Contraband gs-1

by Dennis Wheatley

  'I'd lay any money that Gavin built this place,' Gregory went on, 'and I'm pretty sure I can tell you why he picked this site, well away from either of the lanes, too.'

  'All right, let's hear your theory,' Wells whispered.

  'The sheds at Hook Quay are round the bend of the creek so no light shown there could be seen for more than five hundred yards down stream. That's probably why Gavin chose it as the actual landing place, but it has one drawback, they can't signal from it. Now this place is right on the bend of the river. A light in the upstairs room of the house, on its far side, could be seen for five miles at least, right down at the entrance of the Swale. That's how they signal to the incoming fleet of luggers that the coast is clear, or if there are any suspicious looking people about, and the smuggler boats had best hang off for a bit.'

  'That's sound enough. I see they're on the telephone too,' Wells remarked, jerking his head towards a stout pole only a yard away from them. 'That in itself is suspicious; seeing it's only a jerry-built place miles from anywhere. It must have cost them quite a bit to get a line brought down from Eastthurch Station; far more than ordinary people who lived in a little place like this could afford.'

  They were crouching behind a pile of debris, left by the builders, about thirty yards from the cottage. 'I wish we could get near enough to look in at that window/ Gregory said thoughtfully; but Wells shook his head.

  'Too risky. If they spotted us they'd be on the telephone to warn their pals the game was up before we could get inside. Now we've seen all there is to see I think we'd best get back to the others.'

  In one of the sheds Sir Pellinore, the Chief Constable, Marrowfat and the rest, were gathered, seated on the dry earth floor busily engaged in eating a picnic supper. Producing their own packets of sandwiches Gregory and Wells joined them.

  When they had finished Sir Pellinore, who had refused offers of various drinks, produced a large medicine bottle from his pocket, removed the cork, and took a long pull at it.

  'Not allowed to drink with my meals,' he lied cheerfully, winking at Gregory, 'gives me such awful indigestion. That's why I have to take this medicine.'

  Gregory kept a perfectly straight face as he listened to this barefaced lie. He had often seen that interesting medicine bottle before. Whenever Sir Pellinore was compelled to accept an invitation for dinner at a house where he distrusted his host's choice of wines the medicine bottle always travelled with him. He left it outside in the hall and sent for it after dinner; having first pronounced his glib tarradiddle about suffering from indigestion. The medicine it contained was in actual fact an ample ration of his own impeccable Napoleon Brandy.

  At eleven o'clock they switched off the shuttered electric lamps they had brought with them. The Chief Constable and his party remained seated in the darkness of the shack, except Marrowfat, who went out to check the final dispositions of the Special Squad men he had brought with him from the Yard. One of these sat in the doorway with a boxlike apparatus before him and a pair of telephone receivers clamped over his ears. It was a small portable wireless set.

  Soon after Marrowfat had left them Gregory got up and strolled outside. He waited for a little on the edge of the wharf keeping a watchful eye upon the end of the track to landward. He was desperately impatient now for something to happen, so that he could submerge his gnawing anxiety for Sabine in the necessity for action, but he scarcely moved a muscle when a familiar figure sidled up to him out of the darkness.

  'All present and correct sir,' came Rudd's husky mutter.

  'Fine. Keep close by me from now on and be ready to bolt for the car the second I do.' Gregory turned and walked slowly back to the shed with Rudd beside him.

  As reports came through that the various forces on the north Kent coast and in the island of Sheppey had taken up their positions, the man at the wireless spoke in a low voice to a stenographer who sat beside him, his pad held under a boxed in light. Before eleven most of the land contingents had already reached their stations and the river police now reported themselves ready at their rendezvous by the Ham Fishery Buoy.,

  After that they spoke little. To Gregory the period of waiting seemed interminable. He tried to keep his mind clear and alert, but he could not free it from the thought of Sabine, and fruitless speculations as to where she was, and what might happen to her in the next few hours.

  At length a message came through from the river police. Their sound detectors had picked up the motor engines of a numerous convoy moving in the direction of Clite Hole Bank northeast of Herne Bay. A little later another report gave the convoy as directly south of them, off Pollard Spit at the mouth of the East Swale, and the river police stated that they were now moving in.

  At a quarter to twelve the little group who waited in the darkness of the shack estimated that the smugglers must be entering Windmill Creek itself; then a message came through from the river police that they had closed the mouth of the Swale and were running up it.

  Five minutes later a report came by wireless from another police post, a mile away at the entrance of the creek, that a fleet of six motor barges were proceeding past them at that moment without lights. The Superintendent's party stirred into activity.

  'They may land here,' Gregory said in a low voice to Wells, 'but the centre of the trouble's going to be at that cottage. Let's get down there.'

  'We've got it covered by a dozen men,' Wells answered, 'but I think you're right and I'd like to be in at the finish.'

  They put out their cigarettes and hurried along the bank. The light in the window of the cottage had disappeared, but they turned inland, skirting it at some distance and on reaching its farther side, saw that Gregory's surmise was proved correct. The upper window made an oblong of bright light; naked and uncurtained. The only thing that marred its symmetry was the outline of a black cat seated, apparently, upon the sill inside.

  For a few moments Gregory watched the cat. It remained absolutely motionless and, as he was standing only about twenty yards from the window, he suddenly realised that it was not a cat at all; but a black silhouette in the form of a cat, either painted or stuck on the lower section of the window. It was a sign which would arouse no suspicion in a casual passer-by but, with good glasses, it could probably be seen miles away down the river as a black outline against the rectangle of light. Obviously it was the signal to the smuggler fleet that all was well.

  As he crouched there peering at it the soft chug chug chug of motor engines came to him out of the darkness from the river. He crouched lower, pulling Wells down beside him, so that their forms should not be visible against the skyline. Rudd, just behind them, was already on his knees.

  Six large motor barges chugged swiftly by and rounded the corner of the stream.

  'Will Marrowfat pounce on them the moment they land?' Gregory whispered.

  'No,' Wells whispered back. 'He'll give them a chance to unload some of their cargo and wait until the river police close in behind them.'

  The noise of the motors grew less; then ceased. Silence settled 4gain over the low, apparently deserted, stretch of country. It was broken only at intervals by the faint sound of men's voices, drifting on the night air, as the first barge was moored against Hook Quay and the others came up alongside it.

  Wells and Gregory waited with what patience they could muster. The Inspector knew that one of his men was squatting ten yards away to their right, another down on the river bank to their left, and that a dozen more were hidden in the marsh grass close at hand all round. Touching Gregory on the elbow he began to make his way stealthily towards the creek where he took up a fresh position from which he could see the front door of the cottage.

  They had hardly reached their new post when two men came along the little used footway leading to the group of shacks. From the lower ground Gregory could see them in the faint dusky light sufficiently to recognise the taller of the two, who dragged his leg a little, as the Limper.

  A new sound came from down the creek, the ra
pid throb of other, more powerful, motor boat engines. The Limper caught it at the same second as Gregory, and paused, silhouetted for a moment in the lighted doorway of the cottage, listening intently.

  Suddenly the shrill blast of a whistle pierced the muted roar of the engines. Marrowfat, lying in wait behind the shacks, had heard the approaching police boats, as well, and sent his men into action.

  22

  Desperate Methods at Windmill Creek

  The Limper dived into the cottage. The Superintendent's piping blast was still shrilling through the night when Wells's whistle took up the note, and springing to his feet, he leapt up the bank.

  Instantly a dozen forms, hidden before, came into view; racing across the coarse grass and broken rubble towards the cottage. The Inspector reached the door first; his men were close behind him. Gregory had charged in at a different angle, making for one of the downstairs windows. The glass shattered and fell as he bashed at it with the butt end of his borrowed police pistol.

  The door was bolted; the police were throwing their shoulders against it to break it down. Gregory and Rudd had stripped the lower window frame of its jagged glass, parted the curtain, and were peering into the room.

  The Limper, two other men, and a thin pinch faced grey-haired woman, were inside. The Limper was bawling down the telephone.

  'Drop that!' yelled Gregory, pushing his head and shoulders through the shattered window. 'Drop that or I'll drop you!' He thrust his pistol forward aiming for the Limper's body.

  The crook spun round, still clutching the instrument, and stared at Gregory; but the police had broken in the door and were crashing into the room.

  The scuffle was short. By the time Gregory had left the window and walked in through the door the Limper and his companions had been overpowered.

  When a brief silence fell again they could hear shots and shouting coming from the direction of Hook Quay Marrowfat and the rest were already on the barges. The police were there now in such overwhelming numbers that the smugglers had no possible chance of escape.

  Immediately order was restored inside the cottage Wells said abruptly to his men: 'Take these other two and the woman into the next room.' Then he faced the Limper.

  'Now then, we've got you. You'd best come clean. Where were you telephoning to just now?'

  The Limper's sullen face displayed only anger and contempt.

  'You go to hell,' he snarled. 'You've got me, and I know it, but you won't get the Chief.' He turned his sneering eyes on Gregory.

  'As for you! you've asked for all that's coming to you. That is if you care about the girl. It's she who's double-crossed us: given away somehow the place where we meant to do this job tonight. But, blast your soul, I had time to phone;" so she'll be for the high jump. I'll go to prison but you can go and buy a wreath for her.'

  Gregory's brown face had gone a shade paler. He did not reply. Instead, he snatched up the telephone and, a moment later, got the operator.

  'This is police business,' he said, 'urgent! The last call that was made from here only a couple of minutes ago what was it?'

  There was a short pause then he turned to Wells.

  'Thank God! There's an intelligent man on the end of this line. This brute called the Quex Park number and said: "21. 35. 19". He repeated it twice before we got him.'

  In a second Wells had out his notebook. '21, "Full fathoms five thy father lies” that’s here, 35, "Shake off slumber and beware"19, "The watchdogs bark: “two lines of warning; that's evidently their code signal for an extreme emergency.'

  Gregory dug his nails into his palms. The warning had been given. Quex Park was over twenty miles away as the crow flies. If Gavin Fortescue believed, as the Limper obviously did, that Sabine had given the information about the night landing which had enabled the police to lay their trap her last hope of any clemency from him would be gone. ] might be giving orders now for her murder before he away safely to France.

  Little beads of sweat stood out on Gregory's forehead as he realised what a colossal blunder he had made. He should have gone straight to the Park and chanced everything instead of coming here with the police in the hope of obtaining knowledge which would improve his situation later. By waiting for the police launches to come up Marrowfat had unwittingly bungled the affair, and allowed the Limper time to telephone, wrecking all Gregory's hopes of a successful raid on Quex Park.

  While he stood there, sick with anger and apprehension, one of Wells's men had been running over the Limper and emptying the contents of his pockets on to a kitchen dresser. Among them was a buff form.

  Wells snatched it up. It was a telegram, despatched from Birchington that afternoon to Creed, Poste Restante, Rochester. He read out the numbers on it: '44. 32. 27'.

  The Inspector glanced swiftly down the lines in his notebook and said: '44, "On the bats wing I do fly"32, "Open-eyed conspiracy"27, "Seanymphs hourly ring his knell".'1

  Gregory stepped forward. 'That means the fleet of planes are out again as well as the barges and "openeyed conspiracy "good God! Gavin guessed the game was up this afternoon so he's risking everything on a last throw to land his bunch of communist agitators tonight.'

  'That's it,' exclaimed Wells, 'but where? "Seanymphs hourly ring his knell" gives the place all right but it's one we haven't had yet.'

  A new light of hope lit Gregory's eyes. If the planes were coming in at that moment with the most important cargo of all it was almost certain that Gavin Fortescue would be there to meet them. He would have left Sabine at Quex Park, so although a warning had been sent there it could only be telephoned on to him, and he might be many miles away on some desolate stretch of coastline to the south or east. Perhaps, when the warning reached him, he would leave the country at once with the returning planes without risking a return to the Park to deal with Sabine. On the other hand he might have taken Sabine with him; in which case her situation would be every bit as desperate as it had been before. In a sudden spate of words he voiced his thoughts to Wells.

  The Limper laughed. 'That's right. You're clever enough and a hell of a lot of good may it do you. The Chief'll get out all right while you're batting your head about seanymphs. And you bet he's got Sabine with him.'

  Rudd, who was lurking now in a corner of the room, said quickly: 'Seanymphs. That sounds like mermaids ter me. I reckon the old man's at some bit of a pub called the Mermaid, or the Mermaid Tavern, or the Mermaid Arms. Must be a local of that name somewhere round abart this coast.'

  'Good for you,' nodded Gerry Wells. 'Run along to the shacks will you. Tell the Superintendent we've got our man and ask him if he can come along with the local inspectors if he's mopped up the crowd on the barges.'

  Rudd departed at the double.

  The Superintendent had already dealt with the main body of the smugglers. Rudd met him with Sir Pellinore and the Chief Constable already on his way to the cottage; so that no more than three minutes elapsed before they all crowded into the little room.

  In a few brief sentences Wells told his superior of the call they had traced, the telegram, and its interpretation. Marrowfat spread out his map upon the bare deal table, but he shook his head angrily.

  'Mermaid Tavern! Mermaid Arms! must be dozens of pubs with names like that scattered round the Cinque Ports and the North Kent coast.'

  'That's right,' sneered the Limper. 'I'll bet you fifty quid you don't pick on the right one.'

  The Chief Constable consulted with his principal officers from various districts who had pushed their way in behind him. Marrowfat proved right: each of them added to the list by some little house or teagarden hotel called the 'Mermaid', in towns and villages as far apart as Hythe, Broadstairs and Whitstable.

  Marrowfat and his colleagues acted with amazing promptitude. In less than five minutes the Yard Squad had been disbanded and told off to accompany local officers to twenty different places on the Kent Coast; where a 'Mermaid' tavern might prove the key to Lord Gavin's secret rendezvous.

  Wel
ls was left in charge of the Limper while the Superintendent's party hurried off to Canterbury; which he had selected as the most central place for their new headquarters.

  Five minutes after their arrival the little kitchen living room of the cottage was empty again, except for Gregory, Rudd, Wells, the Limper and the two officers who held him.

  Gregory stood there staring at the floor. He was faced once more with an appalling choice of courses and if he selected the wrong one Sabine's life would prove the forfeit.

  With the whole of the Kent constabulary in a ferment of activity there was little doubt that they would discover the new base within the next half hour. A fleet of aeroplanes might land at a quiet spot unobserved upon a normal night but they could not do so with hundreds of police out on the watch for them all over the county. Should he wait until news came in, over the humming telephone wires, which 'Mermaid' Tavern or hotel was the focus for the aeroplane landing; or should he make direct for Quex Park on the assumption that the Limper was lying and Lord Gavin had left Sabine there.

  The more he thought of it the more certain it seemed that if Gavin Fortescue had made his last throw that night he would surely have already arranged to leave the country by one of the returning aeroplanes himself; therefore he would have taken Sabine to the 'Mermaid', wherever that might be, with him.

  How long would the police take to find it? Half an hour, an hour perhaps. By that time it might be too late, or they were lucky enough to arrive before Sabine was murdered and Lord Gavin gone, she would be arrested with the others. Gregory saw clearly now that, somehow, he must find out where the 'Mermaid' was and not only get there, but get there before the police.

  He glanced at Wells. 'Can you spare me a moment outside?'

  The Inspector nodded and followed him from the cottage into the dark, now silent, night.

  'Listen,' said Gregory. 'I want you to do something for me.'