightly towards her and crossing his legs.
Griselda wasn’t sure whether to engage in conversation with him or not, but thought it would seem odd if she didn’t reply to his remark and also she was curious to know if he was a regular commuter.
“Yes, they are,” she replied, taking a long draw on her cigarette which had a calming effect. “Do you use the line often?” she asked casually.
“No! Business meeting tomorrow morning in Gloucester.”
“Oh, I see. It’s just that you seem rather familiar that’s all, and with me using the train every day for work I thought I might have seen you before.”
“I’m afraid not. I can’t remember the last time I used this line.”
“I’m sorry, my mistake.”
“That’s quite alright. Do you live in Gloucester?” he enquired.
Griselda had been ready for this remark when it came. “Yes! My partner and I have a small cottage there,” she lied.
“Sounds very nice, have you got any family?”
“No, we haven't. How about you?” she asked, wanting to throw the ball back into his court.
“I have a son in the merchant navy but God knows where he is at the moment,” he answered with a look of concern on his face.
Griselda sensed the man’s anxiety but inwardly hoped his son was lying at the bottom of the sea with his ship, courtesy of one of Donitz’s U-Boats.
“Yes, it must be a very worrying time for you when he’s at sea.”
“It is, he’s all I’ve got, what with his mother now passed on.”
Griselda felt no remorse as she felt the train start to slow as it approached Gloucester Station.
Her main concern was her ticket, which was only valid to Coaley as she watched him get up and take down his small travelling bag from the luggage rack above.
“Well, it’s been nice talking with you,” he smiled, as the train came to a halt.
“Likewise,” she acknowledged.
Chapter Thirteen
LILLIAN GILBERT’S unexpected action at not getting off at Coaley had been a surprise for both Maynard and Barrett. Their carefully laid plan to follow Gilbert home with the hope of catching two birds with one stone had all gone up in smoke when the ticket collector at Coaley station had reported that she had not left the train.
“What the hell is she up to Leslie?” Maynard asked, nodding in acknowledgement at the young constable who handed him a note to ring Clifford Granville.
“I don’t know, unless she is meeting this Raven chap somewhere.”
“That ticket clerk at Coaley is sure that the ticket she bought this morning was a return back to there?”
“Positive!” Barrett answered.
Maynard went quiet for a few moments while he turned things over in his mind. “The train she’s on terminates at Birmingham, right?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“So Gilbert will be thinking she will most likely get rumbled by a ticket inspector if she stays on the train between Gloucester and Birmingham.”
Barrett had been following Maynard’s logic closely. “So you think she will get off at Gloucester, do you?”
“She’s got to. But the burning question is why has she done what she’s done? It doesn’t make any sense why she has put herself at risk like this.”
“Well, we have a plain clothes man on the train and men watching every station between here and Birmingham, so if she does try and ride it out to the end of the line we’ll have her under surveillance whatever move she makes,” Barrett replied.
“And they all know not to make a move on her?” Maynard questioned.
Barrett grinned, “It’s taken some organising at such short notice after your phone call this morning, but Gilbert’s description has been circulated to all those involved and the ticket clerk and inspector’s told to be a bit lackadaisical when checking her ticket. Although I did wonder Henry, if Gilbert might think it strange if she does stay on the train that she doesn’t get found out that she has an incorrect ticket.”
“I had thought of that, but it’s a chance we are going to have to take.”
“What do you want to do about Gilbert’s place at Coaley?” Barrett asked, before thanking the young policewoman for a file she handed to him.
Maynard sat back in the chair and slowly rubbed his hands together. “Primrose Cottage, a very English name that could be sheltering a ruthless German spy, how ironic is that?”
Barrett looked up from the file he was reading. “Yes, it is rather.”
“Your men have reported that there has been no movement there at all during the day, that does worry me slightly, I can’t help but wonder if the place is empty.”
“Well, there’s always been that chance we’ve been keeping watch on an empty house since Gilbert left for work this morning,” Barrett concluded, placing the file on his desk.
“Your men, did they say anything about the blackout?”
“The blackout, in what way?”
“Whether it was still in place or taken down when they put the place under surveillance, it’s just struck me, if it was down when your people arrived and it’s up now there must be someone in there and we know for a fact that it’s not Gilbert. You have two teams watching the place, one at either end of the lane, if I remember rightly?”
“Yes! We have a two-man surveillance team in a retired couple’s house about quarter of a mil
e from Primrose Cottage; the bedroom they are in gives a good side and rear view of Gilbert's place and the lane leading to it.”
“And the other team?” Maynard asked.
“Unfortunately they’ve drawn the short straw, a farmer’s barn, but the loft does have a good view of the other side of the property and excellent visibility down the lane from the other direction; we also have backup teams standing by at Cam and Coaley in case he tries to make a run for it across the fields.”
“Are all your men armed Leslie?”
“Yes. They are.”
The conversation was interrupted by the phone ringing on Barrett’s desk.
“Barrett!” he answered sharply.
Maynard couldn’t hear what the conversation was about from where he was, but by the look on Barrett’s face surmised it was serious.
“I see, and what are the woman’s injuries?”
Maynard got up and walked over and stood next to his colleague.
“Facial cuts and bruises and a nasty gash to the back of the head and where is she now? Right, thank you for letting me know. No, no, keep everybody in place Sergeant until we tell you anything different, is that understood?”
“Problem?” Maynard asked, as he watched Barrett replace the receiver.
“Apparently our man on the train lost sight of Gilbert on the crowded platform, they think she followed a woman, whose name is Mavis Ross into the ladies toilet where Gilbert assaulted her, took her hat and coat and left her unconscious in one of the cubicles. They have taken the woman to hospital where she has been treated for her injuries and they are keeping her in overnight under observation.”
“Damn it! That’s made things awkward, my gut feeling was that she would try and get off at Gloucester.”
“Well, if you want my honest opinion Henry I can’t see for the life in me what she is trying to achieve… Unless it’s as we said earlier she is trying to meet up with the Raven. But at the moment none of her movements makes any sense, I’d even go as far to say, foolhardy, for a professional spy, she is just drawing attention to herself by what she’s done.”
“Mmm, I wonder, I’ll keep an open mind on that for the moment. But first let’s turn our attention on Primrose Cottage and what may be going on there. I suggest we hit the place at first light tomorrow morning with a hope we may catch our man; if not, the place may well turn up some evidence that could point us in the right direction as to Gilbert’s whereabouts or what she’s up to. I’ll give Clifford Granville a ring and put him in the picture as to what has happened so far and what we are going to do,” Maynard suggested, reaching for the telephone.
*
Bayer was uneasy with the developments as he reassembled the Walther, too many loose ends, he didn’t like that. First there had been the agent in Bristol, he had a bad feeling about letting him live and now Griselda had not shown up. He paced the room, scattering laid-out crockery from the dining table onto the floor, annoyed with himself at not eliminating them both earlier. A noise from outside in the vicinity where the dustbin stood made him strain his ears to listen, an animal being the most likely cause, but even so best to check, he thought picking up the Walther and switching out the kitchen light. With the door slightly ajar, he stood in the darkness for a few moments to watch for any sign of movement outside before he ventured out into the cold night air, the full moon giving him a commanding view of the side and part of the rear garden from his vantage point on the top step. Keeping close to the cottage wall he cautiously walked to the end of the building, where he ran a wary eye around the remainder of the rear garden, taking particular notice that the outhouse lock was still in place. Satisfied everything was as it should be he was just about to retrace his steps when he heard what sounded like a car engine running. Quickly making his way along the rear of the cottage he stood and tried to listen but this was interrupted by the noise from a distant express train speeding through Coaley station. Shivering from the cold which was beginning to penetrate his flimsy attire he cursed himself for not putting on a warm coat which prompted him back inside to the warmth of the kitchen. Not fully satisfied, he made his way upstairs to the main bedroom and removing the blackout gave the garden on that side of the cottage the once over as far as the bushes that divided the property from the field that ran as far as the junction. Bayer could make out quite clearly the dark shape of the barn, its neglected appearance a reminder of when it had seen better days. A glint of something shiny caught his eye and made him reach for the binoculars that stood on top of a chest of drawers. Focusing, he was able to make out the rear end of a black saloon car and as he followed the lines of the wooden structure he also noticed that one of the loading doors at the front was also partially open. Bayer immediately backed away into the darkness – so the bastards had the place under surveillance! No wonder Griselda hadn’t turned up; his mind searched for answers: had she been caught and the bitch had talked to save her own neck? Running between each of the upstairs bedrooms he pulled away the blackout and scanned the surrounding area with the binoculars which divulged nothing, only a heavy frost settling across the open landscape. Being caught never entered Guntram Bayer’s head; killing was his way of solving problems and if that’s what it would take to get him out of his present predicament, so be it – taking the fight to the enemy had always been his policy. Dressing quickly in warm clothes he then picked up everything he needed for his journey northwards then slipped quietly out of the side door. The garden on that side of the cottage was shaded by trees; using them for cover he was able to reach the lane, cross it, to a copse of trees on the other side. Crouching low he moderated his breathing while he screwed the silencer onto the Walther’s barrel then set off to follow the hedgerow around to where the two lanes met. Bayer knew the open ground in front of the building wasn’t an option, but a gate a few hundred metres to his left was and with access to the field opposite, the hedgerow would give him all the cover he needed to reach the barn.
The sound of muffled voices coming from the confines of the barn’s interior made him tread carefully the last few metres until he reached the side of the building. Easing himself gently along the side of the barn while holding the Walther at arm’s length ready to shoot, should the need arise, he quickly rounded the corner to confront whatever opposition he might encounter, but found none. Bayer immediately recognised the distinct lines of the Wolseley police car, its black surface glinting in the moonlight, while above in the loft its unsuspecting occupants chatted, unaware of the danger that awaited them below. Wisps of straw tumbled down silently from between the creaking boards and settled on the dirt floor as he made his way to the loft ladder. Testing each rung in turn he slowly ascended, his eyes burning hatred for the quarry he stalked. With the ladder running adjacent to the barn wall he knew he was in an ideal killing position, being shrouded in darkness while his victims made easy targets, their bodies highlighted by the moonlight as it filtered in through the open loft door. Bayer had to smile to himself at the two men’s crude effort to conceal their position behind discarded hay bales as he took aim at the first policeman who sat with his back resting against a bale. Neither men had time to retaliate as the two deadly shots found their mark, killing them both instantly. Climbing the last few rungs he slowly walked over to where two corpses lay slumped; satisfied with his killing skill he unceremoniously dragged the two bodies over onto their backs and after removing the weapons they were carrying went about callously rifling through their clothing for anything that might be of use for his journey, the keys to the police car being a priority which he found in the overcoat pocket of the second officer he had killed. Content the dead men had no more to give he made his way down to where the police vehicle was parked; unlocking the driver’s door he leaned across and placed his travel bag on the passenger seat then sliding in behind the wheel he closed the door quietly behind him. Starting the motor he drove slowly to the open field gate and out into the lane at which point he turned right and followed the road until it re
ached the main A38. Turning left he travelled the short distance to the Dursley to Tetbury road and keeping up an average speed, daybreak found him on the outskirts of Stratford-upon-Avon. With the police vehicle now getting low on petrol and becoming conspicuous in the early morning light and most likely reported as missing, it was becoming obvious that another form of transport was needed. Stealing another car was risky; firstly he may well be seen and secondly it could also be low on fuel given the fuel rationing so the only alternative was public transport, the train being the easy option. He felt reasonably pleased with his night’s work as he drove and parked the Wolseley between several other vehicles in a car park whose owners paid him little or no attention as they drifted off to their places of employment.
*
Maynard had not slept at all well in the police cell; the constant singing from a drunk along the corridor had kept him awake until gone two until peace finally reigned and he had been able to get some sleep.
“What time is it?” he asked the Sergeant as a mug of strong tea was thrust into his hand.
“Quarter to six sir.”
“Thanks! Where is Chief Inspector Barrett?”
“I believe he is in his office sir.”
Maynard responded with a nod of the head as he got clumsily to his feet while massaging his aching back. Carrying the mug of tea he made his way to Barrett's office where he found him replacing the receiver with a look of thunder on his face.
“Problem?” Maynard enquired.
“The two police officers who were watching Gilbert’s cottage from the barn have just been found murdered! Both had been shot from close range, also their police vehicle has been taken – looks like your Raven’s handiwork but, at least we know now he was in there,” Barrett concluded.
“I’m sorry about your two officers Leslie,” Maynard said sympathetically.
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