He strode into the middle of the shed, blinking in the gloomy interior. From beneath the half-dismembered body of an aged trailer, a round-faced man, in the inevitable garb of all mechanics, except that his overalls had obviously never been washed, heaved himself up on to his short legs, wiping his blackened hands with an old towel. For a moment he looked Vivian guardedly up and down.
`Oui ?' he nodded his head questioningly, then his face suddenly transformed, as his eyes became fixed upon the two drums.
'Plis, you 'ave come for the refills, m'sieur?' and as Vivian nodded, he beckoned him hurriedly into a small back office, where two identical drums stood in readiness.
While Vivian filled his pipe, and rested himself by the door, the little man chattered cheerily about the harbour, the weather, and the cost of living. Occasionally he lapsed into voluble French, and he had the greatest difficulty in following the trend of his conversation.
As he watched, the Frenchman produced a greasy instrument, like a giant can-opener, and proceeded to screw it to the bottom flange of the first drum. Feeling Vivian's interested gaze upon him, he glanced up, his small eyes thoughtful.
`I think you 'ad better go to your boat now, my friend. You will 'ave to make the two journeys this time, yes?'
Vivian lifted the new drum, smiling. `Okay, T'll go quietly.' And with the other man's eyes following him through the gates, he sauntered back to the harbour wall.
Of Cooper there was no sign, so he returned to the garage for the second drum. The mechanic was waiting for him in the office, puffing impatiently at an evil-smelling cigar.
He nodded briefly as Vivian left, and was obviously eager to continue with his investigation, and no doubt in a hurry to parcel up the pound notes for collection.
Vivian was halfway down the mews, when he realized, with irritation, that he had left his pipe behind in the office.
A good opportunity to put the wind up the garrulous mechanic, he decided, with an inward smile. With a quick glance to ascertain that the whole area was deserted, but for a mangy dog which sniffed hungrily at
an overturned garbage bucket, he slid quietly into the shed, his rubber deck shoes making no sound, and reaching the office door undetected, he paused, searching for a gap in the torn sacking across its windowless entrance. It would be interesting to see what amount of money was worth a seven-hundred-pound travel ticket.
Holding his breath, he gently eased himself against the lower part of the door, so that the excited beat of his heart seemed deafening, and then with one finger, he slowly began to raise the bottom edge of the sacking.
At first he could see nothing but the stooping back of the other man's overalls, but then, as he turned towards the table, he saw the contents of the two drums strewn on. the narrow bench opposite the door. His breath choked in his throat, It had been money all right, but not the sort of cash required by a legitimate business. From one end of the bench to the other American dollar bills of every possible denomination were sorted neatly into little, fat packets. It was obvious that both the drums must have been completely filled, for the pile, even to Vivian's inexperienced eye, represented a fortune, running into many thousands of dollars, and on the Continent, where any mortal thing could be purchased for American money, it represented power untold.
Vivian drew back, confused and startled. Knowingly or innocently, whichever way he chose to interpret his actions, he was mixed up in something a little more disquieting than dodging petty restrictions. For a moment he felt a wild fury sweep over him, and in that instant it seemed the only course of action open to him was to burst into the office, and beat the truth out of the occupant, and then do the same for Cooper. The eventual realization that he alone was the smuggler, as far as the law was concerned, acted like a douche of cold water to his reeling brain. By God, Lang must have known about this. Or did he? Vivian backed cautiously to the gates, his mind working furiously. Suppose he too was being taken in by his Danish employer, and was just being used as a tool? Whatever the. outcome, it was obvious that right at that moment he had to get back to England, and get the truth out of him. Grimly he clambered down on to the Seafox's deck, noting as he did so, the wet imprint of a shoe by the wheelhouse door.
Cooper had returned, sitting back on one of the cushioned benches, his legs stuck out, a general air of well-being surrounding him. His dark eyes were faintly mocking, and Vivian noticed with disgust that he was wearing silk ankle socks.
`Everything went perfectly, I see,' he commented at length. `Not a hitch in our little drama.' He waved apologetically with his pale hands. `Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot, you've been used to drama.'
`And what the hell is all that supposed to mean?' asked Vivian shortly.
Perhaps it would be a good idea to beat him up after all, and involuntarily he took a step forward.
A brief look of alarm flitted across the dark eyes, as Cooper hastened to assure him:
`Oh, nothing really. It's just that I've always had the highest respect and envy for you naval chaps. I '
But Vivian, relieved of the strain of the trip, and aware that he had no choice but to go through with whatever scheme was required to get the truth about the organization, had had enough.
`You're a bloody, little liar,' he announced calmly. `So for God's sake, let's just leave it at that.'
Cooper sat taut and watchful, like a trapped animal, his hands screwing up the corner of his immaculate blazer.
`Furthermore, we're going straight back to London, and not to Torquay,' he added, after a pause. `I've been paid for the trip, and now I've got some other business to attend to, so what d'you think of that?'
`Gee, you must do as you think, Captain, it'll suit me better too, and goddamit, I'm sorry I riled you, honest.' His mouth hung open pleadingly.
`Forget it,' snapped Vivian. `But just keep out of my way in future!'
r As he turned angrily to the chart rack, Cooper's eyes seemed to expand, until they filled his whole face, and his loose lips quivered with the combined passion of hatred and humiliation.
Vivian would not have felt quite so confident of the future, had he turned to see the livid, sadistic face of his passenger.
With a short bow-wave creaming away from her sharp stem, the Seafox ploughed steadily into the busy approaches of the Thames Estuary, which, in the fine haze, shone like a dappled, pewter tray. With a practised eye Vivian noted, almost casually, the approaching coasters, and colliers, and the passing bulk of a Swedish timber-ship. Seafox rolled slightly in the criss-crossing wakes, but held her course, undeterred by the heavy shapes which surged past her.
All the wheelhouse windows were wide open to catch the last breath of the sea breeze, but even so, the air was heavy and thick, like the forerunner of a thunderstorm, and Vivian repeatedly wiped his damp face with the back of his wrist, as he stood poised and watchful at the wheel.
In his mind he had already decided to have it out with Lang, and find out what exactly was going on, and how exactly he was implicated.
He eased the spokes of the wheel deftly, as a waterlogged mass of timber bobbed menacingly past. He cursed softly as he resumed his course, wondering why a country such as Britain should allow her one real waterway to become such an attraction for filth and neglect.
A small, dark shape detached itself from behind a distant collier, and with a mounting wash, bore down towards him. As the fast launch drew near, he could clearly discern the uniformed figures, and the blue flag. Her Majesty's Customs.
He turned his head, but kept his keen eyes fixed on the other craft. `Cooper!' he shouted, above the drone of the engines, `Customs coming!'
Cooper scrambled up beside him, blinking in the hard gleam from the water. He bared his teeth, and nervously picked at his tie.
`Hope it doesn't mess things up,' he complained. `I mean, I told everyone we were going back to Torquay.'
`Mess things up? What the hell difference does it make?'
The other man didn't answer, so Vivian turned his
attention to the Customs boat, which had suddenly turned gracefully to run parallel with him, making the water between them boil and plunge in trapped torment.
Vivian eased the twin throttles, as the gap slowly narrowed. Closer and closer, while her crew lowered the rope fenders with a well-practised efficiency, and a stocky
figure swung out of the wheelhouse in readiness for boarding. The name Pursuit glinted dully on her royal blue bows.
With hardly a bump the two hulls touched, and as the boarding officer leapt easily aboard, the Customs boat swung away, and followed purposefully astern.
Vivian waved cheerfully, his inside peculiarly uneasy. `Come in, sorry I can't leave the wheel, I've no crew,' he explained.
The other man stepped down, nodding approvingly.
`A very nice little boat you've got here, sir,' he smiled. `When we saw your "Q:' flag, I thought to myself, here's a good chance to see what she's like inside.' His eye fell on Cooper, who stood framed in the saloon door.
`This is Mr. Cooper, the boat's under charter to him.'
`Yes, very well, sir, then I'll go and see what he's brought back from Calais, eh?'
The two men went below, their conversation drowned by the engines. The Customs officer was soon back at his side, his broad face as cheerful as before. Vivian was unable to control himself any longer.
'Here, how did you know we had me from Calais?' he demanded.
'Did I say Calais, then?' the other man's face was blank. `I must have guessed that, mustn't I? After all, most of the yachts seen, to call in there on the way home.'
He handed back the boat's papers, and waved his cap from the whe elhouse door.
'Sorry I can't stop, but we're very busy these days, y'know.' He watched as his launch crept alongside. `Glad you had a good trip. Might see you again some time.' And with a wave he was gone.
The Pursuit had sighted another yacht making for the estuary, flying the yellow flag, and made off to investigate.
Vivian snorted impatiently. What had become of his old, devil-may-care attitude? All these fanciful imaginings were beginning to be a little ridiculous, he decided. Damn the Customs, they always made him feel like that anyway. And with a further contemptuous glance at Cooper, who was busy filing his nails, he flung his full concentration into piloting his boat into the Thames fairway.
For the purpose of easy access to the West End of London, he eventually managed to berth his boat off Chelsea pier, and as he stood in the boat's tiny dinghy, making sure that the mooring lines to the buoy were quite secure, he wrinkled his nose disapprovingly at the smell of mud, petrol, and coal dust, and reached up for Cooper's suitcases.
He felt a childish surge of pleasure at the sight of two large oil smears on the white trousers.
`Here, steady on! Don't drop those cases in the water!'
`Well, I'm in a hurry,' barked Vivian. `I must get to your office before it closes. I want to see Felix Lang.'
They rowed to the pier in silence, and after a word with the piermaster, they eventually captured the attention of a prowling taxi, and made for Regent Street.
As Vivian had feared, the lobby of the travel bureau was deserted when they arrived, and only one girl was at the back of the counter. She looked up questioningly as the illassorted pair hurried in.
`I'm sorry, Mr. Cooper. Mr. Lang's gone out,' she said quickly, looking at the little man with ill-disguised dislike.
Cooper shrugged. `Well that does it, you'll have to wait till tomorrow, I guess.'
Vivian leaned across the counter, to where the girl had resumed making up her face in readiness for leaving.
'Er, look, miss,' he started. 'Where can I find him? Could you let me have his private 'phone number?'
She stopped her preparations, and studied him, liking what she saw.
`Well, if it's all that urgent,' she smiled, `I can tell you, he's gone round to Mr. Mason's flat for a drink.'
`I don't think I know Mr. Mason,' said Vivian carefully. `Have you got that number here?'
`Oh yes, Mr. Mason's a co-director,' said the girl airily, relieved that she was being allowed to go home at last. She scribbled on a piece of paper. `Here, this is it. Help yourself.' She nodded to a telephone.
Vivian picked up the instrument, and turned to speak to Cooper. He had apparently vanished. Shrugging, he dialled the number, and impatiently tapped his fingers, wondering what he would say when Lang answered.
`Lang speaking. Who's that?' The voice was brisk.
'Hallo, Felix, it's Phillip,' he paused, and there was the sound of a door shutting.
`What the devil! Where are you speaking from? Is everything all right?'
`I'm in your office. I came back to London so that we could have a little chat,' he let the words sink in. `I'm a bit worried about something.'
`Well, don't discuss it now, old boy, come straight round here and have a drink. Seven, Stafford Court, off Curzon Street.' He paused, and when he spoke again, he sounded anxious. `But everything did go off all right, didn't it?'
`Yes. Too damn well for my liking, Felix. That's why I want that little talk.'
`Well, all right, hurry on round.'
Nodding to the girl, Vivian hurried out of the building, feeling in his pocket for a taxi fare. Lang was rattled all right. Well, we shall see, he mused.
As he waited for the chromium-plated lift in the expensive hall of Stafford Court, one of the most exclusive blocks of flats in the West End, he tried again to fit Lang into the picture. How big was this thing, and how long had it been going on?
The lift glided to the second floor, and he stepped into a semicircular hallway, tastefully decorated, and containing two doors. He glanced at the one bearing the card, A. Mason, m.c., and pressed the bell.
Immediately, the door was opened by a tall, gaunt man in a white jacket and dark trousers, whose hair was cropped to a savage shortness, and his eyebrows were raised questioningly.
Before he could say anything however, he was brushed quickly aside, and Lang stood in his place.
`All right, Morrie, go and see to the drinks,' and as the strange servant moved softly away, Lang jerked his head.
'In here, Philip,' and he opened another door into a small anteroom. He shut the door carefully, and turned, his face unsmiling, his eyes thoughtful.
'Well,' he said abruptly. 'What's all this about trouble?' Vivian dug his hands into his jacket pockets, feeling the familiar touch of his tobacco pouch.
'That cargo,' he began, and Lang stiffened. 'It wasn't quite what we expected. In fact, Felix, it was rather a lot of American money. Did you know about it?' He waited, breathing hard.
Lang shrugged, and seemed to go limp. He spread his small hands helplessly.
'How the he'll did you find that out? I told you not to ask any questions.'
Vivian felt himself trembling. ' So you did damn well know? How do you think I feel about it, eh?' His voice was harsh.
Lang walked to the window, and stood looking down at the traffic below. When he answered, his voice was tired and dull,
'I didn't want you to know a thing, because I like you too well. You know that. The fact is, I'm in this so deep, I can't help myself.'
`You seemed to be enjoying it, the last time we met,' said Vivian bitterly, 'or had you forgotten?'
`That's just it, I am enjoying myself, don't you see?' the voice was imploring. `I've got all I ever wanted,' he spread his hands helplessly. `It's just that I'm not free, oh, it's hopeless, I'll never be able to explain it all to you.'
`Well, I'm getting out of it, whatever it is, Felix. And I'm getting out right now.'
Lang laughed, it was not a nice sound.
`You're right, of course.' Then, as if he had come to a sudden decision: `Yes, you go now. I'll fix it somehow.'
'But what is going on, Felix? What can't you cope with any more?'
He was being cautious now, but he was curious, and anxious too. He had never seen Lang so dispirited before.
The other
man looked at him intently.
'I had an idea I might be able to get out of this business altogether, that's why I need your help, as I've never needed it before.' He grinned ruefully, 'I had the idea we might be able to glide out of this together, Philip.'
As Vivian didn't answer, he shrugged again. 'But I'll not manage it on my own, that's for sure.'
'Look, Felix, we've both been in pretty tough spots before, what in hell's name have you been up to that's so difficult now, and why didn't you level with me in the first place? You know I'm not likely to blow my top!'
Lang glanced quickly at the door, and unwittingly lowered his voice.
'As far as everyone else is concerned, you know no more than what I told you before you did that trip, right?'
Vivian nodded, frowning.
`Well, then, just come in and have a drink or two, and play the innocent, and afterwards we'll creep over to my place, and I'll give you the whole story.'
He looked anxiously at Vivian's taut face. `What d'you say?'
`Fair enough. You got my boat for me, Felix, and I've known you long enough to realize that you don't go around imagining things. All the same, the dollars, why did it have to be dollars? And what the hell do you do with all that cash?'
There was a slight sound in the passage, and Lang shook his head gently. `Later, old boy,' he whispered.
The door was flung open, and Vivian goggled at the girl who stood poised in the entrance. As he took in the short, auburn hair, the moist, almost mocking mouth, and the rich curves of her slim figure, barely concealed by a vivid, off-the-shoulder summer frock, she pouted petulantly, and glided to Lang's side, slipping a scarlet-tipped hand through his arm.
'Felix, darling,' her voice was a soft purr. `I was getting worried about you. When are you coming back?'
Her eyes, however, never left Vivian's face. Lang grinned, and looked more relaxed.
`This is my old sparring-partner, Philip Vivian, you know. I've told you all about him.'
She moved closer to Vivian, offering her hand.
`You didn't tell me he was quite so beautiful, darling.' Vivian flushed, and over her shoulder he saw Lang wink broadly.
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