“That so, eh?”
“Take it from me.” The speaker raised his glass. “Here’s all the best, Ted, and how goes it with you? What about those two pretty kids o’ yours—Gladys and Maysie? Come to think of it, they must be grown up by now.”
“Grown up and married, both of ’em.”
“You don’t say!”
“That’s a fact. Done well for ’erself, Gladys has. Got hitched up with a chap in the engineerin’ line. Smart young feller and earnin’ good money. Took ’er to Paris for the ’oneymoon and stayed at one o’ them posh ’otels. Must ’ave run ’im in for a packet.”
Mr. Summers clicked his tongue. “Going some, that is.”
“You’re right.”
“Maysie picked a winner, too?”
“Well, in a manner o’ speakin’. Leastways ’e’s a gentleman. Son of a judge in India or somethin’, and went to school at ’Arrer and Oxford. Mind yer, ’e ain’t got any brass, not at present.”
“How do they get along, then?”
“Managed to fix up with the Brewery to put ’em into a house at Windsor. Nice little place, but no trade worth talkin’ of.”
‘Bit of a climb down for a toff like him.”
‘No gettin’ away from that. Why, on’y the other day he was tellin’ me that if six of ’is relations was to go up in an airyplane and that airyplane was to crash and they was all killed, ’e’d be a Duke.”
‘Go on!”
“Gospel truth!” Mr. Mellon paused. “And between you and me,” he added wistfully, “it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if they did, ’cause ’e’s no bleedin’ use as a publican.”
“Can’t have it all ways, not in this world.” With a shake of his head Mr. Summers glanced at the clock, and then, raising his tumbler, gulped down the remainder of its contents.
“You ain’t goin’ just yet?” protested the landlord.
“Got to, I’m afraid. Promised to look in at a meetin’ of the Buffs to-night, and I’ll be late as it is, if I don’t hurry.” Once more he thrust out his hand. “Well, cheerio, Ted—treat to see you lookin’ so frisky. I’ll be droppin’ round again one o’ these days, and with any luck we’ll have time for a proper yarn.”
Cocking his hat at a jaunty angle and bestowing a farewell salute on Owen, Mr. Bert Summers moved briskly to the door. In another minute the spluttering throb of a car engine started up outside, and as though suddenly recalled to a sense of his duties as a host, the landlord picked up his glass and moved back along the counter.
“Old friend o’ mine,” he explained apologetically. “Used to see a lot of ’im at one time.”
“Cheery sort of cove.” Owen nodded. “Wonder why he’s got such a down on the Midlands.”
“Too refined for ’em, I reckon. Don’t take no stock in good manners up there. Think you’re puttin’ on airs if you speak civil.”
“Well, the best thing we can do is to have another drink. Short one for me this time—gin and orange, please. Any chance of your being able to fix me up with something to eat?”
“Why, certainly. Plenty o’ cold stuff in the dining-room. Nice bit o’ chicken and ’am, if you fancy that.”
“Do me fine.”
“Goin’ back to Playford for the night, I s’pose?”
Owen shook his head. “I’m sleeping in the punt. It’s such grand weather I felt I must have a last week out in the open.” He tossed a half-crown across the bar, and took a sip from the small glass in front of him. “I think I’ll try fishing a little farther up in the morning, rather closer to the island. By the way, is there anyone living there now?”
“Party o’ the name o’ Craig. Runs a club in the West End so I’ve heard tell.”
“See much of him?”
“Next to nothin’. Stand-offish sort of cove—too high an’ mighty to mix with the likes of us.” Mr. Mellon shrugged scornfully. “Wouldn’t even know ’e was ’ere, not if ’e ’adn’t sent over a message this mornin’. Got a friend comin’ down by the last train and wants my man Jim to take ’im across.”
Owen’s heart gave a sudden jump. “The last train!” he repeated. “Rather a late job, eh?”
“Won’t be through till after eleven. Can’t be ’elped, though! All part o’ the day’s work. You see, that’s my boat-’ouse opposite the island, and if I started refusin’ custom as like as not I’d ’ave trouble over the licence. ’Sides, Jim don’t mind, not so long as he gets a good tip.”
“Hope he does: he certainly deserves one.” Stretching out his arms with a lazy yawn, Owen slid down off his stool. “Well,” he demanded, “how about that chicken and ham? Think it will be ready if I drop in now?”
“That’ll be O.K., sir. Just step across the passage and you’ll find the dining-room right opposite. See you again afterwards per’aps, that’s to say, if you ain’t in no special ’urry to get off.”
A contented smile flickered across Owen’s face.
“I’m in no hurry at all,” he declared truthfully.
II
Outside the stars were twinkling bravely, but under the thick trees that fringed the entrance to the backwater the darkness was intense. Once within its shelter anyone who was anxious to avoid observation could rest assured that he had achieved his purpose.
Sitting motionless in the punt and steadying himself with the aid of an overhanging branch, Owen stared across in the direction of the island. All he could see was the small, white-painted landing-stage with the black, uncertain bulk of the house looming up behind it. Both above and below the weir the river seemed to be deserted. Except for the steady splashing of the water and an occasional rustling sigh among the tree-tops everything was uncannily still. Even the two stately swans, who had been cruising up and down all the afternoon, appeared to have abandoned their activities and retired to rest.
A glance at the illuminated dial of his watch showed him that it was exactly ten-thirty. Before leaving the inn he had taken the precaution of consulting a time-table; and since, according to Mr. Bradshaw, the last train reached Thames Ferry at seventeen minutes past, it should not be long now before the belated visitor made his appearance. Somehow or other, he had a queer feeling that his luck was in. Though there was no real ground for the assumption, he found himself taking it almost for granted that the stranger would turn out to be von Manstein, that sinister and highly dangerous gentleman in whom the Admiralty were so acutely interested. Mere guesswork though it might be, the prospect of actually witnessing the German’s arrival and being able to pass on the information to Greystoke filled him with elation; and registering a vow to make all the use he could of such a Heaven-sent opportunity, he edged in a shade closer to the bank and patiently resumed his vigil.
After what seemed an interminably long wait the faint sound of footsteps suddenly reached his ears. Then from somewhere in the neighbourhood of the boat-house came a low rumble of voices, followed a minute or so later by the unmistakable splash of oars. Almost simultaneously a black, slowly moving object emerged into view from beyond the opposite bushes. So narrow was the intervening distance that the heads and shoulders of its two occupants could be clearly distinguished. The shorter of the pair, a middle-aged man in a jersey, was pulling away stolidly in the bow: the other sat erect and aloof, the occasional glow of his cigar shining out through the darkness as the boat swayed momentarily sideways under the force of the swiftly running current.
There was a longish pause at the landing-stage while the visitor disembarked, and then, pushing off with what sounded like a mumbled word of thanks, his companion started back on the return journey. In a few minutes he was out of sight again behind the curve of the bank, and after a brief interval the bang of a door, followed by more slowly retreating steps, testified to the fact that he had locked up for the night and was on his way home.
At the very moment Owen leaned forward to pick up his pa
ddle a blurred yellowish gleam suddenly appeared in the centre of the island. As far as he could judge, it seemed to be coming from a window in the upper side of the house. Someone had apparently turned on a light in one of the ground-floor rooms, and in a flash the full possibilities of the situation came home to him with staggering clearness. Gosh, what a chance for anybody who had the nerve to take it! If one could only get across undiscovered and sneak round until one was close enough to see what was going on inside—a soundless whistle framed itself on his lips, and moving aside an obstructing branch, he dug in the paddle and pushed out stealthily into the open. Somewhere farther along the backwater an owl hooted dismally.
Keeping close to the bank and making as little sound as possible, he worked his way gradually upstream until he was abreast of the boat-house. Exactly opposite lay the tip of the island, protected from intruders by a straggling hedge which appeared to extend more or less round the whole property. Right at the extreme point a tangled cluster of trees and bushes jutted out into the water. As a possible landing-place its advantages had already been noted by Owen earlier in the day, and with a swift glance up and down to make sure that the coast was still clear, he swung round the nose of the punt and headed for its shelter.
The light was still showing as he pulled up alongside and made fast to a convenient stump. It obviously proceeded from somewhere directly ahead of him, and edging his way forward through the undergrowth till he arrived at the hedge, he discovered that his original guess had been surprisingly accurate.
He was looking across a lawn towards the side wing of the house, at one end of which a brightly lit french window stood out against the sombre background. In the room behind it, as though he were watching a picture on the screen, he could see a couple of men standing by a table helping themselves to drinks. One of them was wearing a dark suit, the other appeared to be dressed in flannels.
Swiftly but carefully his eyes travelled round the garden. Out to the left, except for a star-shaped bed of standard roses, there was nothing in the way of cover, but on the opposite side, in front of the stretch of hedge overlooking the weir, a thick array of ornamental shrubs ran up to within a foot or two of the window. To Owen they had the appearance of being a direct answer to prayer, and in less time than it takes to write the words he had scrambled successfully over the intervening obstacle and was squirming his way forward through the miniature jungle in front of him.
About ten yards from his goal the foliage became so dense that he was compelled to go down upon his hands and knees. Even then progress was not easy. Despite his utmost care twigs snapped and bushes swayed in the most disturbing fashion, and it was with unspeakable relief that he at last found himself peering out through a gap in the leaves with nothing between his hiding-place and the window but a small tub of flowering chrysanthemums.
His satisfaction, however, was short-lived. Apart from the quick beating of his own heart, all he could hear was a low, unintelligible murmur.
***
Von Manstein put down his glass upon the table, and helping himself to a fresh cigar, stared across at his host. Under their sharply cut lids his eyes looked like cold blue pebbles.
“Granville Sutton,” he repeated slowly. “So that is the name of the gentleman.” Very deliberately he struck a match. “What do you know about him apart from his being a friend of Medlicot?”
“Not very much.” Craig shook his head. “He’s a good-looking guy who hangs around the West End and seems to be well in with the racing crowd. I guess he lives chiefly on women—anyhow, that’s Casey’s notion. Kids are his line, silly kids who fall for his man-about-Town stuff. Leads ’em up the garden till they tumble to what he’s really like, and then makes ’em pay to keep his mouth shut.”
“He appears to be launching out into something a trifle more ambitious.” The German paused. “You are convinced that he is really dangerous?”
“Shouldn’t have bothered you to come down here otherwise.”
“I presume not. It was extremely inconvenient.”
“There was no help for it. He wants an answer by Monday, and how the hell was I to act without consulting you? In a jam like this I take my orders from higher up.”
“That is quite correct. How much do you think he knows, and how far is he merely guessing?”
“Impossible to say. Medlicot spilt something, sure enough, and ever since then the bastard has been nosing about picking up little bits here and there. If he goes to the right quarter with this story of his—”
“He will never do that. The only point I am considering is the best way to deal with him. He can be removed, of course; but, on the other hand, it is possible that he might be more useful to us alive.”
“I doubt it.” Craig rose to his feet and paced restlessly across the room. “If I’m any judge, he’d take as much as you were fools enough to offer him and then double-cross you.”
“It is more than possible.”
“We should be stark, staring lunatics to give him the chance. Why, if he was to do the dirty on us—”
“There is no need to remind me that we are playing for high stakes. I am already aware of the fact.”
The smooth, ironic voice brought Craig to a sudden halt, and for a moment he remained eyeing his visitor in a kind of half-resentful silence. Little beads of perspiration were glistening on his forehead.
“What you say, however, is quite true,” continued von Manstein slowly. “A man like Sutton might have his uses, but with so much in the balance we cannot afford the luxury of experiments. No; on the whole, I think it would be wiser to eliminate him.”
“Same here. But it’s not so darned simple, you know. This isn’t Germany.”
Von Manstein raised his eyebrows. “You are afraid?”
“Hell to that! I’m game for anything so long as it’s ne-cessary. What I’m getting at is that it’ll need damned careful handling. If you’re counting on my putting it through you’ve got to let me fix the arrangements.”
“Quite a reasonable condition.”
“I’d want help, for one thing. That guy Kellerman who’s so slick with a knife—he’d be the right fellow if you’ve still got him around.”
“Yes, Kellerman can be produced. I was about to suggest that his collaboration might be advisable.”
“Could you send him down here by car as soon as you get back?”
“That can be managed easily. I should be interested to hear how you propose to approach the problem.”
“There’s only one thing to be done—that’s to stop the swine’s mouth before he has a chance to open it.” Once more Craig wandered restlessly round the room, passing his finger along the inside of his collar. “Gee, but it’s hot in here—hot enough to stifle one.” With an impatient jerk he unlatched the french window, and thrusting it open, drew in a deep breath of fresh air. “My idea is to pay him a visit Sunday night. His place isn’t far from here. It’s a bungalow called Sunny Bank about half a mile below Playford. Lonely sort of joint at the corner of a lane. Have to make sure there’s no one around, of course; but if we wait till it’s dark and watch our step”—his lips parted in an evil smile, and tossing away the stump of his cigar, he reclosed the window. “Well, how about it?” he demanded. “Got any suggestions, or are you ready to leave it to me?”
“It sounds an admirable scheme.” Von Manstein nodded approvingly. “You will find Kellerman an ideal colleague.”
“There’s one other point.” Craig’s eyes narrowed. “I take it that a job like this will mean special consideration from your people. I don’t run the risk of shoving my neck in a rope unless I get something out of it.”
“You have no need to worry about that. You will be fittingly rewarded, and I will see that a report on your services to the cause is sent direct to the Führer.” The speaker paused. “We Germans do not forget. When the New Order is established those who have pro
ved themselves worthy of our trust will be the first to enjoy its benefit.” With a short, grating laugh he leaned across and picked up his glass. “To a man who can appreciate the pleasures of power,” he added, “the prospect should be a singularly attractive one.”
***
Inch by inch Owen wriggled his way back into the shrubbery until the bright light that streamed out across the lawn was little more than a vague yellow blur. Then, rising to his feet and exercising the same care that had characterised his approach, he retraced his steps to the point where he had climbed over the hedge. The punt was still there, just as he had left it, and a few seconds later he had pushed out through the screen of overhanging branches and was paddling leisurely and silently in the direction of the backwater.
“Sunny Bank—Sunday night,” he repeated to himself. “Sunday night—Sunny Bank. Nice and easy to remember, that’s one good thing about it!”
Chapter VI
Punting upstream, especially after a prolonged spell of wet weather, is one of those pastimes which bear an unpleasant resemblance to hard work. To Owen, pushing along doggedly and pausing now and then to mop his forehead, the distance seemed incredibly farther than it had appeared to be on his downward trip. It was a goodish while since he had handled a pole against a stiff current, and by the time he had accomplished three-quarters of his journey he was thankful enough to see the square tower of Playford Church standing up amongst the trees about half a mile ahead. Its bell was just beginning to summon the parishioners to evening service, and a rich air of sabbatical calm brooded over the still and peaceful landscape.
With a suddenly awakened interest he turned his attention to the neighbouring bank. According to the few words he had been able to overhear, the place Craig had been talking about must be somewhere in the immediate vicinity. He had referred to it as a lonely bungalow at the corner of a lane, and following the curve of the towpath, Owen’s eyes fell upon a small red-roofed structure which exactly answered to the description. It was some little way back from the river, surrounded by a newly painted fence. This was bordered on one side by the lane in question, while on the other stood a thick plantation of sombre-looking firs which extended along the rear of the premises to within a few yards of the palings. The nearest house, a distressingly garish two-storey villa, was some considerable distance away and completely cut off by the trees.
Trouble on the Thames: A British Library Spy Classic (British Library Spy Classics Book 1) Page 8