Shadow of Doom (13 page)

‘On Dias and Gestapo officers?' asked Palfrey.

‘Oh, that was long afterwards.' The words spilled out of Anna. ‘At one time it was the emblem of active resistance in Rotterdam. You did not know that, Father, you were not allowed to join the resistance because of your work, but I was with it and there were, of course, many others. Only the leaders had such a mask as that—always it was hidden carefully; many who were caught by the Germans swallowed it rather than allow it to be discovered; but it
was
discovered. On the night after the battle of Arnhem started it was discovered, and afterwards there was such a purge of resistance leaders, that dreadful purge. You remember that,' she added, looking at her father sorrowfully.

‘Yes,' van Doorn said, slowly.

‘Most of the little charms were destroyed,' said Anna, ‘but a few were left. I believe that Hans Laander has one now. He had one before, and he escaped the purge. They were used to gain admittance to secret meetings,' she added, ‘and for many other purposes; the possession of one of those in the early days of the occupation was a pass into every loyal home. I am quite sure of this,' she added, sharply, for Palfrey looked at her almost as if he could not believe what she was saying. ‘There is no doubt.'

‘Of course not,' said Palfrey. ‘And they haven't been used since Arnhem?'

‘No.'

‘Yet they reappeared on Dias and Gestapo officers.'

‘They were taken as souvenirs,' said Anna.

‘They might have started off as souvenirs,' said Palfrey, ‘but they have more significance now.' He handed her the little mask, and she examined it closely. ‘Is it exactly the same?'

She said: ‘There is one thing different.'

‘What is it?' asked Palfrey.

‘The chin was smooth and rounded,' she said; ‘in this it has a cleft.' She indicated a tiny mark with her finger-nail, and Palfrey took it to the window and examined it more closely.

‘Carved afterwards,' he said; ‘you can see the marks of the knife or chisel. It's Burmese blackwood, nearly as enduring as ebony.' He tossed the little thing into the air, and the sun caught it and made it glint. He was not looking at it, but out of the window, and he was not surprised when a car came along the road, sleek and glistening beneath the sun, and pulled up outside the front gate. Policemen moved towards it, and then dropped back, for only one man stepped out, the man who had been driving.

It was William K. Bane.

 

 

Drusilla admitted Bane. Palfrey was standing in the dining-room, listening to what was said, but he got very little reward for his eavesdropping. All Bane said was that he wanted to see Palfrey, and he certainly meant to stay. Drusilla showed him into the sitting-room, opposite, and closed the door.

Palfrey tucked the charm into his pocket and went towards the sitting-room door, pausing outside for a moment and then entering.

Bane said: ‘Palfrey, I'll pay you ten thousand pounds in gold for that charm.'

‘It's handsome of you,' said Palfrey, ‘but it can't be done. You've changed your method, haven't you? Your first offer was in lead.'

Bane's expression did not change.

‘The next offer might be in cold steel,' he said. ‘That charm is worth plenty to me, Palfrey, but it's worth nothing to you. Maybe you don't think I mean it when I say ten thousand in gold. When I say a thing I mean a thing. That's my offer, and it won't go higher. You'll be wise to take it.'

‘I almost wish I could,' said Palfrey.

Bane said: ‘Listen to me, son. I'm older in the tooth than you are. There was a time when you were able to get around and do good stuff; I know about you and your friends. This time it isn't your field. That was war, and this is what they call peace and you're hamstrung; if you're honest with yourself you'll admit you're hamstrung. Leave it to me, Palfrey, and when I get to the end of it you can have your radium, and it won't cost you a penny—or a cracked head.'

‘Is Josh Anderson of a like opinion?' asked Palfrey gently.

‘You can leave Anderson out of this,' said Bane.

‘That's the trouble, I can't,' said Palfrey.

‘I guess you'll have to,' said Bane. He hesitated, then stepped abruptly to the window. ‘Listen, Palfrey, I'm not fooling you. Come with me. I'll show you why you've got to give me that charm. You won't get hurt if you stay close enough to me—they won't try shooting me up.'

Palfrey said: ‘Until this thing is over I don't go anywhere with anyone unless I've company of my own choosing.'

‘Bring whom you like,' said Bane, carelessly.

 

‘You were asking about Josh Anderson,' Bane said.

The man on the bed
was
Anderson. Palfrey knew him well enough to be sure. Only that morning he had been at the hotel with Bane and Lozana; now he looked close to death. He lay there with that uncanny stare and gave not the slightest sign that he knew anyone had entered the room.

Palfrey looked up at Bane.

‘Why this?' he said.

‘They pumped poison into him,' said Bane.

‘Why?'

‘Because he didn't come to heel,' said Bane. ‘And because he wouldn't part with the charm. They got it from him. Lozana found it this morning—he went to see Josh first. There was a row. This followed. Anderson was safe while he had that little charm, Palfrey, but only until then.'

‘And the same applies to you?' said Palfrey.

‘Not to me,' said Bane; ‘I've told you, they want my money. They knew they weren't going to get any of Josh's, he was fool enough to tell Lozana so. For twelve months Josh and I have been working to find out what Dias is after; we've strung Dias along, but Josh got mad—that was his trouble, he always got mad too easily. It doesn't pay to get mad. The one good thing was that he told them they could still get their money from me.'

‘Money for what?' asked Palfrey.

‘A great number of things,' said Bane, ‘and the most important I don't yet know. I hope to—tonight.'

‘Why tonight?'

‘Because tonight there is going to be a meeting,' said Bane, ‘and they'll talk some.'

Palfrey said: ‘I would like to attend that meeting.'

‘Don't be a fool,' Bane said, sharply. ‘The moment they saw you they would slit your throat. This isn't a game.'

‘No,' said Palfrey, ‘but I would still like to attend that meeting. What time is it?'

‘Around midnight.'

‘Where is it?'

‘I don't yet know. They'll send a guide for me. And they won't let me be followed, Palfrey, they'll take care of that. Don't try to come, it won't be worth while to make your wife a widow. When it's over I will tell you what I learned.'

‘With reservations, I'm afraid,' said Palfrey.

Bane said: ‘I'll tell you what I learn.'

After a long pause Palfrey inserted his thumb and forefinger into his pocket and handed the charm to Bane without a word Bane looked at it – and his broad thumb moved all over it as if seeking something out. It seemed to pause near the chin When he had satisfied himself that it was the right one, he said slowly: ‘I'll play ball, Palfrey.'

‘I hope you will,' said Palfrey. ‘Are you coming out?'

‘I'll stay a while with Josh,' said Bane.

Outside, the three men strolled casually along the street before they reached their car. Palfrey was talking. At all costs they must get another charm; according to Anna there had once been many in Rotterdam, and Laander had one. They go into the car and drove off, and as they passed the nursing home they saw a curtain move at a first-floor window, and Palfrey caught a glimpse of Bane against the dim light in the room.

They drove round two blocks, and Palfrey pulled the car up not far from the nursing home, but out of sight of it.

‘Keep him in sight whatever you do,' he said. ‘If we lose him we might lose out altogether. I'll be at the
Guyder
after ten o'clock.'

‘We won't lose him,' Bruton said.

Palfrey left them, and drove through the gathering gloom towards Groote Street. He parked the car outside Laander's house and knocked at the door. The woman opened it in exactly the same way as she had done the previous night, her expression forbidding until she recognised Palfrey. Then her eyes lit up, and she stepped aside.

‘He is still busy,' she said, ‘he has been working all the afternoon, he has not come down since lunch-time, Mynheer. It is good that you have called, it will make a rest for him.'

‘I'll try to make him take a long one,' smiled Palfrey.

‘You are good, Mynheer.' She pulled her skirts high as she mounted the stairs. There was a dim light on the landing, but Hans Laander's door was closed, and there was no light beneath it. Palfrey was not thinking of that; he was wondering whether Laander would part with the miniature mask, whether he could cut a cleft in the chin to make it good enough to gain him entry at the ‘meeting'. Him, or one of the others – it might be wise to send Bruton or Erikson, that had not yet been decided.

‘The room is in darkness,' whispered the woman, ‘perhaps he is sleeping.'

‘I have most urgent business,' said Palfrey, ‘but if you wish I will wait for a little while.'

‘We will see,' said the woman. ‘Hush!' She tapped gently on the door, but there was no answer. She opened it softly, and the light spread into the room. At first she could not see clearly.

It was Palfrey, looking over her shoulder, who first saw that the room was in chaos, papers scattered over the floor, desks and tables overturned, drawers open and leaning drunkenly from cabinets – a scene of disorder which, when the woman realised what she was looking at, made her gasp aloud and turn to Palfrey.

‘See!' she cried.

Palfrey switched on the light. Then they could see the whole room. Laander was lying on the floor in a corner, in a pool of brownish-red, and a brownish-red mark was across his neck, a gaping wound.

 

 

Why?

‘Perhaps because I had been to see him,' said Palfrey, in a low voice. ‘Perhaps …'

His voice trailed off. He knelt again by the body, seeing that the pockets had been searched; some of them were turned inside out, and the contents were strewn on the floor about him. The corner of an envelope was stuck in the coagulating blood. He stood up and went to the telephone, and gave van Doorn's number.

Anna answered him.

‘Anna,' said Palfrey, ‘this is most important. You remember the thing which you identified for me? Don't name it.'

‘I remember quite clearly,' said Anna.

‘Who else retained one, do you know?'

‘Who else besides Mynheer Laander?' she said. ‘I do not know. Few kept them, Mynheer, because they were so dangerous; most of them were destroyed when the truth about them was learned by the Germans.'

‘Try to remember someone else who kept one,' urged Palfrey.

‘I have been thinking of them since you left,' said Anna, ‘and I can recall no one, no one at all. Cannot Hans Laander help you?'

‘No,' said Palfrey, ‘not now.'

There was a pause, after a gasp, as if Anna understood something of what had happened from the gravity of his tone. Then she spoke again, steadily.

‘Is he there, Mynheer?'

‘He has been killed, Anna.'

‘So he has been killed,' she said, ‘and—and
you
require the little thing, for—vengeance?' Her voice did not rise, she seemed quite self-possessed, but he could imagine how hard she fought to keep her self-control.

‘Yes,' said Palfrey.

‘You may find it,' she said, ‘if you look in the fitting of the electric light over the desk.'

 

The secret messenger came for William K. Bane at a quarter to eleven. The man made no attempt to avoid notice, and asked for Bane at the desk. Bruton, who was standing near the revolving doors heard him. Erikson was at the back entrance of the hotel, and Bruton walked through the lounge past the messenger, and into the street.

‘Front door, Neil,' said Bruton.

‘Okay,' said Erikson.

 

Palfrey went to van Doorn's house without any intention of staying for long. Anna let him in. She looked at him reproachfully; she wanted to help the woman who looked after Laander

‘It won't be safe yet,' Palfrey said. ‘Please believe me.'

She did not press her point.

Palfrey went upstairs to the bedroom which he had used the previous night, and Drusilla followed him. He took out the make-up box which he had taken from the luggage boot of the car, opened it on the dressing-table, and looked at her smilingly.

‘Do you feel like a hairdresser?' he asked.

‘I suppose you must go,' said Drusilla.

‘Yes,' said Palfrey. ‘Mine is the only face that will lend itself to deception. I am, as you have doubtless noticed, a perfect Little Willie.' He handed her a pair of clippers.

They worked for half an hour, and then Palfrey went downstairs into the living-room where Charles and Stefan were talking together. Stefan looked startled at first, Charles positively jumped.

‘Who the devil are you?' he snapped.

‘Not the Devil,' said Palfrey, in his normal voice.

 

Palfrey still waited outside the door Erikson had shown him.

A woman appeared, walking swiftly, warning him by the rustle of her clothes. She pressed the bell – long, short, long – and the door opened and she disappeared.

‘Good enough,' murmured Palfrey.

He went back to the front door, opened it, then let it close behind him. It was possible that it sounded a bell somewhere in this building, and that if the bell did not sound he would immediately be suspect. As it was, he might be called upon to give a name. If he were …

He pressed the bell, one long push, a short, a long.

The door opened.

He stepped into a large, bare room, where a man was standing by the door, a tall, spindly man who looked at him blankly, so blankly that Palfrey did not speak to him but crossed the room towards yet another door. Apparently that was the proper thing to do for he was not questioned. He hesitated by the door. If a code were necessary for this one he would be finished. He tapped boldly. There was a pause, and he tapped again, more impatiently. The door was opened, and he found himself in a cubby-hole, not much larger than a telephone kiosk. A man was standing behind a hatch on his right, a man who held out his right hand.

Palfrey took the little black mask from his pocket.

He did not let it go, but held it out.

‘Come!' said the man behind the hatch, impatiently.

Palfrey dropped it into the outstretched palm. He looked past the man to a shelf where there were two boxes, one smaller than the other, and in each of the boxes, lying like black gems on cotton wool, were other charms. The man placed Palfrey's carefully in position in the smaller box, and handed him a small red card with a clip for a buttonhole. Then the door opposite that through which Palfrey had entered opened of its own volition.

‘Let it be a dim light!' prayed Palfrey.

It was dim, smoky, noisy – the noise of people gathered together, talking one against the other, a gathering which was not remarkable; one such could be seen a thousand times a week in London or any other big city. Men of all shapes and sizes, a few women, much smoking, the brittle laughter often found in a bar – and there was a bar, the light was brighter there than anywhere else, and a man in a white smock served drinks as quickly as he could take money. Everyone wore a red or yellow card in a lapel or pinned to a dress.

Palfrey espied a corner where only two other men were standing, and took his place by their side. One gave him a vague smile, a smile perhaps of welcome, and then looked towards the crowded room. It was worse than a theatre buffet during the interval. Glasses chinked, people laughed, a woman was talking at the top of her voice. He could see only the top of her head when a man standing in front of her moved. He watched all the women closely – and suddenly he saw ‘Muriel,' talking to a man whom he had not seen before.

There were a hundred people in this room, and more were coming in. Most of them kept their hats and coats on, for in spite of the fug it was cold. Palfrey peered through the haze of tobacco smoke and caught sight of Bane. He did not see Lozana or Dias.

‘It
can't
be a speakeasy,' Palfrey said to himself.

It was as much like one as anything else, except that no one waited on the people – they fetched their own drinks. He watched the money change hands. Guilders and florins slid across the wet bar; there was very little change, prices were extremely high, as they were wherever liquor was sold illegally.

Palfrey fingered his red card, then noticed that by far the majority of the people had yellow ones. Muriel was one of those. Bane had a red one.

‘Gentlemen!' A voice called out from the murk at the far end of the room. ‘Ladies and gentlemen.' The hubbub had prevented Palfrey from hearing ‘Ladies' the first time. ‘Be ready to take your seats, please.'

‘Oh, no,' said Palfrey to himself, ‘not a peep-show!'

Bane was putting a hand on Muriel's shoulder, and bending down to speak into her ear. She laughed delightedly, and gave him a playful punch. Palfrey was watching them intently, and did not notice the man who approached him and stood by his side.

The man coughed.

Palfrey started, and looked at him.

‘Good evening,' said the other in bad Dutch.

‘Good evening,' said Palfrey, in worse.

‘How long do they usually keep you here?' asked his companion, a thick-set, ugly man with beetling brows.

‘It varies, I think,' murmured Palfrey, wary now, for this might be a check on him.

‘Already it has been too long,' said the other. ‘It is a great waste of time. So much theatricals—bah! Why do they think I come to waste time here? I have much to do. Where are you from, Mynheer?'

‘Oh—various places,' murmured Palfrey. The question echoed and re-echoed in his mind; in it there was the making of serious danger. He did not trust this ugly, florid-faced man with the close-set, narrowed eyes.

‘Ach! You do well to be careful,' said his companion, ‘but you need not fear that I will say anything. I am here for the first time, I do not like what I see. These drunken fools—I am not here to buy liquor.'

‘Nor am I,' said Palfrey.

‘Certainly not!' said his companion, and laughed harshly. ‘That is good—we are not here to buy liquor! I came to speak to you because I was watching you—you showed your contempt for these fools. A contempt I feel, also. Shall we sit together?'

‘I would like to,' murmured Palfrey.

‘Good! I hope there are no women—I do not trust women,' said the other, looking about him where there was at least one woman to every four men. ‘They cannot keep their mouths shut. Oh, some are all right,' he added grudgingly, ‘but I do not trust them, they are too emotional.' He tapped Palfrey on the shoulder. ‘You take my advice, and do not use them. Only sell to them! And if you want more advice, come to me—I am good at dispensing it!' He laughed again; he had small, yellowish teeth, widely spaced, and when he laughed Palfrey could see right into his mouth. ‘Karl Gleber, of Aachen— everyone knows Karl Gleber in Aachen!'

A bell rang.

Take your seats, please!' cried the attendant, ‘take your seats, please!'

‘Let us go,' said Karl Gleber of Aachen.

There was a crush in a doorway at the far end of the room. Half a dozen men finished their drinks hastily and banged down their glasses to be refilled. Several others stood on the fringe of the crowd – and Palfrey saw that most of those, like he and Gleber, wore the red cards. He fingered his own as he joined the crush. There was a curtained doorway, and a steward in a short white jacket and green trousers was holding the curtain aside. The people streamed through. Palfrey caught a glimpse of a small auditorium and a stage where the footlights were already on, and from which soft music was coming; he could see the heads of the men in the orchestra in the pit in front of the stage. His disappointment was so great that it actually entered his head to make an excuse and to leave.

‘Please,' the steward said, and pointed to a door which Palfrey had not noticed before. It was marked in Dutch, Belgian and French: ‘
Private
'
.

Gleber, just ahead of him, went through that doorway. Palfrey followed. He expected to find himself in a box, thinking that the red cards were emblems of rank and that the wearers would have a better position in the theatre. He was startled when he found himself first in a long, red-walled passage with Gleber and several others ahead of him, and more startled when, in the room at the end of the passage, he found about thirty chairs set out in front of a platform, as for a meeting. There was a table on the platform, and three wooden armchairs. As he moved towards a seat at the back of the rows, pulling at Gleber's coat to prevent Gleber from going too near the front, a man walked on to the platform – vast, impressive, superlatively well dressed.

It was Dias, a happy Dias, who was beaming and rubbing his hands. The diamonds in his rings glinted beneath the light which shone upon his glossy head.

The lighting in the room was much better than in the theatre or in the bar.