The Trojan Horse

by Hammond Innes

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘But, don’t you see, I could walk over to St Levan or to Portcurno along the cliffs,’ Freya pointed out again.

  ‘Yes, but would you arrive?’ David asked. ‘I suggest we stick to the Bentley and make a dash for it.’

  ‘But look, this is silly,’ Freya persisted. ‘They can’t isolate a whole village. Suppose we split up and all go different ways? Anyway, you don’t know the phone isn’t just an accident. There’s quite a gale blowing and the wires may be down somewhere. It has happened before. As for the requisitioning, lots of boats are being requisitioned. It’s one of the things I’ve been dreading. That’s why I made that switch valve.’

  Her point was reasonable. We hadn’t been followed from London and it would take them a long time to work out that code and discover that the key-letters CONESFRUL stood for Cones of Runnel. ‘I think Freya is right,’ I said. ‘We’re just jumping to conclusions. I suggest we drive into Sennen and I’ll phone Crisham from there. If you’ll bring a few things with you,’ I said to Freya, ‘we can decide on our next move as we go along.’

  ‘That seems sensible,’ she said.

  David shrugged his shoulders and relit his pipe. I noticed that his eyes followed Freya as she pulled a little suitcase from beneath the bed and began packing a few things into it. When she had finally closed it, she put on a tight-fitting little cloth cap and a heavy gabardine cape.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WE TAKE THE OFFENSIVE

  Five minutes later we were in the Bentley and moving up the valley out of Porthgwarra. Surprisingly enough David had insisted on Freya sitting in the back, whilst I went in front with him. He took the long hill slowly, and every now and then he half-leaned out of the window and stared up towards the roadway above the hairpin bend. ‘Didn’t I notice a track running off across the moor at the bend up here when we came down?’ he asked.

  I didn’t remember it, but Freya leaned forward and said, ‘Yes, it doubles back along the other side of the valley to the coastguards’ houses.’

  ‘Doesn’t it go anywhere else?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, there’s a track running away to the right to a farm and back inland to Roskestal. It’s terribly bad going.’

  ‘Any gates?’

  ‘Several, I think. Why?’

  ‘Oh, nothing. I just like to be sure of the lay of the land.’ He accelerated slightly as we neared the bend, and as we rounded it I saw the track running steeply down to the head of the valley. As soon as we were round the bend, David slowed up again and we climbed slowly with a fine view down the valley to Porthgwarra. The rain had stopped now and the clouds were thinning as though the sun might break through at any minute.

  As we neared the top of the hill, I asked David what the trouble was. The car was barely moving and beginning to pink. ‘I’m a careful driver, that’s all,’ he said. We crept round the bend which led inland at almost a walking pace. But, even so, I was pitched forward by the suddenness with which David jammed on the brakes. The next second the gears crashed as he put the car into reverse and, with his offside door open, the car shot backwards.

  I had a fleeting picture of a big American car drawn up across the road with two men standing on the grass verge. Then my whole attention was riveted to my side of the narrow road, for David, leaning out of his door, was roaring backwards round the bend and down the hill. How he managed it, I don’t know. The noise of the engine, grinding away in reverse, was terrific. We must have been doing over thirty. ‘Hold tight,’ he said, as we came to the hairpin. The car’s wheels suddenly locked over and we took the bend at its steepest point, just as the American car came into sight round the bend at the top of the hill.

  Suddenly we were thrown hard back against our seats and there was a horrible screeching sound as the wheels skidded, fully locked, on the wet tarmac. Our bumpers hit the bank on the outer edge of the bend and immediately the car leapt forward, the engine roaring full out. We slithered round on to the track and took the hill at a fantastic speed. As we neared the bottom, I glanced back just in time to see the American car come on to the track, lurching and swaying like a tank going into action.

  ‘I hope to God the gates are all open,’ David said between set teeth, as we took the water-course at the bottom with a bump that brought the wheels hard up against the mudguards and caused us to pitch violently.

  I said nothing, but I kept my hand on the handle of my door ready to jump out if necessary. The track rose steeply from the water-course until we could see the Board of Trade hut and the cones away to our left. On either side of us the sodden heathland stretched away flat to stone walls. The line of cliffs could be seen quite clearly with huge irregularly-shaped stones standing like druidical temples against the leaden sky.

  Ahead of us a stone wall suddenly showed, grey against the darker heath. It cut right across the track, but the gate was open and we swept through it at near on fifty. How David held the car to the track I don’t know, for there was barely a foot to spare on either side and we were bucking madly in the potholes with yellow muddy water spurting up from our wheels and blowing across the windshield.

  We were hardly through the gateway when Freya reported that the car behind was also through and gaining on us. David swore softly and I felt the speed of the Bentley increase. His face was set and he leaned slightly forward as though he would thrust his face through the windscreen to see better. The wheel was like a live thing in his hand and we pitched from side to side of the track in a most terrifying manner. ‘We’ll never beat them on this side-track,’ he said. ‘American cars are made for this sort of thing. We’re too tightly sprung. What we need is a nice windy road.’ Then he called out over his shoulder, ‘Are they still gaining on us?’

  ‘I think we’re just about holding the distance,’ Freya called back.

  It was crazy. We were doing something between fifty and sixty. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in a car in my life. Every minute I expected the car to leap from the track and turn over, and all I could do was sit and grip my seat.

  David suddenly cried out, ‘By God, I believe we’ve got them now.’ I glanced at him and, intent though he was on driving, I could see he was excited. ‘See that bend ahead? Isn’t that a gateway into a farmyard?’

  I peered through the arc of clear windscreen, across which the wiper flicked rhythmically, and saw the track curving away to the left and then back again to the right in a long sweep. And at the end of that sweep was a farm. The track appeared to bend sharply round the farm between stone walls, and on the bend was an entrance to the farm. A moment later it was lost to sight and there was no possibility of our seeing it again until we were right on top of it, taking the bend.

  Freya reported that the American car was drawing up on us again. I saw David steal one quick glance in the driving mirror and the car swayed violently. I gripped my seat in my excitement. We were running between stone walls now on the long bend leading to the farm. I saw the out-houses across the field to our left. I looked round. The car was less than a hundred yards behind us now. The light springing caused the body to sway and bounce far more than our own car, but the wheels were holding the track much better. There was no doubt that it was gaining.

  I turned back to find that we were practically on top of the farm buildings. The track straightened up and the bend round the farm showed about fifty yards ahead. ‘Hold tight,’ David said. And at the same time I felt the brakes begin to bind. As we took the bend the back wheels began to skid. There was a horrible screeching noise as the rubber cut across the rough metal of the track. The car seemed for a moment completely out of control. The back jarred violently and there was the sound of metal against stone. Then David ground his gears, swung the wheel over the opposite way and we shot into the farmyard. Fortunately it was empty of stock and largely cobbled. David brought the Bentley to a standstill with its nose half-buried in a pile of manure. Then we shot back and came forward with our nose in the gate just in time to see
the American car come round the bend, its tyres screeching and the body swaying and dipping.

  Whether they saw us or not we didn’t have time to tell. David swung the Bentley out of the farmyard as their tail disappeared round the bend, and we went hell-for-leather back down the track. ‘Nice work!’ I said. David grinned. There was the exultation of speed and fine driving in his eyes. ‘It’ll take them quite a time to stop,’ he said. ‘And by the time they’ve backed to the farmyard to turn, we’ll be well on our way.’

  This was true, for it wasn’t until we were actually on the Porthgwarra road again and climbing the hill to Roskestal that Freya reported the car coming through the gate in the stone wall. The rest was easy. We made terrific pace to Penzance and ran up through Redruth and Bodmin to Launceston. There we turned sharp to the north and made for Bideford. At Holsworthy we paused for a late lunch and I phoned Crisham.

  My object was to tell him just enough to whet his appetite. Desmond Crisham is one of the bulldog breed. He won’t be driven. But he’ll follow a clue with all the obstinacy of his type. If I had told him the whole story, I knew well enough he wouldn’t have believed me. He’s not the sort to believe in fairy stories, unless he’s worked them out for himself and then they aren’t fairy stories to his way of thinking. I thought that if I could tell him just enough to make him curious he’d make an awful nuisance of himself at the Calboyd Power Boat Yard. But when after nearly half an hour’s wait, for I had made it a personal call, I got through to him, he cut me short and said, ‘I’ve been trying to get you everywhere. Listen, you were perfectly right about that address you gave me. Franz Schmidt lived there for nearly three weeks. Did you know he was supposed to have had an accident? Oh, you did? Well, why the hell couldn’t you have told me? And I suppose you know that his rooms had been searched?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I searched them myself. But there was someone before me. He came to get some clothes for Schmidt, who was supposed to be in some hospital.’

  He took me up on that. ‘Supposed to be?’ he cried, and his voice rose almost into a shout. ‘Then I suppose you know that he’s not in hospital, that he’s just vanished?’

  ‘I expected it,’ I said.

  ‘Look here, Andrew, you and me have got to have a little talk. Can I come round to your rooms?’

  ‘No. I’m speaking from a little place in Devon.’

  ‘What the hell are you doing down there? All right, it doesn’t matter. Let’s get down to business.’

  ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘I rang you up to tell you something, and this call is costing about two bob a minute.’

  ‘Well, damn it, you can afford it, can’t you? What were you going to tell me?’

  ‘Just this. Did you know Evan Llewellin kept a motor-cruiser at Swansea?’

  ‘Yes, and it’s missing. I’ve been searching all over the place for it.’

  ‘Well, it has just been requisitioned by the naval authorities. It’s now on its way to the Calboyd Diesel Power Boat Yards at Tilbury. I think it’ll repay investigation. Perhaps I should tell you that Schmidt was a specialist in diesel engines.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘Did you also know that Calboyds had been after it?’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Never mind that now. And look here, Desmond,’ I added, ‘this is entirely between ourselves – about Calboyds, I mean. I’ve no proof yet. But keep your eyes open and for God’s sake don’t let them hold that boat of Llewellin’s for a moment, or your evidence will be gone.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Crisham’s voice sounded exasperated. ‘Listen, Andrew. Where the devil do you stand in this business? What’s your game? Has Schmidt become a client of yours, because, if so, you can set your mind at rest.’

  ‘You mean you’ve discovered that he didn’t murder Llewellin?’

  ‘Yes. But it’s no thanks to him. Running off like that, the fool nearly ran his head into a noose. It’s just a stroke of luck that we’ve been able to fix him up with an alibi. Just as I thought the case was as clear as daylight, along comes an old scallywag who has been thieving scraps of metal from Llewellin’s works. He looked in through the open door of the stamping-shop that night just as two men were coming out of Llewellin’s office, and he could see Llewellin’s body bent over the drill. He slipped away and nearly ran into Schmidt crossing from his own shed to the stamping-shop.’

  ‘Well, that’s fine,’ I said. ‘And who did murder Llewellin?’

  ‘If I knew, I wouldn’t be wrangling over the phone with you,’ he said angrily. ‘What I want to know is where you come in? What do you know about this business? Where’s Schmidt? Where’s his confounded daughter? And who murdered Llewellin? This case is giving me a pain in the neck and the Commissioner has been leading me a dog’s life because – well, I suppose I oughtn’t to tell you this – because Evan Llewellin was a secret agent. He covered the Swansea area, and since the beginning of the war he had been particularly helpful to the Ministry of Economic Warfare. Now, for God’s sake, tell me what you know.’

  ‘All I know is in that statement at my bank, and you’ll be able to read it at your leisure when I am no longer of this world. In the meantime, all I can tell you is that Schmidt’s daughter is with me now and that Schmidt was framed. Find Schmidt and I think he’ll be able to clear up the whole business. But understand this, Desmond,’ I added, ‘don’t run away with the idea that this business is as simple as murder. It’s big. Work in with the Intelligence, and remember particularly what I said about getting hold of that boat and keeping an eye on Calboyds.’ I cut short his sudden burst of questions by putting down the receiver.

  When, over coffee, I told the others what I had said, David’s comment was, ‘Having gone so far, I should have thought it would have been best to tell him the whole thing.’

  ‘Listen, David,’ I said. ‘If you were an obstinate bulldog of a policeman, what would you say to that yarn? I’ve told him enough to make him curious. So long as he’s curious, he’ll go ferreting around Calboyds, however much of a howl they kick up. He’s like that. A little knowledge makes him a dangerous man. Give him the whole thing worked out for him and he won’t stir. Don’t forget what we’re up against. Calboyds isn’t some tuppenny-ha’penny little concern. It’s a big and powerful organisation and there’s maybe something even bigger still behind it. If he thought he was on the point of trying to expose Calboyds as a Nazi-controlled company operating in favour of the enemy, he’d fight shy of it. He’d be out of his depth completely. But let him think that he’s just investigating a murder that is linked up in some way with a little industrial swindling, and he knows his duty and will do it.’

  Freya, I could see, was not interested in our conversation. She was sitting with clasped hands and a smile on her lovely face. ‘Well, that’s one of your father’s difficulties over,’ I said. ‘Perhaps it’s an omen.’

  ‘Oh, I hope so,’ she said. Then suddenly she leaned forward and took my hands. ‘You’ve been so kind,’ she said. It was an impulsive gesture, but something within me seemed to shrink from the touch of her smooth fingers. Her big dark eyes were swimming. The boyishness was gone suddenly from her and she was a woman on the verge of tears because she had found friends. She turned to David. The movement was less impulsive and she did not take his hands. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you both. You have given me new heart.’

  ‘You’ve put new heart into me, too,’ David said with a laugh. But I fancy his eyes were serious. He had come to Cornwall like a romantic schoolboy prepared to fall for the damsel in distress, and the damsel’s beauty had exceeded his wildest dreams. Well, I must admit, they made a grand pair. And I wished suddenly that I was younger.

  After our coffee we sat and smoked cigarettes and held a council of war. David was all for some desperate attempt to get the boat back. But I said, ‘No, there’s a better way than that – the legal method, which they used. I know Rear-Admiral Sir John Forbes-Pallister. I can get him at the Ad
miralty and I think he’ll be able to get that order rescinded. Another thing, we don’t want to make straight for the Calboyd yards by car. We’ve thrown these boys off our track by swinging north like this out of the direct road route to London. Crisham will look after the boat for a day or two at any rate. And remember this, if we remain on the defensive, we’re lost. We’ve got to attack. And the only place to open an offensive is in the City. The whole thing hinges on this control. I’m certain of that. If we can find out who is really at the back of Calboyds, then we’d be getting somewhere.’

  ‘Or if we could find my father,’ said Freya.

  ‘That’s true,’ I said. ‘But I think the two go together. Crisham will do his best in the routine manner.’

  They both agreed with me, so we pushed on to Barnstaple, where we arranged for the car to be driven back to Penzance, and boarded an Ilfracombe-London express. We had dinner on the train and got into Paddington shortly after ten. I took them to a boarding-house in Guildford Street kept by a Mrs Lawrence. Both my rooms and David’s studio were bound to be under observation. Mrs Lawrence was a Scotswoman married to a Chinaman – a wonderful combination for running a London boarding-house. I had had rooms there in my student days and she was glad to see me again. She looked tired and old, and when I discovered that she could let us have three rooms, I guessed the war had hit her business pretty badly. She took a fancy to Freya at once and fussed round her like an old hen, whilst her husband came and went with hot-water bottles and tea and his barely intelligible chatter of English.

  I had just got into my pyjamas and was sitting in front of the hissing gas-fire in my dressing-gown smoking a pipe and thinking over the situation, when there was a knock at the door and David came in. He also had reached the dressing-gown stage and in his hand he held the evening paper that he had bought at Paddington. ‘I thought this might interest you.’ He handed me the paper and pointed to a paragraph on one of the inside pages. It ran: