‘We’re stuck in some kind of drainage ditch. We won’t get her out without a tow.’
‘Maybe we could all push,’ said Max.
‘Shut up,’ barked Grattan. ‘We’re not pushing. And we’re not getting a tow.’
‘What are we doing, then?’ asked Meadows.
‘You’re going to walk back to the cottage and fetch Bostridge’s car. We’ll go in that.’
‘It’ll never be big enough for all of us.’
‘Well, maybe whoever got us into this mess will have to travel by shanks’s pony. Why don’t— Oh no.’
The worthies by the pub were now on the scene – three middle-aged villagers, beaming broadly. ‘Come a cropper, have you?’ asked one.
Grattan had hastily tucked his gun inside his coat, as had Hughes. He opened the window. ‘We’ll be all right, thanks,’ he said airily.
‘We’ll give you a push.’
‘No need.’
‘You won’t be going nowhere otherwise.’
‘There’s
really
no need.’
‘It’d be easier if you all got out ’cept the driver. Less weight, see. This a Crossley? I drove one in the war. They used ’em as staff cars. Probably still do.’
‘We don’t want any help.’
‘Yes, we do,’ said Max. ‘Let’s get out and do as they suggest.’
‘Here you go.’ One of the villagers pulled open the rear door. Max almost fell into his arms.
‘Very kind of you,’ Max said, stepping lightly away from the car.
Appleby remained where he was, with Hughes beside him.
‘They’re obviously right,’ he said. ‘What are we waiting for?’ With that he slid across the seat and climbed out. And neither Hughes nor Grattan lifted a finger to stop him. But what could they do? Shoot them all?
Grattan and Hughes finally got out too and rounded the bonnet, moving purposefully towards Max and Appleby.
‘Lend us your torch,’ said one of the villagers to Meadows. ‘Then we can see what the trouble is.’
‘I’ve already seen,’ snapped Meadows.
‘No need to bite my head off.’
‘Why don’t you leave us to it?’ said Grattan, trying to sound reasonable.
‘Is the pub still open?’ piped Max.
‘Nah. But it’s the landlord’s birthday, so there’s a bit of a party going on.’
‘Any chance you could smuggle us in? I’d murder for a pint.’
‘Me too,’ said Appleby.
‘Well . . .’
‘We don’t have time for that,’ said Grattan. He pulled Max and Appleby away from the group and lowered his voice. ‘They’re not going to get you out of this. Tell them to leave us alone or it’ll be the worse for you – and them.’
‘A gunshot will bring a mob running from the pub,’ said Appleby. ‘How will that turn out, d’you think?’
‘You won’t be alive to find out.’
‘Maybe not. But if you bungle this and fail to deliver the file to Lemmer . . .’
Before Grattan could fashion a response, the sound came to their ears of another car approaching along the lane. Its headlamps swept over them and the driver braked to a halt.
‘Can I help?’ he called.
‘That you, Mr Varney?’ one of the villagers responded.
‘Yes, Ern, it’s me.’
‘You’re out late.’
‘Troublesome birth at Rosehill Farm. So, what’s the bother here?’
‘These gentlemen have got their car stuck in the ditch.’
‘I’ve got a tow rope. I dare say it’ll be easier pulling them out than it was that calf I’ve just delivered.’
‘What are you going to do, Grattan?’ Appleby whispered. ‘We’ve got the local vet here now as well. It’s getting out of hand, isn’t it?’
‘Where’s the driver?’ Varney asked as he climbed from his car.
‘Here,’ said Meadows reluctantly.
‘Well?’ pressed Appleby.
‘All right,’ Grattan growled back. ‘We’ll take the file and drive away, but we’ll leave you two behind. Not a word out of place and not a shot fired.’
Appleby hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘OK. Max?’
There was no other way out. They all knew it. ‘Yes,’ said Max.
‘You’re gambling on the negatives, aren’t you?’ said Grattan.
‘We’re gambling on your common sense,’ Appleby replied.
‘You’ve been lucky. Damned lucky. That’s all.’
‘It’s all we need to be,’ said Max. ‘And I have a history of it.’
‘Why don’t you—’
‘Shall we get you back on the road or are you going to stand there muttering to each other all night?’ Varney called to them, a touch irritably. ‘I’ve a bed to go to even if you haven’t.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Grattan responded, the grinding of his teeth almost audible. ‘Kind of you to stop. Let’s hitch up the rope.’
‘
WE HAD NO
choice,’ said Appleby dolefully as he and Max hurried along the lane out of the village. They were heading in the opposite direction to that taken by Grattan, Hughes and Meadows. The signpost on the green had indicated it was five miles to Abingdon. From there, come morning, they could travel by train to London. ‘Without the file, Grattan would’ve had to report to Lemmer empty-handed. He’d never have been willing to do that. If we’d tried to hang onto it, it would’ve ended badly. Probably for several innocent bystanders as well. As it is, we’re lucky to have escaped.’
‘Maybe so, but it means all I’ve accomplished is what Lemmer sent me to the Orkneys to do: retrieve the Grey File for him.’ Max looked up at the grey-black sky, where the moon hovered faintly behind drifting clouds. He swore softly.
‘We still have a photographic record of the contents, Max. It’s not everything. But it’s enough.’
‘You mean your sister has a photographic record of the contents. Or will have, once the postman’s delivered it to her.’
‘We’ll make for Eltham tomorrow.’
‘If we make it to Abingdon tonight. What’s to stop Grattan and co coming in search of us?’
‘They’ll have to report to Lemmer first. He’ll decide their next move. I doubt even he’s capable of guessing where we’re going now.’
‘What about Eltham? Does he know you have a sister?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘That’s not quite as categorical as I’d like.’
‘It’ll have to do. I don’t know what he knows. We’re going to have to play this by ear to some extent. Was there anything in your bag that could identify you?’
‘No. Just clothes and shaving gear.’
‘Good.’
‘Will you try to find someone else to decode the file?’
‘After what happened to Bostridge, I’m not sure. I wouldn’t have contacted him if I’d thought it was going to cost him his life.’
‘They’d probably have killed him anyway. You heard what Grattan said: “No decipherer; no decipherment”. And it could be us next.’
‘It could. But I’m hoping news of the negatives will catch Lemmer off balance. It’s a complication he mightn’t have anticipated. And it may not be the only one.’
‘What else is there?’
‘Bostridge. He wasn’t stupid. He might have foreseen how it was going to turn out. I’ve been thinking about what he said in the car. That business about Lemmer’s cables to Anna Schmidt from the Far East.’
‘Weihaiwei.’
‘Exactly. Weihaiwei. Why did he make such a point of mentioning it?’
‘Because the Grey File was referred to in a cable Lemmer sent from there.’
‘Yes. But maybe there was something else.’
‘What?’
‘Do you remember what he said about “veiled messages” – the code within the code?”
‘Yes. Once you’d broken the code, you could still be left with a message only the recipient was equipped to understand. So, what was he really saying?’
‘There’s a chance – no more than that – Bostridge was trying to point me towards one of his assistants who was an expert in this field. She had a special . . . sensitivity . . . to what she called textual undercurrents.’
‘Who is this woman?’
‘Veronica Edwards. But she left the Service last year to get married. I can’t remember, if I ever knew, what her married name is. Or where she lives.’
‘It’s hopeless, then.’
‘Maybe not. Or . . . I’ll dwell on it. Something might come to me. Meanwhile . . .’ He stopped and fumbled in his pocket, then thrust a box of matches into Max’s palm. ‘Light one and hold it, would you? I want to write something down.’
Max struck a match and saw that Appleby was clutching a pencil and a notebook, folded open. He held the match for Appleby to see by as he recorded a short sequence of letters and numbers. ‘What’s that?’
‘The registration number of the Crossley. You never know if it might come in useful.’
Max shook out the match. A worrying thought had occurred to him. ‘The police will be after us once Bostridge’s body is found, won’t they, Horace? That college porter can describe us. So can the villagers.’
‘You don’t need to worry about them.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because the villagers can describe Grattan, Hughes and Meadows as well. And Bostridge’s spell in the Service means his death will be referred to Special Branch. Political will make sure they quash any serious investigation.’
‘What’s Political?’
‘Who, you mean. He’s one of the section heads. They go by their section title. Political’s real name is Grieveson. By telling you that, I’m in breach of the Official Secrets Act, so don’t spread it around, will you? Political’s on Lemmer’s payroll. The men who tried to pick me up at Victoria were acting on his orders, apparently in good faith. They were going to take me to a house in Pimlico he’s acquired. I don’t know what he uses twenty-four Glamorgan Street for, but I doubt it’s quiet fireside chats. He’ll obligingly cover our tracks as well as his own operatives’.’
‘That’s some small comfort, I suppose.’
‘But smaller than a warm bed would be, eh?’ Appleby started moving again. ‘We’d better press on.’
In the event, they only pressed on for another mile or so. Then Appleby spotted what a shaft of moonlight revealed to be an open-fronted barn a short distance down a track between two fields. They clambered in among the bales of hay and settled down to sleep.
‘How many tighter spots than this have you been in in your time, Horace?’ Max asked drowsily.
‘None.’
‘So you can’t draw on your vast experience to tell me what our chances are?’
‘I can. But you don’t want to know the answer. Go to sleep.’
‘D’you snore, Horace?’
‘That’s a secret. One you’ll share with my late wife by morning. Goodnight.’
THE
GARDIENNE
OF
the house where Malory Hollander lived on the Ile St-Louis was never welcoming to male visitors, perhaps because all her charges were female. Morahan had encountered her a couple of times before, without eliciting much in the way of helpfulness. He supposed he should be grateful she was not on strike, like so many other Parisians. It was May Day, the great day of action for Socialist protesters, who believed they had a lot to protest about, and the gods had decided to add their own complaint in the form of steady rain.
Morahan’s attempts to charm the
gardienne
fell predictably flat. He was hung-over and had nicked his chin while shaving. He was not at his best, though he had been equal to the task of losing the tail Tomura had put on him – a necessary precaution in the circumstances.
After apologizing several times, ever more profusely, for calling so early in the day, he was admitted and allowed to ascend the curving stairs to Malory’s apartment, though he was kept under surveillance from the hall as he went.
Malory was halfway through applying lipstick as a finishing touch to her toilette when she answered the door. ‘You look awful,’ she said.
‘I had a rough night.’ He propped himself against the hall wall while she retreated to her bedroom mirror.
‘So I see.’
‘Sorry I wasn’t in when you called round last night.’
‘Never mind. How did you get here?’
‘I drove. Métro’s out. So are the trams and buses.’
‘You can give me a ride to the office, then. We’ll talk on the way.’ She bustled back out of her bedroom,
maquillage
complete, and handed him her raincoat so he could help her on with it.
‘One of the reasons I agreed to come to Paris was to enjoy a spring in the city of light,’ she remarked as they tiptoed through the puddles to Morahan’s car. ‘I could have got weather like this staying in New York.’
‘At least it’ll dampen down the protests.’
‘Talking of which, I may need a ride home as well. Things could turn ugly.’
‘You’re such an optimist.’
‘It pays to look ahead, Schools.’
‘It surely does.’
They reached the car and climbed in. Morahan started up and headed for the Pont Marie.
‘Your note mentioned le Singe, Malory. That wasn’t just a ploy to get me to pick you up this morning, was it?’
‘Of course not. I found something out last night from Eveline. You just missed her.’
‘You’re not going to tell me she’s acquainted with le Singe?’
‘Obviously not. But she had met Soutine, as you know, so I felt I ought to inform her of his death before she read about it in the newspaper. To my surprise, it emerged she’d seen him once more after our visit to his gallery.’
‘She had?’
‘Yes. She went to a party in an apartment near La Samaritaine last Saturday. It’s Peggy White’s place. I know her slightly. She’s with the Red Cross too. Anyhow, Eveline arrived quite early, while it was still light. She went into the spare bedroom, where the coats were being left, and saw Soutine through the window.’
‘What d’you mean – “through the window”?’
‘Well, Peggy’s apartment is on the top floor of her building, which is a floor or two higher than most of the surrounding buildings. So, Eveline was looking down at a small top-floor balcony a short distance away. And she saw Soutine standing there.’
‘On the balcony?’
‘Yes. Large as life, she said. He was smoking a cigarette. Taking the evening air, I suppose.’
‘He must have a hideaway there.’
‘That’s what I thought. And maybe le Singe hides there too.’
‘We’ve got to find the apartment that balcony belongs to, Malory.’
‘I know. Eveline’s agreed to ask Peggy if we could take a look out of her spare bedroom window this evening and try to figure out exactly where it is.’
‘To hell with this evening. We’ll go there now. If she hasn’t left yet, I’ll back you to talk our way in.’