Delphi collected works o.., p.330
Delphi Collected Works of Peter Cheyney Illustrated, page 330
“Quite,” said Serilla.
“The point that interests me more than anything else,” continued Guelvada smilingly, “is that I understand that a friend of mine — Senhor Michaels — has been arrested on a trumped-up charge of killing Gallat. You will arrange to do something about that immediately, Senhor. You will telephone the police. You will give orders that Senhor Michaels is to be released at once. What do you say, Senhor?”
Serilla smiled amiably. He said:
“There is no doubt, Senhor — I have not the honour of knowing your name — that there has been a grave miscarriage of justice. I hasten to put it right.”
He went to the telephone. When he had finished, Guelvada said:
“Now I think we might smoke a cigarette, Senhor. I have no doubt we shall find some pleasant subjects to converse about. We shall do that until such time as Senhor Michaels telephones me here, as you have arranged, to tell me that he is safely back at the Estrada, after which I shall, with the greatest regrets and thanks for your hospitality, take my leave.”
Serilla said: “I am at your service, Senhor.”
“But I should like you to know,” Guelvada continued, “that if either Senhor Michaels or myself is troubled should we remain in Lisbon, the sealed package which I have left with the British Consulate General this morning, and which contains the statement by the Senhora D’Alvarez, will be opened. That might make a lot of trouble for you, Senhor.”
Serilla shrugged his shoulders.
“Believe me,” he said, “I am your friend. I shall make it my business to see that nothing of any sort happens either to yourself or Senhor Michaels that is not pleasant.”
“Excellent,” said Guelvada. He took out his cigarette case, offered it to Serilla. They sat, one on each side of the fireplace, smoking.
At a quarter to eight the telephone rang. Serilla answered it. He looked over his shoulder at Guelvada.
“It is your friend, Senhor,” he said.
Guelvada poured himself out coffee. He had eaten well. He approved his breakfast. He lit a cigarette, relaxed in his chair.
Kane said: “Whoever it was ran into Gallat meant to finish him off. But they couldn’t because of the medical student turning up. This student had Gallat moved to the hospital. After a bit the police arrived and searched Gallat’s clothes and baggage. But they couldn’t find anything. They went off hoping that when they’d got him moved to the nursing home in the Rua Ambrosio they’d be able to make him talk.”
Guelvada nodded. “Naturally,” he said.
“When they’d gone,” Kane continued, “Gallat recovered consciousness for a few minutes. He was too clever to mention my name, but he asked the medical student to go out and get any American citizen he could find quickly. The medical student, who was a good boy, came round to the Estrada. He knew he’d find more Americans there than anywhere else. And who do you think he found?”
“I can guess,” said Guelvada. “He found Griselda.”
“Right,” said Kane. “That was the explanation of the mysterious young man who went off with Griselda. She saw Gallat and he gave her the instructions he had for us. They were photographed in miniature, hidden in his hair. The damned fools never thought of looking there when they were searching.”
Guelvada said: “You know, Michael, women can be useful sometimes....”
“Yes,” agreed Kane. “Sometimes....” He looked at his watch.
“We must get packed,” he said. “We’ve got to get out of here. I’ll tell you about it on our way to the airport.”
Guelvada began to grin.
“So we are going to the airport,” he murmured. “That should be amusing....”
He got up, went into his bedroom, started to pack. He threw away his cigarette, began to sing a Portuguese love-song.
Marandal came into the Customs Office at the airport. She looked entrancing. She wore a black coat and skirt and a very smart tailored hat in black velvet. A porter came behind with her bags.
Guelvada said to Kane: “Excuse me for a moment, Michael.” He walked towards Marandal.
She said: “I am here, Ernest. I have decided to trust you once more.”
Guelvada said: “Core of my heart, whatever may or may not happen you may assure yourself always of my entire devotion. I love you with a passion that is quite amazing.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Serilla and two other men crossing the wide floor.
He said: “Excuse me, beloved, whilst I get some cigarettes.” He went away.
Serilla and the two men took Marandal into the small office. They handcuffed her. Then they took her to the car outside.
Guelvada came back to Kane. Kane said:
“Who was the woman that Serilla just knocked off?” He looked suspiciously at Guelvada. “You haven’t been up to anything stupid with that woman, have you, Ernie?” he asked.
Guelvada shook his head.
“Nothing that matters,” he said. “But nothing at all. One day I will tell you about it. I think she has got in bad with the police here. And they will hold her for a few days and then let her go. Which is not a very pleasant thing...”
“Why?” asked Kane. He began to walk towards the tarmac.
Guelvada shrugged.
“Nothing,” he said casually. “But she doesn’t like me... not a lot....” He grinned. “And that is annoying. Because I am very fond of that woman. She has great charm. And if she gets the chance she will certainly kill me one day.”
Kane laughed.
“There are a lot of women would like to kill you, Ernie,” he said. “By the way, how did you know what Serilla planned to do last night?”
Guelvada grinned.
“When I left you I met a man I used to know,” he said casually. “He told me that Serilla was bad medicine. I hung around until I saw them take you away from the nursing home and then I went to his flat and persuaded him.”
“Yes?” said Kane. “So that was it.” He looked at Guelvada sideways. “What were you doing all the rest of the time?” he asked.
Guelvada shrugged.
“I was talking to that woman I told you about,” he said. “The one I knew years ago. The one who wanted to kill me.”
“I see,” said Kane. “And she doesn’t want to kill you now... hey?”
Guelvada smiled. “You never know with women,” he said.
They walked across to the airplane.
YOU CAN ALWAYS DUCK
I
SEITZEN STOOD LOOKING out of the window. Outside the rain descended in sheets. The grass patch between the cottage and the woods was soaked, the shrubs broken and bedraggled. The sound of the steam whistle of a train rumbling in the direction of Dublin made the twilight even more dolorous.
Seitzen murmured: “This is one hell of a country when it rains.”
He turned from the window. He was short, squat, heavy. The raincoat he was wearing seemed too large for him. The sleeves almost covered his hands. His face was round and his jowls hung almost over his collar. He wore horn-rimmed spectacles. He looked studious and unpleasant.
Hiltsch, who was sitting at the table writing, said:
“It looks bad when it’s not raining. Everywhere looks bad to me.” He smiled ruefully. “It is going to look much worse in a minute.”
Seitzen raised his eyebrows.
“Yes?” he said. “Why? What are you afraid of?”
“The same thing as you are — —” said Hiltsch, “Hildebrand!”
Seitzen said impatiently: “I don’t understand this business about being afraid of Hildebrand.”
“Don’t you?” said Hiltsch.
He shrugged his shoulders, laid down his pen. He tilted his chair back, and put his feet on the desk. He regarded his well-cut shoes with his head on one side.
Seitzen turned back to the window. He was annoyed. You couldn’t talk to Hiltsch. And if you did talk, it didn’t do any good. He fumbled for a cigarette with pudgy fingers.
Hiltsch began to whistle softly to himself. He was good-looking in a way. He looked like a young imitation of a boulevardier of the fifties — except that he was clean shaven. His middle-brown hair was wavy and his skin good. He was tall, slim and well-dressed. At one time he had been a Group Leader in the S.A., with hopes of getting a good job in the S.S. That was a long time ago.
The trouble with Seitzen, thought Hiltsch, is that he is yellow. As yellow as hell. What a hell of a fellow to work with — and on a job like this one. Why, if they wanted a difficult job done, didn’t they give you good material to work with.
He began to speak quickly and softly in German.
“You are either a liar or a damn’ fool, Seitzen,” he said. “I’ve never met anybody yet who wasn’t afraid of Hildebrand. Have you ever heard of Columbia House?”
Seitzen nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Well?”
“Hildebrand used to run Columbia House,” said Hiltsch. “That was the time when he was running the 12th Berlin Group. They used to take suspects to Columbia for questioning. Some of them thought they were tough, but they always talked. Hildebrand has got more and better ways of making people talk than anybody I know.” He lit a cigarette. “I saw him do something to an old Jew one night with a fire-hose... you can’t imagine how damned slowly the old boy died. Hildebrand certainly has imagination.”
Seitzen said: “Very likely. But I still don’t see why we have to be afraid of Hildebrand — in Eire.”
Hiltsch lit a cigarette.
“That makes a hell of a lot of difference — whether it’s Berlin or Eire or anywhere else. Have you ever known a keen Party Member — a real Party Member — worry about his methods because he was in a foreign country? He simply takes a little more care, that’s all.”
Seitzen sat down. His raincoat flopped open. When he sat his paunch hung down almost over his thighs. Behind his horn-rimmed spectacles his cruel little pig’s eyes twinkled brightly. He said: “Well, I’m not scared. I have always done my job the best I could.”
Hiltsch said: “You’re scared all right. So am I. So would anybody else be.” He got up, walked over to the window, stood looking out, smoking. He went on: “Hildebrand’s not coming here to ask us how we are, or to give us the Fuehrer’s kind regards. Wherever he goes, there is trouble for somebody. His visit here means trouble for us.” He sighed heavily.
“It was good in the old days,” he said. “When Adolf Hitler was not such a God Almighty, and even used to find time to talk to S.A. Group Leaders. I remember him coming across to me one night and clapping me on the back. That was a few days after the Bremen thing, when I led the twenty-fourth Standarte and kicked hell out of those bloody dock Communists. Those were the days. And I wasn’t happy. I wanted promotion. I took the devil’s own chances to get it. Goddam it, I even burgled the British Embassy — and got away with it — and all because I wanted promotion. Well... I got it, and here I am... God help me....” He began to laugh as if it were a good joke.
Seitzen said: “I wonder what Hildebrand wants to see us about.”
From the other side of the house, where the country road wound in a curve towards the woods, came the sound of a car stopping.
Hiltsch said with a grin: “We shall soon know.”
He turned; walked out of the room towards the hallway. In a minute Hildebrand came into the room. He was very tall, very slim, very well-dressed. His complexion was good. He was clean-shaven. He seemed quite a good-humoured individual. He stood just inside the doorway, his soft brown felt hat held in long sensitive fingers. He said very softly:
“Heil Hitler!” When he said it he half-smiled, showing his white teeth.
Seitzen got up. Both he and Hiltsch, standing by the side of the doorway, said: “Heil Hitler!”
Hildebrand came into the room. He sat down by the table. He put his hand inside his coat and produced a large gold cigarette case. He opened it, laid it on the table; indicated it with a long finger. His attitude was easy, pleasant and amiable.
“Sit down,” he said, “and smoke.”
The two men sat down at the table. Hiltsch opposite Hildebrand, Seitzen on his right. Hildebrand looked at them — first at Hiltsch — then at Seitzen. He said:
“I have come over here because I think you need to reorganise a little. Don’t you think you do?” His voice was incisive, metallic, but not unpleasant. Only his eyes were unpleasant. They were very hard.
Hiltsch said: “You ought to know it’s getting very difficult to work over here. The damned English get more cautious every day, and the Irish are a sick headache. They’re being very natural. During the last twelve weeks it has been awfully difficult to get anybody out at all.”
Hildebrand nodded. He said to Seitzen: “What do you think?”
Seitzen said: “It’s not easy. I agree with Hiltsch. But still I think we’ve done fairly well, don’t you?”
Hildebrand looked at him. He smiled. He said:
“Do you?”
There was a silence. Hiltsch said: “Look, why not get it over with? There is some trouble, isn’t there?”
Hildebrand nodded.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “There’s some trouble, and there’s going to be some more trouble in a minute. There’s going to be some trouble for you.” He spat the words out of his mouth. His eyes were mere slits.
Hiltsch looked at the table. He found it difficult to look at Hildebrand. Seitzen’s right hand fumbled with a loose thread in the cloth of his trousers.
Hildebrand went on: “I can stand most things, but I don’t like being a joke. There are two other people who do not like being jokes either. One is called Heydrich and the other is Himmler. I have been on the mat. Having been there, I’m putting you there. Understand this: I don’t want talk — I don’t want excuses. I want action.”
Hiltsch put out his hand to take a cigarette from the gold case. He lit it. He said: “What’s the trouble about?”
Hildebrand said: “The trouble is about Kane.”
Hiltsch nodded.
“I thought so,” he said. “Kane and Guelvada?”
Hildebrand shrugged.
“Guelvada does not matter,” he said. “Guelvada is merely an opportunist with an over-developed sense of the dramatic. Take Kane away and Guelvada would help to cut his own throat in six weeks. Guelvada by himself is nothing. The trouble is Kane.”
Hiltsch said: “I gathered that. But exactly how? What’s Kane been doing?”
Hildebrand raised his eyebrows.
“What has he been doing?” he said. “You ask me that? What in the name of God are you and Seitzen here for? You mean what hasn’t he been doing?” He leaned forward over the table. “For your information, gentlemen,” he said, “during the last nine months no less than twenty-seven of our most important agents in different parts of the world have been liquidated. Sixteen of them, including Helda Marques, operated from your group. Most of them have been liquidated after they have been jockeyed into a position in which they could be removed. There are a lot of other things, too numerous to be mentioned, apart from that. Well, you’re nearest to them. You have ample opportunities for getting at them. We think it’s time you did something about it.”
Hiltsch said: “I don’t think you understand how difficult the position is for us, Karl. We are in the dark. I agree with you that most of our people who have been liquidated have come from this group. Well... what do you expect? As you say, we’re nearest, and so we do the most work. The fact that our people were killed doesn’t help us. And, believe me, nearly all of them — including Helda Marques — were killed. Not one of them was taken by the English and shot officially. After Helda was killed, and we found out how it was done and who did it, I sent two of our smartest people over with instructions to worry about nothing but that cursed pair. They were arrested and shot. Since then we have had no news. And I can’t work unless I have information.”
Hildebrand said: “It’s your business to have information. It’s your business to keep your contact lines open...”
“God Almighty!” snarled Hiltsch. “Keep my contact lines open.... I like that. For God’s sake! Listen, Karl, do you think these bloody English are fools. You may think they are. I don’t. England is about the easiest country in the world for an agent to go into, and the goddamned hardest to get out of. One might even think that they encouraged people to come in just to get themselves picked up and shot. And look at our Army people. Look at the lunatic things they do. They send half-trained soldiers, who can speak English, with little radio sets and attaché cases, and packets of English banknotes. My God! The last one was picked up on a railway station trying to read the time table. He had four hundred pounds in notes, a radio set, a pistol, and a sausage. I’ve been awake for nights on end trying to work out what he had the sausage for. I suppose it was in case he got hungry in the night.... But what do you think the sausage was? It was a sausage that is only made in Leipzig.... If the fool had been successful and got somewhere, and some Englishmen had looked in his attaché case and seen that sausage, the game would have been up. Even an Englishman would have known by the smell that the sausage came from Germany.... Can’t you see how difficult all this amateur business on the part of the Army branch makes things for us?”
Hildebrand said: “It is your business to overcome difficulties. You must try something new.”
Hiltsch said: “Listen, Karl, it’s all very well talking like that. We’ve tried everything.”
Seitzen broke in: “We’ve got a very good man on the job now,” he said. “Hillmer — one of our best men.”
Hildebrand nodded. One side of his mouth was twisted up in a cynical smile. “So?” he said. “You have a good man on the job — Hillmer! Tell me about Hillmer.”
