by John Creasey
‘Easy goes,’ said Loftus. ‘These local plants have a habit of doing this. Make sure that the passage lights are out, someone.’
A stocky man in shirt-sleeves was nearest the door, and Loftus directed the beam of his torch so that the man could look out.
‘All dark there,’ he said.
Loftus thought swiftly. The sudden black-out suggested that the main switch had been touched, or that a main fuse had gone. He doubted whether this was an accident, and a moment later the door for which he had been aiming opened. His torch slewed round, and he saw the burly figure of Inspector Mayhew, a man with a remarkably prominent chin.
‘What the devil’s the matter?’ demanded Mayhew.
‘The lights have gone out,’ said Loftus, and he raised a laugh. During it he reached Mayhew, and he kept his voice low.
‘How many men have you got on duty here?’
‘Four.’
‘It’s not enough. There’s more funny business, and I’d like every man and woman in the building questioned before they get out.’
Mayhew, with the Home Office order in mind, did not ask why.
‘We can’t stop them getting out in this,’ he said.
‘I know. But we can try. Ring for reinforcements, will you, and warn your men to be careful as they come along. They’ll want reasonably good lights. I think you might give an order that all cars carry normal headlights.’
Mayhew stared. ‘But regulations...’
‘Don’t matter this time,’ said Loftus, and he said it convincingly.
‘The nearest telephone’s in the hall,’ said Mayhew.
‘I’ll come with you. Gentlemen...’ Loftus raised his voice, and in the dim-red glow from the electric fire he saw every face turn towards him. They looked odd, ghostly figures as they stood there, no longer started but taking the matter as a joke. ‘I’d be glad,’ said Loftus, ‘if you’ll all stay put until the word “go”. No one to leave the room until the inspector or I give the word. Understood?’
A chorus of assent greeted him, and he followed Mayhew from the billiards-room. Mayhew also had a torch, and he reached the telephone two yards ahead of Loftus. Nevertheless it was Loftus who missed the ting of the bell as the receiver was lifted, and Loftus who said after a few seconds:
‘Dead, is it?’
‘It can’t be. I used it half an hour ago,’ said Mayhew.
But it was dead, and he tried the four lines in the house, one after the other, to find that none of them showed any signs of life. The telephones had been cut off, the light was gone—and something of what it meant seemed to force itself on the inspector’s understanding.
‘Mr. Loftus, you don’t think this is connected with the—er—trouble last night?’
‘I do,’ said Loftus. ‘And if you take my advice you and your men travel in twos until daylight.’
He stepped to the morning-room, where he had left Thornton and Oundle, and he expected to find them waiting. He did not know why it came as such a shock, but he stood staring into the firelit room, where the empty beer bottles remained to throw their shadows—and from which Oundle and Thornton had vanished.
Mayhew’s gruff voice broke across his thoughts.
‘They’ve probably gone for the main switch.’
‘Ye-es,’ said Loftus, and under his breath he added: ‘I hope so.’
‘Do you know where it is?’
‘Yes. Shall we go down?’
‘We’d better.’
They passed no one—no startled servants, nor giggling maids. The house seemed deserted, although the regular staff was a dozen strong, and at that time of night they might all have been expected to be in.
‘It’s just along here,’ Mayhew said, as they reached a narrow passage along which the beam of his torch showed eerily.
They reached the main switch, and did not need further telling that this had been done deliberately. Not only had the main switch been broken, but the whole switchboard—serving the domestic quarters, the hall and the landings, Mayhew said—had been wrenched from the wall. The wires were hanging loose.
‘What do you think’s happening?’ Mayhew asked helplessly.
‘I’m not prepared to guess. Where were your men stationed?’
‘There should be one in the kitchen.’
‘It was empty when we passed through,’ said Loftus.
‘He may have slipped away for a minute.’ Mayhew went back into the large, white-tiled kitchen, fitted with electric stove and ovens, and with the walls faced with glass-doored cabinets. Everything was spotlessly clean, but on one stove there was a small saucepan of milk already warm. By it stood a jug, half-empty.
‘Rogers!’ called Mayhew, and again: ‘Rogers!’
There was no sound. The silence and the darkness was about them, a darkness which seemed greater because of the beams from their torches.
‘We’ll try again, together,’ said Loftus.
‘Rog-ers!’
There was still no reply; the policeman stationed in the kitchen had disappeared, as completely as Oundle and Thornton.
‘Where were the other men?’ Loftus asked.
‘One on the first floor, and the other in the—er—morgue.’
‘We’ll try that first,’ said Loftus.
The small room where the dead men had been left until after he had arrived—Wilson and Horley were to be moved to Winchester the next day—was at the other end of the house. They walked through the dark passages, meeting no one and hearing nothing. Mayhew stopped by the door of the room, and his chunky face looked strained.
‘He should be sitting here.’
‘Outside the door?’
‘Yes.’
‘Let’s make sure,’ said Loftus.
Mayhew unlocked the door, and Loftus went through first. He shone his torch towards the couches where the two bodies had been lying when he had first seen then—and he exclaimed aloud, for the beam passed over the couches, but showed no bodies beneath the grey shrouds which had covered them.
‘My God!’ gasped Mayhew.
He had turned colour, and Loftus saw him put one hand against the wall, as if he needed physical support.
‘Easy,’ said Loftus. ‘This is a lot of trickery staged to make us lose our heads. That’s no reason why we should oblige.’ He took a whisky flask from his pocket, and soon they felt better.
‘The first floor next,’ said Loftus firmly.
But the result was the same. The man who had been left on the landing—to make sure that no unauthorised person entered the floor, on which most of the offices of the hush-hush department were situated—had vanished like his companions. Every bedroom upstairs—the rooms belonging to the servants and to a few of the higher officials—was empty. But for themselves, and the men in the billiards-room, the place might have been empty.
Mayhew cleared his throat.
‘That flask, Mr. Loftus...’
‘You can drop the “Mr.”,’ said Loftus. ‘Watch me closely, I might disappear too.’
Mayhew found a grin.
‘It wouldn’t be easy to spirit you away! What do we do next?’
‘We adjourn to the billiards-room,’ said Loftus, ‘and take stock of what material we’ve got there.’
Loftus was thoughtful for the rest of the run down the stairs to the billiards-room, and Mayhew obviously had no inclination to talk. There was enough to think about, Loftus admitted—and the mystery of this sudden darkness, and the disappearance of twenty or more people, must have a reasonable explanation.
He opened the billiards-room door.
And then he had the biggest shock of the night, for the room was absolutely empty. The dozen men who had been there when he had left, and who had assented without question to his request for them to stay put, had disappeared.
In the reflected light of their torches the Department Z man and the inspector stared at each other without speaking—and both men felt the menace that there was in the house, both men wondered what sho
ck was coming next.
It came from behind them.
A quiet, self-assured masculine voice, from a man whose presence they had not suspected.
‘Are you satisfied, gentlemen? These floors are empty but for our three selves. Now, Loftus—we have to talk.’
• • • • •
Loftus turned slowly, without any sign of panic. He made out the vague figure of the man, who seemed to be a little more than medium height, and who wore dark-framed glasses. The glasses were clear against the vague, pale shadow of his face.
‘Of course,’ Loftus said.
‘I hope you mean it. Inspector, I hope there will be no serious effects for you.’
‘What...’ Mayhew began.
He could not finish, for two men who materialised out of the gloom seized him, and one put a hand across his mouth. Mayhew choked, but he could do nothing to stop himself from behind dragged off—as quick and efficient a piece of work as Loftus had ever seen. Something approaching a smile twisted Loftus’s lips.
‘You’re very effective,’ he remarked.
‘Very,’ said the little man quietly. ‘May I advise you that several others are near at hand, and that any attempt at violence on your part will come to a most unhappy end?’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
‘I’m afraid that isn’t quite enough,’ said the other.
Loftus felt his arms gripped, and the temptation to make a fight of it had never been stronger. He resisted it. His guns were taken, and his torch.
‘We should be all right now,’ said the man at his side. ‘But you’ve rather asked for this, you know.’
‘One of the things I know,’ said Loftus casually, ‘is that you’re going to have a very big shock before you’re very much older. Do you have a name?’
‘Cartwright will serve.’
‘Thanks,’ said Loftus. ‘Where do we talk?’
‘In the morning-room,’ said the man who called himself Cartwright. ‘My sister will be there, and I know she will like to meet you again. You contrived to impress her.’
‘The pity is that I didn’t contrive to impress her well enough,’ said Loftus.
‘I have a list of instructions for you to telephone Craigie—one of the lines has been repaired, you will have no trouble,’ Cartwright said. ‘Provided Craigie accepts the ultimatum, there need be no trouble. If he doesn’t—I should dislike,’ said Cartwright slowly, ‘to be responsible for the deaths of people who cannot help themselves. But the blame would be on your shoulders.’
Cartwright walked alongside Loftus with both hands in his pockets, but there were men behind them, and one carried a torch—presumably for Loftus’s convenience. Loftus could just make out the man’s profile.
It was sharp and clear-cut, the nose prominent, and the forehead very high. Dark hair was brushed well back from the forehead, and was sparse over the temples. The lips were pushed forward a little, and parted—Loftus fancied that the front teeth of the man Cartwright were slightly protruding. The chin was pointed, and the neck very thin. He was not wearing an overcoat, and his shirt and collar were white.
He opened the morning-room door.
The girl was standing with back to the fire, and with her hands behind her. She had taken off her fur coat, and was wearing a black dress reasonably long and consequently a little unfashionable. She looked lovely, particularly in the half-light from the fire. As far as he could see the only jewels she affected were pearls, on the high neck of her dress.
‘Can’t we have light?’ asked Loftus.
‘We have all we need, thank you,’ said Cartwright. ‘Sit down...’ He indicated a chair, and Loftus accepted it. ‘Would you care for a drink?’
‘I would.’
‘Garth, bring some—er...’
‘Beer,’ said Loftus.
‘Beer for Mr. Loftus,’ said Cartwright.
‘I hope you’ll drink with me,’ said Loftus.
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Cartwright, who gave the impression of being a fastidious man, with his precise diction and his general neatness. ‘I am a total abstainer, and so is my sister. Well now, have you seen enough to be convinced that you cannot possibly put up a useful opposition to us?’
‘Am I convinced that I can’t see in the dark?’ asked Loftus. ‘Not yet, at all events.’
‘You’re very foolish,’ said Cartwright. ‘We are serious in everything we are doing, and you must be made to realise that. We do not want unnecessary bloodshed, but if it must come we will not shrink from it.’
‘So you’re preparing a blood-bath. No sane man would think of it. I hope you’re sane.’
‘I think I can say that I am. But there are some things which drive even a sane person to something which appears to be unbalanced. You must admit that every effort has been made to show you the uselessness of continued opposition.’
Loftus leaned forward, peering into the fire.
‘I’ve had word of an absurd card pinned to Mark Errol’s sleeve, and a crazier telephone call,’ he said. ‘I had the interview with your sister tonight, and frankly I think that was almost idiocy. Now you’re offering what you think is proof...’ He broke off and shrugged. ‘Proof that you’re quite crazy, I’m afraid that’s the limit. My dear Cartwright,’ he added impatiently, ‘I’m representing Craigie, who represents the Government. A sailor doesn’t take orders from anyone but his superior. Kill me and I will be replaced by others. Kill the others, you’ll find someone else. You can’t do it indefinitely, and each time to put someone away you tighten the rope about your neck. Already the police consider you a common murderer. They haven’t much patience with ideals.’
Cartwright snapped: ‘What ideals?’
‘We-ell,’ said Loftus, and he looked across at the man, whose face showed red in the firelight, and whose eyes seemed to be on fire themselves, ‘they’re reasonably obvious. You’ve a bee in your bonnet that the Government can’t make the best use of Grafton’s idea.’
Cartwright stared.
The girl leaned forward—she had sat on the arm of a chair—and said oddly:
‘What makes you think that?’
‘It fits,’ said Loftus. ‘Nothing else would. This absurd desire to force your will on Government officials suggests only an obsession. You underrate Government officials. Many are bad, and others blameworthy, but they exist in their millions, you know—even Craigie has hundreds of men and could call on hundreds more.’ He spoke as if he were trying to influence a fractious child, and he continued to stare in the fire. ‘You’ve helped me—or the Department—but you’ve also killed two reputable men, who...’
‘Reputable!’ snapped Cartwright. ‘They were unspeakable swine. Neither knew what honour meant! Loftus, Wilson was taking a percentage—understand, a substantial percentage—from large retail firms who needed more than their allotted ration of foodstuffs, and were getting it. Horley was allowing that to happen in his district, and was taking money for other offences against the regulations which...’
‘Were made by the Government,’ said Loftus gently.
‘Nonsense,’ said Cartwright. ‘The Government from first to last has mishandled the war, and...’
‘You’re going to put it right?’ asked Loftus gently.
‘I’m going to make sure they don’t mishandle the greatest invention of modern times!’ rasped Cartwright. ‘A weapon so powerful that it will enforce peace, and, make the world safe from war. You think I’m mad. If a love of peace, a regard for my fellow creatures, and a hatred of the greed and avarice which has made this war inevitable is insanity—all right, I’m insane! But I’ll tell you this. While I live, I will handle this weapon in the way I think best. I’ve got the secret of it, no one else. Grafton started something similar and he may even stumble across part of it, but the real thing is in my hands. Is that clear?’
‘Yes,’ said Loftus. ‘What about Forster?’
Cartwright’s lips tightened.
‘He’s a Nazi spy. At
least a German, although he may be planning to sell to the highest bidder, if he gets what he wants. He won’t get it, I’ve made quite sure of that.’
‘He can see in the dark,’ said Loftus evenly.
‘He was lucky enough to steal...’
‘Quiet!’ snapped the girl, and her brother broke off, looking for a moment confused. Loftus leaned back and smiled—and his expression suggested tolerant amusement.
‘Some of the glasses,’ he said. ‘Don’t look startled, sweetheart, it was obvious that glasses explained the thing—fitted with a lens which defeats the darkness. Right?’
The girl said:
‘You are uncanny. Jim, it’s not safe to let him go.’
‘Nice of you,’ said Loftus grimly. ‘I...’
He broke off, for the door opened abruptly. It flashed through his mind that his beer had arrived belatedly—but although the same man appeared it was not with beer. He was breathing hard, and obviously he had been running.
‘What is it, Garth?’
Garth said jerkily:
‘It’s Forster, sir. With twenty men or more, and they’re surrounding the house. They’re armed, sir...’
12
Battle by Night
Loftus stood up abruptly, and the others were so startled that they did not seem to notice it.
‘How near is he to the house?’ he demanded.
‘Approaching along the two drives,’ said Garth.
‘Are the doors and windows on the ground floor barricaded?’
‘No, they...’
‘They should be,’ snapped Loftus, swinging round on Cartwright. ‘We can settle our differences afterwards, we’ve got to join forces against Forster. Is that secret here?’
Cartwright said: ‘Part of it.’
‘How many men have you got?’
‘Seven or eight.’
‘Armed?’
‘Yes, with automatics. But...’ Cartwright straightened his shoulders, and spoke on a higher note than before. ‘I can handle this, Loftus.’
‘You can’t,’ said the girl quietly, and Loftus felt great relief. ‘We’re outnumbered, as we need every man we can get. Is it an armistice, Loftus?’