by John Creasey
‘I’ll collect some flatfoots,’ said Carruthers. ‘Be seeing you.’
* * *
It had not been pleasant.
McKenzie, his collar and tie off, his shirt damp with sweat, his eyes red-rimmed and fearful, his teeth chattering, stared almost blindly at a grim-faced Loftus and a Craigie who had not turned a hair.
‘Th-that’s all—I swear th-that’s all! …’
‘Let me repeat it,’ said Craigie, but at that moment Loftus put his hand in his pocket for his cigarette case. McKenzie screamed and cowered back, and Loftus told him coldly:
‘Keep telling the truth and you’ll have no more.’
Craigie continued:
‘As far as you know, twenty-one members of the Empire Armaments Manufacturers Association are members of the League. That includes the two dead men, Jaffrey and Gorton and yourself. You’re not sure about Anson?’
‘No, I swear …!’
‘Just say no,’ said Loftus. ‘Or yes, as the case may be.’
‘Nor are you sure of Lord Lore, or Benjamin Morely?’
‘N-no … I don’t—don’t think Morely is … The—the girl Dora—has been trying …’
‘To get him with you,’ Craigie supplied. ‘Wasn’t Myra Clayton trying to get Anson?’
‘I—I don’t know!’
Loftus was sure McKenzie was telling the truth, now; so was Craigie. It had taken half an hour to break down his resistance, and only the memory of what had happened at Effley Mansions had stiffened Loftus enough to use the refinements of persuasion it had needed.
‘Nebton is also an unknown quantity?’
‘Yes—yes!’
‘Rogerson, as far as you know, is leading the attempt?’
‘He—he’s Number 101 …’
‘And you are 94?’
‘Y-yes.’
‘The conference of Armament Manufacturers Association has been called for the first of September—where?’
‘I’ve told you—I don’t know! It’s not decided yet. But it doesn’t matter—I told you! Rogerson didn’t intend to let it meet, ever.’
‘Just why was Rogerson anxious to get you—and others—working with him?’
‘We—we were rich.’
‘ “Were” is good,’ said Loftus, gently. ‘But there’s another reason. What is it?’
‘We—some of us …’ Sweat was trickling down McKenzie’s face, and for the first time he hesitated. Calmly, Loftus took his cigarette from his lips, and McKenzie shivered. ‘We c-could, if necessary, d-destroy the stores of ammunitions, if the G-Government decided to f-fight …’
‘So that’s it!’ snapped Loftus, and Craigie’s eyes gleamed.
‘Yes … You were prepared, McKenzie, to prevent the Government getting reserves of ammunition in the event of the League trying to reduce the country to a state of civil war. That’s right?’
McKenzie was sweating.
‘I—I had to, I …’
‘You had to make more money, somehow!’ Craigie’s contempt was monumental. ‘Who introduced you to the movement?’
‘A—a man named Korrel.’
‘Hallo,’ murmured Loftus. ‘We’re beginning to get at the bottom of it, Gordon. Korrel was a recruiting sergeant, was he? Myra, Dora and Letty are others. It makes sense.’
‘Where are the headquarters?’ demanded Craigie.
‘I—I don’t know! We met at the houseboat, once—four of us …’
‘The others being?’
‘I don’t know their names! They would never talk! They always met at different places. I was asked to make a report on—on the condition of two cruisers I’m—I’m building for the Government. That was all! I don’t know them …’
‘They weren’t in the Association?’
‘I don’t know—I’d never seen them before!’
‘Where else have you met?’
‘At—at the Éclat. The Regal. A little place in Bloomsbury. On Nebton’s yacht, the Callay. At the Coventry Street Corner House, other restaurants!’ The words were pouring from McKenzie now, and he was difficult to understand. ‘I always had a letter to be at such a place, I always saw the same three men, reported, and then …’
‘There’s just one thing that doesn’t fit in,’ said Craigie. ‘You’re Number 94 of the League. You tell us that in the event of the League usurping the Government’s position, you would have been in the High Council, equivalent to the present Cabinet. But—when it comes to a push, you lead a gang of cut-throats here.’
McKenzie drooped forward to Craigie’s desk, his eyes almost starting from his head.
‘I—I had orders! We’ve lost men—someone—someone had to interrogate you properly, learn what you knew …’
‘Thanks,’ said Craigie, drily. ‘Where were you going to report?’
‘I don’t know. I would have been telephoned at—at my house. I …’
McKenzie saw Loftus move again—and slid from his chair, quite unconscious. Loftus lifted him, not ungently, back into the chair, and turned to Craigie.
‘That’s as much as we’ll get, I think. Thank God we’re beginning to see the light! It’s a stinking business—but at least you can give orders for getting another eighteen of the swine, now.’
Craigie nodded, glancing at the notes he had made of the men McKenzie had implicated. There was a lot to do before they could strike at Rogerson and the mysterious trio McKenzie had talked about. But for the Department to get at eighteen members of the League—important members, unless McKenzie had lied—would shatter Rogerson.
The risk was, thought Loftus, that it might move him to further acts of chaos; they had to be careful. But Craigie would watch that, he knew.
‘All right, Bill,’ Craigie said. ‘You get to the Naveling. You’ll have the Errols followed, of course?’
‘I will—but more with the idea of reinforcing them in emergency. They’re sound enough.’
Craigie’s hooded eyes twinkled.
‘We can make mistakes.’
‘You’ve got my resignation if the Errols turn out on the wrong side!’ said Loftus, cheerfully. He looked down at the unconscious McKenzie. ‘Odd how they will fall for the easiest trick, isn’t it? The one place our League friends should have kept away from is this office.’ He shrugged, and turned to go then added, soberly: ‘Tell Di to be careful with Morely …’
Craigie pressed the control panel and he went out. As the door closed behind him, he smiled grimly. There were exactly seven doors from the Department office, and there had—as the Errols had learned—been ample evidence of the gathering of men outside.
To see McKenzie had been a shock, and to realise there were quite so many men outside had also jolted him. If they had simply opened fire …
He stopped smiling.
For half an hour, things had gone well. The skeleton of the thing was in their hands, and—thanks in a large measure to the ultimatum—they knew which way events were driving.
Rogerson probably imagined himself another Hitler: older, even craftier, but driven on by the same megalomania. That much seemed obvious.
But there were others behind Rogerson. Just as Hitler was ‘advised’ by his party leaders, so was Rogerson.
Who were the mysterious trio?
Anson? Tiarney? Frazer-Campbell? Morely? Lord Lore?
Five possibilities, in short. But the list might well be longer …
He reached Whitehall to see the unfamiliar men in khaki patrolling it, with a smattering of policemen. Davidson and Carruthers, with the Errols, were taking the air just outside Scotland Yard, and talking with Superintendent Miller, who had made arrangements to handle the prisoners—already on their way to Wandsworth.
Four pairs of eyes regarded Loftus keenly.
‘Anything?’ asked Carruthers.
‘Pointers, but nothing definite. McKenzie cracked, but he’s not one of the Mighty Men Who Matter. His house had better be looked through, Horace,’—Miller found a smile at that—’and you can
also ask how Inspector Morgan let him slip through his fingers. Will you look after it?’
‘I’ll deal with Morgan,’ Miller assured him, and left them.
‘Poor Morgan!’ grinned Loftus.
His own car and the Errols’ were parked nearby. They piled into both and drove quickly towards Bloomsbury, where they found that the evacuation order now being carried out in London was leaving a preponderance of men and youths in the streets, although women were reasonably plentiful, still. Little groups were gathered everywhere, and paperboys were yelling. Newstand placards mostly showed just one word:
ULTIMATUM!
The Naveling Hotel, Bloomsbury, proved to be—rarely, for that part of London—fully detached. It was not large, and it looked dowdy. In the crowded streets, it had been easy for the Department men, all youthful, to pass unnoticed. A dozen policemen had also been detailed to take part in the raid.
The Errols separated—Mark somewhat reluctantly, for he wanted to see the fun; but he had to find Morely and the little-known Dora. Young Bimbo Bramley accompanied him, and another two agents followed at a discreet distance.
Mike was curious.
‘Are the police starting it, William, or …?’
‘Or,’ said Loftus. ‘The police stay outside to catch any strays, and I’ll bring Letty. I’ll let her get away, and you’ll be parked fifty yards or so to the left. Act fast—but the details are up to you.’
‘I will not fail us,’ grinned Mike. ‘Right-ho!’
They were round the corner from the front entrance of the Naveling, and he walked to his car, buying an evening newspaper as he went.
Loftus, Carruthers and Davidson led the way to the front door.
There was more than a chance of a fight, but Loftus wanted to get it over quickly. The house was surrounded at such speed that few passers-by noticed there was anything happening. Loftus rat-tatted on the door, and it was opened after a brief pause by a miserable-looking man in black.
‘Who …?’
Loftus gripped his arm, and the narrow hall was suddenly filled with muscular young men. The man in black opened his mouth—and shut it again as Loftus snapped:
‘Keep quiet, or you’ll get what’s coming to you. How many men here?’
‘There ain’t—there ain’t many. And they’re what…’
‘Women?’
The man in black looked mutinous for a moment—and Loftus clipped his ear.
‘There’s only Miss Letty! Mister, I din’t mean no ’arm …’
There was a sense of anti-climax about the raid, not to mention disappointment. The miserable one needed little persuasion to lead the way to the first floor room where, he said, the woman named Letty lived.
He tapped—and a pleasant voice said: ‘Come in.’
Loftus opened the door.
A fluffy-haired, indubitably pretty girl was sitting in an easy chair, her legs crossed and showing plenty of silk stocking, her hands holding lightly to a picture-magazine. Her grip tightened as she jumped up, alarm in her eyes.
‘What …?’
‘Letty, my sweet,’ said Loftus. ‘I would have words with you. About many things. Put a coat on, if you want one.’
She had gone deathly pale.
‘Who are …’
‘Call it the police,’ Loftus told her. ‘I want to know all that you know about the League, my pet—and don’t try throwing fits: I’m hard-hearted.’
She looked ready to faint, and it was some seconds before she recovered enough to put on a hat and coat.
Loftus wondered whether she would have the pluck to try to escape. As he led her past the men outside and below, he felt her trembling. She was pretty enough, but not up to Myra’s standard. She had a figure, too, and the clothes she was wearing did little to conceal it.
They reached the street.
As Loftus had ordered, four policemen were on the right, but none on the left. He beckoned the men in blue, and at the same time eased his grip on Letty’s arm.
She was away in a flash!
Two of Craigie’s men essayed to catch her, but let her go—and Loftus, although running, saw Mike Errol look around in surprise, for people were shouting, and saw him open the car door. Letty drew level, hesitated …
‘In a hurry?’ drawled Mike. ‘I’m free, darling …’
‘Fast—for heaven’s sake, fast!’ she gasped, and Mike let in the clutch as she jumped in. Police whistles shrilled, but as he drove at speed, turning one corner—a second, a third—the echo of the whistles died away.
He looked down into Letty’s pert but frightened face with a dry smile.
‘What have you been up to? Cat burgling?’
‘No—oh, hurry! I can’t thank you enough …’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure,’ smiled Mike, and Loftus would have revelled in his acting, then. ‘What direction? I know a nice spot for supper …’
‘Never mind that! I—oh, please!’ She seemed to remember abruptly that he was a perfect stranger, and that charm was necessary. ‘I—I’ve got to get on the Maidenhead Road quickly. I wonder if—if you would …’
Maidenhead, thought Mike Errol grimly. The houseboat?
‘As I’m free, and if you’ll promise to have supper with me …’
‘I’m …’ She changed her mind suddenly, smiled, snuggled closer to him. It was not difficult to understand why Sir Jabez Gorton had found her persuasive. ‘Of course, I’d love to …’
Mike admitted aloud and to himself that he was satisfied. A fast car, with Carruthers and Davidson up, was on his heels, and he did not think they would be likely to lose him. As he went out of London, taking the Slough Road for it was likely to be clearer, his Bentley gathered speed.
Letty sat rigidly at his side, remembering him only when he forced her to. Mike Errol noticed two things: she was very frightened—and her nose-tip tilted very attractively …
He got out of London after three-quarters of an hour, which was not bad going considering the number of pedestrians on the road. The man in the street was wondering whether the ultimatum would be backed by further demonstrations of force that night.
‘Where now?’ asked Mike.
‘I—oh, just straight on,’ she said.
He hesitated, then went on. He might have stopped for a while, for conversation, he might have demanded to know just where she wanted him to take her. But he could not reach a decision. He felt that Letty would be an ample handful, and hoped Carruthers and Davidson were close behind him.
They were not, for a careless pedestrian and a clumsy motorist combined to make them crash, and they were stranded.
As was Mike, although he did not know it.
20
Mark Meets Dora
A colourless little man, a useful agent for work abroad because he was so easily disguised, but pressed into service in England because of the emergency, informed Mark Errol that Dora was still at her flat. Benjamin Morely had also arrived, five minutes before.
‘The problem,’ said the colourless little man, ‘is whether it’s just a case of Benjamin heading for the divorce courts, or whether the present interview is important. I’ve a feeling that our Benjamin was rattled when he came in.’
Mark considered.
‘If he has any idea of what’s happened to gentlemen of the League, and he’s a member of it, he has cause to be scared. On the other hand, his wife might be proving obstreperous.’
‘Yes … Going to barge in?’
‘Barge?’ Mark looked pained. ‘Finesse, little man, is the essential in this game—or so Loftus says.’
The little man grinned.
‘Oh, of course—finesse with fists. However …’
He broke off, and Mark, at the wheel of a Lagonda supplied by Loftus, saw without appearing to look at the entrance of the flats, that a short, florid man was hurrying out. He did not look happy, and he bounded into the road, lifting a hand for a passing taxi. The colourless one gestured.
‘My job,’ he murm
ured. ‘Luck with the lady!
He appeared to melt into thin air.
Actually he reached a battered-looking Austin 7 which was parked some fifty yards away and drove off ahead of the taxi which Benjamin Morely had managed to secure. That the florid man was Morely, Mark had no doubt.
‘Luck with the lady,’ he repeated ruminatively. ‘I wonder why in Hades they thought I could handle Dora? And I wonder,’ he added as he made for the entrance, ‘how Mike’s getting on? Letty’s probably persuading him to stand her a supper. I—I beg your pardon!’
She was short, pert-faced, and raven-haired.
Like Morely, she looked harassed and unhappy.
She was dressed in a tailor-made linen costume which could have had a bewitching effect on many young men, and she had come out of the flats at a speed which put the blame of the collision clearly on her shoulders.
She looked up at Mark, as she recovered herself.
‘I’m sorry! I …’
‘Don’t be,’ said Mark promptly, taking what might prove a godsent chance with alacrity. ‘There are a dozen ways of being introduced, and this …’
He thought she was going to hurry past him, but her dark eyes narrowed, and she pulled herself up short.
‘That’s very nice of you. I—er …’
‘I was thinking of dinner.’ Mark looked humorously hopeful. ‘For a start, anyhow.’
‘You mustn’t be too optimistic.’ Dora had the same quick, easy manner as Letty, although that night at least—perhaps because she had less immediate cause for worry—she exploited it more capably. ‘I’m really awfully fed up—a friend of mine was going to give me a run into the country, and he can’t manage it.’
‘I now believe in Fate,’ Mark announced, taking her arm masterfully. ‘I had an appointment, but it can wait. What part of the country?’
‘Any part.’ She spoke with a quiet vehemence, almost as if she were afraid of being overheard. She looked past him.
Expecting—fearing—whom?
‘Please yourself,’ he said. ‘I’ve a fast bus, and …’
‘I know a glorious little place near Winchester.’
He had half-expected her to say Maidenhead, and was certainly surprised that she should have picked on somewhere so far from London. Mark Errol had always been possessed of an ability to think quickly, and a few days in the service of Department Z had given a fine point to that talent.
