Shadow of Doom (8 page)

 

It could not be said that Dias ate with gusto, but he did show some interest, in a contemplative fashion, in his food. Lozana, who at first had looked as if he were suffering from seasickness, suddenly attacked his food savagely. Plates came and went. Champagne ebbed and flowed. It had no noticeable effect on Dias's spirits, and Lozana might as well have been drinking Vichy water for all the exhilaration he showed. Only Palfrey seemed to benefit from the sparkling, bubbling champagne.

‘You are talking absolute nonsense, Doctor,' declared Dias, much more himself. There was even a faint smile on his small red lips.

‘Oh yes,' said Palfrey, ‘and I'm the first to admit it. It's the champagne. But in my chitter-chatter there may be a grain or two of common sense. That's what you ought to pick out. You probably see the danger signals. Here is your time to retreat or else to declare further war.'

Dias did not speak, but he smiled more freely.

‘No?' murmured Palfrey, sadly. ‘That's a pity. But you know your own motives best. What's your price? Would half a million pounds interest you?'

Dias gaped.

‘So it would,' said Palfrey. ‘I wish I had half as much, it would be worth it. Still, I haven't. Messrs. Bane and Anderson might have, don't you think? Old Josh could even put it up himself.'

He glanced swiftly at Lozana, for Dias had steeled himself and was not likely to give away much information by his expression. Lozana, on the other hand, had been left out of the conversation for so long that he probably had less control over his face. He had. He looked dumbfounded.

‘Well, well!' said Palfrey. ‘Railways and ships run by radium!'

Dias half rose from his chair, and crashed his clenched fist on the table. A glass sprang into the air and fell, a plate was shaken from the table, knives and forks clattered to the floor. People stopped talking and turned to stare at him, and waiters came hurrying. Dias sank back in his chair, now looking unmoved. The outburst had done him good, he had been repressing his feelings far more than was good for him. Now he sat back while the mess was cleared up, watching Palfrey closely all the time.

A waiter brought ice cream.

‘M'm, good,' said Palfrey. ‘Well, what are we going to do?'

‘I do not think that I have ever listened to so much nonsense in my life,' said Dias. ‘I do not understand what you have been talking about. Apparently you are looking for some radium. I am not interested in radium. It has no effect on me.'

‘But it might on the President's lady,' murmured Palfrey.

‘You choose to joke about a matter of delicacy and importance,' said Dias. ‘I cannot prevent you. The English have appalling manners at all times, and I am not surprised at anything. I warn you, Dr. Palfrey, that I am not a man to be ridiculed. I am a person of some importance.'

‘That's a matter of opinion,' said Palfrey. ‘I don't rate you very high. All right, it's war. Up to now I have been purely on the defensive. From now on, attack!' He pushed his chair back, stood up, and bowed. ‘Thank you, Excellency, for a most enjoyable lunch!' He nodded to Lozana and sauntered off.

Lozana and Dias did not speak after he had gone, but got up and stalked out, followed by the two attendants. Palfrey watched them from the lounge. Bruton was by his side.

‘You've given them plenty to think about,' said Bruton, cheerfully. ‘I like the look on Dias's face. Full of the milk of human kindness!' There was an air of repressed excitement about the little American. ‘How did it go?' he asked.

‘Well, I hope,' said Palfrey, ‘but Dias is deeper than he sometimes looks. What about you?'

Bruton winked.

‘Did you get something?' Palfrey asked, with quickening interest. He had not thought it likely that the others would find anything of particular interest in Lozana's room; the man was not likely to leave important papers there.

‘Dr. Palfrey,' said Bruton, ‘I think we got enough to satisfy you. Names and addresses in a small book in a false bottom of Lozana's suit-case—and what a suit-case!' He turned and went on talking in undertones as they went towards the entrance. ‘We left the book there after copying the names and addresses. One was yours, Sap!'

‘Oh,' said Palfrey, surprised.

‘One,' said Bruton, ‘was Papa Giraud's.'

‘One of us ought to be insulted,' said Palfrey.

‘Another was of a M'sieu Garon, of the Rue de Lui,' said Bruton, in high fettle, ‘and there were three others—one in Antwerp, one in Stockholm, and one in Berlin. The last name in the book,' added Bruton, ‘is Colonel Baron van Kriess. They don't call them colonels now, do they?
Au revoir
to Herr Obersts, just plain Herrs. Not bad, Sap?'

‘
Very
good,' said Palfrey.

‘And extremely secret,' said Bruton, ‘or the book wouldn't have been tucked away so safely. There was another thing. We didn't bring it; we thought it better that Lozana should not know we'd paid a visit.'

‘Rightly,' said Palfrey. ‘What was it?'

‘A curious thing. Remember Charles Lumsden's story of the black masks?'

‘Yes,' said Palfrey. ‘But they would be too large to go in a concealed bottom of a suit-case.'

‘They were, but what I saw wasn't,' said Bruton. ‘Neil made a sketch of it, and he wasn't far out in size. It's a miniature mask, about the size of a shilling piece. A bauble to go on a watch-chain, maybe.' Seeing Palfrey's thoughtful expression, he added: ‘We could go back for it.'

‘No,' said Palfrey. ‘I've upset Dias and Lozana enough for one day. It is better to leave it. I ought to get to Rotterdam, the delay is worrying me,' said Palfrey. ‘This started with van Doorn, and his friends or his family might know more about it. Stefan and 'Silla had better come with me, while you and the others follow by road, after a preliminary visit to 17 Rue de Lui.' He pulled at his hair.

‘And some more,' said Bruton. ‘We're to watch Dias and Lozana.'

‘Well, you
could
slide that in,' said Palfrey, ‘Garon, Garon, Garon,' he repeated. ‘The name's familiar. I seem to know it well. Have you heard it before?'

‘I've
seen
the name,' said Bruton.

‘Where?'

‘Over shops,' said Bruton, and he was suddenly intent. ‘Giraud was in Black Market stuff, and
Garon et Cie
is a multiple firm of food stores, Sap. Can it be
that
Garon?'

‘Where's the Rue de Lui?'

‘I'll find out,' said Bruton, and went to the reception desk. He was there for some time, and came back with the information that M. Pierre Garon, of 17 Rue de Lui,
was
the owner of the chain of food stores, and that the Rue de Lui was a short thoroughfare off the Champs Elysées. The houses there were large; it was a street of the wealthy.

‘We'll put Raoul on to this, for a start,' said Palfrey. ‘Where is he?'

‘Drinking bubbly, probably,' said Bruton.

De Morency was outside a café near the .hotel. Erikson, he said, had left in the wake of Dias. He wanted to know what Palfrey had done to make the South American look so much like death. Palfrey gave him a brief outline, and before de Morency could comment, added: ‘But the others have done better with these names and addresses. What do you know about Pierre Garon, of the Rue de Lui?'

De Morency raised his eyebrows, wrinkled his nose, and struck an attitude.

‘Stinking fish,' he said.

‘How high does he stink?' asked Bruton.

‘Very high,' said de Morency. ‘I cannot make up my mind about him, Sap. He is tolerated, no more. He has genius for organisation, and yet—it would not surprise me if one day he is arrested and proved to be one of the worst collaborators. He is in great trouble now because his shops are often unable to supply rationed goods. It is suggested that he sells them on the Black Market. He has, of course, one of the biggest companies in Paris—in Western France, one could say. His shops are everywhere. Only two days ago I saw a mob break into one, and they did not leave much on the shelves—
or
many of the shelves,' he added, with a grimace.

‘Dias knows him,' Palfrey said.

‘I am not surprised,' said de Morency, ‘but he also knows us.'

 

It was after dark when de Morency, Bruton and Erikson went to reconnoitre the house of M. Pierre Garon. A quarter of an hour after they had left, there was a telephone call for Palfrey.

It was de Morency, and he wasted no time.

‘Bring Stefan here, quickly,' he said, and rang off without giving Palfrey a chance to ask questions.

‘You stay here,' Palfrey said to Drusilla. ‘Please!'

She watched him and Stefan hurry out.

It was only ten minutes' walk to the Rue de Lui. They were not more than half-way there before they were aware of excitement among the people passing them, people thronging the sidewalks and the roadway, and most of them going in one direction. Fire-engines were clanging on their way through the crowds, and by the time they were a few hundred yards from the Rue de Lui they could see the red glow of a fire not far off.

They reached the corner of the street.

Gendarmes
were struggling to keep back the crowd, which was pouring into the roadway, preventing traffic from passing. Firemen were bellowing, bells were ringing, but the people seemed to have lost their heads and would not move aside. Some distance along the road they were roaring, a deep-throated angry roar.

Stefan said: ‘Mob law, Sap.'

Palfrey said: ‘Can you force a way through?'

‘Yes,' said Stefan.

He thrust his way forward, striking out when people tried to get in his way. The fire further along the street was brighter now, and in the lurid red glare faces were clearly visible. People at the back of the crowd were taking up the roar. Stefan forged ahead, with Palfrey close by him, and the crowd closed behind them. The
gendarmes
were helpless now, and gave up the struggle.

They reached Number 17.

It was ablaze from the first floor up, and flames were beginning to shoot skywards. A stronger cordon of police had managed to keep the masses out of the grounds, but a few people had passed them and were flinging stones and bricks into the windows; glass was crashing, the roar of the mob was louder, almost drowning the sound of the flames.

De Morency came up.

‘You're too late,' he said. His voice was harsh. ‘I hoped you'd get here in time, Stefan.'

Palfrey snapped: ‘Where are Corny and Neil?'

‘Oh,
they
are all right,' said de Morency sombrely. ‘We were all inside when the crowd first arrived—they broke down the front door and stormed in. We got Garon away from them and kept him for a while, but they got him back at last. They're quite mad. It was Garon or us,' he added, defensively. ‘We did all we could.'

Palfrey said: ‘Where is Garon?'

‘You will see,' said de Morency.

Erikson and Bruton came up, and they too were morose, as well as disappointed and angry with themselves, for they believed they could have done more. For the time being they stood by, with people jostling them on all sides, watching the flames. One fire-engine had forced its way through, and the
gendarmes
were again laying about them to clear a path for the men, but nothing could save the house.

Palfrey said again: ‘Where
is
Garon?'

‘Up there,' said Bruton.

The heat was almost suffocating, smuts fluttered down on to their faces, and it was difficult to breathe. They moved back. Stefan worked with the police, shaming the others by his example. They forced the crowd back and the firemen came through – and as they started to rig the hoses the roof of the house crashed in. Flames shot hundreds of feet into the air, and there was a concerted roar of alarm. The people rushed back, unbidden now, but there was no immediate danger.

Then, in a window of the second floor, a man appeared.

He was visible against the fiery glow, a tall, bearded man – and his beard was on fire! He was screaming and gesticulating, snatching at his beard, trying to put out the flames. His hair caught fire, and went up in a blaze. They could hear his screams above the roar of the flames, for the crowd was hushed now, and stood watching with bated breath.

The man, in a frenzy of pain and torment, flung himself out of the window.

It was Garon. When he was picked up his neck was found to be broken.

 

 

It proved that the ringleaders of the mob which had started the attack on Garon had deliberately set fire to the house. That was the point on which Palfrey tried to concentrate. Had they gone for Garon, dragged him from his house and hanged or knifed him, the obvious explanation would probably have been the right one. Garon was distrusted and hated – and Garon had been sacrified to appease the anger of the crowds.

Next day Palfrey learned more about Garon.

It was Dominade who told him most, a worried Dominade, in whose district the outrage had been committed. There was no
proof
that Garon had been a Black Market trader, but the people believed he was. He had been a consultant to the Government, and the people blamed him as well as the Ministers. The Paris Press was divided; some demanded the immediate resignation of the ministers concerned with food and its distribution, others upheld both the Government and Garon. It was impossible to say which was right; only one thing stood out crystal clear: the food situation had in it the seeds of disaster.

Palfrey sent a report to Brett, in code; that was the least he could do, although it was hardly a matter for an Intelligence Department.

He would not commit himself to an opinion about Dias's activities where Garon was concerned. The fact that the name had been in the book was not evidence enough to show that Dias and Garon were associates. It was even possible that Dias had marked Garon down –
for death,
thought Palfrey.

He told only Stefan of that, as they were sitting in the lounge of the
Bristol
on the following evening. Drusilla was upstairs, and they were waiting for her before having coffee. De Morency, Erikson and Bruton had gone to the theatre, for there had been no work on hand for the night. All trace of Dias had been lost. What particular play they had selected Palfrey did not know.

All three of the men had been morose all day, blaming themselves for the death of Garon. They were convinced that if they had acted more quickly they might have saved his life, and the terrified man would probably have told them the truth. De Morency had telephoned from the house for Stefan, believing that Stefan's strength might help them to save the man, but help had come too late.

It was better, Palfrey thought, to let them get the incident out of their systems in the way they thought best.

Stefan, who rarely smoked, rolled a cigarette between his fingers, and murmured: ‘You think perhaps Dias inspired that mob?'

‘He might have done,' said Palfrey. ‘I was on the list, and he's tried to kill me. I know it's guesswork. I won't even say that I think it's likely, but it
is
possible.'

‘And leads us where?' asked Stefan.

‘Nowhere. That's the devil of it.' Palfrey lit a cigarette and moodily watched the smoke. ‘If all of us in the book were concerned with food or food distribution I would be inclined to say that we knew what Dias was really doing. But von Kriess isn't connected with food.'

‘What about the others?' asked Stefan.

‘One is Jacques Midaut, of Antwerp,' said Palfrey. ‘A shipowner, and owner of some of the Antwerp docks. The other is Kurt Knudsen, a Stockholm fishing-fleet owner. I think we'd better wait for more developments. Before going to Rotterdam, you and I had better go to Antwerp. That'll be the only change in plans, so far—unless we get news of Dias.'

‘I think you are wise,' said Stefan. ‘Will you leave a message for Charles Lumsden?'

‘Yes,' said Palfrey, and his eyes brightened; they aways brightened when he saw Drusilla.

She walked towards them slowly, dressed in the green suit, eyed surreptitiously by many men. Palfrey stood up and pushed a chair forward. A waiter came at once; waiters rarely kept Drusilla waiting for long.

They were drinking coffee, and Palfrey was looking towards the dining-room, now nearly empty, when a voice spoke from behind him.

‘Hallo, Palfrey!'

Palfrey swung round.

‘Charles!' said Drusilla, in surprise.

Stefan got up quickly, towering over Charles Lumsden.

The young Englishman was beaming, highly pleased with himself. He showed few traces of his London misadventure. Two small pieces of sticking plaster, one on his temple and the other on his cheek, and an eye which was slightly swollen, were all that remained.

His eyes widened when Palfrey introduced Stefan.

‘I was afraid you'd move on without me,' he said, ‘and decided to come ahead of time. I hope it's all right,' he added, rather anxiously.