Contraband

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘By mid-day he’ll know that I’ve left him. Don’t you t’ink that may make him uneasy. He knew I liked you. That, I think, was why he did not speak again of the business at Pegwell Bay all through today. He mentioned at lunch, too, that he had sent up to London for some sapphires that I might like to see; as though such things could possibly compensate me for your murder! It was horrible! But he is clever. When he finds I’ve left him he may think I cared about you far more than I said and have gone to the police to tell them how you died.’

  ‘That’s true; and if he does think that he’ll hop over to France in his plane so as to be out of the way until he’s certain you haven’t split on him. Then the police will miss him, after all; which would be a tragedy. I wish to God you’d change your mind and come clean with the people at the Yard. We wouldn’t have to make a moonlight flitting if you did and, with the information you could give them, the police would be able to fill in their gaps. Then they could raid Quex Park right away. If we acted now there would just be time for them to get Gavin in his bed before he finds out you’ve cut adrift from him.’

  ‘It’s no good, Gregory. I will not give evidence against Gavin.’

  ‘All right, my dear, in that case we must get out at once. The police don’t know you’re here so we’ll have a free run to Heston where we can pick up the plane. Before I leave I’ll telephone the Yard that if they don’t pinch Gavin within the next two hours they’ll lose him. I need not say what makes me believe that; or where I got my information.’

  ‘But you should rest. You’re worn out—mon pauvre petit—and you’ve been through a time incredible. How can you possibly talk of just walking out of the house and flying the Channel when you must be so desperately tired.’

  He shrugged and put a hand up to his bandages again. ‘I’m all right. Slept all through the day at the Granville Hotel, Ramsgate. Bit sore where the ropes cut into me when they pulled us out of those blasted sands—that’s all. It’s been worse for you than for me, really. You had no sleep last night and a gruelling day worrying your lovely head whether I was alive or dead. But you can sleep in the plane once we’re in it.’

  ‘You are a very wonderful man, Gregory—the most wonderful man. I did not think that there was anybody in the world quite as wonderful as you. I love you.’

  He bent above her. ‘The gods are being kind to me in my old age. Most beautiful women are either good, stupid or vicious. And you are the marvellous exception. Lovely as a goddess, clever as an Athenian and a bad hat like myself, yet one who still has decent feelings. I’m going to kiss the lips off you once we land in France.’

  The temptation to set about it now was strong within him, but time was precious: it was already after five o’clock. He had to get his car, take Sabine down to Heston in it, and see that his plane was fuelled for a cross-Channel flight. He did not intend to telephone Scotland Yard until the last minute before leaving. It was doubtful if Superintendent Marrowfat would be able to reach Birchington before Gavin Fortescue was up but he could telephone the local police with orders to prevent him leaving the Park until the Yard men arrived.

  Gregory bent down and pulled a couple of suitcases from under his bed. ‘Pack for me, will you?’ he said. ‘Anything you can lay your hands on that you think will prove most useful. Rudd sleeps down in the basement so it would only waste time for me to go and dig him out of bed.’

  She stood up at once and began to collect things from his dressing-table.

  ‘I’ll go round and get the car,’ he told her. ‘It’s garaged in Elvaston Mews, about ten minutes’ walk away, but I’ll be back in a quarter of an hour. Bless you.’

  ‘Bless you,’ she echoed, as he smiled over his shoulder, and his tall, slouching figure disappeared through the door.

  She heard him let himself out and his footsteps echo along the pavement of the deserted street in the silent hour that preceded dawn. A greyish light already filtered sluggishly through the chinks in the window curtains of the bedroom. She pressed the electric switch, flooding out those signs of approaching day; then she set to work rummaging through Gregory’s drawers.

  In less than five minutes she had the two cases crammed to capacity with the things she thought would prove of the greatest use to him and carried them out to the sitting-room where she put them all ready, just behind the door, with the little dressing-case which was all she had been able to bring with her.

  As she set them down she suddenly grew tense. She had caught the sound of cautious footsteps on the stairs. Gregory could not have got back so soon she felt sure.

  A second later a key clicked in the lock. The door swung open and she saw the Limper standing there with two other men behind him.

  Before she had time to scream he stepped into the room and had her covered with his automatic.

  ‘So we were right,’ he said. ‘The wife of the garage man in Birchington only overheard you say the word “Gloucester” when you knocked him up, but, as I had some of Sallust’s letters from when we searched him on the marshes, I had a hunch you’d said Gloucester Road, and we’d find you here.’

  Sabine stared at him with wide distended eyes; then backed slowly away before him. ‘What d’you want?’ she whispered, tonelessly.

  ‘You,’ the Limper smiled. ‘The Big Chief’s a light sleeper. He heard the crunching of your feet on the gravel, looked out of his window, and saw you making your get-away from Quex a few hours ago. It wasn’t difficult for him to find out from which garage in Birchington you got a car. He telephoned me at Ash Level to come up and get you.’

  ‘Get me,’ breathed Sabine, her face gone ashen.

  ‘That’s it,’ said the Limper slowly. ‘He was afraid that because we bumped off your boy friend you might have ratted on us and told tales to the police. We can’t afford to have that sort of thing happening, you know, and it’s lucky for you that you came here instead of going to Scotland Yard. Why did you come here, though—as Sallust is dead?’

  ‘I—I thought I might get some of his papers, find out just how much he knew, which would have been useful to us,’ lied Sabine.

  ‘Who let you in? I got in with the keys we took off him the night before last—but you couldn’t have. Who let you in here?’

  ‘His servant Rudd. He doesn’t know yet that his master’s dead and he knows me because I’ve been here once before. I said Sallust had telephoned me to come but he might not be here for an hour or two. Then I sent Rudd off to bed.’

  ‘I see; so that’s the way of it, but if you had this bright idea of collecting Sallust’s papers why didn’t you tell the Chief what you meant to do?’

  Sabine suddenly straightened herself. ‘I am answerable to him and not to you.’

  ‘Got the papers?’

  ‘I’d just finished searching the place: there is nothing here that matters. He evidently keeps any notes he has somewhere else.’

  ‘Right then. We’ll be moving. I don’t believe your story and I doubt if the Chief will either; but he’s mighty anxious to see you again and put you through it. Come on; get downstairs to the car.’

  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 T
errible 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 fruitshops 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.1. 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 sea-coast,’ 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 redhanded, 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 o
n 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 poker-faced 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 now, 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.’