Red In The Morning (19 page)

The first thing we saw was the footbridge which Mansel had said would be there; the next, an obvious garage within the moat. (I think I should make it clear that the château did not rise from the moat, but stood a good twenty feet back from the water’s edge. So a car which crossed the drawbridge and turned to the right would leave the front door on its left and then pass round the château, between the house and the moat. It follows that, as Mansel had said, so long as the drawbridge was up, a car could leave the garage, but not the island on which the garage stood.)

As we looked, we saw shutters opened, and smoke began to rise from one of the many stacks. Then a clock which we could not see declared it was seven o’clock.

“Time to withdraw,” said Mansel, “and think over what we’ve seen. We’ll come again tomorrow, before it’s light. I want to have a look at the mouth of the southern drive. Just to be sure, you know.”

And with his words, a figure approached the footbridge, golf clubs in hand.

“Brevet,” breathed Mansel. “It’s Brevet.”

And Brevet it was.

We watched him cross the footbridge and make his way to a tee…

“By God, I’ve got it,” said Mansel. “He’s going to meet Gedge. This is the way they do it. Brevet goes round in the morning at this unearthly hour…and pulls a ball into these woods…and while he’s trying to find it, Gedge comes along this path.”

Mansel could rise to an occasion as no one I ever knew. The more urgent the crisis, the keener his wits became. He knew that if the rogues saw us, we should have lost our match; for Gedge would never touch Robinet, did he but guess we were there. More, it would come to a battle – the very last thing we wanted at such a time and place. Yet, if we could attend this interview…

“Watch Brevet,” he breathed, and was gone.

Two minutes later he was back – and Brevet was holing out, with a shocking five.

“Bell moves by the path,” he said, “with Bagot behind. The moment Bell sees Gedge coming, he gives a signal to Bagot and fades away. Bagot runs back down the path, whips across to the meadows and pitches a piece of deadwood on to the nearest green. Meanwhile we stick to Brevet and watch the greens.”

We moved abreast of the fellow, just out of his sight. We watched him play three holes. As he strolled to the fourth tee, I glanced behind. Something thin and brown lay full on the second green.

I touched Mansel’s shoulder twice.

“That’s right,” he breathed. “He’s just had a look at his watch. And now he’ll drive into the woods.”

And so Brevet did. More. To round the picture, he raised his arms and shook his fists at the heaven, all clear and blue. Then he pushed back his soft, brown hat and turned to the woods.

He left the meadows ten paces from where we stood, but, perhaps because he was a townsman, he made enough noise for three. Since we knew how to move, it was easy to follow the man and even to draw very close, without being seen or heard.

Then he stepped on to the path and at once we heard Gedge’s voice.

“You lazy —,” he said. “It’s a quarter past.”

“I know,” said Brevet, coolly. “I saw no reason for waiting a quarter of an hour. Only a fool or a knave would look for his ball in these woods; and a fool would look for five minutes – no more than that. If I know that, others do – so shall we come to the point?”

I heard Gedge suck in his breath.

Then –

“All OK?” he snapped.

“The traditional bed of roses. Far the easiest thing that we’ve ever done.”

“What about the bridge?”

“My affair,” said Brevet. “Just count it out.”

“Go on. Spill it,” said Gedge.

Brevet cleared his throat.

“The gear is controlled from a cellar, which has one door. That door has a Yale lock, of which my host has the key. By day, the door stands open: but at dusk, when the drawbridge is raised, that door is shut. When my host is called in the morning, he gives his servant the key: the man then opens the door and brings the key back.”

“What then?”

“Before I leave,” said Brevet, “a very small piece of metal will enter that good Yale lock. The keyhole, I mean. It follows that, when night falls and the door is shut, no one will be able to open it, key or no key.”

“How long to break it down?”

“Half an hour, perhaps. It’s three-inch oak.”

“And you leave here at six?”

“You may lay to that,” said Brevet. “Time and tide and alibis will not wait. I shall sit down to dinner at Tours precisely at half-past eight. It’ll be an agreeable change – the food here is too elaborate. And I like The Univers. They’ve a very good pastry chef.”

“Meanwhile we’re lifting the stuff.”

“Taking it up,” said Brevet. “I’m handing it to you on a plate. Punter and Rust could do it without any help from you.”

“I see,” said Gedge. “Well, get this and get it good. I don’t fancy Tours.”

“What the devil d’you mean?” said Brevet.

“This,” said Gedge, shortly. “Tours is too far. Ninety miles from here. That means an hour and a half – and going like hell.”

“You’re cutting the line in the village – the line to Chartres.”

“I know all that, but an hour and a half’s too long. And Tours is a — to pass. The pastry chef may suit you, but that long, narrow High Street don’t suit me. If you’re on the run, it doesn’t give you a chance. So I’ll pick you up this side. You can dine at Vendôme.”

“At The Beau Sejour?” said Brevet. “I’m much obliged.”

“Why not?” spat Gedge. “I don’t own the — place. And I shall have left that morning. Besides, it’s a house of call. A party blew in last night at eleven o’clock.”

“Vendôme’s too close,” said Brevet.

“Be your age,” said Gedge. “It’s fifty miles. You’re in the hotel at eight and you leave at a quarter to ten. We strike at a quarter past nine – an’ pick you up on the road at ten-fifteen.”

“Where?”

“There’s a sign board twelve miles on which says CHATEAU-RENAULT 6. The first on the right after that. Fifty yards down you come to a ruined barn.”

“And then?”

“We buzz off,” said Gedge, “and you toddle along to Tours. Stay the night there an’ follow along the next day.”

“Suppose the long, narrow High Street doesn’t suit me.”

“One man in a different car? An’ the stuff in Abraham’s bosom? You’re getting loose.”

There was a little silence.

At length –

“You’re a wilful blackguard,” said Brevet.

Gedge laughed his high-pitched laugh.

“Maybe,” he said. “But you know my sums come out.”

“Yes,” said Brevet, slowly. “I’ll give you that. Your, er, mental arithmetic is usually very good.”

“Then that’s that,” said the other. “When and where do I pick you up?”

Brevet repeated his orders.

“Snags to come?” said Gedge.

“In that unlikely event, you’ll see a towel in my casement – as once before.”

“Right. An’ I see you here on Tuesday at seven sharp.”

“And there you’re wrong,” said Brevet. “I’ll jog Coincidence’s arm, but I’m damned if I’ll pull her leg. Three times I’ve pulled into these woods between seven and seven-fifteen. I’m not going to make it four.”

“If I say–”

“I don’t care what you say. If a towel’s in my window tomorrow, then I shall be here on Tuesday at seven o’clock. Otherwise, you will wait in vain. The thing’s absurd, and you know it. We’ve basted the joint enough.”

Gedge appeared to reflect.

Then –

“Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “We don’t want to slip up now.”

There was another silence.

Then –

“What’s Mansel doing?” said Gedge.

“That’s very easy,” said Brevet. “If Chandos has not re-appeared, he’s pulling down Arx. If Chandos has re-appeared, he’s hanging round Châteaudun.”

As though Brevet had not spoken –

“Mansel’s fly,” said Gedge. “I’ll get the — down, but he’s half a crook.”

“Wishful thinking,” said Brevet. “Mansel means to see you, and he is a dangerous man. If you’d fade out, as I say–”

“You white-livered —,” said Gedge.

“Sorry,” said Brevet. “But I am above abuse. If you mean to return to Arx, I shall have to conform. But I shall ring up from Sarrat, before going on; and I very strongly advise you to do the same.”

There was another silence.

Then –

“I’d give a monkey,” said Gedge, “to know where he is.”

Brevet laughed.

“Why worry,” he said, “if he’s only half a crook?”

Before the other could answer, he had re-entered the wood.

For a little Gedge stood where he was. Then he turned on his heel and retraced his steps.

As his footfalls faded –

“To Gedge on a plate,” breathed Mansel. “To us in a lordly dish. But I’m sorry to think that we’re sharing the same hotel.” He moved, to glance down the path. “Go back and watch Brevet, will you? I’m going to see Gedge out. Tell Bagot and Bell to play connecting file.”

As a man in a dream, I carried out his instructions; for all my thoughts were fast on The Beau Sejour. It was a small hotel, and if Gedge got back before us – well, Mona and Rowley were there
and had not been warned
. And the Lowland was in the garage, for all to see.

It is sometimes the whim of Fortune to give with the right hand and take away with the left. At a stroke she had made us free of the enemy’s plan of action. More, of his
revised
plan of action, for only that morning the rendezvous had been changed. Time and place and method – all had been detailed to us by Gedge himself. Such a gift was fantastic – unique. And all the time, entirely unknown to us, the dame had put in peril the whole of our enterprise.

I tried to think what we must do.

We could not move till Gedge was out of the way. It would take us at least an hour to reach the Rolls. Because it was Sunday, we could not telephone except from a town. We could – from a private house: but where was the private house?

For one desperate moment I thought of crossing the footbridge and asking to be allowed to speak from Robinet. But trunk calls take time to make, and Brevet was up and about. Besides…

And there I saw the man turn and make for the seventh tee. He was coming back. Eight holes were enough for him.

Five minutes later, perhaps, Bell gave me a message from Mansel.

“Please get back to the car as fast as ever you can.”

The Rolls stole out of the thicket and on to the Vendôme road.

As he settled himself in his seat –

“We must assume,” said Mansel, “that Gedge has gone straight back. I saw him into his car, and he went this way. But we shall turn off in a minute, in case of accidents. So he’ll go in from the north, but we shall come up from the east. I say ‘come up’, for we must not drive into the town. So Bagot and Bell and Carson will take the Rolls and drive to The Fountain at Blois, while you and I will go in and get Mona and Rowley out. Gedge doesn’t know Rowley by sight: but Rowley doesn’t look French, and so the moment Gedge sees him, he’ll go to the porter’s lodge and ask who he is. And so we can only hope that Rowley keeps out of his sight. Mona will breakfast upstairs, and I think we ought to be there before she’s down. As for the Lowland – well, Gedge has missed her once, and with luck he’ll miss her again.

“Now if Rowley should recognize Gedge – and I’m sure, if he sees him, he will – his instant idea will be to put us wise. So he’ll be in the streets somewhere, waiting to stop the Rolls. For that reason, I think, we’d better stroll in from the north, for that’s the direction from which we should normally come. And we must look out for Punter. It’s most unlikely that he’s at The Beau Sejour; but I have no doubt at all that he’s in Vendôme.”

He raised his eyebrows and sighed.

“It’s all very trying, of course: but it might have been worse – for Gedge might not have mentioned that he was our fellow guest. And then we should have bought it.”

“The Lowland’s the danger,” said I. “We can lie up all day: but we can’t lock up the garage. And once she catches his eye, the fat will be burnt.”

“I won’t be beaten,” said Mansel. “We’ll get her out while he’s at church.”

But though I was glad to laugh, I knew in my heart that, if Gedge had returned to Vendôme, yet did not retire to his room, our chance of a happy issue was painfully slight. The felon was ‘on the job’: and so his eyes were wide and his ears were pricked. More. He was most uneasy – lest Jonathan Mansel should find him before ‘the job’ had been done. And we had to watch this man – who was watching for us…wait till his back was turned…move in a flash and be gone, before he looked round.

“What’s his car like?” I said.

“A good-looking Whistler,” said Mansel. “Very fast, no doubt. Astonishing how these big fellows are never short of a car. Of course they’re special clients, specially served.”

“I’d rather have a Lowland,” I said.

“So, I expect, would he. But his Lowland’s at Petit Arx, and the door is shut. He must be sore with us, William.”

“Very sore,” I said. “In fact, for our peace of mind, it’s just about time he went out.”

“I entirely agree,” said Mansel, and left it there.

And here, if I may, I will describe our hotel. Since I had hardly seen it, I could not then have described it, as I shall describe it now: but I came to know it better before that day was out.

The Beau Sejour stood in a street. By its side, a decent archway gave to a cobbled yard and a garage beyond. These were capacious and might very well have belonged to a bigger house. In the left-hand wall of the archway was the entrance to the hotel. A revolving door hung in the entrance and admitted to a pretty big lounge, at the opposite end of which were the lift and stairs. On the left of the door was, as usual, the porter’s lodge: on the right of the door was a window, serving the lounge. The back entrance to the hotel led out of the cobbled yard. It follows that no one could enter or leave the house, that no car could enter or leave the cobbled yard without being able to be seen from the porter’s lodge.
Or from the window of the lounge on the opposite side of the door
.

I saw the faithful Rowley before he saw me.