Traitor's Doom (Dr. Palfrey)

by John Creasey

  ‘The most wildly suspicious man in Orlanto,’ said Clive, ‘and I don’t blame him.’ He made a patent effort to get himself under control, and went on: ‘What do you mean, Palfrey, by “a reversal of this morning’s interview”?’

  ‘Work it out for yourself,’ said Palfrey. ‘I’ll save some time by telling you that it’s now obvious, partly on your admissions and partly on our suspicions, that you conspired with Manoel to take me to José. Whether that was wise or just plain silly will transpire later.’ He paused. ‘Why did you do it?’

  Clive said: ‘I work with the Social Patriots—and take my orders from Hermandes and José.’

  ‘I see,’ said Palfrey coldly. ‘A soldier of fortune.’

  Clive coloured again, but he was obviously much more composed, and he smiled a little.

  ‘Use the term if you want to,’ he said. ‘It’s apt enough. I’m with Hermandes and José, just as I was with the Spanish Republicans in their spot of bother. They paid me, yes. But I was with them out of conviction.’

  ‘Some people might think that an Englishman’s place in the present circumstances is in the armed forces at home,’ said Palfrey.

  ‘I’m doing a darned sight more for England here than I would be in uniform,’ snapped Clive. ‘In any case I’m constitutionally opposed to the Government at home. I don’t know whether you’re connected with the British Intelligence, or whether you’re here for your own interests, but if you’ve any kind of pull at all, get home and tell the people who can do something that they’re playing with fire in Catania. The country is starving—d’you understand that? It was always a home for beggars and hawkers, but new there are fifty to every one before the war. There are a few men like Don Salvos, a few organisations like the Red Cross—which has enough to do in the fighting countries—who are trying to ease the trouble, but the only thing to save this country from starvation is food in large quantities from outside. It can’t be produced inside, and it can’t be brought in with the ships Catania has at its disposal. The Allies must provide it, and if they don’t …’ he paused, to go on much more softly: ‘If they don’t, Palfrey, there’ll be red revolution. The people blame the Government—people always blame the Government. To make the agitation worse, there’s the terrorist organisation you saw in action this morning. Agitating, making things worse, cornering food, sponsoring black markets, making the whole country ripe for civil war. Does that mean anything to you?’ He eyed them challengingly.

  ‘Go on,’ said Palfrey quietly.

  ‘It ought to mean plenty,’ said Clive. ‘The terrorists call themselves the Guarda Nationale. National Guards!’ He laughed with bitter irony. ‘They’re strong, and growing stronger. They are paid by people outside, of course. My guess—which is something more than a guess—is that there’s going to be a rising before long, an attempt at a bloodless revolution to take place overnight. They’ll set up some kind of a dictator who will promise to remain neutral, and in a few weeks there’ll be a hundred thousand Nazi tourists seeing the sights - the sights in the harbour here, at Galanto, anywhere you like. They’ll have the airfields and the railways. Oh, it’s happened before and it will happen again. It’s all been done damned cleverly this time, it’s a genuine internal movement, there isn’t much help from the outside yet.’

  Palfrey cleared his throat.

  ‘Er—Clive.’ A faint note of diffidence entered his voice. ‘How can José help in the present situation?’

  Clive turned. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

  ‘Nonsense!’ Brian interrupted for the first time.

  ‘You can call it what you like,’ said Clive abruptly, ‘but I don’t know. Hermandes tells me that José might do something in the next few weeks. I haven’t been taken further into his confidence. They’re too well aware that I’m a soldier of fortune,’ added Clive bitterly, ‘and they know that I’ve promised to try to get support from Great Britain. They probably measure my reliability by my success there.’ He lit a cigarette, and then went on sharply: I had orders from Hermandes this morning to find out more about you. He thinks that you’re working with the Guarda Nationale. More than that,’ added Clive tensely, ‘he is beginning to think that Don Salvos knows more about the Guarda than he pretends.’

  ‘Hermandes let José go to Don Salvos’ home,’ Palfrey pointed out. ‘Was he suspicious then?’

  ‘Not as much as he is now.’

  ‘Has anything happened to make him more suspicious?’ asked Palfrey.

  ‘Yes,’ said Clive. He has been watching the house since José went, there, and there have been several visitors suspected by the Social Patriots of interest in the Guarda. Palfrey, I wonder if you understand that Hermandes and José and others work all the time in desperate fear of their lives, hunted all the time by the terrorists. When the café was raided this morning I thought it was the end for Hermandes, and had it been I would have fought with him. It’s like that everywhere. You remember Hermandes’ anxiety when you were taken to the underground rooms—rooms which were raided only five hours after José left.’

  ‘Then we did some good taking him away,’ said Palfrey.

  Andromovitch shifted his great figure, and said almost casually: ‘Who are Don Salvos’ visitors who cause such alarm?’

  ‘Hermandes knows them, I don’t,’ said Clive. ‘Except for one man, a Vasca Bombarda, who stayed here for a day or two. I searched his rooms but found nothing, although Hermandes is still suspicious.’

  There was a brief pause, and then: ‘Ye-es,’ said Brian, stepping forward slowly. I have doubts about Bombarda too. Something will have to be done about that johnny, Sap.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Dr. Palfrey Sees Evidence of Desperation

  Clive broke the short silence which followed Brian’s words, turning with an air of exasperation and exclaiming: ‘What’s your interest in Bombarda?’

  ‘We’re getting a bit ahead of ourselves,’ said Palfrey quietly. ‘Clive, how can you substantiate your story?’

  Clive shrugged. ‘I can’t. Isn’t the shindy at the café good enough for you?’

  ‘No,’ said Andromovitch plainly.

  ‘I think the best thing we can do is to tell you …’ Palfrey paused and repeated: ‘Tell you to arrange an appointment with Hermandes. Are you sure he will keep José well watched.’

  ‘Yes. But whether he’ll see you—’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Palfrey. ‘For the moment I hold the trump, the person of José. I like José,’ he added gently. ‘I should hate to think that anything happened to him. Arrange the meeting, Clive, will you?’

  ‘I’ll try,’ Clive conceded unwillingly.

  ‘Good,’ said Palfrey. ‘Wait here for five minutes, and then you can go.’

  He nodded to Andromovitch and Brian, then went out of the room, hurrying to the lift and to the fifth floor. He found Pedro in; he had met the man before, introduced by Drusilla. Pedro looked freshly powdered, and dressed as if about to go out.

  ‘Do you know a Señor Clive—Rollo Clive?’ asked Palfrey.

  ‘Si,’ said Pedro, who understood English but preferred to speak it rarely.

  ‘He is about to leave my room,’ said Palfrey. ‘Follow him, will you, and let me know where he goes?’

  ‘Si,’ said Pedro.

  ‘And can you arrange for him to be watched all the time?’ asked Palfrey.

  ‘Si’ said Pedro. ‘Excuse me, señor.’

  He went out of the room, walking swiftly and a little on his toes, like a woman wearing unaccustomed high heels. Palfrey caught a whiff of perfume, stared after the little man, then shrugged his shoulders and curved his lips humorously. He went downstairs leisurely, to find that Clive had gone, apparently on the last second of the five minutes Palfrey had stipulated.

  Andromovitch and Brian were deep in conversation.

  Palfrey looked pensively at Brian, and then said amiably: ‘And that reminds me, I’ve been meaning to ask you all day where you’ve seen Hermandes before?’
>
  Andromovitch looked at Brian sharply.

  ‘Are they acquainted?’

  ‘Great Scott, no!’ exclaimed Brian. I haven’t seen him before, Sap. I suppose you caught me looking at him pretty hard this morning. As a matter of fact I had a shock when I saw his profile. It was almost identical with Bombarda’s. But except that he’s thin, there isn’t much likeness full-face. That profile, though …’

  ‘Ah,’ said Palfrey, inviting further comment.

  ‘If I am permitted a guess,’ said Andromovitch, ‘Brian has been keeping thoughts to himself, and that is not a thing to do among friends.’

  ‘If you ask me,’ began Brian slowly, ‘you’re a pretty cagey pair yourselves, and I wouldn’t like to bet that you tell me all you think. There’s a peculiar something about this business that I don’t understand. When the Marquis sent for me, and told me all about it, he was full of high-flown notions of rescuing men of the future. You talked pretty well on the same lines when the six of us met. It sounded all right, and it looked all right, but y’know, since then I’ve been thinking that we’re a pretty poor bunch for the job we’ve got in hand. The Marquis was full of the advantages of inexperience, and catalogued my qualifications, but when you really examine them they don’t hold up. I haven’t any qualifications for a job like this.’

  Palfrey nodded. Andromovitch took a long cigarette from his case, and lit it thoughtfully. The scrape of a match sounded very loud.

  ‘Thinking about that, and the show in Richmond, as well as the shooting business here,’ said Brian, ‘I’d been wondering whether I was put in the party as an Aunt Sally.’

  ‘Aunt who?’ asked Andromovitch, puzzled.

  ‘Eh? Aunt Sally. I mean …’ Brian looked at Palfrey, and went on: ‘A kind of—oh, you tell him, Sap.’

  ‘Let’s say a dummy put up to draw the enemy’s fire,’ said Palfrey. ‘How did you connect that with Hermandes and me this morning?’

  ‘I don’t need to enlarge on that, do I?’ asked Brian. I thought you knew the whole truth—that you knew Bombarda had come from England, and were making contact with him at the café. Of course I realised immediately afterwards that it was damned silly, you wouldn’t have arranged for me to be there if you’d been doing that. On the other hand, he might have come without your knowing. Anyhow’ – Brian raised a hand, as if to set the ideas aside – ‘I soon saw that it wasn’t Bombarda. The whole business didn’t take more than a couple of minutes, and when I examined it I saw that it was pretty senseless to think that you knew anything, but I’m still puzzled about my part in the affair. The others are probably all right, and Drusilla certainly knows her business. I didn’t take to Labollier much, but that’s by the way.’

  Brian stopped, and Palfrey pursed his lips.

  ‘Not bad, Brian,’ he acknowledged. ‘Stefan and I have had similar darkling thoughts.’ He smiled. ‘We’re all amateurs, and we’ve all been sent over here and left on our own, with only the merest suggestion of a plan. We’ve been told to work on our own initiative, and so we will. The Guarda Nationale and the trouble in Catania seem the immediate interest. We have Clive and Hermandes on the one hand, and the man with the monkey on the other, plus Bombarda whose profile is like Hermandes’. Pedro traced the man with the monkey to the Café de Porto, but since that’s closed up we can’t get much forrader. So we have to wait for an appointment with Hermandes, except that we can visit the police and put up a great show of indignation. I think I’ll go and see them, and you can look in half an hour after I’ve finished. Stand on good old English dignity, and get what you can out of them, Brian. It might not be much, but we want all the evidence about the Guarda Nationale that we can get.’

  ‘What are we going to do with it when we get it?’ demanded Brian logically.

  ‘Send or take it to the Marquis,’ said Palfrey equably.

  ‘Oh,’ said Brian. ‘Ye-es, I suppose that’s the wise thing to do.’

  Palfrey left the hotel and went by foot to the police headquarters. He sent in his name and was received with great affability by a small, white-moustached man who looked as if he had been poured into his uniform and then starched. The policeman had of course heard of the outrage which had been committed, and his apologies could not be sufficiently emphatic. Everything which had been taken from Señor Palfrey’s pockets was at his command, of course, and he hoped that the señor knew how much of the silver found in the possession of the villainous ‘officer’ was his. He, the Commandant, had been about to send to the hotel and ask Señor Palfrey if he could call to regain his property.

  Palfrey was hesitant but stubborn. He accepted the apologies, and in fact appreciated them. But what was he to think of the attack? And if there was such a band of terrorists, who dared wear uniforms and make violent attacks in broad daylight, how was he to be sure that he would be free from similar indignities in the future? More than that – he had helped in the detention of some of the men, and it had since been suggested that because of it he might be victimised. It was unpleasant, most unpleasant. He hoped that the Commandant could assure him that the perpetrators of the outrage would be severely punished, and that there would not be a repetition.

  The Commandant was suave. This band of ruffians had given the police some trouble, but it was a symptom of the difficulties of the times, and in any case was well in hand.

  Palfrey allowed himself to appear satisfied, but was a long way from it. He was fully aware that the Commandant had been on his guard and had prepared his arguments beforehand. He had minimised the importance of the attack while showing obvious anxiety lest Palfrey should exaggerate it. On the whole, thought Palfrey, it was evidence in support of Clive’s sweeping statement of the increasing power of the Guarda Nationale.

  After leaving the police headquarters, he spent an hour in the shopping district of the city. Prices were enormous, but there seemed a fair volume of trade. The hosts of beggars and hawkers were greater even than near the boulevard, and he disliked the sight of so many thin, pinched faces, especially amongst the children. In some eyes, too, there was a look of desperation. Knowing what he did, he seemed to feel the under-current of revolt. He was quite sure in his own mind that the masses of the people were ripe for rebellion. Any revolt, well led and gilded with the promise of greater prosperity, had a sound chance of success.

  He kept looking about him for any sign of the little grey monkey, which was fast becoming an obsession, but saw nothing. He was approaching the Praça d’Orlanto leisurely, noticing vaguely that fewer people seemed to be about, when he heard shouting. The shouting developed into a roar, and he heard the bark of a pistol-shot.

  He turned the corner.

  The spacious, tree-lined Square was thronged with people, mostly the poorer classes, moving towards a monument where a man was standing, waving his arms wildly and, Palfrey thought, delivering some kind of impromptu speech. The roaring of the crowd and the thunder of hundreds of feet drowned the words, and in any case Palfrey could not have understood them.

  But he understood other things.

  Along the front of one of the large shops was a cordon of police, some of them mounted, all carrying guns. The speaker was pointing towards the shop, and Palfrey watched his lips moving, just catching the tail-end of what he said before a great roar of acclamation came from the crowd.

  More people were streaming round the corner, and the party near Palfrey pushed its way toward the speaker, desperation in its manner. Palfrey glanced about him, seeing the strain on the faces of the hurrying Catanese, poor Catanese, all looking in the one direction. Men and women were there in equal proportion, and there were children. He saw one woman with a child at her breast, and two others at her skirts. She was walking slowly, but her face was set doggedly, and she went onwards. The crowd entering the Square thickened, and there was now a more ugly note in the roaring responses to the speaker’s words.

  Palfrey glanced up at a window of the building by which he was standing. There was a broad ledge ben
eath it, and standing on the ledge he would be able to see over the heads of the crowd. He pulled himself up while the people thronged past and beneath him. He stood quite still, pale-faced, looking at the shop where the police were lined up. Their guns were raised threateningly; only that kept the people at bay.

  Then from amongst the crowd came a single shot.

  Palfrey could not hear it; but from his position he saw the flash of flame, as if a dozen matches had been lighted at once. He turned his head quickly, in time to see one of the mounted policemen fall. There was a sudden hush, a strange, unnatural calm. Both sides were affected.

  Then with a deep, baying roar the crowd surged towards the police and the shop.

  The police began shooting over the heads of the crowd at first, but their bullets fell amongst the people farther back. Shrieks and cries and oaths rent the air, but the deeper sound was that of trampling feet. The first lines hesitated against the fire from the police, then directed towards them. A few people fell, two of them women. The shrieking grew louder, and then stones began to fly. More of the police were hit, and their shooting grew wild; now they cared nothing where their bullets went.

  The crowd behind the front ranks surged forward, the hesitant ones were pushed forward or downward, some crushed beneath the feet of others. In a sudden wave of massed men and women the police line broke. By then stones were crashing into the plate-glass windows of the big store, and the iron gates across the doorways were suddenly besieged. Men clambered up and over, and women followed; to Palfrey it looked as if an army of ants was sprawling across the whole front of the shop. People were pressed against the plate glass, and suddenly there was a terrific report as a window stove in.

  Palfrey tightened his lips.

  Twenty or thirty of the rioters went downwards into the window, and others surged over them. Sticks were being waved and brandished, brooms, spades and forks appeared as if from nowhere. The people poured into the shop through the window, then through another, preceded by a similar report and by the same awful avalanche over the bodies of the unfortunates at the front. A constant stream climbed the iron gates.