by John Creasey
He had hired a car from Bournemouth for his journey, and had made it in fast time. He felt a little tired, for he had driven a lot that day, and many things had happened. There was one thing to be relieved about. Round the corner Spats Thornton was waiting, for Spats would be driving him down to Grayling, where he hoped to learn more of the murders of two gentlemen of importance.
Spats was there.
Immaculate in the half-light, with his Punch of a face red and even shiny, he was smoking a small cigar, and he wore a Homburg tilted at a rakish angle over his forehead. A caricature of a man was Spats Thornton, but as sound as they made them.
‘News?’ he asked.
‘None of importance,’ said Loftus. ‘I’m getting in the back, and if you’ll try not to drive on your brakes I’ll try to get a nap.’
‘Keep trying,’ said Thornton solemnly. ‘I... Bill.’
There was a steadier note in the last word, although his expression did not alter, and he continued setting the car in motion. Loftus said: ‘Well?’ without looking round.
‘There’s a car behind us, with a girl at the wheel.’
‘How nice,’ said Loftus.
‘Don’t be all of a damned fool,’ said Thornton. ‘She’s starting off now. Driving a Bentley, and she looks as if she can handle it.’
‘Not interested,’ said Loftus, but he contrived to see the girl at the wheel of the Bentley.
From that distance she seemed small and petite. It might have been the half-light which also made her seem unusually pretty—but whatever it was, she looked pretty enough. And capable. One of the modern type, thought Loftus, who could drive as well as any man, and possessed even fewer nerves. She followed Thornton—who was driving his own Talbot—along Whitehall, the Mall, and eventually to Kensington High Street. There the traffic grew thicker and they lost sight of her.
‘Well?’ asked Thornton.
‘She could be following us,’ admitted Loftus. ‘But there’s nothing we can do about it, Spats. There isn’t an agent who can follow her along; they’d never catch her up now, and we’ve no one stationed on this road. We just leave things to chance, and we keep hoping.’
Even when they had reached the Great West Road, and later when they were beyond Staines and scorching towards the flats over Blackwater Common, Spats could not be sure whether the twin orbs of light behind them belonged to the Bentley.
Spats made reasonably good time. He went through Winchester, lost his way then, but was lucky to find an illuminated road sign which he could read after stopping and craning his head forward. A few minutes later he was turning into the drive of the Manor, where the police were waiting for them.
Behind them came a second car.
But Thornton forgot that momentarily, and so did Loftus—who knew it as well as Thornton—for in the light of the dimmed headlights they saw a man standing rigidly near the wall of the big house. A man who was staring towards them, and who seemed struck dumb.
Thornton pulled up abruptly. Loftus left the car more quickly than seemed possible, for he recognised the man standing there and he did not like his attitude. He felt a wave of relief when Ned Oundle’s voice came reflectively.
‘Nice to see you, Bill. I’ve brought you a message.’
But even then Oundle was feeling dazed—and with good reason, for to find Loftus here, at the end of that nightmare drive, seemed to make the uncanniness of Pale-face sinister and threatening—and almost inhuman.
10
The Pace Quickens
There was beer at the Manor, and other refreshments, and within half an hour Oundle felt a new man. While eating and drinking, he told his story, and he finished quietly:
‘All joking aside, Bill, I’ve never had the wind up so much in my life.’
‘So I gathered,’ said Loftus dryly. ‘They’re clever, and they’re trying to frighten us off. That suggests that they’re not anxious to have us on.’
‘Elementary,’ grunted Thornton, who looked worried.
‘Elementary or not, they wouldn’t go to this trouble to keep us at a distance unless they were (a) scared, or (b) particularly anxious to impress us,’ said Loftus.
‘They’ve managed both,’ said Thornton. ‘I’m scared. So is Ned. So’re others. Damn it, this eyes in the dark business is all right for cats, but...’
‘None of which is humorous,’ said Loftus, rubbing his chin. ‘So you were the messenger, Ned, and you’ve brought the message. You’ve also brought confirmation of the fact that these people have cats’ eyes. The problem is how far they can see, and whether the idea’s any good from the air, for instance. If the range of vision is limited, it’s not half as important as it will be if there’s no limit. You didn’t get a glimpse of Pale-face?’
‘No.’
‘What was his voice like?’
‘You could say sibilant; he hissed a lot at the end of his words.’
‘Hmm,’ said Bill Loftus, and he stared thoughtfully ahead of him. ‘That’s a point, Ned, we’ll have to put it to the test. The machine-gun was a Thomson-sub, was it?’
‘It could have been an automatic rifle,’ said Oundle. ‘All I know is that it fired fast.’
‘We still have to face the possibility that there are two lots of these people,’ Loftus said, ‘and if Spats is right, the girl who talked to Mark Errol on Waterloo followed us here in a Bentley.’
Oundle started. ‘Did she, then!’
‘It was no more than a guess,’ said Thornton. ‘I’m not even sure that she kept with us all the way.’
‘She did, though,’ said a woman from the door.
The room in which they were sitting was on the ground floor. It was spacious but drably furnished, and even the blazing coal fire in a large grate did not contrive to give it an atmosphere of cheerfulness. Shadows from the fire threw themselves against the half-panelled walls, some showing the apparently moving shapes of the beer bottles and the plate of sandwiches on the table.
The lamps were shaded, but gave a fair light.
The windows were heavily curtained, and there was a draught-excluder curtain at the door. This had deadened the sound of the door opening, had prevented any of them from hearing the noise of approach. Yet Loftus did not seem surprised as he turned his head at the sound of the voice.
Oundle’s saucer-like eyes widened in surprise, and Spats positively gaped.
‘I thought so,’ said Loftus equably. ‘Come in, sweetheart.’
The woman stepped farther into the room.
There was one thing remarkable about her: she carried an automatic in her right hand, and at the end of the barrel was the stubbed shape of a new-type Maxim silencer. She was dressed in a mink coat which must have cost a fortune, and an absurdly small hat, perched forward on her head, emphasised luxuriant dark-brown hair. The effect of the high collar of the coat and the low position of the hat was to make her face seem tiny—but it was smooth complexioned, the lips were small and very shapely, and there seemed an almost mischievous quality in her hazel eyes as she regarded them.
‘The gun,’ she said, ‘doesn’t make any noise.’
‘Does it make a small hole, like an air-pistol?’ inquired Loftus. He did not appear in the least put out, although the gun was trained on him.
Oundle and Thornton relaxed.
There were many uncanny things about this business, and Loftus was not the least of them. Sometimes he saw further than anyone else, Oundle believed—and both men were of the opinion that he had expected the girl’s visit.
‘It does not make a hole like a bullet from an air pistol,’ said the girl gently. ‘But it makes a nasty hole. Loftus, can’t you take a hint?’
‘I can try,’ said Loftus amiably.
‘You haven’t tried much,’ she said. ‘You were warned the other night, and you were warned by telephone. Or didn’t Mark Errol tell you about it?’
‘All about it,’ said Loftus. ‘It’s the worst of being an Englishman. I’m pig-headed. And’—he grinned�
�‘I wanted to meet you. You had to turn up,’ he said, and began to stuff his pipe unconcernedly. ‘Is Pale-face a friend or an enemy of yours?’
Her lips tightened and the gleam disappeared from her eyes.
‘Who do you mean?’
‘Just Pale-face,’ said Loftus. ‘The man who habitually dresses in black, and...’
‘Has he been—worrying you?’
‘He contrived to worry Ned here, but not for long. We get used to these things. He’s also worried others, but I wouldn’t say that he has yet caused me much concern.’
‘Apparently that would be difficult,’ retorted the girl. ‘Don’t you know his name?’
‘No. What is it?’
‘Forster.’
‘German?’
‘Yes.’
‘Nazi?’
‘I think so,’ said the girl. She had not relaxed, and she kept the gun trained on them. ‘But that doesn’t matter. You’ve been told often enough that if you interest yourself in this business you’ll merely make matters worse.’
‘There’s such a thing as duty, or hadn’t you realised that?’
‘Don’t talk like a fool. You don’t help duty by running your head against a brick wall.’
‘Except that sufficient hard heads might knock a brick out,’ returned Loftus, still amiably. ‘Sweetheart, your concern for me and my friends is touching, but it somehow doesn’t ring true. Why don’t you be sensible, and join forces? Obviously we’ve a mutual enemy in Paleface or Forster if you prefer, and we might go to many places together.’
‘We will not,’ said the girl, and she appeared to be quite definite on the point. ‘Loftus, you’re inviting trouble, and you can’t do anything helpful. You’re quite useless in the dark, and it’s by dark that you’ll suffer.’
‘I could train a cat as a guide,’ said Loftus.
‘Don’t be light-headed,’ she snapped sharply. ‘We don’t want to cause trouble to you or to Craigie, or anyone for that matter. But we’re going to, unless you withdraw at once. I’ll tell you something. A man met the Errols at Waterloo and was going to kill them. We would have stopped him, but Thornton was there, and they managed it themselves. Another man followed you from Scotland Yard the night before last, and died on your doorstep—when he was about to throw a bomb into your room. We took the bomb from him before he died, and we saw what happened afterwards. We want to help you—but it’s got to be in our own way. Forster is necessary to us, in one way—but Forster is getting worried, and before long he’ll give up the ghost.’
‘It could be, I suppose,’ said Loftus. ‘I say, won’t you sit down?’
‘No thanks.’
‘A pity,’ said Loftus. ‘Listen, angel, listen to me. You want the secret of this seeing in darkness business, and so does Forster. Doubtless if either of you get it you’ll sell to the highest bidder. Or even to England, at a price. You’d like us to stand aside and let you carry on your private war with Herr Forster, and when one or the other of you has won, collect the dibs. I’d call it commercial minded. Wouldn’t you?’
‘Guessing won’t help you,’ said the girl sharply.
‘You can give my compliments to your undoubtedly ingenuous employer, and tell him no.’
The girl pushed her free hand into a pocket of the coat—a pocket the others had not noticed before.
‘You’ll all regret it,’ she said.
‘I have doubts,’ said Loftus.
‘I haven’t.’ She might have been discussing any commercial deal, but seemed genuinely perturbed. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing. This can be disastrous.’
‘Not in the right hands.’
‘We’ll handle it all right.’
‘I’ve doubts,’ said Loftus, and smiled engagingly. But don’t let me depress you. And if you really want to make a representation, why not speak to your Member of Parliament?’
‘You’re a bigger fool than I thought,’ said the girl dispassionately, and she drew her hand from her pocket. She was clutching something, but the others had no time to see what, for she stepped back swiftly towards the door and switched off the light. For a split second the darkness blinded them, although it would be only for a moment or two before the firelight gave them all they needed to see with.
They did not have that second.
The door opened, and they felt the draught—and then she had completely disappeared. Loftus moved from his chair with startling speed for a big man, but although he reached the hall it availed him little for the darkness surrounded him. He fancied he heard the front door open and close, and he raced towards it with a torch in his hand. But the beam from the torch showed him only just a glimpse of the chair which had been put in his path. He had no time to avoid it, and he crashed downwards, the torch going from his hand and also going out. He felt Oundle strike against him and then Thornton brought up the rear and also sprawled. They were in a helpless jumble on the floor for at least half a minute, and when they had sorted themselves out and looked into the carriage-way of the drive they saw nothing and heard nothing.
• • • • •
The Winchester police were helpful.
They were impressed by the Home Office order which was sent to them by special courier, an order which put Loftus in charge of the investigations of the murders of Sir Arbuthnot Wilson, and Lord Horley. They—Loftus, Oundle and Thornton—saw the two bodies, which were lying in a small room of the Manor, and they recognised the bullet wounds.
But why had they been out at that time of night?
Both men had been seen in the Manor—where they had shared a living-room—at half-past ten on the previous night. It had been assumed that both were in their bedrooms, and as they had given no instructions for calling, they had been left—thought the servants—in peace.
Then Sammy Doe had found them.
Loftus interviewed Sammy, and was intrigued by the tall, spindly, gnarled old man who admitted defiantly that they had been near his rabbit-snares, that he believed rabbits were for the common man and no one had a prior right to them. He was proud of his poaching, and strong ‘agin the Government’.
Not until after the interview with Sammy Doe had the authorisation come through from the Home Office for a search—and consequently the sales in the offices had remained locked. Loftus opened them, with Thornton and Oundle watching.
And Loftus exclaimed aloud, for the safes were empty.
One after the other was the same. No papers, no documents, nothing at all but the bare steel walls.
‘Except,’ Loftus said oddly as he straightened up from the last safe, ‘this.’
And in his fingers was a metal disc, fairly new and a little larger than a halfpenny. On one side was a queer picture of two heads—both men—on one pair of shoulders.
Similar to that which had been found on the man at Waterloo Station.
‘Things are moving,’ said Loftus, and his expression was hard. ‘Wilson and Horley were in something, and their reputations were probably ill-founded. If they were in this business others might be. The telephone, friends...’
He called Craigie, and was some time getting an answer, suggesting that Craigie was busy on one of the other lines. As he waited, Oundle and Thornton discussed the girl who had called and contrived to get away so easily. That trick of putting out the lights was an old one, of course; being able to see in the dark had made it doubly effective.
Loftus was thinking of the thing she had taken from her pocket, and wondering what it had been.
‘Hallo, yes.’ Craigie came on the line, and his voice was sharp. Loftus began to spell his name, but Craigie interrupted. ‘All right, Bill. Get down to Bournemouth as soon as you can. Grafton’s been kidnapped.’
‘What?’ shouted Loftus, and for a moment he looked as if he were going to lose his temper. ‘Damn it, I left...’
‘The lights in the hotel went out,’ said Craigie, ‘and all of our men were knocked out. They couldn’t do a thing in the dark. The same applies to you.
’
Loftus got himself under control.
‘Ye-es. Things are certainly moving, Gordon. I’ve met Mark’s Lady of Waterloo...’ He talked for thirty seconds on that subject, and then switched to the discovery of the empty safes. Craigie’s exclamation positively quivered over the wires.
‘Every one empty?’
‘There isn’t a confidential paper in the place,’ said Loftus. ‘All particulars of arrangements for the Mid-Southern area are somewhere they shouldn’t be. Check up fast on Horley and Wilson, will you? Private homes and what not.’
‘I will,’ said Craigie grimly. ‘Bill...’
‘Hm-hm?’
‘Be careful,’ said Craigie, and with those two words he said a great deal.
Loftus knew that Craigie was really alarmed.
He replaced the receiver, and turned to the others.
‘Bournemouth, pronto,’ he said. ‘I’ll have a word with the inspector upstairs.’
The Manor was used mostly for office work, and as a canteen. The staff which had been evacuated mostly slept out, although in the billiards-room there were a dozen people, either playing snooker, billiards—there were two tables—or cards at the small tables set in one corner. To get to the small room which the local inspector, a man named Mayhew, was using, Loftus had to cross the billiards-room. He had to find how long the papers had been missing—papers containing vital secrets, including the dumps for the storage of food, petrol and ammunition in that area, as well as plans indicating the vital industries and their plants.
There was a hum of conversation from the billiards-room as he entered, and the air was thick with a haze of stale smoke. Loftus stepped towards the far door, avoiding a man bending down to make his stroke.
And then, quite abruptly, every light in the room went out.
11
Hold-up
Loftus was startled, but less surprised than any of the others. He hesitated in a blackness relieved only by the faint glow from an electric fire, then put his hand in his pocket for his torch. The beam shot out across the room, and someone laughed on a high-pitched note.
