The Man Without A Face

by The Man Without a Face (retail) (epub)

  Even Henry, whose objection to the Channel was passionately emphatic, could not have complained of the crossing from Southampton to Havre that night. The millpond comparison was justifiable and he and Harrison slept peaceably and well until the boat was nearing harbour, when Harrison roused him with a vigorous shake.

  “Get up, Henry,” he said. “There’s work to be done.”

  “At this time of the morning?” asked Henry, drowsily. “It can’t be more than five o’clock, sir?”

  “It isn’t,” answered Harrison. “But we shall be in fairly soon and we must keep our eyes open. Come along and enjoy the morning breeze.”

  Henry, although not satisfied as to the fascination of the morning breeze, arose obediently and the two took their station by the rail. It was a glorious morning and even the desire to see Mr. Cross leave the boat could not entirely adulterate Harrison’s pleasure in it.

  “I really do like you better without a moustache, Henry,” said Harrison.

  “It served its purpose, sir,” said Henry, defiantly.

  “Quite true,” answered Harrison. “It was a magnificent effort and quite overpowered Finney. I’m not criticising it, Henry, but somehow it seemed to alter the whole of your character.”

  “Which, in your own words, sir,” said Henry, seriously, “is the essence of a good disguise.”

  “You have an inconveniently good memory, Henry,” answered Harrison. “But weak as it may sound, I prefer you as your natural self.”

  “You didn’t like the Scotch accent, sir?” asked Henry, anxiously.

  “Nothing wrong with that, Henry,” said Harrison.

  “I’m glad to hear that, sir,” answered Henry, beaming broadly. “I think I might stick to it in Havre, even without the moustache. It impresses these foreigners. They got a great respect for the Scotch in the War, sir, and I don’t think they’ve forgotten. And Havre was a great base, you know.”

  “I say, Henry, you’ve worked that out pretty well,” said Harrison, admiringly.

  “That’s the kind of deduction you taught me, sir,” answered Henry. “So Scotch is all right?”

  “Certainly, Henry,” said Harrison. “You go ahead.”

  As the ship berthed and the weary passengers made their way on to the quay Harrison watched them intently to identify Cross. There was, however, no need to have made a great effort in this direction, for Cross appeared in the stream, making no effort whatever to hide himself. Once out of England, he was obviously satisfied that no tracks would lead a pursuer to Havre. He gave up his ticket and walked briskly away from the quayside, to all appearances without a care in the world. “No suspicions,” thought Harrison, “that makes the job a little easier.”

  “I expect he has made straight for the Avenue des Viguerres,” he said to Henry. “And there, dear reader, as they say in the best novels, we will leave him. He might be just suspicious enough to look round and see if he was being followed, so it isn’t worth our while to go straight away. We know where to find him, that’s the main thing. Our next move must be to find a quiet little hotel not far away where we can spend a night or two, if necessary.”

  They left the boat and were soon installed in pleasant rooms in the Hotel Pension du Paradis, about a quarter of an hour’s walk from the quay. Henry talked his individual Scots dialect while the question of accommodation was being settled and his fierceness certainly seemed to impress the little pension keeper and his wife.

  “Our plan of campaign must be somewhat vague, Henry,” said Harrison. “That can’t be helped. There seems no doubt that Cross has no suspicion we are here and we must keep him in that frame of mind, whatever else we do. We have assumed all along that the address, 15, Avenue des Viguerres, is the essential clue to the whole of the King’s Scullion business. We have therefore assumed that Cross has gone to that address. But it is rather a large assumption.”

  “Now you say it, sir,” said Henry, “it is expecting a lot.”

  “You’re not pessimistic, are you, Henry?” asked Harrison, with a twinkling eye.

  “Well, sir, we should look fools if Cross had walked out on us when he left the boat and disappeared to Paris or somewhere like that.”

  “Then you are pessimistic, Henry,” said Harrison. “I must say I appreciate the way in which you change moods to follow my ideas, but if I do raise any doubt you do your best to multiply it a hundred-fold, don’t you? The time for pessimism would really have been Southampton and not here.”

  “Why, sir?”

  “Well, I should have been very downcast if Cross had not come on to the boat at all. The very fact that he came by this route, coupled with the address we have, proves he was going to it. He knew that every minute more in England was likely to make his position more dangerous. He knew the much quicker ways of getting to the Continent, and yet he waited a whole day to come over to Havre. He used a week-end ticket which shows he was familiar with the route and also that he was going to stop in Havre. He could not be going to any other address. Surely that isn’t stretching assumption too far?”

  “Certainly it isn’t, sir,” was Henry’s answer, with great relief.

  “Then our problem is to find out something about the house at 15, Avenue des Viguerres before we try to go any farther. On that I think I must work alone. Two people would excite suspicion and, as I said before, it is essential that he should have no suspicions at all. But we must be able to keep in touch all the time and I’m afraid, Henry, your job is going to be a waiting one. “

  “I don’t mind, sir,” said Henry. “So long as you yourself aren’t taking too many risks.”

  “Thank you, Henry,” answered Harrison. “I’ve had enough of a fright already over this business to take any unnecessary risks. First of all, I’m going to spy out the land very carefully before taking any action at all and then let the Havre police know I’m somewhere about, and if you really get worried I give you full permission to get into touch with them.”

  “They don’t know you’re here yet, sir?”

  “If you mean I haven’t told them, you’re right, Henry,” answered Harrison. “Murray told them I was coming, but you know my peculiar habit of wanting to work alone as far as possible. I don’t want to get into contact with them until it is really necessary.”

  “Very well, sir,” said Henry.

  “Now if our worthy hotel-keeper has a map of Havre we can settle down to our job,” said Harrison.

  The hotel-keeper has a map and was only too pleased for Monsieur to study it. Harrison soon discovered that the Avenue des Viguerres was well away from the centre of the town, and the hotel-keeper told him that the district where it was situated was a pleasant residential one, those living there you would not call them rich; oh, no, but they had sufficient, without doubt.

  After coffee and rolls they sallied forth. Harrison explained to Henry that they would find a café as near as seemed safely possible to the Avenue des Viguerres. Here Henry was to install himself, and stay, glued to the spot, until he saw Harrison walk past his café in the direction of the hotel. Then, having given Harrison a good start, Henry was to go leisurely back to the hotel himself. In this way Harrison thought there would be little chance of rousing any suspicion of their being connected with one another. Of course, if Harrison urgently needed Henry’s help on the spot, he could signal to him or come and fetch him, but then no special precautions would be necessary. They would have to trust to luck.

  They came to a clean-looking café which, judging by the map, seemed rightly placed for Harrison’s plan, and so Henry settled down there and Harrison went on to continue his researches.

  Harrison found that the Avenue des Viguerres was a pleasant road of villas, mainly alike, clean, bright, and well-kept. He was, however, glad he was wearing Sergeant Merivale’s aged but tidy clothes. They seemed somehow to fit the district. Whether it was an illusion or not, Harrison did not feel disposed to say, but the men he met who seemed to be inhabitants of these charming villas did not seem
to be nearly as well-dressed as Englishmen of a like station would have been. Possibly they were frugal-minded over their work-a-day clothing. At any rate, their garments seemed to be about as old and tidy as his own.

  Not far from No. 15 on one side he found a dairy wherein he could see a young French woman, plump and pretty, on duty. “She might talk, with a little flattery,” thought Harrison, as he walked past. About the same distance on the other side was a grocer’s shop, selling nearly everything the human interior can require. Inside he saw an aged woman arranging some of the goods. As he came to the door, the woman looked round with a smile. The hearing of footsteps had obviously given her a pleasant feeling of anticipation. The desire to gossip radiated from her face. She looked upon her neighbour’s business as her own. Her air of expectancy showed that this was one of her personal, if extra, commandments.

  Harrison chuckled to himself. Here was the very spring of information, he thought, if there was anything to be learned at all.

  Harrison went into the shop and Madame left her goods and came towards him, asking what she could do for Monsieur. Harrison shook her gravely by the hand, much to her delight, and explained that he was an Englishman, quite strange to Havre.

  “But Monsieur’s French is very good,” replied Madame, her eyes twinkling.

  “Madame is kind,” replied Harrison. “She inspires an Englishman to speak his best French.”

  Madame’s eyes twinkled still more brightly and the sale of goods was quite forgotten. Her curiosity was roused. Very few Englishmen came into that part of Havre, and if they did, they were not as charming as Monsieur and did not stop to chat with Madame. Possibly Monsieur had some special reason for visiting the Avenue des Viguerres.

  “Surely,” answered Harrison. But he would not fatigue Madame with his own trifling affairs.

  But Monsieur was too tender of Madame’s feelings, was the reply, it might even be that Madame could assist Monsieur.

  “I have no doubt whatever that Madame could assist a man in any difficulty,” said Harrison. “But I would not take advantage of Madame’s great kindness.”

  Madame was now seething with curiosity and she insisted that Harrison should not make the great mistake of thinking that he was troubling her. It was her nature to help others in their difficulties, and Monsieur could be certain that she would feel honoured if he gave her the opportunity of helping him.

  “It is so small,” urged Harrison, feeling that the ground was now pretty well prepared.

  “But that is easier still,” protested Madame.

  “Very well,” said Harrison, slowly, while Madame leaned forward, quivering with impatience. “I am a man of business and I am careful of my money.”

  “Naturally,” said Madame, with approval.

  “I have met a man who had suggested a scheme to me with great profits in it.”

  “Excellent,” commented Madame.

  “But I am cautious,” continued Harrison. “I do not know the man well. Can I trust him with my money, I ask myself. Shall I lose it all by knowing too little of my friend who makes the suggestion? Does he pretend to be my friend just to empty my pockets? Must I not discover more information about him before I become his partner?”

  “You have reason,” said Madame.

  “I know he lives in Havre in the Avenue des Viguerres.”

  “The number.”

  “Ah, Madame,” answered Harrison, sadly, “that I do not know.”

  “A pity,” was the reply. “His name?”

  “If it is his name,” said Harrison, looking very knowingly at Madame.

  “Monsieur is very discreet,” commented Madame, with still stronger approval.

  “My friend calls himself Cross,” said Harrison, slowly, making the plunge.

  “Ah!” answered Madame, with a long-drawn breath.

  “Madame knows my friend?” asked Harrison.

  “Know him I would not say,” answered Madame. “I have seen him, yes, very often. Madame Cross I know better.” Harrison pricked up his ears. Here was a new line altogether. Madame Cross brought a new element into the business.

  “One can judge a man by his wife,” said Harrison.

  “How true, Monsieur,” answered Madame, shaking her head gravely. “It is very true, but in this case it is different.”

  “How so?” asked Harrison. “Do you not trust Madame Cross?”

  “Not trust Madame Cross?” said Madame, raising her eyes to heaven. “That would be beyond thinking. I love Madame Cross. She is English, like yourself, and she speaks the good French, like you too, Monsieur. Not trust her, indeed!”

  “Then I do not understand,” replied Harrison.

  “But I think she is unhappy,” said Madame, in explanation.

  “So it is Mr. Cross you do not trust?” insisted Harrison.

  “Ah, Monsieur, I would not spoil any man’s character,” was the answer. “All I say is that I think Madame Cross is unhappy.”

  “Why?”

  “Women know, Monsieur.”

  “But Madame Cross does not say so?”

  “Madame Cross talks and yet she does not talk—you understand my meaning, Monsieur,” answered Madame. “She comes here to buy and we talk together. We talk of Havre, we talk of England, we talk of many things!”

  “Of husbands?” suggested Harrison.

  “Ah no, Monsieur, never,” answered Madame. “She is English and she never speaks of Mr. Cross. I know she is unhappy and I tell her it is good to talk, but she smiles sadly and says nothing at all about him. But sometimes I see the tear in her eye when she kisses the little boy.”

  “The little boy?” asked Harrison.

  “Yes, Monsieur,” was the reply. “Her little boy would be six years old. So vivacious. He is full of life and he skips and jumps. He laughs and calls me Auntie.”

  “He is named Cross?” asked Harrison.

  “Why, of course, Monsieur,” answered Madame, indignantly. “Madame Cross is the quite English lady.”

  Harrison bowed to the rebuke and was inwardly more amazed than ever. How many more relations of the redoubtable Cross was Madame going to reveal? No amount of deduction could have given him this information and yet it might complicate his plans in no cheering fashion.

  “Reggie Cross, they call him,” continued Madame. “These strange English names. He is a good boy and loves his mother.”

  “I am pleased to hear that,” said Harrison. “But Madame is weary of my questions?”

  “A thousand times no,” answered Madame, eagerly. “What else can I tell you, Monsieur?”

  “What does Madame Cross look like?”

  “She is a slender woman,” answered Madame. “Somewhat tall. She dresses like an English lady. She is tidy but not ‘chic’—Monsieur understands me.” Harrison nodded. “She is not pretty. Her hair is without colour. Her nose is straight and her eyes are brown and beautiful. And she has the wonderful English reserve.”

  “A splendid picture, Madame, answered Harrison. “And Monsieur Cross!”

  “But Monsieur himself knows Mr. Cross already,” was the quick reply.

  “If it is the same Mr. Cross,” said Harrison, equally quickly. “I wish to be certain.”

  “Monsieur is a cautious one,” commented Madame, with a chuckle, as if that type of caution were after her own heart.

  “Mr. Cross is medium in height. He looks—” she paused. “He looks like—” She stopped.

  “Well, Madame?” said Harrison.

  “It is strange,” answered Madame. “Words come easily to me and yet I cannot describe Mr. Cross. His looks are very difficult to remember.”

  “That is impossible,” answered Harrison, with assumed impatience. “A man must look like something. Surely Madame will try again?”

  Madame thought for a moment. She frowned in her effort to concentrate.

  “But it is correct,” she said, “I cannot describe Mr, Cross’s face.”

  “That is very strange,” said Harrison.
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  “Perhaps Monsieur will describe the face of his Mr. Cross?” said Madame, looking cunningly at him.

  Harrison frowned in careful imitation of Madame’s effort. “Madame is right,” he said, “I cannot describe Mr. Cross either.”

  “Then it is the same man,” said Madame, laughing gleefully.

  “Then Madame herself is not cautious,” commented Harrison with a smile.

  “And why?”

  “If we had both given the same description we might have decided that it is the same Mr. Cross,” said Harrison. “But because we neither of us are able to give any description at all that is not such a good argument.”

  “Monsieur is right,” answered Madame. “But it is very singular.”

  “True,” said Harrison. “But it does not seem enough. How does Mr. Cross dress?”

  “That is curious, too, when one thinks of it,” answered Madame. “Sometimes he is dressed as the greatest gentleman and sometimes in the poor clothes—like yours, Monsieur, if you will pardon me.”

  “And how often is he here?”

  “Sometimes he will be here for a week and then be away for two weeks or more,” said Madame. “But he very often arrives on Saturday and goes away on Monday again. Madame Cross tells me the English call it the ‘week-end’.”

  “And his friends?”

  “Again it is curious,” answered Madame, who was so interested that she did not seem to realise that Harrison’s questions were going far beyond the province of the errand on which he claimed to have come to Havre. “When Mr. Cross is there many friends come to see him. They are very seldom French, and, for that matter, very seldom English, too. It seems mysterious that they do not offend their neighbours, and there are no complaints.”

  “Women as well as men?”

  “Yes, there are women,” answered Madame. “But they do not come alone. They always come with the men. But the men they often come alone. And the French they speak—” words failed her.

  “They ask their way?” hazarded Harrison.

  “Some of them,” answered Madame. “One day I ask Madame Cross if her husband is religious.”

  “A strange question,” said Harrison.