Her calm brown eyes flickered up at him.
‘Frightened?’
‘A little. Luke isn’t happy. Geoff says Havoc has an outside contact on whom he relies, but he doesn’t admit that he overheard anything which could connect him with this house.’
Amanda frowned. ‘Who?’ Her lips formed the question.
Campion shook his head. ‘God knows. I can’t see it myself. There’s no odour of anything but sanctity about this family, and that sort of thing has an unmistakable stink. All the same, “by the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes”. Let me send you both home, old lady.’
‘Are you staying?’
‘Yes, I think I’ll stick around. I like Geoff and his pretty gal. What a staggering beauty she is.’
‘I think so.’ Amanda spoke with a purr of true appreciation. ‘She’s so exquisitely graceful, and in love too, all shiny. She ought to be marked “with care”, though. Will he give it her?’
‘Yes, I think so, don’t you? He’s the type, strong and reliable. Ruthless too, I should say, if it ever came to her or the rest. He may be keeping something dark. I wouldn’t swear he wasn’t. He’s out to protect his own and good luck to him! Oh, I don’t like it! Will you go? Once you get out of London you’ll be clear of the fog.’
Amanda turned to her son.
‘How about driving down to the country tonight with Magers?’
‘Can we go alone?’ His eagerness surprised and hurt them a little. ‘When can we start?’
His mother returned to her husband. ‘That settles that. I’ll stay with you.’
Rupert put an arm round her neck and his hair mingled with hers until there was but one flaming plume. ‘You can come if you like, dear,’ he said, ‘but we’ve got to talk, that’s all.’
She whispered in his ear. ‘I’d rather stay with the boss.’
‘Good.’ He was tremendously relieved. ‘You take her,’ he said to his father. ‘Could Magers and I go now?’
Mr Campion looked down at him. He was shocked at the intensity of his own emotion, and more afraid of it than of anything he had ever known. One half his life, more than half, four foot tall and as gaily confident as if the world were made of apple pie.
‘I don’t see why not,’ he said, ‘as soon as he comes down from Mr Levett. Go and get your things. The good-dog-Tray is asleep in the car, I suppose? Say good-bye to Uncle Hubert if he’s come in yet. If not, don’t bother; he’s gone visiting. Be as intelligent as you can on the way home. No trying to frighten Lugg while he’s driving.’
‘No, I won’t.’ The boy was unexpectedly serious. ‘I must certainly remember that. Good-bye, Daddy.’ He shook hands gravely and returned to Amanda. ‘Mrs Talisman has hung my coat on a peg twenty-two yards high,’ he ventured apologetically, and tried to help lift her as she moved.
‘We’ll go and get it; she said. ‘You’d better have something to eat, too. Come on.’
He went off, dancing beside her without a backward glance. His mind was fully occupied. Perhaps there was some stuff Lugg could rub in. Or if the worst came to the worst, there were always wigs. Not undetectable to an archangel, perhaps, but surely fair evidence of honest endeavour.
Left alone, Mr Campion felt that the room had grown darker. He sat down by the fire and felt for a cigarette. As he had said, he did not like the situation. Havoc, and Doll, and the three men who had been on the original raid had vanished too completely. The rest were being brought in one after the other. They were pathetic figures, most of them, unable to help and frightened to try. The police were merely hindered by their numbers. But the ringleaders were gone, as though the earth had swallowed them, and they were tricky quarry, five experienced men driven by a dream and led by something mercifully unusual in the humdrum history of crime.
He thought he could comprehend Havoc and he was in no mood to underestimate him. Oates had been right, as he usually was, the old sinner. The fellow was that rarity, a genuinely wicked man. Amanda had spotted it. He was no lunatic, no unfortunate betrayed by disease or circumstance, but a much more scarce and dangerous beast, the rogue which every herd throws up from time to time.
Campion was uneasy. The ancient smell of evil, acrid and potent as the stench of fever, came creeping through the gentle house to him, defiling as it passed.
That last message which Luke had thrust over to him just before they left Crumb Street stuck in his mind, sickening him. A waterman had fished the dwarf out of the shrouded Thames just before dusk. He was too late to save his life, but the little man’s jaw had been broken before he was put in the water, so he could have told them nothing had he lived, for there was no evidence that he could write.
Campion shrugged his thin shoulders unhappily. The brute was a bad one. It was not often that he wished for police with rifles, but he could have welcomed them now.
He drew his mind away and reflected on Amanda. She had made up her mind to stay, whatever the boy had said. He had seen that in her face. Now that Rupert had grown out of babyhood her prime allegiance had returned to himself and they were partners again. She would look after him and he must look after the three of them. It was not the only sort of marriage but it was their sort.
He found himself speculating on Meg and Geoffrey, and was interrupted by the sudden arrival of Geoff himself.
The massage had restored him remarkably, although he still bore traces of his experience. But all the same his general appearance verged on the bizarre, for he was naked save for a sporting dressing-gown loaned by Sam. This garment was a trifle short for him, but made up for any deficiency with as fine an array of coloured horses’ heads, racing plates and fox masks as Campion had ever seen. However, he seemed completely unaware of his clothes or lack of them. His strong, heavy body was taut under the silk and his jaw stuck out belligerently. A less shrewd observer might have thought him angry, but Campion, cocking a weather eye up at him, diagnosed an unusual emotional experience and his first words proved him right.
‘So there you are,’ he said with relief. ‘Look, this is the damnedest thing. What do you know about this? I don’t see why anyone should see it but you, so you’ll have to back me if the Inspector gets querulous.’ His eyes were hard and dark and his hand shook a little as he drew two folded sheets from the pocket of his robe and held them out. ‘Look, a letter from Martin Elginbrodde.’
Campion sat up. ‘Really? That is extraordinary! Where did you get it?’
‘Sam. Can you believe it?’ Geoffrey was looking at him with open appeal. ‘He’s had it all the time. He says he intended to slip it to me after the ceremony, as he promised Elginbrodde he would, but Meg said something to him on the phone this afternoon which gave him a clue, so he got busy and unearthed it. He’s had it hidden behind the overmantel in his sitting-room. It slid down there and he knew it was safe and so he left it.’
He laughed abruptly and sat down on the opposite side of the hearth.
‘I might have guessed,’ he said. ‘He was the obvious person, or at least I think so. He’s the chap I should have given it to. Read it, Campion. This is the thing Havoc is looking for. He was quite right. There are a couple of notes enclosed for me to take to the local authorities, just as he said there would be.’
As Mr Campion unfolded the sheets the deep pleasant voice went on, by this time a trifle huskily.
‘I’ve not shown it to him. He didn’t ask to see it and I didn’t think I would, in case it breaks his heart. You’ll see. It must have been written just before the kid went out on the raid, and evidently he was still full of it when he spoke to Havoc on the cliff. It was addressed to Blank Blank Esquire, and marked “Personal”. ’
Campion began to read. The writing was small and masculine, the hand of a doer rather than a writer, and the style hit him squarely, its naive and vigorous sincerity leaping out at him like a personality.
Visitors’ Club, Pall Mall, S.W.1.
February 4th, ’44.
Dear Sir,
I
fear I cannot tell you anything else but I hope you will realize that I do not mean to be as formal as this address would indicate. I feel very kindly disposed to you. If you get this at all, I shall be out of the picture, where, if you understand me, I hope to God I stay. Meg is such a thoroughly splendid person that she deserves a real life with a man who is batty about her. I know you will be (erased) or, otherwise, she would never have married you. Please understand that I realize that my intrusion into your life at this point is rather ‘much’, to put it mildly, but there is something you have got to do.
In the old ice-house of the garden of the house at Sainte-Odile-sur-Mer (Meg will know the place, I cannot leave it to her because it is not mine, but the contents will be and that I have left her) there is the Sainte-Odile Treasure. It is for Meg to do as she likes with so long as she sees it is kept safe. America would not be a bad place for it as things seem to be turning out. If you are poor, make her sell it, of course. Anyone who paid a lot for it would naturally keep it safe. Safety is all that matters. If I go, and I shall have gone, of course, if you get this, our Sainte-Odile lot will have ended and someone else must take over.
I am not trusting Meg with the job of getting hold of it herself, nor yet her dear Old Boy, who, as you will know by this time, is not exactly worldly. This is because I can see that, should the place still be in enemy hands, or should France be in a state of upheaval, the job would be much too dangerous for them to risk. Also it would worry them, and I do not want that. The same applies to Sam. He is a grand old scout and the kindest, straightest old duck in the world, but this may be a delicate business. I cannot tell what may have happened, you see. That is what is so worrying. To be frank, I just can’t see him managing the thing, but I shall trust him with this letter. You will realize why. He is the boy-scout grown up. I know that you alone will get it.
I am landing you with the job because I am conceited enough to believe that you will be the same sort of chap that I am, and will make no bones about it but will just go and get it the instant the thing seems at all possible (it is not possible at this present juncture, as you will appreciate. I am banking on things having changed, if not become actually better). The old women in the country round Sainte-Odile used to say ‘One truly loves only the same man’. (I have not used the French because you may not read French; if you do, please forgive me, but it is vital you should understand exactly what I am saying.) They meant, as I take it, that a woman only really loves the same sort of man all her life, so I am betting that Meg will only marry when she really loves again, and so my guess is that you and I are rather alike in important things. I hope you will not be offended by this. As I am now just off on a sticky assignment it is a great comfort to me.
Now do not worry. The Treasure is portable, but it will take great care. I will put where it actually is in the ice-house on a separate piece of paper. I do not know why I do this except that it seems safer. I hid it myself, which is why the whole thing may look a bit odd. Be very careful how you break in.
Of course I appreciate that all this may be a waste of time. It may be looted already or it may get a direct hit. If so forget it; it can’t be helped.
But in that case please do not tell Meg at all. I have never told her anything about it, for this reason. After all, if she cannot help she will only worry, and I feel she has worried enough.
Should the war have ended satisfactorily, it may be all fairly simple. Just in case this is so, I will enclose some letters for a few people who may be useful to you if they are still there.
That is all. Please go and get it the instant you feel it is at all practicable for you to do so, and give it to Meg.
Give Meg my love but do not tell her it is mine. As you will understand perfectly well (if you are as I expect) when dead I would prefer to lie down. Over to you, chum.
Good luck, you lucky old blighter, and I mean that.
Yours very truly,
Martin Elginbrodde
Major
Mr Campion sat staring at the signature for some seconds before he turned back to read the message once more. The room was quite quiet. Geoffrey was looking into the fire.
When he had completed the second reading, Campion handed the letter back. His pale face was blank and his eyes shadowed behind his spectacles. Geoffrey took it and exchanged it for a third sheet.
‘This was the enclosure. You’d better see it.’
As Campion read the single line written neatly across it, his brows rose.
‘Odd,’ he murmured, ‘but quite clear. Yes, I see. What are you going to do now?’
Levett crushed the flimsy sheets into three tight balls and threw them one after the other on the red coals. Little blue flames leapt out of nothingness to devour them. As they turned from black to white he spoke.
‘After all, it was a personal letter,’ he said, his shy eyes meeting Campion’s for an instant. ‘I don’t see a pack of officials breathing over it, do you?’
Mr Campion did not speak at once. He was thinking how surprising the man was. Just when one thought one knew him, one stumbled on new depths. He had grown to like him enormously during the day, but he had not suspected this sensitivity. He realized with a little shock how right Martin had been, how discerning Meg’s heart.
‘Oh, I agree,’ he said aloud. ‘And now?’
‘Now we nip over and get it right away, just as he asks.’ Geoff had become his familiar self again, brisk, purposeful, and capable as they come. ‘There’s no point in hanging about. That’s asking for trouble. We’ll settle it with the police and we’ll all four go, you and Amanda, me and Meg. We’ll drive to Southampton tonight, fog or no fog, and catch the first boat to Saint-Malo, taking the car with us for the trip down the coast. I feel that if Meg is right away from here it will be safer for everybody, and the job ought to be done, so let’s go and do it.’
The more Mr Campion considered the proposal the more he liked it. He had told Amanda the truth when he had said that he felt that Havoc was ‘police work’. There was no mystery surrounding his guilt. He was something to be trapped and killed, and Campion was no great man for blood sports.
As for the girls, Geoffrey was right. The farther they were from the scene of action, the better. He glanced at his watch.
‘Luke is due now,’ he remarked. ‘Get your clothes on and we’ll tackle him. If I know him he’ll be fascinated. What exactly are you expecting to find, by the way?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’ Geoffrey stood up, looking solid and splendid, like the man who supports the human pyramid at the circus. ‘Anything. It’s fragile and bulky, that’s all anyone knows. A crystal candelabrum, perhaps, or a tea service even. Something they thought a lot of when Elginbrodde was a kid. Families do have the most extraordinary treasures. My grandmother half starved a child rather than sell a clock which might have been chipped off the Albert Memorial. But that doesn’t matter. It’s not a question of intrinsic value at all. The point is that it was his treasure and he wanted Meg to have it and keep it safe. Values are so relative. I thought that when I was trussed up, listening to that bunch of crazy thugs. Hitler wanted the modern world. Well, I mean to say, Campion, look at the modern world! No, I shall be quite prepared for a bust of Minerva or a set of fire-irons, and in the circumstances I’d risk my life to get them for Meg. I’ve got to. It’s over to me. Why, you weren’t thinking of pieces of eight, were you?’
Campion laughed. ‘No,’ he said, ‘not exactly. That notion may occur to Luke, though, and I shouldn’t disillusion him. He’s no starry-eyed optimist, but he’s got to hunt these chaps and get them hanged, and it would be merciful to let him share their dream as long as possible. At the moment Havoc is at least producing tragedy. As soon as it becomes tragic farce – ’ He shrugged his shoulders and did not finish the sentence.
Geoffrey was eyeing him curiously. He too was finding more in his new friend than he had expected.
‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘He’ll let us go, will he?’
>
‘I think so. It’s good orthodox procedure. Phase One, recover loot. His only anxiety as far as you are concerned is that you may be shielding someone here. Havoc’s contact.’ He made the suggestion lightly, but his eyes were inquisitive. Geoffrey met them steadily.
‘I don’t think I am. I told you so. Havoc spoke of a contact, but there was no suggestion that it was anyone in the house. Who could it be? Are you worrying about the safety of my future pa-in-law?’
‘No. Quite frankly, I feel to do that would be presumptuous. Someone else looks after Uncle Hubert. Very well then, I’ll see you downstairs as soon as may be. I must ask my wife, of course.’
‘I’ve told mine.’ Geoffrey sounded as gay and confident as Rupert himself. ‘I met her on the stairs and told her to pack a bag. She’ll go like a shot if Amanda will, but if she won’t, of course I shan’t let her. We’re all set to be old-fashioned that way. See you in five minutes.’
His gaudy coat tails vanished through the doorway and Campion was left smiling. Geoffrey ‘would do’, he decided. He had liked the remark about the fire-irons and had no doubt that the young man had meant what he had said. If the treasure turned out to be the most ordinary of curios, it would still receive honour from him. Campion could see a set of fire-irons arranged in a glass casket five times their worth, let into the wall of a living-room and remaining there, an eyesore and a thinking point for the rest of Geoffrey’s life. He was that sort of masculine person, a familiar type of successful man.
All the same, a moment or so later he was frowning in a fruitless effort to remember. Ever since he had first heard the story that afternoon he had been delving in the vast ragbag of miscellaneous information for which he was so justly renowned, trying to find something he had forgotten. Somewhere, at some time, in an old guidebook perhaps, or among the reminiscences of the fabulous grandes dames who had infested his childhood, he had heard tell of the Sainte-Odile Treasure before.
The Tiger In the Smoke Page 22
