Night Train to Paris, page 21
“‘Bout an hour. Hour an’ a “alf, maybe.”
“Come and show me,” said the constable, and led the way with the barrel organ yawing and pitching behind him. Before they reached ‘This Wharf To Let” he had to lend a hand with the pushing, but the dignity of London policemen is, as everyone knows, innate and unaffected by circumstance.
“You’re certain this is the place?”
His companion pointed a shaking finger at the notice.
“Yes, I see.” The constable thought for a moment and then drew himself up by his hands to look over the fence. There was a small van on the far side by the edge of the wharf; it had no business to be on a vacant wharf unless, of course, the caretaker had given permission. He knew who the caretaker was and where he lived in a street near by. The constable let himself down again and addressed his companion, who was languidly draped against his organ.
“You stay here, see? I’ll be back in a minute.”
When the constable returned with the caretaker and the key, they had first to remove the organ-grinder, who was sitting on the ground with his back against the door, fast asleep. Even then the organ proved useful, since the caretaker had to climb the gate to undo the iron bar which Yudin had dropped into place. Constable and caretaker went in, shutting the door behind them.
“That van’s got no business to be “ere,” said the caretaker. “I didn’t give no permission for no one to put no van. in ’ere.”
They examined it; it offered no evidence except the name and address of the owner; Chadai had liked it quite normally for the evening on the pretext of wanting to move a few chairs. They left it and walked about the wharf which, apart from the intruded van, was as bare and empty as a hungry dog’s dinner plate five minutes later.
‘There’s no one here,” said the constable, throwing the long ray of his torch about him.
“There’s something out there, look,” he added, pointing at a dim object in the middle of the river. “Looks like a launch of some sort without lights,”
“You’re right. Not under way, neither, just drifting. Tide’s falling; she may go miles, but they’ll be run down as sure as—” He paused, curved his hands about his mouth and bellowed: “Launch there, ahoy!”
“Maybe there’s nobody aboard,” said the constable, “just come adrift on her own.”
“There is someone aboard, can’t you ’ear? Tryin’ to start the engine. They’ve got ’er, too,”
The launch engine broke into an uneven sputter and steadied; a dim light appeared and a figure could be seen at the wheel. The boat got under way and moved slowly upstream on the further side. It passed the wharf, turned in a wide sweep under Tower Bridge, and was lost to sight.
“If that is them what was ere,” said the caretaker gloomily, “they’ve been and gone.”
The policeman agreed, but at that moment they heard the engine stop once more. The launch came into view again, nearer the wharf this time; as it drifted past there could be heard the sound of men’s voices raised in anger.
“Spot of bovver,” said the caretaker. “Now, if the River Police was ever where they’re wanted—”
The launch lost way, stopped, and began very slowly to swing round in the current.
“Someone,” said the caretaker, “ought to go out an’ give those pore beggars a tow ’fore some’un comes along an’ cuts ’em’—Gorramighty!”
The boat they were watching burst suddenly into a bright sheet of flame.
20. Next Of Kin
laurence logan came out of the tobacconist’s side door and turned towards the White Swan, thinking that he had had nearly enough of London and wanted to go back to Paris, So long as he kept up this pose of having lost his memory, he could not even have Papert in London, for if he really had he would not remember the Frenchman. Something would have to be done to speed up this business; no one had even seen the Russians since they had bolted out of his fiat the night he returned from Paris. He looked up, and there, twenty paces ahead and walking away from him, was Yudin, That is, it looked like Yudin’s back, his carriage and his walk; of course it might be someone like—
The man ahead suddenly looked round, and Logan saw his face. It was Yudin. A look of terror passed over the Russian’s face and he began to run away; Logan, forgetting all Hambledon’s warnings, immediately gave chase. The green van moved off, but he made a spring, pulled himself up and fell headfirst into the van. Even as he did so Chadai, who was crouched waiting for him, hit him on the back of the neck with a cosh and Logan subsided into unconsciousness.
The doors swung together at the back; Chadai caught them and fastened them shut. They had one small oval window in each door through which Chadai watched with interest Hambledon stopping a taxi and setting off in pursuit, Chadai recognized him at once; this was the Englishman who had been with Logan in Paris, who was friendly with the French police and who knew so much too much about three Russians. Well, if he wished to gate-crash this party they would try to give him an adequate welcome.
Accordingly, when the big doors of “This Wharf To Let” closed behind the green van and Yudin came to help lift out the prisoner, Chadai sent him to sit in the driver’s seat out of sight and himself waited with the van doors open a little so that he could hear as well as see what should come. He heard footsteps outside, quiet but plainly audible, followed by a scrabbling sound as a head appeared above the fence, outlined against the lighter street. There was an audible grunt and the head disappeared; Chadai waited but there came no more scrabbling noises. Evidently the Englishman had decided that he could not climb the fence and was considering what to do next. At last there came the sound for which Chadai waited—quick footsteps walking away.
“Yudin!”
Yudin came running round the van.
“That was the Englishman I told you about. He followed us in a taxi. He looked over the fence.”
“Was he alone?”
“I think so. He has gone away now but he—Listen!”
The rumble of a vehicle being wheeled towards them; it stopped and there was the sound of voices, though the words were inaudible. The trundling noise started again and came nearer, accompanied by a grumbling monologue in a man’s voice; the words were indistinguishable until the speaker reached the gate and they heard the last sentence. “Want it up against the fence?”
Chadai pushed Yudin round the corner of the van out of sight and himself ran on noiseless feet to stand close to the fence in deep shadow with his face down and his hands concealed. Tommy Hambledon, astride the fence, looked down and saw nothing; he swung the other leg over and dropped down. In the moment of instability as his feet touched the ground Chadai, within a yard of him, uncoiled like a spring and struck him on the back of the neck with the cosh. Hambledon slid to the ground in a heap; Yudin put his. head round the van to see what was happening and Chadai held up his hand for silence. They remained motionless, like a pose in tableaux vivants, until the organ-grinder outside the fence left off staring, took up the handles of his organ and wheeled it briskly away.
“There you are,”‘ said Chadai. “Both of them. Simple.”
They bundled the inert Hambledon into the van beside the equally uninterested Logan and drove to the edge of the wharf. There was a sort of shallow slot cut down the face of the wharf in one place, just deep enough to shelter a vertical iron ladder from being crushed or swept away by a ship coming alongside. The van was backed to the head of this ladder; at the foot of it there was a fairly large petrol-driven launch of the type which has one roomy cabin amidships, the engine and wheel in a small cockpit aft and petrol tanks in the bows with filler caps projecting through the deck. The launch was tied up fore and aft and there was a couple of feet of oily river water between it and the foot of the ladder; she was pulling away with the falling tide.
“Go down and tighten those ropes, Yudin. Pull the boat as close in as you can, then we can lower them straight down.”
Yudin went, he knew nothing whatever about boats and did not want to, and he was terrified of falling into the water. However, he managed this simple operation fairly well except that when he twisted the rope round the cleats he added a knot which no seaman would have approved.
“There’s a length of rope in the cockpit,” said Chadai’s voice from above. “Bring it up,”
They lowered their prisoners down, one at a time, dragged them into the cabin and laid them on the floor, Yudin Lit a hurricane lamp which hung from a hook in the cabin roof and asked if he should light “the other lamps outside, the red and green ones,”
“No, of course not. They are only used when the boat is moving. We are staying tied up here. I told you that before.”
“Yes, but I did not know we did not want lights.”
Logan, having been the first to suffer, was the first to recover. He groaned, rolled over, shielded his eyes from the light, sat up unsteadily and looked round him. He saw a bare cabin, for the furnishings had been stripped for replacement, two portholes with short stout planks nailed across them, and the smiling faces of Chadai and Yudin, who seemed pleased with themselves. There was also a large twelve-volt battery in one corner.
“Good evening,” said Chadai. “I thought we could talk here undisturbed, which would be pleasant. Your watchdog here refused to be left behind, so we brought him along too.”
Logan looked again and saw that he had a companion in misery; Hambledon was lying behind him on the floor.
“He still sleeps,” said Chadai, “It does not matter, I think we need not disturb him. When we have done with you, you and he can share the battery, one foot of each. I should think it would do for both.”
“I have not the faintest idea,” said Logan slowly, “what you are talking about.”
“That battery on the floor there which normally actuates the starter of the engine on this boat. It also provides current for the lights in here; I must ask your indulgence for the paraffin lamp. The battery is large and heavy; we disconnected it, all ready to tie to your feet when you go overboard at the end of this interview. We think that will keep you down; we made a little mistake in the case of Alton. I understand that his carcass was recovered. Your disappearance will be a more complete mystery. Your friend can accompany you. Stand up!”
Logan rose slowly to his feet
“You contemptible thugs,” he said.
“You will now tell us where you have put the papers,”
“What papers?”
“Yon know. Those your friend Stephen Alton stole.”
“I don’t know anything about them, and if I did you should fry in Hell before I told you.”
“You may do a little frying before you reach Hell. Lighted matches applied to the toes have been known to make strong silent men positively loquacious,”
“Listen,” said Logan. “I have never seen your papers, I know nothing about them and I don’t know where they are.”
“You are lying. These are the papers which Stephen Alton stole from the German, Muntz. Alton had them on him when he went to your woman’s fiat; afterwards they were out on him nor in the flat. You took them to Paris with you; since they were neither in your luggage nor on you when you came back from Paris, it follows you have given them to someone or hidden them somewhere. You are now going to tell me where they are.”
“Once more I tell you—”
“Once more I tell you not to lie. We know better; you have been closely followed ever since you left London.”
“You blasted fools,” began Logan, losing his temper, “you woodenheaded idiots, you are all wrong. You always were and you always will be, you—you—” Words failed him in English and he slipped into French; when that proved inadequate he went into Legion French, which is a sort of mixed grill of six or seven European languages with a few Asiatic words thrown in. He swore at the Russians in every tongue he knew; Yudin’s face remained completely impassive but Chadai’s showed surprise and even unwilling admiration.
“I must congratulate you,” ho said when Logan at last ran out of breath and epithets. “For a quiet London businessman you are a wonderful linguist. Even Legion French; one would swear you had served in it.”
“I have, you stupid oaf,” roared Logan. “I’ve lived abroad for years. You’ve slipped up, you fool. First you let Muntz get away, then you failed to get the papers from Alton, and finally you chase the wrong man. It was my twin brother your tame thug there murdered on the Dunkirk train ferry, you pig-faced baboon. I don’t know if he ever had the papers or what he did with them. I hope he threw them into the Channel, going across. Go home and tell your bosses how clever you’ve been and I hope they boil you in oil!”
Chadai believed him, for the Russian was no fool and the accents of truth are unmistakable. Besides, here was the explanation of how Logan had apparently escaped on the train when Yudin, a man of experience in such matters, had been certain that he was dead. There was a brief silence during which the boat, which had been imperceptibly heeling over, dropped suddenly and lurched again, and there came from above them the squeaky groan o£ ropes slipping under strain. Chadai realized what was happening and ordered Yudin to go and slack off the mooring ropes, “The tide is falling,” he said, “we shall be hanging on the ropes before long.”
Logan burst into a roar of laughter. “You will, indeed you will! This is a dress rehearsal for the great day, isn’t it?”
“What great day?” said Chadai, who was not really listening to him.
“When they hang you both at Pentonville.”
The launch seemed to slip down at the bows and settle more comfortably upon the water; Yudin, unable to loosen granny knots under strain, had simply cist the rope with his knife. Footsteps and scrambling noises overhead told those in the cabin that he was now going aft to deal with the rope at the stem, and Chadai resumed the discussion.
“It would appear,” he admitted, “that if what you say is true, and I am inclined to believe it, it is just possible that you really don’t know where the papers are. Not that that will make much difference to you, because you must realize that you have got to die anyway, you know too much. You will, however, die more painlessly. There is your sleeping watchdog, too; it’s hardly worth while waking him before he enters upon a longer and sounder sleep—”
There was a half-heard exclamation from Yudin outside; the launch dropped suddenly and at once lurched forward.
Chadai began: “What the—” and Yudin burst in at the door with a gush of unmistakably agitated Russian.
Chadai addressed Logan formally. “You will please excuse me a moment; my brilliant deck hand has set us adrift. It is only to start up the motor and bring her round to the wharf again.” He took down the hurricane lamp. “Forgive a temporary darkness; he has also dropped our electric torch overboard.”
“What a pity you disconnected the battery,” said Logan as the cabin door slammed; “you have to crank her and I hope she breaks your arm.”
It was totally dark in the saloon; Logan heard and felt Hambledon sit up, and spoke to him at once.
“So you’ve wakened up, though I don’t know that you’ve gained much by it.”
“I’ve been lying doggo ever since they brought us in here. Logan, there’s a copper pipe runs along the side here, low down near the floor. It may be the petrol pipe—this way. Get down and crawl towards me; I don’t want you stamping on my fingers, I shall want them in a minute. Yes, here it is. Come over here; got it? That’s right. Now try to get your fingers behind it and pull. There’s a union about halfway; if we can break it—”
From outside came a mechanical “clankety-clock” as Yudin, urged on by Chadai, wound the starting handle. The motor coughed, hesitated, fired twice and stopped again while Chadai, like the Red Queen, cried: “Faster! Faster!”
“This is sort of panelling, isn’t it? Try kicking it in, so we can get our fingers behind the pipe—”
The inner skin of the cabin wall did not stand up to kicks, but it was difficult in the dark to break it back in the right place near the pipe.
“I’ve done it,” said Tommy, and tugged at the pipe. Several of the holding clips gave way and at the same moment the engine burst into life, was throttled down and began to run sweetly.
“Quick,” gasped Hambledon. “Come here. Got it? Now, heave!”
Three-eighths-inch copper pipe is quite strong but it will not stand up to being wrenched by two strong men with their lives at stake. It came away from the wall, resisted two more attempts and then broke at the union so suddenly that Hambledon and Logan rolled over backwards. There was a splashing sound; an intensely cold liquid ran over their hands and the saloon filled with the smell of petrol.
“Done it!” said Tommy. “That’ll stop his engine.”
It did; the engine consumed the contents of the carburetor and came to a stop. Angry voices floated in from the cockpit and Yudin resumed operations with the starting handle.
“Now what?” said Logan.
“I am hoping Chadai will think that perhaps there’s a tap in this length of pipe and that we have simply turned it off. Then perhaps he will come in to see, and we will assault him. He’ll have to leave Yudin up topside in case anything comes along,”
“And if he doesn’t come down?”
“Better still, for sooner or later somebody will come alongside and rescue us, and I hope it’s the River Police. This is, after all, the Pool of London, and they can’t have things drifting about—Listen. They’ve stopped cranking. To the door, Logan! Here it is; yes, it is locked. There’s a Yale sort of lock as well as a—Logan, he’ll have the hurricane lamp in one hand and the automatic in the other and there’s that high step to negotiate. The moment he puts one foot over,” said Tommy, talking faster and faster, “grab him and pull him forward. Sling him forward and jump for the door—are you ready—here he—”
The door clicked, the door opened outwards and Chadai’s hand appeared holding the hurricane lamp; just above it was his other hand, holding the automatic. He shouldered the door wider open; Hambledon and Logan, flat against the wall on either side of the door, were not to be seen until he put his head inside, and he could not do that, encumbered as he was and the boat rocking, until he had put at least one foot over the high threshold. He did so and instantly four strong hands seized him and jerked him violently forwards; his other foot caught on the high step and he fell heavily onto his face. Even as Logan and Hambledon leapt for the door the hurricane lamp crashed to the floor, flame leapt from the top of the glass and in an instant the saloon was one flare of fire.
