Shadow of Doom (3 page)

 

Lyme's was a small and exclusive chop-house not far from the
Lanchester.
They met there at half past one, and were escorted to a table by a venerable, soft-voiced, waiter, who hovered about them and made much of them, whispered promises and stole away. Lyme's was remarkable in so far as there was always room for just another one or two patrons of long standing. There were mysterious doors leading to mysterious rooms, alcoves sheltered by heavy curtains, much red plush, a great variety of old prints on the walls, prints which meant nothing to the casual observer but much to habitués of Lyme's. All the prints were friends, all the waiters were friends, a new face above a spotless white shirt-front was enough to cause comment. No one ever raised his voice at Lyme's; somehow even the crowded little bar was quiet, but just as friendly.

Palfrey looked about the room. He had come to Lyme's chiefly because among the regular patrons were eminent gentlemen from the Foreign Office and the War Office, in fact from Whitehall in general. The Marquis of Brett was often there.

‘Hallo,' said Palfrey, ‘there's Bobby.'

Drusilla looked round, noting that his voice was brighter. Two middle-aged men who contrived to look young, lean of figure and gay of face, had entered and were being ushered towards another miraculously vacant table. One was fair, the other dark. The fair one was Mr. Robert Fairweather, who had once been in a position to tell many secrets of Moscow, Teheran, Yalta and Berlin. Bobby had a bright and roving eye, and looked the last man to be the repository of State secrets. His friend was a stranger to Palfrey.

Palfrey caught the fair man's eye.

Bobby waved, leaned forward and murmured to his friend, and sauntered over. As if by magic a chair was placed behind him and he sat down, although he could not have seen the chair put into position.

‘Judging from your expression, you wanted a word in my ear,' he said, ‘and I can give you five minutes, old chap. Can't desert the Old School any longer than that.' He grimaced. ‘Fellow with a son wants a sinecure at the F.O.: the least I can do is to give him lunch and tell him that sinecures exist no longer. Shoot.' Having given that command, Bobby did some more shooting himself. ‘I see you can't keep your face out of the picture papers, old chap. Shameful vanity. It wasn't even a good photograph. What's this about going on the old travels again? I've heard whispers. Special authority for
the
Dr. Palfrey.'

‘His Excellency Señor Fernandez y Dias to you,' said Palfrey.

‘Don't hobnob with His Excellency,' said Bobby. He dabbed with a table-napkin at the soft brown foam on his lips. ‘Nasty piece of machinery altogether. In Europe on some special mission. I wouldn't trust him as far as his watch-chain stretches across his waistcoat. Friend of yours?' he added, in sudden alarm.

‘A great friend,' said Palfrey. ‘He offered me all the riches of the Andes if I will go to Castilia to heal the President's wife.'

‘
Wife,
'
said Bobby, and looked at Drusilla. ‘Forgive your husband's innocence. His Excellency the President of Castilia, just now, has no wife. But he has a harem, I'm told.'

‘What's his name?' asked Palfrey.

‘This ignorance,' said Bobby, sadly. ‘Bruno.'

‘Really?' asked Drusilla.

‘His Excellency Señor So-and-So Such-and-Such Bruno,' declared Bobby. ‘There's no doubt of it. I don't know how long he will be President. Don't go. He probably thinks you're a surgeon and wants you to be at hand to take out the bullets before it can be said that he has died from his wounds. Someone will, of course, some day shoot at him. But this is fiction,' said Bobby, ‘all but the name. I'm sorry about my Old School. Nothing I would like better than to gaze dreamily into Drusilla's eyes. Does Sap ever tell you about your eyes, Drusilla?'

‘Occasionally,' said Drusilla.

‘Then he
is
a Sap. They should be a subject for breakfast, luncheon, tea and dinner, cocktails, liqueurs—what have I forgotten, there should be seven.'

‘Elevenses,' said Drusilla, gravely.

‘And clever, too,' marvelled Bobby. ‘I take it you want
to
know whether one of Bruno's beauties has T.B., Sap?'

‘Please,' said Palfrey.

‘Nothing guaranteed,' said Bobby, ‘but I'll try. Delicate subject, you know. Touchy people, these South Americans. Few are such rogues as His Excellency Señor Fernandez y Dias, however. The man has a reputation for chicanery second to none. Secret missions are his speciality, and I did hear say that he had a scale of charges. Mission to Washington, 1000 silver dollars; to London, 10,000—look what it costs to travel— to Madrid before the end of the war, a million, more or less; to Berlin also before the end of the war, billions! A clever man, a dangerous man, and he's never yet been caught out. But he catches a lot of people. Will you be at home tonight?'

‘Yes,' said Palfrey.

‘Thanks,' said Bobby, and finished his stout. He rose, and the chair was taken away from him. ‘Be sorry for me,' he said, and sauntered back, smiling his apologies at the solitary figure of the Old School.

It was three o'clock before they left Lyme's. Immediately they reached the flat they were off again, for Drusilla's maid was waiting for them with a message: the Marquis of Brett would like to see them as soon as possible. That suggested further progress. It was all going swimmingly, thought Palfrey; his doubts and hesitation had gone, he had almost forgotten the consulting rooms. In the visit of Dias there had been an irresistible challenge.

Brett was in a downstairs room, small, charming, displaying some rare and very valuable pieces of Sheraton. In that room he rested most afternoons, but if he had been asleep he hid the traces well.

‘News?' asked Palfrey, almost too eagerly.

‘I don't think you'll have any need to worry about the money,' said the Marquis. ‘Lumsden is interested.'

That was like the Marquis. Few preliminaries, just a simple sentence or two which said a great deal. The name ‘Lumsden' conjured up a vision of a big, gruff-voiced man, a manufacturer of internal-combustion engines who had worked himself up from being an apprentice in a small engineering shop to a controller of many millions. Steadfastly he refused a knighthood and greater honours, constantly he reviewed worthy causes and gave much money to them. A solid, stolid Midlander who stood no nonsense.

‘Wonderful!' exclaimed Drusilla.

‘He would like to see you, Sap, this afternoon if you can manage it,' said Brett.

‘
If!
'
cried Palfrey. ‘Where?'

‘At his house,' said Brett. ‘Drusilla had better stay and tell me what has been happening this morning. Something has, I know or your eyes wouldn't be quite so bright.'

Palfrey left Drusilla and went by taxi to Lumsden's house which was in Grosvenor Place, a tall, grey, drab building, the exterior giving no hint of the magnificence inside. Lumsden did not hesitate to enjoy the advantages that money could bring him. He was a widower with a daughter and two sons, one of them with a reputation for fast living.

On the way Palfrey was too absorbed in contemplation of getting Lumsden's financial backing to think much of what Bobby Fairweather had told him, but it was at the back of his mind. He was not really surprised that Dias had frequently taken special missions to Axis countries during the war. Many of the missions were suspect, but few people knew exactly what had transpired. That they had to do with the building up of large fortunes for Axis leaders was the most popular theory, and probably that was not far wrong.

In his study, Lumsden took Palfrey's hand in a powerful grip. Palfrey, who looked as if he had a limp handshake, responded with one as powerful. Lumsden's grip relaxed and he smiled.

‘I've often heard of you, Dr. Palfrey,' he said. ‘Sit down, man, make yourself at home.' He pushed cigars and cigarettes across a black-topped table, and sank into an easy chair. He was dressed in Harris tweeds and looked shaggy of hair and eyebrows. He had shaved badly, and there was a cut near his right ear. Deep-set eyes seemed to penetrate to Palfrey's thoughts. It was easy to understand this man's success. ‘Now tell me all about it,' he said, when Palfrey had lit a cigarette.

The Palfrey who answered was the Palfrey of the consulting-room, crisp, decisive, allowing no doubt. The radium was there, but it could not be expected that the Government would finance the expedition to obtain it until they felt convinced of its existence and sure that there was a reasonable chance of finding it. The cost of the expedition could not be calculated in advance, and he would not like to venture an estimate.

He talked for five minutes, judging that enough for Lumsden, whose face fit up with a smile when he finished.

‘Thank you, Palfrey. Ay, it's good to hear a man who knows what he's talking about. The Government
should
back you, but we won't go into that, I know they won't. I will—on one condition.'

‘To what limit?' asked Palfrey.

‘I'll set no limit.'

‘That should make a condition easy to bear,' said Palfrey.

Lumsden laughed. ‘You're blunt, Palfrey, though you don't look it. Now I've a shock for you, and I don't think you'll like it. I want you to take my son along with you.'

Palfrey kept a poker-face; but his hand strayed to his hair.

‘Which one?' he asked.

‘Charles,' said Lumsden, and added: ‘The wild one.' His eyes were smiling, but behind the smile Palfrey thought he sensed the old man's regret that he had to call either of his sons ‘the wild one.' He felt quite sure, too, that Lumsden doubted whether the condition would be accepted.

‘Why wish this on to him?' Palfrey asked.

‘Or why wish him on to you?' said Lumsden, ‘It will do him good, Palfrey. He's a fool in some ways. He's young—or youngish. Twenty-six. He spent most of the war in the Middle East, behind the lines, and he got soft. He wants hardening. I think the right stuff is in him—I'm talking to you,' Lumsden added, ‘as a doctor. About Charles.'

‘Of course,' said Palfrey, ‘but if I take him, my friends must know all there is to know about him. I can't keep details back. He might be the weak link.'

‘Ay, tell them, but only them,' said Lumsden. ‘Well?'

‘I'll have to see him,' said Palfrey.

‘I'll tell him to come to you,' said Lumsden.

‘Does he know what you have in mind?'

Lumsden gave his deep laugh again. ‘I've told him nothing except that you need some young men with time to spare and who can speak several languages,' he said, ‘and he can
talk
in a good many. I think he can rough it. I want to know,' went on the millionaire, ‘what he can stand and whether he has a breaking-point, and I'm prepared to pay all your expenses to find out.'

‘It seems fair,' said Palfrey. ‘Supposing we find the radium?'

‘Now, watch yourself,' said Lumsden, growling; ‘I want no return for my money except the truth about Charles. I'm after no interest on outlay or share of profits. You ought to know better than that.'

‘I must be sure,' said Palfrey.

‘Yes, yes,' said Lumsden. ‘All right, Palfrey. You won't have much time to spare. I won't detain you.'

‘Let's not go too fast,' said Palfrey. He took another cigarette, then leaned back in his chair and was lost in it. ‘Your son might be helpful in more ways than one. He will be exposed to danger on the Continent, he might be exposed to some before we start.'

‘Ay,' said Lumsden, drawing his brows together. ‘How?'

Palfrey said: ‘If he joins us, then I would like a story put out in the Press. That he's coming with me on a mysterious special mission. I can get it in tomorrow morning, and for two days he might, like me, be a marked man. Also he
might
be approached by strangers who are not well disposed towards us. Am I clear?'

‘He'll not
betray
you,' said Lumsden.

‘Will you accept the risk for him?' asked Palfrey. ‘He isn't used to this work. If he is looking out for trouble he might betray the fact unwittingly. If he's approached by other people, innocence will serve a better purpose than knowledge.'

Lumsden was silent for a long time, and then he said, quietly, with a gentle smile: ‘Do what you will, Palfrey.'

‘Danger notwithstanding ?'

‘Ay.'

Palfrey said: ‘It's a pity you're not able to come yourself, sir.'

Lumsden was still chuckling when Palfrey left, and Palfrey was smiling. The smile grew set as he walked across Hyde Park Corner. There was a great risk in taking a man who was inexperienced in such affairs. Charles Lumsden might become a burden, might need protecting, might put the brake on them at a time when without him they could move quickly. Yet it had taken Brett some time to find a sponsor; that meant that not many people were willing to risk the money.

It was not easy to reach a decision.

He went back to Brierly Place and told Drusilla and Brett. Drusilla was in two minds; Brett turned the scales by saying that if Palfrey received a good impression of the man he should take him.

Palfrey regarded the Marquis owlishly. ‘That's fair, I suppose. Or is it? Are you putting something across me, Marquis?'

‘My dear fellow!' protested Brett.

The answer was not really an answer, and was certainly not satisfying. There was more in Brett's mind than he chose to discuss. It might be of little significance, yet Palfrey was uneasy. Why should Brett keep anything back? Why add even a little to a mystery already deep enough?

‘It's probably my imagination,' thought Palfrey.

‘So it's up to me,' he said to Drusilla. ‘We're going to have a busy night tonight, my sweet!'