East of Algiers

by Francis Durbridge

  ‘I’m sorry, Colonel Rostand, but I can’t do as you suggest. For one thing I don’t believe that this is David Foster. For another I don’t believe that the man you shot is a common burglar. I prefer to believe that he is the person who telephoned me at the Aletti Hotel at twenty-past seven this evening, purporting to be David Foster. What happened? Did Sandro’s impulsiveness make him unfit for public appearance?’

  Though he hardly seemed to have made any movement the automatic suddenly appeared again in Rostand’s hand. The pose of gentleman was abruptly abandoned.

  ‘All right, Temple,’ he said. ‘You chose to have it this way yourself.’

  He shaped his lips and gave vent to a shrill and piercing whistle such as a shepherd uses to control his dog. Instantly the door crashed open and Sandro erupted into the room. He saw that Rostand had me covered with the automatic, and moved without hesitation. With a muzzle pointing at my stomach and the memory of that pitiful figure lying on the path outside I was in no mood to resist. Even so I doubt if I could have done much in the grip of Sandro. His strength was enormous as he seized my arms, dragging them behind me and pinioning my wrists in the grip of one huge hand. The other arm went round my throat from behind, the hard bone of the forearm forcing my head back, almost closing my wind pipe. There was no denying that Sandro was impulsive.

  ‘Come on, Leyland,’ Rostand commanded. ‘Frisk him.’

  The slow-thinking Leyland moved forward. While Sandro held me arched backwards like something from the armoury of Robin Hood, he went carefully through my pockets. He turned unhappily to Rostand.

  ‘He hasn’t got them on him.’

  ‘I could have saved—’ I began, and at once Sandro’s forearm tightened on my windpipe and the sentence ended in a gurgle.

  ‘Laisse-le parler,’ Rostand said. The grip relaxed again.

  I said: ‘I was only going to tell you that I could have saved Sam the trouble. I have not got the glasses with me.’

  Rostand nodded.

  ‘I suppose that was to be expected. The main thing is that we have you, and that is almost as good. Now I know Sandro will be disappointed if you tell me where to find them, because I have already denied him the pleasure of breaking one man’s back this evening, but it will save the rest of us a lot of trouble—’

  ‘You don’t think I came up here without taking some elementary precautions,’ I said. ‘If I am not back at my hotel within half an hour the police will be informed exactly where I am.’

  Again Rostand nodded as if conceding a putt to a golf opponent.

  ‘You may be bluffing, but again you may not. I think I can afford to be generous. Perhaps after all we can come to a business agreement.’

  ‘Then tell your Arab friend to unhook himself from my neck.’

  ‘Tu peux filer, Sandro. Tu sais ce que tu as à faire.’

  Sandro’s arms slid away from my throat and my hands were released. So tight had his grip been that I had to rub my wrists to restore the circulation. I felt a good deal less unhappy when I heard the door close on him.

  ‘Now then, Mr. Temple. I don’t know what your interest is in this matter or why you should be so obstinate in refusing to hand over a pair of spectacles. But every man has his price. I will pay you five thousand pounds in British five-pound notes the moment I have possession of the spectacles. Of course you will still have the problem of getting the currency back to England. On the other hand if you are prepared to trust me I will have the money paid into any bank you mention.’

  ‘I don’t think much of your offer,’ I said. ‘Mr. Constantin was able to do much better. His figure was ten thousand.’

  For the first time Rostand was rocked.

  ‘Constantin?’ His eyes switched to Leyland for an instant and then back to me. The fingers gripping the automatic had tightened. ‘Did you sell the glasses to him?’

  I knew that if I answered in the affirmative my number would be up. Rostand could have no further interest in keeping me alive and every reason for wanting me dead. On the other hand I was not prepared to give way to his threats or accept his offer. I calculated that not more than twenty minutes had passed since Steve and I had parted. If she followed my instructions the police could not be notified for another forty-five minutes. I doubted my ability to stall for as long as that, but it was worth trying.

  ‘You said every man has his price. Mine is pretty high. I admit that I agreed to Constantin’s figure, but if you are prepared to go higher than that – say twelve thousand five hundred.’

  Rostand pounced quickly.

  ‘Then you still have the spectacles.’

  ‘Not exactly,’ I hedged. ‘They are at the moment in transit, but I think I can stop them before they reach him—’

  ‘You’re lying,’ Rostand snapped suddenly. ‘I’m not such a fool as you take me for. You haven’t had any offer from Constantin, and the only offer you’ll get from me is a bullet in your guts. Now start telling the truth quickly, or by heavens I’ll give you the same treatment as Thompson. You saw how he finished up. You’ve just five seconds before I pull this trigger. One…’

  There was no doubt in my mind that Rostand was ready to carry out his threat. There is an unmistakable look in a man’s eyes when he feels the lust to kill.

  ‘Two.’

  Leyland had backed away and was watching apprehensively. He had probably seen the business with Thompson, and was sickening at the prospect of watching another man squirm to death.

  ‘Three.’

  I knew that the obvious thing was to tell a lie, but I funked it in the face of that supreme menace. There is a saying that a man on his death-bed speaks only the truth. I can confirm it from my experience at the Villa Negra. The temptation was very strong to tell them about Steve, standing not two hundred yards away with the glasses in her handbag. I had to bite my lips, knowing that the only thing was to keep silent, hoping that Rostand’s nerve would break.

  ‘Four.’

  At the same instant as the word was spoken a telephone bell rang in the big front room we had come through. It might have been someone ringing the wrong number, but it was still enough to stop Rostand. I’ve often thought since how powerful the anonymity of the telephone bell is.

  ‘See who it is,’ Rostand snapped at Leyland.

  The big man lumbered out of the room, glad to be spared the execution scene. The door swung behind him till it was almost closed. We could only hear the mumble of his voice as he answered. Rostand still kept me covered, but I was glad to note that he moved a little closer to me as he approached the door, straining to hear what Leyland was saying. That movement brought him within seven feet of me.

  The conversation was brief. I heard Leyland walking hurriedly across the parquet floor. Rostand had to move away as he burst into the library. That brought him six inches nearer me.

  ‘It was Constantin,’ Leyland said excitedly. ‘Temple must have been telling the truth. He says he has the glasses and is prepared to consider offers for them—’

  This unexpected confirmation of what I had told him led Rostand to make his mistake. His gun hand wavered as he glanced in surprise towards Leyland. I knew it was my one chance, and that I must take it.

  I brought my right foot up in a straight-legged rugger kick aimed at the automatic. It caught Rostand’s hand and sent the gun sailing into the air. I was off balance for the moment, thrown forward with my head down. Rostand’s fist was raised to strike as I straightened up. I brought the sharp point of my elbow up and drove it on to his chin with all the strength of my shoulder. I heard his jaw-bone crack and the crunch of his teeth as they came together. His head jerked back.

  I had no more time for him at the moment. Leyland was coming for me, and I knew now how he had acquired that broken nose. He was a heavyweight boxer coming out of his corner to administer the knock-out to an opponent. They call boxing the Noble Art of Self Defence, but boxing is far too clean a sport to deserve that name. Boxers develop instincts which leave them
wide open to an unfair attack. And believe me, when your life is at stake you are prepared to fight unfairly.

  I went in below his guard and doubled him up with a blow for which the fans at Harringay Arena would have torn me limb from limb. As he went to the floor I stole a glance at Rostand. He was holding his jaw and stumbling towards the automatic, which lay at the base of one of the bookcases. I beat him to it and kicked the thing far out of reach. Rostand was clawing at me with his nails. He had bitten the tip off his tongue and blood was dribbling down his chin. I did not want to break my fingers on his jaw, so I chopped him on the neck with the side of my hand. His knees buckled and he slumped to the floor.

  Leyland was still groaning and twisting his face with pain. I felt no compunction. My main worry was that Sandro would hear the din and come back. I had to hurry, and the memory of Thompson hardened my heart. The big Lancashire man stumbled to his feet and aimed a punch at me as I approached him. I let the blow go past my head, using his own strength to put a lock on his arm which almost pulled it out at the socket. He gave a yelp and began to dance on tip-toe.

  ‘Now then,’ I told him. ‘You’re going to do some talking. I advise you to answer my questions quickly.’

  Just to encourage him I increased the pressure a little. He nearly rose off the ground.

  ‘Why is Rostand so keen to lay hands on these spectacles? What is their value to him?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Leyland grunted. ‘He never told me why he wanted them. He just said a friend of his had lost a very special pair of spectacles and was prepared to pay £4,000 to whoever recovered them.’

  ‘And you were prepared to swallow that one? Surely you guessed that there was something fishy about that?’

  ‘I did. But Rostand paid me a retainer of a thousand pounds, so why should I ask any questions? Here, go easy on my arm. I’m telling you the truth, aren’t I?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, but I relaxed my grip a little.

  ‘I didn’t know it was going to be anything like this,’ Leyland went on with a rush. ‘Killing and all that. I had no part in what happened here to-night, I tell you straight.’

  ‘Maybe not. But you’re an accessory all the same. What were you doing at Nice?’

  Leyland was silent and I had to put the pressure on again.

  ‘All right, I’ll tell you. Rostand tipped me the wink that a girl named Judy Wincott would be at the hotel in Nice on a certain night. He said she would be sure to have the spectacles. All I’d have to do was find out where her room was—’

  ‘You knew Judy Wincott was going to be in Nice?’

  ‘Yes. But I never saw her. I swear I didn’t. She never registered at the hotel, you know. When I heard she’d been murdered I was…’

  I found myself believing Leyland. He was a rogue but no murderer, and I could not help remembering the beseeching look he had given me when Rostand had offered me the chance of walking out of the house.

  ‘You’re really in trouble, Sam,’ I said. ‘Now what about David Foster? Have you ever met anyone of that name?’

  Leyland shook his head.

  ‘Rostand talked about him, but I never met him. I began to wonder if it was some code name.’

  ‘Perhaps it is. All in all you don’t know much, do you?’

  ‘Too much for my liking,’ Leyland complained with feeling. ‘I wish I’d never set eyes on this Rostand.’

  ‘How long have you known him?’

  ‘No more than a month. I met him in Tunis through a business friend of mine.’

  There were plenty more questions I wanted to ask Leyland, but Rostand was beginning to stir and I was always afraid that the formidable Sandro would reappear.

  ‘One last question. Did Constantin say where he was speaking from?’

  ‘No. He just asked Rostand to meet him at the El Passaro night club if he felt like talking business.’

  ‘The El Passaro. Do you know it?’

  ‘I don’t know it, but I’ve heard of it.’

  Rostand was grunting and spitting. I propelled an unresisting Leyland into a large cupboard in the corner of the room, pushed him inside and turned the key on him. The automatic was still lying on the floor. I stared at it for only a moment. Once again experience had proved my theory that a gun only gives a man a sense of false security. I kicked it out of sight under the heavy bookcase. Then I slipped out of the library into the big salon. All the lights were still turned full on. There was no sign of Sandro. I stepped out of the French windows into the rapidly chilling night air.

  When I reached the spot where I had parted from Steve I stopped. I could just make out the dark, wet patch where Thompson had lain, but his body had vanished. This must be the work of Sandro, and since he had not returned to the house he must have gone on towards the gate – where Steve was.

  I ran rather than walked the remaining distance to the gate, not caring about the branches and brambles which clawed at my clothes and scratched my face. There was no one in sight near the gate.

  ‘Steve!’ I called in a whisper. Then louder, ‘Steve!’

  A shadow moved out of the bushes and came towards me.

  ‘Paul, thank God you’ve come! I was certain that something had gone wrong with my watch. The time simply crawled. What happened?’

  ‘I’ll tell you all about it later. You have the glasses safely?’

  Steve nodded and touched her handbag.

  ‘Better hand them back to me. Those spectacles are dynamite to whoever has possession of them.’

  She took them from her bag and I fitted them back into their usual place in my handkerchief pocket.

  ‘Did you see anyone go past while you were waiting?’

  Steve shuddered at the memory.

  ‘I did. A most awful hunchback Arab. He was carrying something over his shoulder. It looked like a body.’

  ‘It was,’ I said grimly. ‘The body of our friend who came out through the French windows. Which way did he go?’

  She pointed to a gate on the other side of the road. It was the twin of the one by which we were standing. By all appearances it was a private way down to the beach below.

  ‘And he hasn’t come back yet? Now I wonder what he’s up to down there. It’s going to be my word against three of them if they succeed in disposing of Thompson’s body. Do you mind hanging on here just a little longer?’

  ‘By myself? Yes, I do,’ Steve said firmly. ‘I was just about ready to scream when you came. If you’re going down that path I’m coming with you.’

  ‘All right,’ I agreed after a moment. ‘But keep well behind and don’t make any noise.’

  The gate uttered a mournful wail as I swung it open. I signalled Steve to leave it that way. Below on the beach we could hear the regular swish of small waves breaking on pebbles. Somewhere nearby there was stagnant water where frogs were croaking in raucous chorus. They all stopped to listen as Steve and I went stealthily by, and the sudden silence was unearthly.

  Round a sharp twist in the steeply descending path we came in view of the beach. It was a small crescent-shaped miniature bay with a steeply shelving shore. At one side a pier had been built out to act at the same time as shelter for the boats and foundation for a small house. No boat was visible, the windows were dark, and there was no sign of anything moving.

  But on the small expanse of pebbles by the pier, which seemed faintly luminous in the starlight, a lumpy object was lying. Cautioning Steve again, I slid down the rest of the path until my feet sank into the sand. I was near enough now to see that my first impression had been correct. The shape on the beach was that of a man.

  Keeping a weather eye lifting towards the house, I moved cautiously towards him. He made no move, but I could hear the deep snoring breaths of a man who has been knocked out cold. The hunched back told me who he was, even before I was near enough to see the weal on the side of his forehead where he had been coshed. Even with his thick skull I thought he’d be out for a long time yet.

 
I left him where he was, and, signalling Steve to follow, approached the boat-house. Its windows were curtained and it had been freshly painted. It was in a far better state of repair than the Villa Negra. The windows were fastened and the door was locked. Using my pencil torch I inspected the lock. It looked like a simple job. Making use of a trick taught me by a professional burglar, I extracted a flat strip of celluloid from my wallet, and in a minute had the door open.

  Very little light penetrated as far as the large sitting-room into which the door opened directly. I dared not switch on the lights even though there was a possibility that someone was standing there in the dark waiting for us. I ran the thin beam of my torch round the place, but it illuminated no crouching figure. A door at the far end was open and led into another smaller room.

  It was early for anyone to be already in bed, but the moment I shone my light into the room I saw the shape of a form lying under the bedclothes. My instinct was to withdraw before he or she woke up and saw us. But something about the unnatural attitude of the form made me go closer. In the end I pulled the bedclothes back.

  I thought then that I had found Thompson.

  Yet this man was fully dressed and, what was more, he was wearing a jacket. I turned him over, and the beam of my torch drew a glint from the knife sticking into his ribs below the heart. It had been the professional killer’s upward stab. I moved the torch beam up to illuminate his face.

  ‘Constantin!’

  I was so startled that I spoke the name aloud. To judge by the temperature of the body, allowing for the fact that he had been covered by the bedclothes, he had been dead for some time.

  Who, then, had telephoned Rostand suggesting the meeting at the El Passaro? Who had killed Constantin and knocked out Sandro? And what had become of Thompson’s body?

  Steve, from the next room’s windows, had been watching the beach. She came now to the door of the bedroom.

  ‘Did you call, Paul? I think that Arab’s beginning to come round. I saw him move just now.’

  I had switched the torch off so that she would not see the body. I thought we had had our share of bodies for one evening, and that to delay longer would be tempting Providence.