Shadow of Doom

by John Creasey

  ‘And we came just to see them,’ said Palfrey. He turned on the little man, who moved his hand towards his pocket, but before he could insert it Stefan had stretched out a hand and gripped his wrist. The man squealed as pain shot through his arm, and he did not even try to loosen Stafan’s hold. He seemed petrified. Stefan was so tall that he almost touched the low ceiling. He seemed quite undisturbed, and had not turned a hair.

  ‘Will you go upstairs and change?’ Palfrey asked Anna.

  ‘Change?’ she said, as if surprised. ‘I—yes—yes.’ She got up, swaying for a moment, and Palfrey gave her a helping hand, but she was annoyed at her own weakness, and walked proudly out of the room and up the stairs. Palfrey turned to the little dark man, and said: ‘Let him go, Stefan.’

  Stefan released him, but not until he had put his hand into the man’s pocket and brought out an automatic. It was lost in the Russian’s hand. Stefan pocketed it, and Palfrey looked into the dark man’s eyes. They were nearly black but shot with amber, his only good feature, for there could have been few uglier men in Holland. Black hair grew low upon his forehead, only an inch of skin showed above his black eyebrows. It was a squat face, with broad features, thick lips and a flat chin on which was a long, dark scar.

  ‘And what did Lozana tell you to do?’ demanded Palfrey.

  He spoke in English, and he scored a hit, for the man backed away, astonished. Stefan rubbed his ear, smiling. Palfrey seemed as if he were in his consulting-rooms.

  ‘I—I do not know such a name.’ The man’s voice was deep and harsh; he had been talking when they had broken in, it was like a rumble of badly oiled machinery, a voice as ugly as his face.

  ‘You know such a name and you had instructions,’ said Palfrey, ‘and unless you tell us what they were, now, all that has happened to van Doorn, all that would have happened to Anna, and all that ought to happen to every Nazi terrorist in Holland will happen to you, at once.’ He shot out his clenched fist and struck the man on the chest, heavily enough to send him reeling into Stefan. ‘At once!’ snapped Palfrey, and made as if to strike again. What were your orders?’

  The man said: ‘We were to watch—the girl.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘And if you came—’

  ‘How did you know us?’

  ‘From photographs,’ the man said.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘We were to find out what the girl told you,’ said the dark man. He did not hesitate now; his spirit, never strong, had crumpled beneath that one blow and the look of savagery which had appeared on Palfrey’s face.

  ‘And after that?’ asked Palfrey.

  ‘We were to—report.’

  ‘To—whom?’

  ‘Laander—Hans Laander.’

  ‘His address?’

  ‘It—it is near the Mass Dyke, in Groote Street; it is a store. Laander is well known in the Market; he—he will deny sending me, he is well known, I tell you, no one will believe he sent me, but it was from him the orders came. Lozana knows him.’

  ‘How well do you know Lozana?’ demanded Palfrey.

  ‘He has been in Holland sometimes, I have met him.’ The man was shivering now, as if he were afraid of the consequences of his admissions. ‘He will blame me—’

  ‘I will look after Hans Laander,’ said Palfrey.

  So far it had been easy, almost too easy.

  They were out of the house in a quarter of an hour, and met a rather aggrieved Charles only a hundred yards along the road. He stopped being aggrieved when he saw Anna. Myna and Keyser, securely trussed up, were in the cellar and were not likely to get away without help, and Palfrey doubted whether help would be forthcoming. The only possible source was the old gardener, but Anna had assured him that the man would not take any interest. He was simple—he had lost every member of his family during the bombing, and had not been quite right in the head since. Anna made the statement in a matter-of-fact voice which caused Charles to stare at her as if he could not understand what made her so calm. Charles was seeing an unfamiliar aspect of life, and it bewildered him.

  Anna asked no questions, and it was not until they were in the car and Drusilla was driving again that Palfrey asked her whether she knew Hans Laander. ‘Of course,’ she said.

  ‘So he’s well known.’

  ‘He is a very great man,’ said Anna; ‘he did much for us during the occupation.’

  ‘Look out!’ exclaimed Charles, suddenly.

  He spoke to Drusilla, for a lorry was coming across the road towards them, as if out of control. Drusilla wrenched the wheel, the car swung close to the pavement and squeezed past the lorry. People on the pavement turned and shouted after it, and Palfrey looked over his shoulder, wondering if it had been intentional, an attempt to crash into them. He saw the streams of cyclists, the crowded pavement, for they were in the Buersplein, the Square where so few of the great buildings remained intact, where the devastation seemed to have reached its height.

  Then, without warning, something struck the road in front of the car. There was a sheet of flame, a roar—and the car was lifted into the air and smashed against a wall.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Some Damage

  Palfrey did not lose consciousness, but he wavered on the borderline for what seemed a long time. He was aware of the red and yellow flash; it seemed to be in front of his eyes continuously. The roar had deafened him, and he could hear nothing, but he could see people, or the heads and shoulders of people, through one of the windows. He did not feel pain, except at the back of his head. He turned his head and saw Drusilla. She was crumpled up against Stefan, and Stefan’s hands were moving, as if he were trying to ease her weight off him. Palfrey made an effort to help, but could not move.

  Two men helped him out. He stood dizzily on the side of the car, looking about him, not properly understanding what had happened. He felt not only dazed but silly. They helped him down to the road, where the police had cordoned off a wide stretch. Then he became aware of other groups of people, men and women stretched out and others bending over them, stretchers, ambulances, cries of pain and anxious faces. Not an unfamiliar sight to him, yet it tore at his heart. These people had been hurt in the explosion, the explosion that had been meant to wreck his car and kill its occupants.

  The others were brought out from the car, one by one. Now, that Palfrey was out, men managed to get down into the car and lift out first Charles and then Anna. Charles was having a violent introduction, thought Palfrey – and then he was suddenly in a panic about Drusilla. He had not thought of her before, his mind had been blank; now he swung round and stared towards the car, and saw her being lifted, shoulder- high, by two men. Her eyes were open. Then men put her down on a blanket, and Palfrey, ignoring his companion, reached her side, went down on one knee.

  ‘I’m all right,’ said Drusilla.

  But was she? Palfrey began to explore, new life was in his fingers. Someone, possibly a doctor, wanted to take his place, but he would not let him, and a heavily built man said in English:

  ‘He is doing well enough.’

  As far as Palfrey could tell, Drusilla was not badly hurt. Nor, it proved, were any of the others. Stefan was suffering from slight concussion; he was the only one of the four who was taken to hospital. The crowd gasped in amazement when they saw his size.

  Palfrey and the others were led or taken into a restaurant, and given tea, hot, strong and sweet.

  Palfrey found a telephone and called the Consulate. There was a man named Clive, a cousin of Bobby Fairweather’s, on the staff. Through him Palfrey arranged that Drusilla and Anna should be taken to the Consulate while he and Charles were interrogated by the Dutch police. The friendly Dutchman obtained a police car, and Drusilla and Anna were driven off.

  The temporary building which housed the police station was just behind the Buers
plien, within walking distance. They had to go for a little way along one side of the Great Market, behind the square. Across a dozen buildings in the market was the name: Hans Laander.

  At the police station, the friendly man touched Palfrey on the arm, and said: ‘I leave you please. It is a great pleasure to know you.’

  Palfrey beamed at him. ‘You have been wonderfully good. It helped so much because you could speak English.’ He took out his cigarette-case, flicked it open and proffered it – and the man’s eyes widened at the sight of a dozen tightly packed English cigarettes.

  ‘No, no!’ he said. ‘No, no, no!’

  ‘Yes,’ said Palfrey. He emptied the case and put the cigarettes into a hand that did not know whether to be reluctant but somehow did not draw back until it had closed on the precious gift. The man looked about to burst into tears.

  Inside the entrance hall, Palfrey said to Charles: ‘Things are still bad.’

  ‘Bad! They’re ghastly,’ said Charles. ‘I’d no idea that Holland was in such a mess. I’d read this and that in the papers, but it didn’t really strike home.’

  ‘It doesn’t,’ said Palfrey, ‘but it should.’

  In a large room, barely furnished but very polished, sat a plump, round-faced man, one of the first well-fed men Palfrey had seen in Holland. He had a coarse, reddish skin, small blue eyes and a tiny mouth. Palfrey thought he had seen him before somewhere. He was the Chief of Police, he said, and he had given instructions for Palfrey to be brought to him, not only because there had been a telephone call from the British Consulate, but because he had heard of Dr. Palfrey.

  ‘And I know of no one I would rather meet,’ he said, in fair English.

  ‘Good!’ said Palfrey. ‘Tell me, do you know Hans Laander?’

  ‘The Hans Laander?’ asked the Chief of Police.

  ‘I suppose so. The man with premises in the market-place.’

  ‘He is our very good friend,’ said the other. ‘Why do you ask, Doctor?’

  Palfrey said: ‘One of the prisoners named him.’

  ‘Hans Laander! It is absurd,’ said the Chief of Police. ‘He was fooling you. Doctor, I have no ‘doubt of that. I will talk to the man!’ He raised a telephone and gave instructions for” the two prisoners to be fetched from van Doorn’s house.

  The old gardener was watching a body of armed police approach the house. He stopped digging and looked at them with incurious eyes. They forced one of the windows, and one man climbed in and opened the door from the inside. Two were posted on the porch, and the others went in.

  They went immediately to the cellar, which was fitted with electric light. The sergeant-in-charge switched it on, blinked, and looked round. At first he was inclined to think that the whole thing was a hoax, for the cellar was empty. He searched carefully, however, and came upon some pieces of cord; obviously the cord had been cut recently, for the ends were hardly frayed. He came reluctantly to the conclusion that he had arrived too late.

  The old gardener said, in a sing-song voice, that he had noticed nothing, nothing at all, nothing at all; and there was fear in his voice and his eyes, fear out of the past.

  They treated him gently, knowing his tragedy, and went back to report. Later that day Myna and his companion were found murdered, no chances being taken that they might talk.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Hans Laander

  If this man were a rogue, thought Palfrey, he would never again trust a face!

  Laander, dressed in black, was a man of medium height, frail-looking, white-haired, with a white moustache and a pink complexion. His was the face of a saint, with eyes of china blue just then aglow with pleasure. He held out his hand, and his grip was surprisingly firm. ‘I am very glad to see you, sir.’ He also spoke English, even more fluently than the woman, who stood smiling in the background. ‘And I am more glad to see a friend of my friend van Doorn. May I know your name?’

  ‘Palfrey,’ said Palfrey.

  ‘I wondered if you were Dr. Palfrey,’ said Laander. ‘Come with me, please.’ He led the way upstairs, into a large room which surprised Palfrey, for it was littered with books and papers. Even the bookshelves lining the walls were untidy; some had not been dusted for a long time. There was an old roll-top desk in one corner, several small flat desks, a dozen kitchen chairs, although the chair at the roll-top desk was padded and comfortable-looking. The room presented an amazing contrast.

  Laander led Palfrey to the one comfortable chair.

  ‘Thank you,’ murmured Palfrey.

  ‘Have you seen Anna van Doorn?’ asked Laander.

  ‘Yes. She told me what she thinks.’

  ‘I cannot believe that she would make such a mistake,’ said Laander.

  ‘Nor do I,’ said Palfrey, ‘and I’ve told her so. When did she first tell you what she thought, sir?’

  ‘When she returned from seeing the body,’ said Laander. ‘Is that why you have come to see me?’

  ‘No,’ said Palfrey. He was wondering how best to approach this subject, and decided that bluntness would get him further with Hans Laander than any attempt at roundabout approach. ‘I am looking for the men who attacked van Doorn,’ he said, ‘and I think one of them was here not long ago.’

  ‘Here!’ said Laander. Colour flooded his cheeks. ‘That is impossible, Dr. Palfrey, I would not see such men!’

  Was his indignation a little too emphatic? wondered Palfrey, looking into those clear blue eyes. He decided that it was not; Laander was a man without pretence, who would show what he felt without trying to hide it – and now he felt hurt but not offended.

  ‘You would hardly know much about him,’ said Palfrey. ‘A man from South America, named Lozana.’

  ‘He came,’ said Laander, ‘but that was on business.’

  ‘May I know what business?’ asked Palfrey.

  ‘There is no reason why you should not. He has been before; he is an agent for a large fruit-growing company in South America, and he came to arrange for the shipment of fruit – which is badly needed here, Dr. Palfrey, desperately needed. I have been able to arrange for many shipments to come during the winter, and it will be invaluable to eke out our food supplies. I now deal in most commodities.’ He looked gravely troubled as he sat, with his hands clasped, in front of Palfrey, upright in his chair. ‘I am at a loss to understand you, for Lozana is a man of goodwill. I dealt with him many years before the war.’

  ‘I don’t doubt that,’ said Palfrey, ‘but he has no goodwill towards you. He wanted it believed that you were working with him—against van Doorn.’

  ‘I will see this Lozana,’ said Laander, grimly.

  Palfrey smiled. ‘Not just yet, I hope, and never about this business. It would be better for him to think that he made me suspect you.’

  ‘But why should he do that?’ demanded the Dutchman.

  ‘That is one of the things we have to find out,’ said Palfrey. ‘There are many other things. Were you a close friend of Piet van Doorn?’

  ‘I like to believe that he had none closer,’ said Laander.

  ‘Did he confide in you before he left for Berlin?’

  ‘No,’ said Laander, slowly. ‘No, he refused to do so; he told me only that he was going to see you when he had left Berlin, and I knew that he was in great excitement. He would not tell me more because there was a possibility of danger, and’ – Laander gave a gentle smile – ‘he believed that I had suffered danger enough, Dr. Palfrey. I did not insist, for I have much to do, and it is better that I should continue to look after the building up of food supplies, which task has been entrusted to me by the Government.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Palfrey. ‘And you can arrange shipments from South America?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And shipments to South America?’

  ‘What little th
ere is to ship, yes,’ said Laander.

  ‘What were you supplying in exchange for fruit?’

  ‘Nothing from Holland,’ said Laander, ‘but much from the East Indies. Chiefly rubber, for our plantations are beginning to produce again. It is not my business to arrange the payment of these goods, Dr. Palfrey, that has already been done; it happens only that I know what is to be arranged. I cannot see that rubber from the East Indies could affect van Doorn and his quest in Berlin and London.’

  ‘Nor can I,’ admitted Palfrey.

  ‘Your visit has greatly distressed me,’ said Laander, after a pause. ‘I believed that Lozana was a man who could be trusted. Now—are you sure that he knows of the attack on van Doorn?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, yes,’ said Palfrey. ‘Is he coming to see you again?’

  ‘I do not expect him, but he may,’ said Laander.

  ‘If he does, don’t say that I’ve told you more about him,’ said Palfrey. ‘That is really important—you will be careful, won’t you?’

  ‘If it will help.’ Laander was doubtful and obviously troubled. His face was very grave, and Palfrey wondered again if it were possible that he was acting, that he was a party to whatever Dias was doing. It seemed incredible, and yet Laander was a dealer in food in a big way, as Garon had been and, in a different fashion, Jacques Midaut.

  ‘It will help,’ Palfrey assured the old man.

  He went straight back to the Guyder Hotel where Bruton, Erikson and de Morency had rooms. De Morency was there, and reported that Lozana had not left the Consulate again. Erikson and Bruton were still watching, but were not enamoured of the prospect of a night-long vigil; it was getting cold.

  ‘I don’t see much point in their waiting there,’ Palfrey said. ‘Lozana can slip out fairly easily—we want a couple of dozen men to make a job if it. Having lost Lozana in Paris, we may as well lose him in Rotterdam.’

  He was not feeling quite so glum as he sounded. It seemed to him that Lozana would do nothing to lead them to any place which mattered. Probably he hoped that they would spend their time watching him—while Dias, wherever he was, got ahead with the main business.