Death Stands By (Department Z) Page 2

  ‘Sit down,’ said Craigie, leaving his desk and going to the other end of the room. A small fire was burning, and easy chairs stood on either side of the hearth. Near the chair that Craigie took—Wishart knew the room too well to take Craigie’s—was a table, bare of oddments for once, although it was usually an untidy mess. A cupboard with its door open showed an astonishing miscellany of articles. Bob Kerr had been known to say that Craigie kept everything from jam to jack-rabbits on its shelves.

  Wishart knew that Craigie often spent weeks on end in the office, going out only for a breath of air. He could lower his chair so that it was as comfortable as a bed, and had all the food, books, reading matter, and necessary implements handy. His Clarges Street flat was rarely occupied.

  ‘Well,’ Wishart said as Craigie offered cigars, ‘has anything developed?’

  ‘I’ve heard nothing,’ Craigie said. ‘Worried?’

  ‘I am indeed. I don’t like the situation a bit. After that narrow escape of Mueller’s, I confess I’m jumpy.’

  Craigie nodded.

  Three days before, when the new Ambassador from Shovia had reached England, tragedy had barely been averted. Wally Davidson, one of Craigie’s men, had heard rumours of an attempted assassination. The Yard had been informed, and the attempt had not matured. But the three men who had plotted to shoot Gustav Mueller at Victoria station had refused to implicate any political or private organisation. They claimed that they had a personal grudge against Mueller, and their claim was substantiated by the fact that two of them were born Shovians and that the third was a Communist thorn in his own Party’s side.

  The men were still awaiting trial.

  Shovia was outwardly a friendly State to Great Britain, but its people’s characteristics were mercurial and its government usually unstable. It was, moreover, one of the stronger mid-European countries, likely to call on powerful allies. The assassination of Mueller might have caused serious trouble, which Wishart was, naturally, desperately anxious to avoid.

  He had cause for his anxiety. The melting-pot of Europe had never been hotter. With the Russian satellites restless, the Russo-Chinese quarrel, and the Far East on edge, Europe and the world was a nuclear ammunition-dump waiting for a single flare to make it explode.

  ‘How’s Mueller been behaving?’ Craigie asked.

  ‘Oh, very well. Campion’—Campion was the then Foreign Secretary—‘assures me that he’s very pro-British. I hope he is. But I’ve only known one Shovian of importance who was level-headed and consistent. Mueller hasn’t a good reputation.’

  The Rt. Hon. David Wishart was a good churchman, who obeyed most of the rules. In particular he was happily married, and had never felt the need for wild oats. The spectacle of the middle-aged Gustav Mueller associating with women with dubious morals was enough to condemn him in Wishart’s eyes.

  There were more than morals involved. Craigie knew the danger that could come through a woman. Someone, for instance, in the pay of the men who had plotted assassination.

  For Craigie, like Wishart and most other members of the Cabinet, knew that there was someone else. Someone ready to make trouble, who wanted to make trouble.

  ‘We needn’t go over Mueller’s peccadilloes,’ Craigie said. ‘Is there anything special on your mind?’

  ‘No,’ said Wishart. ‘I just wanted to make sure nothing had come through.’

  ‘We’ve had no word at all,’ Craigie admitted. ‘You remember that we discovered on one of the prisoners a paper with the words: Thornton Lodge?’

  ‘Yes.’ Wishart leaned forward.

  ‘We’ve located it near Guildford. Kerr and Carruthers are down there this morning. Of course it might mean nothing. How about coffee, sir?’

  ‘Of your brew, yes,’ said Wishart.

  Craigie brewed coffee better than most, and they talked for twenty minutes. Wishart had finished his cigar and was about to get up, when a telephone rang.

  There were several ‘phones on Craigie’s desk. He walked across, and Wishart heard him speak sharply, saw the way his knuckles went white.

  ‘Get here as soon as you can. I—what’s that?’

  For once Gordon Craigie seemed absolutely taken aback. He listened again, and said: ‘All right, carry on for the time being.’ He closed down and turned to Wishart, his every movement grave.

  ‘Bad news?’ Wishart said.

  ‘Yes.’ Craigie’s voice was harsh. ‘Mueller.’

  The Rt. Hon. David Wishart half rose from his chair, colour draining from his face.

  ‘He’s not——’

  ‘Shot through the back at close quarters,’ said Craigie. ‘At Thornton Lodge. Kerr has——’ Craigie actually smiled, as he pushed his hand through his hair. ‘Kerr is doing a crazy thing.’

  ‘What is he doing?’ snapped Wishart. ‘Nothing can stop this getting out; nothing can stop trouble.’

  ‘Kerr is a shrewd man,’ said Gordon Craigie. ‘He is taking Mueller’s body to an old agent of ours. Jim Burke.’

  ‘He’s doing what?’

  ‘He has already moved the body, and no one will know that Mueller is dead. It’ll give us three or four days to move in.’

  Wishart looked as though he were uncertain whether to laugh or cry.

  ‘But that’s absurd! They can’t hold the body for long. If it gets out that our officials have hidden it——’

  ‘That’s why Department Z’s not part of the regular Secret Branch, isn’t it?’ remarked Craigie. Kerr’s words had come as a shock, but he was warming to the idea. ‘Kerr’s a private citizen, and if the worst comes to the worst he will take full responsibility. Kerr’s not averse to taking chances. This time he’s hoping to find whose behind the murder, and why, before the news is made public. If he can do it, we’ll stand a reasonable chance of coping.’

  ‘But can he?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Craigie slowly. ‘You can be sure that he will if any man can.’

  Wishart drew a deep breath.

  ‘Or you can, Craigie.’

  ‘Call it the Department.’ Craigie was tremendously proud of Department Z. ‘We will do everything possible, sir, and you must know nothing about it. Don’t even tell Campion.’

  ‘I won’t worry the Foreign Secretary, I promise you.’ Wishart still looked troubled.

  ‘And don’t be surprised at what you see in the papers,’ added Gordon Craigie with a chuckle. ‘There’ll be some odd stories, and we may be able to turn Mueller’s habits to some advantage.’

  They shook hands, and the Premier left, a much more worried man than when he had entered the office. The door slid to behind him. Downstairs, Adams and the detective-sergeant were waiting, and Wishart walked slowly towards the House, his chin on his chest in a pose beloved of cartoonists.

  With Mueller dead, only a miracle could stop trouble; only a miracle could keep England out of it.

  A miracle—or Department Z, Wishart thought.

  • • • • •

  On that same morning, Mr. and Mrs. James Burke were sunning themselves in the garden of their Surrey cottage, which most people would have regarded as a fair-sized house. They made a handsome pair: Burke, with a vast physique and shoulders that made even Bob Kerr’s insignificant, and a face that was handsome enough, and Patricia, who was lovely. They had been married for nearly two years, and if in the first months Burke had been tempted to regret the fact that Department Z used no married men, he had recovered. They had spent the past six months out of England, but Patricia had been determined to be in Surrey for the spring.

  ‘And Patricia,’ said Burke, pulling her ear, ‘always gets her way. One of these days I shall desert you. No woman as beautiful as you deserves a faithful husband.’

  ‘You’d like me to have one affaire after another? One of these days——’

  ‘Stop!’ cried Burke, and his smiling eyes left his wife’s face. He was looking behind her, towards a tulip-bed. ‘That’s one of the Darwins in flower or I’m a Dutchman!�
�

  Patricia startled the horses in the stables and the birds by bursting into laughter. She always reacted that way when she thought of her big husband falling for the small things of life. They approached the single tulip, like priests before an altar, to examine the bloom.

  That started a stroll about the three acres of garden that took them away from the main road, and although they heard the car they did not know that it had turned into the drive. Soon the high-pitched voice of Martha, who was a permanency, summoned Burke. Martha knew her own mind, and spoke it. The way in which she called made it plain that she disapproved.

  When Martha Dale called like that it reminded Pat of the days before their marriage, when Burke had been in the midst of Department Z affairs, when she would see him go, and could not be sure that he would ever return. Martha had always disapproved of his mysterious activities, purely on the ground that it worried Patricia.

  But this could not be anything to do with the Department. Probably Old Dick, from the near-by stables, had called about horses or the point-to-point races soon to be held.

  But the blue Allard car standing outside the front door was Bob Carruthers’. Patricia knew Carruthers well, and knew that he had worked with Jim in the old days.

  Martha was fifty, grey-haired, tightly-corsetted and immensely loyal. Her eyes were sparkling and her lips set as she stood by the door.

  ‘Mr. Carruthers, sir, and a Mr. Kerr.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Burke said, and looked down at Patricia. He could well imagine what she was feeling. ‘I don’t remember Kerr, do you, Pat?’

  Patricia looked at him accusingly.

  ‘Carruthers has told you about Kerr. He took your place. Oh, I’m sorry, sweet. It’s probably only a passing visit.’ She laughed. ‘I’ll see Martha about lunch.’

  She hurried towards the kitchen, while Burke opened the door of the drawing-room. Carruthers was lounging back in an easy chair and helping himself to chocolates from a box on a near-by table. Bob Kerr, who had never met Jim Burke, was standing by the window. Each had heard of the other’s reputation.

  Burke smiled.

  ‘Bob, you’ll get as fat as a house. Did you have to bring him?’ He appealed to Kerr.

  ‘Easy, easy there.’ Burke knew the fair-headed Carruthers as no one else did, and Carruthers looked uneasy. Burke’s heart bumped, as Carruthers went on: ‘You don’t know Bob Kerr, do you? Bob, this is the mighty Burke.’

  ‘I’ll knock your head off,’ said Burke amiably, offering cigarettes. Kerr took one. ‘What’s the trouble?’

  Carruthers started to explain.

  ‘Jim, I don’t know whether you’ll agree, but—I know you’ve dropped out and all that, but …’

  So they had come on Department business; probably Craigie wanted him for a job. His lips tightened.

  ‘Don’t be timid. What is it?’

  ‘All right, Carry,’ Kerr said, and Burke liked his decisive manner. ‘Burke, we’re in a fix, and Bob said you might be able to help us out. Can we be overheard here?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. You’ve heard nothing of the Mueller affair, have you?’

  ‘I’ve only heard of Mueller,’ Burke said, his eyes narrowing. ‘Why?’

  Kerr did not believe in beating about the bush.

  ‘You know we managed to stop an assassination a few days back. But they’ve got him. Last night.’

  ‘Good—God!’ exclaimed Burke. All that this might mean flashed through his mind. He knew the record of Shovia, and he reacted as any agent of Department Z would have to the information.

  ‘I see I don’t need to say more,’ Kerr said, with a smile. ‘We found the body a few hours ago, just outside Guildford. I sent a man for the police, but, it seemed silly to let the thing become public too soon. So we brought the body along. I ’phoned Craigie, and he’s approved. Told him I was bringing it here.’

  Jim Burke took in every word, and when Kerr had finished he shrugged his shoulders. His lips curved. That was his only sign that he saw the funny side of these two carrying a corpse around.

  ‘Death stands by until they’ve found the body. I’ll have to ask Pat. My wife,’ he explained and Kerr nodded. Burke went towards the door, but as he opened it Patricia was just outside.

  ‘Are they staying for lunch?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Burke. ‘Come in, Pat.’ He introduced her to Kerr, and explained what had happened.

  There had been a time when Department Z had saved Patricia from unspeakable things. Recollection passed through her mind now. She knew the strength of the men who worked for Craigie, and the danger that was always about them. She hesitated, her gaze first on Kerr and then turned towards her husband. When she spoke Kerr was telling himself that she would refuse, and that he did not blame her.

  Patricia said:

  ‘I’ll send Martha into the village for some groceries, Jim. You’d better send one of the other girls up to Dick’s with a message of some kind. I’ll give Jane a job in the box-room, where she can’t see outside. The garage will be the best place, I think, as it’s got a lock and key.’

  3: A Stranger

  Neither Carruthers nor Bob Kerr spoke, and even Burke was silent for a while. Then he looked down at Patricia and said:

  ‘Good girl.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Patricia said, and her smile was bright. ‘Have you got it in a box or something?’

  ‘ ‘Fraid not, at the moment,’ Kerr told her. ‘But I’ll arrange for a doctor. Is the garage all right, Burke?’

  ‘Yes. There’s a small photographic dark-room, one end, a bench and a box we can use. I’ll handle that, Pat. And you’d better——’ Burke broke off suddenly, thinking better of an idea to ask Patricia to make a hurried trip to town, and Patricia went to despatch Martha to the village.

  In five minutes Martha had gone; one maid was on the way to Old Dick’s stables, a mile away, and the other in the cottage box-room lit only by a small fanlight. Patricia had disappeared. The three men walked to the Allard, and Kerr and Carruthers carried the body of the dead Ambassador to the garage, while Burke unlocked the door of his dark-room and found a box in which it was possible to lay Mueller almost full length. The grim job was over at last, and Burke re-locked the door.

  ‘The lock’ll stand anything, and none of the servants will come near, in any case. Can you arrange for that doctor, Kerr?’

  ‘I can’t, but I’ll wager Craigie will.’

  ‘Yes …’ Burke hesitated. His eyes were harder than usual and his jaw was thrust forward. Carruthers needed no telling what was in his mind. He regretted he was out of the game, and wanted to be back.

  Kerr apparently read his thoughts.

  ‘Will you and Mrs. Burke stay here, Burke, or will you take a few days away?’

  ‘Pat had better go, I think.’

  ‘Both of you had better,’ said Carruthers, more seriously than usual. ‘Craigie won’t let you play an active part if it’s avoidable, Jim.’

  ‘No.’ Burke rubbed his massive chin; smiled. They were outside the house now. ‘Well, I’ll telephone the old devil. Meanwhile, no likelihood that you were followed, I suppose?’

  ‘Good Lord, no!’ exclaimed Carruthers.

  ‘Why?’ asked Kerr.

  ‘I was just wondering why that fellow opposite is so curious,’ said Jim Burke. ‘Don’t look round, you blasted fool!’ He spoke in an undertone to Carruthers. ‘We can see him from the house. He’s been in and out of that copse since we left the garage.’

  Kerr stopped, stooped to admire a flower—Burke’s first tulip, as it happened. Kerr straightened up so that he could look straight into the copse of trees opposite the cottage, while apparently talking to Burke about the garden. He did actually point to some clusters of primroses. But all the time he was searching the copse with his grey eyes narrowed and alert. The survey took him less than ten seconds. Satisfied, he moved on towards the house, and Burke once again told himself that the stories of
Bob Kerr’s ability were not exaggerated.

  ‘See him?’

  ‘Yes. Smallish fellow, with a dago look about him. I have never seen him before.’

  Carruthers was on tenterhooks to get to the house so that he could look into the copse. Presently he saw the man, who was sheltering behind some bushes.

  ‘A stranger to me,’ observed Burke, ‘think you were followed, Kerr?’

  ‘It’s beginning to look like it.’

  ‘Better send Carruthers back on his own, and you can follow the man.’

  Kerr shook his head.

  ‘It wouldn’t work. He’d wait for me, suspecting a ruse. No, I’d better ‘phone Craigie for another man, and he can come down before we leave.’

  ‘In a hurry on this thing?’ asked Burke.

  ‘Need you ask?’

  ‘All right. If you wait for lunch it will put you back, so I can follow you,’ said Burke.

  ‘My dear man,’ began Kerr, but before he could go on Patricia’s voice came from behind them. She had entered unheard.

  ‘It’s useless to stop him, Mr. Kerr. He’s been aching to get on one of these jobs, anyhow, and perhaps it will do him good.’

  ‘Craigie’s to be thought of,’ said Kerr.

  ‘Gordon can’t object, when we are sheltering the corpse,’ said Patricia, with a matter-of-factness that surprised Kerr. ‘And to make it safe, I’ll go with Jim for part of the way.’

  ‘Oh no, you will not,’ said Jim Burke quickly; but Patricia’s eyes were gleaming.

  ‘You know very well I will. It’ll look more natural if the two of us travel, anyhow. Remember we have got to find whether the man’s got a car handy, and that won’t be easy. And while the garage is locked we are liable to have trouble. Don’t let us argue. I’ll get some tea, and we can start.’

  They were all in view of the swarthy-looking man in the copse as she spoke, but even if he was a lip-reader he would not have been able to follow the conversation. Kerr saw that the stranger kept there all the time, apparently convinced that he was unobserved.