by John Creasey
‘He came from the Café del Porto, Virtuoso,’ said Palfrey gently. ‘The café where I was shanghaied, and where Clive is apparently persona grata. Do you feel like putting your head in the lion’s mouth?’
‘I do,’ said Brian vehemently. ‘Anything would be better than hanging about, and until we get to the bottom of this business I’m stuck in Orlanto. Are you coming?’
Palfrey smiled. ‘I’m going along for some morning coffee with Rollo Clive,’ he said. ‘If you happen to look in by accident we might learn something of interest. Stefan will be looking in, also by chance.’
‘Good work,’ said Brian.
Palfrey left him much more cheerful, and went upstairs to Andromovitch’s room. He went in after knocking, to find the Russian standing with his hands in his pockets surveying the boulevard, five stories below. He had moved in that morning, and his small suit-case was still unpacked. The room had nothing of the pretentiousness of those on the lower floors, and there was only the one room, large enough to be pleasant but looking cramped with the Russian’s vast frame filling it.
‘Have you cheered him up?’ asked Andromovitch.
Palfrey smiled. ‘Yes, he’s better.’
‘I am just a little, a very little, concerned about your friend Brian,’ admitted Andromovitch. ‘Will he, perhaps, prove a little over-eager?’ He paused, questioningly, and Palfrey pursed his lips.
‘We’ll see. When there’s something to do, he’ll be more than useful. I haven’t had time to ask you before, Stefan, but—what is your opinion of the others?’
The Russian put his head on one side and regarded him thoughtfully.
‘I am a little concerned about Labollier, too,’ he said. ‘Only part of him seemed to be there. Do you follow me?’
‘I even agree with you,’ admitted Palfrey. ‘Stefan, did you know the names of the rest of us before you reached here?’
‘Of course. I was told in Kuibishev.’
‘So Labollier and van Hoysen also knew,’ mused Palfrey.
‘Just what are you thinking, my friend?’
‘That conceivably someone betrayed Brian before he left London,’ said Palfrey. ‘That would be someone who was in London, or at least in England, I think. Van Hoysen came direct to Orlanto from America, but Labollier came from Free French Headquarters in London. We need to be careful.’
‘I am beginning to envy your analytical mind,’ declared Andromovitch softly. ‘But there is also Vasca Bombarda, who was in London; and there is the leakage, the possible leakage, of information on the seaplane, as Brian mentioned. It is confusing, my friend, but we may discover much of interest this morning. It is a fact,’ added the Russian, ‘that while we have trouble in Orlanto, we cannot operate freely outside. Brian was very right, we must solve our problem here—or, as you would say, cut out the cancer.’
Palfrey nodded, unsmiling.
‘I’m not forgetting Bombarda. He flew on Brian’s ’plane, and it wouldn’t be difficult to conceal a monkey the size of Brian’s acquaintance. One large pocket would be enough. I had a good look at the little fellow, and he’s mostly fur. Well, we’ll see. And I’ll see you at del Porto in about half an hour?’
‘I shall completely ignore you!’ declared Andromovitch, smiling widely. ‘Au revoir, comrade!’ He leaned forward to open the door, looking into Palfrey’s eyes, and then drew back. ‘My friend, I may be wrong, but I have a feeling that you are worried by something more than you have voiced.’
Palfrey looked into the Russian’s calm grey eyes, turned slowly, and went to the window. He looked down for some seconds, then took his pipe from his pocket and began to fill it. His slender fingers were quite steady, as were his eyes when he returned Andromovitch’s gaze.
‘I am worried,’ he admitted.
‘Ah,’ said Andromovitch. ‘What the eye doesn’t see the mind can imagine! Can I help you?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Palfrey. ‘I don’t know whether you feel the same or not. Listen, Stefan, I’m a doctor. I wanted a change, I needed a change, and when this proposition was put up to me I jumped at it. I gained the impression that I would be one of a small group of people expert at their tasks. Instead, the only “expert” is Drusilla, and this is breaking different ground even, for her.’ Palfrey paused to strike a match and light his pipe; the Russian stood motionless. Then: ‘Why is it?’ demanded Palfrey in a low voice. ‘Why are half a dozen amateurs dropped down in the middle of Orlanto and left to their own resources? How are we expected to get through?’
‘Do you mean “are we expected to get through”!’
Palfrey’s right hand went slowly to his pocket.
‘Have you wondered that, too?’
‘I have been at a loss, yes. My uncertainty has increased since I heard that Brian had been attacked, in London as well as here. There are other things. The evidence you obtained of an underground organisation working in Orlanto against such people as the sick man of the underground room—can such an organisation be unknown to our secret intelligence?’
Palfrey said abruptly: ‘Of course not. To think it could be is nonsensical.’
‘I think we shall find much of interest in Orlanto,’ said Andromovitch. ‘We are being used, doctor, in that expression of yours—as lawns in the game.’
‘Pawns,’ Palfrey corrected absently. ‘It could be, but the Marquis didn’t give me the impression that he would play such a hoax, whatever the purpose. I suppose you volunteered to stay behind because you suspected the heart of the trouble is here?’
‘I did,’ said the Russian.
Palfrey’s lips curved slowly. ‘Go on,’ he invited.
‘It appears to me like this,’ said Andromovitch. ‘We are unimportant people, small people, we do not matter when compared with the great stakes for which the war is being fought. I believe that we have been selected to work this thing as best we can, not because anyone believes we shall succeed, but because we shall—what is your term?—draw off those who matter.’
Palfrey took his pipe from his lips, glanced at it, and then back at Andromovitch.
‘While others do the real work?’
‘Can there be any other reason?’
Palfrey shrugged. ‘It isn’t a pleasant thought.’
‘Why not, my friend?’ asked Andromovitch. ‘Why not? Here is an organisation, enemy-inspired, working against us in Orlanto. Supposing we defeat it? We shall make progress. We shall have earned our commission, our promotion to higher things. It is a gamble, but the stakes are worth playing.’
The tension which had existed in the room eased before Palfrey left, but he was very thoughtful as he went to his own apartment.
He had debated with himself on the possibility that things were not what they seemed. He believed many things of the British Intelligence Service, but not that it would be so haphazard in its arrangements as it appeared to be with them. True, the Marquis had emphasised time and time again the difference between their work and ordinary espionage, and with that Palfrey had tried to reassure himself. Now that Andromovitch had felt and voiced the same uncertainties, his own were strengthened.
He met Clive in the foyer.
The Englishman was alone, immaculately dressed, smiling a little condescendingly towards the doctor, whose diffidence had increased with every step taken since leaving Andromovitch’s room.
‘Good morning,’ exclaimed Palfrey, blinking towards the sunlit door. ‘What weather it is!’ They went out into the hot autumn sun, and sauntered along the boulevard with its crowds of rich and poor people, gaily dressed or only respectably ragged. The sight was familiar now to Palfrey, who nevertheless looked about him with a semblance of the wide-eyed wonder which he had first displayed.
The Café del Porto, Virtuoso, held a hangdog air by daylight.
Brian, sitting alone, was at a table near the platform. Andromovitch had not arrived. Manoel was nowhere in sight, and there was no sign of Mepita or Margarita.
‘It’s dull by day,’ said C
live, ordering coffee from a heavy-footed waiter.
‘Perhaps so,’ said Palfrey. ‘But after all, one can hardly expect the same infectious gaiety by day and night, Rollo.’ He beamed. ‘Despite its unpleasant climax, I shall remember that evening here for the rest of my life, believe me. Do you know, I have never fully understood what happened to you. Don’t misunderstand me, I mean—’
Clive’s smile widened, but there was a hint of sombreness behind it. He lit a cigarette deliberately, his expression enough to make Palfrey continue his pause, and then said slowly: ‘Why play on words, doctor?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Now listen to me,’ said Clive quietly. ‘There is no reason in the world why you should give me so much of your company. You have your friend Miss Blair here, and you have the entrée to the best houses in Orlanto. You could be feted every day if you chose. Instead you stay near the hotel and give me all the time you can. Just why is that, Palfrey? Isn’t it time you were frank with your suspicions, if you have any?’ He leaned forward and his voice sank to a whisper: ‘This is a good place for you to be frank—everyone here is a friend of mine.’
He stared into Palfrey’s eyes, making no attempt to veil the unspoken menace in his own.
Chapter Nine
Upheaval at the Café del Porto
Palfrey leaned back a little in his chair, not particularly affected by the threat implied in Clive’s last sentence, and in fact relieved that the other had come into the open. He glanced about him with well-simulated nervousness.
‘Well?’ said Clive sharply.
‘You almost made me nervous!’ exclaimed Palfrey. ‘My dear Clive, was that necessary?’
‘I thought so,’ said Clive.
‘In that case, I will be frank,’ said Palfrey. He hesitated only long enough to put his hands to his pockets, although before he did so they had been trembling, and Clive had glanced at them. Palfrey believed it wise to let the other imagine that he was frightened; an over-confident man was liable to make mistakes which one on his guard would avoid. ‘Each time I have discussed what happened after we left here you have been evasive,’ went on Palfrey. ‘Once or twice I have wondered whether you knew what was going to happen.’
‘And by hanging around, you hoped to find out?’ said Clive roughly.
‘If I read between the lines of what we are saying now, by hanging around I have found out,’ retorted Palfrey.
‘All right.’ Clive was abrupt. ‘I knew what was going to happen to you. I made your acquaintance to bring you here and to make the arrangements for you to be taken away. Now what are you going to do about it?’
Palfrey eyed him, aghast.
‘You went that far? But, Clive, I can’t understand you. If you were a foreigner it would be easier to follow, but surely you knew that, as one Englishman to another, it was quite safe for you to approach me. You must have understood, from the conversation that we had earlier, that my interests were solely professional, that an appeal on behalf of any sufferer would have been answered. Why didn’t you make the request outright? I would have been only too glad to help. Why—why go into all that melodramatic palaver to obtain something which was already at your service? Now I find that you utter threats, for your statement that you are amongst friends constitutes a threat. Why do you consider that necessary?’
Clive said sharply: ‘Because it is. Palfrey, why did you come to Orlanto?’
‘What an absurd question!’
‘It’s no use trying to make me believe you came just to attend Don Salvos,’ insisted Clive. ‘Listen to me, Palfrey. Some of the people here, including Hermandes who is just outside, and the man at Don Salvos’ house whom you’re attending, are wondering what influence you exerted to get here.’
‘And why should I exert influence?’
‘That’s just the question,’ said Clive. ‘They think that you came here with the deliberate intention of finding this café. Your amiable manner hasn’t been as effective as you would like, Palfrey; they are very suspicious of you. They are playing a difficult and dangerous game, and they cannot afford to be tricked.’
Palfrey drew a deep breath.
As he did so he heard a movement from the door. Glancing towards it, he saw Andromovitch’s great figure stooping beneath the doorway. The Russian stood for a moment glancing about him, then went down the stairs towards a table not far from Brian’s. Almost immediately after him came a man nearly as tall, but with nothing like his physique.
‘Hermandes!’ exclaimed Palfrey.
‘Yes,’ said Clive dryly. ‘He is corning to voice his suspicions, Palfrey. You won’t get away from here this time without telling the truth.’
‘I have told the truth!’
‘I don’t believe it,’ returned Clive sharply.
‘Then there is nothing we can do,’ snapped Palfrey.
‘Nothing, señor?’ Hermandes had drawn near enough to hear the words. He was dressed in a dark suit, and wore, as if affectedly, the low-crowned, wide-brimmed hat which Palfrey had seen before. The man’s thin, saturnine face was turned to Palfrey’s, who was able to see over his shoulder.
Brian Debenham was staring at Hermandes as if at a ghost.
‘Nothing, señor?’ repeated Hermandes. ‘Señor Clive cannot have warned you, as was arranged.’
Palfrey leaned forward as the Catanese took a chair and pulled it up to the table. He felt a quickening of his pulse, knowing that a climax was drawing near. Clive and Hermandes had seen fit to try to force an issue; he wanted that issue forced at least as much as they, and the opportunity for him to succeed seemed close at hand. He wished he could get word to Brian and Andromovitch, even wondered why Brian was so startled at the sight of Hermandes.
He said softly: ‘Clive has admitted that he conspired with you, Hermandes, and tried to frighten me. Apparently I failed to make you understand the other night that I am not so easily frightened. Apparently, also, you have no idea of the meaning of gratitude. Your friend is safe with Don Salvos, and rapidly improving. In a week’s time he should be able to leave safely, and you can send him where you will. But of course I have taken precautions to make sure that he cannot go so easily as that if anything should happen to me.’
Hermandes snapped: ‘Explain yourself!’
Palfrey shrugged. ‘It is self-explanatory.’
‘Those are just words!’ snapped Hermandes. The man’s face was very pale; he leaned forward and gripped Palfrey’s hand.
‘José is safe with Don Salvos—perhaps! But it is known that he is in Orlanto. How could it be known except through you? There is a hunt for him; nowhere is it safe!’
‘Is that true?’ demanded Clive, suddenly sharp.
‘Of course it is true! There is no safety for any of us, and Palfrey has—’
He stopped abruptly.
Palfrey, aware of a quickening tempo, yet wondering whether Hermandes was making a poorly conceived effort to panic him, heard footsteps outside, and all eyes turned away from the trio towards the door. It opened to admit Manoel, and behind him Margarita or Mepita, Palfrey could not be sure which of the girls it was.
Manoel’s face was red, his breathing heavy. He paused for a moment, and then Mepita called: ‘Away, quickly, all of you! The guards!’
‘My oath!’ exclaimed Clive.
From outside there came a scuffling sound, and then the sharp, unmistakable crack of a pistol-shot. A woman screamed, also outside. Clive jumped to his feet, gripping Palfrey’s arm and trying to drag him from his chair.
Palfrey resisted.
Clive left him, and made for the door, which Hermandes had already reached. As Clive went through, the main doors burst open and twelve men streamed into the big room, all wearing a drab uniform which Palfrey did not recognise. Four of them held guns, and one fired towards Clive as he disappeared through the doorway.
By then Brian was on his feet.
No one but the three men who had been at the Osorio the previous evening was left,
and they were dotted about the room. None of them made the mistake of moving a hand towards a weapon. The dozen intruders raced across the room towards the far door, and others followed, also in the same drab uniform, with cloth jerkins and revolvers. In their manner was a truculence which startled Palfrey, who had seen nothing like it except on the films. Heavy-footed, the second part stamped down the stairs, one of them flourishing a gun towards Palfrey. He gave an impression of being in authority, a small man with protuberant eyes and fierce-looking, waxed moustaches. His leathery, swarthy face was deeply pitted, either from smallpox or a kindred disease.
‘You—over there.’ He spoke in Catanese.
Palfrey stared at him blankly.
‘Over there!’ The voice went upwards to a falsetto.
Palfrey continued to stare, but said in English: ‘I do not understand, señor.’
As he spoke two of the party approached him, and before he could protest or struggle he was hauled to his feet and marched towards Brian. Brian was standing and staring tight-lipped, but Palfrey’s chief emotion was relief that the younger man had the good sense to stand absolutely still. Then for the first time Andromovitch rose to his feet, his placid face holding a hint of a smile.
The officer who had addressed Palfrey reached him and spat: ‘Join the others!’
‘As you require, señor,’ said Andromovitch in passable Catanese. He reached Brian and Palfrey, but showed no sign of recognition.
‘You will be searched!’ snapped the officer.
Brian looked at the Russian.
‘What does he say?’
‘We are to be searched,’ said Andromovitch amiably.
‘That be damned for a tale!’ said Brian vigorously. ‘Who do they think we are?’
Two of the men stepped forward and gripped Palfrey’s hands. A third put a hand to his coat pockets. Brian took a half step forward, and grabbed the officer’s shoulder, ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing? We’re English—Inglis, understand? I insist—’
The officer deliberately spat at him, then snapped an order. Two men leapt forward, gripping Brian’s wrists. As they did so Palfrey looked into the younger man’s face, and said urgently: ‘You are very good, sir, but I think perhaps it would be wise to humour them.’
