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  Palfrey joined Stefan.

  He caught a glimpse of the big Dutchman, still huddled up on the floor.

  De Morency was unconscious. Palfrey saw the blood on his shirt-front. Stefan had already padded the wound.

  Palfrey felt his pulse, held his wrist for what seemed a long time, and then straightened up.

  ‘I don’t think we’ll save him,’ he said.

  Stefan said: ‘It was at such short range, there was no chance to avoid it.’ Charles stared wide-eyed at de Morency. Palfrey went to the Dutchman on the floor, examined him, looked round and found Stefan staring at him gravely.

  Palfrey said: ‘You hit him, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It was just a little too hard,’ said Palfrey, and pointed to the man’s neck. It was bent in an odd position; the neck was broken.

  There had been another interview with the Chief of Police, who remained friendly and helpful although he had been dragged out again in the middle of the night. Bane had told most of the story at first: how he had been set upon by ruffians, how Stefan had come to his rescue, how the others had attacked Stefan. Palfrey and Stefan had supported his story; for the time being it was much better that the police did not have an official complaint against Dias and Lozana. The dead Dutchman was not known to the police.

  They walked to the front door, which Anna opened for them, and Charles seemed to forget for a moment his distress and the horror of what had happened, for Anna was smiling a welcome. He looked at her curiously. Even Palfrey was startled at the change in her.

  The men were eating toast and scrambled egg when Drusilla came down, fresh, bright-eyed, anxious for news. Charles watched her as Palfrey told her what had happened to de Morency, and he pushed his plate away from him, got up and hurried out of the room. Drusilla looked after him in startled surprise.

  ‘I am probably quite wrong,’ said Stefan, ‘and yet I must admit that I am worried about Charles. I do not like his curious manner, he follows us about rather like a dog at heel, he shows a deep affection for Anna, perhaps too deep, for she is not beautiful. It may be pretence. If it were Drusilla, now!’ He paused while he ate and drank, and then went on: ‘Dias learned exactly what was said here to Bane.’

  Palfrey put his knife and fork down.

  ‘Everything,’ said Stefan, ‘Bane had told him a different story; I do not think that we need fear that Bane is against us, Sap, he did his best to mislead Dias. Then came a telephone call. It was someone who could, perhaps, speak Spanish – at least, Dias spoke Spanish to the speaker, but he may have used a different language from the caller’s to try to baffle Bane, who could hear what he said. That does not greatly matter. What matters is that if Dias had not been told the truth, the shooting would not have started then. Bane had succeeded, I think, in quietening Dias’s fears.’

  ‘What did Dias say?’ asked Palfrey.

  ‘That he had someone who could overhear all that was said in the house,’ said Stefan. ‘Now he certainly did learn what was said here. Charles might have telephoned—or given a message to someone else. Was Charles in here all the time. Sap?’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Grave Doubts about Charles

  ‘Yes,’ said Palfrey, ‘he was here all the time. I don’t think he could have got out of bed and gone downstairs to the telephone without waking me. I hadn’t been asleep for ten minutes before your call came, and he was fast asleep then.’

  ‘What chance did he have on the way from here to the hotel?’ asked Stefan.

  ‘Some slight chance,’ said Palfrey. ‘He lost his way. He found us again just after Raoul and I had come into the hall. I sent him up with Raoul.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Stefan. ‘While with Raoul he was careless enough to kick against a chair. It might have given warning to the men who came and attacked us.’

  Drusilla said: ‘Someone could have been lurking outside.’ ‘Dias would not have been so sure that he would learn all that was said,’ said Stefan, ‘if it were because he had an eavesdropper outside the windows. And that eavesdropper would have been seen by the police. Don’t you agree?’

  ‘There’s one rather significant thing, though. The old gardener lives here and sleeps in a small room by the kitchen,’ said Palfrey. ‘We hardly ever see him about. When he is seen, he isn’t heard—he walks remarkably softly. You’ll have noticed it. He did nothing at all for Anna when the couple who first came here attacked her. I thought it curious then. Anna convinced me that there was nothing surprising in it, he’s supposed to be dull-witted, but she might be deceived by him.’

  ‘Shall we question him?’ asked Stefan, in a voice that suggested that Palfrey would not agree to the course.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Palfrey. ‘Watch him, that’s all. And watch Charles. No, I don’t like it,’ he said, and stifled a yawn. ‘I’d better go to bed. So had you. Give us a call if there’s any kind of alarm, ’Silla.’

  He went upstairs to his room and found Charles sitting dejectedly on the side of the bed, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

  ‘Hallo, old chap,’ said Palfrey. ‘Not in bed yet?’ Charles said: ‘It’s the very devil, Sap! I’ve known almost from the start what you think about her, and yet—well, I can’t help it! It’s crazy, I know all about that, and yet I can’t do anything about it. I’ve tried—how I’ve tried! I’ve followed Anna about because she reminds me of her, but—’

  His voice broke. He kicked off his shoes, got up, and went to the window.

  ‘Who, Charles?’ Palfrey asked.

  Charles swung round. ‘Muriel!’

  Palfrey drew in his breath, but just saved himself from exclaiming in amazement.

  Charles said: ‘It’s impossible for you to understand, I don’t understand myself, but in London when Muriel came into the room after—after I’d had such a basting, something happened to me. I know that you think she is one of the mob—perhaps she is, but it doesn’t make any difference to what I feel. I suppose it would have been all right if I hadn’t seen her with Bane the other day, using a different name. That seemed to prove that you were right. It’s so—so incredible!’ cried Charles. ‘She matters to me, Palfrey. I—I can’t think of anything else, most of the time I’m obsessed with it. I have to give myself a kick to wake up. I’ve been following you around like—like a lapdog, you must have thought I was as witless as a crab, but there it was. Anna—well, Anna is like her. Not in her appearance so much, although there is a likeness. It’s her manner. She’s so quiet. She looks as if she’s carrying a devil of a burden, and—and—well, I don’t see Anna walking about, I see Muriel.’

  Palfrey said: ‘What brought it to a head, Charles?’

  Charles said: ‘I saw her tonight. At the hotel. As I was going up with de Morency. That’s what made me kick the chair. She was looking out of a room near Bane’s. She closed the door pretty sharply when she saw me; I only just caught a glimpse of her. Then, when I was coming for you, as I turned round when that beggar went for me, I saw her again. She was coming out of the room. She is one of them, there isn’t any doubt about that now.’

  They slept until late afternoon.

  There was roast beef for dinner; a special occasion, said Anna, and smiled serenely. Palfrey wondered whether it had been bought on the Black Market. The thing was beginning to haunt him. He said nothing of it to Anna, but afterwards went upstairs to van Doorn, who was sitting in an easy chair by the fireplace. By then it was dark, and there was only a dim table-lamp by which to read. The fire was of logs.

  Van Doorn put down a heavy book.

  ‘You are very welcome, Palfrey.’ His voice was regaining its strength, he was a different man from the wreck who had been brought back to the house. ‘Do you make much progress, my friend?’

  ‘More than there appears, I hope,’ said Palfrey.

  ‘Do y
ou expect to stay here long?’

  ‘No,’ said Palfrey. ‘We’ll soon be moving on.’ He talked of various things, only a little of Dias; he discussed the condition of the masses of the people, and turned the subject unobtrusively towards food. From there to Black Marketing was a simple step.

  Van Doorn did not seem as affected by it as Palfrey expected.

  ‘Yes, of course there is an extensive Black Market, my friend. What else can you expect? For years we kept the food away from the Germans whenever we could, we built up a secondary market, encouraged by you. It was a brave thing to do, and certainly not a crime in those days. Now many people are operating it who have not the best interests of the country at heart, but can you be surprised that those who have money buy on it?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ said Palfrey.

  ‘It is not of alarming proportions in Holland,’ van Doorn said, with some satisfaction, ‘but it is large enough. I do not think there is any hope of stamping it out this winter. Next, perhaps, if we have a good season in Europe. You see, Palfrey,’ he went on, with quiet dignity, ‘we are now so much more dependent on good imports. With so much land lost, ruined for four or five years to come, we must depend on those imports, and there is bound to be some illegal activity.’ He smiled gently. ‘I see you condemn me, my friend, for not being more shocked. I do not consider myself an enemy of Holland, and yet—often I would have been on the point of starvation, I think perhaps I would have lost Anna, had I not bought on the Black Market. We still do,’ he added, simply. ‘I talk to you confidentially, as a friend.’

  Palfrey said: ‘Yes, of course. Was Laander an operator?’

  ‘He would see that his friends were well supplied,’ said van Doorn, ‘but I do not believe that he would ever make a profit out of his friends.’

  Palfrey said: ‘Does it affect the Government?’

  ‘I do not think the Government would condone it,’ said van Doorn, ‘but it exists, and the truth is that without it there would not be the supplies available that there are today.’ He stretched out his hand, took a box of cigars from the dressing-table, and said: ‘These, now, were bought on the Black Market; Anna had them here for me yesterday. Yours were lost—and I have never thanked you enough for them!’

  ‘I wish you’d smoked more of them,’ said Palfrey, absently. ‘No, no thanks. I’ll have a cigarette.’ He watched the Dutchman pierce the end of a half-Corona, and saw that it was a brand well known in England. Had they come from England? Was Bane right when he said that many English firms were operating illegally on the European market? If so, how?

  ‘You are still angry,’ said van Doorn.

  ‘Angry?’ said Palfrey. ‘Good lord, no! I just don’t agree that it’s necessary. Or good.’

  ‘You don’t live here,’ said van Doorn. ‘Of one thing I am sure, my friend. When you left England, knowing that you would not be sure how long you would be on the Continent, you brought ample supplies of food with you. Is that not so?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Palfrey.

  Van Doorn shrugged his shoulders. ‘You see?’

  ‘I think I see,’ said Palfrey.

  The talk depressed him. He did see, only too clearly. The Black Market had come to be accepted, it was respectable to buy on it, not a thing of shame, even for otherwise law-abiding people. There was no way of convincing even a man like van Doorn of the innate evil in it, because van Doorn had lived so long in a country where there would have been starvation for him and his family but for the Black Market.

  He was glad when Drusilla called upstairs: ‘Telephone, Sap!’

  Palfrey hurried downstairs, and Drusilla said: ‘It’s Bane.’

  ‘Hallo, State Department,’ said Palfrey, more brightly than he felt.

  ‘You must be feeling a heap better,’ said Bane, dryly. ‘I wonder if you will be for long. Dias has left Rotterdam.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Palfrey, sharply.

  ‘Yes. He flew to Berlin this morning. He is there now.’

  Palfrey said: ‘Where did you get your information?’

  Bane laughed. ‘From the American Occupation authorities, and it’s reliable. What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Go after him,’ said Palfrey.

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Bane. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘I don’t expect to leave until tomorrow,’ said Palfrey.

  ‘Meaning you don’t want me in your party,’ said Bane, after a pause. ‘Please yourself, Palfrey. But I hope we shall work together, we’ve had trouble enough on our own. And I’m not forgetful, you know.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘The fact that Andromovitch saved me from a bullet,’ said Bane, laconically. ‘I wouldn’t be travelling to Berlin or any place if he hadn’t. I’ll be seeing you.’

  He rang off.

  Palfrey replaced the receiver, pulled at the short hair at the top of his head, tried unsuccessfully to wind it round his finger, and then drew his hand away sharply.

  He was wondering whether Bane had got his information quite as simply as he said.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The Discomfiture of Dias

  It was time, said Palfrey, that Erikson and Bruton had a joy-flight. They left that night for Berlin, on the same aircraft as Bane. Palfrey did not see them off, but went with Drusilla, Stefan and Charles to the British Consulate, and there put through a telephone call to Brett.

  ‘Drusilla nearly came over,’ said Palfrey, after exchanging greetings, ‘but we hoped you could get the information for us without that. Have you had any luck?’

  ‘Yes.’ Brett’s voice was crisp, almost brusque. ‘Bane is what he says he is, but strictly unofficial. There are widespread Black Market operations, but we cannot investigate except in Occupied countries. Are you any nearer the radium?’

  ‘No,’ confessed Palfrey. He did not like admitting it but it was no time for half-truths.

  ‘I think you’d be wise to concentrate on it,’ said Brett.

  There was little more. Palfrey rang off, rubbed his forehead, looked ruefully at the others and told them the gist of what the Marquis had said. Stefan pulled a wry face, Drusilla looked worried. The only one who was not greatly affected was Charles. Charles had obviously pulled himself together and was determined not to make a fool of himself again.

  ‘I don’t see that his approval makes all that difference, Sap. Why be down in the mouth about it?’

  ‘That wasn’t our friend Brett,’ said Palfrey. ‘That was the Marquis of Brett, very formal, very much the member of the Government. He wasn’t disapproving, he was warning me as clearly as he could that there have been complaints about our goings-on. The Chief of Police is perhaps not so friendly as he makes out; he has been telling High Authority that we don’t appear to be very interested in radium.’

  ‘Well,’ said Charles, ‘are we?’

  Palfrey laughed, without much humour. ‘I am,’ he said. ‘Well, we’d better get some sleep, we want to be off early in the morning.’

  ‘To Berlin?’ asked Charles.

  ‘Yes. After radium and von Kriess, not after Dias,’ said Palfrey.

  He lit a cigarette, and said nothing more. Drusilla was subdued. Stefan, who knew Brett almost as well as his friends, knew that Palfrey had not misunderstood what Brett had said.

  For the first few hours of the journey across Holland and Western Germany there was desolation on all sides. Villages had been abandoned completely, they were still wrecked and unlived-in; windows gaped, splintered doors hung from the doorways. Churches and houses were blasted and holed, fields that had once been fruitful were overgrown, cattle seemed hardly to exist – it was a vista of destruction in itself enough to depress them.

  They crossed the Lower Rhine at Wesel, over a bridge which was still being repaired. There were notices in Fr
ench, English, Flemish, Dutch and German, warning heavy traffic that the bridge must not be used; an odd contrast to the time when the Rhine had been crossed, when the bridge had been shaken by the thunder of tanks and heavy guns, and had borne the weight of the liberating armies, as they passed into the heart of the Reich.

  They came to Berlin.

  Palfrey, Stefan and Drusilla had been in Berlin in 1944, they had seen something of the devastation caused by Allied bombing, but now, in the gathering darkness, they looked about them and saw, with stifled horror, the desolation which seemed to have reached its height – or its depth – in the first city of the Reich. No man could look upon it for the first time without a lump rising in his throat.

  Palfrey said: ‘Well, it was an ugly blot, anyway.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Charles, looking at the controls of his jeep.

  ‘The United Nations Club,’ said Palfrey.

  What could Dias do here? What could anyone do?

  Was he right to feel this acute depression, to sense the physical horror of blasted Berlin? Would he have felt that horror so acutely had he not spent so much time in Rotterdam and learned what there was to learn? In his heart he knew that it was not so much what he saw but what he imagined that caused his horror. He imagined resentment, deep down, smouldering, dangerous, resentment not only in Germany but in Holland, in the other countries, in France – yes, it had been evident in France. Resentment perhaps against Fate, resentment which bred hatred, out of which came the spawn of future wars.

  They were directed by two American military policemen to the United Nations Club, where they hoped to find Erikson and Bruton waiting for them. They pulled up outside, and Bruton came hurrying down the steps, jaunty, unimpressed by the ruin about him. In fact there was not so much just there. The broad highway was nearly empty of traffic, it was the beginning of the famous autobahn which led from Berlin to Cologne. Some buildings had escaped destruction, several had been repaired; like Bruton, they had a jaunty air, as if they were conscious of the fact that they were the first of many which would soon stand there, superior, privileged, aloof.