'Not a bit of it,' Gregory protested. 'If Sabine had put the Limper on to me he would have searched me afterwards for a certainty, and taken the telegram when he had the chance, but he didn't. He obviously couldn't have known I had it. All he was interested in was getting Sabine out of my hands under instructions from his boss. Here's the telegram to prove it.'
'Well, maybe you're right.' The baronet took the flimsy sheet and read it out:
COROT CAFE DE LA CLOCHE CALAIS SIXTH 41 44 II 15 THENCE 46 SEVENTH 43 47 EIGHTH 43 AGAIN 47
'What d'you make of it?' Gregory asked.
'Nothing. Never was any good at figures, much less codes. Never had much of a brain for anything at all.'
'No.' Gregory grinned. 'Yet the father of all the Rothschild’s would have buttoned up his pockets and knocked off work for the day if he had heard you were going to pay him a visit in his office.'
'What's that!' Sir Pellinore looked up sharply.
'Well, you know what I mean.' Gregory continued to grin unashamedly. He knew his man and treated Sir Pellinore in private as few of the baronet's co directors would have dared to do.
'Insolent young devil.' Sir Pellinore returned the grin. 'Good thing there aren't many more of your kidney knocking about. World wouldn't be fit to live in. Honestly, though, I can't make head or tail of this thing. However, I've got a pal in the Admiralty decoding department and I'll get him on to it tomorrow. Never do anything yourself that you can get other people to do for you. Remember that my boy. Better than any tip for the Derby. Lots of fools have paid me good money to get other people to do their work for them.'
'I can well believe you,' said Gregory succinctly. 'Have you still got any of that pre-War Kummel?'
'What, the original Mentzendorff?'
'Yes.'
'Why?'
'Only that I've always found it an excellent aid to thought and I can get fine brandy in other people's houses but you seem to have cornered all the pre-War Kummel in London.'
Sir Pellinore brushed a hand over his fine white moustache and got up. He stood six feet four in his socks and could still have flung most men over thirty down his stairs if he had wanted to.
'Drat the boy,' he muttered as he pressed the bell. 'Another bottle gone and even Justerini's can't find me any more. But I'd sooner you drank it than most people I know. At least you appear to appreciate the stuff and I wouldn't mind a spot myself. Now you shall tell me what you really did with that attractive young woman.'
'There's nothing more to tell.'
'Come on, you young rascal. You had her in your room all night.'
'Even so, I promise you…'
'Expect me to believe that! Is it likely! Still, I'll let you off. It's nice to find a youngster who refuses to tell tales out of school. Crawshay, bring me a bottle of Kummel. Out of the bin mind. Not that muck we have for parties.'
'Very good, sir. The under butler bowed in the doorway and disappeared as quietly as he had come.
'Now! Let's have this thing clear.' The baronet sat back in his deep armchair. 'Do you really think you've tumbled on to something or just got yourself mixed up in some shady deal which doesn't matter two hoots to us.'
Gregory shrugged. 'I can't say for certain. It may not concern us at all. On the other hand it may be what we're after. Anyhow, I intend to follow it up.'
'Follow up that young woman is what you mean, my lad.'
'Certainly, but I have a hunch that I won't be wasting my time as far as the other thing is concerned. Remember, it was a Scotland Yard man whom those thugs attacked.'
'That's true. All the same, policemen must have their nights off, like other people, and it's quite probable this wench told you a whole pack of lies to cover up her affair with the fellow. Women are marvellous liars marvellous. Ha! here comes the Kummel.'
The under butler had arrived with the cobwebbed bottle still uncorked upon a salver, and Sir Pellinore took it from him. When the door closed behind the man he said to Gregory,, as he gently tapped the wax off the top of the bottle, 'Never allow my people to uncork old liquor. Servants don't understand that sort of thing these days. Cork's gone to powder, like as not. If so, they push it in and ruin the stuff. One thing I always do myself.' With a skilful sideways twist of the wide spiral corkscrew he drew the cork, smelt it, and then poured out two generous rations. For a moment they both sniffed at the old liqueur, then sipped it.
'By Jove! How right I was to ask you for this,' Gregory murmured. 'Smooth as cream, isn't it, but what a kick.'
Sir Pellinore nodded. 'Pity you didn't have some of this to give the girl at Deauville, eh? But I'll bet you managed without it. Where were we now? You were saying you had a hunch that you'd got on to something really big. What makes you think that? On the face of it, you know, it's only a brawl in a cafe in which it happened that a Scotland Yard man was mixed up.!
'Yes, on the face of it,' Gregory said slowly. 'But I wonder if you remember a conspiracy which took place a few years ago when, by means of arson, sabotage and paid gunmen, a combine endeavoured to gain control of the entire film industry?'*
'Yes, they murdered poor John Bamborough and a number of other people, didn't they? And Hinckman, the Trans-Continental Electric chief, who engineered the whole business, died while evading arrest.'
'He was supposed to have been drowned in a marsh, somewhere down in Surrey, but that's never been proved. However, Hinckman was only the figurehead. There was a far more sinister figure behind the scheme really. A man who controls almost limitless capital and who is believed to have been mixed up with all sorts of financial rackets during the past few years Lord Gavin Fortescue.'
'What, Denver's brother?' Sir Pellinore's white eyebrows shot up into his forehead.
'Yes. He's the Duke of Denver's twin, but whereas Denver is a fine upstanding figure, Gavin is a sort of freak. Not a dwarf exactly but very short, with an enormous head and a tiny little body, like a child's in its early teens. They say that his abnormality together with the fact that he was born second, and so failed to inherit the dukedom, embittered him to such an extent that it turned his brain. The story goes that he even attempted Denver's murder when they were boys together.'
'That's so! I knew 'em both. Know Denver well today but I haven't seen Gavin for years. He travels a lot I believe but wherever he goes he lives as a recluse. He's immensely rich and made every penny out of crooked deals. He hates his fellow men like poison and has sold his soul fifty times over to make his millions. Armaments, dope, white slaving on the grand scale, he's been in them all; but he's so powerful in a subterranean sort of way that nobody's ever been able to get enough watertight evidence to pin anything on him yet. He's not a man, but a warped inhuman devil. I'd put him at the top of the list as the cleverest and most ruthless criminal brain in Europe at the present day.'
Gregory nodded. 'Well, that was the man who gave Sabine her instructions before she left the Casino.'
5
Superintendent Marrowfat Takes Certain Steps
'Good God, man! Why didn't you tell me this before?' Sir Pellinore sat forward quickly.
'Because I'm a born storyteller and always save the titbit till the last. I could make a fortune writing thrillers if I weren't so darned lazy; but I think you'll agree now that I'm on to something big.'
Sir Pellinore drank again of the old Kummel. 'I agree entirely. This is worth opening a bottle for. I wouldn't be surprised if Gavin Fortescue isn't the kingpin in the whole of this devilish business we're up against. You're right, my boy, right every time in your intention to follow this up. What's your next move?'
'I want a plane. It must be fast, foolproof and whatever make has the least noisy engine.'
'You can have a dozen if you want them.'
'One's enough, thanks.'
'Want a pilot too?'
'No, I'll pilot myself but that's why I want it foolproof. I'm a good bit better than most amateur pilots but all the same I never take a single risk that isn't necessary. Most of my
work will be night flying and I'll have to observe as well as fly the plane, so I want the sort of thing that flies itself almost, if you can get it for me.'
'Most planes do these days. Anyhow, the best machine that money can buy shall be at your disposal at Heston tomorrow. What then?'
'We'll see what your pal at the Admiralty can do to decode the telegram although I'm doubtful if he'll make much of it. You see, it's not a cipher where the numbers can be changed down on a sliding scale until one finds their equivalent. The numbers probably apply to things or places so only the people who have the key can read the thing. Still, where it says sixth, seventh and eighth, I think it's a fair bet that dates are implied as today is the fifth of August. If they are dates the inference is that something's going to happen tomorrow, the sixth, so I shall have a cut at getting in on it. Anyhow, I propose to be snooping round the Cafe de la Cloche in Calais tomorrow night.'
'Good, but as the police are already mixed up in this I think you ought to cooperate with them if possible.'
'The police hate civilians butting in on their affairs.'
'That's true, but since one of their men was attacked it's up to us to give them any information in our possession, whether they're after the same thing or not. The Commissioner is in Scotland at the moment but I'll get on to the Assistant Commissioner and arrange an appointment for you to meet somebody at the Yard in the morning.'
Gregory shrugged: 'Just as you wish, although I doubt if much good will come of it.'
Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust was an extremely efficient person. When he took an affair in hand it rarely suffered from the delays which are a bane in the life of ordinary business people. All he ever asked was a plain answer to a plain question and if anybody suggested to him that a certain routine must be followed he was apt to be devastatingly terse in his remarks to the routinist. He retained in his employ a well paid squad of private messengers and always used them in preference to the post as the standing order was instant dismissal for any one of them who failed to return with an answer even if they had to stay up all night to get it.
In consequence he was able to inform Gregory by telephone at eleven o'clock the following morning that the Admiralty decoding department had vetted the telegram and agreed that the numbers in it applied to things or places and, therefore, were quite undecipherable without a key. Also, that a plane, which would meet his specification, was now awaiting him at Heston, and that he had arranged an appointment for him at twelve o'clock with Superintendent Marrowfat at Scotland Yard.
At five minutes past twelve Gregory was ushered into the Superintendent's room. It was a cold, inhospitable looking office; the only cheerful thing in it being its occupant.
He was a large man, very large, weighing a good eighteen stone, and Gregory was reminded for a moment of that stout inspector who spends his life perambulating the courtyard of Buckingham Palace watching the great men of the world come and go.
In spite of Superintendent Marrowfat's bulk he showed no sign of physical deterioration. He could move as quickly as most of his colleagues and Gregory judged that he must, literally, possess a punch which could fell an ox. He had a round red cherubic countenance, friendly blue eyes, and a shock of tight carrot coloured curls upon his head.
'Sit down, sir.' The Superintendent waved a hand towards a chair on the far side of his desk; then pushed over a box of cigarettes. 'Will you smoke?'
'Thanks.' Gregory took a cigarette and lighted it.
'The A.C. tells me that Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust rang up to say you had some information which might be useful to us and, if that's so, we should be very pleased to have it.'
'May anything I say be used in evidence against me afterwards?' Gregory asked with a cautious smile.
The big man laughed: 'We're not wanting you on any charge as far as I know so I don't think you need worry about that. This is just a private interview.'
'Right oh,' said Gregory. 'I'm not worried as far as you're concerned, but I'm particularly anxious not to have my copybook blotted with the French police, so I'd like you to give me your undertaking that you won't pass anything I'm going to tell you on to them; that is, about myself.'
The Superintendent scratched his ear. 'Well, providing you haven't committed a felony in France. Anyhow, I think you can leave it to me to use my discretion.'
'Good, then I'll give you just the bald facts. On the third instant I had just completed a little motoring tour in Normandy ending up at Deauville. That night at the Casino I saw a very striking looking girl in the company of an elderly man who was known to me by sight. Just before midnight he pulled out his watch and, without saying a word to" the girl, showed it to her.
'She left him at once and, as I was interested in the pair, I followed her. She picked up a private car outside the Normandie Hotel and drove in it down to Trouville Harbour. There she dismissed it and a few moments later met a man, evidently by appointment, who came out from behind one of the customs sheds. He was wearing an airman's jacket. The pair took a taxi through the old part of the town, dismissed it outside a little cafe in a narrow street, and went upstairs to a room on the first floor together.
'I was just about to give up the chase, having made up my mind that I was butting in on some love affair, when the sound of fighting came from the room above the cafe. I dashed upstairs and found three dock labourers had set upon the man in the airman's kit. I went to his assistance and he managed to get away. The thugs went after him, leaving me alone with the girl.
'By that time the people in the cafe downstairs were raising Cain and the proprietor yelling for the police. I didn't wish to be mixed up in the affair and be delayed for an investigation, so I determined to get out as quickly as I could, taking the girl with me. But, before I went, I noticed a pocketbook lying in the comer which had evidently been dropped during the struggle.
'Later, when I went through it, I found that the owner's name was Wells, and that he was one of your people attached to the special branch. I got the girl away and as I wished to find out more about the business I gave her shelter for the night in my hotel to save her from being arrested. That's the part I want you to keep under your own hat and not give away to the French police.'
Superintendent Marrowfat nodded, and Gregory went on:
'She refused to give me any information, but I managed to hang on to her during a good bit of the following day and took her over to lunch at the Guillaume Conquerant Restaurant at Dives. Afterwards, when I was going to get my car to motor her back to Deauville, I was set upon, probably by a man whom she had pointed out during lunch and whom she referred to as the "Limper". In any case someone chucked a handful of pepper in my face and gave me a biff in the stomach.
'By the time I was fit to stagger round again my car had disappeared and the girl with it. When I got back to Deauville I found that my car had been returned to the hotel garage but I was only just in time to catch the boat for England that night. That's the story for what it's worth and here's your man's pocketbook.'
'Much obliged. Now, can you give me a description of this young woman?'
Gregory hesitated a second. He had no desire to put the police on Sabine's track, whatever she might have been up to, but Sir Pellinore had been insistent that he must give the authorities all the information he had so he could hardly avoid complying with the Superintendent's request.
'I can give you a sort of description,' he said, 'but I doubt if it will be very much use to you because, while one woman may be extremely beautiful, and another as plain as the back of a cab, their bald description about height, colouring, and so on, might tally almost completely. This one is of medium height, with what I suppose you would call a heart shaped face. She has black hair parted at the side and curled at the back of the head. I couldn't tell you the colour of her eyes exactly; pencilled eyebrows, like ninety per cent of women these days, and that's about all there is to it.'
'Nationality?' prompted the Superintendent.
'French I should
think: she speaks excellent English though.'
'Age?'
'About twenty-six.'
'Body?'
'Good figure, fairly well developed bust.'
'Legs?'
'She'd get in the front row of the chorus on her legs all right.'
'Nose?'
'Straight.'
'Complexion?'
'Roses on pale bronze, but she was touched up, of course,, like any other smart woman.'
'Cheeks?'
'Full.'
'Ears?'
'I didn't notice.'
'Mouth?'
'Full curved lips.5
'Teeth?'
'Small, white, even.'
'Forehead?'
'Broad.'
'Hands?'
'Plump, pointed, with the usual crimson nails.'
'Carriage?'
'Very upright.'
'Jewellery?'
'She was wearing a big sapphire on the third finger of her right hand, when I saw her, and four no five, diamond bracelets; the heavy expensive sort, you know, and she had a pair of big pearls in her ears.'
The Superintendent stopped making notes on the pad in front of him and remarked: 'Well, I've had worse descriptions than that to go on.'
Gregory smiled ruefully. The description was far more full than he had intended to make it.
'I think we may assume too the Superintendent went on, 'that, in your view at least, she was not as plain as the back of a cab, but extremely beautiful, since you risked getting yourself knifed on her account after only having seen her for a few moments.'
'I followed her because it was part of my job,' said Gregory tonelessly.
'Just as you wish. Now, what about the man she pointed out to you and referred to as the "Limper"?'
'I only caught sight of him for a second and his back was turned towards me. He was a tall fellow, over six feet I should say, dressed in a smart, light grey, lounge suit and a Homburg. He dragged his left foot a little. That's all I can tell you.'
'Thanks. It's a pity though that you can't tell us more about him, because he might be an old friend of ours whom we've lost sight of for some time. The lady, of course, we knew all about before.'
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