by John Creasey
Loftus, rifle under his arm and breathing heavily, gasped:
‘Some got through, you said?’
‘Yes.’
‘We’ll make it inside,’ said Loftus. ‘It’s all right out here now.’
He did not feel any particular relief at that, for he was afraid of what the mob would do inside the Embassy. He went through, seeing three or four little groups of scuffling people. Department men were busy, and he heard snapped orders from a police inspector in uniform. He saw a group of uniformed men come towards him and his party, and he shouted:
‘Loftus—Loftus!’
Then from the stairs, where two groups were fighting desperately, came a stentorian shout:
‘Let them through!’
Loftus looked up to see a big, burly man, flushed with the heat of the fight. This was Superintendent Miller, liaison officer between the Yard and the Department. Miller’s sandy hair was dishevelled and he had lost his hat, but he obviously believed that he was on top of the situation.
Loftus reached him.
‘Hoppermann?’ he said.
‘In the basement.’
‘We’d better get there,’ said Loftus.
He had to shout to make his voice heard even three yards away from him. His party turned, fighting their way towards the bottom of the staircase and then along the passage running by it. Miller followed them, with Loftus. He shouted directions, and they passed through the domestic quarters of the Embassy. There were more soldiers; clearly the military had concentrated on getting the inside of the Embassy safe. There were men lying in odd positions, across tables, on chairs, on the floor. There were occasional mêlées, but for the most part the rooms near the entrance to the basement were clear.
Miller said, heavily:
‘It’s the old air-raid shelter, where most of the records are kept. I got Hoppermann down there as soon as possible.’
Soon they reached the entrance to the basement, and a policeman in uniform saluted.
‘All clear here, sir.’
‘Good,’ said Miller. ‘We’ll go down.’
The staircase was lighted by electricity. Two or three soldiers lined it, with fixed bayonets. As they neared the basement itself, a stronger party of soldiers stopped them, and Miller had some difficulty in getting past. But the door leading to the main shelter was opened at last, and Loftus and his men stepped through.
The atmosphere was cool and calm. The closed door kept out most of the sound from above, and little groups of men were standing and chatting. Loftus, looking about him, saw Hoppermann talking to a tall, grey-haired man, very familiar to most people because of the frequency with which his photographs appeared in the Press. It was Stillson, the United States Ambassador.
By them was the stocky Goss.
It was the first time Loftus had seen him since the affair at the Strand office when he had first learned that Hoppermann was alive, and he eyed the bodyguard curiously. Goss had a hand in his pocket; there was little doubt that he carried a gun. He glared at Loftus and the others suspiciously, and muttered something under his breath.
Hoppermann looked up.
He smiled suddenly when he saw and recognised Loftus, and Loftus was aware of a quick admiration for a man who behaved so coolly and naturally, although the mob outside had been crying for his blood.
‘Well, Loftus,’ he drawled. ‘On the job again, I see. I was just talking of you.’ He turned to Stillson, and said easily: ‘This is Loftus, who warned me it wasn’t safe for me to go about.’
Stillson said gravely:
‘I have heard of you, Mr. Loftus. You were very right.’
Loftus said: ‘I hope this will be the end of it, sir.’
‘The guy’s kiddin’,’ said Goss sharply, from Hoppermann’s side. ‘It’s all a put-up job, I tell you.’
Stillson eyed the bodyguard coldly. Loftus shrugged.
‘You stick to your ideas, Goss, don’t you?’
‘They’re the right ones,’ snapped Goss.
Hoppermann put a hand on the man’s shoulder.
‘That’s quite enough, Goss. I’ve explained him to you both, I think.’
‘Yes,’ said Loftus, still looking at Goss. ‘Oh, well.’ He paused, then turned towards Hoppermann. ‘I know how this was arranged, and I can get in touch with most of the agitators. When that’s done, I think we will have a story which will calm down public opinion in the States, gentlemen.’
‘I hope that is true, Mr. Loftus,’ said Stillson.
‘It’s going to look bad,’ said Hoppermann. ‘I won’t forgive myself easily for this, Loftus. Since I’ve talked to Stillson and some of the others, I know it’s wholly right that we should support you and N.A.T.O. I won’t need that tour after all,’ he added with a faint smile. ‘But this is bad, I guess.’
‘The effect at home can’t be exaggerated,’ said Stillson. ‘I’ve tried, since I came here, to bring about a closer co-operation of the two countries, but—’
He paused, as if overcome by bitterness.
Hoppermann said: ‘If I hadn’t come—’
Stillson waved a hand. He was tall and pale-faced, spoke with a soft voice which had a persuasive attractiveness.
‘It was as well, in some ways, you brought it to a head.’
Loftus turned to Hoppermann. ‘They were stirred up to this, I think, and, as I’ve said, I know the man who’s done the stirring. Once we’ve got him we’ll be able to straighten things out.’
‘I surely hope you’re right,’ said Hoppermann.
Someone called Stillson aside, and Hoppermann and Loftus stood for a moment without speaking.
Then Hoppermann began to talk, desultorily; and after a little more than half-an-hour Miller, who had gone out, returned. He was smiling a little as he approached Stillson, who had rejoined Hoppermann and Loftus.
‘It’s all clear, sir. There’ll be no more trouble.’
Stillson looked relieved. ‘That’s fine. You lost no time when you did get working.’
‘We did our best, sir.’
Hoppermann lit a cigarette.
‘Well, that’s the end of it,’ he said. ‘Am I still confined to barracks, Loftus?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Loftus slowly. ‘They’ve shot their bolt with this. Even if they kill you,’ he added slowly, ‘the effect couldn’t be much worse.’
Hoppermann frowned. ‘That’s not saying much for me. Loftus, you’ve never believed that I meant what I said, have you? You’ve never thought me wholly sincere?’
Loftus smiled a little, not with humour.
‘I wouldn’t say that. I’ve been out of sympathy with you, but no more than that. Are you leaving the Embassy?’
‘I’ll go to my hotel,’ said Hoppermann sharply. ‘God damn it, Loftus, I won’t be forced to hide any longer. I’ve brought this about. You think it, Stillson thinks it, everyone in authority is of the same opinion. All right, then, I’ll face what’s coming. I wanted to help my country, I had no other thought in mind. Twice before we helped England, and were robbed because of it. I came to try to make sure this was one time when America wasn’t fooled. Well, I’ll go out and make sure.’
He pushed his way towards the door leading to the stairs. Goss went with him, casting a single vicious glance at Loftus.
Mike Errol said: ‘He’s taken that badly, Bill.’
‘You meant him to, didn’t you?’ asked Mark.
‘Don’t be an idiot,’ said Loftus. ‘Why should I? All right, we’ll get after him. There’s one thing we mustn’t forget,’ he added. ‘We haven’t got Lewis. And by following Hoppermann, we might get him. We’ll have four men after him all the time, two concentrating on Hoppermann, two on Goss. Errols, Dunster and Grey, you can make a start. ’Phone the flat when you can, and I’ll have you relieved. I’m going to see Craigie.’
Of the gravity of the effect of the riot on the American people there had been no doubt, but as the hours passed, while Hoppermann and Goss went on their fact-
finding mission, always closely followed, reports came in by radio and cable, and it grew clear that a large section of the American Press was swinging over to the Isolationist viewpoint.
Arrests of ‘A’ subscribers to the Journal up and down the country went on unceasingly, but there was no trace of Lewis, and they had to get Lewis before the propaganda could be defeated. Each hour was vital, and each hour dragged; for Christine Weston as well as for Loftus and Oundle.
Finally it was an ordinary messenger boy, early on the Sunday morning, who brought a message; not to Loftus but to Christine. It said:
‘Your father has been seriously injured. If you wish to see him again, I advise you to come at once to the Western Hotel, Southampton. Goss.’
21
How long to live
The messenger boy was standing outside, whistling under his breath. Christine stood reading the message for a second time, and Loftus and Oundle read it over her shoulder. In the following silence Loftus turned and strode to the open front door.
His voice sounded abruptly.
‘How did you get this?’
‘Office give it to me,’ said the boy promptly.
Loftus tightened his lips.
‘How long are they open on Sunday mornings?’
For the first time the messenger boy wilted, shuffling his feet.
‘Only fer ’arf an hour, it ain’t no use ’phoning them now, they’re closed. You ought ter be grateful for me coming on a Sunday morning, that’s what.’
‘I ought to tan your hide,’ said Loftus sharply. ‘You had this late yesterday afternoon, didn’t you?’
Any embryo hope of lying effectively clearly disappeared from the boy’s mind. He admitted that it was true, that he had been in a hurry to go to the pictures and had forgotten the last message. It had been telephoned, and he knew it was a long-distance one because he had heard the clerk behind the counter talking about it.
The advantage of using the Quick Service, thought Loftus as he dismissed the youngster and returned to the room, was that there was no way of checking up on the dispatch of the message; a telegram would have been easily traced.
‘Is that true, Bill? Was it handed in yesterday?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Loftus. ‘I’m going to ’phone Craigie, while you and Ned get ready for a journey.’
He picked up the telephone and dialled Craigie’s number.
‘’Morning, Gordon. Where was Hoppermann last reported?’
‘At Portsmouth, yesterday morning.’
‘H’m. Who was with him?’
‘Mike and Mark, Dunster and Grey.’
Loftus didn’t answer directly, and Craigie wondered what was on his mind. Suddenly Loftus spoke.
‘We’ve had a message, supposedly from Goss, that Hoppermann’s badly injured at the Western Hotel, Southampton. I’d say the message was sent at about five-thirty yesterday afternoon.’
Craigie’s voice sharpened.
‘I’ve heard nothing.’
‘The Errols and the others would have been in touch if there’d been any trouble,’ said Loftus. ‘Any outward trouble, that is. But it’s odd they haven’t reported since yesterday morning. Will you try to get them at the Western? I’m driving down straight away, with Ned and Christine, and I’ll ’phone again en route. But in case of accidents we’d better have some more of the lads down there.’
‘I’ll look after it, Bill. Go easy.’
Loftus replaced the receiver, and turning, found that Christine and Oundle were ready and waiting.
They talked little in the early stages of the journey.
At Virginia Water they stopped and, from the hotel, Loftus telephoned Craigie again. He was not surprised when Craigie confirmed that Goss and Hoppermann were at the Western Hotel, and had reached there the previous evening. The Errols, Dunster and Grey were also at the hotel, but had nothing out of the ordinary to report.
‘Oh, well,’ said Loftus. ‘We’ll see what it’s all about in a few hours.’
He rang off, climbed back into the car, and passed on the information. Christine said slowly:
‘So the message was sent to trap you.’
‘It looks that way,’ said Loftus.
‘Do you think it was Goss who sent the message?’
Loftus pursed his lips.
‘Not necessarily. He struck me as being an objectionable little bounder, but as loyal as they’re made. I think he means what he says most of the time. But Lewis knows that he’s working for your father, and would use his name in the message all right.’
‘But how do you know that Lewis is at the back of this?’ she demanded. ‘How do you know he doesn’t think he’s done enough? He might have given the whole thing up.’
Loftus smiled.
‘I don’t know, I’ve just a feeling. But someone must have sent that message.’ He leaned forward and spoke into Oundle’s ear. ‘If we have to imitate a snail, old man, make it a snail at running pace.’
Oundle grimaced, but the needle moved slowly upwards to the seventy mark on the straight stretches, and an hour later Oundle pulled the car up outside the Western Hotel.
‘Get us some coffee, will you?’ Loftus said to a waiter in the reception foyer; then looked up and saw Mike Errol.
Mike approached.
‘Well, Bill? Craigie said you’d probably arrive.’
‘And we have,’ said Loftus unnecessarily. ‘How are things?’
‘Too damned quiet,’ said Mike. ‘Hoppermann hasn’t stirred from his room, they’re having all their meals sent in, and Goss only looks out occasionally.’
‘Are they sharing the room?’
‘They’ve a two-room suite with a bath.’
‘H’m. It looks as if they came prepared for a long stay,’ said Loftus. ‘Nothing else at all?’
‘Positively nothing at all,’ said Mike. ‘It’s too darned quite altogether.’
‘Have you seen Hoppermann since he came here?’
‘No, not once.’
‘He was all right when he arrived?’
‘We-ell,’ said Mike, glancing at Christine, who made a motion with her hand as if telling him to say exactly what he thought. ‘He looked a bit pale and washed out, but he was walking on his own two legs, and didn’t need Goss’s support. They’ve had a pretty good run around since Friday morning. I’d like to know where they haven’t been in the south and southwest,’ he added.
‘No attempt to molest them?’
‘None at all.’
Loftus shrugged. ‘Well, we’ll see what there is to see in a few minutes.’
It had seemed a long drive, and they were glad of the coffee, which was brought quickly. It was nearly half-past twelve, and they ordered lunch for one-thirty. Dunster arrived downstairs just before they left the lounge; he had been watching the landing near Hoppermann’s suite, but Grey had now taken over. Dunster looked tired, but was cheerful; there was nothing to report, he said.
Then he spoke more grimly.
‘There’s going to be real trouble with the States, Bill. The Sunday papers have made the splash of the year about that riot at the American Embassy.’
‘Yes, there’ll be trouble all right if we don’t do something. Come on, Christine, we’ll go up. Mike, stay outside Hoppermann’s window. Dunster, watch this door. Ned, the back door.’ He spoke crisply, resting a hand on Christine’s elbow. ‘We’ll go up,’ he repeated, ‘and see how things are.’
‘He can’t be hurt,’ said Christine helplessly. ‘Ought you to go there? Aren’t you afraid that someone will be waiting for you in the passage or one of the other rooms?’
‘It could be,’ said Loftus, ‘but I don’t think so.’
He knew the number of Hoppermann’s suite from Mike Errol, and when they reached it he whispered to Christine to tap. She did so, and after a pause there came Goss’s nasal voice:
‘Who’s there?’
‘Mrs. Weston,’ called Christine clearly.
‘Stay put,’ sai
d Goss, and they heard the door being unlocked. It opened a fraction of an inch, and Goss held a hand to his coat pocket, doubtless about a gun. Christine stepped forward, and Loftus pushed the door open. Goss swore, but he did not use the gun which he snatched from his pocket.
He closed the door behind them, and locked it.
‘I figured you’d come,’ he said tartly. ‘Keep it quiet, he’s in a bad way.’ He led the way to a door communicating with the second room of the suite, and as he opened it slowly Loftus and Christine looked through.
They saw the bed, facing the door, and the figure lying in it. His face was recognisable, although his head was swathed in bandages. He was very pale, and his eyes were closed.
Loftus said: ‘Goss, you’ve made a mistake.’
There was suddenly tension in the room, and Goss stepped back a pace. The two men stood by the open door, with the man on the bed in sight but, it seemed, not seeing them. Christine stood just inside the second room, wide-eyed.
‘You and Hoppermann have been followed since you left the Embassy,’ Loftus went on slowly. ‘Nothing happened to Hoppermann outside. Only you could have injured him.’
Goss paled. His hands were a little unsteady, but he was wise enough not to raise his gun.
‘It’s a lie! He was shot through the window, the night we reached this dump!’ he snarled. ‘I didn’t make a row, I didn’t tell anyone, I wanted to give him a break. I’m a doctor, see, I’m qualified, I took care of him.’
Suddenly there was a shout from outside the window, and Loftus recognised Mike’s voice, high-pitched in warning.
‘Look out, Bill, look out!’
Loftus swung round, sweeping Christine to one side with his left arm. She lost her balance as he meant she should. Goss went flat on his stomach, while something crashed through the glass of the window, a small, round object which hit the foot of the bed.
The patient did not stir.
Loftus moved again. He saw the vague shape of a man outside the window, a man standing on a balcony. He thought it was Lewis, but he could not be sure. He reached the round object, picked it up, and carried it to the window.
It was Lewis!
He was on the balcony which connected the room they were in with the room next door, and he held a gun in his hand. It was the ‘first’ Lewis, tall, good-looking, but with his lips twisted and his eyes vicious in their hatred.
