The Day of Disaster Read online

  ‘There’s no evidence that he was lying,’ interpolated Mike.

  ‘Who said there was? I’m just registering it as a coincidence that he had such a beautiful explanation ready for us. Grunfelt was that doctor’s name, wasn’t it?’ He paused, and then went on: ‘Coincidence three. Hilary’s guide and counsellor lives in a flat immediately above mine, and coincidence four, hey-presto, here’s the boot which Loftus thinks is up a tree!’

  Mike stared at him.

  ‘I’ll make the outlines broader a little later on, Mike. Meanwhile we’ve got to handle this thing as it comes.’ He stopped abruptly, and added: ‘Boots should come in pairs. Let’s find the other.’

  The search proved futile, for there was no sign of the other boot.

  In his own flat, a brief résumé of what had happened was passed on to Mark, and then Hammond said: ‘Will one of you ‘phone this man Miller, at the Yard? And the other keep an eye open in case we get visitors? I’d like to try to get hold of Craigie.’ This time, Craigie’s quiet voice answered him.

  Hammond talked at some length. When he had finished there was a short pause, before Craigie asked: ‘What do you make of it, Bruce?’

  ‘Not much. I think we ought to know all we can about Crayshaw, his daughter, Ferdinand and the good Dr. Grunfelt with the Teutonic name. As for making a pattern of them, I can’t. I might be able to when I’ve had some sleep.’

  ‘Then see you have it,’ said Craigie. ‘We can all get together in the morning. Leave the Errols to look after the details about Ferdinand—is that his Christian name?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Hammond. ‘That’s another of the things I forgot to ask.’

  ‘Let it rest for the moment,’ said Craigie. ‘Meanwhile sleep.’

  Hammond stifled a yawn. ‘Shall I tell the Errols to report to you?’

  ‘If they’ve anything they think needs it,’ said Craigie.

  Hammond rang off a few seconds afterwards. He was too tired to think, almost too tired to undress. The dangling feet of Hilary Crayshaw, Ferdinand’s face, flitted across his mind as he peeled off his clothes. He heard a murmur of conversation coming from the other room, then the voices faded and he slept.

  In the other room, Mike was saying with unusual gravity: ‘Bruce looks fit to drop, don’t you think?’

  ‘Fit to? He’s dropped.’

  ‘He must have had a hell of a time.’

  ‘Craigie might know.’

  ‘Ye—es,’ said Mike, ‘but I don’t think we’ll worry him with questions at the moment. What did Miller say?’

  ‘He’s not there,’ Mark told him, ‘but they’re sending a sergeant over, and going through all the usual motions. I’ve asked ‘em to put Ferdie in the morgue at Cannon Row, where we can have a look at him when we want to. I’ve taken everything out of his pockets, but there’s nothing that signifies.’

  ‘Too bad. We’d better take turn and turn about here for the night.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mark crisply. He spoke more quickly than his cousin; that, together with the fact that he was not quite so even-tempered as Mike, and took things more hardly, was the main difference between them.

  The police came; they asked no questions, and they took the body away. Though photographs were taken, and finger-prints located, it was understood that the Yard might know nothing more of what happened in the search for this man’s murderer. They were specially selected men who worked in co-operation with Department Z. They would collate all the information possible, make all necessary and relevant inquiries, then pass the results through to Craigie, taking no further action unless requested to by him.

  Nothing transpired at the flat that night.

  Craigie was quickly in touch with several other agents, starting his inquiries into the Crayshaws and Ferdinand; by the morning he hoped to have information which he could pass on to Loftus and Hammond. He and Hammond would go to the nursing-home, meeting Kerr and Loftus there early the following afternoon.

  He thought at length of Hammond.

  He knew that the man had been hunted across the Continent, but had no idea of what had happened during the hunt. He did know that Hammond had said, just after entering the office, that he had not slept for seventy-two hours except for a short nap on the flying-boat from Lisbon. That meant he had been hunted even in Portugal.

  I wonder, thought Craigie a little uneasily, whether he should have had a week’s rest before starting this?

  He let down a bed which was fitted into the wall of the office, and lay there looking at the dying embers of the fire. It was a long time before he slept.

  When Hammond awakened, his body was tensed and expectant.

  His right hand moved slowly beneath the bedclothes. He frowned, finding nothing; then he drew a deep breath and smiled toward the ceiling.

  He had been groping for an automatic.

  He had not slept without one by his side for many months. Now he remembered where he was, yawned, rubbed his eyes, and sat up against the pillows.

  A breeze was fluttering the curtains at the window, and light was entering the room freely. Somewhere over the roofs of nearby houses the sun was shining.

  He stretched himself luxuriously, then frowned. One of the Errols had entered the room during the night or earlier that morning, for when he had gone to bed the curtains had been drawn. It was disturbing to think that he had slept so heavily that he had heard nothing. The door opened cautiously.

  Mike’s sleek head appeared.

  ‘I’ll have my tea now, Errol,’ said Hammond promptly.

  Mike grinned. ‘Very good, sir. Indian or China?’

  ‘Indian, and piping hot.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Mike disappeared, and Hammond’s smile widened.

  They were good fellows, and it was surprising how easily they took a quip, how readily they did what he suggested, without asking questions or raising objections. He had not really understood the Department Z men in England; for the most part they were a different breed from those operating abroad.

  Within five minutes Mike came in with the tray. Mark was behind him. ‘Do you know what the time is?’

  ‘Only the haziest idea,’ admitted Hammond.

  ‘Too hazy to take in five past eleven?’ asked Mark airily.

  Hammond’s eye widened.

  ‘Is it, by George! Care to run a bath for me?’

  Shaved, bathed, and dressed he felt fresh and invigorated as he made his way to the kitchen. He found Mark bending over a frying pan from which an extraordinary assortment of smells was rising.

  ‘We waited for you,’ Mike said virtuously. ‘You might put on the tablecloth.’

  In five minutes they were sitting at the breakfast table; in twenty they had finished, and the clock on the mantel-shelf pointed to ten minutes to twelve. It was while the Errols were telling Hammond that all had been quiet, and nothing had happened, that the telephone bell rang.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ said Mike. He pushed his chair back and went into the other room, only to call: ‘Craigie, for you, Bruce.’

  ‘Hallo, Craigie,’ said Hammond a moment later. ‘Yes, like a top ... yes, of course ... yes, I’ll be there.’ He replaced the receiver, singing out: ‘I’m to go to Bob Kerr’s place with Craigie, leaving the office at one o’clock.’

  ‘Oh, you are, are you?’ said Mark. ‘What about us?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be a bad idea if you stayed here,’ suggested Hammond. ‘The police have made a search upstairs, I suppose, but it would be as well if you made a more thorough job of it.’

  Mark grimaced.

  ‘Yessir,’ he said. ‘Anything to oblige, sir.’

  ‘Don’t be an ass,’ said Hammond a little uncomfortably. ‘I—look here, I’m new to a lot of things. If Loftus were here instead of me, what would he suggest?’

  Mike said promptly: ‘Probably the same as you, and in any case he would clump Mark’s thick head. You don’t have to worry about us, old man. We always do as we’re told.’

 
; ‘I don’t know what Craigie’s arranged,’ said Hammond. ‘Leave it to me for the time being, will you?’

  They nodded; and he felt much easier in his mind when, at a quarter to one, he left the flat.

  A Daimler was waiting outside the small, hardly noticeable doorway in the side-street off Whitehall which led to Craigie’s office. Countless people passed it every week, and few of them could have said, off-hand, that there was a doorway there. A pile of sandbags gave it a casual air of obscurity.

  As Hammond drew up, Craigie appeared from behind them. He looked keenly at Hammond, and smiled, relieved to see that his fears that Bruce would be suffering too much from the fatigue of his recent escape were unfounded. ‘We’ll be about an hour and a half on the way.’

  ‘Plenty of time for exchanging notes,’ said Hammond.

  ‘I haven’t many,’ said Craigie. ‘The reports aren’t in yet.’

  ‘Anything arrived from Loftus?’

  ‘No, except to tell me that the comb-out of the trees down there has started. I haven’t told him about our boot,’ Craigie added, without vouchsafing why. ‘Well, Bruce, what do you make of it now?’

  Craigie was driving through the traffic in Victoria before Hammond had marshalled his thoughts well enough to give a definite reply. Then he started a little hesitantly.

  ‘It’s a bit early, even for an interim report, but there are one or two things that stick out. The coincidence angle, for instance. Why was the girl in my flat, and how was it that Ferdinand had the flat above me? Also, why was the boot there? No one knew that I would be working on the case. No one could have known when Ferdinand first took the flat.’

  ‘I’ve got that far,’ said Craigie.

  ‘We’ve got to face the fact that Ferdinand was working for the men who wanted Emile’s message,’ went on Hammond slowly, ‘or at least that he was connected with them. It could just be a coincidence, but to my mind that’s a little too coincidental to accept.’

  Craigie waited.

  Hammond went on: ‘As far as I can work it out, it goes something like this: When I was rooted out in France, word was sent to the Nazi mob over here. I was known as a Department Z agent, and it was considered likely that I would come back to London. On that chance, then, Ferdinand was installed in the flat above mine. There was still a lot of information, such as the names of apparently pro-Nazi Frenchmen who’ve helped me, they would like to know.’

  Craigie shot him a smiling, sideways glance. ‘As a matter of fact Ferdinand moved in three months ago. I’ve thought pretty well on the same lines as you have, Bruce, and come to much the same conclusion.’

  ‘Good!’ said Hammond heartily. He looked and felt relieved. ‘It disposes of the coincidence angle anyhow, and we can work on the basis that they knew I was back and thought it likely I would soon be at work on this side. Why they put the girl in my flat doesn’t matter all that much. It may have been as an Awful Warning, or it might have been meant as a beautiful red herring.’

  Craigie said: ‘How?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious? There was the possibility that I would soon be looking for the boot. In any case, anything I found I would certainly have reported to you. They put the girl in my place to make sure I couldn’t miss the business. The next step was obvious, too—I would make inquiries, or you would. We would get to Crayshaw, and certainly to Ferdinand. Ferdie had the boot. The connection between Emile, his boot, Hilary and Crayshaw might be obscure, but the chances are that they hope we’ll take it for granted that there is a connection, and we’ll work on that. Thus, the red herring. We’re to be busy on the Hilary Crayshaw-Ferdinand angle, while they go on their own sweet way. Doesn’t that look the likely explanation to you?’

  Craigie pursed his lips. ‘I don’t think we should say more than it’s a possible one, but you’re probably right.’ He was silent for some seconds, then added slowly: ‘You start off with a premise we haven’t really proved yet: that “they” put Hilary Crayshaw there. You’ve assumed that it was attempted murder, and not suicide?’

  ‘I haven’t a shred of doubt about it,’ Hammond admitted.

  ‘So you don’t believe Crayshaw?’

  ‘I wouldn’t go as far as that. But he’s wrong this time.’

  ‘He could be lying,’ murmured Craigie.

  ‘I haven’t lost sight of that possibility,’ admitted Hammond.

  ‘So if it’s in mind as a possibility, we’re going to need a watch on Crayshaw, one of the key men in armaments. Thus the red herring, if it is one, works to some degree,’ said Craigie, ‘always assuming that Crayshaw is straight.’

  They lapsed into silence. Then Craigie said abruptly: ‘Why did you let Crayshaw see Ferdinand, Bruce?’

  9

  Get Together

  Hammond raised one eyebrow a little above the other, then said with apparent candour: ‘I don’t quite know.’

  Craigie made no comment.

  ‘I wasn’t impressed by Crayshaw’s manner,’ went on Hammond. ‘There was something forced about it, and I wanted to see his reaction when he saw Ferdinand. I admit it was a bit more realistic than I expected. However, it’ll be interesting to know what he does today. Also, I think the girl should be watched.’

  ‘That’s being done.’ Craigie slowed down, and put out his right-hand indicator. ‘All right, Bruce, so far our minds have worked in the same direction. There’s just one thing that we should have clear. I don’t want to try to make you work on lines that are uncongenial to you personally. We all have individual methods. I see you’re brooding about Crayshaw, and you’ve given free rein to ideas which can’t yet be called suspicion; you probably couldn’t say just why.’

  ‘No—o,’ said Hammond.

  ‘All I want to be sure of is, that as soon as you can say “why”, to this or any other thing, you will let me know. There’s always the chance that you may be knocked out, and if that should happen, I need to have everything as up to date as possible. In our business no man should be indispensable. Apart from that, you’ve a free hand.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Hammond appreciatively, and they fell silent.

  The drive from the main road to the nursing-home was not a long one. It took a little over fifteen minutes before Craigie turned off the narrow lane and Hammond saw the house. At first glance it was a sight which made the heart leap, a sudden picture of Tudor architecture so perfect, so lovely, that it pushed all other thoughts aside. The sun was shining on the tiled roof with its green patches and others of a fresher red, where tiles had been replaced. Mullioned windows were open, and the front door also stood ajar.

  By the side of the house stood an ambulance.

  ‘That will be the ambulance they’ve brought Emile in,’ said Craigie.

  ‘I wonder if Loftus is here?’

  ‘I doubt it. He would have ‘phoned me from Weymouth before starting back, and he hadn’t ‘phoned by one o’clock.’ Craigie pulled up outside the house, and they climbed out.

  It was as they approached the porch, while birds were singing about them and a light wind was ruffling the trees, that they heard a cry.

  It was sudden and abrupt. It was not of terror or pain, but more of alarm.

  Hammond pushed the door open and stepped into a panelled hall. He heard footsteps. Someone, a woman, was disappearing up the stairs.

  Hammond followed her quickly.

  Craigie watched him, hesitated, then turned and went outside.

  There was nobody in the grounds as far as Craigie could see, but he waited on the porch with a hand at his pocket.

  Hammond saw the woman disappearing into a room on the right of a narrow passage. He went after her swiftly, breaking into a scene which so startled him that for the moment he could only stand and stare. It was at such difference with the house and its charming serenity.

  On a bed a youth was lying, his eyes staring as if hypnotised towards the ceiling. In the wall just above his head was an arrow; each feather faithfully etched by a shaft of sunlight.


  The woman Hammond had followed was half-way to the open window by which a nurse was standing, her back towards the bed and the newcomers. In the framework of the window was a second arrow, still quivering.

  Hammond lunged forward, thrusting the first woman aside, reached the nurse and pushed her roughly out of the line of fire. He caught a glimpse of the trees and the gardens, and of something moving among the branches of the cedar; it looked like a large brown monkey, but that was illusion; it was a man.

  Hammond dropped his hand to his right pocket.

  He heard the quick breathing of the two women, but they did not move again. The sun glinted on his automatic as he brought it out. Then he saw the man near the cedar turn; he was standing close to the trunk, holding a small bow. He fitted an arrow to it with incredible swiftness, but before the whang! of the string could be heard, the sharp crack of Hammond’s shot echoed about the room.

  The bow whanged; the arrow, deflected by the shot, passing harmlessly over the roof. Hammond straightened up and fired again, but the archer was now on the move, slipping from tree to tree with verve and confidence.

  Hammond heard Craigie call up: ‘Come down quickly, Bruce!’

  Craigie was running along the drive, with an automatic in his hand. Bruce hesitated just long enough to judge the chances of getting down from the window; they were good. He swung himself through, stood for a moment on the sill, and then slithered down the roof of the porch. Soon he was running in Craigie’s wake.

  The archer was fifty yards away from Hammond when Craigie fired. The man pitched forward, but picked himself up with a movement so swift and agile that it looked as if he had bounced to his feet.

  Then he disappeared into a thicket of trees.

  Hammond was overtaking Craigie, and did not pause as he passed his Chief. The trees had thinned out considerably and he could see his quarry, although only in glimpses and never clearly enough to provide a target. Another yard or so and Hammond saw that the man had found a gap large enough for him to get through, but too small for Hammond’s bigger frame. He had to guess whether the man would turn right or left. The road along which he and Craigie had driven was on the right; Hammond took that direction, but as soon as he passed the bushes and saw the field ahead of him, he know that his guess had been the wrong one.