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 café 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 café. 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 café 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 pocket-book lying in the corner 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 Conquérant 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 pocket-book.’
‘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.
Trench 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.’
‘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.’
‘The devil you did!’ exclaimed Gregory.
‘Yes. Wells got away all right and naturally he gave us details of the occurrence in his report. He’ll be glad to have his pocket-book back. The woman’s not French, but Hungarian, and you’re right about her being a goodlooker. He laid stress on that in his description of her.’
‘If you had it already why on earth did you bother me for it then?’
‘Just a matter of routine, sir. We have rather a habit here of checking up as often as possible.’
‘Checking up whether I was lying to you, eh?’
The big man’s eyes twinkled. ‘I wouldn’t exactly say that, but I always like to establish the mental orientation of my visitors as far as possible; if you understand what I mean. Now, what can you tell me about the elderly man who was with the girl at the Casino?’
‘I don’t think you’ll need any description of him. It was Lord Gavin Fortescue.’
For a second the Superintendent’s blue eyes went curiously blank, but not a muscle of his face betrayed his sudden interest, and a less acute observer than Gregory would have missed his carefully concealed reaction.
‘Lord Gavin Fortescue,’ he repeated casually. ‘Yes, we can get particulars of him easily enough, as we can of most well-known people. Are you quite sure though that it was Lord Gavin?’
‘Certain. I could hardly be mistaken—could I?’
‘No. Once seen never forgotten, as the saying goes,’ the Superintendent replied, admitting that he was quite well acquainted with Lord Gavin’s strikingly unusual appearance. ‘Strange, though, to find a gentleman like him mixed up in an affair like this—isn’t it?’
‘Is it?’ Gregory countered. ‘He’s such a strange old bird I should have thought it
quite possible you had him on your records already.’
‘Really now.’ Marrowfat’s eyebrows shot up in bland surprise. ‘I can’t imagine why you should think that. We know nothing of him officially.’ He lowered his voice and leaned forward confidentially. ‘Now, just what’s your view of this business, sir?’
Gregory shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t got one—at the moment. It’s clear, of course, that the girl lured your man down to that café where the thugs set on him.’
‘Very interesting,’ nodded the Superintendent. ‘In your view, then, Lord Gavin Fortescue sent those thugs to lay out our man?’
‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘What d’you think he was after?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea, but I hope to find out in the course of the next few days.’
Superintendent Marrowfat raised his carroty eyebrows again. ‘But what’s your interest in the matter, outside the lady, may I ask? It’s hardly your business to ferret out Lord Gavin Fortescue’s affairs.’
‘No, but I’m engaged on a private investigation for Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust at the moment and the two things may link up together.’
‘What sort of thing are you investigating?’
‘That is Sir Pellinore’s affair, and if he hasn’t told you it’s hardly my place to do so. He was hoping though, I think, that you might agree to my working with your people.’
Superintendent Marrowfat shook his large round head. ‘I’m sorry sir: I’m afraid we can’t agree to that. You see it would be quite contrary to regulations and I don’t think the matter Inspector Wells was sent over to look into can have any bearing on a private issue which appears to rest between Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust and Lord Gavin Fortescue. We’re very much obliged for the information you’ve brought us all the same.’
The Superintendent was glancing through the papers in the wallet. ‘You didn’t happen to find a telegram in this by any chance—did you?’ he asked after a moment.
‘I’m afraid not.’ Gregory lied glibly. He had never been particularly keen on police co-operation and since his offer of assistance had been rejected he had no intention of letting them have a sight of what he considered to be his best card.
‘Pity,’ said the big man, searching Gregory’s face with innocent blue eyes. ‘Wells had no time to make a copy of it and the thugs must have got it back after all.’
‘That’s what they were after then. Well, if you’d prefer that I should continue to act on my own I’m afraid there’s no more to be said—is there?’
‘That’s so, sir. Of course, if you tumble across any criminal activities during your investigations you’re entitled to call upon the assistance of the police. In fact, it’s your duty to do so, but it wouldn’t do for us to mix ourselves up with Sir Pellinore’s private concerns. If we once started doing that sort of thing we should never hear the end of it.’
‘Right oh! Superintendent. Maybe you’ll be hearing from me again later on.’
The Superintendent extended a large plump hand. ‘That’s it, sir. Much obliged to you I’m sure. I don’t think there’s any necessity to inform the French police that you concealed the lady for the night and I’m very grateful to you for having come to Wells’s help so promptly when they were giving him a rough house. Good morning to you; and thank you.’
As the door closed behind Gregory the big Superintendent suddenly became amazingly active. He grabbed his desk telephone and, after a moment, bellowed down it.
‘That you Wells? I’ve just had that bird here who helped you out at Trouville. Gregory Sallust’s his name—a clever devil if ever there was one—he wanted to work in with us but, of course, I couldn’t have that. Listen though, you’re the lucky one. Lord Gavin Fortescue’s in this. It’ll be the biggest thing that’s happened in years and it means promotion for you if you handle it right. Come up to me at once, but put some good men on to trail Sallust as he leaves the building. He’s not to be lost sight of day or night. He’s pinched that telegram, but he’s going to lead us to something or my name’s not Marrowfat.’
6
The Secret of Mont Couple
From Scotland Yard Gregory walked round the corner to Westminster Bridge and took the underground down to Gloucester Road, where he had rooms comprising the first floor of No. 272.
He could well have afforded better quarters but the building was the property of one, George Rudd, who had been his batman in the war and had ever since remained his devoted henchman.
Mr. Rudd eked out a precarious living by letting the upper floors of his house, generally to students at the London University, and doing odd jobs for the retail grocer who had the old-fashioned little shop on the ground floor.
When Gregory returned he found Rudd in his sitting-room polishing some eighteenth century silver-hilted rapiers. Rudd was a great polisher and always seemed to find some difficulty in disposing of his hands unless he had something to occupy them. He was a medium-sized man with yellowish hair, close cropped and bristling at the top of his head, but allowed to grow into a lock in front, which he carefully trained in a well-greased curve across his forehead. A small fair moustache graced his upper lip but, as he always kept it neatly trimmed, it failed to hide the fact that his teeth badly needed the attention of the dentist. His eyes were blue quick, humorous and friendly.
‘Like to come on a trip with me to France?’ Gregory asked him.
‘Not ’arf sir.’ The ex-soldier removed the butt of a Gold-flake that dangled from his lower lip. ‘Is it gay Paree, or one of them places on the coast, where the girls from the Folley Berjares disports themselves in pocket handkerchiefs during the summer months?’
‘No, this is business. I’ve got a private war on.’
‘S’treuth! Who are we going to cosh this time?’
‘That’s the devil of it: I don’t quite know.’
‘Well it’s all the same, to me sir but I pity the poor devils if you’ve got it in for ’em. Shall we be taking the armaments?’
‘May as well. We’ll probably need them before we’re through.’
Rudd replaced the rapiers above the mantelpiece and took two big automatics from a drawer in the writing-table. They were greased and polished to a superb degree of oily efficiency and he fondled them with loving pride.
‘A bag apiece is all we’ll need,’ Gregory went on. ‘Just in case we have to stay the night anywhere. By the bye, we shall be flying.’
‘Must we go risking our necks that way as well, sir?’ asked Rudd ruefully. ‘No nasturtions on you as a pilot sir, but I always feel it’s more homely like in a nice comfortable train meself.’
Gregory grinned. ‘No, we’ve got to be birdmen this trip and it’s probable we shall be flying backwards and forwards across the Channel until we’re sick of the sight of the damn thing.’
‘Very good, Mr. Gregory, just as you say,’ agreed Rudd philosophically. ‘But I hopes we has long enough on the other side between trips to knock off a bottle or two of that vin rooge in one of them estaminates.’
‘Do you ever remember me going hungry or thirsty in all the years you’ve known me?’
‘No sir, and pray God I never will. You’ve always been a rare one for your victuals; though a bit peculiar in your tastes, if I may say so.’
Gregory refilled his case with cigarettes then picked up his hat. ‘I’m going to lunch now. Have everything packed by three o’clock and the car here ready to run us down to Heston.’
‘Right you are sir, and if there’s any time over I’ll be rubbin’ tip me French.’
Rudd’s French was mainly English, shouted very loudly and clearly with the addition of ‘Kompronevous’ at the end of every other sentence, so it was not greatly improved by the time Gregory returned and found him seated outside the grocer’s in the car, with the bags strapped on behind.
The afternoon was the sort one always hopes for in early August, but rarely gets; sunshine so brilliant that the passing people were walking percep
tibly slower than usual; the women were in their lightest frocks and nearly all the men had abandoned their waistcoats. The ice-cream vendors, beside their tricycles, were doing a roaring business, and that lazy hush filled the air which made London seem temporarily a city of the tropics.
At Heston many people were taking advantage of the fine spell. Quite a crowd was gathered on the flying ground watching the planes come and go. Gregory presented his credentials at the office, while Rudd garaged the car, and a few moments later an official led them over to a hangar in which reposed a very up-to-date looking monoplane.
It was an enclosed two-seater Miles Hawk, cruising speed 180 m.p.h., but as it was fitted with a retractable undercarriage Gregory knew that would give it an extra 15, and by the use of the supercharger he could rev her up to a good bit over 200.
For twenty minutes he discussed its engine, speed, and capacity with one of the mechanics then he took it up for a trial flight. When he landed again Rudd knew from his expression that he was satisfied. Sir Pellinore had functioned with his usual reliability and provided a machine which met entirely with Gregory’s requirements. At a quarter to five, with Rudd in the observer’s seat, Gregory called ‘contact’ and took the air.
He headed straight for Calais, but did not descend at the landing ground; instead, he turned eastwards and followed the coastline as far as Dunkirk, carefully scrutinising the ground beneath him. There, he turned on his track and flew south-westward until he reached Cape Gris Nez, then he turned once more and finally came down at the Calais airport a little before seven o’clock.
Having parked the plane, and refuelled it to capacity, he left instructions that he might be returning in it to England that night. Then, in a taxi, he drove to the Mairie and inquired the whereabouts of the Café de la Cloche.
At first no one seemed to know it but, having penetrated at last to a musty little bureau, where an old woman sat writing a spidery hand in a well-thumbed ledger, he learned that the place was a poor sort of estaminet a kilometre outside the town on the road to Boulogne.
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