Search for a Sultan, page 13
“I’m afraid you’ll never be that anywhere!” laughed Hambledon, “but I must admit you’ve done a wonderful job finding all this out.”
“Wait—you haven’t heard all yet,” said Campbell.
“No, we’ve scarcely begun,” said Forgan. “After Boukhba had gone, the Emir rang up various people about his journey and then someone rang him.”
“And you could hear all this?” asked Tommy.
“As plainly as the Emir could. The man who rang him up announced himself as the Gravedigger. He said he had parted from the rest of the gang, because they intended to betray the Emir and Boukhba, but that he, the Gravedigger, knew what loyalty meant and had got some invaluable information which he was prepared to let the Emir have.”
“At a price, no doubt,” said Hambledon.
“The Emir seemed a bit rattled by the whole thing and asked why the Gravedigger couldn’t see Boukhba about it, but he said he was afraid to go there, because the others might be looking out for him, in fact he hadn’t known quite what to do with his information until he found out accidentally that the Emir had arrived in Paris.”
“There’s a ring of truth about all this,” said Tommy. “Last night when La Cigale came through on the blower, it sounded as if he was surprised that the Gravedigger hadn’t reached the chalet by then, and La Rose said something to the effect that if that long streak of misery had double-crossed them, he’d be digging his own grave in no time. I wonder if he did have any information really?”
“He did,” said Forgan. “Quite useful information, I should say, though nothing like worth the price he was asking.”
“Nothing,” said Campbell, “13,000 new francs—nearly 1,000, ridiculous.”
“But what was the information!” cried Hambledon, exasperated by this prevarication.
“This,” said Forgan, casually, putting an official-looking document down on the table. “It looks like a marriage certificate to me.”
“And this, and this,” added Campbell, putting down two photographs. “They look like family portraits to me.” Hambledon’s eyes literally bulged.
“But this is incredible,” he said. “How on earth did you get them?”
“It was quite simple,” said Campbell. “The Emir told the Gravedigger that he would be out for a little while, but he’d better come along to the hotel and go up to his room to wait for him.”
“So I simply waited for him by the lift,” said Forgan and told him I was the Emir’s secretary and would he kindly come upstairs.”
“Forgan looking so like a wog,” said the red-haired Campbell, “helped enormously. The man followed him at once up to our room.”
“Where is he now?” asked Hambledon.
“Still there,” said Forgan. “We would have brought him with us, only he was rather tied up.”
“Unless of course the chambermaid’s found him. Naturally, we didn’t expect to be away so long.”
“I only hope he hasn’t suffocated,” said Forgan. “Campbell would tie the gag tight.”
Hambledon looked from one to the other of them and shook his head, admiringly.
“Well, you are a couple,” he said. “Here I’ve been chasing all over the place and got nothing more than a good hiding out of it, and you capture one of the gang and get hold of the Prince’s marriage certificate even before you’ve properly started the job. At least, I suppose it is his marriage certificate,” he said, examining it. “1934 … h’m, if the son was born fairly soon after, that would make him quite adult today, wouldn’t it. Marie Dubois … spinster, 29, Rue des Alpes, Paris, 20ieme. H’m, that’s Menilmontant! I suppose there wouldn’t be much chance of there being anyone still at that address who knew her, though it would be worth trying. But in any case, this is enormously helpful because, with people having to carry identity cards in France, you can easily track down somebody from a document like this.”
He picked up the two photos.
“Ah, that’s a copy of the one I had myself,” he said, looking at the first of them. “The one La Rose took. But this other one’s rather interesting. That looks like Lebouchon and his wife—by jove this is the Prince’s wedding evidently! Yes, that’s him all right and the same girl as the one on the boat, only a bit younger, and the Lebouchons and a whole lot of very ordinary looking people. It certainly wasn’t a swank affair, judging from this.”
“I always thought the Prince was a bit of a lad for the highlights,” said Forgan. “One would have supposed his wedding would have been much more of a slap-up do.”
“I’m beginning to suspect that he lived a double life,” said Hambledon, “and was probably much nicer than he appeared in the gossip columns. Anyway, you lads have done a marvellous job, bless you, I can’t tell you how grateful I feel to you. It was really very good of you to drop everything and come over like this, at a moment’s notice.”
“Good of us?” said Campbell. “Good of us to accept a free holiday with all expenses paid, and a chance to try out our new toy?”
“Not to mention seeing the Tunisian narrow-gauge railways,” said Forgan. “We’ve always wanted to study those. I can’t wait to get there.”
“Well, I suppose you’d better get there as soon as possible,” said Tommy. “When did you say this Conference is?”
“The day after tomorrow, but we will want a bit of time to settle in.”
“What about planes?” asked Tommy, “do you know anything about the times? I suppose you will fly?”
“There’s one at 2 o’clock in the morning from Orly,” said Campbell. “That’d be the best one if we can get on it. The Emir is going by an earlier one, but we’d better not catch the same plane.”
“All right,” said Hambledon. “You’d better fix it up right away, and I’d like to get down to this address on the marriage certificate. Goodness knows what’s become of the Lebouchons, or the rest of the gang, so there’s no time to lose. If the Gravedigger’s been tied up all this time, a few minutes longer won’t hurt him, so I suggest you ring up the hotel and ask them not to let anyone go into your room until you come back. Say you’ve got some photographs developing in there and the light will spoil them, or something.”
“Right ho,” said Forgan, “and when will we see you again?”
Tommy looked at his watch.
“I’ll see you in that cafe near your hotel—you know where we used to have breakfast the last time you were over—in say an hour and a half’s time. You’d better not go back to your room without me in case there’s been any bother, I don’t want you getting arrested again and I’ve got Letord’s card to show anybody who might ask me questions.”
The two model makers set off to book their seats and Tommy took a taxi to Menilmontant.
This famous quarter of Paris contains not only the well-known cemetery, the Pere Lachaise, but also some of the oldest and twistiest streets in the capital. Some people say that it is the last home of the real Parisian, the equivalent of London’s cockney, so to speak, and there is no doubt that an inhabitant of Menilmontant is very patriotic about his home district and doesn’t like moving anywhere else. Tommy therefore hoped that he might stand a chance of tracing the Dubois family, even after all this time, but when the taxi put him down, his heart sank. As luck would have it, this particular corner had been almost entirely rebuilt with great modern fiats in place of the old houses, and clearly the whole district had changed out of all recognition since the thirties. The huge apartment blocks soared up like sky-scrapers all round him and he could see it was unlikely he would even be able to trace the street which appeared on the marriage certificate. Once more in fact it seemed he had struck a blind alley and there was nothing for it but to think up something new. Then he paused. Right on the edge of the new big estate remained a few houses of the sort that must once have been ubiquitous here, decrepit old tenements with peeling walls and every now and then a poor-looking shop or café. Might not one of these remember the Dubois family, he wondered? It was at least worth a try.
There was a café on each corner of the road, one brightly lit and full of young people gathered round a juke box, the other decidedly dim and dingy.
“That looks more the sort of place for my purpose,” muttered Tommy to himself; as he made for the entrance, and then his eye caught the inscription over the door:
“Café Du Commerce,” he read. “Proprietor, J. Blanche.”
The family were finishing their supper at a table in the corner when he entered and an oldish woman got up to serve him.
“I’m sorry if I come at an inconvenient time, Madame,” he said, noticing that he was the only customer.
“But no, no,” she said, “monsieur is always welcome. And what is his pleasure?”
Tommy suddenly realised that he felt weary and exceedingly hungry. There was an appetising smell from the kitchen at the back and it made him feel almost faint for something to eat.
“Would it be possible” he asked “to have some of that soup that smells so good.”
The woman looked dubious.
“It’s nothing very grand,” she said. “Just vegetables and a bit of meat stock.”
“That will do me fine,” said Tommy, “with some bread and a carafe of yin rouge.”
While she was getting his order, he studied the family at table and decided that he liked the look of them. The old man, evidently the proprietor, had the big handlebar moustaches of a typical French soldier of the old style and looked bluff but kindly, while the two beside him, a middle-aged woman who bore a strong family resemblance to the proprietress, and a man of about her age, presumably her husband, seemed friendly, if quiet-mannered.
Madame brought the soup and the wine from the kitchen on a tray and then paused:
“Wouldn’t monsieur like to sit down this end of the room?” she asked. “It is perhaps cosier in the corner here with the warmth from the kitchen? For tonight is somewhat chilly, n’est-ce-pas?”
Hambledon thanked her and moved gratefully to the table she indicated, glad of the opportunity to be nearer to them, and when he had dipped into his soup—good, solid nourishment which was just what he wanted after his trials and tribulations—he asked the old man, who had courteously lifted his glass in salute:
“I was wondering if by any chance, monsieur, you might recall a family that used to live at No 29, Rue des Alpes, round here of the name of Dubois? I came to look for them, but found the whole neighbourhood totally changed from what I imagine it must have been when they were here.”
At just about the same time as Tommy was enjoying his soup, Forgan and Campbell were walking along the corridor towards their room in the Hotel.
“I hope Tommy won’t be wild with us for disobeying his instructions,” uttered Forgan. “But I do feel a bit worried about that fellow we tied up.”
“So do I,” agreed Campbell. “If he should suffocate, we’re for it—and don’t forget they still have the guillotine in France.”
“Don’t,” said Forgan, with a shudder as he put the key in the door. “You’re giving me the creeps.”
He switched on the light and they saw that the Gravedigger was still sitting in the chair where they had left him, still bound hand and foot, and still tightly gagged.
The only difference was that when they had left him he was alive, and now—he was dead—very dead.
But he had not been suffocated, or at least that did not appear at first sight to be the cause of his death. Of course a post-mortem examination might prove differently, but what seemed on the face of it the most likely reason for his demise was the long-bladed knife sticking out of his chest.
Chapter XI. The “Soaks”
HAMBLEDON saw at once, from their sheepish look, that the two model makers had done something they ought not to have done.
“Well, what is it?” he asked, “better come clean. Have you been treading on Letord’s corns again, or what?”
“No,” said Forgan, anxiously, “it isn’t that. It’s … well it’s the fellow we tied up, the Gravedigger.”
“Well, what’s happened to him?” asked Hambledon.
“He’s gone,” said Campbell shortly.
“Gone?” said Hambledon. “Where to?”
Forgan and Campbell looked at each other before replying.
“He is with the Emir,” said Forgan at last.
“Oh well, it can’t be helped,” said Hambledon. “I should like to have talked to him, but never mind, I don’t suppose he could have told me much and at least I’ve got something out of the information he provided earlier. But how did you find out anyway? I thought I advised you not to go back to the hotel without me.”
“I told you we’d get into trouble over that,” said Campbell to his partner. “But the fact is we got rather nervous because, when we rang up, the clerk said he thought somebody had gone up to the room, looking for us, earlier on.
“So we thought we’d better go up and have a look,” added Forgan.
“I see,” said Tommy. “Well I think you acted very sensibly under the circumstances.”
“Thank you,” said Campbell, “we always try to do the right thing.”
As a matter of fact that was just what he and his colleague were hoping profoundly they had done, for they were beginning to have second thoughts about it!
When they had been confronted with the corpse of the Gravedigger, their first thought, of course, was how to get rid of it! To notify the police or leave it in their own room where it might be discovered at any moment, would mean, at best, that their trip to Tunis would have to be postponed, and at worst it might involve Hambledon, as well as themselves, in more and much worse trouble with the police.
“If only we could think of somewhere to dump it,” said Forgan.
“If only …” echoed Campbell.
It was then that simultaneously they had the appalling idea. “Oh, but no, we daren’t,” said Forgan, beginning to giggle. “Besides he might be there.”
“He isn’t,” said Campbell, with a grin. “I asked at the desk.”
“The detectives might get us again,” protested Forgan, who was now laughing openly at the outrageousness of their proposal.
“Not if we go down the fire escape,” said Campbell. “Remember, they’re only on duty in the corridor.”
“If we both carry him down and then you go back and distract their attention while I’m breaking open the back door,” said Forgan thoughtfully, “I could easily manage to drag him into the apartment and then we’ll beat it.”
“Tell you what,” said Campbell. “The desk clerk told me that the Emir isn’t going until tomorrow after all, so we could catch the earlier plane.”
“The sooner the better, if we can pull this off,” said the other. “Do you think we dare, though?”
“Sure, we dare,” said Campbell. “After all it’s only a joke. You can’t get jailed for having a bit of fun.”
“They might not think it was fun,” said Forgan.
“I bet the Emir doesn’t,” laughed Campbell. “Come on, give us a hand down the escape!”
“By the way,” said Forgan, to Hambledon as they sipped their drinks, “we’ve heard that the Emir isn’t going until tomorrow, so we thought we’d try and get on the earlier plane.”
“Will you have time?” asked Tommy, glancing at his watch.
“If we don’t stay here too long,” said Campbell, who, like his confrere, felt the less time they spent in that neighbourhood the better.
“Well, you might as well get along now,” said Tommy, “I don’t need you any more, and I haven’t even got a bed for myself yet, so I don’t want to hang about. Have they any room at the Ambassador by the way?” he asked.
“No,” said Forgan quickly. “They’re packed out. There were people sitting on their luggage outside our room, waiting to take it over, when we left.”
Hambledon looked at him closely and then at Campbell.
“You know,” he said, “there’s something fishy about this. Why are you in such a hurry to get away—have you been up to something really?”
“Don’t be silly,” said Forgan, “what could we have been up to?”
“That’s just what I’m wondering,” groaned Tommy. “Practically anything, from what I know of you.”
“You are unjust to us,” said Campbell. “All we wanted to do was to get on with the job for you as soon as possible.”
“All right,” said Tommy. “I believe you, though lots wouldn’t. Get cracking then, and don’t forget, your job is to watch, not to act. Remember, in Tunis I haven’t got any friends at court like Letord here, and if you get into trouble you’ll have to get yourselves out of it.”
“We Hear and Obey, Lord,” said Forgan, rising and giving Tommy a deep salaam.
“Yes, we had better polish up our oriental manner,” said Forgan. “It would never do for us to look conspicuous in the bazaars.”
“Let me know as soon as you get there where you are staying,” said Tommy. “Ring me through Letord, no, better not perhaps—wait, I know, I’ll go to the Hotel du Pantheon, they know me well there and will find a bed for me somehow, and in any case they’ll take a message. Here’s the number,” he went on, opening his diary, “write it down and don’t fail to communicate as soon as you’re settled in.”
“We shall do our best with the help of Allah and his only True Prophet,” said Forgan, making another obeisance.
“Forgan has spoken,” said Campbell, following suit, and with immense solemnity he uttered the single word” Kismet! “
Hambledon was dog-tired by the time he reached the little hotel on the Left Bank which for many years he had used as a hide-out when he wanted to remain inconspicuous in Paris, and not a little discouraged. Everywhere he turned it seemed to him, he came up against a blank wall and although he hoped Forgan and Campbell might do some good in Tunis, he could not help feeling that the gang must by now be so far ahead of him that their efforts would be in vain. His bruises were still extremely tender, and he found the mass of bandages in which he was swathed irritating almost beyond endurance, so that for hours after he had crawled to bed he could not sleep, in spite of his fatigue. And when at last he did drop off, he seemed to have been asleep for no more than a few minutes when heavy knocks on the door awakened him.
