by John Creasey
‘Oh, Bill. Lannigan has been picked up. He’s in the middle of talking. He arranged the attack on Hershall, and the spreading of the rumour. He’s given us the address of several agents up and down the country, and implicated “Smith”—but the similarity of names is just coincidence, this Smith isn’t any associate of the Vichy one, or so it seems. Lannigan and Smith are working direct for Berlin. They’ve had orders to try to find who’s getting the Commando information and putting it through. But what about coming over and seeing him yourself?’
‘I’m on my way,’ said Loftus, and then quickly: ‘And I’m bringing Regina with me. Give us a quarter of an hour.’
17
Trek To Somerset
In the Department office were Craigie and a jaunty, broad-shouldered, small man, and with them Lannigan.
Lannigan had broken down completely after his detention, and his story was complete when Loftus arrived. Berlin had started Lannigan and Smith on the work of checking, not satisfied to get the information from Vichy, but anxious to have complete confirmation.
Lannigan admitted that key-agents up and down the country had been ready since the beginning of the war, doing nothing which would attract police or Home Office attention, waiting only for the right moment to begin their activities. The attack on Hershall was to have been the first of many; others, on various ministers, would have followed at intervals.
The spy’s ugly face, so much at variance with his well-cut clothes and mellow voice, was set in an expression of fear mingled with an anxiety to talk freely in a desperate hope to save himself from hanging or a firing squad. His anxiety to make a statement was nauseating.
‘You have had orders from Berlin, you say, to trace the source of the leakage?’ snapped Loftus.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘And the purpose of that is to get the information to Berlin direct from you, and thus check it with the information sent through Vichy?’
‘That—that’s right.’
‘And you’d got as far as knowing, or suspecting, that Quayle was mixed up with it?’
‘He is, I tell you!’ snapped Lannigan. ‘He won’t deal direct with us, we’ve tapped him a dozen times. He won’t touch us, but he gets the dope and passes it on to Ratcliffe and Howe. I know he does. Howe went out of the country at regular intervals. He had a permit to leave the country; I think Quayle fixed it, but I’m not sure. We had him followed. He always left a few days after the Commando raids, and went to Vichy. He made contact in Vichy with an Englishman named Smith. He collected the money Vichy paid for the information, and brought it back here.’
‘Now what about Ainsworth? Why were you so interested in him?’
‘Loftus, is—is Ainsworth dead?’
‘He’s in a bad way,’ said Loftus evasively.
‘I—I shouldn’t have attacked him. It was all worked out by Smith, my Smith. He reckoned if we could get Ainsworth at Queen Street, and kill him in his wife’s room, it would look as if his wife had done it. The idea was to kill him with a paper-knife she uses. It had her prints on it, and he would have been found in her room. She’d carried out some small jobs for us and she was getting curious. We couldn’t afford to take chances with her. She didn’t know enough at the time to do any damage, but——’
‘All right, go on,’ said Loftus crisply. ‘You were telling us why you wanted Ainsworth killed.’
‘We wanted to get some news from him. We knew he’d had a row with Quayle, and all about the libel and slander case. We thought he might know something he hadn’t dared use in court, and planned to find out what it was. We—we offered to help him with cash, he was up against it when the damages and costs were awarded. But—but he was too long coming. We found out that he didn’t know much, we only wanted one or two little things confirmed. We did plenty of checking up on Ainsworth. We searched his room, and we were watching from there one day when he was out, that’s how we learned that—that she’—he looked towards Regina—’was spying on him. She made contact with one of your fellows, I knew the man, and that settled it. Anyhow——’
‘Actually you were afraid we might learn from Ainsworth what you couldn’t learn yourself,’ said Loftus slowly. ‘That’s why you decided to kill him. All right, go on. You arranged the murder, planning to get his wife framed for it. Wasn’t her row with a man in the Cherry Club contrived by you?’
‘Yes, yes, I’d forgotten that. I’m telling you everything, I’d forgotten it! We arranged that she would shout about murdering Ainsworth, to strengthen the case, and we framed the quarrel at the Cherry. One—one of our men started it. He was a man who’d contacted Ainsworth earlier; Ainsworth was friendly with him at one time.’
Loftus said: ‘The gentleman dresses as a lieutenant, and he’s a friend of Colonel Ratcliffe’s.’
‘Yes, that’s right, his name’s Ellison. He—he’s no soldier, he’s one of us.’
‘And what’s he doing with Ratcliffe?’ demanded Loftus.
‘You don’t need telling that,’ snapped Lannigan. ‘He’s made contact with Ratcliffe, and he’s trying to find out what Ratcliffe does with Quayle. That’s all.’
‘All right, we’ll say it is,’ said Loftus more crisply.
Craigie looked at the jaunty Department Z agent.
‘Take him to Cannon Row, Ted, will you?’
‘Right you are,’ said ‘Ted’.
The door slid to behind them.
• • • • •
The hearty Mr. Smith, who had imagined himself to be playing so important a role while being perfectly safe from suspicion, had been arrested half an hour after Lannigan, and was then waiting for interrogation, He was brought to Craigie’s office by two large young men who seemed to have no thought of anything but cigarettes and eyeing Regina, whom they clearly admired.
Smith was a shivering jelly of a man. His dark hair was awry, and the white streaks of the cranium showed vividly. His laughter was gone, his heartiness completely dissipated. His hands trembled every time he moved them, and he could not keep his knees from shaking. It was obvious that he was completely bewildered by the trend of events, and could not convince himself that he had been caught.
With him there came a report that his house was being thoroughly searched, and that already the names and addresses of the ‘assassination agents’ were being discovered. The police would go into action at once, and a threat to the safety of the leading politicians was being removed even before its seriousness was fully realised.
What was more important, Smith not only confirmed everything that Lannigan had said, but gave details of the radio contact he had with Germany.
When he had gone to Cannon Row, to await further interrogation, Craigie said quietly:
‘We’ll maintain his contact with Berlin, I think.’
‘How do you mean?’ demanded Regina.
‘They’ll expect to hear from Smith,’ Craigie pointed out, ‘and they may as well continue to hear from him. It’ll convince them that everything is in perfect order, and that’s exactly what they want to hear. A continued policy of making the enemy happy,’ he added with a slow smile. ‘We’re not doing badly, Regina.’
‘I can’t keep track of it,’ confessed Regina. ‘It seems fantastic that it’s all happened since—since I saw Mike and Mark. What would have happened if I hadn’t told them about Father?’
Loftus shrugged his shoulders.
‘Who knows? We might have made as much progress, but I don’t think it’s likely. The problem is, what’s going to happen now?’ he added thoughtfully. ‘I wonder how long those maps and blueprints will be?’
Craigie telephoned the Ministry of Mines, to be told that a messenger was on his way with them. Craigie went out of the office, and the doors were closed behind him as Loftus pressed one of the buttons beneath the mantelpiece. Regina eyed the buttons, her expression startled, although she had seen them operate several times before.
‘Does everything work by electricity, Bill?’
‘A lot of it! When I first saw the gadgets Gordon uses and knew that he had sliding doors and this-and-that, I thought it was all highly coloured shop-window dressing. But it works, and that’s what matters. There aren’t a dozen people in the building who know this office exists, and except for half-a-dozen of us, no one can get in from the outside. Gordon’s gone to collect the stuff from the Ministry, from an outer office. All part of the “keep ‘em mystified” policy.’
As he spoke, a green light showed in the mantelpiece. He pressed a button near it, and a part of the wall slid open. Craigie entered, carrying maps so voluminous that he had difficulty in squeezing with them through the door.
With him was a short, slim man dressed in morning clothes, pale-faced, deferential. Craigie introduced him as Cartwright, a specialist in blueprint and map reading.
‘Good man,’ said Loftus briefly. ‘Now let’s have a look at things down at Lashley.’
They spread the maps and blueprints over Craigie’s desk, and Cartwright pored over them with Loftus and Craigie. Regina stood by the fireplace where a small fire burned despite the warmth of the day outside.
Cartwright was saying:
‘If the two gentlemen disappeared about here, sir’—he indicated a point on the ordnance map with a pencil—‘then they disappeared immediately above some old working of the Howe mines. Not workings used in the lifetime of the present Howe family, but——’ he peered at a blueprint—’workings which were closed as far back as 1849. I see from the particulars here that the workings were wrongly prepared in the first place, and led to the side of this—er—escarpment, perhaps, would be the best word. And the colliery which used to be fairly near is now completely gone. Shafts—they were shallow at that time, please remember, no more than a few hundred feet, and often not so deep—were drilled in several places. There is one here close to the edge of the escarpment.’ He went into details quickly, and plotted the course with a pair of minute compasses. ‘There is no evidence that it was filled in, although others nearby were. These old prints are never absolutely accurate, mind you, and subsidence will often alter the whole appearance of old mine workings. But, roughly speaking, there was an air shaft about—here.’
He marked a spot on the ordnance map; it was less than a hundred yards, by the scale of the map, from the position of a summer house, clearly marked. The larger building of Lashley Cottage was there, also, with Beddiloe House a little to the west and, on the lower ground below what the specialist in map reading called the escarpment, was the house of Mr. Hanton.
‘Good,’ said Loftus. ‘Can you be ready for a trip to Somerset in an hour?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Cartwright, without batting an eye.
‘Good man. I’ll meet you in Whitehall outside the main doors at—’ Loftus looked at his watch—’twelve o’clock exactly.’
‘Very good, sir,’ said Cartwright, following Craigie as he released one of the wall sections. When the door had closed, Loftus passed a hand over his hair and said slowly:
‘A pleasant little bloke, and he’ll be useful. The trek to Somerset seemed indicated, Gordon. All right with you?’
‘I was going to suggest it,’ admitted Craigie. He filled his meerschaum, and then added quietly: ‘What are you going to do, Regina?’
She hesitated for a moment, eyeing his amiable countenance, seeing that he appeared to be quite free from anxieties or concern for Mike, or, indeed, anyone. She drew a deep breath and then said slowly:
‘Are you human? Don’t you realise that Mike’s been missing now for forty-eight hours? Forty-eight hours! Can’t you understand what it means?’
Craigie spoke quietly into the ensuing pause.
‘We’re more used to this kind of waiting than you, and that makes the difference. You see, Regina, individuals don’t matter. If it’s possible to find Mike we will find him, but as far as our objective is concerned, Howe is far more important. He might play a vital part in deceiving the enemy, and—our job is just that. Just that,’ he added softly, but his expression was bleak, and it seemed to Regina that she suddenly understood how deeply this man felt, how much, in fact, his men meant to him.
Regina said in a low voice:
‘I’m sorry. Will—will I be in the way if I come down?’
‘No, Gina, but you will be if you’re late. Come on, let’s get some things packed.’
Regina had just time to go by taxi to her flat, and pack a small case. There was a policeman standing outside Ainsworth’s door, and she wondered whether the body was there, or whether she would need to see it again.
It was gone, but a heavily-built and large man, whose sandy hair and moustache had a peculiar look of having been dusted recently with flour, was in the room. He introduced himself as Superintendent Miller, and she eyed him curiously, knowing that he was the liaison officer between the Department and Scotland Yard. His face was impassive, and he gave an impression on first acquaintance similar to that which Loftus created.
• • • • •
As they stopped outside the Lion Hotel in Lashley village, Regina saw two men. One was tall and narrow, clad in grey, immaculate to the point of excess. But for a long, thin nose he would have been good looking. His eyes were dreamy, and he looked faintly bored.
By him was a shorter man in a flannel suit, fair-haired and smiling brightly. Both of them stepped forward.
Loftus introduced them quickly as Wally Davidson and Young Graham, then asked: ‘Anything developed?’
‘Nor a bally thing.’ Davidson took a slim cigarette case from his pocket. ‘Not a thing, Bill. We saw Pat last night. He’s getting restive; all Ratcliffe and this other bloke—Ellison, isn’t it?—do is to sit around in the garden, play a spot of golf—good-looking course not far from here—and this and that. Absolutely a rest cure.’
‘Any others of our boys here?’
‘Haven’t seen ‘em,’ said Graham.
‘Meaning who?’ asked Davidson.
‘The fellow on Quayle’s tail,’ said Loftus. ‘The only man who seems to do nothing at all suspicious is Suspect Number 1, or Quayle in person.’ He lit a cigarette which Davidson had offered, and then added slowly: ‘Something must turn up sooner or later, but at the moment our job is to find Mike.’
‘We’ve been looking for him for twenty-four hours, drat you,’ said Davidson.
‘Useful police fellow here named Webber,’ put in Graham. ‘He’s been doing all he can, but——’ he shrugged.
‘We’ve something that might help,’ said Loftus. To Regina they still seemed appallingly casual. ‘Where’s Bruce Hammond?’
‘Haven’t seen him,’ declared Davidson. ‘Didn’t even know that he was coming down here.’
Regina was looking at Loftus, and she saw a change in his expression which amazed her. His casualness and nonchalance was gone completely, his eyes hardened and his chin thrust forward.
‘He should have been here by half-past eleven, and he was coming direct to this pub.’
‘He hasn’t shown up,’ Young Graham said slowly.
Only then did the change in Loftus’s expression convey real meaning to Regina. She experienced something of the cold dismay which Loftus felt.
He said quietly: ‘So we’re looking for three of them.’
It proved that Davidson had travelled down with Graham in a Lagonda, and they climbed into their car, which was further along the road, and followed on to Lashley Cottage. At the gates of the drive they saw a uniformed policeman, and a tall, clean-limbed man in plainclothes. To Loftus, Davidson said: ‘That’s the Inspector johnny, Webber.’
‘We’ll rope him in, Loftus.’
They collected Webber, who asked few questions, and then went as far as they could by car and walked the rest of the way up the hill to the summer house and the wonderful view beyond, with Cranton’s Heath House bathed in the afternoon sun.
Cartwright and Loftus approached the summer house together.
18
Discoveries Underground
To Mike and Brian the few hours following their descent into the old shaft had been a nightmare.
For what had seemed an interminable time they had gone on through the darkness, until they had come to what appeared to be a dead end.
They had continued to walk about in the darkness, however, testing the walls, beating against them with their clenched hands. The all-pervading gloom had made their plight worse, while they had begun to feel the first pangs of hunger, pangs accentuated by the fear that they were trapped and would not see the light of day again.
And then they heard voices.
Neither of them had spoken, both had kept still and rigid as they listened. They heard a man’s voice saying: ‘They must be about somewhere.’
‘Probably they’re drowned,’ someone else suggested.
The floor where they were waiting was dry, but until that moment the blackness had been impenetrable. Suddenly they could see the disc of light shining from a torch, and against the light they saw two men, walking slowly as they flashed the torch to and fro.
Mike and Brian crowded back against the wall, but knew that if the torch was flashed their way, they would be visible.
The footsteps drew nearer, the light growing so powerful that it hurt their eyes. Then abruptly:
‘There they are!’
There was something wrong with him, Mike thought, he had not taken out his automatic, resting in the hope that they would not be seen.
Brian Howe stirred.
Mike gripped his arm.
‘There they are!’ the man shouted again, but did not move towards Mike or Brian, but towards the other side of the spacious underground chamber in which they were standing. The light showed them both, grotesquely shadowed, bending over the figure of a man stretched out on the floor.
‘Keep quite still,’ Mike urged in a whisper so low-pitched that he wondered whether Brian could hear it. In any event Brian made no attempt to move, while the two men bent lower over the outstretched body.
The speaker said in tones of sharp surprise: