Panic! (Department Z) Read online

  Carruthers was scribbling on a piece of paper, and he pushed it in front of Loftus. It read:

  Mr Benjamin Morely—Canada.

  Mr Eustace Jaffrey—New Zealand.

  Sir Jabez Gorton—England.

  Mr Andrew McKenzie—Scotland.

  Lord Hubert Lore—England.

  Sir Ronald Frazer-Campbell—S. Africa.

  Mr Matthew Tiarney—England.

  ‘Thanks,’ Loftus nodded. ‘The seven men Anson mentioned. And to them we can add Anson himself, Nebton, and Amondier of France. But it’s not a quarter of the big men in armaments.’

  ‘It may be all whom Anson knows are concerned,’ said Carruthers.

  ‘Or all he wants to talk about,’ suggested Loftus.

  Craigie frowned, tugging at his pipe.

  ‘Are you thinking Anson was deliberately holding back, Bill?’

  ‘Hardly that,’ said Loftus, ‘but at least it’s possible. He was reluctant to talk at first—in fact he was a constant contradiction of himself. When I first started talking to him at Moorton Road, he was all up in the air. Then he quietened down, and grew reasonable. After that he demanded proof of our good faith, and’—Loftus grinned—’without disrespect; Gordon, there doesn’t seem any reason why he should take you at your face value. We could have offered him Fellowes, or even one or two from Downing Street. Instead, he suddenly decided to let us know all he could—and it just didn’t seem in keeping.’

  ‘He seemed temperamental,’ Carruthers offered.

  ‘Yes … And money does work like that, I know. All the same he needs watching. The new secretaries was a good move, Gordon—who are you sending?’

  ‘Wally, I think—and Graham.’

  ‘Good enough. If Anson deliberately dodges them, we’ll have considerable reason for doubting the gentleman. Well now—Neb certainly had that world-trip last year, and it might have been connected with this. Someone must find the connection between him and Rogerson.’

  ‘It’s a pity Oundle’s laid up,’ murmured Craigie.

  ‘I’m not.’ growled Thornton, in his deep voice.

  ‘Better let him do it,’ said Loftus. ‘It’ll keep him out of mischief for a while, anyhow.’

  ‘My hide,’ Spats assured him, ‘is impervious to sarcasm, little man. But didn’t I gather that an unofficial investigation of Neb himself was on the bill?’

  ‘Yes, but we need to approach him from both angles,’ said Craigie. ‘You get busy at once, Thornton—you can take any one of the men downstairs you want. Wait there a minute—I’ll get you to come as far as Downing Street with me.’

  Thornton went off, and Craigie pushed a hand through his sparse hair.

  ‘You and Carrie will look after the Nebton end, Bill,’ he said, slowly. ‘And do it carefully, for the Lord’s sake!’ Craigie’s untypical outburst showed the others just how deeply he was feeling. ‘You’ll use the Errols, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes—they’re new, and not likely to be known. And for Neb, I think we’d better use Diana.’

  Craigie hesitated.

  ‘Yes … All right, Bill, I’ll leave it to you. But be careful. Let me have the Errols’ report as soon as you get it in order.’

  When Craigie had gone, Diana and Fay approached the second flat, to find Carruthers saying:

  ‘There’s one thing worrying me, Bill, Neil Clarke—you don’t know him, but he’s an old acquaintance of mine. He was on the Luxa, and I caught a glimpse of him at Moorton Road—he was one of the few who got away.’

  ‘What is he?’

  ‘On the ’Change.’

  ‘H’mm. We’ll get Miller busy, for a start,’ said Loftus. ‘For the rest—hallo, America, you look as though you need some beauty sleep!’

  Let it be said that between Diana Woodward and William Loftus there was an affection as strong as most—in fact, Carruthers was apt to say, stronger. They were engaged, but they were postponing their marriage until such time as the work of the Department was slack enough for Craigie to train a new leading agent. Diana, late of the American Intelligence and co-opted by Craigie, found relief from strain in Bill’s genial, almost off-hand manner, knew how deliberately it was calculated to ease the perpetual suspense and uncertainty.

  That she could and did enter the spirit of camaraderie so successfully was a tribute to Diana’s courage, and her complete acceptance by Loftus’ friends was a compliment of the highest order.

  ‘Thank you, darling,’ she said, now. ‘Actually, I’ve been thinking that it’s past time I was busy. Nebton …’

  Loftus grinned.

  ‘We’re doing well—I’d just fixed it with Craigie. With Spats working on the Neb-Rogerson angle, myself, Carrie and the Errols working on Neb under-cover, and you trying to win a place in his affections, the poor devil will probably end up in an asylum. All of which serve to illustrate,’ he went on, putting his arm about her shoulders, ‘the need for that beauty sleep. Only the best will do, for Neb.’

  Diana laughed.

  ‘Just where,’ asked Fay, ‘do I come in?’

  ‘Sad though it is to relate,’ said Loftus, ‘you stay here and nurse Ned. He’ll like it, even if you don’t.’

  Fay looked mutinous.

  ‘Look here, Bill …’

  ‘Look here, lass, Ned’s gone to a nursing home today—but he’ll be back tomorrow, and if there’s no friendly face to greet him, he’ll droop. We can’t have agents drooping. What’s the matter with Ned, anyhow?’

  ‘Oh, he’s all right,’ said Fay, too casually.

  Loftus widened his eyes, but said nothing, and the discussion was cut short when there was a ring at the front door. In a few seconds the Errols, reasonably presentable now, if grazed in places, came in. They did not look light-hearted.

  ‘We’ll get to bed,’ Diana said, and retired, with Fay.

  Loftus, as always blessing the tact of Diana, found beer and offered it to the new agents, who accepted with alacrity. Carrie’s offer to get sandwiches was refused with thanks.

  In five minutes Loftus understood what had made the Errols more sober than of yore. The experience at Bylands and the blasting to pieces of the unknown man with the mocking voice was a grim initiation into the work of the Department.

  ‘Myra and Korrel we know about,’ said Loftus, after the full recital was over. ‘Dora and Letty are strangers, and as for the Naveling—it doesn’t sound unfamiliar. How was it used?’

  ‘The cove said: “Of course, I ‘phoned the Naveling”.’ said Mike. ‘A pub, possibly?’

  ‘It isn’t impossible, anyhow. You two get a bath, while I do some telephoning—we’re going to be busy.’

  As the cousins disappeared, Loftus murmured:

  ‘They’ll do. I wish I could be as sure of Anson. Push that ‘phone over, Carrie—and get on the other line and tell Craigie just what the Errols reported.’

  Carruthers obliged.

  Loftus sent messages to the Yard and replaced the receiver, then located a directory and checked Nebton’s address in St John’s Wood. He telephoned the Yard again, and learnt that the peer had a cottage in Hampshire, near the Test—for he was a fishing fanatic—and a house in Scotland, near Loch Awe.

  ‘The conference might be a day’s journey from London,’ Loftus reminded himself.

  Mike Errol, clad in a bath-towel, poked his head round the door.

  ‘The Rogerson bird looked all of eighty,’ he offered. ‘What put you on to him?’

  ‘Fay heard Korrel and Myra mentioned, so we watched them both—and Myra visited Rogerson a week ago. Quite simple. Did you see him?’

  ‘For a split second, yes. Old, wrinkled …’

  ‘Long or short?’

  ‘Short, definitely. Myra—if it was Myra—was inches taller. I suppose he blew the place up to destroy all papers and what-not?’

  ‘Glimmerings of intelligence do show through,’ Loftus said earnestly.

  ‘Thank you. Did you hear the story of the …’

  Brrr-brrrr
.

  ‘Later,’ said Loftus. He pulled the telephone towards him and heard Superintendent Miller’s gruff voice.

  ‘That you, Loftus? … Yes, I’ve word about the man Clarke—he’s handled a lot of buying and selling, lately, for Lord Nebton.’

  ‘Has he, by George!’

  ‘Don’t shout,’ Miller reproved. ‘I’ve been through to Bournemouth, and there’s little chance of identifying the dead man, but they found another fellow nearby, named Grossman—you might call him Rogerson’s bodyguard. He says he knows nothing, but that he saw two people looking through the window just before the explosion. Would that be your men?’

  ‘It would, Miller: thanks.’

  ‘Good. And then Rogerson himself, and the Clayton woman, caught the night boat from Clarence Pier to the Isle of Wight—they were in a hurry, that’s why a man took note of them. They left an open Sunbeam …’

  ‘Have the Island advised at once,’ Loftus urged. ‘If we can get that brace it’ll be a big thing, Miller. You’ll do all you can?’

  ‘Yes—will you be sending there?’

  ‘I will. Two men by the name of Errol—they’ll fly from Heston in an hour’s time. Have them given all facilities, there’s a good fellow.’

  ‘It’s as good as done,’ promised Miller.

  ‘Thanks.’ Loftus rang off and turned to find Mike half-dressed by the door, and Mark towelling just behind him. ‘You heard? Well, can either of you pilot a ‘plane?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mike.

  ‘You’ll find one at Heston—here’s a note that will release it.’ Loftus scribbled quickly. ‘Things are moving, so try to get this into your thick heads: if you find Rogerson, force out of him what’s going to happen at midnight tomorrow. Never mind his age or infirmity—go to any lengths but get that information. Clear?’

  ‘Oke,’ said Mark.

  ‘Then get going—Oundle’s clothes will fit you more or less if you want a change of anything.’ Loftus had not wasted a word, and the Errols turned with a united purpose. Carruthers, recognising the signs of coming action in full blast, was not surprised to hear:

  ‘Carrie, get on that ‘phone and locate Nebton. Never mind what you say to him or his, just find where he is, we’ll go and see him. I—damn the thing!’

  For the telephone under his hand rang sharply. He lifted the receiver and heard Wally’s voice. But for once it was not weary. In fact it was sharp:

  ‘Bill—Anson’s been shot—one of his secretaries. I got the little runt, but he turned the gun on himself … No, Anson’s not dead but it’s touch and go, and an ambulance is coming …’

  ‘Keep the ambulance waiting till I get there,’ said Loftus. ‘Don’t argue, keep it there! Anson’s not to be taken away until I’ve seen him!’

  And in Loftus’ eyes as he replaced the receiver was hope, mingled with fear.

  14

  Fast Work Fails

  ‘What do I do?’ demanded Carruthers.

  ‘Just get on to Neb, and as soon as you’ve found him, ’phone me at Anson’s hotel,’ said Loftus. He grabbed his hat from a chair and hurried out. Carruthers heard the front door bang as Mike Errol emerged, fully-dressed and looking puzzled.

  ‘Any change in orders?’

  ‘No—get going as soon as you can.’ Carruthers dialled a number. ‘Hallo—Lord Nebton, please … he’s not? Can you tell me where to find him? Yes, it’s important—a message from Mr Anson … all right, thank you.’

  ‘Damn!’ He replaced the receiver, then lifted it again, dialled, and: ‘Can you tell me if Lord Nebton is there …? Yes, I’ll hold on …’

  But Nebton was not at his club; nor at his houseboat. Carruthers was still trying to get him, as the Errols left for Heston and the Isle of Wight.

  * * *

  Loftus reached the Regal to find Leroni, the manager, waiting in the foyer in some perturbation and outside, an ambulance from the London Hospital. Leroni came towards him with hands outstretched.

  ‘M’sieu, I beg, I implore you …!’

  ‘Get Mr Farquharson on the telephone,’ said Loftus, shortly. ‘Give him my name, tell him that he is wanted for an emergency operation here …’

  ‘Here! Santa Maria! M’sieu Loftus. I beg …’

  ‘Get him!’ snapped Loftus, then realising that the tension that gripped him could not be understood by Leroni, he added more easily: ‘It’s essential, Leroni. I’d avoid it if I possibly could …’

  ‘But here,’ moaned Leroni. ‘I …’

  He found he was talking to Loftus’ back, and swung round on a staring reception clerk. ‘Why do you stare like ze fool? Did you not hear M’sieu Loftus say ‘phone ze doctair—hurry, hurry!’

  In the royal suite, Loftus found two frightened secretaries, an inspector from the Yard, Wally and a small, immaculate man named Graham—one of the lesser lights of the Department. In an inner room was a doctor, a nurse, and Anson, who was unconscious.

  He was lying on the bed, his shirt-front soaked with blood. His mouth was shut tightly, as though he had clenched his teeth, and there was blood on his hair. The rest of his face was deathly white.

  The doctor swung round as Loftus entered.

  He was a dapper man, grey-haired, and with a considerable reputation—and he knew Loftus by sight. His eyes hardened.

  ‘Mr Loftus, every moment you keep Mr Anson here you are lessening his chance of life …’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Loftus. ‘And every moment he’s outside this room there’s a chance of another attack. Listen, Forbes, I wouldn’t do this if it weren’t essential. I’ve sent for Farquharson, and he’ll operate here. Get the necessary things ready, will you?’

  ‘Here?’ Dr Forbes looked startled. ‘It’s impossible! He won’t have the facilities—confound it, man, the London is only ten minutes’ journey!’

  ‘It’s ten minutes too far.’

  ‘I cannot accept the responsibility,’ said Forbes, stiffly.

  ‘I can and do—and if you want to save his life, get those things ready!’ snapped Loftus, and as Forbes gave in, added more calmly: ‘Sorry, Forbes, there’s more to this man than you know. What are the chances of him talking in the next hour or two?’

  ‘None,’ said Forbes. ‘Unless—’ sardonically—‘you care to hear what he says under the anaesthetic.’

  ‘Even that might be useful,’ Loftus told him.

  He went into the outer room as Leroni arrived to say that Mr Farquharson was on the way, and Forbes—hearing, through the open door—decided that if Farquharson would come in such a hurry at his behest, Loftus must wield considerable influence.

  Preparations were hurriedly made.

  Farquharson arrived in fifteen minutes. By that time, a table had been procured, instruments were being sterilised—and Davidson was completing an explanation to Loftus.

  He had arrived with Anson, waited till Craigie had ‘phoned his orders to stay, with Graham, as the Australian’s new secretary—and told Anson, who had laughingly agreed that he probably needed a bodyguard.

  ‘There was a little runt here, named Wiseman,’ he was saying now. ‘Bowing and scraping—you know the type. He had a telephone call—we traced it to a call-box in Piccadilly—said “yes” three times, turned round and shot Anson before we knew he’d finished talking. I went for him, but he put the end of the gun in his mouth and kept his finger on the trigger.’

  ‘How many bullets did Anson take?’

  ‘Three—Bill, why stop the ambulance?’

  ‘If the League can get Korrel in a police car, they can make sure of Anson in an ambulance,’ said Loftus. ‘I’m going downstairs to a ‘phone booth, and I’m getting half-a-dozen men here. Watch everyone closely—they’ll probably try to get through, knowing that the operation’s being done here.’

  ‘Anson’s as important as that, is he?’

  ‘Be yourself, Wally—be yourself! Anson knows a whale of a lot he forgot to tell us, and they tried to make sure he didn’t have a chance of changing
his mind. If he jabbers under the gas, Farquharson will tell us if there’s anything interesting. Keep awake, old man!’

  Davidson said something unprintable and Loftus grinned and hurried downstairs. He gave instructions for men to come to the Regal and, as he stepped from the booth, was told by a clerk that there was a call waiting, from a Mr Carruthers.

  ‘Put it through here,’ Loftus told him.

  Carruthers said:

  ‘Nebton left by air for an unknown destination two hours ago, Bill.’

  ‘Did he, by George! So he’s had an alarm, too. Have the Errols gone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘ ’Phone the landing field at Ryde, and tell them to look out for Neb as well as the others. Then call the Yard again, and have a call put out for Neb as well as the rest of the bunch. Got it?’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘You and I will probably make some calls,’ said Loftus. ‘Get Di and Fay out of bed, tell them to go—separately—to Morely and Jaffrey, the first two men Anson mentioned, to represent themselves as newspaper special correspondents, and …’

  ‘Damn it, it’s after midnight!’

  ‘Yes—and just twenty-four hours before Operation B,’ snapped Loftus. ‘I want both men’s reactions to a statement that the Daily So-and-So understands they’re attending an important armaments conference on the twenty-first of August—give them the wrong date, it’ll look more natural. When you’ve finished all that, get to Gorton and then McKenzie. I’ll tackle the other three.’

  Upstairs again, he learned from Davidson that the operation was expected to take an hour, and promptly left the Regal for Craigie’s office.

  Craigie had just returned from Number 10.

  The proof he had been able to offer had been all the confirmation Wishart wanted—and four members of the Cabinet who had been talking with the Prime Minister were at last convinced that the League of the Hundred-and-One was not a figment of Craigie’s imagination. Extraordinary measures were already being put into operation. Special constables would take over the normal duties of the police from eight o’clock the following night, and the regulars would be concentrated at all points likely to be affected by the mysterious Operation B.