“Normally I would have been pleased, Mr Glover; very pleased.” Tom leaned against a wall feeling utter weariness and defeat. They had lost. That must have been about the last copy of the book in existence and the killer had got away with it, as he had with all the others. “But do you know the man, Mr Glover?” Even as he asked the question Tom realized it was useless. “Did he give you a name or an address?”
“No, never seen him, till today. Told me his name was Smith, though that seemed unlikely. Said he was the agent of a rich collector who didn’t mind what he paid, but hated the publicity of public auctions.
“But surely, you know him, Mayne? Yes, he was sitting behind that young lady you were with. Couldn’t take his eyes off her, and just before – ” Once again, fear and anger crossed Glover’s face. “ – before that cowardly assault, I saw him lean forward as if he was about to touch her.”
“That young lady!” Click – click – click. Like a jigsaw puzzle, the pieces were fitting together in Tom’s brain, and a picture had started to emerge.
Janet – Janet Vale, she was the key to the door, but where was Janet? They’d left her in the sale-room, but that was almost half an hour ago. She had been approached by an anonymous buyer who called himself Smith and . . .
Ignoring Mott’s bellow of protest, Tom started to hurry out of the office, but a large, military figure blocked his way.
“Ah, you’re Mayne, ain’t yer? Got a shop in Chelsea. Been there a couple of times, but never found anything worth buying. Came away with a load of dust on me hands.” The man had a flowing white moustache and a cigar jutted between his lips. “Not on business today, so you can relax and stand at ease, Sergeant Dawson.” He grinned at the policeman who had come to attention. “Had enough trouble with petty officialdom already, as your chap outside didn’t even know who I was. Hate throwing weight about, but I had to mention the Chief Commissioner and a few other good pals at the Yard before he’d let me through.
“Well, Mr Mott. Hail to thee, blithe spirit, and I trust you’ve managed to make a mess of Friend Glover.” He eyed the recumbent figure on the couch and chuckled. “Yes, I see you have, and please accept my heartiest congratulations. Never liked the toad, and always wanted a copy of Willie Maugham’s Painted Veil. The proper edition that is, with the Hong Kong libel passages intact. The Foden had one a few months ago, but I missed it. Mr Glover didn’t even bother to send me a catalogue.
“Yes, revenge is sweet, Mr Mott, but even if I’m not the actual avenger myself, I’m curious to know your motives. Why – what provoked you to attack a seemingly honest citizen.”
“I’ll tell you, General Kirk. I’ll tell you all I do know, though it’s not very much at the moment.” Mott started to do so, using the personal pronoun freely, but Kirk suddenly checked him and raised a hand for silence. A torn talon of a hand with three fingers lopped off at the joints. “Yes, very little, Mr Molden-Mott. That girl who came with you – Janet Vale. She left with a man and you don’t even know his name.
“Well, I do, or should. As a former chief of the Intelligence Service, I need to know damn near everything, so where have I seen that feller before?
“God, you keep a cold dump in here.” He tightened his jacket with the two remaining right-hand fingers and glared at Glover. “Too chilly to concentrate, but let me think.
“Yes, he spoke to Janet Vale, and she just followed him out of the room and missed half the fun. Never believed women have much in the top storey meself, but she seemed concerned about some relative who was dead or dying.” He tapped his forehead with the horrible maimed hand.
“Though that doesn’t answer my question. Who was the man with her? Seen his picture somewhere. In one of the financial papers, I think, but he didn’t look like a financier. Looked like a run-of-the-mill NCO type. Sergeant, corporal, petty officer; something along those lines, though he wouldn’t be much use as a fighting man today. Far too long in the tooth, if he has any teeth of his own left, which I doubt.
“Shut up, Mayne. I’m getting warmer.” He removed the cigar from his lips and pointed it at Tom like a pistol. “Somerset, Yorkshire, Cumbria – some such county name, but not one of those.
“Lancashire – Devonshire – Kent. Got it!” Kirk’s whole expression changed and he suddenly seemed twenty years younger. “Yes, the chap is called Kent, of course. Peter Kent and he was one of old Vale’s original partners at A.C.E. Also a survivor of that blasted tug which went for a burton in 1944.” Not only Kirk’s expression had changed, but his whole face altered. His features looked as hard as lava setting into granite.
“It fits, gentlemen. It really does fit at last, because Sir Simon has had a second stroke. He must be the relative that Kent referred to. Simon Vale is dead and he left Janet a legacy.
“Well, what are you waiting for, Mr Mott? I’ve got a vehicle outside, and there’s no time to shilly-shally about here. The Vales have a ruddy great mansion in Hampstead, a house in Sussex, and Janet owns a flat near Kensington.
“The Sussex place is called Inver Lodge, outside Brighton, so telephone the locals at once, Sergeant, tell them to pick up Kent right away, under any pretext, and we’ll attend to the Hampstead mausoleum.
“What’s that, Mayne? You say that they won’t be at either address, but on a launch moored above Richmond, the Bully Boy.
“Yes, that might fit, and I hope you’re right. Been interested in the Bully for years, but never managed to nail her.” He was already hurrying towards the exit with Tom and Mott following. “Is Miss Janet in any real danger, Mayne? Don’t know – haven’t a clue, but I’ll give you a quotation, from another book:
“As our mother the frigate, bepainted and fine,
Did work for her Bully, the ship of the line.”
“Question of character, really. Will Janet Vale accept the Bully’s gifts and her uncle’s fortune?”
Simon Vale was dead, there was no doubt about that. His body lay in the cabin beneath Janet’s feet and he looked small and innocent. A wax dummy which had never really been alive.
“Yes, the demon’s name was once the Revd David Glyde, though he’s in hell now and I helped to put him there.” Kent pulled a book out of his jacket and flicked through the pages. “No regrets or self-incrimination, miss, though I don’t deny that Mr Glyde was a clever man. Not self-seeking and not after money. All he wanted was power – the means to make people squirm, and he found it; here.”
He held out the book, open at a photograph which Janet recognized, though it meant hardly anything to her.
“But that’s the frigate, River Madoc, sinking just before the Sam followed her off the North Cape. My uncle took the photograph from the lifeboat at the start of your journey home.”
“At the end of the voyage, Miss Janet, and not from a lifeboat.” Kent still spoke without any emotion. “No lifeboat was required and the Sam had only two, and one went off to look for the Madoc’s survivors. The crew never came back, and the Sam was never torpedoed. We lost the lads in the fog and they vanished under five thousand feet of water.
“Only four of us were left on board the Sam, and there’s one of ’em, miss.” He pointed towards Mackenzie at the Bully’s wheel. “Four men aren’t really enough to sail a largish ship, but we did it. The chief insisted we took her home and there were no complaints, though he worked us stupid.
“No complaints when he took and published that damned picture later, though we never suspected the Devil might see that the Madoc was phoney.
“Approved at the time. Thought it was a good idea at the time. A sort of smoke screen to conceal the truth, but Glyde rumbled us. The revd gentleman studied that photograph and saw what it really was.
“Not the bows of a sinking warship, Miss Janet, but the tip of a ruddy rock in Scotland.”
Kirk’s vehicle, as he called it, was a large German st
aff car built by Mercedes around 1940 and acquired by its present owner during some long-forgotten skirmish. The general’s driver was equally large and archaic. A gross, fat man who answered to the name of Sergeant David Drudge and had served his master in war and peace for many years.
“Come on, Drudge,” Kirk bellowed as soon as he and Tom and Mott had clambered into the back seat. “Start her up and let’s get cracking. Turn left at the first traffic lights, and then along the embankment.”
“First left, sir.” The horrible car shuddered as Dodge let out the clutch. “But then, which way along, General? The embankment runs both east and west.”
“West, you fool, and stop dawdling. We’re off to Richmond, so get your foot down on the accelerator, and keep it there. Could be a matter of life or death if we’re late.” The speed increased slightly and Kirk turned to his companions in the back. “Drudge really is a huge, fat, idle fellow, Mr Mott. Impertinent too. Don’t know why I keep him on. Charity perhaps – kindness of heart, maybe.”
“Why did you use the expression ‘life or death’, General Kirk?” The word “charity” reminded Tom of what Janet had said in the shop after buying Mrs Rayner’s worthless collection. “Is Miss Vale in danger?”
“Possibly, Mayne, but it depends on her attitude and her conscience. Sir Simon is dead. Janet is on board the Bully Boy and at least four other people died because of that book; Men of Courage.” Kirk tossed his cigar stub out of a window and frowned. “Not sure why they were killed, Mr Mott, but I’ve got a hunch, and my hunches are liable to hit pay dirt.
“Let’s consider the facts and go back to the beginning – to 1944.” They had reached the embankment at last and he watched the river flowing alongside. “At the beginning of Hitler’s war, a thousand-ton salvage tug, the Sam and Helen, was commandeered into the navy for use as a rescue vessel and most of her original crew stayed with her.
“Can’t blame the blighters for that. Those merchant navy wallahs got double danger money for special duties. The only RN personnel on the Sam were six D.E.M.S., gunners commanded by a lieutenant: Simon Vale.
“Well, by all accounts, the Sam didn’t have too bad a time, till the winter of 1943, when she was sent off to North Russia. Heavy seas, constant darkness and enemy air attacks took a heavy toll, but she reached Murmansk, though with a sadly depleted complement.
“And she stayed there, that’s the first interesting thing. The Sam had suffered loss of life, but was perfectly seaworthy, yet she rotted off harbour for almost a year. And, at a time when convoys were desperate for every bit of help they could get, so any ideas why, gentlemen?” He looked at Tom and Mott but they both shook their heads.
“No, though you should be able to imagine the conditions aboard the Sam after such a period. Almost a full year off a bleak Russian coast with no booze, no women and no shore leave. Wonder that there wasn’t a mutiny, but two factors may have stopped that. The master and Lieutenant Vale were strict disciplinarians and they could have told some of the crew what to wait for.
“Well, the waiting finally ended and the frigate River Madoc arrived, with orders to escort the Sam home. Another why, gentlemen. Why should the British Admiralty have sent a new and valuable frigate, just out of the builders’ hands, to escort a miserable little old-fashioned tug back to Scotland?”
“Edinburgh, Mayne.” For no reason he could think of, Tom muttered the city’s name and Kirk nodded. “Yes, you’re getting slightly warmer, though H.M.S. Edinburgh was sunk in the Barents Sea much earlier and the Sam and the Madoc had rounded the North Cape before disaster struck.
“Will you stop idling, Sergeant?” Kirk bellowed at Drudge who had slowed to avoid a taxi. “No time to lose. Still a long way to journey’s end, so get on faster.
“Not many German submarines around by that time, and we never learned the U-boat’s number or where she came from, but she blasted the Madoc with a torpedo that sent her down in just about a thousand fathoms.
“I know that Lieutenant Vale (Sir Simon, as he was, till recently) was supposed to have photographed the frigate sinking, Mr Mott.” Kirk frowned at the interruption. “But what did the picture show and where was it taken from? A lifeboat or a tugboat and . . .
“Oh, my God!” The general gasped as though he had received a blow in the stomach. “We’re too late and there she is. Faster, far faster than I imagined, so don’t blame me if we have a prang.” The tyres screamed as Drudge swung the wheel hard over and Tom saw the object which had caused Kirk’s consternation. A long, grey shape had appeared round a bend of the Thames. All grey, apart from a name at its bows, the water creaming under the bows, and a red ensign flowing at the stern. The Bully Boy was fast, as Kirk had said. Much faster than any normal river craft, and she was passing them before Drudge had completed his turn. “Good show, Sergeant, but we must overhaul her before the Tower Bridge, and you two listen to me.” Kirk looked at Tom and Mott through angry bloodshot eyes. “I take it that you re a fit man, Mr Mott, and you’re a young man, Mayne. Certainly younger and fitter than Drudge and I, so here are your instructions. Providing we get to the bridge before that damned launch, you must jump off the parapet and board her.”
Fourteen
“No, Miss Janet, the frigate caught a tin fish, but the Sam was never torpedoed and she didn’t go down.” Peter Kent leaned over the Bully Boy’s rail and spat into the water. “Not anywhere near the North Cape that is. We scuttled her off Scotland.”
“I still don’t understand you, Peter.” Though thin mist covered both sides of the river, Janet could just see the dome of Saint Paul’s as the Bully Boy moved on towards the estuary. Could just make out the Tower of London and television masts on the Surrey hills. “Why – what really happened?”
“A difficult question, miss, but I’ll try to give you an answer. I suppose greed, lust and boredom were a few of the explanations, but there was also possession. I can’t really talk about that, though the chief might if he was still alive; God rest him.
“Let’s think of the Devil as David Glyde; he provided the temptation. Only a naval padre sent to Murmansk to attend to the sick and dying, but they gave him other duties. Super-cargo, docking superintendent, liaison officer with the Soviet authorities. What do titles matter?” Kent’s voice grew bitter. “The lads on the Sam were damned near on the point of mutiny, when the tempter came aboard and he tempted us. Told the chief why we were lying off bloody Murmansk, and what our next cargo was to be if the Russkis kept their word.
“Gold, miss. Repayment for all the war materials we’d given the Red bastards and that’s why we needed the Madoc as an escort. The chief repeated Glyde’s information word for word and the lads listened and became quiet, though I never really understood why.
“What is there about gold that’s so fascinating? You can’t do nothing with the stuff, except make ornaments, and what real use are they, Miss Janet? But, the whole crew were aquiver when the boxes came aboard, and so was I. We all imagined those cases were our own property and they turned out to be after the Madoc bought it.
“Your uncle tried to stop ’em launching a boat to look for survivors, but the skipper insisted. ‘Flesh and blood, and Jackie Tars stand together’. Those were the fool’s actual words, and he set off with a dozen other fools for company. Off into the mist, and that was the last we saw of ’em.” Kent’s voice had grown strident and Janet sensed he was not quite sane. “Only four of us were left on board and the mist was thickening into dense fog. No time to wait for the lifeboat to come back and the chief gave Mac his orders.” He nodded at Mackenzie who was crouched over the wheel. ‘You’re supposed to be an engineer, man, so what’s delaying you? Start the diesels and we’ll get the hell out of here. We’re on our way home, lads. Home to Bonnie Scotland in the morning’.
“Well, we got home, though twenty-two mornings passed before we sighted the British coast. The Sam was a
pretty fast vessel. She could raise fifteen knots at a pinch, but there was to be no record breaking on that trip. We crawled through the fog blind, and praying that no other ships might spot us and ask questions. But at last we smelled the land and knew that our long journey was over.”
“And so you scuttled the Sam in shallow water and came ashore in the second lifeboat.” Janet thought she knew almost everything now. Everything, except the one thing that mattered. “How long before you returned to collect the cargo, Peter?”
“About nine months, Miss Janet, given a day or two either way.” Kent looked at the gleaming deck of the launch and grinned. “We bought the Bully on credit and spent some time fitting her up. We had a long way to go, you see, because a private individual can’t hold gold in England.
“We weren’t private individuals then of course. We’d all decided what to do with the money and drawn up contracts, accordingly.
“Finding the Sam was no trouble because the chief had made sure of that. She lay under a rock called the Hag of Skulda in less than fifty feet of water, but getting the gold out was a bit of a sweat. Ten cases we raised and each case held twenty-eight pounds of the stuff.
“Not nearly as much as that cruiser, H.M.S. Edinburgh, they salvaged not so long ago, carried, Miss Janet, but a hell of a lot of money, three hundred US dollars an ounce it fetched in Tangiers and we were rich.
A Book of the Dead Page 13