He said: "Oh... my God... Oh, my God!"

  II. — QUAYLE—CORDOVER—O'MARA

  I.

  MRS. SELBY—buxom, grey-haired, fifty-five years of age—pushed open the door of Sammy Cordover's bedroom. She stood in the doorway looking at him.

  The picture was without beauty. He lay, one leg outside the bedclothes, his head stretched back on the pillow, his mouth wide open, snoring. The noise, Mrs. Selby thought, was rather like that of a buzz-saw.

  She shook him by the shoulder. She said: "It's past ten o'clock, Mr. Cordover. Do you want your breakfast now?"

  Cordover opened his eyes. He regarded her balefully. She thought he looked very tired. She thought it was a great shame that such a weedy-looking person as Sammy should be forced to drive heavy trucks about the countryside all night. The Ministry of Supply must be hard up for drivers if they had to use people like Sammy Cordover. And he was such a nice boy really. He tried sometimes to look tough, but you knew, of course, that he wasn't really. She made a mental comparison between Sammy and her own strapping son who was in a Commando unit—a real man. She thought they ought to get a bigger, stronger, man for a job like Sammy's.

  Cordover said sleepily: "I'll have a nice pot of tea, Mrs. Selby, an' one piece of toast an' marmalade. Make it snappy."

  She went away.

  He sat up in bed. At the back of his mind was a remote sensation of pleasure—of something which he could not quite remember, but which pleased him. He looked round the untidy bedroom. He grinned. Propped against the wall on the other side of the room was a large cardboard box; on it the name of a popular firm of tailors. He remembered that he had ordered a new suit; that this would be it.

  He got out of bed, went to the mantelpiece, found a cigarette, lit it. He stood looking at the cardboard box wondering about the suit.

  It was characteristic of Sammy Cordover that the events of two nights before had left no mark on his mind. He remembered them in exactly the same way as a greengrocer might remember selling a cabbage to a special customer. That was all. The business of having a new suit was much more important. Very often Sammy had been concerned in affairs akin to that one which had happened at the Nelswood quarry. He was inured to them. His nerves, attuned to excitement and danger, stretched and contracted easily. Such things was his job.

  He undid the string about the box, took out the suit. He hung it carefully over the back of a chair, put on an old woollen dressing-gown, sat down and waited for Mrs. Selby.

  His breakfast finished, he wondered what he should do with the day. He began to think about Quayle. Quayle would not want him for a bit. Sammy knew enough about the technique of the game. He knew that when you had done a job like the Nelswood one you got four or five weeks off and if anything happened in the meantime somebody else had to handle it.

  Somebody else... Sammy wondered just how many other people were doing the same sort of job as he did, as Ricky Kerr did; just how many other people had secret and mysterious appointments with people like Lelley who disappeared suddenly in one way or another; just how many people Quayle had on his books. There was a strange bloke, thought Sammy. A fly one, that one—one who never let his left hand know what his right hand was doing. You knew just enough and that was all. Deep inside him, Sammy had an admiration almost amounting to affection for his employer. He sensed the responsibilities that lay heavily on Quayle's shoulders.

  But you felt safe with Quayle. When he put you into a job everything was ready-eyed—everything was planned. Of course there could be a slip-up. Sammy Cordover remembered two or three occasions when it had been a narrow thing; when something had gone wrong. But that was one of the chances you took. Any way, you got dam' well paid for it. And you even got a few extra coupons sometimes—enough to get yourself a new suit.

  He began to shave and dress. When he had finished he found a little difficulty in seeing the entire effect of the new suit. It was blue and ultra smart with the usual double-breasted, high-waisted effect which Sammy admired so much, with rather wide knife-creased trousers falling over shoes that were a little pointed. Unfortunately, the mirror set on the dressing-table enabled you to see only half of yourself at a time. Still, even that way he was pleased.

  The telephone rang noisily. Sammy jerked his head in the direction of the instrument. He thought: That's dam' funny. It flashed through his mind that never before had the telephone rung so soon after a job had been completed. Only two people used Sammy's telephone number, and they were the girl in Quayle's office and Quayle himself. He wondered what had happened.

  He took off the receiver. It was the girl in Quayle's office. Cordover had never seen her but he liked her voice.

  She said: "Mr. Cordover, Mr. Quayle wants to speak to you."

  He said: "O.K." He waited.

  Quayle said: "There's a Lyons tea-shop just off Ryder Street in St. James', Sammy, with a self-service counter downstairs. Can you be there in twenty minutes' time?"

  "O.K., Mr. Quayle," said Sammy. He thought: Well, what do you know about that? What the hell's poppin' now?

  He stood in the middle of the bedroom, drawing on the cigarette stub, wondering. Never before had Quayle got on to him so soon after a job. Well, maybe something had happened. Maybe something had gone wrong. He shrugged his shoulders.

  He took the dark blue soft hat of American shape from its hook behind the door, set it on his head at a jaunty angle. He went out.

  Quayle was sitting at a marble-topped table, drinking coffee. Cordover went to the service counter, got a cup of coffee, paid for it. He walked over, sat down beside Quayle.

  He said: "Good-morning, Mr. Quayle. Anything wrong?"

  Quayle smiled. His smile was almost reassuring.

  He asked: "Why, Sammy?"

  Cordover grinned. "The only time you ever ring me up is when you want me to do something—you or that young lady of yours. I've never been rung up before after a job. I wondered if something had slipped up—something had gone wrong."

  Quayle said almost casually: "A lot's gone wrong, Sammy."

  Cordover said nothing. He thought: I wonder what he's going to put on my plate now. Maybe it's going to be tough. I wonder who's slipped up.

  Quayle went on: "I don't often let you into my confidence. I don't think it's a good thing to do, Sammy. I think it's much fairer to the people who work for me to let them know just as much as they ought to know and no more."

  Cordover said: "It's a good idea, Mr. Quayle. If somebody gets hold of 'em they can't talk because they don't know."

  Quayle smiled. "Right, Sammy," he said. "However I'm going to talk to you now because I've got to. We're in a little bit of a jam."

  Sammy sunk his voice. "Anything to do with the job of the night before last," he said, "that Lelley guy?"

  Quayle said: "Yes... and no. The thing is that Mr. Kerr was given a list of people working for us in occupied France. That list was to be handed over this morning at eleven o'clock to an operative of mine who will be dropped from an aeroplane in France to-night. You understand that that was a very important list?"

  "You're tellin' me," said Sammy.

  Quayle went on: "Last evening, Mr. Kerr, who had the list in an inner pocket in his waistcoat, went to a pub called the Green Headdress. He met a woman there." Quayle grinned wryly. "Apparently a very attractive woman. They got into conversation. It seems that she had had a great deal of trouble lately. Two brothers had been shot down over Germany in one day and then she'd lost her husband."

  Cordover said: "Blimey! She has been havin' a rough time, hasn't she?"

  "Yes," agreed Quayle. His voice was sardonic. "She and Mr. Kerr had a few drinks together and he went to her home. He stayed there the night. This morning he found himself alone in the place, and the list was gone."

  Sammy Cordover said: "Jesus... !"

  Quayle nodded. "I agree with you," he said.

  There was a silence; then Cordover asked: "What do you want me to do, Mr. Quayle?"

  Quayle said: "Sammy, you've worked a great deal with Mr. Kerr. I think you two have done about sixteen or seventeen jobs together. You know him pretty well, don't you—and you like him?"

  Cordover nodded. He said: "Yes, I like him a lot. He's a nice bloke—attractive. I've often watched him walkin' down the street; wished I was like him."

  Quayle asked: "You admire him merely for his appearance?"

  Cordover said: "No, he's quick, you know, an' clever, and he can be very tough. At least..."

  Quayle said quickly: "What do you mean by 'at least,' Sammy? Remember, won't you, that what we're saying now is important. Remember that people's lives depend on it."

  Cordover said: "You mean that list?"

  Quayle said: "I mean that list."

  There was another pause. Sammy Cordover drank a little coffee, produced a packet of cigarettes, lit one. He said:

  "You know, Mr. Quayle, I've once or twice lately thought perhaps Mr. Kerr was slippin' a bit, if you know what I mean. He likes a drink. I've noticed that. I thought he'd been drinking a bit too much lately. I thought maybe he was gettin' a bit tired."

  Quayle said: "Anything else?"

  Sammy said: "Well, I don't know. You see things, and you get ideas, but they're not always right. Once or twice when I've been round at his place I've noticed Mrs. Kerr sort of lookin' at him sideways—you know, sort of curious. Once or twice I got around to wonderin' what was on her mind—that is if there was something on her mind."

  Quayle said: "What do you think is the sort of thing that would be on the mind of a woman like Mrs. Kerr?"

  Sammy rubbed his chin with a finger. He said: "I wouldn't know. But you know, Mr. Quayle, Mr. Kerr is a guy that women would go for in a very big way. He used to go to a lot of parties. He knows some very swell looking women. I've seen him with them."

  Quayle said: "Ah!"

  Cordover went on: "You know, Mr. Quayle, perhaps you wouldn't mind if I said something to you—something that you might think was a bit out of turn?"

  Quayle said: "You say anything you like."

  Cordover looked at the table. He said: "You know, Mr. Quayle, Mr. Kerr's rather like a racehorse, isn't he—sort of drawn out. D'you know? If he's going to do something he puts everything he's got into it. I was watchin' him the other night when we was doing this job at Nelswood. He was on edge—right on his toes. He's always been like that when it comes to the time; like they say about an actor who's just going on the stage—sort of stage fright. O.K. When the job's over—when it's done—he's inclined to flop a bit, see? He had a few drinks. That's why I'm a bit surprised, Mr. Quayle."

  Quayle asked: "Surprised at what?"

  Cordover said: "You're no mug, Mr. Quayle. You're all brains. I should think you're the cleverest man in this country. I haven't worked for you for as long as I have without knowing what you have to do—what you're up against. That's why I can't understand that you don't know that about Mr. Kerr; that sort of flopping for a bit when the job's done. I shoulda thought you'd have noticed it."

  Quayle said: "Well, supposing I had noticed it?"

  Cordover looked at him. He said: "Well, Mr. Quayle. He got that list. He had to deliver it directly after he'd done the other job. That's what surprises me."

  Quayle said: "It's a good point, Sammy, but after all, you know, a job's a job. It's all very well to talk about reactions and flopping after a job——"

  Sammy said: "I know, Mr. Quayle. I know...." He waited.

  Quayle said: "I saw Mr. Kerr this morning. He came to me. He told me the story. He went back to the Green Headdress. They'd never seen that woman before. It's an extraordinary coincidence that she should have been in that bar when he went in—because, remember, he'd never been there before; that she would be the one person who wanted that list."

  Cordover said quickly: "Was he certain she was there when he got there?"

  Quayle grinned. He said: "I thought you'd get on to that, Sammy. Of course she wasn't there when he got there. She came in after him."

  Cordover said: "My God... so they had a tail on him. He was followed. That means——"

  Quayle said grimly: "Exactly. That means that somebody was on to Kerr. That means he was picked up either coming back from the Lelley job or that they kept after him all the time; that that woman went in after him; that they knew sufficiently about him to know how he reacts when he's had a few drinks."

  Sammy said: "You mean they might have been wise to the Lelley business?"

  Quayle shrugged his shoulders. "Why not?" he said. "You know, we're not the only people in this game. The Germans have got some first-class people too. Lelley was one of them."

  Cordover said quickly: "Listen, Mr. Quayle, you had a reason for going out for Lelley. You wanted him bumped, didn't you? I don't know why."

  Quayle said: "I had to have him bumped as you call it, Sammy. Lelley was the person who was getting information out of this country about our agents in France. We lost three of them not long ago—traceable directly to him. He had to go."

  Cordover said: "Look, Mr. Quayle, isn't it on the cards that they knew you'd be on to Lelley; that somebody would be on to Lelley; that you'd know that it was him who gave those people away?"

  Quayle nodded. There was a little gleam of admiration in his eyes. He said: "I think you're right, Sammy. I know what you're going to say. You're going to suggest that the people who employed Lelley knew we'd get after him. They knew we'd traced it to him. They knew we'd get him just as they would have done if they'd been in our position. So they kept Lelley under observation. They waited for us to do something about him."

  Cordover said: "That might be true, but even if they'd been hanging around there in Nelswood, they couldn't have tailed Mr. Kerr back. They couldn't have taken a chance like that. There are no cars on the road at nights. He'd have seen that they were tailin' him."

  "Right," said Quayle. "So there was somebody who could give them an indication—somebody who could give them an indication that he was going down to Nelswood; somebody who knew what his job was, and somebody who could guess the night it was going to come off. Now, what does that make you think, Sammy?"

  Sammy said: "Well..." He paused for a moment. Then: "I didn't know anything about it until you phoned me through, Mr. Quayle. And I got through to him at that party—the party at Mrs. Milton's house. Jeez!" He stopped suddenly.

  "Right," said Quayle. "Somebody at that party knew that Lelley was for the high jump. Somebody at that party knew Kerr was working for me; somebody at that party was able somehow to pick up Kerr when he came into London. That would be easy enough; there's only one way he'd come back. They were on to him from the moment he arrived."

  Sammy said: "They'd be on to him when he came round to see you the day after. Where did he see you, Mr. Quayle? They'll be on to that place." His voice was urgent.

  "That's all right, Sammy," said Quayle easily. "I've closed it down. We shan't use it any more."

  Cordover drew on his cigarette. He said: "It's not so good, is it, Mr. Quayle? It's not so good." He went on: "Look, Mr. Quayle, I think you're a bit worried." His voice became diffident, his expression almost a little ashamed. He said: "You know I'd do anything for you; anything for Mr. Kerr—and Mrs. Kerr."

  Quayle said softly: "You like Mrs. Kerr, don't you, Sammy?"

  Sammy said: "Like her? She's like a bleedin' goddess to me. She's the most lovely thing I've ever seen in my life, Mr. Quayle. I could just stand and look at her." An idea came to him. He frowned. He said: "Look, does she know anything about what Mr. Kerr does; about his working for you?"

  Quayle shook his head. "Not a thing," he said. "She thinks he works for the Ministry of Supply."

  Sammy nodded. He said: "What do you want me to do, Mr. Quayle. You tell me and I'll do it."

  Quayle said: "Listen, Sammy. That woman's got that list."

  Cordover said: "Yes, and there's another thing, Mr. Quayle. If she's got that list, what about the bloke who's going over to France; who's going to be dropped to-night? It's not so good for him, is it? What are you going to do about that?"

  Quayle shrugged his shoulders. "I can't do anything about it," he said. "I have had a duplicate list sent down to him. My only hope is that by the time he arrives and begins to make use of that list, we can do something over here. If not..."

  Cordover said: "If not, they'll be on to all our people in France. God help 'em."

  Quayle said: "That's right, Sammy."

  Cordover thought for a moment; then: "Well, all right, Mr. Quayle, so this woman's got the list. She's got to pass it to somebody, hasn't she? What are they going to do about it?"

  "Normally," said Quayle, "if they wanted to get it out of this country quickly, if they wanted to get it over the other side, they'd have done it through Lelley, wouldn't they? Well, they can't do it through Lelley. Lelley's dead. So there's somebody else; someone we don't know about."

  Cordover said: "That's sticking out a foot."

  "All right," said Quayle. "We've got to find them somehow. I think that there's a connection between this business and the party at Mrs. Glynda Milton's. Well, we've got to move quickly. If necessary, we've got to be very tough. Now listen to me, Sammy...." He bent his head closer over the table.

  II.

  KERR walked along Piccadilly. It was nearly noon; the streets crowded with the war-time collection of humanity that concentrates at midday in that area. Kerr did not see the people even if he appeared to be looking at them. His mind was in a peculiar state which even he did not understand. There was something worse than remorse in it. He felt rather like a man whose duty it is to sentence himself to death.

  He remembered his interview of an hour or two ago with Quayle. Kerr had wondered before the interview just what Quayle's attitude would be. He had been scared because he was aware of the complete and utter ruthlessness that existed in Quayle. He had been surprised. Quayle had accepted his fearful story almost as if he were not surprised by it. He had said only one thing.

 

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