Shadow of Doom (Dr. Palfrey)

by John Creasey

  ‘Thanks,’ murmured Palfrey. ‘There was a list in Lozana’s suitcase—you know Lozana?’

  ‘Yes, and also dislike him,’ said Knudsen.

  ‘On that list were six names,’ said Palfrey. ‘Only two of the six people named are still alive. I am one. You are the other.’

  Knudsen’s expression did not change, unless it was for a slight hardening of his eyes.

  ‘A curious and interesting fact,’ said Palfrey. ‘You know you are in danger, don’t you? You have surrounded yourself with men to try to forestall that danger, but you’re not really confident. It isn’t pleasant to be under sentence of death.’

  Knudsen said: ‘Are you trying to frighten me?’

  ‘Great Scott, no!’ exclaimed Palfrey. ‘The last thing in the world I would try to do! I leave that to Dias.’ He took out cigarettes, and noticed that as he put his hand towards his pocket Knudsen went tense. ‘Can we be honest with each other, Mr. Knudsen? Dias, you say, is your enemy. You have, so far, been able to keep him at bay. So have I. We have that much in common. I want to find out what Dias is doing. Among other things, I believe he knows where a substantial quantity of radium is hidden in Europe. I am a doctor. I know how badly that radium is needed.’

  He paused, and Knudsen said: ‘I know nothing about any radium, Dr. Palfrey.’

  ‘You know a lot about Dias,’ said Palfrey. ‘Was he here a great deal during the war?’

  After a long silence, a silence during which Palfrey and Bruton stared hard at the other man, Knudsen leaned forward and picked up a pen. He toyed with it as he spoke.

  ‘Yes, Dr. Palfrey, a great deal. His official reason was to keep open trade channels between Sweden and South America,’ said Knudsen, ‘but in my opinion—and many people shared that opinion—he was acting as an agent for Nazi Germany. I have no time for pro-Nazis, Dr. Palfrey—I had no time for them during the war, when I was compelled to trade with them, and I certainly have none now. I arranged, in fact, for Dias to be removed from the country. I have some influence.’

  ‘And he’s gone?’ said Palfrey.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you still surround yourself with guards,’ said Palfrey. ‘So there are sympathisers for the Nazi cause in Sweden, I suppose? Or else friends of Dias.’

  ‘I do not trust him,’ said Knudsen. ‘He knows that I was instrumental in having him sent out of the country, and he is hostile because of that’

  Palfrey said: ‘And for other reasons? You won’t encourage others to do business with him, perhaps?’

  ‘I will not,’ said Knudsen.

  Bruton said, restlessly: ‘Are we getting anywhere?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Palfrey, with an amiable smile. ‘Progress is slow, that’s all. You had another visitor here about the time that Dias was in Stockholm didn’t you? William K. Bane.’

  Knudsen snapped: ‘What do you know of Bane?’

  ‘We’re old friends,’ said Palfrey.

  ‘You and Bane are friends?’ said Knudsen, and before they realised what he was about to do, he lifted the telephone. ‘Get me Mr. Bane,’ he said. ‘Yes, at once, at the Splendor.’ He held on while he looked at Palfrey, still smiling, but with an air of tension. Palfrey said nothing; Bruton took out a cigar and cut the end. ‘Hallo,’ said Knudsen, abruptly. ‘Bane—this is Knudsen. I have a Dr. Palfrey here …’

  He talked for some time, then listened, relaxed, laughed, and replaced the receiver.

  ‘I was surprised,’ he said, ‘because a friend of William K. Bane’s is aways welcome here. Now, Dr. Palfrey, what do you really want?’

  Chapter Thirty

  Influx into Stockholm

  ‘I want to know why you are afraid,’ said Palfrey.

  Knudsen laughed. ‘Fear is comparative, Dr. Palfrey. I am not particularly frightened. On the other hand, I would prefer to live. There is much to do, and I am vain enough to think that there are some things which I can do better than anyone else. Dias has good reason to want me dead. I have obstructed him wherever possible. I am, as you see, a private citizen. I do not have to be diplomatic. I do not know exactly what Dias is doing, but I believe that it is wholly evil. For one thing, there is no doubt, I think, that he is deeply involved in Black Market operations.’

  ‘In Stockholm?’ asked Palfrey, quickly.

  ‘There is little of that in Stockholm,’ said Knudsen. ‘Our food stocks have never been depleted as they have in other countries. We are suppliers more than buyers. Dias wanted to buy a large proportion of my fishing-fleet’s catch this year. It is a big fleet, and conditions are likely to be good. He also wanted to buy the catch of other fleets—that was his purpose in Stockholm. He failed completely, Dr. Palfrey, because I warned the others not to deal with him.’

  ‘You’re dead set against him?’ Palfrey said.

  Knudsen laughed again. ‘Yes, of course. I think the man is evil.’

  ‘Thinking isn’t enough,’ said Palfrey, bluntly.

  Knudsen shrugged. ‘Very well, then I know he is. Bane has told me a great deal of what he has done. I would like you to understand this, Dr. Palfrey—I am not going to take any part in creating diplomatic difficulties for my country. Dias’s activities elsewhere are unimportant to me. I mean to make sure that he cannot work in Stockholm, and I think I have made sure of that. If he still hopes, he will undoubtedly try to kill me. That is the simple truth, Dr. Palfrey.’

  ‘And Dias’s only purpose in coming here was to buy fish?’ said Palfrey. As he spoke he remembered de Morency’s scorn when he had learned that Lozana was, ostensibly, selling beef. De Morency’s voice seemed to ring in his ears.

  ‘That is the only purpose of which I am aware,’ said Knudsen, with the deliberation of a man who has said his last word. ‘If, as I imagine, you are opposing him for others reasons than mine, Dr. Palfrey, you have my very good wishes. Now, I am a busy man. I know you will forgive me if I say that I can spare no more time.’

  Palfrey said: ‘What did you tell Erikson?’

  ‘My dear sir—’

  ‘Erikson learned something from you, your name was on his lips when he died,’ said Palfrey. ‘He learned something from you and was about to pass it on, or he learned something about you. Which was it, Knudsen?’

  ‘You are very persistent, Dr. Palfrey,’ said Knudsen, ‘but I assure you that I told your friend Erikson exactly the same as I told you. In fact I think I can prove it! I was not sure, you see, whether Erikson could be trusted. He might have been an emissary of Dias. And for my own protection, in case he became violent and there were unhappy consequences, I had a record taken of the conversation. One is taken of ours, also!’ He laughed as he pressed a bell, and the fair-haired, harassed secretary came in breathlessly. Knudsen spoke to her in Swedish. She answered, hurried out and came back wheeling the audition part of a dictaphone. She put a cylinder on, pressed a switch and stood back.

  Knudsen waved her away.

  As the door closed, the noise of the turning cylinder faded, for Knudsen was speaking from the dictaphone. ‘Yes, Mr. Erikson,’ he said.

  Erikson’s voice followed.

  Palfrey and Bruton sat quite still, listening to that voice out of the past. Erikson was friendly; he had always been a good interviewer. Knudsen had been as friendly to Erikson as he had been towards them. As the cylinder went on, Bruton’s attention wandered, as if he disliked hearing the dead man’s voice. Palfrey’s remained riveted on the conversation.

  There was the scrape of a chair and a sound of footsteps from the dictaphone. ‘Show Mr. Erikson out, please,’ came Knudsen’s voice. ‘Goodbye, Mr. Erikson. I am sorry I could not give you more information.’

  ‘You’ve been very kind,’ came Erikson’s voice.

  Knudsen leaned forward and switched off, with a flourish.

  ‘Are you satisfied, Dr. Palfrey?’

  Palfrey beamed. ‘Yes, yes, thanks very much! You have been very kind—and patient. I suppose I can’t beg that record from you?’

 
‘Why should you want to?’ demanded Knudsen, and his voice was sharper than it had been; Palfrey thought that there was an air of greater tension.

  ‘Sentimental value,’ Palfrey murmured.

  Knudsen said: ‘I wish I could give it you, but there are other confidential matters on the record. I might be able to have it scraped so that only that conversation remains, Dr. Palfrey, and if I can I will have it sent to you.’

  ‘Thanks very much,’ said Palfrey.

  He seemed very pleased with himself when he left the office and was smiling happily as they slowly descended in the lift, down the well with the long window through which they could see so much of the docks and the harbour. Bruton was frowning, for he could see nothing about which to be particularly satisfied. Palfrey knew that he was puzzled and even a little irritated by his own attitude.

  Only when they were back at the Splendor did Bruton say in a sharp voice: ‘Why are you grinning so broadly?’

  Palfrey said: ‘Because we’re nearly at the end of the hunt.’

  Bruton said: ‘After what we heard there?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Palfrey.

  ‘You’re not yourself,’ said Bruton.

  Palfrey said: ‘Think again Corny.’ He waited until they were in their room, and Bruton was standing with his back to the window, glowering at him. The truth was that Erikson’s voice had affected the American, and it was sounding in his ears all the time – as if Erikson were talking to him. ‘You’ve been very kind.’

  ‘I can’t think,’ he said, abruptly.

  ‘All right, try criticising my line of reasoning,’ said Palfrey. ‘Knudsen is our man—or one of them.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Give me a chance,’ protested Palfrey. ‘Knudsen lied to us and lied to Neil. He nearly succeeded in the biggest and cleverest lie I’ve ever heard, and he may try to clinch success with that one. I mean the record.’

  ‘That was Neil’s voice!’ Bruton barked.

  ‘Oh yes. But Knudsen switched off before the record was quite played out. There was half an inch left on the cylinder, and a lot can be recorded on half an inch of shellac. But that was confirmation of suspicions. The first mistake he made was telephoning Bane.’

  Bruton said: ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘My dear chap! He told the operator to get Bane at the Splendor. We have made close inquiries here, and are told that Bane left the day before yesterday. There is a choice of one of two things; either Bane is still here, under a different name and lying low, or else Knudsen did not get in touch with him.’

  Bruton’s eyes were brighter. ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘I think he talked to Bane,’ said Palfrey.

  ‘But Bane’s with us!’

  ‘We’ve taken a lot about Bane for granted,’ said Palfrey. ‘We believed him when he told us that he was working for the State Department and when Brett confirmed that, but—’

  ‘Hold it,’ said Bruton. ‘I don’t think a lot of the State Department about many things, but it wouldn’t lie.’

  ‘Bane would lie to it,’ said Palfrey.

  Bruton drew in a sharp breath.

  ‘Bane would be prepared to lie to the State Department or anyone else, if it suited him,’ said Palfrey. ‘What better cover could there be to activities on the European Black Market than Bane’s? He could safely chase after Dias—oh, it is extremely clever,’ said Palfrey. ‘Probably one of the cleverest bluffs we’ve met, but if Knudsen spoke to Bane this morning, Bane’s in this up to the neck—and Knudsen is with him.’

  Bruton said: ‘I still don’t get it, Sap. Bane could have finished you a long time ago. Bane told you that Dias was in the Black Market. Half of what we know is from Bane. And there was the shooting at the Maas Hotel. It doesn’t add up.’

  ‘The Maas Hotel affair could easily have been faked,’ said Palfrey. ‘If Dias and Bane knew Stefan was outside, then every word could have been uttered to make us trust Bane.’

  ‘They shot at him,’ said Bruton.

  ‘They missed him, but they didn’t miss Raoul,’ said Palfrey. ‘Think about it, Corny.’

  ‘I’m thinking all right,’ said Bruton. ‘Have your forgotten that Bane told us Dias was in Berlin?’

  ‘He knew we were bound to find out. He didn’t tell us a thing we didn’t know ourselves. And he was friendly with Muriel, remember—one of Dias’s brigade. Naturally, Muriel was the go-between—is the go-between. And something happened in that office when Neil was there. He came straight here and tried to telephone me, but was killed because of what he had learned in that office. Probably Bane turned up when he wasn’t expected—or even Dias might have shown up. Knudsen saw a wonderful chance of proving his goodwill by letting us hear most of what was recorded, but he switched off a little too abruptly.’

  After a long pause, Bruton said: ‘You may be right. I wouldn’t put it any higher than that.’

  Palfrey said: Tricky things, dictaphones, aren’t they?’

  ‘I’m not sure that this one hasn’t gone to your head.’

  ‘Oh, it has,’ said Palfrey. ‘I’m inclined to think that there is one in the room. Dias, we know, had the suite next to this. I wonder if Bane’s there now? Or if Dias, by any chance, is still there?’ He was looking about the room, unconcerned, his hands thrust deep in his pocket. ‘Shall we look round?’

  ‘I suppose we’d better,’ said Bruton, resignedly. ‘I won’t have any peace until we have. Where shall we start? Under the bed?’

  Palfrey looked towards the wardrobe, the only piece of furniture against one wall.

  ‘No, there,’ he said. ‘That’s the wall we share with the room which Dias had.’ He was smiling brightly, as if he were quite sure of himself. Bruton strode towards the wardrobe, and Palfrey watched him, waited until he put a hand out to open it, and said: ‘Not too much noise, Corny.’

  Bruton opened the wardrobe door quietly. He lifted clothes-hangers off the rail, brought out a few oddments of clothing, and then stepped into the wardrobe. Palfrey joined him, after switching on the light so that they could see better inside. The wardrobe seemed to be made of solid wood. Bruton took a pencil torch from his pocket and flashed it about the inside, without speaking.

  Suddenly he stopped moving, and shone it on to one particular spot, near the floor. Palfrey peered at the same spot. It looked as if a piece of yellow wood had been built into the back of the wardrobe.

  Bruton began to speak. ‘I—’

  Palfrey gripped his arm.

  Bruton stopped, and went down on one knee. Palfrey decided that it would be better to leave the other a clear field, and stood back. Bruton was some time examining the wood, and when he backed out of the wardrobe he closed the door softly, and then whispered:

  ‘That hides a microphone, Sap!’

  ‘So they know what we know,’ murmured Palfrey. ‘I thought of that a shade too late,’ He laughed, without amusement. ‘Well, we seem to be wasting our time,’ he added more loudly, but he was pointing towards the door.

  Bruton went towards it with him; both knew that they had one chance – to act before action was taken against them.

  They opened the door and peered along the passage. No one was in sight. In a trice Bruton reached the door of the next room with his penknife in hand. Palfrey kept watch. Bruton found the door difficult, and he was working on it for at least three minutes before the lock clicked back – and the click seemed very loud.

  Bruton acted swiftly.

  He kicked open the door, ducked, and rushed into the room. The door crashed back against the wall. Palfrey followed with his gun in hand.

  A man was standing near a small loudspeaker through which voices in the next room could be relayed and magnified so that everything said there was audible. The man looked dumbfounded; he had been taken completely by surprise.

  ‘Why, hallo,’ said Palfrey, and closed the door behind him. ‘Matthew, isn’t it? Brother of Charles. Don’t tell me that you’re a friend of His Excellency Señor Fernandez y D
ias. Or William K. Bane. Or Josh Anderson. Or Knudsen. Come on,’ he added, encouragingly, ‘we won’t bite provided you behave yourself. Tell me, does Charles know you’re here?’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Brother of Charles

  Matthew Lumsden began to shake. The tremors started at his hands and gradually spread to his whole body. He stood quivering, his mouth opened and closed and his teeth chattered. Naked fear was in his eyes; extremity of fear showed in the pallor of his cheeks and the helpless way in which his knees sagged. He staggered to one side, stretched out a hand and supported himself against the back of a chair.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ murmured Palfrey.

  The man could not sit down; he could not move the chair nor walk the few steps necessary. He was a complete and quivering wreck. Palfrey felt a contempt such as he had felt for few men, and Bruton’s hard eyes reflected the same emotion.

  Abruptly, Bruton said: ‘We’d better get out of here. It isn’t safe.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Palfrey. ‘Find an empty room. It doesn’t matter whether it’s booked or not.’

  He waited alone with Charles’s brother, who watched him but made no movement. He examined the microphone, seeing how cleverly it was wired, then looked about the room at the personal luggage. There were several suit-cases with the initials M.L. on them, but a travelling-trunk and two pig-skin cases had the initials W.K.B. So Bane had been staying next door to them. He opened the door leading to the next room of the suite: it was empty. So was the bathroom. He returned to the middle of the room as Bruton came back.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Come on, you.’ He gripped Matthew’s shoulder and pushed him towards the door. Almost opposite them another door stood open. Matthew nearly fell as Bruton pushed him into the room opposite. The others followed and closed the door.

  ‘I happen to know that the man who was staying here paid his bill this morning,’ Bruton said, ‘and the maids have finished, so we ought to be all right for a few hours.’

  ‘We ought to get our luggage out of our room,’ Palfrey said, ‘and play the same trick as William K. Bane. They’ll be after us in no time. I wonder if the manager can be trusted?’