by Mark Ellis
“Pull him in, of course. What was your impression?”
“Good-looking chap. Vain. Arrogant. Shifty. I believe he lied to us when questioned about de Metz.”
“Sounds promising.”
Merlin scratched his ear thoughtfully. “I have some news that you ought to hear before you proceed further.”
Swanton picked up his Bovril and took a noisy sip. “Fire away, Frank.”
“Ever heard of a fellow called Devlin? A private eye of sorts.”
“The name seems vaguely familiar.”
“He has told us an interesting tale.”
* * *
Back at the Yard, Merlin reported to Bridges on the meeting.
“So, Swanton agreed to wait for us to get hold of Dumont before he moves on Angers?”
“Yes, Sergeant. He wants to hear what Dumont has to say first. But he is putting Angers under immediate surveillance. Beecham as well. I said we’d hold off from pulling in Beecham until tomorrow to allow Swanton to observe his movements over 24 hours.”
“So, Dumont remains our priority for now?”
“He does. Still no sign of him?”
“No. I’ve got several officers on the job.”
“Where are Robinson and Detective Goldberg?”
“They went off to see Mrs Lafontaine. Now that we know Dumont knew Bridget well enough to attend her abortion, I thought we should see if his name rang any bells with her sister.”
“Good idea.” Merlin looked pensively out of the window.
“Will that be all, sir?” There was no reply. Bridges repeated the question.
“Sorry, Sergeant. I was miles away.” Merlin blushed. “Do you mind if I ask you something personal, Sam?”
“Of course not, sir. What do you want to know?”
“Do you enjoy being a father?”
Bridges’ face broke into a grin. “It’s wonderful, sir. Babies are hard work, naturally, but Iris carries most of that burden. All I really have to deal with is the difficult nights. The bawling can be wearing but at least the toing and froing to the baby’s bedroom has helped me lose a few pounds! When that giggling little bundle looks up at you with those tiny sparkling eyes, well… a man can feel like a millionaire!” He was now beaming. “Why do you ask?”
Merlin shuffled some papers on his desk as he avoided the sergeant’s gaze. “Oh, no reason, in particular. Just wondered how you were getting on with the new situation, that’s all.”
“Kind of you to ask, sir. I’m getting on fine. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d better get on.”
“No, of course. Off you go, Sergeant. Let me know as soon as there is news on Dumont.”
* * *
After mulling over what Merlin had told him of Devlin’s story, Harold Swanton decided to take the question of the possible involvement of Dumont, Beecham and Angers in a French security leak very seriously indeed. While Merlin’s team continued to search for Dumont, Swanton sent four men to Dorset Square to keep an eye on Angers and assigned four men to the surveillance of Peregrine Beecham. They positioned their car at the junction of Arlington Street and Bennet Street, just down from the Ritz. A porter in Beecham’s building was suborned to give Swanton’s men the nod as and when Beecham came out.
It was nearly five in the afternoon when the watchers saw a large black Bentley pull up outside the apartment building. Minutes later, three men came out of the building and got into the car. A little wave from the porter confirmed their man was on the move.
Beecham’s car drove off, turning right into Bennet Street, then into St James’s Street. The traffic was flowing freely and Swanton’s agents had little difficulty keeping the Bentley well in view.
The Bentley proceeded along the Embankment, then crossed Waterloo Bridge. At the roundabout on the southern side of the bridge, it took the railway station exit, drove up the ramp and pulled to a halt opposite the main taxi rank. The agents pulled over to a loading bay some yards off. They watched as two men got out of the car, then the third. Swanton’s lead agent, Peters, a calm, beanpole of a man, examined the old police mugshot of Percy Bishop that agency records had matched to Beecham. He raised his binoculars and knew he was watching the same person, albeit a slicker and sleeker one than in the photograph, follow his men into the station.
The three men made their way through the crowds to the station buffet. Beecham quickly found a table at the back of the restaurant while his sidekicks grabbed stools at the counter.
Peters and his team took up position behind a newspaper kiosk some 30 yards from the buffet. “What do you think? Looks like a meet to me. Eric, there’s a telephone booth near where we came in. Go and call Swanton. Tell him we may be on to something. I’ll go in and you others find cover outside.”
It was now five-thirty and the buffet was crammed with commuters. Waiters and waitresses bustled back and forth through the crowd. A variety of smells battled for dominance – body odour, cheap perfume, coffee, cigarette smoke, alcohol and engine oil. Conversation was carried on with difficulty against a background of train whistles, steam blasts and the usual succession of unintelligible station announcements. Most of the male customers seemed happier to drink on their feet so there were plenty of tables to be had but Peters chose to stand at the counter, a few places along from Beecham’s men.
A frazzled-looking waitress delivered a coffee to Beecham. She spilled some of the drink on the table and Peters saw Beecham berate her angrily before she hurried tearfully away. Beecham’s eyes scanned the room. He looked nervous. Whoever he was meeting was late. He had finished his coffee by the time a man finally materialised at his table. A tall young man in blazer and grey trousers.
* * *
“Frank? I just got a call. Beecham is at Waterloo Station. My people think he’s about to meet up with someone. It occurred to me, in light of what you said, that it could be Dumont. I thought…”
“On my way, Harold.”
“I don’t need to tell you to be careful. I’ve asked the agent who phoned me to wait at the telephone box he called from. It’s the one just outside the concourse next to the taxi rank. He’ll tell you the score and take you to my men.”
“Thanks, Harold. On my way.” He found Bridges in the corridor talking to Robinson and Goldberg about their visit to Bridget’s sister. Merlin hurriedly explained the situation. “It may all be a wild goose chase, of course, but if there’s a chance of Dumont turning up…”
“I’ll go and get the car, sir.”
“How was Mrs Lafontaine?”
“She didn’t recognise Dumont’s name or description, sir, but she did recall Bridget asking to borrow a teach-yourself-French book.”
“Well, that helps.” Merlin looked hard at Robinson. “I think, Constable, on reflection, that it might be best if you stay here. Things might get a little hairy.”
Robinson bridled at this. “With respect, sir, if I’m kept away from any police operation because it might be ‘hairy’, I’ll never have a chance of becoming a good policewoman.”
Merlin shook his head. “You have a point, Constable, but you’re also in uniform. That will be a problem.”
“Problem quickly solved, sir. A friend and I were going to a film tonight and I have a change of clothes here. I’ll see you at the car in a jiffy.” She raced down the corridor.
Goldberg laughed. “There’s no telling a woman. You should know that, Frank.”
* * *
“And so, Lieutenant. You have something else for me?”
Dumont leaned closer to Beecham. “I do. I appreciate your help but I must say I’m still not very keen on your choice of rendezvous point.”
“My experience is that the best place to be invisible is in a crowd, as I’ve told you before.” Beecham lit a cigarette as Dumont’s coffee arrived. “Anyway, it’s a pleasure to be of assistance. A lucrative pleasure, thanks to your friends in Vichy. Any news about the other fellow?”
“I just got back from Suffolk, where I went to see him yesterda
y. Arrangements have been made to extricate him by sea. He should be back in Paris within a day or two.”
“Good. If he’d been caught, things could have been difficult for you.”
“And you also, perhaps, Monsieur Beecham.”
“Any more difficulties? You know I had Devlin dealt with?”
“He is dead?”
“Near enough. My men say that they were interrupted during the job but assure me he was beyond saving.”
Dumont scratched his nose thoughtfully. “I have been interviewed by the police about the Irish girl. The one who died.”
Beecham’s eyes narrowed. “Problems?”
“No. They have nothing on me. However, Vorster was also pulled in.”
“Poor Rupert. I may have to deal with him, too. He might become an embarrassment. This has nothing to do with the business at hand though?”
“No.” Dumont paused. “The good news is my product is having a significant effect. Initial SOE operations in France are being seriously compromised. This…” he cautiously slid a small envelope across the table “… should cause further damage…”
Beecham spread his arms. “I am happy for you, Lieutenant, but while you know I have sympathies with your side, this is more of a commercial than ideological matter for me.” Beecham slid the envelope into his jacket pocket. “Thank you. I think we should leave now. When you need me next, contact me in the usual way.”
“Merlin and his people know about you now. You might want to consider relocating your gaming operation.”
Beecham toyed with the large gold ring on his right index finger. “I don’t need to worry about the police, my friend. I have the senior officers in the Vice Department in my pocket.”
“I think Merlin might be a different – how do you say it? – kettle of fish.”
“Well done, Lieutenant. You are picking up our slang very well! But please, do not concern yourself. My friends will look after me.”
* * *
Merlin and his colleagues were met by a burly, balding man at the telephone box. “Eric Walters. Pleased to meet you, Chief Inspector. And your colleagues, of course.” The agent smiled at Bridges and Goldberg but looked a little surprised to see Robinson. “They are in the buffet, sir.”
“Who are they?”
“Beecham and his two heavies. Beecham has a table at the back and the others are watching out for him at the counter. Peters is observing from the inside while my two other colleagues are observing from out. One of them just ran over to tell me that Beecham has just been joined by someone.”
“Did that someone have a limp?”
Walters shrugged. “He didn’t say.”
The crowd swirled around Merlin and his group. Merlin realised that if it came to it, the crowds would make escape easier for their quarry. Any move would have to be precise, quick and well coordinated. “What are your instructions, Mr Walters?”
“Mr Swanton told me that if you identify Dumont, we are to help you arrest him. If it is Dumont then it makes sense for us to pick up Beecham and his men.”
“It’s not going to be easy, is it?” Merlin frowned. “So we’d better see if it’s Dumont.”
Walters looked towards the buffet. “Do you want to wait until he comes out?”
“I think, on balance, someone should go in to make an identification. If we leave it until he comes out and it is Dumont, he has a good chance of slipping away with all these people in the station.”
Goldberg patted Merlin on the back. “Let me go and make him, Frank.”
“Beecham and Dumont know you, Bernie. If they see you first, they’ll be alerted. Same goes for you, Sergeant, before you offer. Dumont knows you. And me for that matter.”
Walters put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “I don’t care how you identify them, Mr Merlin, but, rest assured, once you’ve given us the nod we can deal with them. My two friends over there were respectively army light heavyweight and navy middleweight champion boxers in their time. I wasn’t a champion but I’m pretty handy myself.”
“Thank you, Mr Walters, but what about guns?”
Walters pulled his jacket back to show Merlin his side-arm holster. “We are fully prepared.”
Robinson stepped forward. “Sir, Dumont has never seen me but I’ve seen him. Why don’t I go in?”
Merlin contemplated for a moment what the AC would do if any harm came to his niece. He couldn’t risk it. “Constable, thank you, but…” Merlin was suddenly knocked over by a man racing for his train. By the time he got back on his feet, Robinson was halfway to the buffet.
* * *
“You go first, Lieutenant. And good luck!”
“Goodbye, Beecham. Excuse me but you might have to wait a little. Call of nature.” Dumont nodded towards the gents.
“Make it quick. Please.”
“I’ll do my best. Au revoir.”
Beecham waved a hand at his men, who took this as their cue to go out on to the station concourse. Then he called a waitress over. Robinson came into the restaurant as he was settling the bill. She scanned the room unsuccessfully but then saw Dumont emerging from the toilets. Immediately she turned on her heels and ran out to find Merlin. There were a few frantic seconds when she looked for him in vain but then she heard her name called in a harsh whisper. The policemen had joined the MI5 agents behind their kiosk. Merlin pulled her in with them and gave her a stern look. “That, Constable, was very…”
“It’s him, sir. Definitely him.”
“All right. What do you want to do, Mr Walters?”
“Beecham’s two men are now over there by the buffet door, presumably waiting for their boss. We’ll roll them up while you go in for your Frenchman.”
Merlin agreed and the agents acted swiftly. Beecham’s men were taken completely unawares. They managed to fend off a few punches but were swiftly overpowered then handcuffed to a nearby metal railing. The scuffle went almost completely unnoticed by the swirling crowds.
Meanwhile, Dumont was making his way through the buffet to the door. Halfway there, he found his path blocked by a fat lady settling at her table and had to wait as she manoeuvred her chair out of the way. By the time she had done this, Merlin and his officers were in the restaurant.
As Dumont approached the door, Merlin stepped forward to confront him. “I have a warrant for your arrest, sir. It’d be best if you come quietly.”
Dumont’s eyes flared with anger. “No chance, Merlin.” He reached into his jacket and brought out a gun.
Merlin stepped back. “Don’t be stupid, Dumont!”
“Why not? What have I got to lose?” He pointed the gun at Merlin but there was a sudden surge forward by the crowd now gathered behind him and the gun was knocked from his hand. Before Merlin had a chance to grab him, Dumont’s hand had reached into his jacket again and produced a hunting knife. There were screams and shouts as Dumont swung the knife in front of him. He thrust at Merlin but missed. He thrust again unsuccessfully and Merlin managed to grasp his arm. He tried to shake Dumont’s knife free and had almost succeeded when he slipped in a puddle of spilled beer and fell headlong into a table.
The Frenchman bent down to plunge the knife into Merlin’s back, but Goldberg pulled him back. Dumont managed to extricate himself from Goldberg’s grip and turned to face him. He stabbed at Goldberg and sliced his cheek but the American landed a heavy punch on Dumont’s face. As he reeled back, Peters joined the fray but another swing of the knife slashed his hand and he stepped back, as blood began to pour.
Merlin was now back on his feet with Goldberg beside him and Bridges, who had been struggling to find a line of attack in the narrow space, was approaching the Frenchman from the bar side with a chair above his head. Dumont realised a change of tack was required and he turned and grabbed hold of the nearest woman he could find.
“I shall slit this pretty young lady’s throat, Merlin, if you do not allow me passage.”
Initially, his eyes clouded with sweat, Merlin couldn’t see
the woman’s face but then with a lurch of the stomach realised it was Robinson. He backed away. “Don’t move. Don’t resist. Keep still. It will be all right.” Robinson’s eyes flickered an acknowledgement. Merlin made way with the others to allow Dumont and his hostage through the door. He saw a small trickle of blood on Robinson’s neck where the knife had broken skin.
Once out on the concourse, he looked wildly around him. As Merlin appeared through the door, he turned to him. There were 10 yards between them. “Merlin! You and your colleagues will remain here while I take the lady to the taxi rank. If you try anything she will…” There was a sickening thud and Dumont’s eyes glazed over. The knife fell from his grip as he collapsed to the ground, his head hitting the concrete with a loud crack. Robinson couldn’t avoid falling with him and she was momentarily pinned under his body until Bridges was able to pull her free, unharmed apart from the cut on her neck.
Walters looked down at the unconscious Frenchman with a satisfied look. He had been able to approach Dumont unseen from behind the kiosk and fell him with a pistol to the head. Peters, who now had a handkerchief tied tightly around his wounded hand, and the two boxing champions wandered over to offer their congratulations.
Merlin remembered Beecham and turned to see him squeezing out on to the concourse through the crowd that had gathered at the restaurant door. Their eyes met and Beecham gave Merlin an odd little smile before breaking into a run. Merlin shouted to the others. “Come on! Beecham’s getting away!”
The route to his own car was closed to Beecham so he ran in the opposite direction towards the Tenison Way exit. Everyone apart from the boxers, who were looking after Beecham’s men, hared off in pursuit with Merlin at their head. Beecham was a fit man and a good runner. Over 60 yards they made no ground on him. However, as Beecham neared the exit, he bumped into a porter and fell. He was swiftly on his feet again but had lost his bearings and began running the wrong way. Merlin and the others were now much closer.
Beecham realised his mistake and decided his best option was to get to the platforms, where he might still be able to lose his pursuers or even jump on a departing train. He hurdled a closed barrier with surprising agility and ploughed through the crowds waiting for a train to arrive at Platform 5. Merlin cleared the barrier a little more clumsily and followed. Beecham had regained the lost ground but halfway down the platform his path was blocked by a large party collecting luggage from a porter’s trolley. He turned to see Merlin fast approaching but then a small gap opened for him and he was through, just as Merlin himself was held up by the same party. When Merlin emerged, Beecham was 50 yards ahead again but the platform was emptier further along and it was easier to follow his movements.
