Contraband

11

The Beautiful Hungarian

Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust stretched out his long legs and regarded Gregory with an approving stare. 'And what's the next move my boy what’s the next move?' he asked with sudden briskness.

'Lunch,' said Gregory. 'I'm a complete fool to introduce you to the girl, of course, because it's almost certain you'll cut me out. But someone's got to give us both lunch at the Carlton and I thought it might as well be you.'

'Cut you out, eh! Well, if she's all you say she is, dammit, I might have a shot at it, specially if you don't do' your stuff better than you did at Deauville. Are you certain she's at the Carlton, though?'

'Yes. I rang up to find out immediately I got home.'

'D'you speak to her?'

'Good Lord no. I just ascertained from the office that they had an angel called Szenty beneath their roof. She hasn't the least idea that Wells got on to her in the first place through the fellow she sold the stockings to in Regent Street when she was staying there before. You see, she'd never heard of Wells's existence until he presented himself as a business man at her office in Paris. She can't know we've rumbled Quex Park either and that Mrs. Bird told us Lord Gavin engaged her while he was staying at the Carlton in February which gave us a second line on it being their port of call in London.'

'Then she's not expecting you. She may be out.'

'I doubt it. She couldn't have got in till about three o'clock this morning so the chances are all against her being up and doing before midday. Anyhow, I thought the risk small enough to snatch a few hours' sleep. Not that I needed them particularly but it's my old campaigner's habit of taking a nap while the going's good. Quite sound really, as I may be up again all night tonight.'

Smart and fresh in a double-breasted light grey summer suit Gregory certainly did not look as though he had spent a good portion of his night crawling over Calais down land and scrambling through the coppices of a Kentish park.

'I don't quite see, though,' Sir Pellinore said after a moment, 'where I come in about this luncheon business. What the deuce d'you want to drag me into it for?'

Gregory grinned. 'For one thing, it might amuse you; but, for another, I can't just go and hang around the Carlton on my own. Sabine's a clever woman and she'd smell a rat at once; guess the police had run her to earth there, and that I was acting with them. That's the one thing we've got to keep out of her lovely little head at all costs. My plan of campaign is to walk round the corner now and park myself in the lounge; tip a bellhop to keep his eyes open for her then, when she turns up, I shall be just as surprised and delighted as though I had really run into her casually. I shall immediately inform her I am waiting there for you and that we're lunching together. Then you come on the scene proving that I'm not a liar and my meeting with her a pure coincidence.'

Sir Pellinore grunted. 'And what do I do if you please? Stand about in the street looking like a loony until you come and whistle for me?'

'Certainly not. You'll be in Justerini's office, next door. You always get your drink there so they'll be delighted to see you and refresh you with another ration of this excellent sherry. Immediately the bellhop lets me know that Sabine's come down in the lift he'll slip out of the Pall Mall entrance and fish you out of Justerini’s. Then you will stroll in to find me doing my stuff with her in the lounge.'

'Say she's already got a luncheon appointment?'

'In that case, you'll have to content yourself with my company I'm afraid. We've got to chance that but unless it's a very important appointment indeed you can put your money on my persuading her to break it.'

'Conceited young devil,' laughed Sir Pellinore. 'All right, you win. But what's the procedure saying we manage to get this wench as far as the luncheon table?'

'You order the best lunch that you can think of, which should be pretty good, and later on you pay for it. Then you go off to your club, or the house here, for a nice afternoon nap, suitable to a man of your years, leaving me in sole possession of the lady.'

'What happens then?'

'Allah, who knows all things, will give me inspiration, but my main policy is to stick to her as long as I possibly can on one excuse or another. Tonight's the seventh and in our now famous telegram the numbers 43 and 47 follow that date, so presumably they'll be operating again, but from different bases. If I can hang on to Sabine long enough maybe she'll telephone while I'm with her or let slip some little bit of information which will give me a chance to follow her up when I can't keep her with me any longer.'

Sir Pellinore stroked his fine white moustache and stood up. 'What a lucky young dog you are. If I had my way the company wouldn't pay you a cent for this investigation;, you're going to get far too much fun out of it.'

'On the contrary they'll have to pay extra as compensation for the damage I'm doing to my conscience.' Gregory laughed cynically but there was no laughter in his heart. To conceal his troubled thoughts he pursued the jest. 'Here I am having to force myself into following up some rotten game by taking advantage of the confidences of the girl I'm in love with.'

'You! In love! Never been in love in your life.'

'Well, I'm not too old to learn,' countered Gregory modestly, 'and I certainly don't want to see Sabine sent to prison.'

'Yes; awkward that very awkward but I won't have you going romantic. It's bad for the health, bad for business, and it doesn't suit you.'

'On the contrary, the very thought that I may be lunching with Sabine in about half an hour puts me right on the top of the world. Come along now or you won't have time for that glass of sherry at Justerini's.'

A few moments later the two men left the house and sauntered down Pall Mall together in the bright August sunshine. Gregory was a tallish man but his queer cultivated stoop made him seem almost short beside Sir Pellinore's magnificent height and upright figure. At the Pall Mall entrance of the Carlton they parted; Gregory disappearing into the hotel and Sir Pellinore into the door of his wine merchants which was less than a dozen yards away.

It was a little after half past twelve and an inquiry at the hotel office assured Gregory that he had been justified in not hurrying; Sabine was still in her room. He secured a page boy and, tipping the lad lavishly, gave him his instructions, posting him near the florists and within sight of the lift. Next, he spoke to the porters, both at the Pall Mall and Haymarket entrances of the hotel, describing Sabine to them as' an additional precaution in case she slipped by the page unrecognised, and told them that if she went out they were to fetch him at once from the lounge. Then he parked himself at a small table and ordered a double gin fizz which he felt to be a particularly suitable drink in such sultry weather.

Nearly three quarters of an hour went by and he was beginning to fear that Sabine might be lunching quietly in her suite when the page came hurrying along to inform him that she had just come down and was leaving her key. Without losing an instant Gregory strode from the lounge and into the street by the Pall Mall exit, raced round the corner into the Haymarket, and came sauntering gaily into the hotel's other entrance, just as Sabine was about to sally forth.

'Hello!' he cried, throwing wide his arms to bar her passage. 'What heavenly luck. Is it really you or am I dreaming things?'

She smiled as he seized her hand and kissed it. 'But yes, it is most surprising that we should meet so soon again.'

'Not really,' he assured her, 'since you chance to be in London. It's such a tiny world for people like ourselves who always move around the same old haunts. You were going out but you mustn't. I can't possibly let you.'

Her face grew serious.

'You have no reason to detain me, as you had in Deauville.' Under her statement lay the suggestion of a suspicion.

'Only the reason that was at the bottom of everything before my frantic desire to be with you, unless, of course, you've blotted your copy book again and want me now to save you from the London police. Come in and have a cocktail.'

She shook her head. 'That would be nice but, really, I must not. I have to lunch at Claridges and I am already late.'

'Ring up and put them off please do. It seems a thousand years since I've seen you but I've been dreaming of you ever since. Now I've found you again I absolutely refuse to let you go.'

'But this is business,' she protested.

He laughed. 'What in the world can so lovely a person as yourself have to do with such a dreary thing as business; or do you mean that you have some job to do for that old devil I saw you with in Deauville?'

'Mais non, when I say business I mean commerce. You, see, I am a business woman. Representative, you say, of a house in Paris, but that you could not know.'

'Really? How extraordinary!' Gregory's face expressed blank astonishment at this gratuitous information but he added blandly: 'Somehow it seems so out of keeping that anyone like you should have to face the daily grind, but then everybody's in business these days, aren't they?'

She shrugged. 'It has become necessary that most people should work since old families lost their money in the war years, and after, but I should be miserable if I had to lead always an idle life.'

'Well, you're going to take an hour or two off today anyhow,' he declared. 'Surely you can put off your appointment until tomorrow. Nobody could possibly want to do business on a lovely sunny day like this.'

He saw her hesitate and pressed home his advantage. 'Come on now. I'm lunching here with a friend of mine, but you'll find him charming a delightful person Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust. He's one of the grandest old men in Europe. Put business out of your mind today and let us entertain you. I give you my word you won't regret it.'

'Sil vous voules,' she surrendered. 'You are such a tempestuous person. It is difficult to refuse you, and that business lunch, it would have been boring anyway.'

'Page,' Gregory beckoned, 'tell the operator to get me Claridges.' Then he turned to Sabine. 'What's your friend's name? I'll make your excuses for you a little taxi accident in Bond Street this morning I think. Nothing serious but you're a bit shaken and resting now until you've recovered from the shock. How'll that do?'

She shook her head. 'No. Your powers of invention are quite marvellous but I will speak myself.' She turned and followed the boy away to the telephone booth.

Gregory smiled with self-congratulation as he watched her take the call. He had failed in a quick attempt to find out with whom she had meant to lunch, but he had achieved his main objective in making his presence there seem accidental and securing, at all events, an hour or two of her company for himself. When they walked into the lounge Sir Pellinore was already there; and rose to meet them. '

'I'm sure you won't mind,' Gregory said, 'but I've brought a friend, whom I had no idea was in England until I ran into her here five minutes ago. I couldn't possibly let the opportunity slip so I've asked her to join us. This is Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust, a very old friend of mine, Mademoiselle Sabine…' he paused, remembering that he was not supposed to know her other name, and looked away with an excellent imitation of slight embarrassment.

'Szenty,' she added calmly.

Gregory repeated the name.

Sir Pellinore bent over her hand, 'Mademoiselle Szenty's presence could never need an apology. On the contrary I consider it a very great piece of good fortune that anyone so lovely should consent to grace the table of an old man like myself.'

As they passed up the steps to the restaurant he murmured her name again. 'Surely you are Hungarian. There was a Grof Szenty whom I knew long ago. A delightful feller; a Captain in one of the crack regiments of the old kingdom, who used to bring his horses over, and came within an ace of winning the cup for jumping one year at Olympia.'

'But, of course,' she smiled, 'that was my father. He would be about the same age as you.'

'By jove now! Is he…' Sir Pellinore hesitated.

She shook her head. 'No, he was killed on the Russian front in the early days of the war.'

Sir Pellinore nodded sadly. 'That damnable war. It robbed me of my only son and countless dear fellows of both our generations. As I watched them go under one by one I thought that I would not have a single friend left in the world by the time it was over.'

Gregory tactfully turned the conversation to the ordering of the meal and then said quietly: 'Mademoiselle Szenty tells me that she is now in business.'

'Indeed?' Sir Pellinore looked up. 'Well, most of us have had to come to it, and perhaps that's not a bad thing in a way, but I hope the estates still remain in your family my dear. That beautiful old castle upon the River Theiss which I remember well. I went out to stay there once with the Count, your father, for the shooting. You have the finest partridge shooting in the world in Hungary.'

'But how interesting,' she smiled, 'that you should know Schloss Scany. When were you there?'

'Nineteen seven, no nineteen eight it must have been, I think.'

'Ah, that was before I was born, so you would not have seen me, even as a baby. I remember it well, of course, although we had to leave it when I was nine.'

'You have lost it then?'

'Yes. All our money went in the deflation and for a little time my mother and I were almost paupers living in a back street in Pest.'

'Your luck's turned since though I gather.' Gregory smiled. 'How did you come to go into business?'

'It was through an old friend of my mother's. The man whom you saw me with at Deauville. He is very rich and very generous. He was in Budapest in 1922 and he took us from the slum where we were living, gave my mother a very nice allowance, and sent me to France and England to be educated. We owe him everything, and when he offered me a position in a French firm in which he was interested, a few years ago, I was very happy to take it.'

Gregory nodded. Philanthropist seemed a strange role for Lord Gavin Fortescue but obviously the man had his reasons for displaying this unusual generosity. Even at the age of twelve or thirteen, Gregory thought, Sabine must’ have displayed promise of unusual beauty. Lord Gavin had evidently decided to invest a fraction of his surplus millions in tying the mother and daughter to him by bonds of gratitude with the idea that the girl would prove useful to him later on. Doubtless it was true that she had been glad to accept a well paid job in this Paris firm which Lord Gavin had acquired, with his usual farsightedness, in preparation for his vast smuggling campaign; probably soon after England went off gold and brought in Protection. Later, of course, she would have found out that the business was not all it appeared at first sight but her position would have made it practically impossible for her to quarrel with her benefactor.

'Is your mother still alive?' he asked after a moment.

She nodded. 'Yes, and she lives now, not as in her youth of course, with a great household, but in every comfort. While I was at school and finishing she had quite a pleasant little apartment in Buda, but since I have been in business, and my salary is a very generous one, I have been able to rent a nice house with a pretty garden for her just outside the city.'

Gregory saw that his surmise had been correct. If Sabine quarrelled with Lord Gavin now her fine salary would cease immediately and the old lady, who doubtless adored her creature comforts, would be faced with poverty again.

The lunch proved a cheerful and successful meal. Just before it was over Gregory smiled into Sabine's eyes and said: 'now, what for the afternoon? How would you like me to motor you down to Hampton Court or somewhere where we could have tea on the river?'

'I am sorry,' she said gravely, 'but that is quite impossible. I have my business to attend to. A buyer from one of the big Kensington stores meets me at the Royal Palace Hotel at half past three.'

'Put him off; like you did the other fellow.'

'No, I cannot. It is the same man. When I telephoned before lunch I made this new appointment.'

'How about tonight. Will you dine with me?'

'No. Unfortunately I am engaged once more.'

'Tomorrow then?'

'I return to France. This is a flying visit only.'

Gregory suppressed a grin, knowing that it was probably a flying visit in more senses than one. 'But I can't let you go so soon,' he protested. 'How about tea after you've seen this fellow?'

'Yes. That I can manage if you wish.'

'Fine. I'll run you down to the Royal Palace then and pick you up afterwards. Say four o’clock how would that do?'

'Nicely, I t'ink. My business should not take more than half an hour.'

They sat over their liqueurs for a little, then Sir Pellinore expressed his intention of leaving them, yet from his excuses made them both believe that he did it with regret.

As they thanked him for the meal he took Sabine's hand and said with unusual seriousness: 'My dear, as an old friend of your father's I want you to extend the privilege of your friendship to me too. I live at number 64 Carlton House Terrace. Any time you are in England my house and my servants are entirely at your disposal so please do not hesitate too ring me up, either day or night, if I can be of any service to you.'

A warm smile lit her limpid eyes. 'Such hospitality makes me think of Hungary. I mean, not all English people are so very kind to strangers.'

'That is true I fear. Nevertheless we can prove good friends on occasion. Strangers here sometimes have little difficulties with the authorities and I am in the fortunate position of being able to smooth such things over A ;

'I will not forget, Sir Pellinore,' she promised, and a few moments later she was seated beside Gregory in a taxi on the way to Kensington.

He dropped her at the hotel and took the taxi on to his rooms in Gloucester Road. There he pressed a five pound note into Rudd's hand and told him to go out and buy flowers, fruit, cakes and all things requisite to entertain a lady. 'And if you give away by so much as a blink of an eyelid that you've ever seen her before I'll wring your neck my lad,' he ended gaily.

'It ain't the popsy we seen with old monkey face in that car on the Calais road, is it sir?' Rudd asked with quick interest.

'It is, my boy, and you'll kindly refrain from referring to her as a popsy, unless you want to take a journey in a hearse.'

'No offence, sir, but my! Ain't you the lucky one, and no bloomin' error. Think she'd like éclairs for 'er tea?'

'Yes, éclairs and lots of other things. Go on now, get out and buy them. We'll be back in half an hour.'

Gregory cast a hasty glance round the comfortable book lined room, straightened the cushions on the settee quite unnecessarily, and then dashed out to get his car.

By four o'clock he was back again in it, outside the Royal Palace, ready to pick up Sabine.

She did not keep him waiting long and soon appeared with a short tubby little man to whom she said goodbye on the pavement. Gregory studied his face carefully and felt quite sure that he would know him again; but the chances were that the fellow was some quite innocent buyer who had no idea whatsoever that he had just been purchasing a line of contraband.

As soon as Sabine was in the car Gregory let in the clutch and headed west but a few hundred yards farther on he turned it, dexterously avoiding an omnibus, and shot down Gloucester Road.

'Where are you taking me?' she asked, 'or is this a better way to avoid the traffic before we reach again the West End?'

'I propose to give you tea in my rooms,' he smiled. 'Any objection?'

She hesitated. 'Is it your custom to take a lady to your apartment on so brief an acquaintance?'

He laughed. 'No, but ours is hardly an ordinary acquaintance. After all, we shared a bedroom and bathroom for the night in Deauville, didn't we, so surely you're not going to kick at having tea in my sitting room. We'll be more comfortable there than in the crowded lounge of some hotel.'

'Perhaps, but did you not warn me that when that night was over you would become the Big Bad Wolf? And now it seems you propose to take me to your cave.'

'Here it is,' he said, pulling up, 'and it's a very nice cave although it doesn't look much from the outside.'

Sabine got out and stared for a moment at the grimy three storey house, one of a block of twenty or more, with its little grocery shop on the ground floor abutting on the sidewalk. 'You live here no!' she said in considerable surprise.

'Yes. Queer looking place, isn't it, but my soldier servant who went all through the War with me, and saved my life more than once, owns it. His wife left it to him and this little bit of property is about the only thing he's got. I occupy the first floor and pay my rent regularly, which is more than most of the other tenants do, as they're poor students studying at the university round the corner. If I cleared out the poor chap might go broke and have to sell the place. That's why I stay on.'

She regarded him doubtfully for a moment and then she smiled. 'I pay you a great compliment, for I do not t'ink that I would go into such a place with any other man that I had known only for so short a time but, you see, I trust you.'

He opened the side door with his key and as she preceded him up the rickety stairs he thought, 'She trusts me, and I'm spying on her, ferreting out her affairs. What a rotten swine I am when one comes to think of it, but it's that devil Gavin Fortescue we're up against and we've got to save the country from unprincipled blackguards like him. I'm only using her as a stalking horse, after all, and somehow or other I'll have to get her out of it when the crash does come, else I'll never be able to look at myself in my shaving mirror any more.'

'But how lovely!' Sabine exclaimed as he threw open the door of his sitting room and showed her in. The room was unexpectedly gay and cheerful after the blackened exterior of the house and Rudd had done his duty nobly at the florists by spending lavishly on flowers.

Gregory guided her to the settee, stacked cushions round her and threw one at her feet. 'A cigarette,' he laughed, proffering an onyx box, 'then tea.'

They had hardly settled down when Rudd came in wheeling a dumb waiter with half the contents of a baker's shop spread out upon it.

'Mon dieu she exclaimed. 'Do you expect me to eat all this or have you a party of twenty people coming?'

'No, it's just Rudd,' he laughed. 'Rudd's fond of cakes and he gets all the ones that we can't eat.'

' 'Arternoon, Miss,' Rudd said with a sheepish grin. 'You won't take too much notice of Mr. Gregory, I hope. He's always been a one what likes a leg pull.'

She smiled up at him, pulling off her hat and throwing it carelessly on to a chair. 'But you are a genius, Mr. Rudd, to provide so heavenly a tea. Look now at those éclairs. I am greedy for éclairs always and shall not leave you a single one.'

Rudd almost blushed with pleasure. 'That's the way, Miss. It's a real pleasure to find for a lady what likes it when you do your best.' He backed out of the doorway with a smile.

'I understand now why you live here,' Sabine said, nipping off the end of one of the éclairs with her small white teeth. 'He is a character, that one, and I would bet, your devoted slave as well.'

Gregory nodded. 'Yes, he's one of the very best and I'm a stupid sentimental fool but I'd go through hell to pull him out of a hole.'

'I believe that. You persuade yourself always that you are hard, hard as iron nails, yet for your friends you are, I think, supremely good.'

He looked at her for a moment searchingly. 'And do you count me a friend of yours, Sabine?'

Yes. You are my friend, although why I do not know.'

'Do we ever know these things?' He shrugged. 'Does it matter. We're a short time living and a long time dead. Believe me, I am your friend and that's why I wish to God you were out of all this.'

'By this you mean what?' Her eyes clouded quickly.

'I don't know,' he lied, 'only that you're mixed up in some way with a pretty nasty crowd. You'll remember, no doubt, that the last time we were together, and I left you to get my car in the Guiilaume le Conquerant at Dives I was unavoidably detained; so I was unable to run you back to Deauville after all or even send you my apologies. I suppose you know what happened to me?'

Sabine began to giggle; then she suddenly lay back and gave way to a fit of helpless laughter.

'Go on! Laugh away,' Gregory chid her in mock anger, 'but it was devilish painful at the time.'

'Forgive me,' she sighed, struggling to regain her breath. 'Of course I know and I was miserable until I learned that no serious harm had been done you. The Big Bad Wolf walked into the Tiger's den and got more than he bargained for n'est pas?'

Gregory shrugged. 'I'm not grumbling. Your elderly friend sent me a note to the Normandie saying that he'd make trouble for me if I didn't send you back to him immediately after breakfast. And I know you had no hand in it because you warned me to keep an eye open for the Limper when you spotted him in the hotel courtyard. I asked for it and I got it that's all. What does worry me though is to know that you're associated with people who'd go to the length of staging a criminal attack when their wishes are thwarted. There was that assault on the young Scotland Yard man in Trouville the night before, too, you'll remember. As for the man you call your friend, I don't mind telling you now, that I recognised him the second I set eyes on him. It's Lord Gavin Fortescue, and I happen to know that he's unfit for any decent person to touch with a barge pole.'

Sabine shook back her dark curls. 'It is he who has been so good to my mother and myself. But for him I would be perhaps a girl in a dress shop or in some Budapest nacht lokd.'

'Maybe, but from now on I want you to watch your step. I've no idea how closely you're connected with him' in business but, whatever he may have done for you, don't let him involve you more than you can help in his own affairs else ill may come of it.'

She shrugged. 'He is kind and generous.'

'I know, I know/ Gregory muttered resignedly, well aware that he was trying to lock the stable door after the horse had escaped. 'But time will show, and it worries me stiff to think he may involve you in some ghastly trouble.'

'Sufficient unto the day of the evil thereof,' she quoted solemnly, armoured in the belief that neither Gregory nor the police yet knew anything that really mattered about her secret business.

It was after tea had been cleared away, and Gregory was hunting in the shelves behind the settee for a copy of a book of which they had been talking, when she said suddenly: 'Big Bad Wolf, come here.'

He turned and came up behind her. 'What is it?'

Suddenly she stretched up her arms towards him. 'I like you, Gregory,' she said. 'You are just my idea of what a man should be; very gay, very unconventional, very brave.'

Her arms closed behind his bent head and she drew his face down to hers. Gregory's heart pounded in his chest as it had not done for a dozen years. His hands, trembling slightly, cupped themselves round her cheeks and his mouth fastened on her soft lips with all the pent-up hunger that was in him.

12

One Up to Gerry Wells

It was over an hour later when Gregory committed one of the biggest blunders he had ever made in his life.

He knew little of Sabine, except that she was enchantingly lovely, possessed a gaiety which matched his own, and that a mutual passion had swept them off their feet; so his error was, perhaps, excusable. It was only natural that, after the wonderful hour they had spent together, he should be more desperately anxious than ever to save her from the danger which menaced her as an associate of Gavin Fortescue.

There was no question of her guilt. He knew, and what was far worse Inspector Wells knew, that she was up to her eyebrows in the smuggling racket. She must be perfectly well aware that she was laying herself open to the severest penalties if she continued her criminal activities and, now that the police had their teeth into the business, Gregory saw with appalling clarity that it could only be a matter of time before she was arrested.

Once she was charged in a court of law there could only be one verdict upon the evidence which would be submitted. The fact that she was a young and lovely woman might gain her the sympathy of the jury, but leniency was not their province and, however reluctant they might be to do so, they would have to find her 'guilty'. The judge would certainly not allow a plea that Gavin Fortescue had been a benefactor to her and her mother as sufficient excuse for becoming a member of his criminal organisation and would pass sentence upon

The thought of her as a female convict, in rough clothes, serving a sentence among thieves, prostitutes, and child beaters, was absolutely unbearable to Gregory and momentarily it overbalanced his usual astute judgment of the best way in which to handle a situation…

She did not show him by the flicker of an eyelid that he had blundered, but listened to all he said with grave attention and apparent gratitude; yet she would not commit herself to following the line of action he urged upon her, saying that she must have time to think it over.

Feeling he had gained ground, and that at least she would not commit herself further for the time being, he mixed some cocktails and asked what she intended to do that evening.

'I do not know now,' she replied slowly.

'Why not dine with me then?' he suggested. 'Let's go gay. We'll forget all this until you've had time to sleep on it.'

To his immense relief she consented, and so it was agreed that she should take a taxi back to the Carlton while he changed into evening clothes, and that he should pick her up there at eight o'clock.

He had no hesitation in letting her go. They kissed again and clung to each other as though they were parting for a period of years although they were to meet again in a little over an hour.

It was only when he was in his bath that doubts about the wisdom of his action began to assail him. She had been so quiet and said so little while he had been pressing arguments upon her to cut clear of the mess she was in before it was too late. She had promised nothing and he really knew so little of how deeply she might be implicated in Lord Gavin's plans. What if he had failed to convince her of her danger and she gave him the slip. Knowing now, from his own admission, that he was working with the police, she would avoid any place where she feared he might find her. It might be weeks or months before she visited Quex Park again, and that was the only place from which he could hope to pick up her trail if she once abandoned the Carlton.

He began to dress with feverish haste, frantic with anxiety now that he had given himself away, lest she might disregard his warning and yet be compelled, from the nature of her activities, and the knowledge of his intentions, to sacrifice their overwhelming attraction for each other and disappear altogether.

By the time he was ready to telephone a cab his face was dark with anger. An inner voice kept telling him that he had acted like a lunatic. He had been mad to let her out of his sight for a second and utterly insane to confess that he was working with the police. How could his prayers that she should cut adrift from Lord Gavin possibly have any effect when she was so deeply involved. If only he had held his peace he could at least have followed her up quite easily, or even kept in touch with her by arrangement, as long as she had no suspicion that he was spying on her. Then, he would have been at hand to warn her just as the police net was about to close and perhaps be able to help her in escaping its meshes. Now, he had spiked his own guns by blurting out a premature warning. The sort of folly of which any callow youth, bitten by his first calf love, might have been guilty. He let out a peculiarly blasphemous and quite unprintable Italian oath as he bounded down the stairs.

On the way westward in the taxi he only paused long enough to buy her a great spray of orchids and a buttonhole for himself. Then, immediately he reached the hotel, he dashed straight to the desk and asked the clerk to telephone her room.

A moment later his worst forebodings were realised. The bland young man behind the reception counter shook his head. 'I'm sorry, sir, Mademoiselle Szenty left here half an hour ago.'

'For good?' snapped Gregory.

'She took her luggage with her.'

'Did she leave an address?'

'No sir, but if you're Mr. Sallust she left a letter for you.'

'I am. Let's have it please.' With swift fingers Gregory tore

open the blue envelope and read the few lines upon the single

sheet:

My dear,

You work for the police. To confess it, because you hoped to save me, that was generous of you, but if you had known me better you would never have done so. How is it possible that I should ever betray the man who has been so good, to my mother and myself?

That you should be engaged in this work is tragic for me. I liked you so very much, but now we must put our brief hour behind us because it is impossible for us ever to meet as friends again.

Sabine.

For a moment Gregory regarded the big box of orchids which he had bought for her a little stupidly. What should he do with them? Those gorgeous blossoms which he had hoped to see gracing her shoulder were useless now: nothing but a bitter mockery of a joy that might have been.

With an impatient gesture he thrust them over to the reception clerk. 'Flowers,' he said briefly. 'If you've got a wife or girl friend they may come in useful.' Then he turned angrily away.

To his surprise he found himself staring into Gerry Wells's freckled face. The young Inspector was standing there, clad in a neat dark blue lounge suit, a black soft hat dangling in one hand and a walking stick in the other. He was smiling broadly.

'Well, how's the amateur detective getting on?' he inquired cheerfully.

'He's not,' Gregory snapped. 'For God's sake let's have a drink. I've mucked up the whole darned business.' Then he led the way down the passage to the cocktail bar.

'Let's hear the worst,' Wells suggested when they were seated at one of the little tables with drinks before them.

'I met her here just before lunch,' Gregory tossed off his drink and ordered another, 'staged the party perfectly, brought old Sir Pellinore along so she shouldn't suspect I had any idea she was staying here. In the afternoon she met some buyer at the Royal Palacethen I got her along to my rooms. Everything was going swimmingly until after tea then I lost my head and behaved like a stupid schoolboy.'

The Inspector chuckled. 'Doesn't do to mix pleasure with business, does it?'

'Dammit, you don't understand,' Gregory burst out. 'I'd rather lose my right hand than see her sent to prison; so I spilled the beans that I was working with the police and knew all about the smuggling racket. Then I begged and prayed of her to save herself by turning King's evidence. She wouldn't promise anything but said she must have time to think and promised to let me take her out to dinner if I called here for her again at eight o'clock. I was pretty well certain I'd persuaded her to come in with us; but when I turned up here a few minutes ago I found she had quit and quit for good.'

Wells's eyes narrowed a fraction. 'What exactly did you give away to her during these empassioned moments?'

'Oh, don't fret yourself, passion or no I'm a cautious old bird. I only said we were on to Gavin Fortescue's smuggling racket generally. I didn't breathe a word about the secret base between Calais and Boulogne or Quex Park, so there's no reason to suppose that they'll abandon either of those hangouts. She won't use the Carlton again, of course, and now she knows I'm a sort of unofficial policeman God alone knows if I'll be able to get in touch with her again at all.'

'I wouldn't worry about that.' The Inspector winked suddenly. We're not all quite nitwits, you know. I've had a couple of men following her all day, just in case you slipped up. She's on the road to Quex Park now, as I've just learned from one of the flying squad cars that's sitting on her tail, and as soon as I've had a bite to eat I'm flying down myself. When your man told me on the telephone, ten minutes ago, that you'd changed in a hurry to dash out to dinner, I had a hunch I'd find you here, I thought perhaps you might like to go with me then maybe you'll see her again this evening after all.'

13

Gregory Sallust Has Cause to Hate His job

Gregory and Wells considered it unlikely that the smugglers would undertake any operations much before midnight, but Sabine would do the journey to Quex Park in a couple of hours and so should arrive there by a quarter past ten, or a little after. She might remain only long enough to make fresh arrangements then leave again by plane so, as it was essential to keep track of her, they decided to lose no time following her down into Kent.

They had spent barely a quarter of an hour in reviewing the situation, and Gregory reckoned that even allowing for a return to his flat and a scratch meal on the surplus of the supplies got in for Sabine's tea he could reach Croydon, where Wells's plane was stationed, by 9.30, if he was quick changing into more suitable clothes.

He left the Inspector to call at the Yard and go on down to Croydon ahead of him, then he secured a likely looking taxi and promised the driver double fare if they reached Gloucester Road in under twelve minutes. The man earned his extra money with thirty seconds to spare.

On arriving there Gregory sent Rudd for his car while he changed and ate simultaneously. Once he was out of his tails and clad in his battle equipment he sat down to the wheel of his long two-seater with Rudd beside him to bring it back. Taking the short cut across the river through Battersea, Wandsworth and Tooting, he drove out to Croydon at a speed which shocked onlookers but was actually quite safe for a really expert driver.

Wells was awaiting him, now dressed in airman's kit, beside a single engine 120 h.p. two-seater Tiger Moth.

'Hello! Open cockpit,' said Gregory. 'Wish I'd known; I'd have put on warmer clothes.'

'You'll be all right,' Wells assured him. 'It isn't a long trip and there's a rag inside. Here…' he held out a flat neatly packed bundle with arm straps attached. 'Your parachute. It'll help to keep your back warm.'

'Parachute! What the hell do I want with a parachute?' Gregory grunted.

'Nothing, I hope, but I'm afraid you've got to wear it if you're coming in my plane. Government regulations.'

'Oh, well!' Gregory pushed his arms through the loops and fastened the gear about his waist, then climbed into the observer's seat. He never wasted his breath on unnecessary arguments when there was work to be done.

The sun had set at a little before nine. It was nearly dark now and the stars were coming out again for what promised to be another almost cloudless August night.

Gregory had flown a good deal in his time, but he had never quite got accustomed to the amazing speed by which one could cover an actual point to point distance by plane, as compared with road or rail. Twenty-five minutes after leaving Croydon he picked out the great mile wide belt of trees which gave Quex Park such shelter, yet threw it up from the air in the flat surrounding landscape. Wells kept well to the south of it, passing over the little village of Acol, then veered northward towards the sea. After a moment a single beam of light showed in the fields to the east of the park and he came down towards it.

'I wasn't taking any chances this time,' he shouted back to Gregory as they bumped to a standstill. 'I gave orders for one of my men to show a light here where you came down before.'

The torch had disappeared but a voice came out of the darkness: 'Mr. Wells?'

'Yes, Simmons, what's the latest?'

'Thompson reported twenty minutes ago, sir. There's nothing fresh, so he's gone back to watch the house again.'

'Good.' The Inspector smiled over his shoulder towards Gregory. 'We've beaten her to it then but she ought to be here fairly soon. Simmons will look after the plane while we go inside and give the lady a silent welcome.'

Gregory grunted noncommittally as he climbed out. True, he wanted desperately to get in touch with Sabine again, but not when he was in the Inspector's company. Wells had quite enough evidence upon which to arrest her any moment he chose and Gregory knew that she was only being left at liberty so long as she might prove a useful lead to further evidence which would incriminate Lord Gavin. Once the net closed it would be beyond his power to help her.

It was a dark sultry night again; the very centre of the dark period between moons, which the smugglers were using for their operations. Hence, Gregory felt certain, their intense activity and swift journeying, which would continue for another forty-eight hours at least. After which, unless the weather broke, they would probably not run further cargoes until the moonless period in September.

With Wells beside him he made his way through the pitch-black wooded belt along the east drive to the fringe of the lawn, from where, knowing now the direction of the house, he could distinguish its outline among the surrounding trees less than a hundred yards away.

The hoot of an owl came from some bushes nearby and to Gregory's surprise Wells mimicked the cry in reply. Immediately there was a stirring in the shadows to their left and a figure tiptoed across the gravel path towards them.

'All quiet, Inspector,' said the newcomer in a low voice.

'Thanks, Thompson, you'd better stay here while we go round to the back of the house.' Keeping in the shadow of the trees they tiptoed down a narrow path through the shrubbery until they came out at the rear of the building. A light was burning in the scullery window where Gregory had attempted to break in the night before.

Wells moved along the wall of the house to the doorway and knocked gently on it. There was no reply. He knocked again, louder this time, and there was a sound of footsteps in the stone flagged passage. The door swung open and Milly's slender form was revealed on the lighted threshold.

'Hullo,' she said in pleased surprise. 'I didn't expect to see you so soon again.'

'Nor I you. I thought you'd be in bed by this time.'

'It's not very late, only just ten, although often I go to bed earlier and listen to the wireless.'

'I like the wireless too,' he smiled, 'but I don't often get the chance of listening to it in bed.'

Gregory, growing impatient at this unimportant conversation, stepped forward out of the shadows and she started back, realising his presence for the first time. He had seen her the night before, but she had not seen him as she had been walking in her sleep. Wells introduced them.

'Won't you both come in?' she said. 'Perhaps you'd like some supper. I ought to have thought of that.'

'No; thanks all the same.' Wells shook his head. 'We fed less than an hour ago, and we'd better not come in, I think, in case somebody comes along to this wing of the house. Our presence might take a bit of explaining as your aunt's not supposed to have visitors.' There was marked regret in his voice as he added: 'We only knocked you up to let you know that some of the people we're after will be here again tonight. Nothing unusual's likely to happen, but I thought it would be a bit of a comfort to know we were close handy here, keeping an eye on things.'

'That was nice of you.' She smiled up at him. 'We knew they were coming though. The foreign lady telephoned only a few minutes ago to say that Aunty was to get her some supper. I was just going out to tell your man about it when you turned up.'

'D'you know where she telephoned from?'

'Canterbury. She didn't speak herself. It was a man at some garage who rang up for her.'

'She'll be here pretty soon then?'

'I expect so, but there'll be time for you to have a quick cup of tea, if you'd care to come in for a moment.'

'Better not.' Wells shook his head again. 'Although I'd like to. We'll get back to the bushes I think. Remember me kindly to your aunt.'

'All right. Will I be seeing you again tonight? If so, 111 well I might stay up for a bit.'

'I'm afraid it's rather unlikely so I'd hop off to bed if I were you. Happy dreams.'

'Same to you. That is if you get any sleep as I hope you will. Good night.'

When the two men turned away she stood at the half open door reluctantly watching Wells's retreating back as he disappeared beside Gregory round the corner of the house.

Ten minutes later, from their cover among the bushes, they saw the glimmer of lights between the trees, and the big limousine that Gregory had seen set out for London the night before, roared up the drive with a single dark muffled figure seated inside it.

'Gavin's not with her,' Gregory whispered, as he saw Sabine descend from the car. 'I wonder where he's got to.'

'Lord only knows,' Wells muttered. 'He left the Carlton shortly after midday. I had a man tailing him, of course, but the fool mucked it when they were caught in a traffic block. When I last heard our people hadn't yet been able to pick him up again.'

Lights appeared in the down stair windows of the main part of the house and they guessed that Sabine had settled down to her supper. Meanwhile, they remained behind the bushes; Gerry Wells with the trained patience of a man who spends many hours of his life waiting perforce for things to happen, but Gregory fidgeting a little after the first half hour, wanting to walk up and down to stretch his limbs and wondering if he dare light a cigarette, but deciding against it.

An hour crawled by; then the lights in the down stair rooms went out and fresh lights appeared in one of the upper windows. Another twenty minutes and those went out as well.

'We've come on a wild goose chase,' muttered Gregory, half glad, half angry. 'There's nothing doing here tonight after all. Evidently she only cleared out of the Carlton in order to get away from me; and decided to sleep here.'

'Maybe you're right,' Wells replied noncommittally, 'but don't forget the telegram. From that it looked as though they were on the job tonight as well didn’t it?'

'Perhaps, but they may have a dozen hideouts and rendezvous as almost all the numbers in the damn thing were different.'

'Sssh, what's that?' Wells caught Gregory's arm and pressed it. The faint low note of a motor engine came clearly to them in the silence. They glanced upwards, half expecting the approach of a plane, but a moment later realised that a car had entered the west gate of the park a quarter of a mile away. Then they caught the gleam of its headlights flickering through the trees.

It was a long powerful sports model with two men in its bucket seats and it did not stop at the front of the house but went straight round to the garage.

Gregory and Wells slipped through the fringe of trees in order to get a view of the new arrivals but by the time they had reached a point from which they could see the garage the headlights of the car had been switched off.

A torch glimmered in the darkness. By it they could see that the big doors of the garage had been closed upon the car; then the light moved towards them and there was the sound of approaching footsteps. They shrank back into the blacker shadows. The two men passed, the nearest dragging one of his feet a little, and crossed the lawn to the shed that housed Lord Gavin's plane.

A bright light inside the hangar was switched on. In its glare the two figures, in airman's kit, stood out clearly, one nearly a head taller than the other.

'The Limper,' Gregory whispered. 'How I'd like to get my hands on the brute's throat. He might have blinded me with that bag of pepper he threw in my face at Dives,'

The plane was run out on to the lawn, the lights in the shed switched off, and the two men boarded the machine. The engine roared and spat; then the plane glided forward.

'Come on,' snapped Gregory. 'We've got to run for it or we'll lose them.'

Almost before the plane was in the air Gregory and Wells were sprinting across the soft springy turf behind it. They dived into the belt of trees and stumbled forward tripping and jumping over vaguely seen patches of undergrowth. Then the darkness of the thick leafy branches above blacked out everything.

Stumbling and cursing they blundered on from side to side between the tree trunks until they reached the meadow, then raced on again, heads down, towards the east gate of the park. Breathless and panting they tore across the field to the spot where Simmons was waiting beside Wells's plane. The roar of its powerful engine shattered the silent night and Gregory was only settling in his seat as it sailed into the air.

They knew from the sound of the other machine, before Wells's engine had been turned on, that it was heading south-westward and took that direction. By the time they were up two hundred feet Gregory was scanning the starry sky with his night glasses.

'Got 'em…'he shouted down the voice pipe a moment later, '… little more to the south. Towards that very bright star low on the horizon.'

The plane in front was climbing and for a few moments Wells flew on at five hundred feet to make up the distance. Both planes were flying without lights and it was difficult to pick up their quarry, but soon, with the aid of Gregory's shouted directions, he caught sight of it.

Five minutes after taking off they picked up the few scattered lights of late workers or pleasure parties in Canterbury, upon their right, but after that, flying southwest by south, they passed over a stretch of country containing only small villages, from which the glimmers of light were few and far between at this late hour.

Another five minutes and on their left they sighted another little glimmering cluster far below them which both knew, from their course, to be Folkestone. After that the country seemed to become blank and lightless; for once they had passed over the Ashford Folkestone road they were above the low sparsely inhabited lands of the Romney Marshes.

Wells had climbed to two thousand feet, but the leading plane was just as fast a machine, and flying at a still greater altitude. For three hectic minutes, while Gregory frantically searched the sky with his night glasses, they lost sight of it but, keeping to their course, they flew on over the deserted, lightless, marshlands until a star blacked out for an instant and enabled them to pick up the trail again.

An intermittent revolving beam showed as a pinpoint miles away to their left, and Gregory knew that they were now opposite the Dungeness light. A moment later Wells shouted to him and pointed downwards straight ahead. Two rows of lights were just visible, forming a 'T' in the blackness of the marshes. The other plane was descending towards them and Wells swerved away to the westward in order to avoid being spotted from below. The roar of his engine would, he knew, merge into that of the other plane as long as it remained in the air. He flew on until he was almost over Tenterden, climbing all the time, then turned and came back again to the southeast, climbing still. He was now at five thousand feet when, flying seaward, they passed again the tiny 'T' of lights below.

'Got them,' he yelled to Gregory through the voice pipe.

'But they'll hear us if we fly lower; and away from the "T" of lights it's too risky to make a landing,' Gregory shouted

You'll make the landing,' Wells bawled. 'What's your parachute for, man! Out you go.'

'Not likely,' Gregory bawled. 'Never made a parachute jump in my life not going to start now. Think I'm going to risk my neck?'

'Dammit, you must,' yelled the Inspector as he banked, circling still higher, over the secret landing ground. 'We'll never find this place in daylight. It's our one chance to register their base. You've got to do it: don't let me down.'

Gregory stared over the side of the plane at the little cluster of lights seeming now so infinitely far below. He was no coward in a fight. All his life he had taken a grim delight in facing odds and winning through where battle with other human beings was concerned but this was different. To jump from the safety of the plane into thin air with the horrible uncertainty as to whether the parachute would open, or if he would be dashed, a bleeding mass of pulp, on to the distant ground. Was the risk worth it? Why the hell should he? And then the heart shaped face of Sabine came clear before his eyes.

'If I do, will you let Sabine out?' he cried.

'I can't. You know I can't.' Wells's voice just reached him above the roar of the engine, angry at this frustration when he was so near securing evidence of real importance.

'You must.' Gregory's voice pierced the wind and thunder of the engine; 'otherwise I won't play.'

'Will you if I agree?' Wells shouted.

'Yes, damn you!' Gregory screamed back.

'I can't speak for my superiors,' bawled Wells.

Gregory was already fumbling at his back, seeing that the parachute was in position. He stood up uncertainly swaying as the plane soared through the air at 150 miles an hour. 'You've got to let her off,' he thundered, leaning over Wells's shoulder, his mouth close to the Inspector's ear.

'Go on, I'll do my best,' Wells turned his face up, shouting, 'won't arrest her myself anyhow.'

Gregory peered over the side again. The thought of leaping into that black immensity of space made his heart contract but he climbed out on to the fuselage. The wind rushed past him tearing at every corner of his garments as though it would strip him naked. For a second there was an awful pain which stabbed him in the pit of the stomach. He felt sick and giddy as he clung on with all his might to prevent the force of the blast ripping his clutching ringers from their precarious hold. Then he took a breath screwed his face up into a rueful grin and jumped.

14

By the Brown Owl Inn on Romney Marshes

As Gregory leapt the body of the plane seemed to shoot up like an express lift behind him. He felt himself gripped and twisted as though he was a straw in a tempest; then hurled violently downward. The plane roared away into the darkness above him.

His last thought before going overboard had been: 'Mustn't pull the rip cord until I'm clear of the plane.' He knew little enough about parachute diving, but he'd heard somewhere, back in the war days, before it became a sport and when it was only undertaken as a dire necessity, that many a stout fellow had come to grief because he'd opened his parachute at the moment of jumping and it had caught in the fuselage of the machine, tearing the fabric and so making it useless or hanging the miserable parachutist.

He had not realised that in such cases the machine, crippled and often burning from antiaircraft shell or the enemy's inflammatory bullets, was falling too and that the wretched pilot might be a moment or more before dropping with greater speed, he could get any distance from the wreckage; whereas in a normal jump, such as he had just made, he had been torn away from the fast-moving plane in a fraction of a second.

His fear, that if he had his hand on the rip cord the shock of the jump might open it immediately, had caused him to stretch his arms out sideways so that he could not possibly pull it inadvertently. Now, as he was flung face downwards by the rushing air current, his arms were forced back behind his shoulders and he was hurtling earthwards like a diver who has taken a fancy jump from a springboard, head foremost into the sea. The wind had ceased to turn him but seemed instead to be rushing upwards as he plunged down into the awful void.

Nearly a mile below him lay the earth; pitch black and terrifying; the friendly trees and inequalities of surface which formed its landscape blotted out by the midnight gloom. Not a light was to be seen in any direction, except the little 'T of flares which now appeared to be some way towards his right as he shot earthwards.

With horrifying rapidity the 'T' grew larger. By" a stupendous effort he forced his right arm inwards to grab the rip cord. The wind, tearing at his left as at some fin, instantly flung him over on to his back, and then, to his utter horror, he began to spin like a top.

His fingers were numb from the icy blast of the rushing air. He had an awful moment when he feared that they would no longer have sufficient feeling left in them for him to use them. Cursing himself for a panicky fool he tried to snatch comfort from the thought that plenty of people who did this thing for fun took extra pleasure in waiting until the very last moment before opening their parachute and that he must have a long way yet to drop.

It seemed an age since he had sprung off the plane; an eternity since he had begun his fight against the up rushing air to force his hand into the ripcord. At last he found it and, half choking from relief, jerked it with all his might.

Nothing happened. He pulled again but the cord was hanging loose now in his hand. Still nothing happened. He made a desperate effort to force his head round so that he could look over his shoulder. The movement flung him out of his spin and he was facing the earth head downwards again. The 'T' of flares was much bigger now. It seemed like some fiery group of stars rushing up out of the darkness which would roar past him over his right shoulder with the speed of an express train at any second. But it wouldn’t he knew that. When his right shoulder came level with the flares he would hit the earth. It would be as though some giant, greater than any fabled hero, had flung the whale world at him. He would be broken, burst, shattered into a thousand fragments by that appalling impact.

Almost sick with horror, he pulled and pulled at the useless rip cord, while he alternately cursed his utter folly in flinging himself to his death and gasped breathless prayers to God to save him.

Time ceases to exist at such awful moments. He was still plunging downwards at a fantastic speed and had virtually given himself up as finished when, without a second's warning, his arms were nearly torn from their sockets and a violent jerk at the belt round his middle drove the breath out of his body.

He had forgotten that a short interval must elapse between releasing the parachute and its opening to its full spread when it would arrest his headlong descent. Now, as that thought flashed into his agonised mind, he could still hardly believe that the safety device had begun to function efficiently the second he had pulled the cord.

His feet sank down lower than his head and before he knew quite what had happened he was standing upright, swaying a little from side to side, his long legs dangling.

Almost collapsing with relief he found he could look upwards and saw the dome of the fully opened parachute like a great dark mushroom against the starlit sky above.

For the first time since leaving the plane he was able to gasp in a full breath and look about him consciously. The 'T' of flares towards his right was still larger now but only the blackness of the land below had caused him to think he was so near it. His terror had been engendered by his complete inexperience; for he had made a good take off, although he had lost some seconds before being able to pull the rip cord, but when he had done so the parachute had opened perfectly normally.

The swaying motion increased, until he was covering an arc of about thirty degrees; as if he were the pendulum of some huge clock. He knew he should try to check the movement, otherwise he might make a bad landing, but he did not know how to, not realising that a pair of ropes now dangling one at each side of him were for that purpose. Apart from the fear that he might suddenly be swung into a tree he found the motion rather enjoyable. The lights were now rising gently towards his right, but he did not seem to be coming any nearer to them, and he judged that he would make his landing quite a long way from the smugglers' secret base.

As they came low on the horizon it warned him that he was nearing earth and he gathered his muscles taut together, so that as his feet touched he might spring into the air again, in order to reduce the force of the impact. A faint shimmer showed to his left and he realised that it was the reflection of the starlight upon a winding creek of water. Next moment the flares disappeared from view; blotted out by an unseen crest. Then his right foot hit something with a thud and instantly he was sprawling on the ground with every ounce of breath knocked out of his body.

He clutched wildly at the grass as he felt himself moving still, but sideways now, dragged by the parachute. Bumping over a ditch he was pulled into some low bushes. There was a sharp crackling as the dry twigs snapped and he thrust up his arms to protect his face, then the dragging ceased, for the parachute had sunk to earth.

For a moment he remained there, bruised and breathless, then he struggled into a sitting position and wriggled out of his harness. Only a dull glow, coming from over a crest of rising ground to the north, now indicated the smugglers' landing place. He stood up and pulled his big torch from his pocket then cursed aloud as he found that his fall had broken the bulb. He had meant to bundle up the expensive parachute and hide it somewhere but time was precious and he dared not waste it fumbling round for something that he could not see. Except for the lighter patch of sky low on the horizon to the northward, caused by the flares and the faint starlight, the whole countryside was shrouded in darkness. Abandoning the parachute he set off towards the north. Only the deeper patches of blackness indicated the taller grass and low bushes when he was almost upon them while there was nothing at all to show the frequent ditches which intersected the marshes.

Pressing forward warily, he stumbled at almost every step, and was compelled by some obstacle to alter his course every ten yards or so. He thanked his gods at least that it was August. Most of the smaller water courses now had dry beds and the marshland squelched under foot only in the lower places. To have attempted to cross this wild country in winter would have been impossible; he would have been bogged for a certainty.

As it was, he had to cross two creeks; stagnant, scummy bands of water with muddy bottoms which dragged and sucked at his boots when he floundered through them and thrust his way among the tall knifelike reeds that fringed their banks.

It was a nightmare journey. Wet to the waist, tired, bruised and angry, he struggled onward; yet the glow from the flares seemed little nearer and the going so difficult he doubted if he had traversed more than half a mile in twenty minutes. Then he came to a wire fence, climbed over, and found a steep grassy bank, up which he crawled on all fours. The top was level; next moment he tripped over a sleeper and came down heavily between two railway lines.

Picking himself up with renewed curses, he found he could now see the flares some distance away on the far side of the embankment, and turned northwest along it.

Knowing how quickly the smugglers completed their operations, he began to hurry; fearing that with all the time he had lost plunging into ditches and over tussocks of coarse grass he would be too late to find out what was going on.

He had barely covered another two hundred yards when he caught the sound of a train puffing up behind him from Dungeness and, jumping off the permanent way, slid down the bank to conceal himself while it passed.

A short goods train of no more than half a dozen closed wagons rumbled by shaking the embankment. The sparks from its engine and glare of the furnace temporarily lit up a small section of the surrounding country.

When the train had gone past Gregory stumbled on to the permanent way again and set off after it. To his surprise he saw it pull up ahead of him, opposite the flares, so he broke into a jog trot, spurred on by the thought that his gruelling experiences of the last hour might,’ after all, have been well worth while.

Five minutes later he was within fifty yards of the train's rear wagon and, slipping down the far side of the embankment, he crawled along under its cover still nearer, until he could see by the bright light of the landing flares the business which was proceeding. Beyond the flares were a couple of big planes and the smaller one in which the Limper had arrived from Quex Park. The others had already left and big stacks of boxes at intervals on a level stretch of ground showed where they had unloaded their cargoes. One of the large planes took the air as he watched and he was able to see enough of it to recognise it as a 240 h.p. twin-engine de Havilland Dragon, which would normally carry eight passengers, but in their place was capable of transporting about half a ton of cargo.

From the sound of the engine, as the plane circled in the air, he knew that something of its cruising speed, which should have been 140 m.p.h., had been sacrificed by the appliance of the latest silencing devices, so that the noise of even a fleet of these machines, crossing the coastline at six thousand feet, would barely be noticeable and certainly not sufficient to attract undue attention.

At the bottom of the embankment he wriggled through the fence and found a dry gully which offered such excellent cover that he determined to risk crawling even nearer; soon he was crouching in it no more than twenty yards from the landing ground.

About forty men were working with frantic speed unloading the goods train; pitching dozens of wooden boxes from it down the embankment. They had already cleared the first three wagons and, while a number of them attacked the rest, the others went off to the dumps which had been unloaded from the planes, then began to carry the boxes towards the empty wagons.

For ten minutes Gregory remained a silent spectator of their intense activity. By the end of that time the contraband cargo had all been loaded on to the train, the wagons relocked, the last big plane was gone, and all the flares except one had been put out.

The train moved off and, rapidly gathering speed, disappeared in the direction of London. The men then flung themselves upon the great higgledy-piggledy pile of boxes which had been thrown out of it, and started to hump them across the landing ground, disappearing into the belt of shadows beyond which the flare did not penetrate.

'What now?' thought Gregory. 'My luck's been in so far and I'm not chucking up till I find out what they do with the stuff.' Crawling back by way of the ditch, he began to make a detour outside the lighted patch of ground and, after going a hundred yards, he stumbled through some low bushes, up a small bank and on to a road. Having crossed it, he slid down the slope on the other side and proceeded to follow the line of the lane, which curved slightly. The flare was some distance away, but he could hear muffled voices carried on the night wind to the front of him and, a moment later, came upon a thick hedge which barred his passage.

Scrambling up the bank again he got round the corner of the hedge and saw that it hid the kitchen garden of a solitary house, which loomed up before him, abutting on the road. A faint square of light filtering through a heavy curtain marked one of its down stair windows.

He got down on his hands and knees and crawled forward under cover of the hedge which here fringed the roadside. The voices of the men grew louder as he advanced and then he saw the dark outline of a lorry. There were others behind it and on these the men were busily loading the boxes that had come off the train.

From this new position he could see some of the smugglers in the distance, silhouetted against the light of the flare, as with the boxes on their shoulders they trudged in Indian file across the grassland. Suddenly the last flare was put out and two minutes later the loading of the lorries was completed. The men climbed into them and the lightless convoy set off in the direction of New Romney.

One by one they crawled past Gregory, where he crouched in the shadows, and shortly after the last one had disappeared a sudden vibrant hum, which grew lower and then receded, told him that the Limper had departed unseen in his plane. The rumble of the lorries faded in the distance and an utter silence closed down upon the deserted stretch of country. Not a sign or sound remained to show the illegal activity which' had been going on there so recently.

Gregory came out into the lane and tiptoed along it towards the front of the silent house The light in the ground floor room had gone out but there was now one showing in a front window upstairs. The heavy curtains had been carelessly drawn and a bright ray filtered through between them. The window was too high for Gregory to see into the room, but a wooden sign above the doorway of the place showed that it was a wayside inn and, by the light which came from the crack between the curtains he was just able to make out the lettering upon it. Thankful that he would be able to find the place again in this desolate stretch of country he read the faded lettering on the weather-beaten board. It was the Brown Owl Inn and he knew that it must lie within a few hundred yards of the railway line south of Romney.

Turning away, he walked up the road for a hundred yards and lit a cigarette. He was unutterably tired and now he had to trudge he didn't know how many miles before he could get a lift into Ashford. That seemed the nearest place where there would be any chance of his picking up an early train. He could sleep there, of course, or knock up some pub which he might pass on his road, but that did not fit in with his way of doing things. Wells would be anxious about him and eager to hear the result of his night's work. The extra hour or two in passing on the information he had secured might make all the difference so, tired as he was, he hardly thought of bed, but determined to get back to Quex Park at the earliest possible moment. Chin down, and in his long loping stride, he set off up the road inland.

15

Glorious Day

Inspector Gerry Wells was the lucky one this time. He very definitely had the soft side of the deal and, while the wretched Gregory was still hurtling through the air in fear of an imminent and horrible death, the Inspector turned his plane north-westward heading back towards Thanet. He was not risking any more night landings in the fields outside Quex Park without adequate reason so he came down on the well lit landing ground of the Royal Air Force Depot at Mansion, about midway between Quex Park, Margate and Ramsgate. Having presented his official card to the officer on duty, the courtesy of accommodation for his plane was extended to him and he managed to get a lift in a car to Margate where, feeling that he had earned a comfortable night's rest, he went straight to the Queen's Highcliffe Hotel.

One of the hotel guests had had to return to London suddenly that evening because his son had been taken dangerously ill. It was only this fortuitous chance which enabled the night porter to give the detective a bed at the height of the August season with every room booked for a month ahead.

Early rising was a habit with Gerry Wells. He was as fit as a fiddle in wind and limb and a few hours of deep healthy sleep were all he needed to prepare him for another almost indefinite period of activity.

Splashing in his bath at half past six he only controlled the impulse to burst into song at the thought of the other guests who were still sleeping. He was not unduly worried about Gregory because he knew the care with which service parachutes are packed and inspected; it never even occurred to him that the great silk balloon might fail to open.

He thought that Gregory might perhaps have had a bit of a shaking when he landed, owing to the fact that he had never had any instruction in parachute jumping, but Mr. Sallust was a tough customer to the Inspector's mind and, therefore, should come to little harm. Moreover, Wells had made certain that his unofficial colleague would drop well away from the smugglers' base so there was no likelihood of his descending in the midst of their illegal activities and being bumped on the head for his pains.

As the Inspector rubbed himself vigorously with his towel his thoughts turned to Milly Chalfont at the Park. What a delightful little thing she was, so slight and graceful, so utterly unspoiled, and so friendly too in spite of her apparent shyness. Gerry was rather a shy fellow himself where women were concerned and although he could admire Sabine as a work of art he would have been terrified of having anything to do with her outside his official business.

While he dressed he reviewed the situation and found it good. His investigation had progressed by leaps and bounds in the last forty-eight hours, thanks of course largely to that lean, queer, cynical devil, Gregory Sallust, but Wells had no stupid pride about the matter. It was his job to run Lord Gavin's crew to earth and he was only too grateful for any help which might be given him. He assumed, quite reasonably, not knowing what a tiger Gregory could be when he had got his teeth into a thing, that his ally, stranded in Romney Marshes, would spend the night at some local inn, whether he had secured any information or not and, therefore, it was most unlikely that he would put in an appearance again much before midday. There was nothing Wells could do to further his inquiry until Gregory turned up and the golden August morning lay before him. His thoughts gravitated again towards Milly and Quex Park. Had Sabine spent the night there or gone off again after all? In any case it obviously seemed his business to go over and find out.

After an early breakfast he paid his bill and left the hotel. Crowds of holiday makers had risen early too. Family parties, the children with their spades and pails, the elders with their towels and bathing costumes slung across their shoulders, were already making their way from boarding houses and apartments down Petman's Gap to play cricket on the sands, or bathe in the shallow waters of the low tide, which sparkled in the sunlight, ebbing and rippling in little chuckling waves a quarter of a mile away from the tall white cliffs. Gerry Wells watched them with a smile. He liked to see people happy, but he wondered what they would think if they knew of his last night's adventure. That he was a Scotland Yard man they might credit easily enough; that he was on a special inquiry and had been allotted an aeroplane to undertake it, would cause interest and a pleasant feeling that they were in the know about the police not being such a slow-witted lot as some people were inclined to think; but if he had told them that this international smuggling racket was something far more important than anyone could suppose; that it might lead to dangerous criminals and agitators being landed secretly by night, and so evading the immigration officers at the ports; that bombs and poison gas might be imported, which would lead to civil war, to the destruction of their homes, and perhaps the loss of their lives caught up into street fighting that was none of their seeking, they would certainly think that he was romancing or an unfortunate fellow who ought to be locked up in an asylum.

On the corner he managed to get a place in a Canterbury bus, already crowded with happy trippers off to see the old cathedral town and the bloodstained stone where Thomas a Becket had been foully done to death by the three Knights so many hundreds of years ago.

He dropped off at Birchington churchyard in which Dante Gabriel Rossetti lies buried but he did not pause to visit the poet's grave. Instead he turned up Park Lane; his thoughts very much with the living. Outside the west gate of Quex Park he met his man who was keeping in touch with Mrs. Bird.

'Anything fresh, Thompson?' he asked.

'No, sir, nothing. There've been no more visitors since you left last night and Mrs. Bird tells me the lady who came down by car slept in the place. She's still there as far as I know.'

Wells nodded and walked on up the wooded driveway then, skirting the back of the museum, he reached the side entrance to the house.

Mrs. Bird appeared from the kitchen garden with a basket full of runner beans just as he reached the door, and she confirmed Thompson's report.

'When the foreign lady turned up she had her bit of supper,5 she said, 'and told me she meant to stay the night. I always keep a couple of bedrooms ready because that's his lordship's orders. After her meal she went straight up without a word except that I wasn't to call her until she rang for breakfast.'

Milly came out at that moment and smiled shyly at the Inspector. He nodded to her cheerfully.

'We're on the right track now, but it's a matter of waiting until midday, or rather until Mr. Sallust turns up again and I doubt if he'll be here much before then. I've got to kick my heels around for the next few hours and so I was wondering.

'Wondering what?' Milly asked him.

'Well, my plane's at Manston aerodrome, only a couple of miles away and I was wondering if you meant what you said about liking to come up for a flip some time

Milly paled a little under her creamy skin. 'II think it would be rather fun with you.'

'You don't mind, Mrs. Bird?' he asked the older woman.

'As long as you bring her back safe I don't, but aeroplane's are tricky things, aren't they?'

'Not if they're looked after properly. Night landings in unknown country aren't much fun, but it's no more risky than going for a ride in a car on a lovely day like this.'

'All right, I'll get my hat.' Milly turned away, but he stopped her.

'You don't need that only get it blown off as mine's an open plane. I'll borrow a leather jacket for you from one of the pilots.'

Milly looked at Mrs. Bird. 'You're sure you don't mind, Aunty?'

'Of course I don't, my pet, as long as you take care. Run along now and enjoy yourself.'

Gerry and the girl left the back of the house and made their way by the side path through the shrubbery out on to the ' east drive. Both were silent for a few minutes, racking their brains for a subject of conversation. Then Gerry glanced towards the old tower which rose out of a coppice some hundred yards away to their right with the steel structure on its top, which looked like a miniature Eiffel Tower and could be seen above the treetops of the park for many miles in all directions.

'What's that place?' he asked. 'Apart, I mean, from the fact that they may use it now as a signal station to guide their planes in.'

'It's called the Waterloo tower, I think,' she said, 'built in the year of the battle you know, and it has a peal of bells, twelve of them, the finest in Kent up to a few years ago. Canterbury Cathedral had only ten, until they added another couple and came equal with this lot here. There's another tower over there too,' she glanced towards their left where a tall brick building crowned a low fenced in mound that rose from the grass land. 'The old gardener told me that Major Powell Cotton’s father was awfully keen on ships and things; so he used to signal from it to his friends in the navy when they sailed across the bay. The sea is hidden from us here by the trees but it's only a mile away.'

'I see he made a collection of old cannons too,' Wells remarked, looking at the six deep semicircle of ancient guns which occupied the mound.

'That's right. Some of them came from the Royal George, I'm told, and the little baby ones were taken from Kingsgate Castle. The mound itself is an old Saxon burial ground, raised in honour of some great chief, and it's supposed to be the reason we have a ghost here. She's called the "White Lady and walks along a path through the woods behind the tower at night, until she reaches the mound, then 'she disappears. They say she's the chief's young wife and she haunts the place where he was buried.'

'Ever seen her?'

'No, and I don't think anyone has for a long time now; all the same I wouldn't walk along that path at night for anything.'

'Not if I were with you?' Gerry asked, smiling at her.

She blushed a little. 'Well, I might then that would be different.'

A few moments later they reached the park gates and took the byroads through the open cornfields towards Manston. They were silent for a good portion of their two-mile walk but strangely happy in each other's company.

At the aerodrome a friendly artificer lent Milly a flying coat and she was soon installed in the observer's seat of Wells's Tiger Moth, a little scared, but even more excited at starting on her first flight.

For nearly an hour they cruised over eastern Kent, first along the northern shore over Birchington, Herne Bay and Whitstable, then southeast to Canterbury, where the towers of the ancient cathedral, lifting high above the twisting streets of the town, were thrown up by the strong sunlight which patterned the stonework like delicate lace against the black shadows made by its embrasures. Ten minutes later they had reached the coast again and were circling over Hythe on the southern shore of the county. Turning east they visited Sandgate, Folkestone and Dover, flying low round the tower of the old castle upon its cliff, while below them the cross Channel steamers and the destroyers in the Admiralty basin looked like toy ships that one could pick up in the hand and push out with a stick upon a voyage across a pond. Away over the Channel the white cliffs of Calais showed faintly in the summer haze. From Dover they sailed on to Walmer, Deal and Sandwich, then across Pegwell Bay to Ramsgate, and completed the circle of the Thanet coast by passing low over the long beaches of Broadstairs, Margate and Westgate, where the holiday crowd swarmed like black ants in their thousands and countless white faces stared up towards the roaring plane, waving hands and handkerchiefs in salutation as it soared low overhead.

'Well, how did you like it?' Gerry Wells turned to glance over his shoulder as he brought the plane to a halt once more on the Manston landing ground.

'It it was fine,' Milly said a little breathlessly. She had feared that she might be airsick, but the thrill of watching the tiny human figures in the sunlit fields, and town after town as they circled above them, with some new interest constantly arising out of the far horizon had made her completely forget her fear after the first few moments. Her cheeks were glowing now with a gentle flush from the swift wind of their flight and her blue eyes were sparkling in her delicate little face with happy exhilaration.

As Wells helped her out of the plane he had not the least twinge of conscience at having neglected his duties for an hour or so to give her the experience. He had no regular hours and his work often kept him up all night so he felt perfectly justified in taking this little break which had given Milly and himself so much pleasure.

Having seen his plane into its borrowed hangar they set out again for Quex Park and arrived back at the east gate by half past eleven. Their friendship had now grown to such a state that talking no longer proved a difficulty and Milly was giving him an account of her childhood which, although utterly lacking in all interest for most people, he found quite absorbing.

When they reached the house they went into Mrs. Bird's sitting room and found a lanky, unshaven, bedraggled figure lounging in one of the worn armchairs. It was Gregory and he was in none too good a humour.

He smiled at them with a cynical twist of his thin lips. 'Well, you had a good time I hope? Thinking of settling down in Thanet for a holiday?'

Gerry Wells raised his eyebrows. 'So you're back already? I hardly thought you'd be likely to get here before midday.'

'It's lucky I'm here at all,' snapped Gregory. 'Having risked my neck with that blasted parachute of yours. Still, I've been kicking my heels here just on two hours, while you've been disporting yourself, I gather, with the intention of showing Miss Chalfont what a mighty fine pilot you are.'

Milly went crimson. 'II think I'd better go and find Aunty, if you'll excuse me,' she murmured uncomfortably, all the gaiety gone out of her pretty little face.

'Run along, my dear,' Gregory said more amiably. 'It's not your fault if our heroic policeman decides to take time off to amuse himself and I'm not his boss anyway.'

Wells drew his shoulders back a little as the girl fled from the room. 'I take what time off I like, Mr. Sallust, but don't let's quarrel over that. Did you have any luck when you landed?'

Gregory shrugged. 'As I survived the ordeal it was almost inevitable that I should. Their headquarters down there is a little place called the Brown Owl Inn. It's miles from anywhere in the middle of the marshes but near the railway line running from Dungeness to Ashford. I had to stagger a mile through every sort of muck before I got near enough to see what was going on and by that time most of the planes had dumped their stuff and got off again. The interesting thing is, though, that while I was there a goods train came in from Dungeness and unloaded several hundred wooden cases, then the cases the planes had brought were loaded on to it instead, and it puffed off, presumably to London. Afterwards the stuff from the train was loaded on to a fleet of Lorries which duly trundled away inland; all the gang who had handled both sets of goods going with, them. The two different lots of cases, which were swapped over, had exactly the same appearance, by the way.'

Wells's eyes brightened. 'I think I get the idea. They're probably shipping cargoes of non dutiable goods in a small freighter. Those would be cleared by the customs without any charges in the normal way, of course, then consigned to London by the railway. But they must have got at some of the railway people to halt the goods train for a few moments near their secret landing ground; then the contraband that the planes bring over is substituted for the non dutiable stuff and delivered in London without any questions being asked.'

'That's about it,' said Gregory, 'though why they should bother to make the exchange I don't quite see.'

'I do,' Wells grinned. 'A fleet of lorries anywhere near the coast at night, might quite well be pulled up by one of the preventative men. By using this method they eliminate that risk and get the contraband straight through to London. The thing we've got to find out now is the address where the goods are to be delivered at the other end after they leave the London goods depot.'

Gregory produced the carefully folded form of the stolen telegram, addressed to Corot, from his pocket and spread it out although he knew its contents by heart now. 'Look,' he said, 'at the last two lines, "Seventh", that was yesterday, 43 47, "Eighth", that's today, 43, again 47. From the repetition of the numbers it looks a reasonably safe bet they mean to use the same landing ground to ran another cargo tonight; but we're not having any funny business with parachutes this time. We'll fly over to Ashford this evening, hire a nice safe car there, park it somewhere where it won't be noticed a few hundred yards from the Brown Owl and see what's doing. Maybe, if the luck holds, we'll be able to secure the information you want.'

Tine,' Wells agreed. 'We'll have to get on that train somehow, if it's only for a moment, so that I can get the address to which the goods are being forwarded in London.'

The next move having been arranged, Gregory decided to go in to Margate. It did not trouble him that the room Wells had occupied at the Queen's had probably already been let again, owing to the holiday rush, as the proprietors of the St. George's were old friends of his and he felt certain that, however full up they were, they would fix him up with a bath and a bed for the afternoon. Margate too was more convenient than Birchington for Manston Aerodrome, so it was agreed that Wells should pick him up at the St. George's, before going out there, at seven o'clock.

As Gregory stood up Mrs. Bird came in. 'You'd better make yourselves scarce now you two,' she said. 'That Miss Szenty is a proper lazy one, lying abed there and wasting all this lovely morning, but I've just taken her breakfast up so she'll be down shortly, and you don't want her to see either of you about the place. She says she'll be staying here for the next few nights so you'd best watch out when you visit us again or you may run into her in the garden.'

'Thanks, Mrs. Bird. I'm just off,' Gregory told her. It was some small comfort to be reasonably certain that he would be able to find Sabine there if an emergency made it necessary for him to get hold of her in the next day or two. Tired as he was, he wished desperately that he could remain and see her when she came downstairs, if only for a few moments, but he dared not risk it. His previous blunder was still fresh in his mind. It was a hundred to one that she would take to flight again the second she got rid of him and, in addition, it would give away the fact that the police knew Lord Gavin to be the tenant of Quex Park.

'Coming, Wells?' he said abruptly.

'Not your way,' the Inspector answered with a shade of embarrassment. 'As I'll be at a loose end till this evening I thought of spending the afternoon in Birchington.'

'Take her to lunch at the Beresford,' suggested Gregory with a cynical twist of his lip. 'Be careful you don't get ran in for cradle snatching though.'

Gerry Wells flushed angrily. He saw no reason why he should deny himself the pleasure of remaining in Milly's immediate vicinity, and asking her to lunch with him had been the very thing he had had in mind, but before he could think of an appropriate retort Gregory had turned his back and slouched out of the door.

'He's a rum one and no mistake,' murmured Mrs. Bird gazing after him resentfully.

'Oh, he's all right,' Wells shrugged. 'Bitter at times as though something had hurt him once, right inside if you know what I mean, but there's something about him that one can't help liking, all the same.'

Milly accepted the Inspector's invitation joyfully and they lunched together at the hotel. An hour later they were bathing in the west bay beyond the town. The tide was in now but a narrow strip of golden sand enabled them to sun themselves afterwards and Wells thought it altogether the most delightful day he had ever experienced.

He would have like to linger on the beach indefinitely but his sense of duty to be done did not allow him even to consider such an attractive prospect, so, a little after six, he set off again and by seven he had collected Gregory from the St. George's Hotel, shaved now and refreshed from his bath, sleep, and an excellent dinner. An hour later, having made the hop to Ashford in Wells's plane, they were running out of the town in a small hired car towards the scene of Gregory's adventures on the previous night.

By the time they had completed their fifteen mile run the sun was setting and soon twilight obscured the more distant prospects across the low-lying marshland. They pulled up at the Brown Owl Inn and went inside for a drink; just as though they were a couple of ordinary motorists.

It was a tiny place, much smaller than it had seemed to Gregory when half obscured by semidarkness the night before, and boasted only one small parlour which served the purpose of saloon, private bar, lounge and taproom, all in one. A big red-faced man, who seemed to be the owner of the place, as well as barman, served them. His manner was surly and offhand so they failed to draw him into conversation, as they did not wish to arouse his suspicions by forcing themselves upon him and appearing too inquisitive.

Gregory, never at a loss for a plausible lie, said that they were employed by the Ordnance Department, and had to spend the night at Lydd, the Artillery depot, in order to witness some experimental firing with a new gun which would take place early the following morning.

The landlord listened to their statement with a nod of his head but made no comment on it. He had accepted a drink for politeness' sake, but lounged there behind his bar, stolid and apparently uninterested in their business.

Wells stood another round of drinks then, as an old grandfather clock in the corner of the low room chimed nine, he said to Gregory: 'We'd better be getting on I think,' so they went out to their car and drove away.

Gregory pointed out the actual landing place of the smuggler planes as they passed it in the car just after leaving the Brown Owl. It was a long flat stretch of grassland about three hundred yards wide, between the railway embankment and the road. The place showed no trace of occupation in the evening light and they thought it better not to make a closer inspection of it in case they were observed from the windows of the inn.

The Inspector asked Gregory if he thought he could find the place again where he had abandoned the parachute; so that they might try and retrieve that expensive piece of Government property before darkness set in.

'Drive on for another half mile or so towards the coast,' Gregory suggested, 'then we'll have a look round and see if we can spot it. We've got to park the car somewhere well out of sight, anyway.'

A few moments later they found a grassy stretch to the left of the road, over which they could drive the car for fifty yards, and they pulled up between two low mounds where there was little chance of it being discovered after nightfall.

Gregory got out and, scaling the fence, ran up the railway embankment. The landscape was dusky now in the fading twilight but, almost at once he saw a grey blob, a little to his right on the far side of the railway. It was the parachute; its tangled cords and material draped over some low bushes.

Calling Wells he set off towards it; marvelling at the ease with which he could cross the tricky country compared to the frightful time he had had when blundering over it in pitch darkness.

They bundled up the parachute and got it back to the car, then settled down to wait, knowing that there was no prospect of the smuggler fleet arriving for another two hours at least.

Fortunately they had brought some sandwiches with them and, sitting on two tussocks of coarse grass, they made a leisurely meal which whiled away a fraction of the time before them.

The night had now closed in and the time of waiting seemed interminable but they had known that they would have to face it if they were to see the landing place by daylight. Gradually the hours dragged themselves along until, at half past eleven, they decided to leave the vicinity of the car and conceal themselves somewhere nearer to the landing ground, so that they would be able to overlook it.

They walked back past the inn, where a single light was still burning in one of the windows, and a few moments later discovered the bushes into which Gregory had blundered the night before. Following these they arrived at the gully under the railway embankment, where he had lain hidden, and decided that it was as good a spot as any from which to observe the operations of the smugglers.

They had been settled down there for about twenty minutes when they caught the noise of a car approaching from inland down the lonely road. It halted outside the inn and soon afterwards the shadowy figures of a little group of men appeared on the landing ground. There was a hissing sound and suddenly a bright flare lit the scene, then the watchers saw that the men were planting big acetylene cylinders in the T' shaped formation, to indicate the direction of the wind. A few moments more and all the flares were burning brightly.

Wells and Gregory sat tight, knowing that no time would be wasted now the flares had been lit and, within a few moments, they heard the roar of an aeroplane engine as it approached from the northwest.

The plane landed and they recognised it as the four seater which both of them had seen leave Quex Park on the previous night. A tall figure descended from it and limped up to the men by the flares. Evidently it was the Limper's business to see each cargo safely landed and sent on to its unknown destination.

Next, there was a rumble on the road. Gregory and Wells could not see them but, as it ceased somewhere beyond the inn, they guessed that the fleet of lorries had arrived with the crews who, would hump the illicit cargo, and about thirty more men came on to the ground in groups of twos and threes. A new note now came from high up in the sky to eastward, a steady drone which rapidly grew louder, then one by one the de Havillands, lightless but obviously well practised in making night landings at this secret base, came bouncing forward out of the heavy darkness to land in the glare of the flares.

A group of men ran over to each plane as its propellers ceased to twinkle and began to unload its cargo with well drilled precision. Then, as the last plane landed, there came the puff, puff, puff of the midnight train, and the earth quivered below the embankment until its driver brought it to a standstill.

Wells touched Gregory upon the elbow and began to back away down the gully. Gregory followed, and when they were out of earshot the Inspector whispered: 'We've got to get over the bank far side of the train so they can't see us by those beastly lights. Then we'll try and get into one of the wagons unobserved.'

Climbing the wire fence, they crawled up the steep slope, crossed the permanent way on hands and knees, slid down the other side, and made their way back to the place where the train was standing.

Intense activity was now in progress on the far side of it. The men were hurling out the boxes from its foremost wagons. Wells scaled the bank again and slung himself up on to one of the rear trucks but found it padlocked. Gregory tried another with the same disappointing result. Dropping off, the two men conferred again in whispers.

'They won't unlock the doors of the vans on this side,' Gregory muttered.

'No. Got to take a chance on being spotted and reach the boxes,' Wells replied. 'Come on, let's get beneath the train and wait our opportunity.'

They crawled between the wheels, Wells leading, then a little way along, until they were below some couplings where two of the, vans were hitched to one another. The smugglers were hard at work unloading within a few feet of them. The planes which had first arrived, now emptied of their cargo, were already leaving.

One of the wooden cases, which the smugglers were pitching out of the wagons, caught in the rough grass only about a third of the way down the embankment. Wells craned his neck to see the markings on it but the side towards him was in deep shadow. He poked his head out from below the train and took a quick glance round. The men were sweating and cursing as they heaved other cases down the bank. Speed seemed to be the essence of the whole operation and they evidently knew it. The drill, as the Inspector saw it, was that less than half an hour should elapse between the lighting of the flares to show the landing ground, and their extinction; while the train paused on its journey for about seven minutes only.

Gerry Wells decided to take a chance. Praying to all his gods that if the men saw him in the semidarkness they would take him to be one of themselves, he slipped out from beneath the train and, drawing himself upright, launched himself upon the stranded case. As he heaved it up to throw it down among the rest, he tried to read the big label which was tacked to its top, before it left his hands.

'Hi!' a shout came out of the darkness in his rear. 'What's that feller doing there?' It was the driver or the fireman who had witnessed his sudden appearance from underneath the train.

Instantly the mob of workers dropped their cases and turned towards him. Next moment a new voice called from the bottom of the embankment. 'You there come here else I'll plug you.'

A torch flashed out, and Gregory, who was still concealed under the train, an immobile witness of the scene, saw that the order came from the Limper.

For a second Gregory's hand closed on the butt of his automatic, but this was England. If he shot the fellow all sorts of unpleasantness would result. He shifted his grip swiftly to his torch instead and silently drew himself up between the two coaches. Then, before Wells had time to answer, he flung it with all his force and unerring aim straight at the Limper's head.

'Run, man!' Gregory shouted, as the torch struck the Limper full on the forehead. 'Run!'

The Limper went down under the impact of the missile. Wells leapt on to the permanent way, but the man who had first spotted the Inspector sprang from the step of the engine cab and grabbed him round the waist.

Next moment the Limper was on his feet again, yelling blasphemous instructions to his men as half a dozen of them closed in on Gregory.

He laid one of them out with a blow behind the ear and tripped another who went plunging head over heels down the embankment.

Wells had torn himself from the grip of the man who had jumped off the train and turned to Gregory's assistance, but below them now the smugglers were running from all directions, throwing themselves over the fence and scrambling up the bank. The Inspector hit out valiantly but he could not reach Gregory, who had been dragged to the ground. A second later he too was hurled off his feet by the rush of a dozen brawny ruffians. He went down with a thud, one of the men kicked him in the ribs and another, kneeling on his back, pinioned his arms behind him.

16

Hideous Night

Bruised and half stunned from their desperate struggle the two men were lugged to their feet and thrust down the bank. Half a hundred threatening figures milled round them, their scowling faces lit by the glare of the torches. Pilots, loaders, and the men off the train all left their jobs to crowd about the captives. Every man on the secret base arrived at the scene of the excitement where they jostled together muttering hoarse questions.

A tall figure elbowed his way through the press. 'Silence!' he thundered. 'Stand back there. I'll attend to this.'

It was the Limper. The men gave way before him, forming a semicircle, while he stood in its centre glowering at the prisoners, a little trickle of blood oozing from his forehead where Gregory's torch had cut it.

'You, you, you, you,' he jabbed his finger at four husky fellows, 'take these birds over to the inn. The rest of you get back to work. This upset's put us two minutes behind schedule. You've got to make it up. To work! Like blazes now!'

The four men thrust Gregory and the Inspector forward. The Limper followed close behind with the sharp warning: 'No tricks now. I'll shoot you in the back the instant you try anything.'

The breath having been kicked and beaten out of their bodies they were in no state at the moment to do more than stagger along between their captors; even if they had been mad enough to think of attempting a breakaway.

At the inn they were dragged into the little bar parlour and the door slammed to behind them. The fat landlord was still behind his bar and the handsome knife thrower of Trouville, now in airman's kit, leaned against it drinking a tot of brandy.

'Q'est ce qu'il-y-a,' he exclaimed, as the others tumbled into the room.

'Spies,' snapped the Limper. 'Caught trying to board the train. Preventative officers I expect; we'll soon find out.'

The Frenchman evidently understood English. An evil little smile twitched at his lips. With a single jerk he drew a murderous looking knife from his sleeve. 'Espions, hein,' he murmured. 'Ca s'arrange tres simplement.'

'Stop that, Corot.' The Limper jerked his hand out swiftly at the Frenchman's knife. 'This is not the place. Now you,' he swung on Gregory, 'what's your little game?'

Gregory pulled himself together as well as he could with the two thugs still hanging on his arms. 'What's yours?' he blustered, 'that's more to the point. We've got no game. We were just lost in the marshes. Seeing the lights we came over to ask if you could put us on our road again; but before we had time to open our mouths we were set upon.'

'That's a lie,' said the landlord, leaning forward over his bar. 'The two of them were here at nine o'clock. Said they were attached to the Ordnance Department and on their way to spend the night at Lydd.'

'So we were,' Gregory protested hotly, 'but our car broke down and we tried to get back here to telephone. We took what we thought was a short cut and lost ourselves. We've been tumbling about in dykes and ditches for hours.'

'That's so,' Wells affirmed, glaring with feigned indignation at the Limper. 'You may be the boss of this gang of railway workers, employed on special night construction that's being kept dark by the Government for some purpose, but that doesn't give you the right to manhandle people. If you don't let us go at once I'll report this matter to the police.'

It was a gallant attempt to persuade the Limper that they had no idea of his real business; but at the sound of Wells's voice Corot took a few mincing steps forward, peered into the Inspector's face, and then began to laugh; a low unpleasant chuckle.

'What's bitten you?' the Limper asked him.

He shrugged. 'Tiens! C'est ce scelerat de Scotland Yard avec qui nous nous sommes brouille a Trouville.' Then he turned, stared at Gregory for a moment and added: 'Et voila! Iautre.'

His knife slid out again. With a vicious snarl he raised it remembering how Gregory's intervention had prevented his attack on Wells succeeding the last time they had been face to face.

As the blade flashed high above Corot's head Gregory jerked himself backwards but, before the knife came down, the Limper grabbed the Frenchman's arm.

'Not here,' he said sharply. 'Your planes are leaving. Get back to them and see them home. I'll handle this and I'll see these two never worry us again. I'll croak the two of them before morning but it's got to be done in the proper way; so there's no trouble for us afterwards.'

Corot's handsome face went sullen, like that of a greedy child who has been robbed of an entertainment, but he shrugged, spat on the floor at Gregory's feet and, turning, slouched out of the inn.

'Search them,' snapped the Limper, raising his automatic a little, as an indication that he meant to shoot if they tried to break away, while his four henchmen ran through their pockets.

Pistols, night glasses, torches, letters and money were piled upon the drink puddled bar. When they were held firm again the Limper glanced through the papers; then stuffed them in his jacket.

'Quick march now,' he ordered. 'Take them to my plane.'

The prisoners were hustled out into the night and across the grass. The smuggler fleet was leaving; only four planes remained now upon the landing ground. The men were busily transporting the cargo from the railway embankment to the fleet of lorries beyond the inn; the train had gone.

A four seater monoplane stood a little apart from the big de Havillands. The Limper scrambled into it, dived down to a locker near the floor, and pulled out some lengths of cord. 'Truss them up,' he said, 'then push them into the back of the plane.'

Gregory and Wells were securely tied hand and foot; then bundled in behind. One of the men got into the plane with them and the Limper went off to supervise the departure of the convoy. At short intervals the other planes roared away into the air. The landing ground was now in darkness and the lorries began to rumble down the road; the smugglers had disappeared when the Limper returned and climbed into the pilot's seat.

He slammed the door and pressed home the self-starter. The plane ran forward, bumped a little and lifted, then with a steady hum it sailed away lightless into the night.

Gregory was hunched on his side in a back seat but his face was turned towards one of the windows of the enclosed plane and he could see a good section of the sky. After they had been flying for a few moments he managed to pick up one of the major constellations, and knew, from its position, that they were flying in a north-westerly direction, towards Quex Park. His agile mind began to conjure frantically with the possibilities of drawing Mrs. Bird's attention to their wretched plight so that she could secure help.

Mrs. Bird and Milly would be in bed by now though, he remembered, as it was well after midnight, probably somewhere near one o'clock. The Limper would certainly do nothing to rouse them from their slumbers and he had spoken of seeing to it that his prisoners were both dead before the morning.

Gregory had faced death many times, but on those previous occasions his hands had been free and generally there had been a handy weapon in one of them. This was a different business altogether. They were trussed like Christmas turkeys for the slaughter and must depend upon their wits alone to save them.

As they were not gagged, they could, of course, scream in the hope of rousing Mrs. Bird but, whereas a few nights before she might have telephoned the police at once upon hearing shouts for help, she would now more probably wait to investigate the matter or see what happened next, knowing that Wells and his men had the Park under observation.

What about Wells's men who would be watching the place? They would be certain to appear on the scene if they thought murder was being done, but unfortunately both of them were stationed outside the Park gates, and it was nearly a mile in width. Would the most lusty shouts carry half that distance? Gregory doubted it; moreover, it seemed certain the Limper would shoot them out of hand if they bellowed for help. They would be dead long before anyone arrived upon the scene.

The situation began to assume a far grimmer aspect in his mind. From the moment when he had gone down under the rush of men, every second had been occupied until now, so he had not had a chance to realise the full danger in which they stood. No one except Wells and himself knew of the secret landing ground at Romney Marshes, or what their intentions had been when they left Quex Park, so no one would worry about them if they failed to turn up until a day or two, at least, had elapsed without news of them. Then the police would begin to wonder where Wells had got to; but that was little comfort if they were to be killed before morning.

The plane banked steeply and began to descend. Beads of perspiration broke out on Gregory's forehead. 'We're there already,' he thought, 'this plane must be a mighty fast one, or else it's just that time rushes by when you need it most. And I've thought of nothing. We may be for it now any moment once we land. By Jove! this is tougher than anything I can remember.'

They scarcely felt the bump as the Limper landed’ the plane and it flashed through Gregory's mind that the fellow was a first-class pilot. The engine ceased to hum and for a moment there was dead silence then the Limper opened the door of the cockpit and wriggled out. The beam of a torch showed from near by and a new voice came out of the darkness.

'He's on his way over.'

'Good,' replied the Limper. 'I've got them both here. Get 'em out and bring 'em inside.'

The Limper's assistant pilot leaned over and grabbed Wells by the shoulders, hoisted him up and pushed him head foremost through the door, where two other fellows seized him and pulled him to the ground. A minute later Gregory was bundled out beside him.

He wriggled his head and looked around. A gentle wind was blowing which brought with it the salt tang of the sea. No lights were to be seen anywhere, and no dark groups of trees, such as he had expected, broke the starry sky line in any direction. Perhaps he had been wrong about their course being to the north-eastward; at all events it did not seem as though they had landed in Quex Park.

Before he had further time for speculation the cords about their feet were undone and they were jerked upright. Limper's assistant pilot and the two new men pushed them forward, while he brought up the rear, lighting their way now and again with flashes from a torch.

After a few moments they came to a wire fence, through which the prisoners were pulled, and then to a steep embankment. On its flat summit they tripped and stumbled across a double railway line, slid down the further bank across another fence, and so into a field. They tramped on for two hundred yards, slightly down hill, then came to a wooden paling. One of the men unlatched a gate and the party tramped up a brick pathway, through a kitchen garden, to a small dark cottage.

Round at its side a chink of light showed beneath an ill-fitting door on which the Limper gave three single and then a double rap. It was pulled open by a seedy looking man in corduroy trousers who, judging by his cauliflower ears and broken nose, might at one time have been a pugilist.

The room had an old-fashioned fireplace and oven let into one wall and a smaller room which led off it, barely larger than a cupboard, was obviously the scullery; otherwise the place was furnished as a living room although it probably served the purpose of kitchen as well.

The man with the cauliflower ears shut the door after them and bolted it quickly, then he shot a shifty glance at the two prisoners, and asked somewhat unnecessarily and, Gregory noted, ungrammatically: 'These them?'

'Yes,' said the Limper, signing to the others to stand Wells and Gregory at the farthest end of the room up against the whitewashed wall. Then he lowered himself with a sigh into a worn saddlebag armchair.

When they had faced each other at the Brown Owl Inn Gregory had still been half dazed from the blows he had received in the scrap so this was the first opportunity he had really to study the Limper. The man was obviously a much better type than the average professional crook. He had good grey eyes under straight rather heavy brows and a direct glance with none of the apprehension about it noticeable in that of the flashy 'con' man who is always anticipating a detective's touch on the shoulder. The Limper did not boast an Oxford accent but his voice was an educated one and had a crisp note in it which comes from the habit of command. Only the thin, discontented mouth, which turned down a little at the corners, betrayed a certain hardness in his nature and, perhaps, explained his choice of occupation. Gregory summed him up as the product of one of the lesser public schools, who had slipped up somewhere, perhaps in business, or possibly in one of the services. At all events he did not look at all a killer type and Gregory racked his wits for a good opening, whereby he might possibly arouse sympathy, but Wells forestalled him.

Although he was a younger man than Gregory his professional duties had brought him into quite as many roughhouses and was a courageous fellow; but his thoughts during the brief journey in the plane had been far from comforting.

He knew, although Gregory did not, that his Superintendent would have his report on Gregory's operations the night before by now, and be aware that they had both set off again for the Brown Owl Inn on Romney Marshes. His people would, therefore, become very active indeed if they did not hear from him again by midday, but that was little comfort if they were both to be wiped out in an hour or so. He took the bull by the horns and began to lie like a trooper.

'I think this has gone far enough,' he said evenly, 'unless you want to make things far worse for yourself. We've been on your trail for days and we know all about you. Headquarters have got all your addresses so they can pull you in any time they want to, and if my report's not in by six o'clock in the morning the Flying Squad will be out on a round up. It's no good thinking you'll get away by crossing the Channel in your plane either, because the French police have got a line on your outfit the other side, so you'll be pinched on landing.'

The Limper stared at him with open disbelief. 'That's a pretty story, Inspector, but I'm afraid it won't wash. Even if it were true there's nothing to stop me avoiding any net you may have spread by flying to Holland after I've settled your business.'

'Perhaps, but they'll get you in the end, don't you worry.' Wells leaned forward impressively. 'They'll get you, and you'll swing for it as sure as my name's Wells, if you do us in.!

'It doesn't rest with me, the Limper shrugged, 'so you might as well save the argument. I brought you here under instructions, that's all, and the Big Chief should be here at any moment. It's for him to say whether you go down the chute or if he can think of other means of silencing you.'

There was a horrid silence which lasted nearly a couple of minutes while the Limper pulled out a cigarette and lit it. The men who had met them on the landing ground, the extra pilot, and the expugilist still held Gregory and Wells against the wall, although their arms remained tied behind their backs.

Suddenly the three single raps, followed by two quick ones, came upon the wooden door again. The Limper rose, pulled back the bolt and flung it open, revealing a strange little figure upon the threshold.

Gregory was expecting Lord Gavin Fortescue to put in an appearance after the Limper's last remark but Wells had never seen the Duke of Denver's abnormal twin before and greeted him with a fascinated stare.

Lord Gavin's small, perfect, childlike body was clad in a dinner jacket suit. Over it he wore a black evening cape; the folds hid his hands resting upon the two sticks with which he assisted himself to walk; but it was his massive, leonine head that held Wells's attention. A shock of snow-white hair was brushed back from the magnificent forehead and beneath the aristocratic upturned brows a pair of pale magnetic soulless blue eyes, utterly lacking in expression, stared into his own.

Lord Gavin nodded slowly then sat down carefully in the armchair the Limper had just vacated. It was quite a low one yet his tiny feet, in their shiny patent shoes, still dangled an inch or so from the floor. 'The two gentlemen from Trouville,' he said softly. 'Inspector Wells and Mr. Gregory Sallust. You have been very indiscreet, extremely indiscreet.5

Gregory tried to step forward but the men held him back as he burst out: 'Now look here, Lord Gavin, your record's bad enough! You've been mighty lucky to get away with it so far but you'll tempt fate once too often. They know all about your little game at Scotland Yard this time so you'd better let us go, or else the charge against you is going to be a really ugly one.'

'When I wish for your advice I will ask for it,' said Lord Gavin smoothly. 'I was just saying that you have been very indiscreet. You were indiscreet that night when you followed little Sabine out of the Casino; you were even more indiscreet when you refused to take the warning which I sent you the following morning, and now…'

'How did you know that Sabine was with me that night?' Gregory interrupted. 'I've often wondered.'

'I saw you follow her out of the salle de jeu so I thought it possible that you were responsible for her not returning to me after her business was done. That unfortunate scar above your left eyebrow makes it tolerably easy to trace you and having given your description to my agents they very soon ran you to earth at the Normandie. My men confirmed my impression that Sabine was with you when they reported that she had left the cafe at Trouville in your company.'

Gregory forced a smile, 'Well, give her my love when you next see her.'

'Certainly, if you wish it. She will be most distressed to hear of your demise as she seems to have enjoyed her time with you in Deauville. As there will be no possible chance of her running across you again I must try to make it up to her in some way another bracelet perhaps sapphires, I think. Sabine likes sapphires.'

As Lord Gavin made no mention of their having met again in London Gregory assumed that Sabine had concealed the fact that they had spent a good portion of the previous day together. The brief silence was broken by Wells; who shot out suddenly:

'Cut out the talking and say what you mean to do with us.' The quiet manner of this sinister little man was beginning to fret the Inspector's nerves in a way which no bullying or bluster could have done.

Lord Gavin turned his heavy head slowly in Wells's direction and his pale eyes glittered for a moment. 'Surely there can be no question in your mind, Inspector, about my intentions regarding you. Both you and Sallust have pried into my affairs. You ferreted out the address of Sabine's firm in Paris: in consequence I have been compelled to close it. Not a matter for grave concern but an inconvenience all the same; and now it seems that the two of you have actually witnessed certain operations by my people south of Romney Marshes. You know too much. You have signed your own death warrants. There is no alternative.'

'But you can't kill us in cold blood!'

Lord Gavin shrugged. 'What is there to prevent me? My interests are far too great for me to jeopardise them just because the lives of two inquisitive young men are in question.'

'You'll hang for it if you do,' snapped Gregory. 'Scotland Yard knows what you're up to this time, I tell you. You can't murder us and dispose of our bodies without leaving any trace; sooner or later they'll get you for it.'

'It is most unlikely that they will ever get me for anything, but if they do they will never be able to pin your deaths upon me. Both of you are going to disappear and without leaving any trace.'

Wells grunted. 'Lots of people have thought they were so clever they could get away with murder but it's not so easy.'

'Indeed?' A cold smile twitched Lord Gavin's lips. 'Do you know where we are at the moment?'

'Somewhere in Thanet.'

'No, we are a little to the south of Thanet, less than half a mile from the coast of Pegwell Bay. Does that convey anything to you, I wonder.'

'Only that it'll be useful to have the location of another of your bases when we're out of this,' said Wells doggedly.

'You will never be out of this, so the knowledge is quite useless to you and, whenever I wish them to do so, my fleet of planes will continue to land upon that beautiful stretch of ground called Ash Level, so convenient to the railway line which you must have crossed when you were brought here. It seems you do not know the peculiarities of Pegwell Bay,"

'It's very shallow,' said Gregory slowly. 'If I remember, the tide runs out for nearly two miles, and when it turns comes in nearly as quickly as a man can run. There are lovely sands too. I went for a gallop along them once when I was staying with some friends at Sandwich.'

'Excellent sands,' Lord Gavin nodded. 'That is, for the first half mile or so from the shore, but farther out there are certain areas which have cavities of water beneath them, although they appear firm and beautiful to the uninitiated. It is a dangerous thing to take a short cut across the big bay at low tide, particularly at night, if you do not know the location of the treacherous patches. People have died that way, just disappeared beyond all trace, their bodies being swallowed up by the quicksands.'

The muscles of Gregory's hands tightened, and he felt that his palms were damp; while Gerry Wells's freckled face went a perceptible shade paler.

Lord Gavin went on unhurriedly: 'That was the reason I had you brought here immediately my people telephoned to tell me that they had caught two spies. It is a great convenience that one of my bases should be adjacent to my private burial ground. The tide is running out. It will be low at six ten this morning. A stone's throw from the cottage here we have the river Stour, which flows through Sandwich and empties itself into the sea by a deep channel in the bay. At five o'clock, while the tide is still running out, my men will take you in a boat down the river and out to sea; then they will throw you overboard in a place where it is too shallow for you to swim and which the tide will probably have left dry by the time you are engulfed in the sand up to your armpits. You have a little over three hours now to exercise your imagination as to what will happen after that.'

'God! you're not human,' Gregory gasped.

Lord Gavin wriggled forward in the armchair and shuffled to his feet. 'I am as the God you invoke made me,' he said with sudden venom and all the stored up bitterness of years seemed concentrated in his voice. His childish body shook with a sudden gust of passion and he spat out at them: 'You have had health and strength, been able to run and leap, and take your women, during your time. Now, your feet shall be tied by the grip of the sands and your great muscles will not help you. You chose to match your wits with mine, and I have proved your master. In your little minds you plotted to interfere with the work that I would do. All right then! You shall gasp out your lives repenting of your folly.'

Suddenly the storm passed and he went quiet again. 'You'll see to it,' he said softly to the Limper, and drawing his black cloak about him he left the cottage without another word.

As the door banged to behind him Wells let out a sharp breath. Little beads of perspiration were now thick upon his forehead. He had been in some tight corners before now, criminal dens in the East End where crooks would have given him a nasty mauling if they had suspected he was a policeman, but nothing to compare with this where he would lose his life unless he could think of a way out.

'Tie their feet again,' said the Limper, 'and push them in the scullery.'

His order was the signal for a fresh struggle. Gregory and Wells both kicked out with savage violence and tried to break away but their arms were still tied and they had four of the Limper's men against them. The uneven tussle could only end one way. The pugilist hit Gregory in the pit of the stomach; one of the others sloshed Wells on the side of the jaw. The Limper did not even need to go to the assistance of his underlings. The prisoners were forced down on the floor and their ankles tied again with thick cord. Then they were dragged across the room and laid out side by side upon the scullery floor.

Gregory had given up the fight before Wells, and as soon as he got his strength back he was thinking, 'If only they shut us in we'll cheat the devils yet. If Wells rolls over on his face I'll unpick the knots that tie his arms with my teeth. The rest'll be easy providing they don't hear us going out through the window.' But even as he was planning an escape the Limper's voice came again:

'Don't shut the door. Leave it wide open; so I can keep my eye on them in case they start any tricks.'

The ex pugilist put a kettle on the hob and then produced a greasy pack of cards. He and his three companions sat down to a game of nap while the Limper picked up a tattered magazine and settled himself in the armchair to read.

A grim silence fell inside the cottage, broken only by an occasional murmur from one of the card players or the squeak of a chair as it was pushed back a little across the boards.

Gregory turned over twice to ease his position but each time he moved he saw the Limper glance up and stare in his direction.

For a quarter of an hour, that seemed like and eternity, he decided to try bribery.

Straggling into a sitting position he spoke softly to the Limper. 'Come here a minute will you.'

The Limper put down his magazine and walked over to the entrance of the cupboard like scullery. 'What is it?'

'Just wanted a word with you,' Gregory said in a low tone. 'You're in this game for what you can get out of it aren’t you?'

'That's so,' agreed the Limper noncommittally.

'Well, I don't know what Gavin Fortescue pays you but I'm a bidder for your services. I'm not a rich man myself, although I could raise a tidy sum, but there's a friend of mine who's next door to being a millionaire Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust you may have heard of him. He looks on me as a sort of adopted son and he'll honour any arrangement that I make without a murmur. Fix it how you like with the others, but get us out of this and we'll pay you £5,000, besides seeing to it that you get safely out of the country. It's Gavin Fortescue we're after and we can afford to shut our eyes to anything you've done if you'll give us a break. How about it?'

The Limper's mouth hardened. Its corners turned down more than ever; making his face suddenly grim and pitiless. He lifted his foot, planted it swiftly on Gregory's chest, and kicked him savagely backwards. 'Another word from you and I'll have you gagged,' he said contemptuously. Then he turned back to his armchair and magazine.

Gregory's head hit the stone floor of the scullery with a crack which almost knocked him senseless and made further thinking impossible for some minutes.

Gerry Wells had listened to Gregory's proposition with mingled hope and fear. He too had been revolving every possible approach in his madly racing brain; yet could think of nothing. Each time he tried to plan a line of action Milly's face appeared before his mental vision. Death might not be so bad a decent death but it was hard to go now that he had found her. She was so utterly different from other girls; so gentle and unspoiled and lovable. The sort that made a big fellow like him just ache to protect her, and she liked him, liked him a lot. He was certain of it. Not a word of any significance had passed between them but it was just the way she looked at him with shy admiration in her big blue eyes. He thought of the wonderful day they had spent together, their flight over Thanet in the morning and their jolly time on the beach in the afternoon; but he mustn't think of her now. It was utterly suicidal. He had got to concentrate on getting out of this ghastly mess he was in; and yet he could not. Every time he tried to reason or plan Milly's delicate oval face, crowned by its mass of golden hair, rose before him.

Time drifted on slowly but inexorably. The pain at the back of Gregory's head was less now and he was trying to formulate new plans. Threats had failed; bribery had failed. They were trussed like sacred offerings for the slaughter. What was there left? If Wells had sent in a report about the base near Dungeness, and the police went there, they would discover nothing. The places where the flares had been, a few tracks of aeroplanes, perhaps, and the marks of the lorry wheels in the dust of the road. But they wouldn't go there: why should they when the essence of the game was for Wells and himself to gather all the threads of the conspiracy together before the authorities acted? Even if they blundered, and made a premature mop up for some unknown reason, they might raid Quex Park and the Brown Owl Inn and the Cafe de la Cloche near Calais, but this other base at Ash Level, just inland from the southern arm of Pegwell Bay, was unknown to them.

How those three hours drifted by neither of them knew and both began to believe that the Limper had forgotten how time must be passing. At last he stood up and gave a curt order. The men came in and dragged them out of the scullery into the living room again.

Their ankles were untied and they scrambled to their feet. The Limper produced his automatic. 'Understand now,' he said. 'The sands will swallow up a dead body as quickly as a live one. I'll be behind you while we're walking to the boat and if there's any attempt at breaking away I mean to shoot you.'

They were led out of the cottage and round the corner to its other side. Beyond, through the grey half-light that precedes the dawn, they could see a deep gully with muddy banks. In its bed a narrow stream was ebbing swiftly. They crossed it a little farther down by a plank bridge and came again on to the grassland, up a bank, and across the broad main road from Sandwich to Ramsgate. It occurred to both the condemned men to make a dash for it there. If they were shot down, well better death that way than what awaited them; yet such is the instinct of all humans to cling to life up to the last possible moment that both hesitated, knowing the odds to be so terribly against them. Before either had decided to t kicking out they were across the road and had been pushed down the far embankment; to a place where the river red again having made a hairpin bend.

Here the channel was deeper and the stretch of water wider.

Swiftly and silently it raced towards the sea in an endeavour to keep pace with the outgoing tide.

They were led along to a little wooden landing stage, running out above the mud, at the far end of which a stout looking rowing boat was moored. Another moment and they were hustled into its stern. Two of the men took the oars while the other two and the Limper crowded into the seats which ran round its after part.

The Limper sat in the middle with his pistol drawn, Gregory and Wells on either side of him, and beyond each of them one of the other men, holding them firmly by the back of their collars in case they attempted to jump overboard.

The ex pugilist, in the bow, cast off the painter and, without any effort on the part of the oarsmen, the boat was carried by the swift current towards the sea.

Dawn had broken and, as the boat emerged from between the two banks into Sandwich Haven on the southern portion of the bay, the captives saw the vast area of sand stretching before them. The river continued; its deep channel twisting and winding between the flat stretches which, at high tide, would be covered by the sea. Only the quiet splash of oars now broke the silence of the early morning. Not a soul was to be seen across all the wide expanse, or upon the steep cliff over a mile away to the northern extremity of the bay although Gregory and Wells both searched them with frantic glances.

Another few moments and they reached the spot where the river met the outgoing tide. It was rippling gently along the golden sand, yet running out with such speed that every little wavelet broke ten yards farther to the seaward, leaving a fresh stretch of damp, faintly shining sand exposed to view.

The men pulled vigorously and the boat began to heave a little on the gentle swell. Wells's face was now a mask of whiteness in the early morning light while Gregory's eyes were deeply sunk in his face on which the tan showed unnaturally grey.

The Limper produced a pocket compass and, steadying it as well as he could, took a rough bearing of Fairway Buoy which was just visible, a black bobbing patch in the far distance slightly to the right. Then he took a bearing of Bur Buoy; just as far away but almost directly upon the course which they were making.

'Turn her,' he said. 'We must do the job about fifty yards to the left from here.'

The men plied their oars again. The tide was now only a distant ripple so that its rapid approach was hardly perceptible. A few more agonising moments passed for the prisoners then the Limper jerked his head in Wells's direction.

'Undo his hands,' he said. 'If the sands shift and they're washed up later it'll look as though they were caught by the tide.'

The man obeyed while the Limper thrust his gun within two inches of Wells's mouth. 'Make a move,' he said, 'and I'll blow your head off.'

Gerry Wells's arms were free. His impulse was to lash out but his hands had been tied behind his back for over five hours. His muscles were cramped and stiff and when he tried to move he found that the effort only resulted in agonising pain.

The Limper gave a quick glance round. No boat was to be seen. There was no one on the shore. Full dawn had hardly come and the faint, still lingering, twilight must obscure their actions from any distant casual watcher.

'Over with him,' he grunted.

Too late Wells wrenched his arms forward. The man beside him stooped, placed a hand beneath his knees, and tipped him backwards over the gunwale.

The oarsmen were dipping their oars, keeping the boat more or less in position, so that it drifted only very slightly. The Limper jabbed his automatic against Gregory's face while the man beside him loosed his hands and pulled the cord away. Like Wells, his arms were almost paralysed from having been tied behind him for so long, but he jerked himself to his feet, his eyes wide and staring.

'I'll make it ten thousand he gasped.

The Limper only showed that he had heard by the sneer which lifted his upper lip and an added pressure from the muzzle of his pistol on Gregory's cheek.

For an instant Gregory's right leg twitched under him. If he could only knee the Limper in the groin, flashed through his mind, but the pistol would explode automatically with the contraction of the Limper's finger upon the trigger and the bullet would shatter his face into a bleeding mass of pulp.

He decided to duck and take the risk, but the man who had held him, and the other who had dealt with Wells, came at him simultaneously, pushing him violently upon the chest and shoulders so that his knees gave beneath him and he went overboard with a loud splash.

Spitting and choking he came up with his mouth full of sea water; shaking the drops from his eyes he glanced wildly round. The boat was already heading back towards the river mouth; its crew pulling lustily. Then he saw Wells, a dozen yards away, floundering about in the shallows.

It was a matter of seconds only before his feet touched the sand. He tripped upon it, regained his balance, and stood up. The water was only up to his middle, but instantly he stood he felt the sand giving beneath his feet, so that he was in to his ankles before he could pull them out again.

He flung himself flat and began to swim out to sea, knowing that his only chance lay in reaching deeper water, but the tide was ebbing with terrifying swiftness. As he lunged out his toes kicked the bottom; interfering with his stroke so that his hands swept downwards and his nails scraped on the sand below him.

Gerry Wells was staggering from side to side, trying to fight his way towards the shore, but at every step he took the sand gave like oozy mud under his feet and he felt himself sucked down.

'On your face you fool,' shouted Gregory desperately. 'Try and reach the deeper water, then we'll swim for it.'

'I can't!' gasped Wells. 'I can't swim. But the tide's running out! If I can reach firm sand I'll get those devils yet.'

The depth of the water had now decreased to a couple of feet. Gregory floundered on but at every stroke he took the sand was churned up by his feet behind him.

Wells stuck. He could advance no farther. He stood there in the shallow water waving his arms wildly as he endeavoured to fling himself forward, but his feet had sunk right in and the sand had him in its grip up to the calves of his legs.

'Help,' he bellowed. 'For God's sake give me a hand to pull me out.'

Gregory turned a little and splashed towards him but his knees were now touching bottom at every movement that he made.

The light was brighter now; almost full day. In the distance the Limper's boat appeared; a cockle shell heading to landward up the channel.

Gregory could swim no farther. He began to crawl forward on his stomach knowing that to distribute his weight was the best way of preventing himself from sinking.

Wells had gone down to above his thighs and was still shouting wildly.

At last Gregory reached him and, although he knew that he could never pull him out, extended a hand towards him. The Inspector grabbed it, drawing Gregory towards him, but the suction of the sand was so powerful that he could not free his legs.

Gregory's knees and elbows were embedded. Every second he shifted his position so that the sands should not get a grip on him. 'Lean forward, distribute your weight,' he bellowed, but Wells had been sucked down to the waist and could only scrabble at the low water in front of him with outstretched hands.

Both of them could see the mark of the receding tide as it approached now by leaps and bounds… At one moment they were struggling in six inches of water, the next it was down to three and, almost before they had time to realise it, the sea was gone, leaving them stranded in the glittering sand.

Gregory felt it well up about his thighs and, wriggle as he would, there was no way to free himself of it. The tiny particles formed a glutinous mud which would not even bear his weight, more or less distributed as it was. His knees were buried and it trickled over the hollows behind them. Wells had sunk up to his armpits.

Both of them visualised the awful moment when the sand would be above their chins, when they could no longer lift their arms and were dragged down by the constant sucking motion, so that the sand reached their lips and entered their mouths in spite of all their efforts, choking them as they sank.

They began to scream at the top of their voices, yelling for help with all the force of their lungs, but not a sound came back to them from the desolate wastes that spread upon either hand, and no human figure appeared upon the distant cliff tops.

17

The Raid on Barter Street

Both men had sunk up to their chests. Waving their arms frantically above their heads they bellowed for help, but the Limper's boat had rounded a bend in the creek, where it met the land, so that it could no longer be seen from the shore and there was now no soul within sight or hearing.

Their field of view had narrowed as they sank and their eyes were now no more than twelve inches above the sand. Facing inshore they could only just see the lower coastline to the south of the bay, where it runs along to Sandwich flats and golf course; while to the north the steep white chalk cliffs reared up, naked and distant. Squirming and twisting they caught glimpses of the sea behind them. It was no longer running out at a great pace for it had almost reached low water level. About two hundred yards away the little wavelets broke with a gentle hissing noise but, from the line of vision of the desperate men, they appeared to have increased to the size of Atlantic rollers, cutting off the view to seaward.

To their left the channel cut through the fiat expanse of sand by the river Stour was still filled with deep, fast flowing water, but their eye level was too low for them to see it, although it lay only some thirty yards away.

They ceased to shout, conscious that their cries for help were unavailing, and that every ounce of breath was precious in their fight for life. The constant strain upon their muscles was appalling; bent forward from their waists they clawed at the treacherous sand, churning it into liquid silt in their fierce endeavours to hoist themselves out of the horrid ooze that gripped them.

The quicksand seemed to have become alive; as though imbued with some evil spirit of its own. It sucked and chuckled as they fought it; creeping up about them with gentle uncheckable persistence.

Their legs and torsos were fast embedded in its stranglehold so that they could no longer move a muscle of their lower limbs. It pressed upon them from every side seeming to weigh a ton. Their arms and shoulders were now sodden with it from their struggle; weighed down so that they could only move them with great effort.

Wells had almost given up; buried to the armpits, his head thrown back, he moved his arms only sufficiently to prevent their submergence as long as possible, while the sweat of the terror of death streamed off his face.

Gregory was still fighting, against his better judgment, as the sands seemed to suck at him more fiercely with each new effort that he made; but he would not surrender life until the last breath was choked out of him by the gritty slime covering his mouth and nose.

It was then, when both men felt all hope was gone, that then; heard the muffled drumming of a petrol engine rapidly approaching. Suddenly it ceased and a loud report, like the crack of a small cannon, shattered the silence.

They stopped struggling instantly and wrenched their shoulders round towards the left. Thirty yards away a group of men appeared to be standing knee deep and rocking gently in the sand. From them a long black snakelike rope was whizzing through the air: a lifeline fired from a rocket gun. It twisted a moment overhead and then came hurtling down with a plop on to the sands between the two almost buried men; the lead disc at its end piercing the morass a good twenty yards beyond them.

With almost unendurable relief they grabbed the rope and held it. The gun was fired again and another lifeline hissed through the air above them. Gregory could just reach it as it fell so he left the first for Wells. With their last remnants of strength, fortified by the frantic will to live, they hauled the slack end of the ropes in and coiled them round their bodies, beneath their armpits, by thrusting them through the unresisting sand which had welled up to their shoulders.

'Ready?' came a hail from the group by the rocket gun.

'Heave away,' shouted Gregory and the strain was taken up upon the ropes.

There followed the most ghastly struggle between the rescuers and those evil sands which were so loth to give up their prey. The imprisoned men thought that their bodies would be torn in half. They moaned in agony as the lifelines gripped them like wire springs about their chests; cutting into their bodies and forcing the breath out of their lungs. They were lying at an angle now, with their heads towards their rescuers, their shoulders only supported by the pulling ropes, their torsos and feet still buried deep in the shifting sands.

For what seemed an eternity they were stretched as though upon a rack, striving with the tired muscles of their legs for even a fraction of movement which would free them, but it seemed that they were too firmly embedded ever to be drawn out.

It was Gregory who, through a mist of pain, realised that now their heads and shoulders were supported there was no longer any danger of their arms becoming permanently imprisoned if they chose to use them, so he plunged his hands down and began to heave out handfuls of the soft semi liquid silt from in front of his chest.

Almost as fast as he relieved the pressure the sand seeped back, but the movement at least eased the weight from his chest a little and, when he lifted his head again, he found that he could see more of the men who were heaving on the rope. Their lower extremities were hidden by the gunwale of a boat which was just visible now above the flat expanse of sand. Then he remembered the creek and realised that the motor boat must have come up into it from the sea.

The struggle lasted for nearly an hour; the treacherous sands pulling and plucking at their victims' limbs until the very last moment, when they were drawn out with a sudden plop and dragged face downwards towards the boat:

Gregory was free ten minutes before Wells. As the lifeline drew him over a steep bank of sand he slithered into the water. Then he was hauled aboard a big flat-bottomed speedboat, where he collapsed on the bottom boards, unconscious.

When he came to Wells was beside him and their rescuers were applying restoratives. The ordeal had been such an appalling one that they were unable to speak and could not move a muscle without acute pain. Both of them lapsed into unconsciousness again as the speedboat's engine began to stutter. With a puff of blue smoke in its wake it roared out to sea.

They Were vaguely conscious of being carried up the steps of a stone pier and bundled into a car, then through the side door of an hotel and up the back stairs into bathrooms, where friendly hands relieved them of their sodden sand loaded garments. Then came the glorious ease of relaxing their exhausted bodies in clear warm water.

Figures moved in a mist about them: skilful fingers tended their hurts, then there came the joy of fresh cool linen about their bruised bodies and a merciful darkness.

It was late afternoon when they were aroused from the deep black slumber which follows intense fatigue, to find themselves in single beds in the same room, with Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust and Superintendent Marrowfat standing beside them.

'How're you feeling now, my boy,' Sir Pellinore inquired, his hand on Gregory's shoulder.

Gregory gazed round the strange room with a vacant stare. 'Where-where are we?' he asked after a moment.

'Granville Hotel, Ramsgate. By Jove you've had a gruelling. Wouldn't have been in your shoes for a mint of money but you're safe out of it all now.'

'For God's sake go away and let me sleep again,' Gregory muttered.

'Sorry,' said Superintendent Marrowfat abruptly. 'We let you lie as long as we dare, but I must have any information you've got to give us. Come along, Wells, let's have your story.'

Gerry Wells moaned as he hoisted himself up against his pillows. His body seemed to be one large burning ache, and, he felt that under a pair of strange pyjamas his back and chest were bandaged, although he could still feel the vicelike grip of the lifeline round his body.

Slowly and painfully he told his superior of the evil chance that had brought about their capture the night before and of the manner in which they had very nearly lost their lives.

Gregory had been gathering his strength. He looked up at Sir Pellinore. 'What brought you on the scene so opportunely. If you hadn't turned up when you did we'd both be fiddling in heaven now or stoking up the coals.'

Sir Pellinore grinned. 'No thanks to me, my boy. What women see in you I never could make out, but you've got to thank some hidden charm that you're here in bed in Ramsgate, and not a dozen feet under those ghastly sands by now. Sabine telephoned to me from Quex Park a little after midnight. She said they had caught you both and that Gavin Fortescue had just left for Ash Level. She seemed to know the drill too and gave a pretty good forecast of what they were likely to do with you.'

Gregory frowned. 'A little after midnight! Why the hell weren't you there before then! In a fast car you could have made that place in a couple of hours; whereas you took darned near six and very nearly turned up too late into the bargain.'

The fat Superintendent coughed. 'I'm afraid that's my fault, Mr. Sallust. Sir Pellinore got on to the Yard at once and they reached me at my home. We were down here by a little before three, so we could have raided that cottage, if we'd wanted to. But this thing's such a terrible threat to the wellbeing of the country we've just got to get all the threads in our hands before we act. If we'd rushed that place we would have got you out all right, but we'd have been too late to pinch Lord Gavin and, apart from that, we haven't yet succeeded in getting on to the London organisation.'

A sardonic smile twitched at Gregory's thin lips. 'So you took a chance…'

The Superintendent laughed. 'Not a very big one. We knew they wouldn't shoot you unless you did something stupid. The lady made it quite clear about the way they'd bump you off. You didn't know, of course, but there were some of my chaps within a stone's throw of that cottage from three o'clock on, with orders to rush it if anything went wrong. Meantime Sir Pellinore and I went off into Ramsgate and fixed a boat all ready with lifelines; so as to get you out after they'd done their stuff.'

'But what the hell did you want to wait till the last minute for?' Gregory snapped. 'Apart from what we went through you were darned nearly too late to get us out at all.'

'It wasn't quite as bad as that, sir. We were in our boat by half past four, lying concealed under the cliffs to the north of the bay with our night glasses out, all ready for the performance. Then their boat came down the channel and they chucked you overboard. We could have reached you within two minutes but we wanted to wait, if it were possible, until they'd gone back up the creek and couldn't spot us and guess we were on to their little game. Our scheme went like clockwork. They think you're dead and that they're safe as houses; so no alarm will have been given. You're out of it and we'll be able to pull them in just when we wish.'

Gregory nodded. 'Good staff work, I suppose, but devilish hard on the nerves, and you've made a pretty fine mess of my poor old carcase.'

'Maybe, but did you get anything? That's what I had to wake you up to know.'

'I did,' said Wells with new enthusiasm. 'I managed to spot the address on that case before they grabbed me. Mitbloom &Allison, 43, Barter Street, E. 1.'

'Good boy,' the Superintendent chuckled into his double chin. 'I'm leaving for London now and we'll take a look over the place tonight. The doctor tells me there's no damage done to either of you; although you'll be a bit sore in the ribs for the next few days. You'd both better take it easy, I'm thinking, while I get on with the job.'

Gerry Wells sat up, suppressed a groan, and said: 'Half a minute, sir. This is my pigeon. Surely you're not going to do me out of it; just because I took a chance on getting caught last night.'

'I don't want to do you out of anything if you're fit to carry on, but the doctors seem to think you ought to rest up for a day or two, at least.'

'I'll be all right, sir. I've no bones broken. It's only a bit painful where the ropes cut into the skin on my chest and back when you pulled me out. What time d'you mean to raid Mitbloom & Allison?'

'I shan't raid it. That would give the game away. I shall have a search warrant made out, and pray to God I won't be called on to show it, then pay the place an unofficial visit sometime in the early hours tomorrow morning. I'll find out in the meantime if they keep a night watchman. If they do I'll think up some scheme to get him out of the way for a bit. Then we can go in and have a snoop round without anyone being any the wiser.'

'If I caught the last train up then I could be in on it couldn't I, sir?' Gerry Wells pleaded.

The Superintendent nodded. 'Certainly if you're fit. Best stay here for a bit though and see how you feel this evening.'

Gregory eased himself over on to his tummy. 'We'll be with you. Old soldiers never die. Just order some dinner for us and a car to take us to the station; both items on Sir Pellinore's account. He owes us that for his day at the seaside.'

The doctor, who had been warned to attend again when the patients were woken, was summoned. He said that there was no danger in their getting up and only advised against it owing to the pain which must result from their bruised muscles. Where the ropes had cut into them he dressed the broken skin with soothing ointment and fresh bandages. When he had finished Superintendent Marrowfat and Sir Pellinore left them, to return to London, while the two patients turned over to doze and rest.

At eight o'clock the manager of the hotel called them in person, inquired most kindly after their health, and superintended the preparations for an excellent meal ordered by Sir Pellinore, to be served in their room.

They both felt terribly stiff, but apart from that, and the soreness under their arms, perfectly fit and well again after their thirteen hours in bed. Dressing proved a painful operation, but once it was accomplished and they had been heartened by a good dinner, washed down with a fine bottle of Burgundy, they felt as keen as ever. A car was waiting for them when they came downstairs and they caught the 9.8 to London; arriving at Charing Cross two minutes before midnight.

At the Yard all preparations for the secret raid had been completed. Mitbloom & Allison proved to be a firm of wholesale tobacco merchants. Their warehouse, so the Superintendent had ascertained, was fitted with electric burglar alarms but they did not employ a night watchman. Arrangements had been made for the electric current to be cut off at the main between the hours of one and three so that the police would be able to make an entry without the alarm going off and, unless they were very unfortunate, no one would suspect on the following day that the place had been searched in the early hours of the morning.

The Superintendent, Gregory, Gerry Wells, a lock expert from the special department, and another detective, squeezed themselves in one of the bigger Flying Squad cars at a quarter to one, and the driver turned its nose eastward.

They ran down the Strand which was still fairly busy with traffic passing to and from the great restaurants; Fleet Street, now given over to swift moving newspaper vans lining up to collect and distribute the early copies of the great national dailies; then up Ludgate Hill and through Queen Victoria Street, strangely silent and deserted compared with the swarming thousands who throng those great business areas in the day time. Passing the Bank of England, they sped on to Liverpool Street, then turned right, into that maze of thoroughfares into which the wealthier population of London and the suburbs so rarely penetrate.

Barter Street proved to be a dark canyon between high brick buildings. It contained no residential houses and was given over entirely to tall warehouses; some of which had dusty looking old-fashioned offices on the ground floor. Dustbins lined the pavements; a solitary cat minced its way forward in leisurely manner across the street upon its nightly prowl.

They parked the car at the end of the street leaving the driver with it. A city policeman touched his helmet to the Superintendent, having been warned of their visit, and remained on the corner to keep watch while the others made their way along the narrow pavement to number forty-three.

Grimy window panes stared at them blankly from the street level; above, the big hook and ball of a crane for hauling merchandise to the upper floors dangled over their heads. The Superintendent looked at his watch.

'Five past one. Go ahead, Jim,' he said.

The lock expert produced a bag of tools and, selecting one, started work on the door. 'Lock's easy enough,' he murmured. 'Old-fashioned piece.' With a twist of his wrist it clicked back into its socket.

Pushing the door open the five men entered the building. The Superintendent switched on his torch. It showed a dusty hallway with a flight of stone steps leading to the upper floors and, on their left, two glass panelled swing doors giving on to the offices. Thrusting them wide the fat Superintendent led the way in.

The beam of his torch, as he flashed it round, showed shelves with rows of faded letter files upon them; an old-fashioned clerk's desk, with high stools in front of it, and a rusty brass rail which carried a number of leather-bound ledgers. The place had the odour of dreary old-fashioned commercialism where men toiled half their lives in a perpetual twilight for a pittance. Another door with a frosted glass panel, upon which was painted 'Private' in black letters, showed to the right. The Superintendent walked over and tried its handle. The lock expert set to work again and soon had it open.

The inner office was little better than the one they had just glanced over. It gave on to a deep well, and was lit in the day time only by glass reflectors swung on chains at an angle to the windows. A few faded photographs of elderly side whiskered gentlemen, probably long dead directors of the firm, were hung upon the whitewashed walls above a skirting of pitch pine. A roll top desk occupied a corner near the window; a meagre square of turkey carpet failed to conceal all but a small portion of the worn oilcloth with which the floor was covered. An open bookcase contained piles of old trade journals, samples, and miscellaneous paraphernalia.

'We'll come back here later,' said the Superintendent. 'First I want to see the contents of the warehouse.'

They trooped out behind him and up the stone stairs to the first floor. It was an empty barn like room; containing only several stacks of cases. The Superintendent pointed: Wells and the extra detective pulled one out from the middle of a stack, and, by means of a jemmy which the lock man produced from his bag of tools, opened it up. It was a longish coffin shaped case and contained tins of leaf tobacco.

They hammered back the nails carefully, so that it should not appear to have been opened, and replaced it in the centre of the stack.

The contents of four other cases were investigated from different portions of the room and the Superintendent noted down particulars of the goods they contained in his pocket book. Then they visited the upper floor and the same process was gone through with other consignments of merchandise which they found there. The top floor and the one below it were empty.

'We'll get down to the offices now,' the Superintendent said and, with an elephantine tread, led the way downstairs again.

They all had torches and began a rapid search through the clerks' desks and papers. It was impossible to examine them all in so short a time but the police officers made various notes of invoices, addresses, and dates of correspondence, without coming across a single item which tied up the place with its illegal source of supply.

Gregory wandered into the inner room. If there were any, it was there, he felt certain, that important papers would be kept.

The lock expert had already opened the roll top desk and the Superintendent had gone carefully through it without finding any papers other than those connected with apparently legitimate business. Gregory stared round the place, scrutinising the photographs upon the grey white walls and the miscellaneous collection of samples and trade papers, hoping for inspiration. Then his eye fell upon the lower shelf of the bookcase.

Half buried under stacks of dusty documents there were a long row of books. He bent down and flashed his torch on them. It was a set of Shakespeare's works in forty volumes. As a book collector himself he knew it well. It had been published by an American company, just after the war, and remained at an exceptionally low price. The volumes were bound in grey boards with a strip of blue cloth down their spines on which were paper labels. Each contained one of Shakespeare's thirty-seven plays, except the last three, which were devoted to the sonnets and poems.

He stared at them for a moment; thinking how queer it was that the owner of this grim business office should be sufficiently interested in Shakespeare to keep a set in his depressing work room. Then he noticed that whereas the tops of thirty-nine volumes were grey with dust, the fortieth, number sixteen in the set, was comparatively clean and stood out a little from the others as though it had been recently used and hastily put back.

'When you are ready,' he said to the Superintendent who was standing in the doorway, 'we'll quit. I don't think you'll find much here but, if you'll provide me with a copy of The Tempest, when we get back to the Yard, I think I'll be able to decode that famous telegram for you.'

18

The Deciphering of the Code

At Scotland Yard Gregory settled down in the Superintendent's room with a thin paper edition of Shakespeare's plays, a pencil, and some blank sheets of foolscap. He knew that any ordinary combination of figures could have been deciphered by the decoding department at the Admiralty, to which Sir Pellinore had first sent the Corot telegram. The fact of its having defeated the experts showed quite clearly that the numerals referred to the lines of a certain book known only to the sender and recipient or their associates. His discovery of The Tempest as the only book in the set of Shakespeare, reposing so incongruously in the dusty warehouse of Mitbloom & Allison, which had recently been used, made him feel certain it held the key to the cipher.

He spread out the telegram before him and reread it:

COROT CAFE DE LA CLOCHE CALAIS SIXTH 41 44 II 15 THENCE 46 SEVENTH 43 47 EIGHTH AGAIN 47.

Turning to the play he looked up line 41, which read:

'… drown? Have you a mind to sink?'

Then line 44: 'Work you then.1

Next, line 11; which only had the single word: 'Enough!'

Line 15 was, 'Where is the master, boatswain?'

And line 46: '… noisemaker. We are less afraid to be drowned than…'

It simply did not make sense so he tried another method.

Treating the first numeral in each pair as indicating an act of the play, and the second numeral the line, which gave him:

41 'If I have to'

44 'Amends; for F

11 'Here, master: what'

15 'Ourselves aground: bestir, bestir.'

This did not seem to make sense either so, for a quarter of an hour, he worked on all sorts of other possibilities; trying out the numbers against full speeches or as lines in various acts and scenes, but none of them gave any results until it occurred to him to try the songs of the Fairy Ariel.

There were four songs in the play and he wrote them down.

I. Act I. Scene II.

1. Come unto these yellow sands,

2. And then take hands:

3. Curtsied when you have and kiss'd

4. The wild waves whist:

5. Foot it featly here and there;

6. 'And, sweet sprites, the burthern bear.

7. Hark, hark!

8. Bow wow.

9. The watchdogs bark:

10. Bow wow.

11. Hark, hark! I hear

12. The strain of strutting chanticleer:

13. Cry, cockadiddle dow.

2. Act I. Scene II.

1. Full fathom five thy father lies;

2. Of his bones are coral made;

3. Those are pearls that were his eyes;

4. Nothing of him that doth fade,

5. But doth suffer a seachange

6. Into something rich and strange

7. Sea nymphs hourly ring his knell.

8. Ding dong.

9. Hark! now I hear them Dingdong, bell.

3. Act II. Scene I.

1. While you here do snoring lie,

2. Open eyed conspiracy

3. His time doth take.

4. // of life you keep a care,

5. Shake off slumber, and beware:

6. Awake, awake!

4. ActV. Scene I.

1. Where the bee sucks there suck I:

2. In a cowslip's bell I lie;

3. There do couch when owls do cry.

4. On a bat's back I do fly

5, After summer, merrily.

6. Merrily, merrily shall I live now

7. Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

On taking out the lines, in accordance with the numbers in the telegram, he arrived at the following:

(Song 4, line 1). 'Where the bee sucks, there suck I.' (Song 4, line 4). 'On the bat's wing I do fly.' (Song 1, line 1). 'Come unto these yellow sands' (Song 1, line 5). 'Foot it featly here and there.' (Song 4, line 6). 'Merrily, merrily shall I live now.' (Song 4, line 3). 'There do couch where owls do cry.' (Song 4, line 7). 'Under the blossom that hangs on the

bough.'

(Song 4, line 3). 'There do couch where owls do cry.' (Song 4, line 7). 'Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.'

This little collection seemed by far the most hopeful he had achieved yet. There was a reference to 'yellow sands' and another to 'owls', which suggested the Brown Owl Inn. The words 'foot it featly', too, immediately conjured up in his mind a vision of long dancing limbs clad in silk stockings.

Bearing in mind that the first four lines referred to the sixth of August, when he had witnessed the smugglers' operations at Calais, he went over them again. 'Where the bee sucks, there suck I', seemed to suggest the depot at Calais, from which the smugglers drew their supplies. He did not know where they had landed on that occasion but, now that he was acutely conscious of the vast stretch of yellow sands at Pegwell Bay and their base a little way inland from it at Ash Level, it looked as though that was the spot where the smugglers had dropped their cargo on the night of the SIXTH.

Going on to the seventh, the Brown Owl Inn on Romney Marshes was plainly indicated, as he knew that they had landed there that night, and the repetition of it for the eighth, when they had landed there again, confirmed his guess.

He was puzzled for a moment about the line 'Under the blossom that hangs on the bough', but, in view of the fact that they had discovered tobacco in Mitbloom and Allison's warehouse, he soon decided that the inference must be to leaves, and that both the cargoes he had seen landed at Romney on the two previous nights were shipments of tobacco. When he had finally redrafted the telegram on these assumptions, it read:

COROT, CAFE DE LA CLOCHE, CALAIS. SIXTH. / AM COLLECTING SUPPLIES FROM OUR BASE AT CALAIS. THEY WILL BE DESPATCHED BY PLANE TO PEGWELL BAY AND THE FREIGHT ON THIS OCCASION WILL BE A CONSIGNMENT OF SILKS. THENCE I SHALL PROCEED TO THE CARLTON AND ON THE SEVENTH A FURTHER CONSIGNMENT WILL BE LANDED AT THE BROWN OWL INN ON ROMNEY MARSHES CON SISTING OF TOBACCO. ON THE EIGHTH THE LAST OPERATION WILL BE REPEATED AND WE SHALL LAND AT THE BROWN OWL INN AGAIN WITH A FURTHER CARGO OF TOBACCO.

'There you are he pushed it over to Wells and the Superintendent, 'that all fits in doesn't it?'

The Superintendent nodded. 'Good work, sir. If you're ever out of a job I think we could find you a billet. Unfortunately, though, this telegram only carries us up to the night of the eighth and it's already the ninth, or rather the morning of the tenth I should say now, so we are stuck again. Otherwise, if I could only catch them red-handed landing a cargo, I'd bring them in now we've got on to Quex Park, Ash Level, Romney Marshes, Calais and at least one of their London depots.'

'Yes, we're at a bit of a dead end now,' Gregory confessed and the new moon's due in two days' time. They'll stop operations then until the dark period in September unless I'm much mistaken, I've a hunch, though, they'll put another lot of stuff over tonight and on the eleventh so if you get your people to cover their three known landing grounds you ought to be able to catch them at it and capture their fleet tonight or tomorrow night.'

'Well, I'm for bed,' said the Superintendent. 'I was up all night last night chasing down into Kent, after Sir Pellinore got on to me to pull the two of you out of the mess you'd landed yourselves in, and you've, both had a pretty sticky time, too. I think we'd best meet again here and talk things over later in the morning. How will eleven o'clock suit you?'

'Fine,' Gregory agreed. 'I got in a good sleep today at Ramsgate, but my chest's still devilish painful from the gruelling I had with that lifeline, so a few hours in bed wouldn't do me any harm. I expect Wells feels much the same' way.'

The Inspector drew himself up but winced as the bandages under his armpits pulled at the raw skin. 'I'm game to go on,' he said, 'but there doesn't seem anything to go on with at the moment, so I think you're right, sir. We'd best pack up for the night.'

A taxi carried Gregory swiftly through the deserted streets to Kensington. It was just four o'clock as he inserted the spare key he had telephoned Rudd to send up to the Yard in the side door of No. 272 Gloucester Road and let himself in. The terrifying experience through which he had been had taken a lot out of him and he wearily mounted the stairs covered by their worn carpet.

In his sitting room Rudd had left, as usual, drinks and biscuits set out on a tray. He mixed himself a badly needed whisky and soda, threw off his coat, and drank it slowly.

His thoughts had turned to Sabine. The police net was closing upon Lord Gavin's organisation. She was still at Quex Park sleeping all unperturbed and unconscious, no doubt, of the approaching danger. By telephoning Sir Pellinore on the previous night she had undoubtedly saved the lives of

Wells and himself, but how much would the police let that weigh in her favour when they came to pull her in as one of the gang. And what was Wells's promise worth, when he had said that he would do his best for her, two nights previously, as Gregory had gone overboard from the aeroplane, trusting in the parachute to save his neck.

The police would have to charge her. They couldn't avoid doing that; and when she came before a court she would certainly be sentenced. The authorities could do no more than state that she had saved the lives of Wells and himself by giving timely information of their intended murder. It would reduce her sentence very considerably, no doubt, but she would be sentenced all the same, because she had refused to turn King's evidence when he had asked her to. She would be sent to prison and be faced with a hideous company of female gaol birds. Somehow or other he had got to save her from that.

For a moment he contemplated getting out his car and running straight down to Quex Park again, throwing the police overboard, telling her everything, and getting her out of the country by aeroplane if necessary, before they decided to arrest her. Yet if he did that, the whole of the police campaign would fall in ruins; all the work and risks taken by Wells and himself would go for nothing.

That did not matter so much, but the terrible thing was that Lord Gavin would escape and his secret organisation remain unbroken. He would create new bases farther north, perhaps upon the Essex coast, and start the game all over again. Soon, when the time was ripe, agitators and saboteurs would be landing there from his planes to pass unsuspected into the great industrial areas where they would ferment strikes and engineer every sort of trouble. He couldn't let that happen just because he was in love. Sabine was at Quex Park and she must take her chance that he would be able to get her out when the police made their general clear up.

He opened the door of his bedroom. The light behind him was enough for him to see his bed. Upon it, stretched out on the eiderdown, her head buried in the pillows, and sleeping as soundly as a little child was Sabine.

19

Joy and Frustration

Gregory paused there in the doorway staring at her. Then, as though feeling his presence in her sleep, she stirred and, as he stepped forward, her eyes opened.

'So you are here at last.' She raised herself on one elbow. 'I thought that you would never come and I was so tired I dropped off to sleep.'

He sat down quickly on the bed beside her and took her hands. 'My dear! How did you get here? Who let you in?'

'That nice man, Rudd. He said you were at Scotland Yard and that he had just sent up a spare key of the house for you. He offered to telephone to say I was here, but I would not let him and, not knowing how long you would be, I sent him back to bed again.'

A slow smile lit Gregory's lined face. 'You can have no possible conception how terribly glad I am to see you.'

She slid an arm round his shoulders and, pulling herself up, let her cheek rest against his. 'You are safe, cherie, safe. That is the only thing which matters.'

'Yes, thanks to you, but how did you know they managed to get us out of those devilish sands in time?'

'Sir Pellinore. All last night and all today I have been almost crazy with anxiety. I got out of the Park early this morning, before anybody was up, and telephoned to Carlton House Terrace from the village. Sir Pellinore was away and no one there could tell me where he had gone to. After that, I had no chance to phone again. I dared not do so from the house: in case Gavin cut in on the line, and all through the afternoon he kept me busy, typing out endless sheets of figures for him because, you see, I have acted as his secretary for all his most confidential business. After dinner he made me play backgammon with him and I thought I should go mad trying to conceal my desperate anxiety from those sharp eyes of his. At eleven o'clock we went up to bed and I had to give him a little time to settle down; but by midnight I had crept out of the house again and down to the village. Sir Pellinore was in when I called him up. He told me that you were safe back in London, so I knocked, up a garage, hired a car and drove straight here to you.'

Gregory smiled again, a little bantering smile. 'Have you come to me for good?'

'Yes, if you want me.'

'Sabine, you know I do! But you mean to cut clear of this Gavin Fortescue business for good and all don't you?'

'Yes. You were right about him. I did not know it, because he has always been so good to me, but that man is the devil in human form, I t'ink. Last night, when the Limper telephoned him that you had been caught, he sat there and told me quite calmly what he intended to do with you and the police inspector. I was horrified. Smuggling is one thing but murder another; and what a fiendish mind he must have to conceive such a terrible way of killing his enemies. I determined then that I must get away from him at whatever cost to my mother and myself; yet I had to pretend complete indifference at the time so that he should have no suspicion of my intentions. Immediately he left for Ash Level I telephoned to Sir Pellinore.'

Gregory nodded. 'It must have been grim for you, darling. It was grim for us, too; because they didn't get us out until the very last moment. I really thought our numbers were up.'

'But why? The tide was not low till half past six and I warned Sir Pellinore in ample time,'

'The police wanted Gavin and the Limper to remain under the impression they had done us in; so our rescue was not attempted until the Limper's boat had got back to land and we were buried up to our armpits in the quicksand. I take it Gavin doesn't know that we escaped, does he?'

'No, otherwise I am sure he would have spoken of it to me during the day. He seemed to have brushed the whole affair from his mind as though it had never happened; that was what made it so terrible for me. I felt quite certain that I should have heard of it if the police had raided his base at Ash Level. I waited hour after hour on tenterhooks, but no news came and I feared most terribly that something had happened to Sir Pellinore, so that he had been unable to pass my warning on to the police at all.'

'You poor darling; but never mind, we're safe enough now and it's the next move we've got to consider. Time's important, so I think, if you're not feeling too done up, you had best come up to Scotland Yard with me. We'll get Superintendent Marrowfat out of bed again and you must tell him all you know.'

She drew quickly away from him. 'But no! It is impossible for me to do that. To break away from Gavin myself is one thing, but to betray him quite another. How can you ask me to, when you know he saved my mother and me from starvation, and that he has been as generous as any father to me, giving me everything that I've ever had.'

'Now listen, Sabine,' he turned a little and faced her squarely, 'you've got to be sensible about this. I value loyalty myself above any other quality in a man or woman but Gavin Fortescue has placed himself outside the bounds of any decent code. Whatever he may have done for you in the past was done entirely for his own ends. When he saw you first, as a little girl, he had the sense to realise that one day you'd be a very beautiful woman and, even then, you probably showed signs that you'd be a very clever one, too. He realised that by an outlay, which meant nothing to him with his immense wealth, he could forge in you an instrument which would be of the very greatest use in furthering his scheme a few years later; and his foresight has been justified. You've already paid him back, more than paid him back, by taking criminal risks which he had no earthly right to expect of you, for every penny he spent on your education or allowed your mother.'

'That may be so, but nothing would induce me to trompe him.'

'But, my darling, you must think of yourself. You don't seem to realise that you've committed yourself to all sorts of criminal actions. The net is closing in on the whole of Gavin's organisation now. You'll be arrested with the Limper and the others and charged like any ordinary female crook. The Court will deal lightly with you. compared with the others, because you gave information which saved myself and Wells from death, but they won't let you off entirely. You'll be sent to prison, Sabine. Don't you understand what that means. You can't, of course, or you'd never hesitate, but for a woman like you it will be a living hell and there's only one way you can save yourself from that: you've got to turn King's' Evidence before the balloon goes up, so the court may use their full discretion in your case.'

'I can't, I tell you. I will not.'

'Please, Sabine, I beg you to.'

'No, Gregory, no. Whatever he has done, he has also been my friend. If I did as you wish my self-respect would be gone for ever.'

'Then there's only one thing for it; I've got to get you out of England before the police decide to act.'

'That would mean your having to give up your job no?'

'Oh, to hell with the job! I would have given a lot to be in at the death, when we corner Gavin and the Limper, but that's a bagatelle compared with your safety.'

'Are there not extradition laws so that they could bring me back?'

'There are, but I don't think they would apply them. You see, your having saved Wells and myself makes the police reluctant to prosecute you in any case now. It's only that they're bound to do so by the law if they catch you.'

She nodded thoughtfully. 'Where could we go?'

Gregory stood up and, forgetting the abrasions on his chest and back, stretched himself. He grimaced suddenly and lowered his arms. 'The world's big enough and there are plenty of places where the two of us could lose ourselves very happily for a time.'

'When when do we start?' she asked a little timidly.

'Mid day will be time enough. Nobody knows you're here and zero hour for mopping up Gavin's crowd will certainly not be before tonight. They may even leave him on a string for some days yet; until they're satisfied they've gathered together all the threads of his organisation.'

'By mid day he'll know that I've left him. Don't you fink that may make him uneasy. He knew I liked you. That, I think, was why he did not speak again of the business at Pegwell Bay all through today. He mentioned at lunch, too, that he had sent up to London for some sapphires that I might like to see; as though such things could possibly compensate me for your murder! It was horrible! But he is clever. When he finds I've left him he may think I cared about you far more than I said and have gone to the police to tell them how you died.'

'That's true; and if he does think that he'll hop over to France in his plane so as to be out of the way until he's certain you haven't split on him. Then the police will miss him. after all; which would be a tragedy. I wish to God you'd change your mind and come clean with the people at the Yard. We wouldn't have to make a moonlight flitting if you did and, with the information you could give them, the police would be able to fill in their gaps. Then they could raid Quex Park right away. If we acted now there would just be time for them to get Gavin in his bed before he finds out you've cut adrift from him.'

'It's no good, Gregory. I will not give evidence against Gavin.'

'All right, my dear, in that case we must get out at once. The police don't know you're here so we'll have a free run to Heston where we can pick up the plane. Before I leave I’ll telephone the Yard that if they don't pinch Gavin within the next two hours they'll lose him. I need not say what makes me believe that; or where I got my information.'

'But you should rest. You're worn out mon pauvre petit and you've been through a time incredible. How can you possibly talk of just walking out of the house and flying the Channel when you must be so desperately tired.'

He shrugged and put a hand up to his bandages again. 'I'm all right. Slept ail through the day at the Granville Hotel, Ramsgate. Bit sore where the ropes cut into me when they pulled us out of those blasted sands that’s all. It's been worse for you than for me, really. You had no sleep last night and a gruelling day worrying your lovely head whether I was alive or dead'o. But you can sleep in the plane once we're in it.'

'You are a very wonderful man, Gregory the most wonderful man. I did not think that there was anybody in the world quite as wonderful as you. I love you.'

He bent above her. 'The gods are being kind to me in my old age. Most beautiful women are either good, stupid or vicious. And you are the marvellous exception. Lovely as a goddess, clever as an Athenian and a bad hat like myself, yet one who still has decent feelings. I'm going to kiss the lips off you once we land in France.'

The temptation to set about it now was strong within him, but time was precious: it was already after five o'clock. He had to get his car, take Sabine down to Heston in it, and see that his plane was fuelled for a cross Channel flight. He did not intend to telephone Scotland Yard until the last minute before leaving. It was doubtful if Superintendent Marrowfat would be able to reach Birchington before Gavin Fortescue was up but he could telephone the local police with orders to prevent him leaving the Park until the Yard men arrived.

Gregory bent down and pulled a couple of suitcases from under his bed. 'Pack for me, will you?' he said. 'Anything you can lay your hands on that you think will" prove most useful. Rudd sleeps down in the basement so it would only waste time for me to go and dig him out of bed.'

She stood up at once and began to collect things from his dressing table.

'I'll go round and get the car,' he told her. 'It's garaged in Elvaston Mews, about ten minutes' walk away, but I'll be back in a quarter of an hour. Bless you.'

'Bless you' she echoed, as he smiled over his shoulder, and his tall, slouching figure disappeared through the door.

She heard him let himself out and his footsteps echo along the pavement of the deserted street in the silent hour that preceded dawn. A greyish light already filtered sluggishly through the chinks in the window curtains of the bedroom. She pressed the electric switch, flooding out those signs of approaching day; then she set to work rummaging through Gregory's drawers.

In less than five minutes she had the two cases crammed to capacity with the things she thought would prove of the greatest use to him and carried them out to the sitting room where she put them all ready, just behind the door, with the little dressing case which was all she had been able to bring with her.