“Indeed, is that so?” Craig’s voice suggested a certain lack of interest.
“Well, I’ve plenty to do, so I dare say you’ll excuse me.” With what was presumably intended to be an affable smile Casey faded out on to the landing. The next instant the door closed softly behind him, and the other two occupants of the room were left facing each other in silence. Craig had resumed his seat and was tapping his leg with an ivory paper-knife which he had picked up off the desk.
“I presume that you wished to see me on a matter of business,” he observed. “I haven’t a great deal of time at my disposal, so perhaps it would be as well if we came to the point.”
“By all means.” Sutton took a leisurely draw at his cigar-ette. “I have a certain proposition I should like to put before you, but, to begin with, I think that a little preliminary explanation might help to clear the ground. It would give you a better idea of my position in the matter, and probably have some effect on your attitude with regard to my suggestion.”
“Please yourself; only be as quick as you can.”
“About four months ago I had a rather curious and distressing experience.” Sutton drawled out the words with what appeared to be intentioned deliberation. “I was going home late one night when I bumped into a friend of mine. It was that poor devil Medlicot who shot himself a day or two afterwards. By the way, wasn’t he a member of your Club?”
“Yes, he used to drop in here every now and then.” Craig spoke with an admirably assumed carelessness. “Struck me as being a pleasant, attractive sort of chap. Terrible affair his shooting himself like that—last thing in the world I’d have expected from a man of his type.”
“Seems to have taken everyone by surprise. Have you any idea what made him do it?”
“Money troubles of some sort, apparently. I only know what came out at the inquest.”
“Perhaps I can add a little to that. You see, on the night I met him Medlicot was in a pretty queer state. Looked as if he was badly up against it and had been playing around a bit too freely with the whisky. Thought he’d probably land himself in trouble if I didn’t do something about it, so I took him up to my place to give him a chance to cool off. Naval officers can’t afford to be arrested in Piccadilly.”
“Very sporting of you. It isn’t everybody who would be so considerate.”
“Always delighted to do a pal a good turn. Besides, sometimes it pays one handsomely. In the present case, for instance, if I hadn’t felt sorry for Medlicot and tried to be helpful I shouldn’t have enjoyed the advantage of being—how shall I put it—taken into his confidence.” Sutton paused. “It’s also highly improbable that I should be sitting here at the present moment.”
“I fail to grasp the connection between the two events. I liked Medlicot well enough in a way, but he was never an intimate friend of mine. What was your object in coming to me? If you have any inside information why didn’t you attend the inquest and give your evidence there?”
“I never act hastily: it’s nearly always a mistake. One is so apt to throw away the substance for the shadow.”
Once again Craig glanced at his watch. “You must forgive me reminding you that I am a rather busy man. Unless you have something really definite—”
“I have. Extremely definite.” Sutton still spoke in the same quiet drawl. “As a result of that little chat with Medlicot, and of certain facts that have come to my knowledge since then, I have arrived at the conclusion that you are playing a highly profitable but, if you don’t mind my saying so, a damned dangerous game. To put it quite frankly and precisely, you are working for the Germans.”
Except for a slight narrowing of the eyes Craig’s face remained absolutely unaltered.
“I don’t know whether you are mad or whether this is intended to be a joke. If you are playing the fool, I warn you that there are very distinct limits to what I’m prepared to put up with.”
“It would be a pity if you threw me out before I had finished. You would certainly regret it.”
“I don’t propose to waste my time listening to drivelling nonsense.”
“No, that would be too much to expect. Perhaps I can simplify matters by giving you a short summary of what I conceive to be the exact situation. If I am doing you an injustice in any particular detail don’t hesitate to correct me.”
Craig remained silent, still swinging the paper-knife in his long, powerful fingers.
“By some means or other,” continued Sutton, “possibly through the German Secret Service, you discovered that our friend Medlicot was in possession of a set of drawings which the authorities in Berlin were desperately anxious to get hold of. Acting, no doubt, on instructions from your employers, you and some of your crowd worked out a very pretty little scheme for what I believe is vulgarly called ‘putting him on the spot.’ You knew that he was a keen poker player and inclined to get a bit reckless when he’d had a few drinks, so you arranged for some faked games, in the first two or three of which he was naturally allowed to win. Then, as soon as you’d got him in the right frame of mind, you—well, you pulled your stuff. He dropped four thousand in one night, and when he had to admit that he couldn’t settle up you threatened to bring an action against him. That would have meant his being sacked from the Service. At this point, just as he was at his wits’ end a certain obliging gentleman butted in and offered to put up the money. The only condition he made was that he should be allowed to take a tracing of the drawings, which, according to his own story, he intended to pass on to the United States Government. Tempting proposal to a man in Medlicot’s position. Of course he shouldn’t have accepted—very wrong and unpatriotic of him—but still, human nature being what it is, one can’t help feeling rather sorry for the poor chap. After all”—Sutton leaned forward coolly and tipped off the end of his cigarette—“however stupid he may have been, he paid for it with his life.”
There was a silence which lasted for several seconds.
“Do you really expect me to attach the slightest importance to this rubbish?”—Craig gave a short, contemptuous laugh. “If you do, you must be off your head. Why, on your own showing, all it’s based on are the maunderings of a drunken young crook.”
“I’d hardly say that. I have taken quite a lot of trouble to verify some of Medlicot’s statements, and without wishing to flatter myself I think I can claim to have been fairly successful. Just as a sample, for instance, I can give you the real name of the ‘American’ gentleman who came forward so conveniently with the cash. It’s von Manstein—Count Conrad von Manstein. He is a personal friend of Hitler, and I am rather inclined to credit him with being the head of the whole Nazi spy system in England. Seeing that he has twice been down to Otter’s Holt during the last six weeks, I take it that you’re on remarkably good terms. Indeed, I shouldn’t be altogether surprised if it was you who introduced him to Medlicot.”
“You ought to make a fortune with an imagination like yours. Why don’t you go along to Scotland Yard and ask them what they will offer you for your story?”
“Because I think I have a better market. I feel certain that when you and your friends have talked the matter over quietly you will realise the advantage of accepting my proposal.”
Craig laughed again. “We may as well play the farce out if it affords you any satisfaction. What is this handsome offer which you are kind enough to submit to my consideration?”
“I have no wish to be unreasonable. If you will give me five thousand in one-pound notes you can count upon my keeping my mouth shut. Otherwise I shall feel it my duty to report the facts to the Home Office.”
With a contemptuous movement Craig pushed back his chair till it bumped up against the side of the desk.
“You must be an even bigger fool than I imagined. Assuming, for the moment, that there was a grain of truth in all this trash, do you suppose that anyone in their senses would put the slightest trust in a
blackmailing skunk like you? What guarantee would they have that you wouldn’t turn up the next day and ask for double the amount?”
“That’s a difficulty which I think we might be able to get over.” Sutton smiled pleasantly. “You mustn’t assume that you are the only people in England who are capable of exercising a little intelligence. I, for one, agree with you entirely. In my opinion this country is finished. We have no Army and practically no Air Force. France is rotten from top to bottom, and as soon as the Germans have settled with her they’ll start bombing hell out of us, until we chuck in the sponge and howl for mercy. No good expecting any help from the States: we shall be down and out before they can make up their minds.”
“Very interesting,” sneered Craig. “So you are a prophet as well as blackmailer! Is that supposed to inspire confidence?”
“It should, in anyone who isn’t a nitwit. Like our deceased neighbour the Vicar of Bray, I have a natural preference for being on the winning side. You may point that out to von Manstein, and you can suggest that by securing the use of my services for his organisation he would be making an uncommonly good bargain. I should expect to be treated generously, of course; but I take it that, with so much at stake, money is not a question of primary importance. I think I have already proved that my collaboration might be distinctly valuable. However, if you still have any doubts on the subject, I may mention that I have not quite exhausted my stock of information. I can produce several more curious facts which I fancy you would much prefer that I should keep to myself.”
“And what do you expect me to do now?” Craig had risen to his feet and was standing beside the desk. “Pull open a drawer and hand you over five thousand pounds?”
“Nothing as dramatic as that. I realise that you are acting under instructions and that you will have to submit the question to your employers. I suggest that you have a nice heart-to-heart talk with von Manstein, and, if he is sensible enough to accept my terms, that you arrange for us to meet again next week. I have no objection to waiting a few days. I intend to go down to Playford to-morrow, and shall be staying at the bungalow until Monday. I am on the telephone, so you will be able to give me a ring there and let me know what you have fixed up. Perhaps we might lunch together at the Milan. When one is engaged upon these kind of delicate and dangerous negotiations I feel that the easiest plan is to meet somewhere in public. It seems to give both sides a greater sense of security—don’t you agree with me?”
Before Craig could reply there was a tap at the door, followed almost simultaneously by the appearance of Mr. Paul Casey.
“Sorry if I’m interrupting you.” The manager came forward, holding out what appeared to be a typewritten letter. “It’s a rather urgent note from those wine people we wrote to. I think we ought to send them a reply straight away.”
“As a matter of fact, I was just going.” Sutton rose casually and picked up his hat which was lying on the table. “I fancy we understand each other pretty thoroughly,” he continued, turning to his host, “and I shall look forward to hearing from you during the week-end. Sure to find me in any time up till eleven.”
“You might take our visitor down with you, Casey.” Craig nodded towards the lift. “I’ll have a look through this and let you know what I want done about it.”
For several moments after the other two had disappeared he stood where he was, scowling thoughtfully at the closed door. Then, giving himself an impatient shake, he sat down in front of the desk, and lifting off the receiver, commenced to dial a number. After a brief interval his efforts were rewarded by a slightly guttural “Hello!”
“Mr. Mark Craig speaking,” he announced. “Is that Count von Manstein’s flat?”
There was an affirmative grunt.
“Who are you—Frederick?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is the Count in?”
“I am afraid not, sir. He has been out of Town since Tuesday.”
“When are you expecting him home?”
“Some time to-morrow, sir. I am not certain when he will actually arrive.”
“Very well. I will write a note and send it round. Be sure you give it to him directly he gets back.”
“I will do so without fail, sir.”
Replacing the telephone and producing a fountain-pen from his inside pocket, Craig pulled forward a sheet of notepaper. It was stamped at the top with the Club address. He began to write slowly, pausing at the end of each sentence as though to reconsider what he had already set down.
My dear Von Manstein,
There has been a very unpleasant and distinctly dangerous development in connection with the Medlicot affair. I won’t enter into details now, but it is most important that I should see you as soon as possible. I had fixed up to go down to Otter’s Holt to-night, and as your man tells me that you will not be back in Town until to-morrow there appears to be no point in altering my plans. I should be much obliged, however, if you would give me a ring at Thames Ferry directly you return. Should you be free, why not come down and stay the night? That, I think, would be the best arrangement, but if you are too busy and unable to get away I could, of course, run up to London and meet you either here or at your flat. The matter is most urgent, and we can’t afford to waste an unnecessary minute. I am sending this round by hand so as to make quite certain of its safe arrival.
Yours sincerely,
Mark Craig.
Once again he read it through, and then, putting it into an envelope and carefully sticking the flap, pressed the same button by which he had previously summoned Casey. After a longish pause that gentleman presented himself in the doorway.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. Got collared in the hall by that old bore Sir John Tanner. He’s thinking of throwing a party here to-morrow.”
“That’s all right: he can afford to pay for it. See he has everything he wants.” Craig held out the letter. “I’d like you to take this round to von Manstein’s flat yourself and hand it to his servant. It’s too important to trust to anyone else.”
The other raised his eyebrows. “Anything to do with our departed friend?”
“Not altogether unconnected. Get back as soon as you can and we will run through these letters before I go.”
Taking the envelope without further comment, Casey left the room. As he did so Craig rose to his feet, and walking slowly across to the window, stood gazing down at the passing traffic. Suddenly, and for no apparent reason, a thin, ugly smile flickered across his lips.
“Yes, you’ll hear from us sure enough,” he muttered. “You can put your money on that, Mr. Granville Sutton.”
Chapter V
“Let’s see. Watch, money, pipe, baccy, matches, cigarettes—that seems to be the lot.” Owen paused reflectively, and then, stepping forward to the dressing-table, picked up an ancient leather wallet containing a cheque-book and two or three letters addressed to himself. “Better not take this—might lose it or drop it overboard.” He grinned suddenly at his own reflection. “Besides, if I’m going to be a sleuth, may as well do the job properly. Wouldn’t catch Sherlock Holmes cruising around with his name and address in his pocket.”
Depositing the wallet in a drawer on top of some more of his belongings, he lifted down a small handbag from the bed, and made his way out into the passage. At the same instant the dignified figure of Watkins appeared from the kitchen. He was carrying a stout wicker-work basket, securely fastened by a leather strap with a convenient handle.
“This is Mr. Anstey’s camping outfit, sir,” he announced. “I think you will find everything you require except milk and bread. I presume that you will be able to procure them locally. The methylated spirit is in one of the larger flasks.”
“Very kind of you, Watkins. Afraid I’m giving you a lot of trouble.” Reaching up, Owen unhooked his raincoat from a peg on the hat-stánd.
“Not at all, sir! It’s a pleasu
re. May I inquire how long you intend to be absent?”
“Depends on the weather. Provided it keeps like this I shall stay over the week-end. If it breaks up, that’s another matter. Anyhow, should I decide to come back suddenly I’ll give you a ring.”
“Very good, sir. I hope you enjoy yourself and have some luck with the fishing. I have heard Mr. Anstey say that there are still a few big trout below the weir at Thames Ferry.”
“Just where I propose to try.” Owen set down his bag alongside the canvas-covered rod on the hall chest, and as he did so the sharp trill of a bell sounded through the flat. It was followed by a vigorous rat-tat on the knocker.
“That will be the car, I expect, sir.”
Moving forward sedately, Watkins opened the door. A youngish-looking man in chauffeur’s uniform who was standing outside took possession of the basket, and with a final word of farewell Owen gathered up the remainder of his luggage. In another moment or so he was clambering into the comfortable four-seater Daimler which an obliging hire company had placed at his disposal.
“Playford, isn’t it, sir? Anywhere special you want to be put down?”
“You know Martin’s boat-house?”
“Oh yes—been there several times.”
“Well, that’s where we’re heading. You can take things easy: I’m in no particular hurry.”
“O.K., sir.”
With a casual nod the driver climbed into his seat, and before Owen had finished lighting his pipe to his complete satisfaction, they were bowling smoothly westward in the direction of Hammersmith.
Now that he had actually embarked on his adventure he was conscious of a feeling of exhilaration to which he had been a stranger ever since that fateful night in the Indian Ocean. With something definite to do, some really important task on which to concentrate his energies, the black cloud of depression so long hanging over his spirits seemed to have been suddenly and miraculously dispersed. The fact that he could still be of use, that he was not a mere piece of discarded lumber, was the precise tonic for which he had been unconsciously craving. It healed and restored his crippled sense of manhood, and as the car slipped across the crowded Broadway a little heart-felt grunt of satisfaction issued from his lips. Yes, it was fine to be on active service again, no matter how fantastically outside his own line this new commission appeared likely to prove.
Trouble on the Thames: A British Library Spy Classic (British Library Spy Classics Book 1) Page 6