Dead or Alive (Department Z)

by John Creasey

  25

  A LITTLE MORE?

  “WHY, Mae!” exclaimed Dolly brightly, “it is nice to see you, how are you, darling?” She took Mae’s hand and put cheek to cheek, then backed away. “You look lovely — doesn’t she look lovely, Sammy? She always does, you don’t know how I envy you your figure, Mae, you never seem to put on an inch.”

  “Hallo,” said Mae. “I do hope I haven’t come at a bad time.”

  “Oh, of course not, Sammy and I like a bit of company,” said Dolly. “True I’ve been away for a day or two, but there’s plenty of time, isn’t there, Sammy?”

  She gave a little giggling laugh.

  “Eh? Time — oh, yes. Plenty of time, all the time in the world,” said Bray. “That is — Miss Harrison, I don’t often have the pleasure of welcoming you here.”

  Mae said abruptly: “I want your help.”

  Bray looked puzzled, Dolly frowned and backed towards the cocktail cabinet, taking refuge in the thought of drinks. Mae took off her hat and brushed her fingers through her hair, and looked harassed and worried. She had on little make-up, there was a touch of eye-pencil just beneath her eyes, which made her seem tired.

  “Gladly, gladly. But you’ll have a drink, difficulties often dissolve over a drink!”

  He chuckled heartily.

  “May I have a gin and It?”

  “Will you fix it, honey?” asked Bray. “My dear Miss Harrison, please sit down, I can tell you’re worried. But it’s probably nothing serious, you know, I’ve often been very worried without any cause at all — not any good cause.”

  “Oh, this is serious,” said Mae, and laughed on a low note. “You know there’s some trouble, don’t you, about a missing Professor’s daughter? A Professor Conway.”

  Bray shot Dolly a startled glance; Mae appeared not to notice it, and went on:

  “The police think I know something about it.”

  Dolly gave a little squeaking sound, and Bray shook his head, as if this couldn’t be true. Mae leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. There was silence until Dolly came across with the glass in her hand.

  “This’ll do you good, Mae.”

  “Thanks so much.” Mae sipped. “It’s no secret, but Peter — you know Peter Ross, don’t you — is a special kind of policeman. He’s made it pretty obvious that I’m suspected, and so have others. I can’t imagine why, except that I knew this girl slightly. It was only a nodding acquaintance, at the Dive.” She glanced at Dolly. “Forgive me, Dolly, but — Mr. Bray knew her rather well.”

  Bray said: “Yes, yes.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” said Dolly quickly. “Sam doesn’t keep any secrets from me, the past is the past, that’s what we both believe in. Not that she was ever anything to him, the money-grubbing little ——”

  She broke off.

  “What did she want?” asked Mae.

  “Everything she could get.”

  Dolly was shrill.

  Bray looked unhappy, and passed his hand over his forehead.

  “I’m most distressed that you are in difficulties, Miss Harrison, I know what it is to be suspected of something you know nothing about. I only wish I could help you. As Dolly says, Alice Conway was rather pressing in her attentions, and — Dolly will understand — she is rather a sweet little woman ——”

  Dolly snorted.

  “At all events, that was how she appeared to be,” said Bray, firmly. “She had led a rather quiet life and didn’t feel happy in the different surroundings at first, but she quickly became used to them. She came to me first for work, she said that she was tired of domestic work at home — her father is a widower, all the home responsibility fell on to Alice — and I could understand that. Unhappily, she had no qualifications, but I was rather — rather dazzled, I suppose.” He looked at Dolly almost challengingly, and she pouted but made no comment. “Mind you, she was an intelligent young woman, with training she would do very well, I imagine, but I couldn’t employ an untrained girl in my rather complicated business. I befriended her, and — then I met Dolly.”

  “I see,” said Mae, and leaned back, looking tired and weary. “There’s nothing else?”

  “I’m afraid not — I only wish I could help you in some way.”

  “How did you break the friendship?”

  Bray coloured.

  “It was rather embarrassing. I fear that I must have given her the wrong idea, and — but does it matter? She was offended, perhaps hurt, but I had to be firm. It is distressing, talking about things like this, but I can understand your distress, and Dolly ——”

  “Don’t worry about me.” Dolly went across and sat on the arm of his chair, putting a hand at his neck and toying with the short, fluffy hairs. “What on earth makes them suspect you, Mae? I know Sammy wouldn’t turn on me if I was in any kind of trouble.”

  “Dolly!” Bray protested.

  Dolly pursed her lips, as if to say: “Facts are facts and you can’t alter them.”

  “Did Alice Conway have any close friends?” asked Mae.

  “I really don’t know. She didn’t introduce any to me, in fact she talked very little about her private life. Very little indeed, except — that she was unhappy at home. I gathered that her father was very preoccupied, paid her little attention, and that life was very dull.”

  “I see,” said Mae. “You’ve been very good.” She picked up her gloves and bag and stood up. Bray rose and shook hands, and Dolly darted towards the door.

  “I’ll see Mae out, honey, you sit back.”

  “Well — very well. Good-bye, Miss Harrison. Every good wish.”

  He watched the two women go out; probably he noticed that Dolly closed the door. He could not have heard her whisper, with a hand tight on Mae’s arm.

  “He’s so soft-hearted, any little brat can make a fool of him. All she wanted was his money, she thought she was on a good thing. It’s a good thing for Sammy that I came along, she would have fleeced him. Don’t make any mistake about that.”

  “No,” said Mae. “I won’t.”

  Ross stood as Mae told the story. She remembered it in detail, could quote Bray time and time again. She didn’t seem to suspect that she was drawing a picture which made mockery of Ross’s opinion of a pair of blue eyes. He stood rock-like in front of the empty fireplace, interjecting a question now and again, so as to get the picture much more clearly.

  “I hope it’s helped,” Mae finished.

  “Oh, it’s helped,” said Ross. “We’ve a clearer picture of Alice Conway, and we know she was after our Sammy. And I don’t have to tell you what that seems to mean.”

  “She wanted money, and didn’t much mind how she got it,” said Mae.

  Ross nodded.

  Craigie and Loftus were in the office when Ross reached there, immediately after the talk with Mae. Loftus made shorthand notes as the story was repeated, and needed to ask no questions. Craigie was doodling with a pencil, drawing Red Indians in full battle-dress.

  Ross finished, and waited.

  “So Alice was after the money-bags, if we can believe all this,” Loftus mused.

  “That’s what the indications say.” Ross lit a cigarette from the stub of another. “And if she’d try to get it that way, she mightn’t care how she got her hands on it. I took her word for it that she’d been kidnapped and knew nothing about the business, but it’s possible that she was playing with fire, and got burnt. Also possible ——” He broke off.

  “Let’s have it,” said Loftus.

  “Well, you may as well,” said Ross. “It’s also possible that she’s working with these people, that she was tied up to make it look as if she were a victim, and pulled the wool nicely over my eyes.”

  “Could be.”

  Craigie glanced up from his doodling.

  “Then why is she still captive?” asked Loftus.

  Ross shrugged.

  “Oh, tell me I’m guessing and out of my depth. I’ll be with you all the way.”

&nbs
p; “Haven’t you missed something?” Craigie asked mildly. “Or don’t you want us to see what’s in your mind?”

  Ross said: “I don’t want to show any prejudice for Blue-eyed Alice Conway, but I could ask myself why she was really getting at Bray. Did she know that her father was in danger, had she any reason to think that Bray was behind it? That could be, too.”

  “Like me to see Conway, or will you?” asked Loftus.

  The Professor’s house was an old-fashioned one in a terrace, and Ross reached it a little before two o’clock. One of Craigie’s men was sitting at the wheel of a small car, farther along the street, and Ross walked past him. The agent winked; which meant that all seemed well at the Conway ménage. Ross hadn’t really seen Conway as his normal self, but remembered the way in which the man had leaned back in the arm-chair; and how he had looked dead. He had not left the house since his return from the nursing-home. No one except Craigie’s men had followed him.

  A middle-aged woman opened the door; Conway had a sister who had come to look after him while he was recovering from the morphia. She was fussy and a little agitated, made him wait in the hall, and came from a room on the right after several minutes, straightening a wisp of grey hair.

  “The Professor can see you, Mr. Ross, but please don’t stay too long and don’t make him talk too much, he isn’t well. He’s been working too hard for years, I’ve always told him so, and now he has the worry about his daughter. It’s a wicked shame, that’s the only word for it.”

  “Yes,” said Ross, and smiled.

  He won an answering smile as Conway’s sister opened the door.

  Conway sat in an arm-chair in a book-lined room. Untidiness was the keynote. A large pedestal desk was littered with papers, papers and pamphlets were on top of the books in the bookshelves, oddments dotted the floor, several books were open on the floor near the Professor’s chair. It was an unlikely repository for vital defence secrets. Conway started to rise.

  “Hallo, sir,” said Ross. “No, don’t get up.”

  “You’re very kind. Please sit down.”

  Ross moved yet another book from a comfortable, old-fashioned chair on the other side of the fireplace, and made himself at ease.

  “Mind if I smoke?”

  “By no means. Mr. Ross, have you any news of my daughter?”

  Ross said: “I’m afraid not.”

  There was little change in Conway’s expression, and he always looked a sick man. He was paler than when Ross had seen him before, and seemed to have become thinner. There were scraggy bags of flesh under his chin — he wore a winged collar — and his eyes were heavy and glassy, as if he hadn’t slept for days. He was old; there were browny-blue freckles on the backs of his hands, and the skin had a kind of transparency, the veins showed up very blue. Ross felt a sense of shock; that so much depended on a man as old as this, and in such a condition. Conway was one of many, but everyone acknowledged his supremacy in his own branch of the atomic field.

  He didn’t speak.

  “But we’ve caught several of the people concerned, I don’t think it’ll be long before it’s over,” said Ross. “You haven’t had a message?”

  “Nothing — nothing at all. If I had, I would have reported it immediately, Mr. Ross. I have Mr. Loftus’s number. He has been very good, everyone has been most kind, but — I feel as if only part of me is here. I’ve had time to think, too, I’ve taken Alice too much for granted. She’s been here most of the time, sacrificed much of her life for me, her opportunities, perhaps her hopes. She seemed so willing, but now that she may not come back ——” He closed his eyes.

  “I shouldn’t assume that yet.”

  “It is difficult to be optimistic,” said Conway. “I don’t quite know why, I feel as if she’s gone never to return. And I’ve been wondering how much I robbed her of, Mr. Ross. That’s not a consoling thought.”

  “Probably of nothing,” Ross said.

  The Professor’s conscience was pricking him, and this squared with what Bray had told Mae. Ross looked into the faded blue eyes, and eyes of brighter blue seemed to be superimposed upon them. Was he completely inane in thinking that she had meant everything she had said at Shepperton?

  “Professor, did she change her habits at all, a few months ago?”

  “Change? No. Not in any way.”

  “Was she out more, in the evenings?”

  “Well — yes, perhaps she was, but I wouldn’t call that a change. She studied drawing at an art school some nights, made friends with a girl who lived very close to the school, and — but I hardly see the point of this question, Mr. Ross.”

  “It’s just background. Did you know a man named Bray — Samuel Bray?”

  “No,” said the Professor, promptly.

  “Did you ever hear your daughter mention the name?”

  “I really don’t remember it,” said the Professor, “although she often talked about people at the art school and friends she made, I’m afraid I didn’t pay much attention. I’ve been obsessed with my work — too obsessed, no doubt. How will this — ah — background help you to find Alice?”

  He was pathetic.

  Ross said: “Among her acquaintances we might find the man who took her off. She’d be more likely to go with someone she knew than with a stranger. What’s your own theory of the motive, Professor?”

  “Do you need telling?” Conway smiled faintly, not with amusement. “These misguided people think that they can bring pressure to bear upon me. You think so, too, or you wouldn’t have had me followed, wouldn’t have my house watched and wouldn’t ask me if I’d heard from Alice. There are great tensions in loyalties, Mr. Ross, but I don’t think you need fear. Alice would be the first to agree that sacrifices sometimes have to be made for great causes, and surely one’s own country is a great cause. Alice would think so — patriotism was almost a passion with her.”

  The Professor pressed his hands against his forehead.

  Ross stood up, and felt like a clod.

  “I won’t worry you any more, sir. We’ll do everything we can to find her.”

  “I know you will,” said Conway.

  Ross went to shake hands and caught sight of a photograph on the mantelpiece, turned so that Conway could see it easily but hiding the face from anyone who sat in the chair opposite. It was the original of the picture which the newspaper had used — and it was coloured. The blueness of Alice’s eyes was so deep and clear that it looked unnatural, as if the artist had striven to improve on nature. In fact, those eyes were exactly as Ross remembered them.

  She had lied to Conway about the art school, had spent those nights at the Dive — partly with Bray. With anyone else, too?

  Why had she chosen Bray? Had chance thrown them together, or was Bray lying? Had he sought her out, or had she made a dead set at him?

  Bray seemed so transparently honest now.

  Conway’s sister opened the door, and the telephone bell rang. Ross hesitated, heard Conway answer, and then a call:

  “Rosie — Rosie, is Mr. Ross still here?”

  “Why, yes!”

  “There’s a telephone call for him,” said Conway.

  26

  CRACK

  “PETER?”

  It was Loftus.

  “Yes.”

  “Get here at once,” Loftus said. “Elliott’s cracked, I think we’re nearly home. Anything your end?”

  “No.”

  “I shouldn’t think the Professor’s in it himself,” said Loftus, “but a woman is highly placed. Elliott got most of his orders from her.”

  “Well, well,” said Ross.

  The Professor was looking at a newspaper, and paid no attention to Ross, who put down the receiver, thanked the old man, and was shown out fussily by the woman. He nodded to the Department Z man as he sped past, and reached Whitehall in record time.

  Williamson was in the office with the two regulars, leaning back and smoking, looking lazy and contented. Craigie was smiling, Loftus ha
d lost much of the tension which he’d shown for days. Ross felt no easing in the tension, and asked himself what they would think if they knew the drift of his talk. He ought to have withdrawn, ought not to have allowed Craigie to talk him into staying on the job. He’d gone emotionally soft, and knew it.

  He didn’t show it.

  “Now what’s all this?”

  “Tim spent a couple of hours with Elliott,” Loftus said cheerfully, “and Elliott couldn’t stand the strain. We know most of the game, now. It’s purely private enterprise — these people have been selling information to the biggest buyer for a long time. A small but effective international spy-ring, with wares more or less on the open market. Elliott, Higson, and two or three others have been in it together, and there are unknowns — just telephone voices, to Elliott. One was a woman. He had two telephone numbers to contact her, and we’ve checked them both. One is at Watford, and I’ve a party on the way out there. The other, which Elliott used more often, in Wimbledon — a big house, not far from the Common. He spoke to her at that number some hours before you caught him, last night. She told him he could meet Bray, and also told him to take that wig and false nose along. She’s given detailed instructions all along the line, there isn’t much doubt that she runs the show.”

  “Well, well!” exclaimed Ross.

  “The place is already surrounded, but we’re letting anyone who arrives go in, and allowing anyone to leave — we’ll pick them up some distance from the house. We’ll raid it after dark, and that gives you about four hours’ sleep.”

  “Who wants sleep?” asked Ross.

  “You do. Tim does. Everyone who’s going into that raid needs to be fresh, and after last night you’re not so fresh as you should be.”

  Ross frowned.

  “I’m not so sure. Did Elliott say why they made a set at getting me off the job?”

  “Because it was known you were watching Conway,” said Craigie. “Don’t ask us how they knew, Peter, and take Bill’s advice. When the job’s over, you can ask all the questions you want to.”

  “I’ll be good,” said Ross.

  As he drove back to his flat, he couldn’t make out his own reactions. It was a kind of exhilaration, because the end was surely in sight, merged with edginess, because he was afraid of what he was going to learn. Craigie was right; Craigie was pretty well always right; he needed rest and could worry later about reasons for what had happened. This case was a perfect example of how the Department worked, and how little really depended on one individual. He’d tried Conway and missed; Williamson, who had a knack of breaking down a prisoner’s resistance, had pulled his job off. Craigie and Loftus chose the men for special jobs unerringly — the only mistake they had made was with him!