The natural instinct of self-preservation is commend-ably well preserved in me, and it was only the even more compelling instinct for drama that forced me to cross over to the window, using what little cover I could, and then to peer carefully through the edge of the creeper to see what was going on inside.
She was there — Daphne Eldemore: character actor and contact woman. Strangely, it was quite a shock to discover that all our guesswork had been right; like the uncomfortable feeling you have when you see a policeman coming towards you, having guessed correctly that itis your car he has picked out of the multitude to report as causing an obstruction.
Eldemore was talking to someone who was out of sight from my viewpoint. But I could see she was preparing to go out, and was dressed in a similar get-up to that she had worn in the cinema café. I couldn’t hear a word of the conversation; it was just a low mumble from where I was standing. Nor could I gain anything more from staying in the garden; if she were going out I must be ready to follow.
I had just got back into the car when the front door opened and she came out of the house, accompanied by another woman — ‘Gertrude’ of the spectacles, no doubt. They walked straight past me and I had to duck below the level of the window. Then they climbed into a big saloon car that was unfortunately facing towards me. My only hope was to go the other way round the crescent and try and pick them up then; but I wouldn’t have much time in which to do it, because I couldn’t start until they were out of sight, and by the time I had reached Albany Street they could have disappeared at the lights at the top of the road, which marked a junction offering several possible routes. My only hope was that they might godown Albany Street towards the West End; in this case I could follow at a respectable distance, for the road was long and straight.
As it happened I was lucky; when I emerged from the crescent into the main road I could see a pair of tail lights about two hundred yards ahead. The traffic signals were against them at Euston Road, so I slowed down to a crawl until they changed to green, and my quarry turned right. A mile farther on I lost sight of them again, so I did some guesswork, and, crossing Baker Street, continued along the Marylebone Road. I was lucky, after all. Daphne and Gertrude were caught at the lights by the Edgware Road.
It seemed almost too easy ...
I didn’t have to follow any more. I knew where they were going. I have a Hunch Department of my own, and this time it was doing fine.
All I had to do was to get to platform one, Paddington Station.
*
I entered the station on the ‘arrivals’ side, driving down the ramp used by the taxis that are at such a premium whenever the main-line trains come in.
I had never been there at this time of the night. It was like a deserted film set; all the props were ready but there were no people and no trains. Hardly any, that is. For no station like this is ever completely deserted.
There was no doubt in my own mind that the cronies would meet the other party quite openly. After all, this was only the first stage in passing on the instructions; the double-check lay in the fact that Eldemore would then transmit the message in the way I had observed it happen before. But if they did not consider the act of meeting here a reasonable cause for suspicion, then surely they wouldn’t notice an open meeting of my own designing.
Therefore I must find someone to meet. Q.E.D. But the question was — who? There was no time to get Alice up here; and Jill lived miles away. It had to be someone who was already in the station. Also I must have some superficial disguise, in case one or other of the cronies recognized me.
In two minutes I had the idea. It would probably land me in jail, but I would cross that bridge when I came to it. Alice could have the pleasure of bailing me out.
First I took the ignition key. Next I retrieved the pair of tinted glasses I always keep in the glove pocket, and put them on. I walked quickly down the station again and noted the whereabouts of the Officer of the Law — there is always one on duty there.
My timing was good; for Daphne and Gertrude (who had used the ‘departures’ entrance) had arrived by the benches. I waited for them to choose a seat. The hands of the big clock near the hotel indicated one minute to two. ‘H’ hour was obviously going to be two o’clock.
At two o’clock exactly a man walked up to the bench where the women were sitting, and that was my cue. I walked briskly up to a couple who were sitting fairly close to them — three rows away — and dropped my ignition key behind their seat.
“You tried to steal my car, didn’t you?” I said loudly, in what I hoped was a tone of righteous indignation.
The male half of the couple looked up in sheer amazement at me. He was a tired-looking little man of about fifty odd, and I felt sorry for him. He’d probably been travelling all the evening, had crossed London, and was now sentenced to wait for an early train to take his wife and himself to the West.
“Steal your car?” the man repeated, stupidly. “I don’t even drive one.”
“Don’t take any notice, dear,” said the woman disgustedly, “he’s obviously drunk.”
I got my first look at the Contact. Of course, from his point of view, this was the ideal diversion. He looked towards me for a moment. Rather a flat head, broad face, bushy eyebrows; hair dark, but getting very thin on top ...
“Drunk?” I exclaimed grimly. “Do you think I wasn’t watching you?”
The little man was getting nervous and angry at the same time. This sort of thing simply didn’t happen to him.
“You have made some mistake; I think the only thing to do is to call a police officer.”
“I should think so too!” said his outraged wife.
I pretended to catch sight of my key on the ground, and said in my quietest, most dangerous voice: “It was rather careless of you to drop my key.”
The poor man looked bewildered. “I don’t know how it got there,” he said hesitantly.
“Heput it there,” said his wife emphatically, “that’s how it got there!”
I looked round for the policeman, who was already on his way over to us, with that steady, deceptively slow tread so familiar to minor criminals like myself who park their cars in the wrong places.
The woman, bless her heart, had succeeded in raising her blood pressure to danger point, and had gone a dark, sunset red. She leapt up and intercepted the policeman before he had reached us. “Officer!” she shouted, “this man is either mad or he is a criminal!”
“Now, just a minute,” said the policeman, using that famous opening line special to all real policemen. “What’s going on?”
“This man tried to take my car!” I asserted.
“He did nothing of the sort!” said the woman.
“I saw him distinctly,” I shouted. “Caught him in the act!”
“You’d better all come across to the office with me,” said the policeman, interrupting the shouting match without raising his voice.
This was what I had been hoping for. “Well, before we go,” I said, “you may as well see where this ... gentleman ... dropped my key.”
“Heput it there,” said the unfortunate man’s wife, pointing a condemning finger straight at me, “and what’s more,he knows it!”
The policeman bent down and glared at the key, as if it could tell him, by some obscure series of Clues, exactly what had happened. Then he drew himself up to his full height. “Well,” he said to the little man, “you’re wearing gloves, so your fingerprints wouldn’t be on it anyway.” He addressed himself to me. “You can pick it up now, sir,” he said, “then we’ll all go to the office and I’ll take statements.”
“I wantsatisfaction,” I said emphatically, in the way Englishmen do when they can’t think of anything else to say.
The Officer of the Law regarded me with great dignity. “Whatever happens,” he said with an inflection that made my spine creep, “justice will be done.”
We all moved off towards the office on platform one, a grim little troop that had beco
me the centre of attention of the small cluster of waiting passengers.
I waited until we were well out of earshot of the trio I was watching, and then took the plunge. I knew the danger was going to be that the Contact would get off the station before I had time, with the help of the policeman, to carry out the other half of my plan. But if the policeman had just alittle imagination ...
“Listen carefully,” I said to the policeman, “I want to ...”
He interrupted me. “I’ll take the statements in the office,” he said.
“I know,” I replied patiently, “but there is something I must tell younow”
“Aha!” snarled the woman, “losing confidence now, are you?”
“Shut up and listen!” I snapped, “there isn’t much time! I know perfectly well you didn’t try to take my car. You didn’t go anywhere near it. As you say, I planted the key by your bench.’
The policeman stopped in his tracks. “Well,what the ... ? Is this your idea of a joke, or something? If so, it’s not a very good one. I shall certainly charge you with a Breach of the Peace. Probably something far more serious.”
“Never mind that now!” Any moment, and my quarry might leave the station.
“Nevermind?” echoed the infuriated woman. “I’ll give you never mind! I know your type.”
Strangely enough, it was the husband who gave me a chance of a hearing. Perhaps he recognized something in my voice that told him there was some method in my madness.
“Just a minute,” he said. Then he looked straight at me. “Is there something behind all this?”
I talked quickly. “Any moment now a very dangerous man is going to walk off this station. He’s involved in something we’ve got to stop, and there’s very little time. I created this diversion, officer, so that you could hold him as a witness.”
“Hold him as a witness? What are you talking about? I can’thold him as a witness!”
“Can you take a statement?”
The officer was getting red in the face. “Look here, I don’t know what your stunt is, but I don’t need a witness. You’ve already admitted that you made the whole thing up, and that’s all I want to know.”
“My one chance of stopping amajorcrime,” I asserted, “is for you to delay that man long enough for me to get on to Scotland Yard and have him followed. But please do as I sayquickly, or it will be too late.”
“Can youprove any of this?” asked the policeman, who obviously didn’t believe a word of it.
“I am acting on the authority of R7,” I said, burning every conceivable boat behind me.
“R7?” repeated the woman scornfully, “and what’s that, may I ask? Flying saucers?”
“I’d like you to help the gentleman,” said her husband with surprising firmness, “I believe he’s telling the truth.”
The policeman fingered his chin. This sort of thing was, quite understandably, right outside his experience. He made his decision. “Wait here!” he said to me, “and please stay with this lady and gentleman until I return.”
I heaved an inward sigh of relief. “Thank you, officer,” I said. “But one thing please, don’t let this man get any inkling that this is a trap.”
“You can depend on me,” said the policeman sternly. “And if you’re pulling my leg, you’ll find you’ve set a very good trap for yourself.”
With this he walked heavily away. I couldn’t see the cronies, or the man I was after; and I was afraid we were too late. But in any case it was a try.
In a few moments the policeman returned, to my inner jubilation, with the ‘witness’.
I had felt, in the brief glimpse I had managed to get of the Contact during the little scene by the train indicator, that the man I saw did not match the voice on the tape recorder; and my first guess had been that this was the ‘friend’ who had been watching him through the glass of the telephone-booth.
The first premise was confirmed the moment he opened his mouth to speak. He had a smooth voice; one of those peculiarly international accents that suggested he might haveC.D. plates on his car. Here, then, was my first real Foreigner.
“But I am afraid,” he was saying to the policeman, “I saw very little. You see, I was talking to my friends.”
“Nevertheless,” said the officer, “I would be grateful, sir, if you would just come along to the office and make a brief statement. I won’t keep you long.” The Officer of the Law was rather conscious that he was playing a part, but I didn’t think it would be noticeable to someone who had no reason to suspect anything.
We walked to the end of the platform, then up a flight of iron stairs to the small police office. The place was very simply furnished — little more than a hut, in fact. But there was a door at the far end leading, I surmised, to a rest room.
“Before you go any further, officer,” I said pompously, “I would like to telephone my lawyer, much as I regret having to get him out of bed. For it is perfectly obvious that you don’t believe this chap tried to take my car. Perhaps a solicitor might persuade you to take the matter more seriously.” I managed to get a fairly unpleasant threat into my voice.
“Very well, sir,” said the policeman stiffly, “but I do not think it necessary.” He indicated the door. “There’s one in the office through there.”
It was all right, then. After thanking him coldly, I entered the inner room. As I thought, it was a rest room; and two coppers were relaxing on the bunks. Without moving, one of them opened his eyes in mild curiosity, then shut them again. I didn’t waste time, but went straight to the phone and dialled Alice’s number.
The fact that a man answered the telephone hardly registered with me. No doubt my mind could exercise its curiosity on that point at a later date.
“What do you want?” snapped the voice irritably.
“I want to speak to Alice. Urgently.”
“What, atthis hour of the morning? It’s a quarter past two, and she’s asleep.”
“Sorry,” I said perfunctorily, “but you’ll have to wake her. This is business, and it can’t wait.”
He paused at this. Then: “It had better be good!”
I waited impatiently while he woke her. Time was still precious. The policeman could only delay our man for so long; and I had to get someone to tail him.
“This is Alice Redgate here,” said a surprisingly alert version of a voice whose every inflection I knew. “Who is that speaking; and what do you want at two-fifteen in the morning?”
“This is Joel.”
“Joel! Are you ill?”
Everybody always thought I was ill! “No. And don’t ask questions. I’ve only got a few minutes. I’m at Paddington Station Police Office, and I’ve traced Daphne Eldemore to the person who’s giving her orders.”
“But ...”
“Listen! I created a rumpus in the station by accusing a man of stealing my car, and got myself arrested. The policeman, after a good deal of persuasion, eventually agreed to drag in our friend as a witness.”
“Holy smoke!”
“Quite. Now, I don’t think this chap — he’s a foreigner, incidentally — I don’t think he suspects anything; in fact, I’m sure he doesn’t. My idea is therefore to get a plainclothes man to follow him.”
“Why didn’t you just follow him, instead of all this drama?”
“Because I know I couldn’t do it without being spotted. This needs a professional. Perhaps a team of people. Can you lay something on immediately?”
“All right. I hope you know what you’re doing, though. We’re going to look pretty silly if you’ve made a mistake. How did you persuade an ordinary policeman to believe you, by the way?”
“God knows — it was touch and go. Eventually I had to say I had the authority of R7; but I don’t think he’d even heard of it.”
Alice let the air out of her lungs in a long, ominous sigh. “You didwhat?” she eventually managed to say.
“All right I I know I’ve broken every rule in the book. Don’t let’s worry a
bout that now. Get a man round here fast.”
“What’s he look like, this chap we have to follow?” she demanded, biting back any further comment with an effort.
“Stocky — medium height — heavy eyebrows — broad, rather squashed-down face — dark hair, getting thin.”
“Edward G. Robinson?”
“Sort of, but much less positive-looking. More delicate face. Rather sensitive mouth. Fish eyes, too.”
“Clothes?”
“Grey herringbone overcoat; blue silk scarf.”
“Good. Keep him there as long as you can; I need about fifteen minutes. Anything else?”
“Yes. You’ll have to bail me out of here.”
“All right. C.I.D. will phone Paddington Police Station. And God help you when you see Miles tomorrow.”
“Miles? Who’s he?”
“You’ll find out!”
Her tone changed with startling suddenness. “Joel, I think you’re really on to something. You may have found one of the essential links we needed. See you!” She hung up.
This, I decided, was the end of a reel; and a similar thought had evidently struck the policeman who had regarded me with such cynicism from his bunk. “The trouble with you specials,” he said, “is that you all want to be another Humphrey Bogart.”
He had guessed, then.
CHAPTER 9
MILES PRESCOTT-HEALEY had arranged to see me at eleven o’clock in the morning, and I must admit I wasn’t looking forward to the interview when I arrived, once more, at Victoria Street. I decided it was no less ominous when the commissionaire waived the signing of the buff form and escorted me personally to the fourth floor, along to the end of the passage, through a green baize door and into a large, sunny office.
“Mr. Prescott-Healey will be with you in a moment,” he said, and departed, leaving me to the cold, authoritative atmosphere of the inner sanctum. I was, literally, on the carpet — a thick, expensive one that covered most of the floor. I looked out through the double windows and there was the heavy traffic in the street below; but it was totally inaudible — the room was soundproof. The ventilation was provided by air conditioning, and the faint swirl of fresh air was just audible as it swept in through one vent and out through another.
The Cummings Report Page 6