The Doors Open

by Michael Gilbert

  “You mean,” said Hazlerigg, “that Colonel Vassilev does fly? He keeps a private plane somewhere?”

  “Well, he must have got into the country somehow. I don’t think that he passed the ports – not after his Canadian efforts. He was an ace pilot during he war. In the first two years of the war – before he turned to special service – he was credited with thirty-two ‘certains’. Suppose he came in by plane. It would need some arranging, but it could be managed. Suppose also that it’s a two-seater. And remember that even for a small civilian plane it’s only about four hours’ flying time to Russian-occupied Germany.”

  16

  The Political Angle

  In spite of the fact that it was after two o’clock before he finally got to bed, Lord Cedarbrook was up again, and had dressed and breakfasted by eight.

  He had a busy day in front of him.

  At nine o’clock he was shown into Hazlerigg’s office, where he found the Chief Inspector in conference with Inspector Roberts.

  Inspector Roberts looked as happy as a professional policeman is capable of looking.

  “It’s a funny thing,” he was saying as Lord Cedarbrook came in, “but these crowds are all the same. For years and years they go on being ultra-cautious, and looking before they leap and taking one step forward and two back and so on, and then suddenly they go crackpot. Just look at last night’s effort!”

  “I’ve spoken with my nephew,” said Lord Cedarbrook, “and I gather that he is all right. Yeatman-Carter is in hospital, but not badly hurt. What exactly happened?”

  “So far as we know,” said Inspector Roberts, “Legate, through Brandison, paid Luciano three thousand pounds in cash. I’m not sure how the money was to be split, and I don’t know, and I don’t suppose we ever shall know, exactly what they had to do to earn it. They say, of course, that they were told to ‘treat ’em rough’ – I gather that meant all three of you. Personally, I’ve got my doubts. I think they meant murder.”

  “I’m certain that Legate meant murder,” agreed Lord Cedarbrook. “And he could well afford to mean murder – since he wasn’t staying behind to suffer the consequences. But whether Luciano and his assistants meant to carry out their instructions quite so literally – well, the point is now academic.”

  “They’ve finished their run,” agreed Inspector Roberts. “Last night – well, it wasn’t their lucky night. Two away defeats and one draw. You didn’t hear what happened up at Winchmore Hill. Apparently two of them went after Yeatman-Carter and got involved with some of the Rugby boys. Something midway between boat-race night and a country dance. One of them, Bell, left his trousers behind. Unfortunately for him he has the American habit of keeping his wallet in his hip pocket, so we’ve got plenty of identification there. Then Rumbold and Miss Burke can give us enough evidence to put away Luciano and three others. We haven’t caught them yet, but we soon will. Bates and Conlan are inside already. It’s a clean sweep.”

  Lord Cedarbrook noticed that so far Inspector Hazlerigg had allowed Roberts to do all the talking, and he guessed the reason. In the last analysis, Luciano’s crowd were secondary.

  Behind Luciano was Legate, and his financial game. And behind Legate there was opening a yet wider vista, a barren and violent region, where Harry Hyde, the left-wing journalist joined hands with the philanthropic Jones brothers. And behind them, Colonel Vassilev.

  Hazlerigg said: “I don’t think I’ve ever known a more curious case. Consider this. It opened, so far as we were concerned, six months ago, when Mr Britten went into the Thames at Staines. For five and a half out of these six months we’ve had practically nothing to go on at all. At times, I haven’t even been sure there was a case. Now we’ve got so much – why, we hardly know where to start.”

  Sensing Lord Cedarbrook’s surprise he added: “The Rats’ Chorus is beginning. First thing this morning we had Gould in. He was that agency chap you employed to find Potts. No doubt his contacts had told him that Luciano was finito and Legate was on the run, and the result was he just couldn’t talk fast enough. Apparently they had some frame on him over the Potts killing. That’s why he wouldn’t talk before. Actually he didn’t tell us much that we hadn’t guessed but his evidence links Legate with Doctor Potts in a very satisfactory way. We’d no sooner finished with Gould than I heard that Bates had decided to talk. He’s got it into his head that last night’s fiasco up at your house was all Conlan’s fault. We encouraged the idea and let him think that Conlan had already started talking to us himself. It’s a corny device, but it’s surprising how often it works. If we accept his evidence and put him in the stand we’ve an even chance of hanging Conlan for the murder of Doctor Potts. But that’s not all. Do you know who we’ve got next door?”

  “Legate,” said Lord Cedarbrook with a sudden wild hope.

  “No. But the next best thing, Brandison. He came in this morning, as soon as he heard Legate had bunked. His nerve is all to pieces, I think, among other reasons, because he’s out of cocaine. The Luciano supply has dried up and he hasn’t had time to arrange another one. But he was ripe to talk. Perhaps you’d like to see this first report.”

  Lord Cedarbrook read through the three pages and then, turning back to the beginning, read through them again. Hazlerigg waited patiently.

  “Embezzlement,” said His Lordship at last, “or False Pretences – or both. There’s quite enough there for a warrant. I expect your lawyers will worry out the technicalities for you – if you catch your man.”

  “When we catch our man–” amended Hazlerigg.

  Lord Cedarbrook looked up for a moment, and then resumed his study of the papers.

  “ABC CBA,” he said, “that’s clever. I don’t think I should ever have spotted that. And the etching – that’s a nice little point too. I suppose Sherlock Holmes would have based a whole train of deduction on it.”

  “I expect he would,” said Hazlerigg, “but it wouldn’t have helped him to find Legate.”

  “What actually happened about that?”

  “Immediately we got your telephone message last night I sent a man round to keep an eye on him. He lives in a service flat in Kensington. The man got there at seven o’clock. According to a porter Legate wasn’t back, so he waited for him. He’s still waiting.”

  “I see. Then he never went home from the Bankruptcy Court. It’s annoying, but you can’t help admiring a bit of clear thinking. As soon as he heard that we’d troubled to unearth his early life he must have known that we probably knew it all. And then Vassilev would have told him about my meeting with him, and he’d only got to put two and two together.”

  Hazlerigg said: “I must confess that the political angle has me worried. I think I have grasped the financial side. In fact, it’s really very simple. It’ll mean at least one criminal prosecution – if we put Brandison into the dock instead of the witness box. And perhaps a big civil action. But the other business – I hardly know what to make of it. It’s really more a job for our Special Branch, or even for you MI folk.”

  “Colonel Vassilev,” said Lord Cedarbrook, “is the stormy petrel of the USSR. He was in Italy when they nearly came off the rails in the spring of 1946 and he was in Canada at the time of the Atomic Secrets enquiry. He’s a unique person. I mean that. I don’t think there’s another like him inside or outside Russia. He’s a professional trouble-encourager, a fanner of flames. It’s important to bear in mind that he doesn’t start things. His technique is always the same. When he visits a country he makes his contacts through the extreme left wing of the left wing. The pro-Russia-at-all-costs boys. They show him the little fires. Some they may have started, some may be other people’s work. He provides them with petrol to pour on the flames. Money – yes, and advice and encouragement. But chiefly money. That’s how he’s backing Legate and that’s why he’s backing him. He spotted the political possibilities of what he was doing – if it could be properly exploited. I agree with you. It’s not Legate’s side that we have to worry about. I’m ta
king Curtis from the DPP’s office to see the Stalagmite Board at twelve o’clock. What’s been done can’t be completely undone, but I think we can plug the leak. There’s bound to be a scandal, but now that we’re warned it can be kept within bounds. It’s the political exploitation that’s going to cause big trouble. Imagine our position with Legate the other side of the Iron Curtain making a series of carefully inspired statements. That’s why he’s got to be found. And quickly.”

  “If he tries any of the ordinary ways out,” said Hazlerigg, “I think we shall get him. I had a closure on the ports by eight thirty last night and there’s no possible combination of boat and train or car and train which could have got him out before that time. We’ve got your photographs, and a very good description with accurate measurements – we got those from his tailor, by the way.”

  “And if he tries to go by air?”

  “Yes. That’s not so easy. The passenger airlines will be closed to him, of course. But there are two further chances. A certain number of private planes are kept at the different airports and a certain number of private licences have been issued since the war – mostly to businessmen. I’m having a very careful check made of these. The trouble is that there’s very little to prevent one of these owners – if his sympathies lay that way – allowing his plane to be stolen. We should know about it almost at once, of course–”

  “Almost at once might be too late.”

  “Exactly. The other chance, of course, is that he may not go from an airport at all. There are a few places left, even today, where a man could land a plane, and take off again, without attracting too much notice.”

  “Baron Childerpath’s Melsetshire estate,” suggested His Lordship.

  “No names no pack drill,” said Hazlerigg hastily. “I don’t say that it could have been done during the war,” he went on, “when people were security conscious and we had the spotting service organized. But nowadays – well, who takes any notice of aeroplanes nowadays? People don’t even bother to look up when one goes over.”

  2

  At half past ten Lord Cedarbrook visited Paddy at Rahere’s. Although the results of Paddy’s investigations had been passed on to him, in summary form, this was really the first opportunity that he had had of seeing him for some weeks.

  There were certain aspects of the connection between Market News and the Stalagmite and the operations of Moody and Van Bright on which he was not yet quite clear, and Paddy did his best to enlighten him. His Lordship was also particularly interested in the identification of the two men who had sat in the smoking-room of the Pike and Eels on the night of Mr Britten’s decease.

  He was mildly surprised to find that Paddy appeared to be on terms of considerable intimacy with Nurse Goodbody. Not that he had any objection to Nurse Goodbody, whom he thought a most sensible, old-fashioned girl. But he had had the impression that she was engaged to his nephew. He made up his mind to ask Nap about it next time he saw him.

  Lord Cedarbrook was not really a lady’s man.

  As he was going Paddy said: “You know this is rather an opportunity for me. I like the paper I’m working for, and I’m staying on permanently. If I can give McAndrews – that’s my copy chief – the low-down on this, I’m made for life – ”

  “Forty-eight hours,” said Lord Cedarbrook, “and even then he’ll be ahead of the field. He can publish what he likes, on the morning of the day after tomorrow.”

  His next move was to Whitehall where, at eleven o’clock, he kept his appointment with the legal Mr Curtis. Here he encountered a degree of official opposition, but a telephone call to the Director of Public Prosecutions (with whom Lord Cedarbrook had been at Winchester) removed the obstacle and his plan was agreed.

  3

  The message which summoned the Directors of the Stalagmite to a general meeting at twelve o’clock had been carefully worded so as not to alarm. It mentioned that a matter of policy had arisen which called for immediate decision. It was signed by Mr Lloyd, an inoffensive person who was head of the Life section and was generally accepted as Mr Legate’s second-in-command.

  Sir George Burroughs and Hewson-Collet came together in a taxi. Sir Hubert Fosdick and Andrew Chattell arrived in their chauffeur-driven cars. Charles Bedell Atkinson strolled across from the headquarters of the Home Counties Bank. And old Lord Stallybrowe, who had his long hooked fingers in a hundred financial pies, came up from his soundly mortgaged acres at Sunningdale by Southern to Waterloo – he always travelled third class – and from Waterloo he caught a bus, carefully alighting two stops short of his destination in order not to exceed the three-halfpenny fare.

  On their arrival in the boardroom the six directors were equally surprised by the absence of Mr Legate and by the presence of two outsiders – though one of these appeared to be known to some of their number. For Sir Hubert Fosdick said: “Good Heavens, Alfred, what are you doing here? Have they co-opted you on to the board,” and Lord Stallybrowe grunted and said something which sounded unfriendly. Hewson-Collet took a quick look at the second of the two strangers and seemed to be on the point of addressing him, but refrained. As he took his seat with the others, it was noticeable that he looked thoughtful.

  “Gentlemen,” said Mr Lloyd. “If you are all ready, I think – that is, would you be seated.”

  He looked like a young and nervous mother forced against her sounder instincts, to give a tea party to a lot of obstreperous children.

  “I say, Lloyd,” said Sir George Burroughs, “where’s Legate?”

  “What’s this all about?” asked Mr Chattell.

  “I hope this isn’t going to take too long,” said Hewson-Collet. “I’ve got an appointment for lunch. What’s the trouble, Lloyd?”

  Mr Lloyd shot a glance of appeal at Lord Cedarbrook, who rose to his feet.

  He said, “I called this meeting. You were enquiring where Mr Legate was. I wish I could tell you. The police, too, would be interested to know.”

  Just so must it have been with Perseus, who with a quick turn of his wrist, twitched the cloth from the Gorgon’s head. The nobles and counsellors sat silent and turned to stone.

  There was not a man present who did not fully understand every implication of Lord Cedarbrook’s words.

  Having delivered the coup His Lordship seemed unwilling to follow it up. He stood at the top of the table, his massive shoulders stooped forward, his head turning slowly as he surveyed the company. The hardest hit were Lord Stallybrowe and old Sir Hubert Fosdick. The consternation of the former, indeed, was so extreme as to be almost ludicrous. Sir George Burroughs seemed suddenly to have aged. Andrew Chattell had ceased to look pompous and was beginning to look plainly frightened. Hewson-Collet managed to retain an appearance of professional composure, but his hands betrayed him. Of all six men only little Charles Bedell Atkinson, the banker, seemed unmoved. Lord Cedarbrook had found the man he wanted, and it was to Mr Atkinson that he now addressed himself.

  “It will undoubtedly have occurred to you to wonder,” he said, “what my standing in this matter may be. However, if you are prepared, for the time being, to take that on trust, I will merely mention that this gentleman with me here is Mr Curtis, one of the legal advisers to the Director of Public Prosecutions. And it is with the consent of the Director that I am taking this course.” He paused for a moment, then went on, picking his words carefully: “You must all of you be aware, from what I have already told you, that the great corporation whose interests you represent stands in danger. But if you are to appreciate the real gravity of the position, I shall have to go back some years, and tell you something about your General Manager.

  “It is the history of a young communist, a single-minded enthusiast, a drinker of the undiluted waters of Marx, who joined the great steel firm of Impeys at Deptford, at the beginning of this century, and quickly made his mark – in more ways than one. As an active and intelligent worker, and as a political organizer. He became, at a very early age, a shop steward – or what passed for on
e in those days – and he organized and took part in a series of strikes and demonstrations which culminated in his dismissal by the firm. The matter, unfortunately, did not end there. There was a scene in the staff manager’s office, a policeman was called in, and Legate – or Lake, as he called himself in those days – struck him. As a result, he got a prison sentence.

  “Incidentally, it was suggested at the time that he may not have been entirely responsible for his actions. On the previous day he had been involved in an affair in Hyde Park and had suffered a sort of delayed concussion from a truncheon blow. I don’t think we shall ever know the real truth about that, but there is a certain amount of evidence that Legate regarded that day as the turning point in his life. When he was suffering the effects of concussion he talked in the most lucid way about his life’s plans and ambitions to a doctor who happened to be attending to him. Whether or not they were exactly those plans which he eventually followed up we do not, of course, know. But in view of the fact that he later thought it necessary to have this doctor traced, and later still, when his plans were very near to fruition – to have him murdered – well, it seems probable. For make no mistake about it, gentlemen, he was a very patient, very determined, very far-seeing man, infinitely capable of subordinating himself to an objective.