She was thinking of Ricky; wondering what he was doing, what he was thinking. She was unhappy.

  She felt that danger, like the darkness in the street, encompassed her. She felt that the time had come for some climax—some crisis which would be shattering. She hurried because she desired to know quickly such things as she could know and because she wished that the climax—whatever it might be—and its results, could be met, experienced, relegated to the past.

  She arrived at the house. It was small, uninteresting, one of a long row of houses, each with a small garden in front and a few steps leading to the front door. The houses were Victorian, had been built in times of security and lower middle-class respectability.

  She knocked at the door and waited. After a minute she heard steps inside. The door opened and she stepped into the dark hall. She heard the door close behind her and a light was switched on.

  Quayle stood with his back to the door smiling at her.

  He said: "Well, Sandra... I'm glad to see you. You're looking worried but as beautiful as ever."

  She said: "Thank you. But I haven't very much time for talking. Miguales will be back by midnight. If I should not be back he might think something. He might be suspicious...."

  Quayle said: "Don't let's worry about Miguales for a moment. And you'll be back long before then." He led the way into a room along the narrow passage.

  It was a small comfortably furnished room. There was a large desk with two telephones on it. He pushed forward an arm-chair.

  "Sit down and relax, Sandra," he said. He smiled at her cheerfully. She sat down in the chair. She began to feel more confident. He gave her a cigarette; lit it; went to the desk, sat behind it.

  He said: "Well... ?"

  She inhaled the cigarette smoke. She said: "There's very little to tell. Miguales is very careful. He's taking no chances and he's scared—badly scared. He tells me that he has to leave the country within a few days; that the reason for his forced departure is the failure of his mission; that the Government people here don't take him seriously. He professes to be terribly upset about me, because he can't take me with him. He says that he hoped to be able to stay here while the divorce went through so that we could be married. He says that he has practically been ordered to leave."

  Quayle said shortly: "He's lying. But he can't do anything else. He's in a bad spot. He'll get badly rattled in a little while. Then..." He smiled grimly.

  She said: "I want to know about Ricky. I'm fearfully worried about him. I think about him all the time."

  "Of course," said Quayle. "Of course you think about him all the time. But you needn't worry a great deal, my dear. It could be a damned sight worse for Ricky."

  She looked at him. "You mean... ?"

  "I mean that if we hadn't played it this way Ricky would probably be dead by this time," said Quayle in a matter-of-fact voice. "They'd got him marked down. He was the one person they were certain about. They knew he was the one who dealt with Lelley. That told them what they wanted to know."

  "Is he safe now?" she asked.

  Quayle shrugged his shoulders. "As safe as any of us are in this game," he said. "But I don't think you have to worry too much." He smiled at her. "He's being very well looked after," he went on. "A gentleman—a very tough piece of work indeed—named O'Mara, is looking after Ricky. I expect he'll have something to tell me soon. Then I shall know what I'm doing."

  He laughed. "It's going to be damned funny when I tell Ricky the whole story," he went on. "Very amusing. It's the first time I've ever had to use the services of a wife in order to make certain of her husband. It's a tough game. By the way, did you get a look at Miguales' passport. I bet it was a diplomatic one?"

  She nodded. She asked: "Do you know what you wanted to know. Do you know who... ?"

  He shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "Let's give O'Mara a chance. O'Mara is the fastest worker I've ever known. He'll start to move in a minute and when he does things will happen."

  He lit a cigarette; leaned his elbows on the desk. Looking at him she thought that he radiated a certain confidence; possessed an odd mastery over events and men. She felt better; less frightened.

  He said: "Listen, Sandra—you can know this much. Perhaps it will help you to understand. I want you to realise that we haven't played it this way because we don't like Ricky or because we don't trust him. He's done splendid work, but there comes a time when every man begins to weaken a little—especially if he has a temperament like Ricky's. I expected him to slip a little and the only thing I could do was to use the process for my own ends. That's why you had to come into this. But don't worry about it. He'll understand."

  He got up. He began to walk about the little room.

  He went on: "Some little while ago two of our best agents were killed in Paris. They were picked up originally because of some information secured by the Germans from a woman we employed—a woman called Mavrique.

  "They could have got their original information only from one source—Lelley. They knew that when Mavrique was arrested and the other agents killed we, on this side, would know that the information which had enabled them to get our people came from Lelley. But Lelley had lots of time to make a getaway. He'd been back and forth between this country and Eire a dozen times. He could have done it again. But he wasn't going to clear out without orders. He was a tough proposition, was Lelley—a dyed-in-the-wool Nazi. So they left him here. They sacrificed him deliberately."

  She said: "I see. They were waiting for you to do something about him. They wanted to see what you would do?"

  "Right," said Quayle. "They wanted to see what we would do about Lelley. They knew we knew something about him. They didn't know how much."

  Quayle stopped pacing about the room; returned to the desk. He lit a fresh cigarette, inhaled with pleasure.

  He went on: "I played into their hands. Years ago Lelley had a woman working over here with him. A very clever piece indeed. They put this woman next to one of my subordinate agents—a man called Stott. Stott fell for her, married her. Probably they had the idea that Stott was important. But she quickly found out that he wasn't; that he was only an underling, doing routine work. So she left him after a few weeks—a business which, I think, has concerned him a great deal ever since." Quayle smiled grimly.

  "So Lelley knew about Stott," he continued. "And knowing that, I put Stott in to keep Lelley under observation. I bet they knew all about that too. They would be very pleased with that."

  She nodded. "I see," she said. "They could watch Stott."

  Quayle said: "They could watch Stott and they could see what we were going to do about Lelley. They weren't particularly interested in Stott. They knew he was small fry. They wanted to see if a bigger fish would be put in to deal with Lelley. We gave them what they wanted. We put in a bigger fish. We put in Ricky... and then Lelley had a motor car accident." Quayle sighed.

  "Somebody was on to Ricky even before then," he said. "Somebody suspected what Ricky's real job was. Someone who had been sufficiently in touch with him to come to conclusions. When Ricky was telephoned on the night of Mrs. Milton's party they guessed he was going to do something about Lelley. Whoever was keeping an eye on Stott was telephone and told by this person that Ricky had left town by car. Whoever was watching Stott probably saw the meeting between him and Ricky. Then somebody—with a car—probably one of our friend Miguales' cars—picked Ricky up when he got back to town. After that they had a tail on him all the time. They knew now that he was the man they wanted. They were certain."

  Quayle drew on his cigarette.

  "I pulled a fast one on Ricky," he said, smiling amiably. "I knew that he was a bit nervy; that having pulled off the Lelley job he'd probably let his hair down and have a drink or two. He does get a bit nervy sometimes, you know. So I gave him a fake list of our agents in France—just in case.

  "Well... that one came off. The tail they had on Ricky was a very charming young woman and she managed to get the list off Ricky. But in the process, of course, Ricky got to know her. He can identify her. So they've got to try and do something about him and they've got to try and do it quickly. That is if they haven't already tried."

  Sandra said: "My God... they'll kill Ricky... they'll kill Ricky...."

  Quayle grinned at her. "I wouldn't worry about that," he said. "O'Mara is looking after Ricky. If I had to be looked after by someone I'd like it to be O'Mara. He is a very efficient one—that one."

  She said: "I know you're right. I know you will look after him...."

  Quayle got up. He said: "You're awfully fond of Ricky, aren't you? One of these fine days I'm going to tell him just how lucky he is." He looked at his wrist-watch.

  "On your way, Sandra," he said. "At the end of the street you'll be lucky enough to pick up a taxi-cab. One of my people will be driving it. Go straight back. And look after Mr. Miguales."

  She asked: "What am I to do about him—now."

  Quayle said: "Your attitude now is that you are bitterly disappointed in the way he's played things; that he shouldn't have put you in the position you are now in. That you can't continue to stay at his flat and you can't go back to Ricky. You'd better have a little scene with him and clear out. Go to an hotel. When you're fixed, telephone through to the Overseas Air Conditioning Company in Pall Mall and give the girl your address and telephone number."

  "Very well," she said. "I'll do that." She got up.

  Quayle went with her to the front door. He said: "You're doing a great job, Sandra. Any time you feel that things are a little tough remember that you're doing it for Ricky as well as for me. Good-night, my dear."

  He closed the door quietly behind her; stood, inside the hallway, listening to her receding footsteps.

  Then he went back to the little room; sat down at the desk; sat, smoking patiently, waiting for the telephone to ring.

  It was nearly eleven o'clock. Therese Martyr and O'Mara sat on high stools at the bar of the Yellow Canteloupe; drank whisky and soda; regarded the bar and themselves with the satisfaction that comes with a good dinner and pleasant company.

  O'Mara was inclined to be talkative. Therese, watching him out of the corner of her eye, thought: He's been away for a long time. He's glad to be back. He's large, good-natured and possibly a little bit stupid. He might be amusing.

  He said: "I always knew there'd be trouble in the Kerr menage one day. I wasn't a bit surprised when you told me that the balloon had gone up. Quite obviously that was the sort of marriage that doesn't last."

  She sipped her whisky and soda. She looked at him over the edge of the glass. She was looking very attractive. She knew it.

  "Why weren't you surprised?" she asked. "Why was it the sort of marriage that doesn't last?"

  O'Mara shrugged his broad shoulders. He said: "The trouble with Ricky is that he's damned temperamental. Clever, mark you, but temperamental. Also he's inclined to be egotistical, and when a man has a wife as beautiful as Sandra Kerr he should try and control his egotism. I expect she was bored with Ricky."

  "Possibly," said Therese. "But I think it was something worse than boredom. I think Ricky was rather keen on women in general. I have an idea that there was something on at one time between him and Glynda. Possibly Sandra found that out."

  "Possibly," said O'Mara with a grin. "Maybe somebody told her."

  She smiled at him. O'Mara noted with admiration the beauty of her small, perfectly shaped teeth. She said coolly:

  "Glynda was accusing me of that just before you came in. She was quite angry about it. She accused me of making trouble between Ricky and Sandra and then, at the crucial moment, producing the very attractive Spaniard—Miguales—with whom Sandra has taken refuge at the moment."

  "No!" said O'Mara. "I don't believe it. You wouldn't do a thing like that!"

  She was still smiling. She was beginning to find Mr. O'Mara rather attractive. She said:

  "No? You'd be surprised. I might easily do such a thing."

  He shrugged his shoulders again. He said: "Well... I'm damned if I understand women at all. Why should you do a thing like that—unless, of course, you wanted to get your own back on somebody."

  She said coolly: "That was Glynda's point. She suggested that I'd been Ricky's mistress and that he'd walked out on me, and so, to even things off, I threw Sandra at Miguales after poisoning her mind against Ricky."

  O'Mara laughed. "It won't be so good for you," he said, "if Glynda tells Sandra that. If I know anything of Sandra she'd take a very poor view of you for doing that."

  Therese smiled. It was a slow, sweet smile. A rather mechanical sort of smile. She said:

  "Should I worry a great deal about that? I don't think I should. Incidentally, Glynda isn't likely to tell Sandra. She daren't. You see, she was a little indiscreet once or twice about Ricky. And she has a very jealous husband. And he has the money. And if someone told him about the Glynda-Ricky episode I don't think it would be quite so good for Glynda...."

  "I bet it wouldn't," said O'Mara. "Nice little thing, aren't you, Miss Martyr?" He grinned happily at her. "I think I'd rather be a friend of yours than an enemy. In fact, I'm feeling a little scared of you even now."

  He took his cigar-case out of his pocket. It was a dull gold case with his initials, in white gold, in the corner.

  She said smilingly: "I don't think that Mr. O'Mara would ever be really scared of a woman. I think you're very experienced, Mr. O'Mara. In fact, I'd even bet that a woman gave you that quite lovely cigar-case."

  "Strangely enough you're right," he said. He looked at her sideways. "A lady in Rio gave me the case. It is nice, isn't it?" He handed it to her. She opened it; read the inscription inside—

  To Shaun... I shall remember.

  She shut the case with a snap; handed it back.

  "I hope she does," she said. Her tone was cynical.

  O'Mara sighed. "The trouble with all women is that they never trust each other," he said. "Personally, I think they're right! Another whisky and soda, Miss Martyr?"

  She said thank you. "And why not Therese?" she asked. "I feel that we're going to be friends. And I like your name... Shaun... a charming name. And when I've had my whisky and soda perhaps you'll be very nice and drop me at home—if we can find a cab."

  "Of course," he said. "I'd like to do that."

  "And then," said Therese slowly. "And then... perhaps I can give you a last drink. One for the road."

  He grinned at her. "That would be very nice," he said. "I'd like that a lot... too..."

  They finished their drinks. Therese Martyr got off her stool. O'Mara noted with satisfaction the grace with which she moved. He felt that it was impossible not to be interested in Therese.

  They moved towards the vestibule.

  "Just in case," she said slowly... "just in case you should regard me as a very wicked and scheming woman, I think I ought to tell you that the Sandra Kerr-Miguales business isn't going to hurt anybody too much."

  "No?" said O'Mara. "And why not?"

  "Poor Miguales," said Therese. "He's had very bad luck. He came over here on some sort of diplomatic mission—I believe he was trying to put the Franco Government over with the British people—well... you can imagine how much chance he had. He's failed. They'll send him back. And he certainly won't take Sandra with him. How can he?"

  "I see," said O'Mara. "And what does she do when he's gone?"

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  "I expect she'll go back to Ricky," she said. "Why shouldn't she? She's very fond of him... really... Only he is so stupid... Ah... they've actually got a cab for us."

  They went outside. In the cab she turned to O'Mara. She said: "Tell me... are you the sort of person who kisses women in cabs?"

  "Sometimes," said O'Mara. "Only sometimes. It all depends on the woman."

  She said: "Of course... that was what I was afraid of."

  O'Mara opened the door of his flat, went inside, switched on the hall light and looked at his wrist-watch. It was just after one.

  He went into the sitting-room; threw his hat and overcoat across a chair. He went to the sideboard, poured and drank a small glass of brandy.

  He put the glass down; took from the breast pocket of his jacket the note he had taken from the body of the white-faced young man. O'Mara stood in the middle of the sitting-room, smoking one of his small cigars, concentrating on the note. He read it through twice:

  Dear Señor,

  I do not think that you are being very kind to me. I do not think that you are giving me the sort of bargain which we agreed. I have done what I said I would do because I always keep my word, and now when the time comes for you to do your part it seems that I am to be left in the cold. I do not like this. I do not like it at all.

  I hope to find some means of seeing you and of settling this business in an amicable manner. I hope this will be possible. If not, there is only one thing I can do. I should not like to do that because I am a man of honour.

  I hope and expect to hear from you within the next four days. I find myself in the most difficult position.

  E.M.

  He put the note back in his pocket. He went to the telephone; dialled a number. After a moment Quayle's voice said: "Hallo!"

  O'Mara said: "Peter, can I talk?"

  Quayle said: "Yes... in a minute. I'll call you back and have the line cut out. Then you can talk."

  O'Mara hung up. Two minutes later, Quayle came through.

  He said: "Go ahead, Shaun..."

  O'Mara said: "We laid it on at Kerr's flat. They had the place under observation. The usual business. There was a white-faced youngster there. The normal type—tough. He came after me and the Cordover bird after him. You know—the old follow-my-leader stuff."

  Quayle said softly: "What did you do about that?"

  "Just what you think we did," said O'Mara. "At that address you gave me. It worked all right."

  Quayle said: "You sound fairly happy, Shaun. Are you getting anywhere?"

  "I think I might be," O'Mara replied. "Is there anything additional I ought to know about the Miguales bird?"

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 265 266 267 268 269 270 271 272 273 274 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291 292 293 294 295 296 297 298 299 300 301 302 303 304 305 306 307 308 309 310 311 312 313 314 315 316 317 318 319 320 321 322 323 324 325 326 327 328 329 330 331 332 333 334 335 336 337 338 339 340 341 342 343 344 345 346 347 348 349 350 351 352 353 354 355 356 357 358 359 360 361 362 363 364 365 366 367 368 369 370 371 372 373 374 375 376 377 378 379 380 381 382 383 384 385 386 387 388 389 390 391 392 393 394 395 396 397 398 399 400 401 402 403 404 405 406 407 408 409 410 411 412 413 414 415 416 417 418 419 420 421 422 423 424 425 426 427 428 429 430 431 432 433 434 435 436 437 438 439 440 441 442 443 444 445 446 447 448 449 450 451 452 453 454 455 456 457 458 459 460 461 462 463 464 465 466 467 468 469 470 471 472 473 474 475 476 477 478 479 480 481 482 483 484 485 486 487 488 489 490 491 492 493 494 495 496 497 498 499 500 501 502 503 504 505 506 507 508 509 510 511 512 513 514 515 516 517 518 519 520 521 522 523 524 525 526 527 528 529 530 531 532 533 534 535 536 537 538 539 540 541 542 543 544 545 546 547 548 549 550 551 552 553 554 555 556 557 558 559 560 561 562 563