Shadow of Doom (Dr. Palfrey) Read online

  Palfrey murmured: ‘Nice of you. So you don’t know why he came?’

  ‘I am not even sure that I wish to know,’ said Mynhem, unexpectedly.

  ‘I am afraid that he was killed because of his journey, my friend. I feel the burden of my responsibility is too great to take risks with myself.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Palfrey, ‘of course. I don’t want you to take risks. What I do want to know is whether van Doorn mentioned any other names besides von Kriess in Berlin, and whether he gave you the impression that he knew there was danger.’

  ‘He gave me no names,’ said Mynhem. ‘As for danger …’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I do not know whether you understand our reaction to physical danger. We have been used to it for so long that we hide fear quite easily, without any particular effort. Life has been dangerous in every way for so long, security is the thing to which we have not yet grown accustomed.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ said Palfrey. ‘Did you see the body?’

  ‘No,’ said Mynhem, ‘it was not brought here. I believe that the face was badly mutilated.’

  ‘Face?’ said Palfrey sharply.

  ‘Yes, my friend—he suffered much before he died.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Anna

  Van Doorn’s house had escaped serious damage.

  It was grey, but had once been white. The garden was cultivated for vegetables where there had once been only flowers, tulips of great variety, tall and stately, inviting strangers to gaze. During the occupation, Mynhem had told Palfrey, van Doorn’s house had been used by the Gestapo and kept in fair condition. Even the paths were in good repair, and there was a very old man working in the garden when Palfrey’s car drew up.

  Palfrey and the others got out and looked at the house. It had two floors, but it looked low. There was grace in its lines, and it fitted in well with the flat landscape beyond, for it was on the outskirts of the city. There were other houses near by which had not been greatly damaged, but all needed decorating – it was as if the searing breath of desolation had passed over every street, withered it, and passed on.

  Charles said, awkwardly: ‘We won’t all barge in, Palfrey, will we?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Palfrey. ‘Come along.’ He led the way with Drusilla, and the old gardener put down his spade and stared at them, as if he had some dread memory of similar visitations. They passed out of his sight. Not far away was a small, dark man, who apparently had nothing to do. Palfrey knocked at the front door, which was painted white, although the paint was flaking and in places yellow wood showed through.

  The door opened promptly, and a girl stood there.

  She did not seem surprised to see them, nor embarrassed by so many strangers. She inclined her head courteously, and Palfrey handed her a note which Mynhem had given him, introducing them. She stepped aside and asked them in, speaking in English, although she shot a quick, puzzled glance at Stefan.

  She was young, not much more than twenty-three or four, thought Palfrey. She had fair hair, cut short, parted in the middle and falling in soft waves to the middle of her cheeks. It was glossy with brushing. Her complexion was good, although she was much too thin. She wore a housecoat which had been patched and patched again, but it fitted well, and there was a hint of courage in the squared shoulders and the fitting waist, defiance of conditions and pride of appearance. She wore no stockings and her wooden shoes were dark brown in colour.

  As she finished reading, her colour deepened, and she looked up at Palfrey. Her eyes were a clear grey. She was not beautiful, she was not lovely, but there was frankness in her gaze, in her broad nose, her smooth forehead and her squared chin. Her lips were full, wide, set gravely – until she looked up, when they parted and her eyes widened, as if she could not believe what the letter said.

  ‘Are you—Dr. Palfrey?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Palfrey.

  She said: ‘Thank God you have come!’

  She turned away hastily. He did not need to ask why, for he had seen the tears in her eyes. When she looked round again, however, she was smiling.

  ‘I am very glad to meet you, Dr. Palfrey. And …’ She looked from one to the other, Palfrey introduced them, she bowed gravely and led them into a large, low-ceilinged room. It was surprisingly well furnished, and for the first time Charles saw the legendary spotlessness of a Dutch home. There was perfection of cleanliness everywhere, little polish but evidence of the labour freely bestowed. There were skin rugs over parquet flooring, comfortable chairs and settees, odd tables and a radio set in one corner. In spite of the neatness, it had an air of being lived in.

  ‘Please sit down,’ said Anna van Doorn.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Palfrey.

  ‘Why have you come?’ asked Anna.

  ‘Because we want to find out what happened to your father,’ said Palfrey.

  ‘I hoped that was so,’ said Anna. ‘He is not dead; of that I am certain.’

  Palfrey did not speak. Charles, after staring at her, suddenly turned his head and looked out of the window, as if he could not bear to look at her sorrowing face.

  ‘What makes you say that?’ asked Palfrey.

  ‘It was not his body,’ she said. ‘They said it was, but I am convinced that it was not.’

  ‘What makes you feel sure?’ asked Palfrey.

  ‘Because the thumbnail of my father’s left hand was split,’ said Anna, ‘and the thumbnail on the dead man’s hand was not split. The nails of all the fingers were of a different shape, also. I know that my friends believe that I am not reasonable about this, and for that reason I have said little, but I am telling you because he had such great faith in you.’

  ‘And you are quite sure?’ said Palfrey.

  ‘I cannot allow any doubt at all,’ said Anna. ‘I know his hands. Had the body been of my father, I do not think I could have gazed upon it without breaking down. I did not. It was not my father. It is supposed to be, that is all. I am quite sure that he is alive.’

  ‘Did you tell the police?’ asked Palfrey.

  ‘I told the police that I could not be sure,’ she said, ‘because the face was so horribly mutilated.’ She was quite calm; she had looked upon horrors and grown used to them. ‘Others who knew my father said that the body was his, and that was accepted as true.’

  ‘I wonder why the body of any other man should be substituted,’ murmured Palfrey.

  ‘I have no idea,’ she said, ‘but I think I know why he was taken away.’

  ‘Go on, please,’ said Palfrey.

  ‘And I think you also know, or you would not be here,’ said Anna. ‘He went first to Berlin, to see von Kriess about the radium. When he came back he told me that he was sure you would set everything aside and try to find it, he was sure that it was in existence. So he flew to London. It is clear that others knew what he had discovered, and wished to know more from him.’

  ‘It could be,’ said Palfrey.

  ‘It is,’ said Anna. ‘Why have you come, Dr. Palfrey?’

  ‘To find the radium, of course.’ Palfrey said.

  Her eyes lighted up. ‘So you are going to try?’

  ‘I’m going to find it,’ said Palfrey, gently.

  ‘He was so sure,’ she said, and took a step forward and pressed Palfrey’s arm. ‘He was convinced that you would fight for it, that you would know of its importance. And your friends are to help?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Palfrey.

  ‘I also wish to help,’ she said, simply.

  ‘Of course,’ said Palfrey, and she seemed surprised and relieved that he did not immediately tell her that it was impossible. ‘The question is what you can best do to help.’

  ‘I have also wondered that,’ she said, ‘because’ – she smiled again, and released his arm – ‘I also felt sure that one day you would come. There is little that I can suggest, in some ways I am so helpless, but—did he talk to you of Frau von Kriess?’

  ‘No,’ said Palfrey.

  ‘She was here with
her husband,’ said Anna, ‘and I will not have it said that she was anything but a good woman. She did much to help us while she was here, more than many of the Germans liked. She was a good woman. Now she is in Berlin, and her husband, and—it was my father’s belief that she knew as much of the truth as her husband, or more. Did my father say that to you?’

  ‘No,’ said Palfrey.

  ‘He would not because he was not sure,’ said Anna, ‘but he felt sure. There was another name he mentioned—a strange name, not German and not Dutch. I have tried to remember it but I have failed—I am sorry.’ In her gravity she was appealing, her heart seemed to live in her eyes. ‘One day I shall remember it. But there is one thing I can tell you,’ she added, firmly.

  ‘Yes?’ said Palfrey.

  ‘Since Hertingen I have been followed,’ said Anna. ‘In Rotterdam I am always followed. No one approaches close to me, and yet I see the men—always the same men—wherever I go. I have told no one, because I do not see how it can help the police, who have so much to do, but—sometimes it frightens me.’

  ‘What are the men like?’ asked Palfrey.

  ‘One of them is so small,’ she said. ‘Smaller than I. He has a dark face, and a scar on his chin, and he is always touching his chin. The other man is hard to describe, because he is so ordinary. But I do not think you need go far to see them, Dr. Palfrey.’

  ‘Are they here?’ asked Palfrey, sharply.

  ‘I have seen them from the window this morning,’ she said. ‘Sometimes they pretend to be working, sometimes they are doing nothing. That small dark man—I hate the sight of him!’ She paused, and then suddenly moved forward, not to Palfrey but to Drusilla. She put out her hands and Drusilla took them. She said with a catch in her voice: ‘Please, make him believe me. I am telling the truth, it is not imagination. Make him believe me!’

  ‘He does believe you,’ said Drusilla.

  ‘There is doubt in his eyes, as there is always in Dr. Mynhem’s. I can see that doubt, I tell you my father is alive, they have not killed him; you must find him for me, you must find him!’ She turned on Palfrey, and had he not taken her arms and stopped her she would have flung herself on her knees in front of him, ‘I have told you the truth, you must believe me!’

  ‘Now steady,’ said Palfrey, smiling. ‘I haven’t doubted you. What you say is reasonable, you see. No need to mutilate your father’s face beyond recognition, all they could reasonably want to do was to kill him. No point in torture, either, at this stage. There are simpler, subtler ways of making him tell them what he knows. Anna, we want your help, you know.’

  She drew back, with her eyes glistening.

  ‘I will do everything I can!’

  ‘And the first thing you do,’ said Palfrey, ‘is to leave here, half an hour after we have gone, and walk to the centre of the city, along the main road. Is that clear?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Just that,’ said Palfrey, ‘and make no sign if you see your dark man. Make no sign if you see us.’ There was a lilt in his voice. ‘This is the first time we have made real progress!’

  ‘And—you believe that my father is alive?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Palfrey.

  They left soon afterwards. She stood on the porch and watched them climb into the car, as grave-faced as she had been when she opened the door. She did not wave nor smile. They drove off, and she turned back into the house, closing the door quietly.

  As she did so a man appeared at the side of the nearest house, an ordinary-looking man, poorly clad, who walked swiftly towards her house. From a smaller building not far off came another man, very small, with a black, ugly face.

  They converged upon the front door.

  The old gardener watched them, and then turned and went on with his digging, as if he knew that there was cause for alarm, yet could not stir himself to interfere.

  When the car was round the first corner, Palfrey tapped Drusilla, who was driving, on the shoulder. She pulled up at once. Charles was in the middle of saying that it was crazy to leave Anna there, and Palfrey should not have encouraged her to believe her father was alive; for even if the body had been that of another man, there was little chance of getting van Doorn back alive.

  He broke off in surprise when Palfrey opened the door.

  ‘Come on,’ said Palfrey, and Stefan, at Drusilla’s side, opened his door and climbed out. ‘Park half a mile further along the road, ’Silla,’ went on Palfrey, ‘we’ll join you there. Come on. Charles! We’re in a hurry!’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Dark man and vague man probably at the house now,’ said Palfrey. The dark man was near when we arrived—didn’t you see him?’

  ‘No,’ said Charles.

  ‘You must learn to see through brick walls,’ said Palfrey flippantly. He slammed the door, and smiled at Drusilla. ‘No tricks,’ he ordered, ‘and park near a traffic cop!’ He stood on the sidewalk until the car was out of sight, and then turned back towards van Doorn’s house. ‘A tricky approach is indicated,’ he said. ‘You stay near the front gate, Charles. Stefan and I will look round the back. If there should be trouble, weigh in with all you’ve got. It might be your chance for a spot of revenge,’ he added, encouragingly.

  ‘Can’t I come?’

  ‘No,’ said Palfrey. ‘Strict obedience to all orders is most necessary. We won’t leave you out in the cold.’ He patted Charles’s shoulder, and the younger man went with some bewilderment along the road towards the front of the house. The old gardener was still working, and this time he did not stop.

  Charles saw Palfrey and Stefan disappear behind a high hedge at the back of the house. He did not see them again for some time. Some realisation of the task he had been set came to him. He looked about him, half expecting and certainly hoping that strangers would approach the house, but the street seemed deserted now.

  Palfrey and Stefan approached the back door quite openly.

  They could not see the gardener nor Charles, nor could they see anyone inside the house, although the windows were built low and they could see into the back rooms. Palfrey reached the door, and Stefan looked into the nearest room. He was trying the windows, while Palfrey turned the handle of the door and found it locked.

  ‘There is room for you, I think,’ said Stefan.

  He had a window open a little. Palfrey put his hand inside, and was able to touch the catch which fastened it. He lifted the catch off, and there was a loud snap. He waited for a moment, listening intently. The only sound he could hear was a low-pitched murmur of voices inside the house. He opened the window and climbed in. It was a dining-room, with a red-tiled floor and fumed oak furniture, the walls were painted with a frieze of tulip fields, beautifully done. He hurried towards the back door, opened it, and let Stefan in.

  The murmuring sound was louder now.

  They went on carefully. A closed door was between them and the hall. They stepped into the hall, and the murmuring became clearly identifiable now – a man was talking in Dutch. Palfrey did not know Dutch well enough to understand what was being said, but the threatening note was the same in all languages. Yet he did not immediately go into the room from which the voices came, but opened the front door, softly. Charles was staring towards it. Palfrey raised a hand, motioning him away. Charles looked disappointed, but did well – he turned on his heel and walked briskly along the road, towards the centre of the city.

  ‘He’ll be all right,’ Palfrey whispered to Stefan. ‘Now!’

  Stefan stretched out a hand and opened the door. He flung it back against the wall with a crash, and as he did so the little dark man swung round from the settee where the girl was lying, her dress torn at the shoulder, the red marks of fingers on her cheeks and terror in her eyes.

  The vague man was standing by his side. He did not turn round, but rushed towards the window. Stefan moved forward, brushed the little dark man aside as if he were of paper, and gripped the other by the leg. The man turned to fight. Stefan struck him
, only once, on the side of the jaw. The man collapsed and lay still, except for a queer, quivering movement as if he were shivering with fright even in unconsciousness.

  The little dark man was standing quite still, with one hand close to his pocket.

  ‘It’s all right, Anna,’ said Palfrey, ‘and now we know that you weren’t dreaming anything. Not even a nightmare,’ he added, as he helped her up. ‘What did they want?’

  She answered in English, as she sat up, putting a hand to her bare shoulder, her fingers plucking at the torn cloth.

  ‘They wanted to know—what you had—come for.’

  ‘And we came just to see them,’ said Palfrey. He turned on the little man, who moved his hand towards his pocket, but before he could insert it Stefan had stretched out a hand and gripped his wrist. The man squealed as pain shot through his arm, and he did not even try to loosen Stafan’s hold. He seemed petrified. Stefan was so tall that he almost touched the low ceiling. He seemed quite undisturbed, and had not turned a hair.

  ‘Will you go upstairs and change?’ Palfrey asked Anna.

  ‘Change?’ she said, as if surprised. ‘I—yes—yes.’ She got up, swaying for a moment, and Palfrey gave her a helping hand, but she was annoyed at her own weakness, and walked proudly out of the room and up the stairs. Palfrey turned to the little dark man, and said: ‘Let him go, Stefan.’

  Stefan released him, but not until he had put his hand into the man’s pocket and brought out an automatic. It was lost in the Russian’s hand. Stefan pocketed it, and Palfrey looked into the dark man’s eyes. They were nearly black but shot with amber, his only good feature, for there could have been few uglier men in Holland. Black hair grew low upon his forehead, only an inch of skin showed above his black eyebrows. It was a squat face, with broad features, thick lips and a flat chin on which was a long, dark scar.

  ‘And what did Lozana tell you to do?’ demanded Palfrey.

  He spoke in English, and he scored a hit, for the man backed away, astonished. Stefan rubbed his ear, smiling. Palfrey seemed as if he were in his consulting-rooms.