Murder Must Wait (Department Z) Page 8

  ‘Perhaps ten minutes.’

  ‘Quite enough, my dear.’ The easy smile was condescending even towards Diana. ‘Did you hear anything?’

  ‘No—the stocking covered my ears.’

  ‘Excellent. It doesn’t do for anyone to know quite as much as our German friend heard. A pity. Well, Rickard?’

  Rickard had stepped from Loftus with an armful of oddments, including a stout knife and the second automatic, as well as the screwdriver and other tools Loftus had used for the forced entry. At the Englishman’s order he spread them out on the bed, while Norman kept his gun trained on Loftus.

  And Diana, lurching a little, approached Norman.

  It happened in a flash. Neither the Englishman nor Rickard was looking when Diana stumbled, and knocked against Norman’s arm. The gun dropped from his hand, and as it fell Loftus leapt forward, taking a hundred to one chance that his reflexes would not let him down.

  11

  Mr Cunningham—Gentleman

  Loftus had no more than a few seconds to take advantage of the chance Diana had given him, whether by accident or design he could not tell. He jumped at Rickard first, and his fist crashed into the man’s jaw. Rickard fell against the bed. The Englishman’s right hand dropped to his pocket, but Loftus hit him also, and sent him hurtling to the floor.

  Norman, who was recovering from Diana’s fall, was groping for his gun, but Loftus kicked out, his toe catching the gun and sending it flying against the wall. The safety-catch had been released, and a single shot spat out. The flame singed the carpet, sending up a little spurt of flame and a small puff of smoke. Norman straightened up, and attacked Loftus. But he might as well have tried to stop a tornado.

  Loftus crashed into him bodily, and the man staggered back. Loftus’s right hand moved again, and he fell heavily and lay still.

  As Loftus swung round, he saw the Englishman slowly getting to his feet, an expression of fury and malevolence on his face, and moving towards the dropped gun. Diana was staggering unsteadily, but as quickly as she could, towards the bell-push in the wall.

  Loftus swore beneath his breath. So he was wrong in thinking that she had intentionally given him help! He darted towards the Englishman, who had managed to clutch the automatic, reaching him a split second before he could use it. Diana, her finger on the bell-push, was staring over her shoulder at the two men struggling by the bed. Loftus found the Englishman possessed of a strength that surprised him, but he gradually forced his wrist back until he dropped the gun. Loftus caught it, then brought the butt down on the back of the Englishman’s head.

  He glanced at Rickard, who was cowering on the floor and seemed too scared to start fighting, then pointed the gun at Diana.

  ‘Come away from that bell!’

  She smiled. A quick, trembling smile that seemed to come with an effort. She half-ran towards him, arms outstretched. He drew back, but her words thrilled him.

  ‘Bill, you big idiot!’

  He stared at her.

  ‘I didn’t ring,’ she said. ‘I was only pretending.’

  ‘It was damned good pretending,’ Loftus said. ‘You took me in...’

  ‘I hope I took Cunningham in too.’

  ‘Cunningham?’

  ‘I said I didn’t know his name, but I hadn’t recognised you then.’ Diana laughed, almost hysterically. ‘It wasn’t until you came in backwards from the corridor that I knew it was you. You couldn’t disguise those shoulders.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Loftus, ‘but why are you doing this? For my sake, or...?’

  ‘We’re safe, for a while,’ answered Diana. ‘Emilie has gone out, and de Casila has left on business. The other servants aren’t likely to be curious. Will you answer first? What are you doing this for?’

  Loftus hesitated.

  It was a moment, he knew, when he had to deceive her, or tell her the truth and reveal himself as a Department Z man. For a moment he could not make up his mind what to do, so he temporised.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘That we’d better stop fencing.’ Diana drew a deep breath. ‘How long will these people stay as they are?’

  ‘My guess is ten minutes. And that reminds me ... I must make sure they’re not up and about again for sometime.’

  Five minutes later, Cunningham, Rickard and Norman were trussed up far more securely than Diana had been, and laid in a neat row under the bed.

  Diana had taken Loftus into the next room. She sat back in an easy chair, and Loftus stood in front of her. His decision was getting harder to make.

  ‘Well?’ Diana said, a query in her voice.

  Loftus thought that he had never seen her look more lovely, dishevelled though she was with the happenings of the past ten minutes.

  Her eyes challenged him.

  ‘Tell me,’ she asked, ‘what do you think I am?’

  ‘Privately,’ he said, ‘adorable!’

  ‘Officially?’

  ‘I don’t know that you could call it officially, but if you mean from the point of view of our brave new world, I don’t care what you are. Past is past. What exactly did you mean by saying that you hoped Cunningham was taken in?’

  Diana said: ‘I’ve spent a year getting closer to Hugo Cunningham, day by day, week by week—a whole year. The longest twelve months of my life. It’s been beastly in more ways than one, but I’ve been successful. In a little more time, I think he’ll—be interested.’

  ‘In you?’

  ‘Men have found me attractive.’

  Loftus frowned. ‘Why are you so anxious to interest this Cunningham?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’ Diana hesitated, then added quietly, her eyes very direct: ‘Bill, are you working for Gordon Craigie?’

  It was the last question Loftus had expected. For a moment he was thunderstruck. Then he nodded.

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ said Diana, and she laughed. She seemed immensely relieved; and she looked happier. ‘I was afraid it was someone else. Well—what have you guessed?’

  ‘I haven’t,’ he lied.

  ‘Not whom I’m working for?’

  ‘Not the Ring?’

  Diana looked almost annoyed.

  ‘You know, Bill, you’ve played the fool a lot, but you can’t get away with it altogether. Don’t try. I haven’t time to tell you everything now, but—well, here’s a précis. Can you stand it?’

  ‘I want to know everything.’

  ‘Good. You know my father went smash?’

  ‘Yes. We’ve discussed it before.’

  ‘Well, there were reasons. I didn’t know at the time, but I learned afterwards. Daddy is—well, he’s in a sanatorium. We’re hoping he’ll recover. Mother and me, I mean. He told me that business enemies had tricked and cheated him, but he could prove nothing. Someone else suspected it, and he was asked several questions by an official from the White House.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Bill.

  ‘That was the first time I’d heard the Ring mentioned,’ said Diana. ‘I had no idea what it meant, but I was approached afterwards by the same man...’

  ‘Named?’

  ‘Rushton. Do you know him?’

  ‘Of him,’ said Loftus. ‘I’ve never actually met him.’

  ‘He told me that he was an American Secret Intelligence official—C.I.A.—and that the activities of the Ring were suspect. He wanted to find out who operated it, and what its objects were. He assured me that Daddy had been ruined by the Ring, and—well, I didn’t need much encouragement. I agreed to help. There’s no need to go into details about the early stages, but a year ago I met de Casila and Cunningham. I was told that de Casila was suspected of playing a part in the affairs of the Ring—and I believed that Cunningham was. At least, de Casila seemed scared to death of the man. And so—I made myself affable to de Casila.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Well, he paid my bills...’

  ‘Darling,’ said Loftus, moving suddenly towards her, an
d hauling her from the chair, ‘for that you’re going to suffer.’

  Diana suffered, but without much protest. When he let her go, there was a glow in his eyes matched by hers.

  ‘And so,’ she went on a little breathlessly, ‘the trail led halfway across the world. South America, the States...’ only now and again could Loftus detect her American accent—it was usually when she was serious—‘Germany, Vienna—well, you probably know as much as I do.’

  ‘I fancy I do.’

  ‘And it led here.’ Diana glanced at a tiny watch on her wrist. ‘You mustn’t stay much longer, Bill. Emilie might send someone back. I suppose...’ she hesitated—‘we can work more or less as partners?’

  ‘It depends on your Rushton,’ Loftus said. ‘Craigie will raise no objections.’

  ‘Fine! Well—Emilie is an old spy. She worked for France during the war. She’s clever and...’ Diana frowned—‘there’s something rather nasty about her. Under the surface. So far I don’t know a great deal. Doom patronises the Chez Diable and the Café Mada, but whether they’re connected with Cunningham and de Casila I wouldn’t like to say. The Diable is a place where anything could be arranged at short notice. The fact that the waiters helped me means nothing.’

  She was very shrewd, Loftus thought. How old was she: surely, more than twenty-three?

  ‘Most of the others are workmen,’ she went on. ‘They’re from different countries, and are taught to obey and not think for themselves. I expect they’re paid well. The only one of importance outside de Casila and Cunningham is the American, Pinari.’

  ‘I was puzzled by him,’ Loftus said. ‘He worked for Doom, but had no love for you.’

  ‘No. He broke away from the Ring a few months back.’

  ‘The devil he did!’

  ‘Yes, with a little man named Bunce, who is as faithful as a dog. I suppose I should be pretty anti-Pinari, after the affair at Ferring, but he’s better than a lot of the others. At least he means what he says.’

  ‘But I got Doom’s name from him,’ said Loftus.

  ‘Yes—you would. Pin’s clever, in a way. He’d broken from the Ring, but he believed de Casila and I were the leading lights. He’s an anarchist, with fanatical ideas. He found that de Casila was not leading the way to world revolution, but was merely making money. And so he deserted.’

  ‘So at the moment he’s working on his own?’ asked Loftus.

  ‘As far as I know, yes. He’s a member of several anarchist organisations, but as for giving you Doom’s address—it was just a blind. He certainly had no orders from Doom to kill me.’ She touched his arm. ‘Bill, we’re taking up too much time.’

  There’s a little left yet,’ Loftus insisted. ‘Doom presents a problem, in case he gave these orders to Pinari. In short, in case he’s playing a double game. But what about Clement?’

  ‘Poor Tom, Diana said. ‘He saved me from many a nasty experience. He worked for Rushton. De Casila found out, and sent Doom to kill him. Clement had gone to try and get some papers from the old house at Sèvres, and—they killed him there. Did you know?’

  ‘Some of our men were present, too.’

  ‘Of course! The prisoner, and the man who got away. That’s why you’re here?’

  ‘One of the reasons,’ Loftus agreed. ‘What do you know of the prisoner?’

  ‘Not much,’ Diana said unhappily. ‘I hope they don’t torture him. But we daren’t take too many chances of showing our hand.’

  ‘No,’ said Loftus. ‘Dodo will have to take what comes, I’m afraid. So Clement was a C.I.A. man, was he? And I’d taken a dislike to the fellow!’ He smiled, wryly. ‘Is there anything else?’

  ‘Only that Cunningham wanted Hyman here. Where he’ll take him, and what he’ll do, I don’t know.’

  Loftus said grimly: ‘He’ll take, or send, him to Lakka. It’s a little principality off the Russian coast. Odd. I don’t know what he proposes to do, but while we’re working we may as well exchange notes.’ He was taking Craigie’s agreement for granted, but did not think there was any need to worry about that. ‘He already had two other prisoners, named Mainwaring and Arbor, and he wants two more. Herr Tult, and Signor Rioldi.’ At Diana’s startled expression he nodded. ‘It’s as big as that. Representatives from America, England, France, Germany and Italy. I said once before that this business was getting cosmopolitan, and I think the evidence is stronger. You’ll get word through to your people?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Can you’do it safely?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And...’ he hesitated, and stared at her very straightly. ‘You’re carrying on?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said; and had she talked for ten minutes she could not have said more.

  ‘You’ve got to go,’ she went on, standing up. ‘You’re tempting providence by staying so long. I’ll go and release them, and I’ll tell Cunningham you tried to make me talk, and—I’ll convince him. Somehow.’

  Loftus knew that she was frightened. Quite suddenly, he drew her towards him, held her for a moment, then let her go and hurried from the room without looking back.

  As he strode along the corridor, he kept his right hand on his gun. But no one came from the servants’ quarters, and he opened the front door quietly, and without interruption.

  Two minutes later, Spats came from out of the shadows of the trees.

  ‘So you’re back, William. You gave me some unpleasant minutes. Any news?’

  ‘Plenty,’ said Loftus. ‘Call all but two of the boys off, and let’s get back to the hotel. Have you seen Ned?’

  ‘He hasn’t been back since following the chauffeur One of the boys has tailed de Casila. You knew he left the house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A woman came out. I arranged to have her followed—just in case...’

  ‘Her name is Emilie,’ said Loftus, as they walked along the street where a private car that looked like a taxi was waiting. ‘We’ll get both reports through pretty quickly, and...’ he drew a deep breath. ‘I’ve got to see Craigie. Soon. It’s vitally important.’

  Spats nodded. He asked no questions. He knew that only Craigie would be told what Loftus had discovered about the Ring; and only through Craigie would other agents be instructed.

  ‘I’m leaving Diana over here,’ Loftus went on. ‘Keep a close watch on her. And there’s an Englishman coming out of the house soon. His name is Cunningham, and he’ll probably be in a foul temper. Ever heard of him?’

  ‘I know several Cunninghams,’ replied Spats.

  ‘Hugo ring a bell?’

  Spats shook his head, and as they got into the car, three other agents, who had been watching the house, got into another car nearby. Two agents were left to watch Number 18, Rue de Mallet.

  ‘Well,’ Loftus said, as the car started, ‘we’re progressing. A hint, Spats. Diana is not what she seems to be.’

  ‘No,’ said Thornton, ‘I gathered that!’

  ‘If anything...’ Loftus broke off, and chuckled. ‘I need a drink! Things are getting too serious. If I’m not careful I’ll live in a perpetual mood of depression, and end up a T.T.!’

  He was quiet throughout the short journey to the hotel. In his room he found Ned Oundle waiting, one leg dangling over the arm of a chair, a glass in his right hand.

  Oundle lifted his eyebrows in silent question.

  ‘Some progress,’ Loftus said. ‘I’m going back to see Craigie, Spats and the others will stay with you. Keep an eye on Diana for me. If anything happens to her, God help you!’

  Oundle looked at him very thoughtfully.

  ‘Right,’ he promised. ‘Any special orders?’

  ‘No. I’ll phone if necessary.’

  Ten minutes later, after writing a note in code to be sent to Craigie if he should fail to reach Whitehall, Loftus left the hotel. Oundle accompanied him as far as l’Hôtel Elegance.

  ‘Where,’ he said ruefully, ‘Chloe will be waiting—to give me hell! These blondes! I sent
her a message to say that I’d been taken ill.’ He hesitated. ‘I wonder if she’s still at the Chez Diable?’

  ‘Don’t tell me she was enjoying it there?’

  “Mesmerised her, you know. There’s a streak of something very peculiar in the lovely Chloe. However, I’ll make my peace. Going by air?’

  ‘Yes. There’ll be a plane waiting at the field,’ Loftus said. ‘One other thing, Ned: Lakka. If you hear even a whisper about the place, put it on record; and if you hear anything that sounds useful, ring Craigie without delay. I have an idea that things are soon going to move fast.’

  Half an hour later he was on board the four-seater plane. During the flight he changed his clothes, and cleaned off the greasepaint; very soon, apart from his closely clipped hair, he had resumed his normal appearance.

  Neither Loftus nor the pilot realised that three miles in their wake was a second plane, a duplicate of that which Davidson had flown from Sèvres. It was flying without lights, and one of the passengers was Octavius Doom. His left hand was heavily bandaged and, judging by the look on his face, he was thinking of revenge.

  When, some hours later, Loftus left the cab that had brought him from Croydon Airport to the door of Craigie’s office in Whitehall, Doom was watching from the window of another cab some twenty yards behind.

  12

  Accident

  Gordon Craigie watched Loftus closely as he finished his report, and for some minutes after he had stopped speaking, silence reigned in the office. Loftus looked tired and drawn. Craigie was his usual quiet, rather weary-looking self.

  ‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘we’re getting somewhere, even if we don’t know where. Mainwaring, Arbor, Hyman, Tult and Rioldi. I don’t like it a bit, Bill.’

  ‘It’s odd.’

  ‘Odd! There’s Mainwaring, already in the Cabinet, the most promising man in the Government, and one of the richest. Arbor, his counterpart in France. Hyman, one of the most influential men in America. Tult—Tult,’ repeated Craigie as if he could not believe it, ‘is Germany’s financial genius—no man who could get them through the last few years could be anything else—and Rioldi, the cleverest engineer in Italy.’