Complete works of peter.., p.336
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 336
He took the cigarette out of his mouth and sat regarding the burning end, looking at the little wisp of smoke that was soon blown away by the wind. He realised that something had to be done about Valetta, and her again he was in a bad spot. The alternatives were to satisfy her curiosity, which was impossible, or to cut her out. At first thought, the second alternative seemed the obvious one, but whilst Kane, who was tough enough to be very tough with himself, would have finished with Valetta if he had thought it the best thing to do, he did not see that the process would serve his purpose. He realised that his sudden removal would intensify her curiosity, and whereas before she had been merely curious, after his disappearance she would be keen to find out everything she could.
At the back of his mind all the time a little voice was telling him that it was unlike Valetta to be curious. This thought presupposed the existence of some other personality. Kane remembered that if Valetta knew little about him, he on his part knew little about her. Quite obviously, she had friends. She was a very attractive woman—an alluring woman, thought Kane—and some time some man was going to want to marry her. What would she do then? Surely that would be the time when she would consider and weigh up the possibilities of marriage with Kane. Surely that would be the time when she would want to know something about Kane.
He threw away the stub of his cigarette, lit a fresh one. He did not like the situation. He had to do something. He switched on the ignition key, let in the clutch. He moved out into the stream of traffic, drove past the Hyde Park traffic lights, turned into Knightsbridge. It was a grey January day. The sort of day that Kane had liked in the years when he had been interested in the appearance of days.
Something had to be done. Kane was irritated. As a person whose habit it was to face facts as and when they presented themselves, he knew that the line of least resistance is inevitably the hardest road in the end. He baulked from creating a situation in which Valetta would appear. Yet, at the same time he knew he must do it. He grinned cynically. He was thinking of the dozens of situations he had created during the past two years—situations which had been ready-eyed for all sorts of conditions of people to walk into. The fact that most of these people had been enemies of his country, enemies of the cause for which Kane fought as hard and as dangerously as any soldier, had made the process simple and easy. But this was nearer home. Kane was realising for the first time just how near it was.
By now he was at the end of the Brompton Road. He drove the car round by South Kensington Station, along the Old Brompton Road. He turned up Drayton Gardens, swung the car right along the Fulham Road. Now he was thinking about himself. The trouble with him, he thought, was that he possessed an over-developed sense of duty, realising at the same moment that an over-developed sense of duty was very necessary to people who did his job—a job permitting no deviation from a strictly mapped-out course. In any event, sense of duty or not, something had to be done.
He began to wish that his temperament was different, that he brought a different outlook to bear on life and things generally, especially women. He continued with this line of thought for some time, pulling himself up with a jerk when he realised that he was crossing Putney Bridge, which was, he thought, not the most attractive place for aimless driving.
He came back to the consideration of himself and women. Perhaps, he thought, there were not enough women in his life—that there was safety in numbers. Lots of people thought there was safety in numbers. Ernie Guelvada, for instance. Right through Guelvada's meteoric career women had sprinkled themselves like stars in a summer sky. Some of them, of course, had been shooting stars—Kane grinned at the triteness of this thought—but, by and large, as Guelvada would be the first to admit, there was safety in numbers. Kane wondered how Ernie, with his peculiar sense of the theatre, his quickness of perception, his intuition, and his extraordinary knowledge of women, would handle the situation which confronted Kane. Now he began to think along those lines—of what Guelvada would do.
The twilight was forming. Kane realised that the darkness came quickly these days. He realised also that he was nearly at the beginning of the Kingston By-Pass. Then something struck him. His driving had not been so aimless after all. It had been attuned to his thoughts, and if he had only consciously thought of Guelvada at the end, well, what did that matter?
Because now Kane realised that all the time he had been thinking, trying to puzzle out this situation, he had been driving towards Tyrrells Wood.
Guelvada lived at Tyrrells Wood. So that was it...! Subconsciously Kane had known all the time that the answer to his problem must come from Ernie—that blithe spirit who had never yet known what it was to be confounded by a woman.
Kane remembered a conversation. A hot afternoon in Spain.... He remembered stopping to get water for the car, and Guelvada's intimate conversation with the girl at the inn. He remembered when they had resumed their journey, he had said to Ernie: "One of these fine days you'll get yourself in bad through a woman," and Guelvada had looked at him sideways, one eyebrow cocked, and said: "What... me! Oh no, Michael... not me. Why should I be afraid of women?" Kane had said: "Sometimes they get nasty."
Guelvada had shrugged. "So what...?" he had said. "If a woman gets nasty, well... you can always duck!"
Darkness came artistically to the Grain Tavern in Tyrrells Wood. The tavern, as you probably know, stands back off a little side road. Away on the right is the golf course, billowing away into the distance, and on the left, and curving behind the inn, are the woods. Desolate perhaps, but definitely romantic. Many things, historic even if not of great importance, had happened at the Grain Tavern. These things, no doubt, had left their mark, creating the present atmosphere of the place, which atmosphere I have no doubt was responsible for the presence there of Ernie Guelvada.
He was sitting at a table in the corner of the bar parlour. A bright fire burned, and Mrs. Soames, the proprietress, for whose trim and well-developed figure Ernie had a supreme admiration, was arranging the black-out. When she had finished, he said:
"I think, Mrs. Soames, I will drink a large whisky and soda."
"Certainly, Mr. Guelvada," she replied, bustling towards the bar. As she poured out the whisky she said: "You know, we've missed you since you've been away, Mr. Guelvada."
He took his cigarette case from his pocket, selected a cigarette slowly. When he lit it, he looked through the flame of his lighter at Mrs. Soames. He said:
"And who is 'we,' Mrs. Soames, please?"
She came towards him with the drink.
"Oh, everybody, I think, Mr. Guelvada," she said. "It's been sort of general, you know."
Guelvada said softly: "Do you mean to tell me that people have come to you and told you that they've missed me?" He smiled at her.
She said: "Why, I can't say exactly that, but..."
Guelvada said: "You mean you have missed me. That is as it should be. I like to be missed. Tell me, have you been thinking about me a lot, Mrs. Soames?"
She flushed.
"You are a one, aren't you, Mr. Guelvada?" she said. "There's nothing you don't say if you think of it."
Guelvada said: "You mean nothing is sacred to me, Mrs. Soames?"
"I mean you always say what you think," she said.
"Isn't that a good thing to do?" asked Guelvada. He smiled at her again. "I'm sure you approve of that process," he said.
Mrs. Soames nodded. "I think I do," she said, "It's a nice change when people speak their minds. They usually don't."
Guelvada drew on his cigarette. He said:
"You know, Mrs. Soames, one of these fine days—or nights—I'm going to speak my mind to you. I hope you'll find that a nice change."
Mrs. Soames did not say anything. She went back to the bar. When she got to the door, she threw Guelvada a quick look over her shoulder. He was still smiling. Behind the bar-counter Mrs. Soames put a straying curl back into place. She looked at herself in the glass. She thought she was still a rather attractive woman. She began to think about Guelvada.
Guelvada looked up as Kane came into the bar parlour. He smiled. Although this sudden appearance of Kane, who had never before been to Tyrrells Wood, meant that something important was afoot, Guelvada evinced no surprise. Surprises were to him the normal attributes of life. He said:
"Have a drink, Michael?"
Kane said: "Thanks, Ernie. I'll have a whisky and soda—a large one."
Guelvada walked over to the serving-hatch. He ordered the drink, brought it back with him. He said: "Do you remember that drink I made in Lisbon—that night when we were looking for Gallat? That was a drink.... You know, Michael, I've come to the conclusion I don't like the winter."
"What you mean is," said Kane, "you like Lisbon."
Guelvada shrugged his shoulders.
"I wouldn't be too certain of that," he said. "I used to like it very much, but now..." He was thinking of Marandal.... "I think there'd be too much atmosphere."
Kane put down his glass. He said:
"There's a job I want you to do, Ernie. It's rather a personal sort of thing. It might be important and it might not."
Guelvada nodded. He was thinking: "This is something to do with a woman." He was thinking that possibly Kane had got mixed up in something and couldn't get out easily. He began to wonder what sort of woman would attract Kane.
Kane said: "The position is this: Some time ago I met a woman—a rather nice person. Her name is Valetta Fallon. We've been pretty good friends."
Guelvada nodded. "I understand, Michael," he said.
Kane went on: "We've seen quite a bit of each other... whenever I've been able to." He paused to light a cigarette. "I don't have to tell you, Ernie," he said, "that in our business friendship is a rather rare thing—rare because if you get to know people too well they're inclined to want to know something about you. But in this case that angle didn't seem to arise. There were no questions asked. Everything was taken for granted. It was rather a nice situation."
Guelvada nodded again. "And now..." he queried, "someone has asked questions, hey?"
Kane smiled.
"Exactly," he said. "Someone has asked questions."
Guelvada said: "You know, Michael, it is reasonable enough, isn't it? You can't expect a woman to go on being friendly, to be fond of one..." he smiled suddenly, "to love one if you like, without asking questions. Why should she? It isn't right, is it?"'
Kane said: "It was right for this woman, Ernie. You see, she's rather extraordinary. She has that supreme quality which so few women possess of minding her own business."
Guelvada said wryly: "I congratulate you, Michael. She must be unique. All my life I have been looking hopefully for a woman who would mind her own business. I don't have to tell you that I have never found one yet."
Kane said: "If you go on long enough, Ernie, you might find one."
Guelvada grinned.
"I shall continue to search," he said. "In the meantime, I am intrigued that you have found such a woman."
Kane said: "The fact that she is like that made the sudden curiosity on her part more marked. I began to wonder."
"Precisely," said Guelvada. "The same thing's happened over and over again. Life is like that, especially as regards women. One meets a woman. She's delightful. She's pleased with you; she's pleased with herself. Everybody is happy, and then, sooner or later, the serpent enters the Garden of Eden. Usually it's some other man."
"Quite," said Kane. "It's usually another man who starts a woman's curiosity. That is what I was thinking of...."
"I see," said Guelvada. "So it's like that. You think...?"
"I'd be a fool if I didn't," said Kane grimly. "Just think for a moment how many times have we used a woman to get at someone or to find out something that we wanted to know. In nine cases out of ten she's never even been aware of what we were doing. She's been entirely innocent. Yet we've used her successfully, because we had to use her, because that was the only way we could work."
Guelvada nodded.
"Quite," he said. "But, Michael, we are unique."
"Are we?" said Kane. "I wouldn't be too sure of that. You know I never take chances—not any sort of chance—no matter how small or how remote. Too much depends on our not taking chances except when we have to."
"I follow," said Guelvada. "And so you're going to take the point of view that the worst has happened. You're going to believe that——"
"I'm going to believe that somebody is trying to get at me through Miss Fallon," said Kane. "I'm going to believe that because it's the safest thing. Perhaps I'm wrong. Perhaps I've been mistaken in my estimate of her character, but I have an idea that someone has been trying to get next to her, possibly trying to make love, possibly proposing marriage. Then, when they've come up against a brick wall—found there's nothing doing—they've discovered about me. After all, it is very easy to start a woman being curious, you know. More especially if the process is merely part of some well-planned scheme."
Guelvada nodded again.
"What are you going to do, Michael?" he asked.
Kane said: "I'm going to play this so that if I'm wrong it doesn't matter, but so that if I'm right we're going to get on to something. I shall see Fenton to-night. He'll have to give us a hand over this."
Guelvada said: "If you think it's serious, I think you're right. It would be silly to run into something through not taking a little care. And what am I to do, Michael?"
Kane said: "Supposing somebody was trying to get at me through Miss Fallon. They'd want to use her to find out things about me. But they couldn't do that in any obvious way. They'd have to be very careful—very clever. They couldn't openly ask her to find out things about me. That would make her suspicious. But what they could do would be to use her as a sort of stalking horse, as a means of picking me up, or finding out my movements."
"Quite," said Guelvada. "They'd wait till you went to see her. They'd follow you."
"That's right," said Kane. "And that's how we can find out if I'm right or wrong in my case. When I leave here I'm going to see Fenton. I'll arrange something with him. To-morrow is Sunday. Valetta won't be working at the theatre. I shall ring up in the afternoon and tell her that I'm going to see her at seven o'clock. I shall go there. You'd better be around. You can keep an eye on things and see what happens when I leave the place. See if somebody tries to tail me. In any event, I'll take the usual process to shake them off. But perhaps you can find out where they're going, what they're at, possibly who they are. This may be a wild-goose chase," said Kane, "but it's worth while."
"Of course," said Guelvada. "And if you're wrong what does it matter?"
Kane said: "Miss Fallon lives at the Vallance Apartments in Knightsbridge. I expect you know the place I mean. The entrance is on a corner, but the lay-out is quite good for keeping the place under observation. You had better be around at five to seven to-morrow night, Ernie. See what happens. Telephone me afterwards."
"Excellent," said Guelvada. "It shall be done. It would be amusing," he said, "if we stumbled on to something by chance. I find life a little boring down here."
Kane grinned. "That means there aren't any attractive women about," he said.
"On the contrary," said Guelvada. He sighed. "I hate to admit it," he said, "but I think I'm beginning to find that even attractive women can be boring."
Kane finished his drink. He said:
"I'll be getting along. I've a lot to do to-night. I'll hear from you to-morrow one way or another, Ernie?"
Guelvada nodded. Kane picked up his hat and went out.
Guelvada felt in his pocket. He produced a miniature pack of patience cards. He set them out on the table. He began to play patience and, when he felt like it, he cheated.
He sat at the table in the corner of the bar-parlour for an hour. Twice during that period, Mrs. Soames refilled his glass, commented on his skill with the cards. Guelvada smiled and answered, but his attention was not on Mrs. Soames or on the game he was playing. He was thinking about other things.
This business of Kane and the woman was funny, thought Guelvada. Damned funny. He was more than interested. He was intrigued. He began to talk to himself very softly, in French, as was his habit when very interested in some subject. He placed the cards in front of him automatically.
"Consider, my Ernest," he said to himself, "this business of Michael. It is most extraordinary and of a pattern which is not acceptable to your intelligence. To use a vulgar expression, it stinks. That being so, why does it stink. It stinks because, though old, it is not logical.
"Figure to yourself," he continued, "that suddenly the woman friend of Michael develops a curiosity. Quite suddenly she develops this curiosity. The presumption being that someone, someone interested in Michael, desires through her to obtain information. It is, of course, understood that the person desiring information about Michael is working for the Boches....
"Very well.... That being so, the matter becomes even more illogical. More illogical because the individual desiring information about Michael, and those for whom he operates, is, presumably, intelligent. Being intelligent, this individual will surely expect that Michael will be intrigued at the sudden curiosity on the part of the lady. The lady who has not been curious on previous occasions, or, at least, not to any extent that matters. Being intelligent, the individual who desires the information must surely guess that Michael is a person of extremely acute perceptions, of most refined instinct, of an intuition of the utmost celerity and sureness. If the individual desiring information knows anything at all of Michael, or the work he has done, of the superb coups he has achieved, then he must guess these things. Is it not so, my Ernest?"
He placed another card.
"It is so," he continued, "and being so, it is entirely obvious that the individual desiring information was certain that Michael would be interested and intrigued at this sudden curiosity, and therefore he quite obviously has some arrière pensée. He does not expect the lady to obtain any information from Michael, but he does expect that, as a result of her curiosity, something may happen, or that he may be able to achieve something."
