Contraband gs-1

by Dennis Wheatley

  Sabine hesitated only a second. Gregory would be returning soon now. How could he possibly overcome three armed men if he was taken by surprise by them on entering his sitting room. They believed him dead, but if they found that their last attempt upon him had failed they were capable of shooting him out of hand, and they had silencers upon their automatics. The thought of trying to explain her movements under the steady gaze of Lord Gavin's cold soulless eyes, terrified her; but Gregory's life lay in the balance.

  When he drew up before the house a few minutes later a large car was just disappearing round the corner of the street. Upstairs he found the bags packed and ready; but no sign of Sabine. He called aloud for her but there was no response. The flat was empty. With a bitter, hopeless feeling of distress he suddenly concluded that, for some incomprehensible reason, she had changed her mind and left him once again.

  20

  The Terrible Dilemma

  For a moment Gregory tried to cheat himself by the thought that she might have slipped out of the house on some errand but even the dairies and fruit shops were not yet open. If she had wished to telephone the instrument stood there on a low table. He could think of no possible reason which might have caused her to leave the flat; except that she must be so frightened of Gavin Fortescue that her courage had failed her at the last moment and she had decided to go back to him.

  He threw himself down on the sofa and dropped his head between his hands. While Sabine had been with him he had been buoyed up by the joy of her nearness and the need for new activities with the world opening wide before them both as they flew towards the rising sun out of England. Now, the terrible strain of the last few days was beginning to tell on his iron constitution.

  Except for the packed suitcases and the crumpled bed, where Sabine had been sleeping when he arrived, her presence there might have been a dream. He was faced again by exactly the same problem as that with which he had battled on his way back from Scotland Yard an hour and a half earlier. Should he risk wrecking the whole of the police campaign by going down to Quex Park and either cajoling or forcing Sabine to cross the Channel with him, before she was arrested, or must he take a chance upon being able to get her out of trouble later; so that the police might have a free hand to round up the whole of Gavin Fortescue's organisation in one swift move.

  If smuggling only had been concerned he would not have hesitated for a second but have gone to his car and driven down into Kent right away. It was Sir Pellinore's insistence that Gavin Fortescue's fanatic hatred of Britain would lead him to use his fleet to import numbers of agitators and saboteurs, without the knowledge of the immigration authorities, which perturbed Gregory so seriously.

  Of course, that, might not occur until September but, on the other hand, the events of the last few days had probably rattled Gavin Fortescue badly. The affair with Wells in Deauville, just a week ago this coming night, had informed him that the police were on his track; the Limper's capture of two spies on Romney Marshes, that they were hot on his trail. It was doubtful if Sabine would be able to get back to Quex Park before he was up; so he might well suspect that her midnight absence had been caused by a journey to London to lay any information against him.

  The thought of what would happen to her if that occurred made Gregory momentarily feel sick and giddy; but Sabine was clever. On the journey back her quick wits would surely devise some plausible explanation to meet Gavin's inquiries if her absence from the Park had been discovered.

  In any case, it seemed that so shrewd a man as Gavin Fortescue would have seen the red light and would, therefore, bring his operations to a close, either that coming night or the next; before the new moon came in. On one or other of them the chances were he would land those men, who might do such incalculable harm to the peace and prosperity of Britain,

  Between the two necessities for preventing that dire calamity and saving Sabine from prison Gregory rocked mentally as he sat with his head buried in his hands. It was the most distressing problem he had ever had to face and he could reach no definite decision.

  At last he got slowly to his feet and began to ease his clothes from his sore back and chest. The police net would not close until the following night at the earliest: that fact alone seemed reasonably certain. Therefore, he still had a good twelve hours in front of him before he need make the final plunge one way or the other.

  Ordinarily he was a man of quick decisions, but in this case he felt the old adage 'sleep on it' was true wisdom. A few hours of blessed oblivion would recruit his strength for whatever desperate part he was called upon to play that coming night. He would keep his appointment with Marrowfat at the Yard at 11 o'clock that morning, and only then, when he was in the possession of any further information which the police might have obtained, decide definitely upon his future plans.

  Five hours later he entered the Superintendent's room, punctual to the minute; spick and span again and ready to cope with any situation.

  Wells was already there and Sir Pellinore arrived almost on Gregory's heels. Marrowfat nodded a cheerful good morning and, as they sat down, pushed a telegram across his table towards them.

  'They'll be out again tonight,' he said. 'Though we're not quite certain where, yet. It looks as if they mean to use a base we haven't tumbled to.'

  Gregory picked up the telegram. 'How did you get this?' he asked.

  'Usual way,' the Superintendent grinned. 'We tipped off the Post Office to let us have copies of any telegrams which came through for Mitbloom & Allison.'

  Gregory read out the message: 'Mitbloom 43 Barter

  STREET LONDON E.I. TENTH 21 33 COROT.'

  Wells held a slip of paper in his hand. 'According to the key you worked out last night from Ariel's songs, that means:

  'Full fathom five thy father lies; His time doth take.

  Doesn't seem to make sense, does it?'

  Gregory sat thoughtful for a moment then he said: ' "Full fathom five thy father lies" sounds like another base, as you suggest. Somewhere on the coast, I suppose, but where goodness knows!'

  "I take it to mean some place where the water remains five fathoms deep even at low tide,' said the Superintendent. He spread out a large scale map of Kent and all four men bent over it.

  'In that case it can be nowhere on the seacoast,' Sir Pellinore remarked, 'but there are plenty of places round Sheppey or in the channel of the Medway, running up to Chatham, that are quite close inland and never less than five fathoms.'

  'That's about it, sir,' Wells nodded. 'There's any number of quiet spots among all those islands; but which is it? That's the question.'

  'Why should they mention the depth of the water?' Gregory spoke thoughtfully. 'I wonder if Gavin Fortescue is employing fast motor boats as well as planes to land his cargoes. It's a possibility you know; when the contraband is of a heavy nature.'

  'That's a fact,' agreed the Superintendent, 'and the second number, 33, should give us the nature of the cargo, shouldn't it? It doesn't offer much to go on though; "his time doth take". Time, is about the only word in it worth thinking about.'

  'Bombs with time fuses, my friend,' announced Sir Pellinore quietly. 'They would certainly constitute weighty cargo.'

  'By jove, you're right, sir.' Wells backed him up. 'They're landing a cargo of bombs at some place in the Thames Estuary where the Channel is never less than five fathoms deep at low tide.'

  For a moment they stood silent round the table, then the Superintendent said: 'If only we knew the place I'd pull them in tonight. Since Lord Gavin caught Mr. Sallust and Wells he must know we've been watching some of his people; although he's probably not aware yet that we have the Park under observation. He may decide to quit any moment now and, as the new moon's on the 12th, this may be the last cargo he'll chance running.'

  The grip of Gregory's muscular hands tightened a little on the arms of his chair. The Superintendent was no fool and summed up the position precisely as he had himself a few hours before. That made it more imperative
than ever that he must make up his mind what he intended to do about Sabine.

  'You might raid the Park and get Gavin Fortescue tonight in any case/ suggested Sir Pellinore. 'After all he is the centre of the whole conspiracy.'

  The Superintendent shook his big head. 'I'd rather work it the other way sir. If we nab him first it may prevent him giving some signal which is the O.K. for his men to run their stuff; then we'd lose the bulk of them. Far better let them land, take them red-handed, and bring in Lord Gavin immediately afterwards.'

  'Have you had any news from the Park?' Gregory inquired.

  'Nothing that's of any help to us.' Wells looked up quickly. 'My man Simmons rang up early this morning to say Mademoiselle Sabine had slipped off on her own round about midnight; telephoned from Birchington and then hired a car in which she drove away towards London. She turned up there again this morning though, just before eight, in a different car and three men were with her. The Limper was one of them.'

  Gregory remained pokerfaced at this piece of information. So she had gone back to Gavin Fortescue. But why had three of the others been with her? It flashed into his mind that perhaps she had not gone back to Quex Park of her own free will and that they had been sent to get her. But if that were so how had the Limper and his men discovered where she was. It was more probable, he considered, that Sabine, having no car of her own, had taken the early train to Canterbury and then telephoned for them to fetch her.

  While the rest were poring over the map of the Thames Estuary and discussing the most likely spots where a landing might be effected at low tide Gregory began to wonder if Wells had passed on the whole of the information which had reached him in the early hours of that morning. It was possible the police had traced Sabine's car from Birchington to Gloucester Road and that Wells was concealing the fact. Knowing something of the efficiency of the police organisation Gregory thought it highly probable. If so, they were aware of her visit to his flat and assumed already that he intended to double-cross them. He would have to be extra careful now as the chances were that they were watching him; just as they had on the day he had spent with Sabine in London.

  'I'll think it over,' said the Superintendent suddenly. 'Maybe we'll raid Quex Park tonight; maybe not. We'll phone you later in the day as to what we've decided.'

  'Fine,' replied Gregory with a cheerful smile, concealing his inward perturbation that row, suspicious of him, the police did not intend to let him in on any further plans they might make.

  'Let me know too will you?' Sir Pellinore said quietly. 'If there's going to be any fun I'd rather like to be in it. That is if you have no objection.'

  'Certainly, sir. It will be a pleasure to have you with us/ Marrowfat assured him.

  On that the conference broke up; Sir Pellinore and Gregory leaving the room together.

  From Scotland Yard they crossed Whitehall, entered St. James's Park at Birdcage Walk and, turning left, crossed the Horse Guards Parade towards Carlton House Terrace.

  The fine spell was over. London had had her week of summer and, although the weather continued warm, grey clouds hung low overhead. The Park looked dry and dusty; the flowers had wilted in the recent heat wave. Most of them were fading and, as the gardeners had not yet had time to clear the beds for fresh, varieties, many of them presented only a tangle of overgrown greenery. A spattering of idlers lay sprawled upon the tired parched grass and here and there a handful of children played within sight of their knitting nursemaids. The atmosphere was heavy and depressing.

  Gregory and Sir Pellinore did not exchange a word as they walked on side by side until they reached Waterloo steps and were ascending them towards the terrace.

  'You'll lunch with me?' asked Sir Pellinore. 'That will pass a little of the time while we're waiting.'

  'Thanks, I'd like to. D'you think they'll raid Quex Park, tonight?'

  'I haven't a doubt of it. Marrowfat is not a fool and Gavin Fortescue must realise by now that the tide is running swiftly against him. He's probably making his preparations for departure at this moment. If the police don't rope him in tonight they will have lost an opportunity which may not recur for months to come.'

  'In that case I may not be with you.'

  Sir Pellinore grunted. 'I had an idea that might be so. You're a clever feller, Gregory, and I doubt if they spotted anything at the Yard but I know you so well. You're worried about that young Hungarian baggage, aren't you?'

  'I am,' Gregory agreed. 'Damnably worried. If they pull her in with the rest of the gang she'll be sent to prison.3

  'Her sentence will be considerably reduced on account of the fact that she enabled us to come to your assistance the other night.'

  Gregory shrugged impatiently. 'That's no consolation. It might be for a down and out who's been used to sleeping in dosshouses and queuing up for charity grub. But think of a girl like Sabine in prison. Every month she gets will be like a year in hell. Have you ever visited a women's prison? I have. The smell of the place alone is enough to make you sick. Sour, sterile; cabbage soup, disinfectant, soapsuds all mixed up. Think of the irritation to her skin from the coarse garments they'll make her wear; how her stomach will heave when she has to swallow the skilly to keep herself alive, and her hands with broken nails, red and raw from the wash tubs and floor scrubbing. Think of the ghastly creatures she'll have to mix with too. It's well known that women criminals are ten times as vicious as male crooks. They'll torture her every moment of the day from sheer loathing of anyone better than themselves…'

  'I know, I know,' Sir Pellinore broke in. 'I would do anything in my power to save her from that if I could; but even my influence is not sufficient to secure a free pardon for her unless she is prepared to turn King's Evidence.'

  They did not speak again until they had entered the house and were seated in the big library overlooking the Mall; then Sir Pellinore rang the bell.

  'Tell Garwood to send up a magnum of Roederer '20,' he said to the footman who answered his ring, then he turned back to Gregory.

  'Nothing like champagne; only possible drink when you've been working overtime and are worried into the bargain. Gives you just the right fillip to carry on without doping you a hair's breadth. The twenties are getting on in age now, of course, but they're still grand wines if they've been well kept and, in my opinion, the Roederer was the best of 'em.'

  Gregory nodded. 'It's been well kept all right if you've had it in your cellar for the last ten years.'

  'Yes. Nothing like leaving good wine to rest quietly in the same temperature till you want to drink it. I always buy 'em when they first come out and forget 'em till they're drinkable.'

  Garwood arrived, portly, priest like: preceding the footman who carried the double bottle in a bucket of ice and two large silver tankards on a big tray.

  'Shall I open it, sir?' the butler asked. 'It hasn't had long on the ice but coming from the cellar it will be at quite a drinkable temperature.'

  'Go ahead,' said Sir Pellinore, and the two tankards were filled till the bursting bubbles topped their brims.

  'Good thought of yours to order a magnum,' Gregory remarked. 'Wine always keeps so much better in magnums than in bottles and in bottles than in pints. The only trouble with a magnum is, it's too much for one and not enough for two.'

  Sir Pellinore brushed up his fine white moustache and smiled. 'Plenty more where it came from. We'll knock off another with our lunch if you feel like it.'

  The servants had left the room; yet both men displayed curious reluctance to speak again of the topic which was really occupying their minds.

  Gregory drank deep and sighed. 'How much better this stuff drinks out of a tankard,' he said slowly. 'The same thing in a footling little glass wouldn't be half as good.'

  'You never said a truer word my boy. Think how horrid tea would taste in a port wine glass, or burgundy in anything except a big round goblet, just half full, so that one can get the aroma. Brandy too although, curiously enough, all the other liqueurs lose the
ir flavour in big glasses and are better in thimbles provided one has the thimbles refilled often enough but champagne's a tankard wine, not a doubt of it.'

  They fell silent again until Sir Pellinore said, at last, with a swift look at his guest:

  'Well, what're you going to do?'

  'Go down and get her out before they raid the place tonight.'

  'Risky isn't it? Hundred to one they're watching you.

  Some flatfoot in a bowler probably kicking his heels outside this house even now.'

  'I know, that's the big difficulty. I can get rid of him all right. I've played tip and run before. Any tube station or big store with several entrances will provide the means for me to throw him off my track; but the devil of it is that these blokes know me. Another of them will pick me up on the station if I go by train or one of his pals will spot me if I motor down. I dare not move till after dark and we have no idea what time that clever old elephant Marrowfat will get to work.'

  'You're taking a pretty nasty risk you know,' said Sir Pellinore quietly. 'Obstructing the police in the execution of their duty, aiding a known criminal to escape from the country, and all that sort of thing. You'll be a sitting pheasant for three months in prison yourself if you're not darned careful.'

  'I know it. But what the hell! I've got to get her out of it somehow, haven't I?'

  'Of course. I should feel just the same, but you've got your work cut out and I'll be devilled if I see how you're going to do it. Got any sort of plan?'

  'No. I'm absolutely in the air at the moment and I'm not liking the situation one little bit. I'll tell you just how I stand.'

  Gregory refilled his tankard, sat forward in the deep armchair, and told Sir Pellinore how things were between himself and Sabine; ending up with an account of her visit to his flat on the previous night.

  When he had done Sir Pellinore looked unusually grave. 'From what you tell me the situation is worse than I imagined. You don't even know if the wench is willing to quit, so maybe you'll have to get her out of Gavin Fortescue's clutches against her will, as well as clear of the police.'