Not for export, p.5
Not For Export, page 5
"If it isn't locked," said the voice belonging to Ed.
They came out upon the street and Hambledon felt the barrel of a gun in his ribs.
"One chirp out of you and you'll get this."
The car was drawn up so close to the house door that Hambledon had no room to move. The neck button of the coat was upon his forehead and the next below his chin; there was a narrow vertical gap between through which he could see with one eye. Ed was at the back of the car.
"It's open," he said, "but it's not big enough. We'll never shut it on him."
"Put him inside—quick! There's someone coming round the——"
One man leapt into the back of the car, Hambledon was hustled in after him, and another sprang in beside him. Before the door was shut the driver was in his place and the fourth man was beside him. The car moved forward, rolling and bumping on the uneven road. They slowed for the corner, turned left, and went steadily on.
Hambledon twisted in his seat and immediately two large hands closed round his neck; they were strong hands and even through the muffling folds of the coat the effect was strangling. They held the coat tightly over nose and mouth and it was impossible to breathe; Hambledon struggled violently.
"What you doing, Ackie? Keep him quiet, can't you?" The man beside the driver turned in his seat. "You're stifling him, you fool."
"Don't matter if I do——"
Hambledon got both feet on the back of the driver's seat and heaved so violently that the seat slid forward and the driver complained.
"What the hell you playing at? Suppose I can drive with you——"
"Let him breathe, Ackie!"
The strangle hold eased and Hambledon, who had got to the stage where the lungs pump vainly and the world turns black before the eyes, lay back gasping.
"You keep quiet. Next time, I won't let go.".
They were passing through lighted streets. Hambledon moved his head so that, through the gap in the coat, he could get a good view of the driver, who of course was Edberg. The blond Teutonic type with nothing remarkable about him, as the police had said, and since he drove with the trained chauffeur's immobility Tommy could only get a three-quarter view of the back of the man's head and could not be sure of knowing him again. Tommy moved so as to bring his left eye to bear upon the other man in the front seat, who immediately obliged by turning round to look at him. Hambledon recognized him at once from the police photographs; that was Gruiter. Since Ackermann was on Tommy's right in the back seat, the man on his left was almost certainly Claussen.
"He seems quiet enough now," said Gruiter.
"Probably fainted from fright," said Ackermann.
Hambledon kept still and said nothing, but his hands were in front of him now, hidden but ready for action.
The car slowed down and there was suddenly a shocking burst of profanity from Edberg. "They've barricaded the road."
"They're letting that car through," said Gruiter, "look. They're moving the bar. Get on his tail, Ed."
"I don't like it," said Edberg, and his voice ran up the scale.
Ackermann, in the corner beside Hambledon, sat forward suddenly.
"So you're yellow, are you?" he snarled. "Know what we do to them as turns——"
"Ach!" said Edberg in an exasperated voice, and swung the car round to follow the other before the barrier—merely a pole on trestles—could be replaced. The car ahead went on fast and Edberg followed it in spite of shouts from the Russian guard on the barrier. The car in front took a side turning, but Edberg went straight on.
"There you are," said Ackermann, "we're through. Nothing to get windy about."
A light came through the rear window—the headlight of something following them—then the roar of a motorcycle engine and the sound of a horn, commanding, insistent, repeated. Claussen came out of his corner and, leaning heavily on Hambledon as though he had been put there for an arm rest, looked back out of the rear window.
"Soldier on a motorcycle," he reported. "Got a sub-machine gun on the handle bars."
Edberg, who had instinctively eased a little and pulled in to let an overtaking vehicle pass, uttered a moan of terror and put his foot down hard on the accelerator. The car leapt forward; there was one more warning hoot from behind and then a burst of machine-gun fire from the following motorcycle. The back window of the car was shattered, fragments of glass flew about, and Claussen uttered a surprised grunt and fell on Hambledon.
"Anybody hurt?" asked Gruiter.
"Claus," said Ackermann briefly. He turned round, rested his hand on the back of the seat, and fired several shots from Hambledon's automatic at the motorcyclist. He could hardly miss, the man was by then only ten yards behind. There was a slithering crash and then silence.
"Got him," said Ackermann in a satisfied voice.
"You blasted fool," said Gruiter furiously, "they'll have us all for this! Ed, take the next turning off wherever it goes."
Hambledon had wriggled sufficiently free of Claussen to undo his coat buttons and get ready to jump. This could not last.
Another single headlight, coming to meet them this time.
"Another soldier," wailed Edberg, "with a——"
"Down here!" snapped Gruiter.
The car braked so violently that Ackermann shot forward against Gruiter; Claussen rolled off Hambledon and back into his corner as Edberg took a corner on two wheels with a horrible crunch of a front wing against a wall. He got round only to be faced with an impassable barrier of rubble almost across the street. The car tilted sickeningly, slowed, turned, and rammed the opposite wall.
Edberg was out almost before the car stopped, over the rubble and away. Gruiter and Ackermann were almost as quick. Hambledon sprang out after them as the motorcyclist turned at the end of the street and his headlight lit up the scene. Hambledon was hardly out of the car when a figure dodged from behind and seized him by the hand.
"This way, mister——"
"Frett!"
"Come on."
They ran up the slope of rubble into the ruined house from which it came and immediately slipped and rolled into a large hole. A cellar, in fact, open to the sky. Frett was on his feet at once.
"Hurt, mister? Come on, run!"
Tommy picked himself up and staggered after the boy, who appeared to be able to see in the dark. They were in a passage of some kind; at the end of it Frett stopped.
"Down here. There's a hole in the floor and a ladder going down. Kneel down and feel for it. Got it? That's right. I'll go first."
Hambledon felt the edge of a square hole and, within it, the top rung of an iron ladder fixed to one side and descending vertically.
"Nothing," he said, aloud and in English, "could equal my distaste for—-"
In the distance by the way they had come he heard suddenly the voice of the soldier, shouting: "Come out or I fire," or words to that effect. The threat was idle because he could not possibly see them, but it made up Hambledon's mind for him.
"Except going back to meet you," he concluded, and climbed down the ladder after Frett.
5. THE BLIND MAN
They were in a tunnel, a round tunnel such as receive and deliver underground railway trains, but not nearly so large. This one was only about five feet in diameter and Tommy walked along it with his head bent and his arms outstretched to touch the side walls. His feet sank in a couple of inches of soft mud and the smell was unseemly.
"Frett. What is this?"
"It used to be a sewer, but they don't use it now."
"I should hope not!"
"It comes out—careful, there's an opening on your left—in a yard. We'll have to mind we aren't seen there, and then it's only to cross a road and we're out of the Russian zone. I say, mister?"
"What?"
"Is this worth ten marks?"
"It's worth twenty," said Hambledon, "or it will be when we get out of this smell."
Frett laughed and plodded on.
"I say, mister?"
"Well?"
"Was any of that lot killed?"
"Claussen was. The others got away. Which reminds me, Frett, how did the shooting come to miss you? You were in the luggage boot, of course."
"They left it open when they drove off in such a tear, so I hopped on."
"Yes, but when the firing started——"
"I lay down flat. Mister, I went so flat I nearly pushed myself through the floor. Mister, you could have posted me in a letter box, honest."
Hambledon wondered whether the Russian soldier had seen the boy and mercifully aimed high; it seemed most probable, as otherwise it would be more natural to aim at the tank or the back tyres. If so, he had deserved a better fate than being shot by Ackermann.
"We're nearly there," said Frett, and Hambledon sighed with relief. A few more heavy paces and Frett stopped.
"Here's the ladder. Look up, you can see the light. I'll go first and see if there's anyone about, see, 'cause I know where to look. You come on after but not too close, I might have to dodge back."
But there was no one about and they emerged in a yard almost full of handbarrows.
"What the workers clear the roads with," explained Frett. "This way."
They came out on an unfrequented road and, since the Russians cannot possibly watch every yard of their zonal frontier, they crossed it unobserved and stepped out more freely. Frett sniffed.
"Mister," he said with awful frankness, "don't you stink!"
"You're no bunch of orchids yourself," said Hambledon indignantly. "Like to come to my hotel and have a bath, Frett?"
"What, me? They'd throw me out!"
"Oh no, they wouldn't!"
"No, mister, thank you very much. Frau Muller's got my water hot anyway; it is Saturday night. No, mister, I'd rather not, honest."
Hambledon did not insist.
"By the way, Frett, why call me 'mister' all the time? What's 'mein Herr' done that you don't like him?"
"Because you're English," said Frett simply. "That's right, isn't it? What you say in England?"
"And what d'you say to Americans?"
"Hiya, bud!"
"And when it's a Frenchman?"
"I've never met one. Look, mister—mein Herr—there's your hotel. I'll get along now."
Hambledon gave him twenty marks which Frett accepted with some dignity, for he had certainly earned them.
"And when you want me, mister, I'll be round about Sachs' place."
"Frett. Be very careful about those men. They're looking out for you. They said so. They meant to get you tonight, and only one of them is dead. Be careful tonight and meet me at Sachs' at twelve tomorrow."
"Auf Wiedersehen, mein Herr."
Hambledon returned to his hotel and, since there was no one about, went behind the reception desk to remove his shoes. The porter came out from the back regions somewhere and asked whether he could, perhaps, help the Herr in some way.
"I'm not drunk, if that's what you're thinking——"
"No, no, mein Herr——"
"But I appear to have trodden in something."
The porter bent forward impulsively and drew back as quickly.
"The Herr does, indeed, seem to have met with some kind of misfortune."
"They are good shoes," said Hambledon thoughtfully. "Normally, that is. Perhaps if they were scraped and then scrubbed and then well aired——"
He put his hand in his pocket to draw out some money and the porter took the hint.
"Leave them with me, mein Herr. They shall receive attention."
"I can go up in my socks," said Hambledon, stepping back, "if you'll take me up in the lift. Oh, Lord! My socks too!"
"And the Herr's trousers also," said the porter with lively curiosity. "The Herr would appear at some point to have taken the wrong turning."
"You may say that I was regrettably misled. About these things——"
"I will go with the Herr to his room and he shall give me such things as require attention. They shall be returned tomorrow if that is convenient."
Hambledon said that it was and led the way to the lift with long strides. He was understandably anxious not to meet any of his fellow guests. The porter waited upstairs while he removed everything he wore, except his vest which seemed to have escaped contamination, and then took away the offending garments.
"I do not wish to be called early tomorrow," said Hambledon. "I expect to spend most of the night having a series of baths."
The porter wished him good refreshment and left the room. The bath water was already running before he shut the door. He went down in the lift, sent off the second bootboy, protesting vainly, to the all-night cleaners, and had hardly returned to his desk when the revolving doors spun round to admit a detective-inspector of police and his sergeant.
"The Herr Hambledon is staying here, is he?"
"Certainly, gentlemen."
"Does he happen to be in?"
"Certainly he is. He came in a quarter of an hour ago and is now in his room."
"You are quite sure?"
"Quite sure," said the porter firmly. "I have myself only just returned from taking him up to his room."
"Taking him up. Why, is he hurt or ill? You have an automatic lift here, I think."
"The Herr was not ill," said the porter hesitantly.
"I will go up myself and see him," said the detective-inspector decidedly. "What is his number and on which floor?"
"He won't want to see you just now. He is having a bath. Several baths."
"What is all this?"
"The Herr said he must have trodden in something. I have just sent his suit, his socks, and shoes to the cleaners. I think the Herr is given to understatement."
"Like that, was it? Take me up. I must see him."
The porter shrugged his shoulders in a resigned manner and took them up. There was a sound of rushing water, Hambledon was just running in his second bath as the porter knocked at the door.
"Go away!" shouted Hambledon, but the porter said it was the police and the detective-inspector added that he was most unhappy at disturbing the Herr but that he had had definite orders to make sure that the Herr was safe and well.
"Of course I'm well. I'm having a bath. I'll come round and see you in the morning." Hambledon turned off the taps. The detective-inspector said in an apologetic voice that his orders were to see Hambledon, literally see him with his own eyes; and two or three of the other hotel guests gathered hopefully in the corridor. The porter noticed them.
"Mein Herr," he said imploringly with his mouth against the keyhole, "there is a crowd which begins to assemble. The good name of the hotel——"
"Oh, hell!" said Tommy violently. He cast a bath towel about himself and opened the door wide enough to let the detective-inspector sidle in. "What on earth is all this fuss about?"
"From information received we were led to believe that the Herr had been abducted in a car with Eastern zone number plates."
"Who told you that?"
"A message was telephoned. A most circumstantial message that you were seen to be abducted by four men, names given."
"The names were known to you?"
"Certainly, mein Herr. The men are being diligently sought for."
"Did you know the voice?"
They did not. It was a young voice, probably a boy's or even a girl's.
Hambledon remembered having warned Frett against Gruiter and his friends. If this was Frett's idea of removing the danger, there was no need to be anxious about him. He could look after himself very capably indeed.
"Yes, I see. It is all perfectly true. I was abducted by four men but, as you see, they did not manage to keep me. Persevere in your search; I hope you find them. By the way, there are only three now, Claussen is dead."
"Leaving Gruiter, Ackermann, and Edberg. Is that right? Good. Has the Herr any idea where they are now?"
"I left them in the Russian zone but I shouldn't think they'll stay there. I don't know, they might. The Russians don't know who shot the soldier."
"Shot the sol—— The Herr has had quite an evening, has he not?"
"My regards to your superintendent," said Hambledon firmly. "I will tell him all about it in the morning."
The detective-inspector took the hint.
Two days later Spelmann came to Berlin in response to a summons from Hambledon.
"As I told you," he said, "I've identified the four, but I'm not sure that we're really much further on. Look at 'em. Claussen was a jewel thief when he was alive; Christian charity forbids me to speculate upon what he has now become. I mean, the devil looks after his own, doesn't he? Edberg, ex-chauffeur, is a car thief according to the police. Gruiter is an oddly inefficient burglar——"
"So the police say," said Spelmann. "I must point out that they only know about two cases in which he was involved. In the first he was markedly unlucky, for who expects to be chased along a street by a record-breaking quarter-miler? In the second case he was certainly careless; nobody ought to walk out of a house into the arms of a policeman. Do you not think, my dear Herr Hambledon, that it may have been a long run of successes which made him careless?"
"Fingerprints at Königswinter," said Hambledon reminiscently. "Still, you may be right. Perhaps he just has his off days. Ackermann is a thug, and I would add 'pure and simple' if I were not so sure that he is neither. Spelmann, what sent that bunch of petty crooks travelling all the way to the Rhineland to steal aircraft designs?"
"Somebody sent them," said Spelmann, nodding until his white hair stood up like the crest of a cockatoo.
"If they are caught and brought in——" said Hambledon.
"We shall be no further on," finished Spelmann. "The Herr is quite right. They must be watched for and followed. I will speak to the police to that effect."
"They know me by sight," said Hambledon. "Gruiter and company, I mean."
"Yes, but they don't know me."
"They may have seen your photograph. That article in that picture paper, the Frankfurter Illustrieite——"
"A blunder," agreed Spelmann, "a grave blunder. Not the article, which was carefully written to given an impression of the omniscience of the police and so to alarm the criminals, but the photograph. Mein Herr, I absolutely forbade a photograph and when I saw the article I was furiously angry, but what could I do then?"
