by John Creasey
Then Lois said thoughtfully:
‘I suppose there’s nothing else for it, I’ll have to leave you alone.’ She grimaced at Loftus and Hammond, patted Kerr’s cheek, and went out of the room. There was a short silence before Kerr stood up and closed the windows. Both he and Loftus looked at Hammond, and Loftus said gently: ‘We can’t be overheard, old man.’
‘Oh,’ said Hammond. He brushed his hair back from his forehead, and realised that they were waiting for his story of what had happened in London.
It had never been his habit to talk freely of his ideas, particularly when they were half-formed. Craigie had realised that, but Hammond felt he could hardly expect Kerr and Loftus to feel the same. To give them merely a brief statement of fact, as he would like to do, would suggest that he did not propose to take them into his confidence, and that was the last impression he wanted to create.
‘We—ell,’ he said, and somewhat hesitantly started the story. Before long he found himself plunging not only into the details, but the possibilities which they engendered. When he had told them what he had told Craigie, he added: ‘We’ve got to watch the Crayshaw angle, whether it’s a red herring or not. It’s the fact that we’re working so much in the air that worries me. We’ve nothing to bite on. The 21st April might mean anything or nothing.’
Loftus said: ‘The inference is that there’s a connection with activities in occupied France.’
‘Is there?’ asked Hammond. ‘If so, it’s the barest of possibilities. Personally, I’d taken it for granted that it was something that was going to happen over here. Something underground, perhaps. There’s another possibility, you know. The Huns may have known more or less what was in that letter, and taken it as read that we would know what it was all about. If that’s the case, it seems a wasted effort. Anyhow——’ he paused, and then stood up. ‘I think we ought to start from the fact that there are a number of agents in this country prepared to do anything to stop the letter getting through, and on that basis we’re reasonably justified in assuming it’s concerned with activities over here.’
‘I haven’t followed you,’ said Kerr.
Hammond frowned, and Loftus said quietly: ‘It’s our old friend the hunch. I’ve heard of ‘em, I’ve even had ‘em.’ He spoke soberly, without suggesting even by inference that it was useless to rely on hunches of any kind. ‘Bruce, what did you think of the nurse?’
Hammond looked relieved at the change of subject.
‘She’s well above the average, isn’t she?’
Kerr said: ‘Bill’s been harbouring dark suspicions of the girl.’
‘Has he?’ asked Hammond sharply. He felt a furious urge to defend Nurse Caroll, and forced himself to speak with a calm impartiality. ‘That’s why you wanted to know whether she was in the room, is it? The arrow near her face pretty well gives the suspicions their quietus, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, and no,’ said Loftus. ‘If the swine wanted to get rid of Emile, they wouldn’t mind who else died. We’ve proof of that with the doctor fellow, Brice. It’s clear from papers found at his house that he’s been passing information on for some time. He even kept a diary!’ Loftus fingered his aluminium leg thoughtfully. ‘Brice had to find out who had the boot, and where it was. He was at the hospital last night, talking to the regular physician there, a man named Shapgold. It was through him Brice learnt Emile’s story. Brice started off at once, and managed to get through the Home Guard pretty easily, probably because he’s a doctor.’
Hammond said abruptly: ‘What Home Guard?’
‘They were all over the place,’ said Loftus. ‘Good lord, yes! Why on earth didn’t I think of that before?’ He was staring at Hammond, while Kerr looked from one man to the other, frowning a little uncertainly.
Hammond said: ‘If you were stopped, Brice was probably questioned too. So what about the other four, five or six men? How did they get through?’
Kerr said slowly: ‘Well I’m damned!’
‘About the only people who could have followed Brice last night were other Home Guards, or military,’ said Hammond, ‘or men who passed for such. I’d better get down to see these Home Guard people. Are you two coming?’
It was not altogether a fruitless journey, although the results acquired were not as satisfying as the trio would have liked. It appeared that Home Guards from several districts were taking part in the manoeuvres, or more properly preparations for manoeuvres, which were to take place in about a week’s time. Consequently, provided men had the correct pass-word and were in uniform they could pass through the lines without difficulty. Moreover, motor-cyclist despatch riders and, in some cases, radio cars with a driver and assistant and two radio-officers, also passed through without serious hindrance.
Hammond asked questions of dozens of men, found at the Home Guard H.Q., at private houses, clubs and meeting places. He was tireless and insistent. Loftus also did some questioning, and Kerr almost as much as Hammond. At half-past eight, when the night was quite dark, they met and compared notes.
Afterwards, Hammond said thoughtfully: ‘It’s quite clear now, anyhow. Our merchants had a radio-car, and got through on the strength of it. It passed just after Brice all along the road.’
‘It was too dark to identify them,’ Loftus said a little gloomily. ‘We’re not much further ahead.’
‘Aren’t we?’ asked Hammond slowly.
Both men stared at him. ‘Call it another hunch, if you like, but I think it might get us somewhere.’
‘Don’t hold it!’ implored Loftus.
‘All right,’ said Hammond. ‘I’m thinking it might be a good idea to find when the manoeuvres are really starting. These are dress-rehearsal preparations, and it’s now the middle of April. Could the starting date be the 21st?’
11
Provisionally the 21st
There was little chance of reaching the nursing-home again that night, for neither Kerr nor Hammond fancied a long drive through the black-out, particularly since a police priority call to Craigie elicited the assurance that there was nothing happening in London that demanded Hammond’s return.
Over a late meal at a hotel, the trio talked desultorily over the whole range of activity during the past forty-eight hours. ‘Of course,’ Hammond said, ‘it goes a lot further back than that. If only Langham could have had a word with me——’ He broke off, scowling at Loftus. ‘Have you ever felt that you’d like to be in a dozen places at once, as well as be in three or four different time cycles?’
Loftus leaned across the table.
‘Not once,’ he said, ‘but a hundred times. The odd thing is, usually I’ve managed it.’
Hammond took a sip of an excellent white wine.
‘You’ll find that it’s possible,’ Loftus went on quite seriously. ‘Craigie works the miracle. When you see him again, he’ll be able to give you a précis of what’s been happening, and what’s been discovered. Any report which might apply to this show will be tabulated and reduced to the essentials. Langham’s old reports, your own, any others from Europe over the past few months. Crayshaw will be written up, so will his daughter. Ferdinand will be checked thoroughly, with his friends and relations. What’s more, Craigie will have a summary of the essential points in all of them, written in straightforward language that can’t be misunderstood. Don’t worry about your limitations, Bruce. The jobs will be done as well as if you’d done them yourself.’
He paused, and Kerr said: ‘That’s true.’
‘You won’t find it easy to understand at first,’ said Loftus. ‘You’ll wish to hell you could have followed up each line personally, but after a time you’ll realise that in effect you have. Tell the boys what you want, and they’ll go to the limit to get it for you.’ Another pause. ‘Bob and I included.’
Hammond said slowly: ‘I’m beginning to see what you mean.’
‘Just at the moment,’ said Loftus, ‘you can’t get it out of your mind that you, personally, seem to be doing very little, and that all t
he things are being done for you, or in spite of you. The Ferdinand murder and the Hilary outbreak don’t seem to link up. They appear to be unrelated incidents, which——’
Hammond smiled. ‘You’re right enough in parts, old chap, and I don’t suppose anyone’s more right than that.’ He finished his wine, and returned with renewed vigour to a Welsh-rarebit. The conversation became general and, because they planned to be on the road by seven o’clock next morning, they went to bed soon after half-past ten. Hammond entered his room first, and a few minutes afterwards heard voices in the next room.
Loftus was saying: ‘Hammond’s going to be good, Bob.’
‘He is good,’ said Kerr.
Hammond did not know that with the brief exchange Kerr and Loftus had completed his transformation from an agent of the Department to its operational leader.
Christine Weston, who had once played a great part in Loftus’s recovery after the injury in which he had lost his leg, was sitting with Lois Kerr in the long living-room of the nursing-home. The red embers of a dying fire glowed on the faces of the two women, one near-beautiful, both charming, and both heart and soul in the work of the Department.
They were not, however, talking about the Department now.
‘I asked her to come in here for a breather,’ Lois was saying, ‘She’s been on duty for hours. What is there about her?’
Christine said: ‘I wonder if she’s married?’
‘Or whether she’s lost anyone? Bob told me her brother was killed in France, but surely that’s too long ago to affect her so lastingly. She seems to be burning up inside.’ Lois smiled at her own inability to find the right word. ‘You know what I mean?’
‘Yes,’ said Christine. ‘I——’ she paused for a fraction of a second, and then added in a slightly louder voice: ‘I wish they were coming back tonight.’
Lois said quickly: ‘Ned Oundle’s outside somewhere, with one or two of the other men.’
She looked over her shoulder, for the door had opened.
Nurse Caroll’s voice came to them over the shadowy room. ‘Can I take you at your word, Mrs. Kerr?’
‘Another second and I’d have come up to find you,’ Lois said. ‘Pull that chair up, we’re just going to have some coffee.’
Christine said more quickly than she intended: ‘Chatting of this and that, we wondered why you had taken up nursing?’ A slow smile curved the nurse’s lips.
‘What else can I do? I can ride a horse, of course, and I’m told I have the figure and deportment for a model.’ She shrugged. ‘Oh, and I can play the piano fairly well, and do all the things convention expected before the war, but now——’
She broke off abruptly, for Bessie came in with coffee. Lois and Christine said nothing until the maid had gone and then Christine said bluntly:
‘How long have you felt, well, as bitter as that?’
‘Since my brother was killed,’ said the girl quietly. ‘I started nursing at once. Then in the early bombing my parents were killed.’ She paused. ‘I’ve just gone on, since then. I’ve found it easy to help others, possible to make friends among the patients. The only trouble is that they come and they go.’ There was another silence, except for the homely sound of Lois pouring coffee. The girl went on very quietly: ‘Emile’s very like my brother. Have you ever felt there’s something you must do, you can’t rest until you’ve finished it? I want to get that boy well. I’m going to get him well,’ she added, and then took a cup from Lois. ‘Thank you, Mrs. Kerr.’ She was smiling a little. ‘That’s all there is, I’m afraid. Nothing at all exciting.’
Lois said: ‘We all feel the same way—all of us here, anyhow. You won’t need telling that the men are on special work. That means complete and almost inhuman concentration until a job is finished. When it’s done they find another.’
‘Ye—es,’ said Nurse Caroll: ‘I was wondering earlier whether there was any way I could help them?’
Christine said quickly: ‘There may be. We’ll ask them when they get back.’
She led the conversation into different channels, while with Lois she wondered whether they had been right to pierce the enigmatic façade, and glimpse the bitterness and sense of grievous loss within.
While Hammond and the others were eating, Lois, Christine and Nurse Caroll drinking coffee, Ned Oundle and two other agents of the Department patrolling the grounds of the nursing-home, many other things were happening up and down the country.
There was, for instance, a nation-wide search for the little man who could climb a giant cedar, and draw a bow and arrow with such unpleasant accuracy. The records and the social acquaintances of the dead Dr. Brice were being meticulously investigated. Two young agents were following up the Crayshaw angle, daughter and père. Superintendent Miller, of Scotland Yard, and yet another agent of the Department were going closely into Ferdinand’s life and, as it happened, making more progress than any of the others.
At the same time Gordon Craigie was at Number 10, Downing Street, in close conversation with the Rt. Hon. Graham Hershall, Prime Minister.
Hershall was standing in front of the fire, his hands behind his back, thrusting his powerful chest and thickset shoulders forward. His round face, with its rosebud mouth and rather deep-set eyes, was frowning. From one corner of his lips jutted a cheroot, unlighted.
‘All right, all right,’ he said. ‘I’ll grant you that you’re convinced it’s serious, Craigie, but surely you can give me something more definite than that?’
‘Not yet,’ said Craigie. ‘I’m hoping you can give me something.’
Hershall scowled. ‘Now you’re trying to tell me there’s something you don’t know.’ His eyes were twinkling, for he was in a good humour, the scowl wholly assumed. ‘Just what are you after?’
‘I want to know of anything that might be planned here on the 21st of the month,’ said Craigie.
Hershall looked up sharply, hesitated, and then said slowly: ‘The twenty-first of April—’ he peered towards the ceiling. ‘Let me see now, there’s a big-scale invasion exercise, provisionally fixed for the 21st.’
‘Where?’ asked Craigie bluntly.
‘Is the South of England enough for you?’
‘It seems it will have to be,’ Craigie said. ‘There’s nothing else at all?’
‘Nothing I can think of that’s big enough to make you worry as you are doing,’ said Hershall. ‘The exercise is going to be a big one—to quote the Press, the biggest yet held in this country! Except that this time the Press won’t be quoting it, until it’s over.’
Craigie let that hint pass.
‘There is another thing, Craigie. So secret that only three of us know the date, yet—Brookham, Westerham and myself.’ Brookham was the Minister of Supply, Westerham one of the members of the Supply Mission to Moscow in the previous autumn. ‘We’re having a conference on the 21st for the full and final reports on all supplies.’
‘How many will be at the conference?’ asked Craigie.
‘About a dozen.’
‘Can you name them?’
‘Yes, I can. Oh, damn you, Craigie, you’d get blood out of a stone, or information out of the Foreign Under-Secretary!’ Hershall’s grin was almost boyish. ‘The three I’ve named, Lessington, Cator, Brille, Cavendish, Muire, Kenley, Crayshaw and Uppingham. There’ll probably be two or three others. Mind you, none of them know that it’s coming off yet.’
‘Can you be quite sure of that?’ asked Craigie. He was thinking of Crayshaw, and he spoke so quietly that Hershall said:
‘What’s that?’
Craigie repeated it, and Hershall pursed his lips.
‘It depends what you mean by quite. Most of them know that such a conference is inevitable sooner or later, and they probably think it will be sooner. Why?’
‘There could be a plan to break up the conference,’ said Craigie. ‘How long have you had it in mind?’
‘For some time,’ admitted Hershall. ‘Y’know, Craigie, you’re a damned d
isturbing fellow. There shouldn’t be a leakage of information about this, but I can’t guarantee there hasn’t been.’
‘It isn’t going to surprise me if we find one,’ admitted Craigie. He tapped out the bowl of his meerschaum and stood up. ‘So there’s the conference and the manoeuvres, both starting on or about the 21st. The probability is that this business is connected with one or the other. How long has the date of the manoeuvres been known?’
‘Oh—say a month.’
‘And the conference?’
‘About the same. I’m not going to tell you, Craigie, that I don’t want your fellows to know definitely about this, with the few exceptions you may think necessary. Keep them both covered up all you can, won’t you. No need to say that,’ he added with a smile. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘No, thanks,’ said Craigie briefly, and then paused: ‘Well, yes, there is. Where’s the conference being held?’
‘It’s not yet decided. Either at Cavendish Hall or Crayshaw’s place in Dorset. Probably Crayshaw’s,’ added the Prime Minister. ‘We’ll be at hand to inspect some of the troops at the manoeuvres then. You needn’t ask the next one—Crayshaw hasn’t been approached, but we’ve used his place several times without much notice. Excellent location tucked away in the wilds of Dorset, and it’s fairly near to London.’
‘Ye—es,’ said Craigie, soberly.
He was suddenly perturbed because of these conferences of great importance which had taken place at Crayshaw Grange before, conferences of which vital information had leaked out, and given much trouble. He had known that Hershall and Crayshaw were personal friends, but had not known how much the Prime Minister relied on the industrialist.
He left Number 10 soon afterwards, and walked into Whitehall. It was a clear night, and the moon was just setting, lending an eeriness to the majestic buildings. He heard the movements of sentries and policemen, saw an occasional taxi pass him, waited for a moment on the kerb and then walked across the road towards his own office.
As Kerr had said, Craigie was always accompanied on long journeys; but he did not think that necessary on short ones. Certainly he was not thinking of danger as he reached the opposite pavement.
