Death of an Airman (11 page)

“Naturally, such an
amende honorable
would be a token of good faith,” answered Bray cautiously.

“I will ensure it this instant,” exclaimed the lawyer, brightening, and went into the outer office.

Bray glanced idly about him, and fell to looking closely at the papers on Roget's desk. One in particular caught his eye—a letter from England sent by air mail and marked “Urgent.” He hesitated a moment. A fatal moment, for at the end of it he swept the letter into his pocket with hardly a protest from his conscience.

Shortly afterwards Roget returned. “I have seen to that. Express my extreme regrets to the Prince's secretary. Ah, monsieur, as you say in your own idiom, ‘it is not all jam' being responsible for the conduct of a newspaper. None of my other trusts gives me one-tenth the trouble.”

With a rather guilty feeling as his conscience stirred, Bray returned to his room in M. Durand's flat and carefully opened the letter. Inside it was an enclosure, addressed to “M. Maurice Grandet, The Foreign Publisher,
La Gazette Quotidienne
. (Private and Personal.)”

The enclosure, which was heavily sealed, was accompanied by a letter. It was in English, and read:

101,
Banchurch Street,
London, E.C
.4.

Dear M. Roget
,

Please see that these instructions are delivered into M. Grandet's hands this afternoon in the usual way.

Yours sincerely
,
Theodosius Vandyke
.

Bray made a note of the address, which looked like that of an office in the City, and then proceeded, with the same regrettable lack of compunction, to lift the seal of the enclosure with a hot knife. The message he read was brief enough.

The next consignment to be on Friday
.

The Chief
.

Before he went down to dinner he strolled out to a newsagent and arranged for a copy of
La Gazette Quotidienne
to be delivered to him next morning. He then retired to his room and began to think hard. “Consignment” irresistibly suggested the drug he was searching for. But how could it be despatched when he had already ascertained the impossibility of doing this? Perhaps some other method of distribution was used. At least, it seemed that Roget was the channel of some mysterious communication between the paper and some persons unknown, and that the proprietor was not a myth. Who, then, was Theodosius Vandyke? Was it a
nom de guerre
? Or was he the proprietor, or the man's secretary? And was “The Chief” the same person? Or was he yet another member of the organization? And did his pseudonym mean that he was the head of the organization?

He examined the curious paper on which the inner message was written. It was an orange-coloured paper, and when Bray held it up to the light he noted an elaborate watermark which could hardly be the makers' trademark, and suggested to him that it might be a kind of guarantee of the authenticity of an important message and therefore known to all members of the organization. The letter to Roget, which was typewritten on ordinary business paper, was of little use, but he wrote out at once a telegram to his assistant, Sergeant Finch:

Make enquiries about occupation age address past history nationality Theodosius Vandyke
101
Banchurch Street E.C
.4.—
Bray
.

Bray opened his paper eagerly next morning, and at the top of the now familiar column he saw, with a quickening of interest, that H.R.H. Prince Francis of Dayreuth was leaving Cannes on Friday.

Durand teased him with his preoccupation at breakfast, and Bray looked grave.

“The fact of the matter is, Durand, that I ought to be moving from here.”

“My dear friend!” said the Frenchman reproachfully.

“Yes, indeed, sad as it will be for me. But my presence may well be embarrassing. I have committed one illegal action in this pleasant city of yours, and I am turning over in my mind more illegal ones. It would be annoying if there were complaints made and it turned out that the person complained about was the guest of that shining light of the Sûreté, M. Durand!”

Durand laughed. “Yes, it might be awkward. But perhaps it can be avoided. What is your problem?”

Bray told him.

The Frenchman did not seem at all perturbed by the theft of the letter from Roget's desk. “A bagatelle. But what were you proposing to do with the letter afterwards?”

“I was thinking of restoring it, sealed up again, of course. I could visit Roget on the pretext of expressing the satisfaction of the Crown Prince's
aide
, and leave the letter behind then. It is obviously important that it gets to its destination, so that no suspicions are aroused.”

“And what further crimes did you contemplate?” asked Durand.

“I had in mind to break into this precious publishing office somehow and try to find the stuff on the premises. Obviously Grandet, whoever he is, is in the thick of the business.”

“But I do not see why we of the Sûreté should not get a search warrant ourselves, on information received from you.”

Bray looked a little embarrassed. “It is very kind of you, Durand, but that is just what I don't want. To be perfectly frank, the English end is the only one I'm interested in. It won't help me if we break up the French organization and leave the English end intact. I can follow this dope from France to England if the French group is left undisturbed. But first I must get some assurance that it really is here, and some inkling how it gets through to England.”

Durand thought for a moment, the play of his famous brain almost visible on his delicate features. Then he smiled. “I have it, my dear Bray, to perfection! A scheme that needs finesse, courage, and tact, but you have all of these. Listen!”

Bray listened and was enchanted.

***

Bray, looking a little slovenly in old flannel trousers and a tweed jacket, was soon directed to the publishing office of the
Gazette
. This, it appeared, was separate from the editorial offices. He went up to the trade counter and asked boldly for Grandet.

The office boy told him confidently that M. Grandet was not accessible to strangers, but Bray sent in a message that he, Robinson, had a letter from England which could only be delivered personally into Grandet's own hands. The office boy presently returned to take him to Grandet. This meant climbing several stairs and walking down a long corridor, through a door marked “
Abonnements Étrangers,
” and into a dusty little office.

Grandet was an impressive individual at first sight, with a broad white face and a mane of silver hair that gave him a leonine aspect. Close inspection revealed very thin lips, a weak chin and the pinched, decided nose of the selfish egoist. Bray placed him as the first really criminal-looking type he had struck in his efforts to establish a dope organization in connection with
La Gazette Quotidienne
.

Grandet looked at him with close attention, and then took the envelope Bray offered him, which had been the enclosure in the letter to Roget.

He examined the seal carefully, and this for a moment made Bray anxious, but he felt sure that his and Durand's joint efforts in this respect had been good. Grandet, too, seemed to be satisfied and tore open the envelope without remark.

Between them, Durand and Bray had altered “The Chief's” laconic message. Plenty of room had been left between the signature and the message, and it had thus been possible to add a few words with a typewriter of similar make and ribbon colour. Scrutiny with a lens would reveal a difference in alignment, but it was permissible to suppose that Grandet would not carry suspicion to that length. The message now read:

The next consignment to be on Friday. Robinson, the bearer of this note, is to travel with it. He knows everything and can be trusted
.

The Chief
.

Grandet read the note and then opened a drawer and removed from it a sheet of orange-coloured paper, identical in appearance to that which bore “The Chief's” message. He held the two sheets of paper to the light, one on top of the other, evidently to confirm the perfect register of the watermarks. This proved the accuracy of Bray's guess that the watermark was a kind of guarantee of authenticity.

He now gave Bray a perfunctory smile and extended his hand. “The message is late, Mr. Robinson. The notice to subscribers has already appeared in
La Gazette
, and I am surprised that the circulation department was not informed first.”

“There were difficulties,” said Bray with a studied vagueness. “It was considered advisable, for some reason I do not know, not to send the message through the usual channels.”

“I see. I am disturbed to hear it. It is strange this idea also, for you to travel through with the consignment.” Grandet's uplifted eyebrows invited further explanation.

“There is reason. There is just a possibility of an attempt at robbery—not by the authorities, you understand, but by enemies.”

Grandet made a clucking noise. “That is regrettable. I trust the Chief will deal with the matter. It is not a danger we want even to risk. You will be armed?”

Bray nodded.

“You must report here at two a.m. on Friday. I shall not be present, but my assistants will be. One will wait for you outside. He will see you into the van, and then our department's responsibilities will, I hope, be over.”

“Certainly,” Bray reassured him.

“While you are here, I had better take you in to see my assistants, so that they will recognize you on Friday.”

“You are admirably cautious, monsieur.”

“It is necessary in the foreign publishing business,” said Grandet dryly. “This way.”

Grandet led him to a flight of stairs marked with injunctions of privacy. They went up these and came to a door on which was a small notice:

Bureau de la Poste Aérienne Défense à Entrer

Grandet gave a peculiar knock and opened the door, which, Bray noticed, it was necessary for him to unlock first with a key he took from his watchchain. Four men were inside, in trousers and dirty shirt-sleeves, whom Bray instinctively placed as the dregs of the Paris underworld.

He looked quickly and unobtrusively round him. A shelf on one wall was burdened with a row of large stone jars. Scissors, paste-brushes, brown paper, string, and copies of
La Gazette
were strewn about the floor. Almost immediately Grandet introduced him to the smallest of the four men. This was a fellow with a little bristly beard and one glass eye which looked heavenward with a pious fixity contrasting somewhat oddly with the fierce cast of the rest of his features.

“This is Mr. Robinson, Leon,” said Grandet. “He is a representative of the firm. He will travel with a consignment to England to-morrow. He has been sent to us by headquarters. Look at him carefully. He will meet you at two a.m. on Friday. Put him into the van and leave the rest to him.”

The man looked at Bray with his sound eye and nodded. “Very well, Grandet. And, look here; about the German consignment to-morrow—is that definite?”

“Certainly,” said Grandet. “You will have to work hard to get it through in time. You were ten minutes late with the Swiss packages this morning.”

“The printers were late,” grumbled the little man.

“That is hardly an excuse. It is an extremely small consignment. Remember this is a newspaper, and newspapers are always punctual about consignments. It is not only myself—you know the High Command is ruthless about efficiency, and rightly so. We have a reputation for our foreign publishing, and shall probably get a complaint from the Chief to-morrow.”

“Cattle,” muttered Grandet a little later to Robinson, who had maintained a discreet silence, as they went down the stairs again. “A pity we have to employ them. This way out.”

When Bray got home, he found a long telegram waiting for him from Sergeant Finch.

Called on Theodosius Vandyke's office. This appears to be little more than an accommodation address. No one there. Charwoman told me office is rarely used. Porter said Vandyke is pleasant-spoken young man believed to be American. Seems to be rich. When he wants secretarial help he gets it from a bureau. Turns up not more than once a week and then only for an hour or so. Address not known. Landlord referred me to M. Roget notary of Paris as Vandyke's agent. This end you will look after I suppose. Vandyke calls himself an importer in 'phone book but not known to any of credit enquiry agencies. Please advise me if further investigation required
.

“I'll attend to that myself when I get back to England,” Bray told himself that night.

He had acquainted Durand with the success of the plan, and the Frenchman was now inclined to be worried.

“Supposing they were to get into touch with the Chief between now and Friday and discover your fraud. It might be extremely dangerous!”

“There is hardly time,” retorted Bray. “Besides, everything seems to point to communication with the Chief being one-sided. In any case, I must take my chance.”

Durand looked at him with a worried frown. “At least let me put an agent on to watch you when you meet.”

“Thanks awfully, Durand, but if they do anything it will be when I'm actually travelling with the stuff. And your agent won't be much use then!”

On Thursday evening Bray sent a further telegram to Sergeant Finch.

Find out all you can about Valentine Gauntlett head of Gauntlett's Air Taxis. Also Captain Randall the well-known pilot who is Gauntlett's partner. Criminal record or associations of Gauntlett if any particularly important.—Bray
.

This done he slept, and rose at the unearthly hour of 1 a.m. to dress and keep his appointment. Its hooter silent in deference to Paris's bye-laws, his taxi swept like a ghost through the streets. He dropped it round the corner and walked to the office door, where the glass-eyed little man was waiting beside a van.