Complete works of peter.., p.327
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 327
In any event, he must do something. He must make an attempt to find Gallat one way or another—through the band-leader Roccas—through this police officer, Serilla—through somebody—they must find Gallat.
Kane began to think about Guelvada. He hoped Ernie was not going to make a fool of himself. He hoped Ernie would play this in the way he had been told to play it, if such a process were possible. Kane began to grin. Ernie was a type, he thought, and what a type! A man with a single purpose—that purpose being disguised all the time under a whimsical character that was not as superficial as it seemed; that process being interrupted by the continuous ramifications brought into Guelvada's operations because of his desire to be artistic, not to mention sundry episodes in which women had played a leading part.
Yet Kane knew perfectly well that of all the operatives that he had met in different parts of the world since he had been engaged in his present business, there was no one he would have in Ernie's place. Guelvada was difficult but unique.
He turned into one of the narrow streets on the far side of the Praca do Comercio. The moonlight, casting grotesque shadows over white pavements, made the street appear to be even longer than it was. He thought that life was rather like that street—patches of moonlight and shadow—and mostly shadow.
Half-way down he came to the apartment house where Serilla lived. He went inside, found the electric lift, ascended to the third floor. He walked along the corridor, tapped gently on the door of the flat.
It was opened quickly. It was opened by a suave, thin-faced individual, in a violet velvet dressing-gown and a gold fringed scarf, who smiled and said: "My name is Serilla. Senhor Michaels...?" He spoke in French.
Kane said: "I'm glad to meet you. I suppose the night porter at the Estrada telephoned you?"
"Yes," said Serilla. "Come this way, if you please."
Kane hung his hat on the rack in the hallway, followed the police officer into the sitting-room. He sat down in the chair indicated by Serilla, who offered him a cigarette.
Kane said: "You're very kind, Senhor Serilla. Did the man at the Estrada give you any ideas as to my business?"
"No," said Serilla. "He did not. But he said it was a matter with which I should probably sympathise."
Kane said: "You are very charming."
They smiled amiably at each other.
"Senhor, you are, I think, English?" said Serilla. "To-day, as you know, Lisbon is a city almost torn between the contending parties of this war. Here one is either pro-German or pro-Allies. There is no true neutrality, and most of the things that happen in this city have something to do with one or the other of those parties. If it will comfort you, I should like to tell you that my sympathies are entirely with your country. More, if it is possible for me to help you, I shall be glad to do so."
"Excellent," said Kane. He took his note-case from the breast-pocket of his coat, took out a packet of banknotes, folded them casually, put them back again. He returned the case to his pocket. Then he looked at Serilla, who was standing in front of the fireplace smiling placidly. Kane said:
"My trouble is a very simple one. Yesterday a friend of mine—an American by the name of Gallat, who had come to Lisbon to meet me on confidential business—arrived at the airport. I have not seen or heard of him since. It is most essential that I should find out where he is. If you can assist me I shall be more than grateful."
Serilla said: "I shall be very glad to assist you. Luckily I think I can assist you. You see, my business at the moment is to keep a fatherly eye on different nationals who come into Lisbon by air; to know more or less something about them; to see that they do not indulge in activities which might repercuss badly on Portuguese so-called 'neutrality.' It is perhaps lucky for you that I am in charge of the secret police at the airport, because, for instance, my colleague who looks after the railway stations is definitely pro-Nazi." Serilla smiled at Kane, as if that was a good joke.
Kane grinned. "I am lucky," he said.
"Of course," Serilla went on, "many strange things happen in Lisbon to-day. There are disappearances—there are even killings. But what can you expect? Normally our city is a peaceful place, but with all these strange people here, all trying to find out things, all trying to do things..." He shrugged his shoulders. "Practically every empty shop in the town is taken by the Germans," he said. "Even if they only fill the windows with German magazines and newspapers. They think they are helping their country to win the war. Sometimes it is almost amusing... almost...."
Kane said: "Don't you think there is a good chance of somebody having killed Gallat?"
"I don't know," Serilla answered. "But I might make some guesses. Before I do guess I should like to ask you some questions. First of all, what was the business of your friend—Senhor Gallat? Was he a business man?"
There was a pause. Kane thought quickly. Time was the essence of the contract. He had to hurry, and you had to take a chance sometimes. Why not now? In any event something would happen. He said casually:
"Senhor Serilla, I am going to show you my confidence in you. I am going to put myself in your hands."
"I assure you," said the police officer, "you will not regret the process."
"First of all," said Kane, "because I do not see why you should be disturbed at this unearthly hour of the morning, and because I do not see why I should take advantage of your kindness of heart, I would ask you to accept this small gift as a token of my esteem."
He took out his case, folded together four high-denomination Portuguese notes, held them out to Serilla. Serilla made a charming bow. He put out a long thin hand, took the money.
"I am most grateful, Senhor," he said. "I am at your service. I am yours to command."
Kane said: "I am here on confidential business. My friend Gallat had come a long way to see me for a conference. My movements in the near future are entirely dependent on that conference."
Serilla said: "Do you think that anyone—some-friends of the Nazis—might be interested in your business with your friend, Senhor Michaels? It is possible... is that not so?"
Kane said: "Yes... I should think it might be possible."
The police officer thought for a moment; then he said:
"I will make my guess. I do not think it probable that anything very drastic has happened to Senhor Gallat. But it should not be very difficult for me to find out. It is half-past four now. I think I will dress, go to my office, and make some inquiries." He smiled at Kane. "You see," he continued, "we have a note of all the Nazi agents who might be inclined to make themselves objectionable. It is not difficult to find out what they have been doing during the last forty-eight hours. I'm going to suggest to you, Senhor, that you telephone me in an hour's time at the number which I shall give you—say between half-past five and a quarter to six. I hope to be able to give you some information."
Kane got up. "I am more than grateful to you," he said.
They shook hands. Serilla came to the door of the apartment with Kane. He picked up a pad from the table in the hallway, wrote on it, tore off the piece of paper, handed it to Kane. He said: "Here is the telephone number. Do not worry, Senhor. I am certain that everything will be all right. My friends thinks I am a very efficient police officer."
Kane said: "I hope I shall think so too."
"You will," said Serilla with conviction. "Telephone me in an hour's time. I feel I shall have news for you. Good-bye, Senhor...."
Kane walked slowly back to the Estrada, thinking about Serilla.
The assistant-inspector had been sure of himself. Perhaps too sure, thought Kane. Lisbon was a big place, and an hour was not a long time to ascertain the whereabouts of a man who had somehow managed to disappear for over twenty-four hours.
The fact that Serilla was so certain that he could discover, through his contacts with Nazi agents, whether someone had been interested in disposing of Gallat, did not reassure Kane. First of all, if anyone had got Gallat it would be the German contre-espionage people, and they were not likely to advertise their presence. Serilla, with the best will in the world, might know and inquire of the more obvious Nazi agents of one sort and another who functioned in Lisbon, but he would certainly not know the C.E. people. Contre-espionage details worked secretly, as secretly as Kane and Guelvada worked. The very fact that their presence and work were known to a police officer of Serilla's rank would automatically merit their removal to some place where they were not known.
On the other hand the night porter at the Estrada might be playing on the other side. He might be in the pay of the Germans—dozens of hotel assistants in Lisbon were—and he might have put Kane on to Serilla because the police officer was also working for the Nazis....
Why not? Kane smiled cynically in the darkness. Well, if this was so, Serilla was going to do something about it. He would have established the fact that Kane was Gallat's contact in Lisbon, and the people who were paying him would be content to leave the situation where it was. They would want to know more about Kane. They would want to dispose of Kane as well as Gallat. Of that there was no doubt. Kane had no delusions about the thoroughness of the Nazi C.E. people. He had experienced it on previous occasions. He knew all about it. He also knew that any Nazi who could prove that he had liquidated Kane or Guelvada, or both of them, would be well in line for an Iron Cross, or, at any rate, a second-class Order of the German Eagle. Kane realised that he might easily have walked into a trap that he had carefully set—for himself.
But even that had been done before. More than once, during the past two years, Kane had deliberately walked into traps—and out again. And never empty-handed. Of course, you could do that once too often.... But you had to try things. If they came off the results were amusing. If they did not the results might be even more exciting. Too exciting.
He turned into the Avenida. It was deserted except for an occasional taxi that sped across its wide expanse, accentuating its spaciousness, making the stillness of the night more obvious.
He looked at his wrist-watch. It was five minutes to five. He began to think about Guelvada. He wondered what Ernie was doing, whether he had had any luck. If he had he would probably have telephoned the hotel and been annoyed because Kane was not there.
He hoped Guelvada would not start anything serious. But you never knew with Ernie. His temperament would run away with him at the oddest moments, and he would do the strangest, most risky things. Yet sometimes they seemed to pan out all right... sometimes....
He turned into the Estrada. As he walked across the lounge he glanced at the night-porter's office. Kane could see the man, through the glass door, sitting at the desk, writing. He sauntered over. The night porter smiled. He said:
"I hope you were successful, Senhor."
Kane said: "I think so. I appreciate your help. I think your friend Serilla will be able to assist me."
The man smiled. Kane saw that he had excellent teeth. They were so white they almost gleamed in the half-light of the desk lamp.
"There was a telephone call for you, Senhor," said the night porter. "The caller would leave no message. I said you were out and expected you back shortly."
Kane said thanks, and walked over to the lift. So there had been a telephone call. That would be Guelvada. He had called because he was on to something. He and Kane had an old rule that you never telephoned to report non-progress, but only when something had happened.
So Ernie was on to something. Perhaps the band-leader, Roccas, had known something. Perhaps he had been able to talk.
Kane stopped the lift at his floor, got out; walked along to his suite and entered the sitting-room. He switched on the light, glanced quickly about the place; walked over to the sideboard and poured a drink. Carrying the glass in his hand, he walked into his own and Guelvada's bedrooms, looking around, whistling softly to himself.
He locked the bedroom doors that led out on to corridors. Then he returned to the sitting-room. He went over to the door, opened it, looked out into the main passageway, closed the door, locked it. He sat down on the big settee and took out the pistol from its soft leather holster under his left arm. He took off the safety catch, pulled back the ejector, released it, pushing a cartridge into the barrel in the process, put on the safety catch, replaced the pistol in its holster.
He put his feet up on the end of the settee. He closed his eyes. He reminded himself that he wanted to wake up at five-thirty exactly. He went to sleep.
V
Guelvada pushed open the tall wrought-iron Spanish gates that guarded the narrow drive, bordered by evergreens, that led up to the white house with the red roof.
The business of opening the gate, closing it quietly behind him, and walking quickly towards the house was a reminiscent business. It brought all sorts of things back to Guelvada. Mainly it brought back delightful memories of Marandal.
He looked at his watch. It was just five o'clock. Guelvada sighed. A sigh that came from the heart. How often, about this time, with his heart beating—possibly a little quicker, had he walked up this same winding carriage-way knowing that, just inside the closed door, waiting, wearing, that delightful confection of black lace that was so discreetly revealing, would be Marandal.
Delightful Marandal.... There were very few women anywhere in the world like her. And now there was no Marandal. One came to this delightful place, this so charming casino, surrounded by sweet flowers and verdant plants, merely for the purpose of trying to bluff information out of the leader of an orchestra.
Quite obviously she would not be there. Because quite obviously Marandal would never be able to bring herself to consent to an affaire with the leader of an orchestra. This seemed quite certain to Guelvada. The fact that she had consented to an affaire with him when he was merely a courier could not discount the fact. Guelvada as a courier was, of course, still Guelvada. Nothing else should matter to any woman.
But it would be strange—and delightful nevertheless—if she were there. Already Guelvada was wondering how he could switch this business so that he had an excuse for discovering if Marandal was still the lady of the house. But a sudden sense of caution warned him. Kane would be merciless if, in the pursuit of an old amour, the endeavour to recapture something delightful that one had considered to be gone for ever, he were to "start something." He realised that too often, in the pursuit of his business with Kane, he had stopped by the wayside in order to "start something."
He began to think about Marandal... the unique Marandal. The Marandal of that so superb figure, that sweet and affectionate smile, those lovely arms, that delightfully incongruous fair head that belied her Portuguese father and Andalusian mother; that Marandal of the temper unequalled in both hemispheres and all Guelvada's wide experience of women.
She had said that if she saw him again she would kill him. She had told a mutual friend—knowing that at some time the news would reach Guelvada—that whenever she saw him, whatever the circumstances, she would kill him. Guelvada admitted to himself that she had good reason. For Marandal, giving everything, still retained a fierce Andalusian pride that baulked bitterly at the infamy that Guelvada had put upon her. The infamy of having two other mistresses at the time that she considered him entirely hers.
Pondering on the matter, Guelvada concluded that she would keep her word. Definitely, he thought, she would want to kill him. Certainly she would attempt to kill him. Stopping to light a cigarette, smiling whilst he did it, he thought that death at the hands of Marandal might be rather sweet, inasmuch as one was perfectly certain that, at the moment she struck, her heart would go out with the blow, and she would fling herself upon his prostrate body, showering kisses on his nearly cold lips.
A delightful picture.... Guelvada grinned happily.
The drive curved suddenly, and before him, with the same sense of surprise, he saw the white door with the door-knocker in the shape of a black Spanish stiletto... the door-knocker that he himself had bought and presented to the house.
Guelvada sighed. With that sigh went the delightful pictures of the past, came the more practical business of the moment. He seized the knocker and achieved a rat-tat-tat that shattered the stillness of the early morning. Then, his cigarette hanging from one end of his mouth, his body relaxed, he waited.
Soon there was the sound of steps. Guelvada could hear the chain clanking as it was taken off the door. The door opened. On the other side, framed in the subdued light of the hallway door, stood Roccas, the band-leader.
He was smoking a cigarette. He was wearing a well-fitting dinner-jacket, and a diamond ring glittered on the little finger of his left hand. His soft white percale shirt and double collar were immaculate, and his black bow was of watered silk. A concise, neat figure of a man, with small hands and feet that were almost too small.
He smiled gently at Guelvada as if it were a matter of course that people knocked on the door so peremptorily at five o'clock in the morning. He said softly in Portuguese:
"What can I do for you, Senhor?"
Guelvada said brusquely: "Senhor Roccas, I regret to disturb you at this hour. I have already been to your house, and from there was directed here by your housekeeper. I would like to talk to you for a moment."
Roccas looked behind him towards the passage. Then he said:
"Will you forgive me if I do not ask you to enter. It is a mild night and perhaps we could walk for a few moments in the garden. I shall be happy to assist you in any way I can."
"That will be excellent," said Guelvada. He stood on one side as Roccas pulled the door to, but did not entirely close it. They walked out of the little pillared porch and round the right-hand side of the house, where there was a well-kept lawn. Out of the corner of his eye Guelvada could see the chink of light peeping out from the curtains of the drawing-room.
Roccas said: "I am at your service."
They began to walk along the paved pathway that bisected the lawn and curved round the far end of the house. They walked slowly, appreciating the beauty of the moonlight.
