by John Creasey
Twenty minutes later the limousine stopped outside the house of Octavius Doom, in the Rue de Mallet.
Diana and the uniformed driver helped Hyman to the front door. They entered the house, and the chauffeur returned, driving in the direction of the Place de la Concorde. Oundle told his driver to follow the limousine. Loftus and Thornton left their cab and walked slowly up and down the tree-lined avenue.
In half an hour the big car returned, and this time the passenger was de Casila. There was no expression on his face as he went into the house, the door closing firmly behind him. Again the limousine was driven off; Loftus emerging from the shadows of a nearby house as Oundle’s cab pulled up.
‘Sorry, Ned, but you’ve got to keep the chauffeur in sight. I’m going in.’
‘Don’t be a...’ began Oundle, and then stopped. ‘Oh, well. A quick death!’
‘I’ve got Spats to look after me,’ said Loftus with a ghost of a grin. ‘I’ll be seeing you.’
He had already arranged a plan of campaign with Thornton, who was searching for a telephone booth. Moving back into the shadows, he approached Number 18 by a back gate.
Only the hum of the traffic reached his ears as he neared the house. There were no lights shining from the windows, which were all heavily shuttered. Loftus examined the shutters of one window at the side of the house and, with the help of a small screwdriver, opened them in something under three minutes. In another five he was able to open the window.
As he stepped inside the house, his feet met a thick carpet, deadening all sound. He closed the shutters and window behind him, and the faint light that had filtered in from the street lamps was cut out. The darkness of the room closed about him. For some seconds he stood still, breathing very softly.
Confident that no alarm had been raised, he took a small electric torch from his pocket. Slowly he moved it, so that he could see the furniture ahead of him. A small table was less than a foot away. Had he moved without the light he must have kicked against it.
Circling the table, he moved cautiously towards the door, and eased it open. The diffused light from the hall greeted him, but he heard nothing. Quietly, he stepped outside.
Opposite him were three doors, all closed. Immediately in front of the front door was a staircase, wider at the bottom than at the top, and covered with a thick pile carpet which seemed to run throughout the ground floor. On the landing above a light glowed.
Loftus tried each of the three doors in turn.
All of them opened at a touch: and all the rooms were in darkness. Satisfied that there was no one on the ground floor, apart from the servants—Loftus had noticed the long dark passage running behind the staircase, which obviously led to the domestic quarters—he started to creep upstairs.
His foot was on the second step when a door opened above him, and closed sharply. Loftus darted back, and slipped along the passage, flattening himself against the wall. Footsteps, deadened by the carpet, came nearer. They started down the stairs. Loftus held his breath, cursing the possibility of discovery so early in his quest.
Through the wrought-iron balustrade, he saw the woman.
He was reminded on the instant of Davidson’s words. ‘Met a woman—middle-aged—beauty’. For this woman had a mature loveliness. Could she, he wondered, be the woman who had visited Doom at the Café Mada?
She was wearing a long black gown with a red rose in her corsage. A fur cape was hanging from her shoulders. Without a glance to right or left, she went to the front door, opened it, and left the house, her footsteps echoing along the path outside.
Loftus moved from his hiding place, and forced himself to put her out of his mind as he made for the stairs again. This time there was no interruption, but as he reached the landing he heard the sound of voices.
Three doors led from each side of a wide corridor, and Loftus crept towards them. His right hand was in his pocket, holding an automatic: if the need arose he would not hesitate to use it. The sound of voices drew nearer. They were coming from the second door on his right. He tiptoed towards it.
So intent was he on trying to hear what the man on the other side of the door was saying that he did not hear the faint click! as the first door opened. But he heard the squeak of the hinges, and swung round, his gun out of his pocket in a flash.
Standing in the doorway of the room behind him, was Diana, her eyes wide open in dismay and alarm.
10
Discoveries
Loftus nearly gave himself away. He had forgotten that in his present guise he was no longer Bill Loftus, but Herr Wilhelm Loeb, of Berlin, with a passport and identity papers which would cover him against the most stringent investigations.
It was the lack of recognition in Diana’s eyes that reminded him. His expression tightened, and he raised his gun a fraction of an inch.
‘Stop! The silenz!’ His whispered order held a guttural note, for like Belling he could speak German fluently.
Diana obeyed. With that threatening automatic not three yards from her she could do nothing else. Loftus stepped forward.
‘What—do you want?’ Her voice was steady, if pitched in a low key.
‘It madders nodding. Return to der room.’
She hesitated, and his gun moved again. She turned, with a slight shrug of her shoulders.
Loftus followed her.
From a pair of crumpled stockings and a petticoat tumbled over a chair, he guessed that it was her room, for that night at least. The divan bed, against one wall, looked luxurious in its silk covering.
‘Stop,’ Loftus said. ‘I shall not hurt you, fräulein. Lie on der bed, pliss.’
She obeyed, watching him closely, but there was no sign of recognition in her eyes. Loftus took a handkerchief from his pocket.
‘I must put dis in your mouth, fräulein.’
She shrugged resignedly. Loftus moved quickly, hating what he had to do, but she offered no resistance as he pushed the handkerchief into her mouth. From his right coat pocket he took a length of thin cord, hesitated, then turned to the stockings on the chair. One he tied tightly about her mouth, to keep the handkerchief into position; the other he tied about her wrists.
‘Dat iss goot.’ He nodded, and turned away, but he felt dissatisfied. At the back of his mind was the knowledge that he was doing his job half-heartedly. Turning back, he lifted her bodily from the bed, and carried her to a chair. In less than a minute he had tied her to it, so that she could not move.
For the first time he looked about the room.
Moving with the stiffness to be expected in a Prussian, he examined a door that appeared to communicate with the room next to Diana’s. As he bent his head towards the keyhole he heard the murmur of voices, cast in a lower key than before. The door was bolted, on the inside. He slid the bolt back slowly and without noise, then turned the key in the lock.
A moment later he had the door open a fraction of an inch.
At first he could see little but a white glare of light. But he heard the voices clearly now. He recognised that of de Casila.
‘Eet ees so, Señor, I...’
‘You are making too many mistakes, Juan.’
‘But Señor...’.
‘How long have I allowed you to argue?’
There was menace in the second voice, the voice of a man who knew exactly what he wanted and made a habit of getting it. The English was perfect, with the faintly superior accent of the Englishman of breeding talking to a foreigner, and it was tinged with a faint contempt.
Loftus eased the door open, so that a gap of an inch allowed him to see more clearly into the room, as de Casila said unsteadily:
‘I ‘ave done all I can, Señor. No man could do more. ‘Ave I not obtain Hyman?’
‘Yes, you’ve done that,’ admitted the Englishman whom Loftus could not yet see. ‘But the house at Sèvres is no longer of any use to us. Doom is hurt. And one man escaped in the aeroplane.’
‘Eet vas ze fools who vork for me,’ said de Casila. �
�I ‘ave ze ozzair man.’
‘Who will say nothing.’
‘Who ‘as try to make heem talk?’
‘You make a mistake, Juan. There are some men who will not talk, no matter what the pressure. This prisoner is one of them. It worries me. But I will see him myself.’
‘Leave heem vit’ me, for one haff ze hour, Señor...’ De Casila was standing in front of the other, whose feet were just visible, the ankles crossed—‘and I vill make heem talk. I vill repay for the meestakes. Those I could not help, Señor, you must believe me!’
There was a note of desperation in his words, as if he were in desperate fear of the Englishman. Loftus felt elated—here at last was tangible evidence of someone higher in the counsel of the Ring than de Casila.
‘This time, I will believe you. But you must make sure in future.’
Loftus caught a glimpse of the speaker’s fingers, white and slim-looking. It was tantalizing not to be able to widen the door gap, but he decided that he would not risk drawing attention to himself.
He listened intently for every word spoken by de Casila and the unknown man; and for any noise behind him.
The Englishman went on: ‘You can try with the prisoner, Juan. But Hyman is now most important, watch him very carefully. If he should escape...’
‘Ze poliss, vill zey look for heem?’
‘No, it has all been arranged.’ The inflection in the man’s voice was still sardonic. ‘Fortunately, Miss Woodward has quite a reputation, and he will hardly be expected back for a few days. I have allowed it to be suggested that he has gone on a brief holiday with her.’
‘Zat ees good,’ approved de Casila.
‘Thank you,’ drawled the other. ‘How long will Hyman be unconscious?’
‘T’ree—four hours. No more.’
‘Get him away in good time, then. I will come to Lakka tomorrow, to talk with him. And now, the next man. We already have Arbor, Mainwaring and Hyman. We need two others, Juan, before the more delicate part of your work is finished. Tult, of Berlin...’
‘Dios!’
‘Not too difficult, I think,’ said the Englishman suavely. Loftus stopped an exclamation of surprise just in time. Tult, one of the best known financial figures in the world, had been the finance operator of the Nazi Government. ‘Don’t look worried, Juan. Tult is travelling by road to Prague, where he is to take part in the latest Czech-German talks.’ A low, mirthless laugh passed the Englishman’s lips. ‘Happily for us, Tult does not like to travel by air. You will find the route, and arrange for him to be taken just over the Czech frontier. It will, I fear, cause a certain amount of enmity, but what can you do with the wild dogs of Europe?’ The man laughed again. There was something not quite sane about his laughter, and Loftus felt a cold chill running down his spine.
The kidnapping of Johann Tult over the Czechoslovakian border would start the biggest crisis since the Sudeten problem.
‘The last man on our list is Rioldi,’ went on the Englishman, ‘but he will have to wait for a few days. He is not likely to leave Rome. So make the arrangements about Tult, and see that the affair is handled without a hitch.’
‘Si-si, Señor.’ De Casila, his back to Loftus, brushed a hand over his damp forehead. ‘Eet veel be done. Shall he be taken to Lakka?’
‘Of course. I shall expect him there tomorrow night.’ That strange laugh was repeated. ‘Arbor, Mainwaring, Hyman and Tult—it would be possible to proceed without Rioldi, but it will be much more complete with him. Much, much more. The power of the Ring increases, Juan.’
‘As always, Señor.’ De Casila’s voice trembled. ‘Ze trouble, ven it comes...’
‘Have no fear about that. If you have done your part you will be both safe and happy. You can give thanks to the men who thought of it for you. Well, that’s enough for now. You have plenty to do.’
‘Adios, Señor.’
De Casila moved slowly towards the door. As he opened it the Englishman stood up, and for the first time Loftus saw him. He was tall, middle-aged, more than passably good-looking, and his lean figure was upright.
He walked across the room to a cabinet, poured a little brandy into a large brandy glass, and cupped the glass in his hands, savouring the aroma before he sipped. Then he returned to his chair.
Loftus hesitated. He was tempted to enter the room, gun in hand. But this man had said that there were men who could not be made to talk: he was probably one of that breed himself. Loftus’s chief interest in him was to get information, but he decided the moment was not ripe to try and get it by intimidation.
Softly, he closed the door.
He listened as it shut, but no sound came from the room beyond. Apparently the Englishman had noticed nothing. He turned round, and saw Diana looking at him.
He went to her, took off the gag, and gave her a chance to recover from the stiffness. Then he muttered in the guttural voice he was assuming:
‘Der Englander—what iss der name?’
Diana shook her head.
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Himmel!’ Loftus lifted a hand threateningly. ‘You shall say!’
‘I can’t—I don’t know.’ She was quite calm; but now he saw contempt in her eyes. Loftus hesitated, and then, more roughly than before, he gagged her again.
Without a glance behind him he went to the door leading to the passage. He opened it, heard nothing, and stepped cautiously through. A sound, so faint that he wondered whether it was Diana moving on the bed, came to his ears. He stopped, his fingers tightening about his gun: and a second later he heard the Englishman’s voice, although he could not see him.
‘Keep quite still, my friend.’
Not for a moment had Loftus thought that his presence had been suspected. But the warning voice was not to be ignored. He did as he was told.
‘Drop your gun,’ the other ordered.
The voice was coming from the door outside which he had first listened. Loftus could see that it was now open a few inches and, although he was not certain, he fancied that the muzzle of an automatic was pointing towards him through the crack. He hesitated, then let his gun fall.
‘Ach, where are you?’ he demanded.
‘At your service,’ said the Englishman suavely, and the door opened. He stepped through, holding, as Loftus had suspected, a small automatic. ‘It is so easy, is it not?’
‘Ach, yes, to talk!’ growled Loftus.
‘A man of spirit,’ murmured the other. ‘A pity, for your sake, that you are so elephantine. I admit that I did not know you were there until you closed the door, but I was just in time. How did you get in?’
‘I say noddings.’
‘More of the breed, I see.’
‘I do not onderstand.’
‘No. Perhaps not.’ The Englishman stepped forward. ‘I think we can talk best in the room you’ve just left. Open the door. But don’t turn round.’
Loftus obeyed.
‘Go in. Backwards.’
Again Loftus did as he was told, and the Englishman followed. He saw Diana bound and gagged on the bed, but made no comment. Motioning Loftus to one side, he stepped to the wall near the fireplace, and pressed a bell button. He then stood in silence, looking at his prisoner.
Loftus concentrated on possible ways out of his predicament. The other had obviously sent for assistance, and when this arrived his chances of escape would be negligible—indeed, they seemed neglible even now. His gun was still on the carpet outside the door, and although he carried a second gun, he could not reach it without risking death.
The Englishman smiled sardonically.
‘Thinking of a desperate sortie, my German investigator? Don’t, if you are sensible. I would like to talk with you, but I shall have no hesitation in shooting you. I hope you haven’t hurt the beautiful Miss Woodward.’
‘Ach, I hurt none.’ Loftus looked across at her. ‘Beautiful—yess, that iss so. I had not seen.’ Out of the corner of his eyes he was watching the other.
&n
bsp; ‘A positive knight-errant,’ the man murmured. ‘But I shall pay attention to Miss Woodward only when my friends have arrived to look after you. How did you get in?’
‘Der window,’ grunted Loftus.
‘You doubtless heard a most interesting conversation.’
‘I heard—about Herr Tult.’
‘Ye-es. It must have puzzled you.’
‘You are der fool. None odder vould do such things.’ Loftus shrugged his shoulders. ‘You will regret this mein Herr.’
The door opened and a manservant entered, starting violently when he saw Loftus, and the gun in the Englishman’s hands. He stood goggling until the other said sharply:
‘Send Rickard and Norman to me, Pierre.’
‘Yes, M’sieur, at once!’ Pierre left the room, and the Englishman sat down slowly on the end of Diana’s bed. His lack of concern for her was intriguing. The minutes dragged by, and Loftus was wondering whether he could safely leave himself to Spats, who would be near the house now with three other Z agents.
Then Rickard and Norman arrived. Neither was remarkable but for his breadth of shoulder. Loftus imagined that their intelligence was not far above that of the prisoner Bunce, at the ‘nursing home’ in Surrey. They showed neither concern nor surprise as the Englishman ordered:
‘Search him. Quickly.’
Rickard approached Loftus and started to search with quick efficiency. Norman stood by with a gun. The Englishman pocketed his automatic, and applied himself to releasing Diana, speaking as he took the gag away.
‘You are all right, my dear?’
‘Yes,’ she said with an effort. Her lips were dry and painful.’
‘I’ll get you a drink.’ The man went through the communicating door into the room where he had talked with de Casila, and came back in a few seconds with a small whisky glass, half-filled. Diana sipped, and put it down. She stood up, unsteady on her feet at first, but stretching her arms and legs. Pins and needles must have been giving her a lot of pain, thought Loftus.
‘How long was he here?’ the Englishman asked.
