Contraband

by Dennis Wheatley

  He had no hesitation in letting her go. They kissed again and clung to each other as though they were parting for a period of years although they were to meet again in a little over an hour.

  It was only when he was in his bath that doubts about the wisdom of his action began to assail him. She had been so quiet and said so little while he had been pressing arguments upon her to cut clear of the mess she was in before it was too late. She had promised nothing and he really knew so little of how deeply she might be implicated in Lord Gavin’s plans. What if he had failed to convince her of her danger and she gave him the slip. Knowing now, from his own admission, that he was working with the police, she would avoid any place where she feared he might find her. It might be weeks or months before she visited Quex Park again, and that was the only place from which he could hope to pick up her trail if she once abandoned the Carlton.

  He began to dress with feverish haste, frantic with anxiety now that he had given himself away, lest she might disregard his warning and yet be compelled, from the nature of her activities, and the knowledge of his intentions, to sacrifice their overwhelming attraction for each other and disappear altogether.

  By the time he was ready to telephone a cab his face was dark with anger. An inner voice kept telling him that he had acted like a lunatic. He had been mad to let her out of his sight for a second and utterly insane to confess that he was working with the police. How could his prayers that she should cut adrift from Lord Gavin possibly have any effect when she was so deeply involved. If only he had held his peace he could at least have followed her up quite easily, or even kept in touch with her by arrangement, as long as she had no suspicion that he was spying on her. Then, he would have been at hand to warn her just as the police net was about to close and perhaps be able to help her in escaping its meshes. Now, he had spiked his own guns by blurting out a premature warning. The sort of folly of which any callow youth, bitten by his first calf love, might have been guilty. He let out a peculiarly blasphemous Italian oath as he bounded down the stairs.

  On the way westward in the taxi he only paused long enough to buy her a great spray of orchids and a button-hole for himself. Then, immediately he reached the hotel, he dashed straight to the desk and asked the clerk to telephone her room.

  A moment later his worst forebodings were realised. The bland young man behind the reception counter shook his head, ‘I’m sorry, sir, Mademoiselle Szenty left here half an hour ago.’

  ‘For good?’ snapped Gregory.

  ‘She took her luggage with her.’

  ‘Did she leave an address?’

  ‘No sir, but if you’re Mr. Sallust she left a letter for you.’

  ‘I am. Let’s have it please.’ With swift fingers Gregory tore open the blue envelope and read the few lines upon the single sheet:

  My dear,

  You work for the police. To confess it, because you hoped to save me, that was generous of you, but if you had known me better you would never have done so. How is it possible that I should ever betray the man who has been so good to my mother and myself?

  That you should be engaged in this work is tragic for me. I liked you so very much, but now we must put our brief hour behind us because it is impossible for us ever to meet as friends again.

  Sabine.

  For a moment Gregory regarded the big box of orchids which he had bought for her a little stupidly. What should he do with them? Those gorgeous blossoms which he had hoped to see gracing her shoulder were useless now: nothing but a bitter mockery of a joy that might have been.

  With an impatient gesture he thrust them over to the reception clerk. ‘Flowers,’ he said briefly. ‘If you’ve got a wife or girl friend they may come in useful.’ Then he turned angrily away.

  To his surprise he found himself staring into Gerry Wells’s freckled face. The young Inspector was standing there, clad in a neat dark-blue lounge suit, a black soft hat dangling in one hand and a walking-stick in the other. He was smiling broadly.

  ‘Well, how’s the amateur detective getting on?’ he inquired cheerfully.

  ‘He’s not,’ Gregory snapped. ‘For God’s sake let’s have a drink. I’ve mucked up the whole darned business.’ Then he led the way down the passage to the cocktail bar.

  ‘Let’s hear the worst,’ Wells suggested when they were seated at one of the little tables with drinks before them.

  ‘I met her here just before lunch,’ Gregory tossed off his drink and ordered another, ‘staged the party perfectly, brought old Sir Pellinore along so she shouldn’t suspect I had any idea she was staying here. In the afternoon she met some buyer at the Royal Palace—then I got her along to my rooms. Everything was going swimmingly until after tea—then I lost my head and behaved like a stupid schoolboy.’

  The Inspector chuckled. ‘Doesn’t do to mix pleasure with business, does it?’

  ‘Dammit, you don’t understand,’ Gregory burst out. ‘I’d rather lose my right hand than see her sent to prison; so I spilled the beans that I was working with the police and knew all about the smuggling racket. Then I begged and prayed of her to save herself by turning King’s evidence. She wouldn’t promise anything but said she must have time to think and promised to let me take her out to dinner if I called here for her again at eight o’clock. I was pretty well certain I’d persuaded her to come in with us; but when I turned up here a few minutes ago I found she had quit—and quit for good.’

  Wells’s eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘What exactly did you give away to her during these empassioned moments?’

  ‘Oh, don’t fret yourself, passion or no I’m a cautious old bird. I only said we were on to Gavin Fortescue’s smuggling racket generally. I didn’t breathe a word about the secret base between Calais and Boulogne or Quex Park, so there’s no reason to suppose that they’ll abandon either of those hang-outs. She won’t use the Carlton again, of course, and now she knows I’m a sort of unofficial policeman God alone knows if I’ll be able to get in touch with her again at all.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about that.’ The Inspector winked suddenly. ‘We’re not all quite nitwits, you know. I’ve had a couple of men following her all day, just in case you slipped up. She’s on the road to Quex Park now, as I’ve just learned from one of the flying squad cars that’s sitting on her tail, and as soon as I’ve had a bite to eat I’m flying down myself. When your man told me on the telephone, ten minutes ago, that you’d changed in a hurry to dash out to dinner, I had a hunch I’d find you here. I thought perhaps you might like to go with me—then—maybe you’ll see her again this evening after all.’

  13

  Gregory Sallust has Cause to Hate his job

  Gregory and Wells considered it unlikely that the smugglers would undertake any operations much before midnight, but Sabine would do the journey to Quex Park in a couple of hours and so should arrive there by a quarter past ten, or a little after. She might remain only long enough to make fresh arrangements then leave again by plane so, as it was essential to keep track of her, they decided to lose no time following her down into Kent.

  They had spent barely a quarter of an hour in reviewing the situation, and Gregory reckoned that even allowing for a return to his flat and a scratch meal on the surplus of the supplies got in for Sabine’s tea he could reach Croydon, where Wells’s plane was stationed, by 9.30, if he was quick changing into more suitable clothes.

  He left the Inspector to call at the Yard and go on down to Croydon ahead of him, then he secured a likely looking taxi and promised the driver double fare if they reached Gloucester Road in under twelve minutes. The man earned his extra money with thirty seconds to spare.

  On arriving there Gregory sent Rudd for his car while he changed and ate simultaneously. Once he was out of his tails and clad in his battle equipment he sat down to the wheel of his long two-seater with Rudd beside him to bring it back. Taking the short cut across the river through Battersea, Wandsworth and Tooting, he drove out to Croydon at a speed which shocked onlo
okers but was actually quite safe for a really expert driver.

  Wells was awaiting him, now dressed in airman’s kit, beside a single engine 120 h.p. two-seater Tiger Moth.

  ‘Hello! Open cockpit,’ said Gregory. ‘Wish I’d known; I’d have put on warmer clothes.’

  ‘You’ll be all right,’ Wells assured him. ‘It isn’t a long trip and there’s a rug inside. Here …’ he held out a flat neatly packed bundle with arm straps attached. ‘Your parachute. It’ll help to keep your back warm.’

  ‘Parachute! What the hell do I want with a parachute?’ Gregory grunted.

  ‘Nothing, I hope, but I’m afraid you’ve got to wear it if you’re coming in my plane. Government regulations.’

  ‘Oh, well!’ Gregory pushed his arms through the loops and fastened the gear about his waist, then climbed into the observer’s seat. He never wasted his breath on unnecessary arguments when there was work to be done.

  The sun had set at a little before nine. It was nearly dark now and the stars were coming out again for what promised to be another almost cloudless August night.

  Gregory had flown a good deal in his time, but he had never quite got accustomed to the amazing speed by which one could cover an actual point to point distance by plane, as compared with road or rail. Twenty-five minutes after leaving Croydon he picked out the great mile-wide belt of trees which gave Quex Park such shelter, yet threw it up from the air in the flat surrounding landscape. Wells kept well to the south of it, passing over the little village of Acol, then veered northward towards the sea. After a moment a single beam of light showed in the fields to the east of the park and he came down towards it.

  ‘I wasn’t taking any chances this time,’ he shouted back to Gregory as they bumped to a standstill. ‘I gave orders for one of my men to show a light here—where you came down before.’

  The torch had disappeared but a voice came out of the darkness: ‘Mr. Wells?’

  ‘Yes, Simmons, what’s the latest?’

  ‘Thompson reported twenty minutes ago, sir. There’s nothing fresh, so he’s gone back to watch the house again.’

  ‘Good.’ The Inspector smiled over his shoulder towards Gregory. ‘We’ve beaten her to it then but she ought to be here fairly soon. Simmons will look after the plane while we go inside and give the lady a silent welcome.’

  Gregory grunted non-committally as he climbed out. True, he wanted desperately to get in touch with Sabine again, but not when he was in the Inspector’s company. Wells had quite enough evidence upon which to arrest her any moment he chose and Gregory knew that she was only being left at liberty so long as she might prove a useful lead to further evidence which would incriminate Lord Gavin. Once the net closed it would be beyond his power to help her.

  It was a dark sultry night again; the very centre of the dark period between moons, which the smugglers were using for their operations. Hence, Gregory felt certain, their intense activity and swift journeying, which would continue for another forty-eight hours at least. After which, unless the weather broke, they would probably not run further cargoes until the moonless period in September.

  With Wells beside him he made his way through the pitch-black wooded belt along the east drive to the fringe of the lawn, from where, knowing now the direction of the house, he could distinguish its outline among the surrounding trees less than a hundred yards away.

  The hoot of an owl came from some bushes nearby and to Gregory’s surprise Wells mimicked the cry in reply. Immediately there was a stirring in the shadows to their left and a figure tiptoed across the gravel path towards them.

  ‘All quiet, Inspector,’ said the newcomer in a low voice.

  ‘Thanks, Thompson, you’d better stay here while we go round to the back of the house.’ Keeping in the shadow of the trees they tiptoed down a narrow path through the shrubbery until they came out at the rear of the building. A light was burning in the scullery window where Gregory had attempted to break in the night before.

  Wells moved along the wall of the house to the doorway and knocked gently on it. There was no reply. He knocked again, louder this time, and there was a sound of footsteps in the stone-flagged passage. The door swung open and Milly’s slender form was revealed on the lighted threshold.

  ‘Hullo,’ she said in pleased surprise. ‘I didn’t expect to see you so soon again.’

  ‘Nor I you. I thought you’d be in bed by this time.’

  ‘It’s not very late, only just ten, although often I go to bed earlier and listen to the wireless.’

  ‘I like the wireless too,’ he smiled, ‘but I don’t often get the chance of listening to it in bed.’

  Gregory, growing impatient at this unimportant conversation, stepped forward out of the shadows and she started back, realising his presence for the first time. He had seen her the night before, but she had not seen him as she had been walking in her sleep. Wells introduced them.

  ‘Won’t you both come in?’ she said. ‘Perhaps you’d like some supper. I ought to have thought of that.’

  ‘No; thanks all the same.’ Wells shook his head. ‘We fed less than an hour ago, and we’d better not come in, I think, in case somebody comes along to this wing of the house. Our presence might take a bit of explaining as your aunt’s not supposed to have visitors.’ There was marked regret in his voice as he added: ‘We only knocked you up to let you know that some of the people we’re after will be here again tonight. Nothing unusual’s likely to happen, but I thought it would be a bit of a comfort to know we were close handy here, keeping an eye on things.’

  ‘That was nice of you.’ She smiled up at him. ‘We knew they were coming though. The foreign lady telephoned only a few minutes ago to say that Aunty was to get her some supper. I was just going out to tell your man about it when you turned up.’

  ‘D’you know where she telephoned from?’

  ‘Canterbury. She didn’t speak herself. It was a man at some garage who rang up for her.’

  ‘She’ll be here pretty soon then?’

  ‘I expect so, but there’ll be time for you to have a quick cup of tea, if you’d care to come in for a moment.’

  ‘Better not.’ Wells shook his head again. ‘Although I’d like to. We’ll get back to the bushes I think. Remember me kindly to your aunt.’

  ‘All right. Will I be seeing you again tonight? If so, I’ll—well I might stay up for a bit.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s rather unlikely so I’d hop off to bed if I were you. Happy dreams.’

  ‘Same to you. That is if you get any sleep—as I hope you will. Good night.’

  When the two men turned away she stood at the half-open door reluctantly watching Wells’s retreating back as he disappeared beside Gregory round the corner of the house.

  Ten minutes later, from their cover among the bushes, they saw the glimmer of lights between the trees, and the big limousine that Gregory had seen set out for London the night before, roared up the drive with a single dark muffled figure seated inside it.

  ‘Gavin’s not with her,’ Gregory whispered, as he saw Sabine descend from the car. ‘I wonder where he’s got to.’

  ‘Lord only knows,’ Wells muttered. ‘He left the Carlton shortly after midday. I had a man tailing him, of course, but the fool mucked it when they were caught in a traffic block. When I last heard our people hadn’t yet been able to pick him up again.’

  Lights appeared in the downstair windows of the main part of the house and they guessed that Sabine had settled down to her supper. Meanwhile, they remained behind the bushes; Gerry Wells with the trained patience of a man who spends many hours of his life waiting perforce for things to happen, but Gregory fidgeting a little after the first half hour, wanting to walk up and down to stretch his limbs and won dering if he dare light a cigarette, but deciding against it.

  An hour crawled by; then the lights in the downstair rooms went out and fresh lights appeared in one of the upper windows. Another twenty minutes and those went out as well.
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br />   ‘We’ve come on a wild goose chase,’ muttered Gregory, half glad, half angry. ‘There’s nothing doing here tonight after all. Evidently she only cleared out of the Carlton in order to get away from me; and decided to sleep here.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ Wells replied noncommittally, ‘but don’t forget the telegram. From that it looked as though they were on the job tonight as well—didn’t it?’

  ‘Perhaps, but they may have a dozen hide-outs and rendezvous as almost all the numbers in the damn thing were different.’

  ‘Sssh, what’s that?’ Wells caught Gregory’s arm and pressed it. The faint low note of a motor engine came clearly to them in the silence. They glanced upwards, half-expecting the approach of a plane, but a moment later realised that a car had entered the west gate of the park a quarter of a mile away. Then they caught the gleam of its headlights flickering through the trees.

  It was a long powerful sports model with two men in its bucket seats and it did not stop at the front of the house but went straight round to the garage.

  Gregory and Wells slipped through the fringe of trees in order to get a view of the new arrivals but by the time they had reached a point from which they could see the garage the headlights of the car had been switched off.

  A torch glimmered in the darkness. By it they could see that the big doors of the garage had been closed upon the car; then the light moved towards them and there was the sound of approaching footsteps. They shrank back into the blacker shadows. The two men passed, the nearest dragging one of his feet a little, and crossed the lawn to the shed that housed Lord Gavin’s plane.

  A bright light inside the hangar was switched on. In its glare the two figures, in airman’s kit, stood out clearly, one nearly a head taller than the other.

  ‘The Limper,’ Gregory whispered. ‘How I’d like to get my hands on the brute’s throat. He might have blinded me with that bag of pepper he threw in my face at Dives.’