by Paul Somers
There was tremendous excitement about it in Fleet Street next day. All the other papers had reported our offer, since it was unquestionably news—but in much smaller type. Privately, comment was cynical, both about our motives and our prospects. Most of the people I talked to thought we’d merely lose £30,000. Some thought we should have offered the money only in direct exchange for Landon—a condition which I gathered we’d refrained from making because it would almost certainly be rejected by the kidnappers as too hazardous for them. There was some interesting speculation about how the kidnappers would get in touch with us, if they decided to do so. There was no criticism of the offer in the other papers, on the principle that dog doesn’t eat dog. Also, it was assumed that we hadn’t made the decision without taking top-level advice, and that tacitly the Cabinet was probably behind us. There was even a school of thought that believed the whole thing had been concerted between the Record and the police and that we were actually helping to lay a trap for the kidnappers.
Apart from the feverish discussion, the day passed quietly, with no further news. The next day, Saturday, I was off duty, and I drove down into Surrey to lunch with my people. I got back to Chancery Lane about six. There was nothing fresh about the case in the evening papers. I thought I’d call up Mollie and see what she was doing and I was just going to pick up the telephone when it rang. It was the office. Parker was on the Desk. He said, “Hugh!—could you come in and see the Editor right away?”
I said, “The Editor!” This was Saturday evening. The Editor never went near the office on a Saturday unless a war was about to break out. I said, “What’s happened?”—though I think I knew before he told me.
“We’ve had a letter,” Parker said.
Chapter Five
It took me less than five minutes to reach the office. As always, on a Saturday evening, the place was as silent as a morgue. Except for Sergeant Stubbins, the commissionaire on duty at the front box, Parker was the only man in the building. I joined him in the News Room. The Editor, he told me, was on his way round—he’d been waiting at his flat until he’d heard that the office had been able to contact me.
I said, “When did the letter come?”
“By the afternoon post. I’m not sure it’s from the kidnappers—the address was in ordinary written capitals, not the usual stuck-on stuff—but I think it must be. Blair went off in a taxi with it to the Editor right away—and there’s obviously something up.”
We discussed it for a moment or two. Then there was a brisk step in the corridor and the Editor put his head in. “Ah, you’re here, Curtis!” he said. “Come along, will you?” I followed him to his room at the end of the passage. He switched on the lights and an electric wall fire, and motioned me to a chair.
The Editor’s name was Grant—John Grant. He was a very tall, lanky man, with a lean, aquiline face and a lantern jaw. His age was about forty-five. He wasn’t actually a professional newspaperman at all—not by training. He’d come to the Record via economic journalism, of all things—helped, perhaps, by the fact that he’d been a Colonel in Military Intelligence during the war, and knew the chairman well, and had a lot of high-up friends. But if he was only an amateur he was an enthusiastic and gifted one, and he gave the impression of enjoying every minute in his editorial chair. He was original in his views, unorthodox in his ways, and slightly sardonic in his manner. He’d come in for the usual professional criticism from time to time because he hadn’t started as the office-boy and worked his way up, but of course it didn’t worry him. By any reckoning he was quite a personality. I’d had more to do with him than a reporter usually has with an editor, as a result of a couple of sensational stories I’d covered in Sussex and Cornwall, and I’d always got on with him excellently.
“Well,” he said, with a faint grin, “I expect you’ve a pretty good idea what this is all about?”
“I gather we’ve had a letter,” I said.
“We have, indeed.… Take a look at it.” He tossed a sheet of paper across the desk, with an envelope attached to it. The letter was the usual gummed-up concoction on typing paper, only this time there was much more of it. Somebody had been having a real session. It said:
WE ACCEPT YOUR OFFER. HERE ARE YOUR INSTRUCTIONS. PAYMENT IS TO BE MADE IN USED FIVE-POUND NOTES. THEY ARE TO BE BROUGHT TO THE RENDEZVOUS BY A RELIABLE REPORTER OF THE DAILY RECORD. HE IS TO BE ACCOMPANIED BY LANDON’ S DAUGHTER, CLARA WAUGH. SINCE SHE IS THE ONLY PERSON WHO CAN BE TRUSTED TO PUT HER FATHER’S SAFETY ABOVE EVERYTHING ELSE, WE REGARD HER PRESENCE AS THE ONLY ADEQUATE GUARANTEE THAT NO TRICKS WILL BE ATTEMPTED, AND IT IS A CONDITION OF THE SETTLEMENT. NO ONE ELSE IS TO COME. AT THE FIRST SIGN OF ANY DOUBLE-DEALING, LANDON WILL BE KILLED AND WE SHALL DISAPPEAR FOR GOOD. THE RENDEZVOUS IS A BROKEN NOTICE BOARD AT THE FOOT OF MAM TOR PRECIPICE NEAR CASTLETON IN DERBYSHIRE. IT MUST NOT BE DISCLOSED TO ANYONE EXCEPT YOUR REPORTER AND MRS. WAUGH. THE TIME APPOINTED FOR THE MEETING IS 8 P. M. ON MONDAY NEXT MARCH 21ST. YOUR REPORTER AND MRS. WAUGH MUST ARRIVE EXACTLY ON TIME. THEY ARE TO BRING THE MONEY IN A STRONG SUITCASE WITH A GOOD HANDLE. ON ARRIVAL THEY ARE TO SIGNAL THEIR PRESENCE BY SHINING A TORCH. THEY WILL RECEIVE ALL OTHER NECESSARY INSTRUCTIONS AT THE TIME. LANDON WILL BE RELEASED WITHIN APPROXIMATELY TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OF THE TRANSFER OF THE MONEY. THIS WILL GIVE US TIME TO MAKE SURE THE NOTES ARE NOT MARKED. IF YOU ACCEPT THESE CONDITIONS, LET THE WORD AGREE APPEAR IN THE FIRST PARAGRAPH OF YOUR LEADING ARTICLE ON MONDAY MORNING. OTHERWISE THIS WILL BE OUR LAST COMMUNICATION AND THE LAST ANYONE WILL HEAR OF LANDON. HIS LIFE IS IN YOUR KEEPING.
I looked at the postmark on the envelope. It had been posted overnight at Saffron Walden, a town in Essex about forty miles from London. The kidnappers were evidently continuing to get around. The envelope was addressed to The Editor, Daily Record, Fleet Street, London, in carefully-formed capitals written with a ball-point pen. In the corner, also in large capitals, were the words PERSONAL AND URGENT.
One way and another, the message struck me as a pretty spine-chilling document, as well as a highly melodramatic one. There were a dozen comments and questions in my mind, but only one that couldn’t wait till later.
I said, “As you’ve asked me here, I assume you’d like me to take the money up.”
“I’d like you to, yes,” Grant said. “You’ve done most of the work on the Landon story up to now—and on past form you should be able to take care of yourself. But this isn’t an ordinary assignment, and you’re absolutely free to turn it down. I’ll want your pledge of silence if you do, that’s all.” He paused for a moment. “I don’t really think there should be any serious danger, or I wouldn’t suggest your going—but it’s bound to be a bit nerve-racking. Apart from anything else, you’ll be carrying thirty thousand pounds in notes with you, which is enough to scare anyone! Then again, that letter speaks of a ‘meeting’—it seems you’ll actually be coming face to face with the kidnappers, not just taking the money and leaving it in an appointed place. It’ll be quite dark by eight, of course—there’s no moon on Monday, I’ve checked that—and presumably the kidnappers will keep well covered up, but if anything happened so that you were in a position to describe them.…” He broke off. “Well, they’re obviously pretty desperate characters.… If you’d like a little time to think it over, I’ll understand.”
“I don’t think I’ll need much time,” I said, “but there is one thing I’d like to clear up.… There’s talk in the Street that we’re working in with the authorities and simply helping to set a trap. Is that true?”
“It’s absolutely untrue. For the time being, we’re not interested in catching the kidnappers. Our sole aim is to get Landon back—and we’re working entirely on our own.”
“Won’t the police have to know about this letter?”
“They’ll know of its existence, but they won’t know its contents. All that part of the thing has been cleared at a high level. We’re being given a free hand to get Landon back if we can—and we shall keep strictly to the conditions.”
I wa
s silent for a moment. Then I said, “The kidnappers can’t know that, of course. I’m astonished they seem so ready to trust us.”
“Well, they’ve insured themselves as far as they can by insisting that Landon’s daughter is there too.… A very astute move, that!”
“They can’t be certain she’s going to be there, until the actual meeting.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure, Curtis. One of them may already be keeping a close eye on her.”
I rather doubted that—but it was possible.
“Well,” I said, “I’m quite ready to take the job on, of course—in fact, I wouldn’t miss it for anything.… What about Clara Waugh, though? Have you asked her?”
“Not yet, but I telephoned her and she’s coming along here—she should be arriving any minute.… I don’t think there’s the slightest doubt she’ll go with you—I had a letter from her only this morning, thanking us for putting up the money and saying how desperately anxious she was about her father.… Well, now, is there anything else on your mind before she comes?”
There were several things. I said, “I suppose the kidnappers didn’t want to use newspaper capitals for the address this time in case the post office people spotted it and passed it straight on to the police?”
“I imagine that’s it,” Grant agreed.
“I’m rather surprised they didn’t just drop it in here by hand.”
“They couldn’t have known for certain that the police hadn’t set a watch on the office.”
“That’s true, of course.…”
“And they certainly couldn’t have risked telephoning all that stuff.… I think they probably chose the safest way.”
I returned to the letter. “I don’t quite get this business of waiting twenty-four hours to make sure the notes aren’t marked. Would they be able to tell, if it was done skilfully?”
“I’d have said not … I thought that was a bit strange myself.”
“What’s the point, anyway? After all, if we wanted to we could keep a record of the serial numbers.”
“Exactly.”
“Are we going to?”
“In fact, no. Time’s so short, it could only be done by putting a large staff on the job on Monday morning, and there could be a leak. ‘The ears of the enemy …’ you know. In any case, they’re bound to wait till they think the heat’s off before they dispose of the notes, so there’s not much point.”
“They’re taking a big risk for a long-delayed return, aren’t they?”
“Well, the whole thing’s obviously a tremendous gamble.”
I nodded. “There’s another rather odd thing here—why all this emphasis on a strong suitcase with a good handle?”
“Six thousand fivers will be quite a load,” Grant said.
“Yes, but we hardly need telling that.… Still, I suppose they know what they’re up to. They certainly give the impression of having everything completely taped.”
“Including our leader column!” Grant said, with a grin. “I agree—they seem most efficient. Intelligent and imaginative, too.… Not at all the types you’d associate with crude violence.”
I was still looking at the letter. “The rendezvous isn’t so far away from Sheffield, where the first message was posted. I wonder if there’s any significance in that?”
“It’s an interesting point,” Grant said. “By the way, do you know the place?—Mam Tor?”
“No—I once spent a day at Castleton, but I don’t remember Mam Tor. It must be quite easy to find, or they’d have given more detailed directions.… What do you suggest I do—drive up on Monday?”
“I should think so, and fairly late. You won’t want to be hanging about up there with all that money. In any case we shan’t be able to get the notes till the banks open, not without a lot of fuss—and we don’t want more of that than we can help.”
I said, “Of course, we can’t hope to keep this a secret—the fact that a ransom letter has arrived, I mean. It’s been guessed at in the office—to-morrow it’ll be all over Fleet Street.”
“I realise that, but as long as the details aren’t known I don’t think it matters. I’m taking certain steps.…”
At that moment the phone rang. Grant picked up the receiver and I heard Sergeant Stubbins’s voice—the commissionaire always had to work the switchboard on Saturday nights. I thought he was probably announcing Clara Waugh’s arrival, but he wasn’t. Grant said, “Proude?—all right, put him through,” and waited, frowning. There was a click and another voice spoke. Grant’s frown deepened. Suddenly he gestured to me across the desk to listen in on the extension. I picked the phone up quietly. A man’s voice, very low-pitched and rather muffled, said, “… clearly understood we meant every word we wrote about no tricks. No one is to know anything of the arrangements—not even Clara Waugh’s fiancé. I repeat—Landon’s life is in your hands. That’s all.” There was another click, and the line went dead. There’d been no time to try and trace the call, even if we’d wanted to.
Grant hung up, looking a bit shaken. “Well, that brings it home, I must say.…” He reached for a cigarette, and lit it, and threw the packet across to me. “It’s the first time I’ve had a kidnapper actually threatening murder in my ear.…”
“Did he say he was Sir Maurice Proude?”
“Yes, he’s got a nerve, hasn’t he? Sense of humour, too, of an impudent kind.… What did you make of the voice?”
“It sounded very much like the one Clara Waugh described—the man who made the bogus call to her. Deep, low and muffled. I should think he covered the mouthpiece with something.… Could we check if it was a local call?”
Grant gave a nod, and himself called the commissionaire. He got his answer almost at once. The call had originated in the London dialling area. That was all that could be discovered about it.
Suddenly I had another thought—a rather disturbing one. I said, “I wonder how he knew you were at the office—on a Saturday night?”
Grant stared at me. “Apart from my wife,” he said slowly, “the only person who knew I was coming here was—Clara Waugh.”
“Perhaps he rang you at home first?”
“I’ll check.…” Grant asked for a line and called his flat. At once I could tell by his tone that someone had rung there. After a moment he said, “All right, darling, thanks. No, I shan’t be late. ’Bye!” He hung up. “The same man called—said he was the Duty Officer at the Ministry of Supply! My wife suggested he should ring here.… Never mind, it was worth trying.”
Almost at once the phone went again. This time it was Clara, and Stubbins was told to bring her up right away. Grant shook hands with her as she came in, and said he understood that she and I had met, and she said we had and gave me a pale smile. Then Grant found her a comfortable chair and told her we’d had the letter and gave it to her to read.
She read it through carefully and slowly, her face very tense. She looked as though she couldn’t quite believe it, which wasn’t surprising. At the end, she said in a voice she couldn’t keep entirely steady, “Do you really think they’ll let him go?”
“I think there’s quite a good chance,” Grant said. “They must realise they haven’t a hope of getting any more money out of anyone after this. They can’t want to harm your father—it would only make things a lot worse for them if they were ever caught. So I really don’t see why they shouldn’t set him free.”
“Oh, if only they would …!”
“The thing is, Mrs. Waugh, are you willing to go with Mr. Curtis here to take the money? That’s what I wanted to see you about.”
“But of course. I’d do anything—anything..… I’m entirely in your hands.”
“Not entirely, I’m afraid. Up to a point, you’ll be in their hands. The last thing I want to do is frighten you, but I think you ought to realise just what you’ll be doing. If everything goes smoothly, I don’t think there’ll be any danger. But you’ll be meeting unscrupulous men at night in what sounds a very desolate spot and you’ll
have thirty thousand pounds with you. It could be dangerous.”
Clara seemed scarcely to be listening. “Nothing could be worse than waiting and not knowing.… I’ll take any risk if it’ll help.”
“Good!” Grant said. “I thought you would.… Now there’s one other point. A few minutes before you came in, one of the kidnappers telephoned.…”
Clara stared at him. “Rang up here!”
“Yes.… It was a bit of a shock for us, too, wasn’t it, Curtis? We think it was the same man who gave you the bogus message about the hospital. Anyway, he rang to underline the warning he gives in that letter—that no one must be told where you’re going on Monday.”
Clara nodded. “I realise that. I certainly shan’t tell anyone.”
“He said not even your fiancé. He made a particular point of that.”
“Oh … I see!” She looked troubled. “I suppose I probably would have told him.…”
“It would be better not to, Mrs. Waugh.”
“But he wouldn’t breathe a word.…”
“I’m quite sure he wouldn’t—I’m sure he’d be discretion itself. But your father’s life is at stake, and it’s better not to take the slightest risk. You’ll forgive me, won’t you …?”
“Of course,” she said. “I understand. But it won’t be easy not to tell him. We’ve been together practically the whole time since Father’s disappearance—I’ve relied on him absolutely. I’m afraid he’ll be terribly hurt when he finds out.…”
