Search for a Sultan, page 7
“You are sure you will not permit me to see you off? “asked Letord.
“Quite sure,” said Tommy. “I should feel far too conspicuous being seen at the station with a Surintendant from the Sûreté! You stay and enjoy another cup of Christiane’s marvellous coffee and some more of that incredible marc, which I fear is far too good to be legal, and I will slip along by the Metro in no time.”
“Well, take care of yourself,” said Letord, shaking hands. “And let me know how you get on. I can’t help feeling anxious about you when I think of the people you’re up against.”
Tommy smiled and slipped his automatic into his raincoat pocket.
“I won’t fire till I see the whites of their eyes, I promise you,” he said. “Au’voir, mon cher colleague, and a thousand thanks for the lovely dinner.”
It was raining when Hambledon got out into the street and, as always, in wet weather, the Paris subway seemed more crowded than ever. From the moment he joined the train until he left it at the Gare St. Lazare, he was jostled and pushed by a surging crowd, most of whom seemed to have been living entirely on raw garlic all their lives.
I thought when you’d eaten plenty yourself, you weren’t supposed to notice it in others, reflected Tommy, but that idea doesn’t seem to work in here! Altogether he was glad to get up into the fresh air again, and gladder still to find that the Le Havre train was not unduly crowded and he could get a compartment to himself.
It was while he was waiting for the train to leave that he noticed a rather curious incident on the platform. There had been no particular reason why he should have looked at the man behind him in the queue at the ticket office, but he did happen to glance round and saw he was a rather tall and gaunt looking individual in a grey raincoat. There was equally no special reason why he should have noticed the same man behind a pillar talking to another, shorter character, as he walked towards the train, but he was glad now that he had done so. For these two men, who had appeared to be conversing intimately a moment before, now passed each other on the platform of the Le Havre train with absolutely no sign of mutual recognition; behaved as complete strangers, in fact, and then got into two separate compartments, one a few doors ahead of Tommy’s, the other a few compartments back.
“That’s funny,” thought Tommy. “Have they just quarrelled and stopped being on speaking terms with each other—or do they want to avoid giving the impression that they are together. I think I’d better keep my eye on those two. There’s something remarkably funereal about that tall one—he could well be a gravedigger, and the other has a distinctly southern, say Sicilian, look about him.
The whistle blew and as the train started with the usual jolt Tommy reached up for his raincoat from the rack above him. Best be prepared, he decided, looking for his gun—and then his heart missed a beat. Both his raincoat pockets were empty and a quick search through his suit showed him that the automatic was not in there either. His pistol was gone, there was no doubt about it. Somehow, somewhere, since he had left Letord, it had been lifted, and he was now completely unarmed in an uncomfortably empty train, with two highly suspicious strangers as travelling companions!
“H’m—this calls for strategy,” muttered Tommy. “Now let me see. This train is non-stop as far as Rouen and it will be daylight most of the way to there. After that, there will probably be far fewer passengers and it will also be dark. As far as Rouen, then, I am probably safe, but after that …”
He wondered if he should get out at the first stop? He had, after all, plenty of time to get to Honfleur first thing in the morning and if he moved quickly he would probably be able to give them the slip, especially as they were expecting him to go on to Le Havre.
“Oh, well, I’ll think that out later,” he decided. “Mean—time, I’ll have to keep my eyes open for any other suspicious moves they may make.”
He settled back in his corner seat, determined not to relax his vigilance, yet conscious of a need for rest after the long day’s activities (not to mention Letord’s superb dinner) and soon he observed, with no particular surprise, that the Grave—digger was walking by on the narrow step outside the carriage, dressed in funeral regalia, top hat, crepe and all, and carrying several miniature coffins. He smiled as he passed, revealing teeth like the jagged bones of the Mediteranean sea-wolf, and then jumped into space with the powerful thrust of a grasshopper. It was then that Hambledon woke up with a start, and found it was almost dark already and that according to his watch they ought to be reaching Rouen at any moment. He glanced out into the corridor and, once again he caught his breath. There standing one each side of the door were the tall man and the small, ostensibly looking out on to the line, but pretty obviously making sure that Tommy could not get out at Rouen.
Never mind, he thought, after a moment’s reflection. There’s always the door on the line side. I can nip out of that as soon as the train stops, and they’ll hardly be able to pull a. gun on me in the middle of Rouen station.
The lights of the town now became visible in the dusk, the brakes were applied and the train slid into the station. As Tommy had supposed, and the two men evidently knew, the platform was on their side, but to Tommy’s surprise the train. seemed to pass by it before it came to a standstill. Then he realised what had happened. He remembered now that the ticket collector in Paris had told him to make sure he was in. the front part of the train which was for Le Havre only. Obviously it was too long for the platform and so Le Havre coaches were stopped beyond it.
All this he took in in a flash as he jumped for the door on the rail side and then once more his heart missed a beat. The door was firmly locked and what was more, there were bars across the window which made it impossible for him to climb through there.
“Well, well,” sighed Tommy, as he sat back again in the corner, “I said all along this was not my lucky day—and it isn’t!” He glanced out into the corridor and as he did so the shorter of the two men looked back over his shoulder at him. Any doubts Tommy might have had as to their intentions vanished then, for the fleeting smile the man gave him before he looked away again was one of undisguised triumph, and triumph, moreover, that was tinged with a decided hint of menace.
Chapter VI. Havre Train
THE train started again and Hambledon tensed himself for trouble. It was not long in coming. As soon as they had left the lights of Rouen behind the smaller of the two men, the one who had smiled, opened the door of the compartment and, taking a corner seat opposite Tommy, he said, suavely:
“Good evening Monsieur Hambledon.”
“Good evening Monsieur La Cigale,” said Tommy, equally suavely, and the other man raised his eyebrows. “Tiens! So you know my nick-name.”
“And your reputation,” said Tommy.
“Parfait! In that case you will be aware that I aria. a person it is dangerous to interfere with. Yet it will not have escaped your notice, Monsieur Hambledon, that although I could have killed you at almost any time today, from the moment I stood behind you at Cook’s until I found you helpless and asleep here an hour ago, I did not do so.”
“I had noticed that,” said Hambledon, dryly. “And it occurs to me that there must be some other motive for your clemency than a mere desire to prolong my life.”
The other man bowed in agreement.
“If you had been someone I wished to dispose of summarily,” he said, “I should already have disposed of you—or have arranged for your disposal. But as you rightly suppose, I wished to keep you alive for the present to serve my own purpose. Do not let us beat about the bush, mon cher monsieur, you have a photograph and certain other documents which would be helpful to me. These of course I could have extracted from your pockets as easily as I did your pistol—but you have something more, I believe. You have something, some information, in your brain, which I require.”
“And I am to be kept alive until I part with it, I suppose,” queried Hambledon.
“If you want to put it that way,” said the other, shrugging his shoulders. “Myself, I am disposed to suggest a more amicable approach to the matter. I have, personally, no wish to shorten your natural span, mon cher Hambledon. You may live until you are an old man as far as I am concerned—yes, and boast, if you will, that you once escaped from the clutches of La Cigale—providing that you now act in a reasonable, common-sense way.”
“Provided that I accept your terms, you mean? Well, what are they?” asked Tommy.
“Come, my dear sir, we are men of the world. We can speak frankly,” said La Cigale. “What’s Qathusn to you or you to Qathusn—to paraphrase your excellent English poet? What difference would it make to you, personally, to go home now and inform your Government that no son of Prince Achmed’s exists—that the whole idea was a mere figment of poor Hassan’s imagination?”
“Well, what difference would it make?” asked Hambledon.
“This difference,” said La Cigale, quietly. “You would remain alive—and you would be one thousand pounds sterling the richer.”
Hambledon laughed.
“Come, come,” he said. “If you are going to offer me a bribe, make it something more than cigarette money!”
La Cigale’s eyes narrowed.
“I am not joking, mon vieux,” he said. “If you do not wish to accept my offer, you must face the alternative, and that will be very unpleasant indeed, I can assure you. You have not met my friend of the Blue Roses yet, I believe? He has methods of extracting information from unwilling informants, a good deal less agreeable than mine.”
“All right,” said Hambledon. “Suppose for a moment I accept your offer and your money? What happens then when I get back to England and some surprise heir to the Throne of Qathusn does appear?”
La Cigale smiled, and the sight was not a pleasant one. “I think I can reassure you on that point,” he said.
“Providing you give up this ridiculous chase, no other heir to the Throne will appear.”
It was Hambledon’s turn to smile.
“I am disappointed in you, Monsieur La Cigale,” he said. “I can hardly believe you can be so naïve as to believe I could accept such an absurd proposition. All you have done is to reveal to me that the information I have is valuable and. not yet in your possession. Thank you! When the Police pick you and your friend up at Le Havre—for I must tell you that an alarm call for your arrest has gone out to every police station in France—I shall proceed with my quest, encouraged by the knowledge that I am on the right track.”
The little man jumped to his feet, his face contorted with fury.
“So!” he cried. “You are a fool, it seems! Very well! You must be made to suffer. Have no illusions about reaching Le Havre, my friend, you will never do so. Long before that you will have been removed unobtrusively from this train and taken to the country house of my colleague who grows roses. His other enthusiasm is, I may say, a less amiable one. He enjoys seeing people in pain. It is, I believe, a great pleasure to him and it has proved very useful to me, and to his previous employers, the Gestapo. Reflect upon this for the next few minutes, Monsieur Hambledon, and remember—whatever else you may think of me, I have not the reputation of being a joker.”
He went back into the corridor, but left the door open behind him.
“What luck?” asked the Gravedigger.
“He is stupid,” snapped La Cigale. “We shall have to trouble ourselves a little I am afraid—unless he sees sense in the next few minutes.”
“Why trouble ourselves?” growled the tall man. “Why not kill him now? His information is probably no more than we have. Come, I will do it immediately if you wish,” he said, producing an automatic which Tommy, somewhat to his irritation, recognised as his own.
It was then that a voice was heard along the corridor calling for `tickets, please’ and Tommy thanked his lucky stars for the timely intervention. There were, in fact, two collectors working through the compartments, and as one of them checked the tickets of the two men in the corridor the other came in and asked for Tommy’s.
“Good evening, monsieur,” he said, politely. “May I see your ticket, please? “His accent was curiously un-French and Tommy was puzzled for an instant as to its origin. Then he recognised a typical Brittany inflection in the man’s voice and had an inspiration. He knew that the Breton people speak in a dialect very similar to the Welsh and, having more than a smattering of that Celtic tongue, he spoke in it, speaking slowly and clearly:
“Those two men are threatening my life! Please take me to the guard’s van and I will explain.”
He had to say the sentence thrice over before the man got the entire gist of it, but then he nodded in comprehension and said, briefly to his companion:
“Monsieur has no ticket and no money. I am taking him, therefore, into custody in the van.”
He escorted Tommy past the two men, putting himself carefully between him and the Grasshopper as they passed and a moment later they were in the next coach, walking towards the front of the train. Tommy had quite expected one of them to shoot him and the collector and he thanked his lucky stars again that there had been two of them, for the other, remaining, rather surprised, between the Grasshopper and his companion, probably saved both his colleague’s and Hambledon’s lives.
“Now, monsieur,” said the collector, speaking French again when they reached the guard’s van. “What is this story and where is your ticket, please?”
“Here is my ticket,” said Tommy, producing it, “and let me thank you for your quick-witted action. I am an official of the British Government and I have been menaced by those two men who are criminals and wanted by the police. If you would be so kind as to lock me in here until we reach the next station, I will then descend from the train and the matter is finished with. Otherwise, I shall probably be murdered and it is quite probable you and your colleague will be too.”
The collector looked at him dubiously and pondered what to do. Then he shrugged his shoulders.
“Et puffs,” he said, “Monsieur is probably a little touched, but what is it to me? If he wishes to be locked in here, he shall be and I will continue with my work. At the next station, Yvetot, my colleague and I will descend to return to Rouen by another train, but I will see that Monsieur is released by the guard at Le Havre, to which his ticket entitles him to travel. Then it will be someone else’s pigeon to bother with Monsieur’s problems, thank goodness!”
“Bon soir, monsieur, et bon repos!”
Suits me, thought Tommy, as he heard the key turned in the lock, I don’t care whether they think I’m a lunatic or not, I shall be safer here than in that compartment!
But here he was wrong, for no sooner had the train left Yvetot than he heard steps along the corridor and someone tried the door.
“Ouvrez, Monsieur Hambledon! Open the door!” said a well-remembered voice, “or it will be the worse for you I “
Tommy kept quiet, hoping that the other might think he had already left the train, but La Cigale was not so easily deceived.
“Alors,” he muttered. “In that case we must break down the door. Fortunately there is no one in this carriage to overhear us and the lock does not seem very formidable.” Hambledon was thinking just the same thing too, on his side of the door, for no sooner had La Cigale started kicking and lunging against it, than he saw every sign of it giving way. He looked round the luggage van for a possible weapon and saw there was an axe hanging on the wall near the door leading to the engine, evidently a part of the emergency equipment supplied in case of accident.
“That’s a bit of luck,” muttered Tommy, and going over to get it, he caught sight of the engine’s tender, lurching and swaying, on the other side of the glass-panelled door. An iron ladder led up the back of the tender—and in it he suddenly saw a means of escape—if only he could get across to it!
With a few swift blows he demolished the glass, and tore open the door. Instantly the shouting and banging behind him was drowned in the roar of the wind round his ears. The tender clattered and bucked ahead of him like a live thing, and the gap between the narrow iron plate on which he stood and the ladder opposite looked formidable, now that he was conscious of the track racing by beneath his feet at 7o m.p.h. But the sharp crack of a pistol shot in the carriage behind him spurred him on. The ladder would give him only a slight chance perhaps, but it was a chance, which was more than he was likely to get from Messrs. Grasshopper, Undertaker, Blue Rose and Company.
Nerving himself, therefore, he jumped for the bottom rung, just made it, and then, for one sickening moment, felt his feet slipping off the wet, greasy surface.
The wind tearing at him, the steel step bucking and swaying under him, he clung literally for grim death, clung until his arms felt they were coming out of their sockets, until he had regained his footing. Then slowly, and without daring to look behind him, he began to climb, aware the whole time that at any moment he might be shot in the back or fall to instant death on the rails below.
Slowly he climbed, one slippery step at a time, and then, as he neared the top, a new peril presented itself. The train roared beneath a low bridge, inches, only, it seemed, above his head, and he realised that unless he could crawl flat across the coals in the tender, he would probably have his brains knocked out at any moment.
They passed another bridge, and trusting blindly to luck that there would not be yet another one right after it, he stood for a dizzy moment on the top-rung, and then hurled himself face downwards among the coal. He lay there, spread-eagled and gasping for breath, for what seemed an age, before he felt capable of starting to crawl towards the cab.
The wind and the noise of the mechanism were deafening, so that he had no idea whether La Cigale and his companion were following him, but once he had reached the footplate he knew there would be at least two men there with shovels and other implements, to help him defend himself. He progressed slowly, inch by inch, until eventually the glare of the fire showed him he was near his goal, and at last he made it and jumped down into the cabin, staggering, and breathless, as he tried to keep his balance on the surging iron platform beneath him.
