by John Creasey
‘Hallo, hallo! How’s tricks?’
‘Tricky,’ said Mike promptly. ‘Wally, be serious for a moment, and meet—’ He hesitated. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Jimmy Mayo,’ said the boy, eyeing Wally eagerly.
‘Jimmy Mayo, who’s been invaluable,’ said Mike. ‘He’ll tell you of a little man we want followed. Just trail him home, if you can, and let G.C. have a report.’
‘Ah,’ said Wally, looking down at Jimmy. ‘A budding detective, eh? Catch ’em young; that’s the spirit.’ He saw Jimmy’s chest swell, and Mike blessed Wally for his quick appreciation of the position. ‘All right, Mike.’
‘I’ll be seeing you,’ said Mike, and he left the tall man and Jimmy together.
Crossing Hungerford Bridge, he noticed two heavily-built men approaching him. It was not until they had nearly reached him that he was aware of danger.
He backed quickly away.
He avoided a swinging blow to his face, but could not avoid the arms of the other man, which suddenly gripped his knees, and lifted him, until he felt himself on a level with the parapet. A vicious punch to the stomach winded him, making him gasp.
And then he went over the parapet, and into the river below.
5
Cold water
Cold and clammy, the river closed about Mike Erroll. He had his eyes shut tightly, felt the pressure at his chest growing insupportable.
Then his head broke the surface.
The water was smooth, and he could see the warehouses on the one side and the Embankment on the other, with the tall buildings beyond, and the white edifice of Shell House almost on a level with him. By then he was swimming more strongly. He watched for any craft in mid-river, but saw none, although on the Surrey side there were barges and tug-boats moored by the dozen. All at once he heard a staccato note, and knew that a motor-boat was somewhere near.
He saw it after a few seconds.
It was approaching him from the Middlesex bank, two men in uniform standing in it, one with a rope in his hands. Soon the rope hissed through the air, falling with a dull plop close beside him, only to be carried out of his reach.
A second effort was successful.
By the time the boat was moored to a landing stage by Hungerford Bridge he was feeling very much better. The two policemen had said nothing, but one of them turned towards him.
‘Don’t you think we’ve got enough to do without fishing for people like you?’
Mike stared. ‘“People like me?”’
‘Well, sir,’ said the policeman, ‘throwing yourself over the bridge like that isn’t done by accident. A day in a cell and a visit to the Court in the morning will make you realise you can’t waste public time and money.’
Mike spoke more crisply.
‘You’re quite right, officer, that was no accident. But a word with Superintendent Miller, of the Yard, will reassure you, I fancy.’
The name of Superintendent Miller caused a certain flutter, and Mike was driven direct to Scotland Yard. After he had waited ten minutes inside the courtyard, the policeman who had admonished him came hurrying out, full of apologies, and a few moments later Mike was back in the police car and on his way to Brook Street.
Although little more than forty minutes had passed from the time he had been pushed over the parapet to the moment when he opened the door of his flat and went through, it seemed like several hours.
The flat was empty, and he went into the bathroom, running the hot water while he stripped off his sodden clothes. He soaked himself for twenty minutes, then dressed, lit a cigarette, and considered the position.
He was still considering it when footsteps sounded by the front door, which opened to admit first Mark, then Loftus. Mike did not stand up, but waved a hand.
‘Just when I was thinking of calling Craigie,’ he said. ‘I wondered if you two were all right. I—’ he broke off, frowning, for just as earlier there had been something odd about Bill Loftus, he now recognised the same thing in his cousin.
Loftus asked sharply:
‘Did you follow him?’
‘Not all the way, I—’
‘Why the devil can’t you do a job when you get one?’ demanded Mark Errol.
A sharp retort was on Mike’s tongue; he hardly knew why he held it back, speaking instead with commendable mildness.
‘I got as far as Waterloo, and he went to have a hair-cut. I sent for Wally, and left the job to him—our little man wouldn’t know Wally. Of course, I could have kept on him myself and thus made sure he would walk London all day rather than go anywhere that mattered, but the Wally angle seemed best.’
Loftus looked relieved.
‘And rightly, Mike. What happened?’
Mike said gently: ‘I left Wally and Jimmy at Waterloo—’
‘Jimmy who?’
‘Mayo.’ Mike hid a smile, explained, and saw Loftus’s lips relax in a quick smile of amusement. But even that was not as appreciative as might be expected, and Mike’s curiosity was working overtime. But he continued in a vein of facetiousness.
‘Then I walked back over Hungerford Bridge, and had a swim.’
‘Don’t drag it out, Mike. This is serious.’
‘Oh,’ said Mike slowly. So there was something wrong. He finished his story fully but without trimmings.
‘Bad show,’ said Mark, clearly regretting his earlier ill-temper. ‘You’re sure you’re all right?’
‘I’m as right as a trivet, but what the devil is getting you fellows down? There’s a pall of gloom which you could cut with a knife.’
‘Easy,’ said Loftus, playing with a button of his coat, ‘Mark will tell you. It doesn’t concern this business, although it arises from it.’ He stepped to the window and looked out, talking while his back was towards the others.
‘You didn’t get a thorough look at the brace who attacked you?’
‘No,’ said Mike regretfully.
‘Had you seen either of them before?’
‘No, they weren’t on the bridge the first time. Y’know,’ went on Mike, ‘it’s a bit of a puzzle. Supposing I’d gone by cab from Waterloo? After all, the bridge was the last route I was likely to take, wasn’t it? I don’t really know why I decided to walk back again, unless it was that I thought I’d be able to sort things out a bit better when walking. I—what’s bitten you?’ he added abruptly, for Loftus snapped his fingers sharply, then stepped to the telephone.
He was dialling a number as Mike spoke.
‘We’re dumb,’ Loftus said sharply. ‘You were known because you were followed. In other words, you and the little man were followed. Presumably there were more than two men, and each route from the station was guarded. That suggests’—there was more than a hint of excitement in Loftus’s voice as he went on—‘considerable numbers, my hearties! A young army must have been collected about Waterloo, and you were covered all the way. They wanted to kill you, obviously.’
‘Why?’ said Mike helplessly. ‘Damn it, the man got away.’
‘They still wanted you,’ said Loftus. ‘Why you in particular doesn’t much matter, but we’ll find out.’
‘I’m quite interested in the reason,’ said Mike mildly.
Loftus grinned; he looked more normal than at any time since entering the flat, but he did not go on. Instead:
‘Scotland Yard—Superintendent Miller, please, wanted by Bill Loftus.’ He waited, an eyebrow raised, until a distorted sound came from the telephone. ‘Miller?’ he asked. ‘Good man. This is urgent—will you put a call out for Wally Davidson? Not to be brought in, but to be traced and followed . . . yes, our Wally . . . and if you let me know the moment there’s any news I’ll be extremely grateful . . . many thanks.’
He rang off, and swung round to the others.
‘Mike was closely watched, and was therefore seen at Waterloo. Probably Wally was also seen, and may well have been followed. So might the infant, but our watchful gentlemen might possibly give him the go-by.’
‘Good God! If they get Wally we’re in the cart.’
‘It won’t be so good,’ said Loftus. Despite the risks inherent in the situation there was a compressed excitement in him which the others knew well. ‘But what is good is the evidence of numbers. There is a strong branch of the organisation here, an organisation, if my guess is right, which is concentrating on developing isolationism in the States. I think I’ll get over and see Craigie again. As soon as there’s anything you can do, I’ll call you.’ He smiled briefly, then went out, moving very quickly and with an unusual quietness.
The door closed.
Mike looked at Mark, and said:
‘What is the matter with him?’
There was a short pause; then Mark told his cousin about Diana’s death. As he did so, the expression on Mike Errol’s face altered, and grew bleak.
It was a bleakness which was to come to every member of Department Z who, in the next few days, heard what had happened to Diana Woodward.
Meanwhile, Loftus saw Craigie, and the two men discussed every possible angle of the situation. Craigie telephoned Miller twice, but there was no report of Davidson. That did not necessarily mean that Wally had disappeared, but it did imply that his chase had led him outside London. At Loftus’s request, the Yard widened the scope of the inquiries, but as the minutes ticked slowly by and no news came in, Loftus grew more and more worried.
The two men had finished their discussion, and Loftus was just getting to his feet, when a slight clicking sound was followed by a green light at the mantelshelf. Only men who knew Craigie well were aware of the existence of the concealed press-button outside which operated this light. Loftus looked towards the door as it opened, and started with surprise as Hershall entered.
He nodded to Loftus abruptly, and looked at Craigie.
‘I’ve found you both at the same time, have I?’ He sat on the arm of Loftus’s chair, pushing him down when he started to get up. ‘Sit down, Loftus, and don’t fidget.’ He paused, lighting a cheroot and tossing the match into the fireplace, looking into the bright embers intently. The muscles of his cheeks moved a little, his brows were drawn together. Neither Craigie nor Loftus had seen the Prime Minister in such a mood. ‘Well you’d better have it. Certain quarters suggest that our Secret Service sabotaged that plane. Diana Woodward was recognised. She was to have left the plane at an intermediate stop but the bomb exploded too soon. That’s the tale and some Americans will believe it.’
Loftus sat stunned as Hershall went on:
‘Loftus, I’ve had reason to be grateful to you in the past, and to the whole Department. But you have never, I think, faced so urgent and imperative a problem. What is being threatened is the whole fabric of Anglo-American friendship. I don’t need to say more. You can do exactly what you like; I’ve told Craigie that. If it is possible to stop the trouble in this country, do so. Let nothing get in your way, whatever it may be.’
Hershall stopped, looked from one man to the other, nodded and stepped to the door. As it slid at Craigie’s touch on the switch, Hershall looked over his shoulder.
‘You’ll do what you can, I know. Keep me informed.’
Then he went out.
There was no doubting the grim seriousness of the Prime Minister’s words. Loftus lit a cigarette, and flicked the match towards the fireplace, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair as he said:
‘Well, that’s that. You’ll send a general call out to everyone?’
‘It’s gone,’ said Craigie. ‘It’s a good time as far as that is concerned, we’ve more than fifty men in the country. They should all be ready by now.’
‘Good,’ said Loftus. He drew his chair nearer to Craigie’s desk, and the two men went still further into the preparations for the fight against what was, so far, little more than a shadow.
It was an hour or so later before Loftus left Craigie’s office and made his way homewards. As he turned into Brook Street, he saw a lad cycling towards him, and although this lad was not in uniform, he reminded Loftus vividly of the boy who had delivered Diana’s cable. He tightened his lips as he walked on, but the cyclist came wobbling towards him. Loftus paid him closer attention.
The lad fell off his machine.
Loftus muttered an exclamation and hurried forward. The cyclist, stretched out on the ground, made no attempt to get up. He was deathly pale, and there was a rough bandage about his right hand, a nasty graze at his right temple. There was a wealth of appeal in his eyes as Loftus bent over him.
Loftus said:
‘This won’t do, Jimmy Mayo! What have you been doing; getting into trouble?’
‘You—you got—got to hurry,’ said Jimmy very softly; then he fainted.
6
Regular fellow
Loftus lifted the cycle away, then bent down and raised the boy in his arms. Several people came up, including a constable. Loftus turned towards him.
‘Tell Dr. Little that I’d like to see him at once, will you?’
The constable, who knew Loftus well, and had learned that what Loftus said was as good as an order from Superintendent Miller, saluted and hurried along Brook Street, at the far end of which lived Dr. Little, who had at one time been on the active list of Craigie’s men. Little arrived at Loftus’s flat very soon after Loftus had rested the lad on a bed in the spare room, and went to his task gently and dexterously. Once or twice he grunted under his breath. Loftus meanwhile prepared hot water, a sponge, and a towel. He carried them into the bedroom as Little glanced up.
‘Damned shame, damned shame. What unmentionable brutes would shoot a child of this age?’
‘Shoot?’ exclaimed Loftus.
‘Yes,’ said Little. ‘Two bullets, high in the shoulder. Don’t know how the little chap managed to get here. That bag, please—’ He began to cleanse the wounds.
‘How soon can you get him round?’ asked Loftus.
‘I don’t know,’ said Little gruffly. ‘How urgent is it?’
‘It couldn’t be more important.’
‘H’m. He’ll come round soon, I think, and I’ll give him a sleeping draught when you’ve finished. Make it easy for him.’
As he finished speaking, Jimmy opened his eyes. The boy’s gaze roved about the room, then settled on Loftus. His lips worked, and he spoke in a barely audible voice.
‘Hurry—hurry—your friend—they took him away. I—I came back to report.’
‘Stout fellow,’ said Loftus. ‘Where did they take him?’
‘Got—got it written down,’ said Jimmy. ‘Back—back of the c-card—’
He moved his left hand weakly towards his coat pocket. Loftus slid out the tattered wallet, and the lad nodded. Loftus ran through the papers, mostly foreign stamps stuck on sadly-soiled envelopes, then came across a new-looking white card. He read Mike Errol’s address and then, on the reverse side, a scrawled note in pencil:
18 Galloway Road,
Barnes.
Loftus looked down on the drawn face with a smile.
‘You’re a regular fellow, and we won’t forget this. All right, Doc. Jimmy, you’ll have a longish sleep and when you wake up I’d like a full report. Meanwhile. I’ll look after the others without losing time.’
‘O-kay,’ said Jimmy, slowly and wearily. He closed his eyes.
Loftus stepped to the telephone and dialled three numbers, giving precisely the same instructions to the three men who answered him, men to whom he introduced himself by the reverse spelling of his name.
Then Mike and Mark arrived.
Loftus paused with a hand on the receiver.
‘Mark, use the other ’phone and call Grey, Dunster and Lettinson—they’re to go, armed, to within a hundred yards of 18 Galloway Road, Barnes, and wait for me.’
Mike’s eyes glistened, while his cousin started immediately for the second telephone. Loftus and Mark dialled numbers in quick succession, giving instructions. When they had finished, Loftus went towards the bedroom
.
‘There’ll be ten waiting for us, and thirteen, with us, to make the unlucky number. You’ve got guns?’
Mike and Mark nodded.
Loftus took two Webley automatics from a drawer in the wardrobe, then hurried after the others, who were waiting for him by the main door of the flat. His Jaguar was at a garage not far away, and as they neared the garage they met Oundle.
‘Hail,’ said Oundle, sepulchrally but without enthusiasm. ‘Gordon sent me on a wild goose chase, Bill, and I didn’t like it.’
‘You’ll like where I’m going to take you, I hope,’ said Loftus.
They were driving over Barnes Common when he had finished bringing them up to date.
The others made little comment, although Mike Errol in particular was thinking of Jimmy Mayo. Loftus, looking straight ahead of him, opened out into a burst of speed which made the Common seem like a suburban back garden, and pulled up with a squealing of brakes opposite a policeman, who gazed at him with reproach.
‘Good evening, constable,’ said Loftus crisply. ‘Galloway Road, please.’
The policeman stared. ‘Galloway Road?’
‘That’s right,’ said Loftus. ‘Is it strange?’
‘Well, sir.’ A thick forefinger rubbed a flattened nose. ‘I wouldn’t say that. But you’re the seventh gentleman to ask me in the past twenty minutes; after the third, I started to count.’
Loftus’s eyes creased at the corners.
‘Well, well! There are going to be ructions there I think, constable.’ Loftus showed his Special Branch card, and the man’s eyes widened; he saluted, gave the necessary directions, and asked if there was anything more he could do.
‘Generally speaking, no,’ said Loftus. ‘But you can keep your eyes open and if there seems to be any need for help, weigh in.’ He spoke more to make the policeman happy than because he thought there could be any call on his services.
Galloway Road turned out to be one of those strange dead ends, dotted with cottages here and large houses there, without apparent design or reason.
Immediately past No. 18, the road narrowed to a track barely wide enough for the car. The track was rough, and sloped sharply. Beyond it, and the high fence on either side, Loftus could see the silver surface of the Thames, and the trees on the far side of the river.
