Red In The Morning (3 page)

“So unfortunate,” drawled Brevet, “that you should have, er, intruded the other night. If there’s one thing more than another which my, er, colleague detests, it is intrusion upon his private affairs: and when such intrusion impairs his enterprise, his, er, impatience of the intruder is very marked. This is understandable. You’d be surprised if you knew how much time and money went to the preparation of the ground for the exercise which you, er, embarrassed the other night. And what, if you will forgive the phrase, tends to aggravate your offence – of course, in my colleague’s eyes – is the unfortunate fact that this is not the first time that you have, er, inconvenienced him. On the other occasion, also, a considerable amount of money – and money’s worth was, I believe, involved. In these circumstances, it must be, I think, most clear that if my colleague is to pursue his, er, calling with any degree of confidence, he must receive some assurance that this interference will cease. The most satisfactory assurance would take the form of your death – upon which, I may say, my colleague had set his heart. Had. But, after two hours’ hard work, I managed to bring him round. He’s a difficult fellow, Gedge. A brilliant felon – quite brilliant: but, strictly between you and me, a very vulgar blackguard. His language, for instance, is sometimes incredibly coarse. And a master of blasphemy! But, as I say, I hauled the swine out of his wallow and made him see sense. And so he agreed that I should call upon you and tell you the price at which we value your health. That price is, shortly, thirty-five thousand pounds. If you like to pay me that money within three weeks, the incident will be closed. If you don’t, then your life will be closed – of that, you need have no doubt. Gedge is in the slips. And, to be perfectly frank, offered your life or your money, he’d choose your life. But I am more mercenary. Besides, of course, you’ve only embarrassed me once. Well, there we are, Captain Mansel. How do you feel?”

“There’s only one answer,” said Mansel.

“Pray let me have it,” said the other, “for what it is worth. Such language as Gedge understands must be painfully clear.”

Mansel regarded him sternly.

“You have demanded with menaces thirty-five thousand pounds. If you had asked thirty-five shillings, you would have gone empty away. You see, I’m one of those people who don’t subscribe to blackmail.”

The other sighed.

“You know,” he said, “I felt it would be like that. From Gedge’s strictures upon your outlook – strictures, I may say, which were tinctured with every shade of obscenity – there emerged the clear impression that you would have nothing to do with dirty work. And so, when I set out, I had a definite feeling that I was wasting my time. When I saw you, that feeling was, so to speak, fortified. And I am by no means surprised that you prefer to die, rather than to render to Caesar the things that are God’s. You must forgive my flights – I was once a gentleman. Years ago, of course. And I took a first class in Honour Moderations. Unfortunately, shortly afterwards, I took twenty-seven pounds from the monies entrusted to my care.
Facilis descensus Averni
. And I have never looked back.” In one astonishing movement, he rose to his feet and slid his hands into the pockets of the good-looking jacket he wore. “Well, Captain Mansel, that’s over. There’ll be no holding my colleague, when he hears what you have to say. And he can do his stuff, you know. That’s why I work with him. A poisonous bounder, of course: but he can do his stuff. Frankly, I shouldn’t like him to, er, earmark me. And, of course, he will have my support in all that he does.”

“You’ve had my answer,” said Mansel.

“I have,” said Brevet. “
Te moriturum saluto
.” He took out Mansel’s pistol and laid it down on his gown. “I had to impound it,” he said, “but I’m not here to steal. You may need it to kill me with. One never knows.”

With that, he bowed to Jenny and nodded to Mansel and me. Then he walked out of the tent and up to the road.

“That was Latin,” said Jenny. “What does it mean?”

“‘See you later,’” said Mansel. “I’m so awfully sorry, my sweet.”

“I didn’t mind,” said Jenny. “And it might have been very much worse. He spoke so nicely to me, before William came. I said it was such a pity that he should have come to this: and he said he never would have, if he had had the honour of knowing people like us. His father was a clergyman, he said, with only two articles of faith: one was the elevation of the birth rate – What are you laughing at?”

“My beauty,” said I, “you’d get off with the devil himself.”

“Oh, of course he’s hopeless,” said Jenny. “And dangerous, too. I felt that all the time. But he was like us once, you know, and he can throw back to those days.”

I looked at Mansel.

“What do we do?” I said.

Mansel got to his feet and strolled round the back of the tent. Then he returned and sat down.

“Leave Freilles,” he said quietly. “At once. What a mercy we have the two cars!” Jenny and I had a Rolls, and Mansel had brought his with him, when he had come to stay. “We must give no sign of departure, for the villa is certainly watched. To all appearances, we must behave as usual. When Carson comes for us, we shall go back to lunch: and we shall return to the
plage
at half-past three – wearing
peignoirs
and bathing things. And Carson will come to get us at half-past five. But he won’t come here, because we shall not be here. We shall have left the
plage
and strolled into the woods. He’ll pick us up at the crossroads, four miles north of this place. In the car he will have a suitcase, containing our clothes.

“Now before Carson leaves the villa at twenty past five, he and Bell will have packed and have loaded the other car. There’s a door from the house to the garage, and so that operation will not be observed. At exactly half-past five, Bell will leave the garage and drive for Bayonne. That will make any watcher think, but he can’t do much. You see, he is bound to wait until Carson is overdue. At Bayonne Bell will turn east, without going into the town: and later he will turn north, to join us somewhere near Dax. And that’s as far as I’ve got.”

I thought, and still think, that it was a very long way, for Brevet had left us less than five minutes before. But Jonathan Mansel’s brain was unearthly swift; and, what is more to the point, so far from being troubled by any sudden pass, the more instant the peril, the clearer it seemed to grow.

Mansel was addressing Jenny.

“I’m terribly sorry, my darling, to rope you and William in. But, as things are, I cannot possibly go and leave you here. It’s me they want, of course: but if I alone cleared out, they’d turn upon you and William the moment they found I’d gone.”

The great, blue eyes surveyed him, and a little hand came out, to rest on my knee.

“D’you think,” said Jenny, slowly, “that we would have let you go? That we could have gone on bathing, day after day, while those two men were trying to take your life?”

“My sweet–”

“You know as well as I do that Richard will never leave you, until this danger’s past. And I will never leave him, unless, because I’m a girl, I’m in the way.”

So simple a declaration upset both Mansel and me, for Jenny is wholly artless and the words which she had spoken were those her heart bade her say. That those words were perfectly true, I need hardly say, for Mansel’s quarrel was mine, as, had the case been reversed, my quarrel would have been his.

Since forty minutes must pass before Carson was due, we all went back to the rollers and bathed again. This at Mansel’s suggestion: “for,” said he, “to dwell upon this business is idle – and heaven knows when we’ll get such bathing again.”

By three o’clock that day I had done what I had to do. I had paid our rent in advance, so, except for the current bills, I owed no money in Freilles: but the house agent was a nice man, so I wrote him a note, enclosing five thousand francs and a list of the tradesmen we used and begging him to pay their accounts and to keep what remained. Then I gave Bell the maidservants’ wages, and told him to pay them off ten minutes before he left. And then I walked upstairs, where Jenny was calling for Bell – for he had been doing her packing, to the delight of them both.

As I passed Mansel’s door, he called me into his room. “I fear that friend Brevet,” he said, “was not all he seemed to be. His gesture of returning my pistol was very fine. I can’t say that I felt at the time that it was too good to be true; but Brevet’s affection for Virgil is one which I share and I have an immense respect for a proverb which the Mantuan has adorned.
Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes
. And he did have the tent to himself, before Jenny arrived. So I took a look at my pistol, as soon as we’d finished lunch. And it’s just as well that I did, for that was what I discovered…rammed down the barrel, until it was touching the round.”

‘That’ was an ordinary pipe cleaner – that is to say, a furred wire – which had been tied and twisted into a ball. For ramrod, an ordinary pencil had probably served very well.

Had Mansel fired his pistol, when such an obstruction was resting against the round, the weapon must have burst in his grasp, blowing his hand to pieces, if doing nothing worse.

I looked up to meet Mansel’s eyes.

“And that reptile,” said I, “had the nerve to call Gedge a blackguard.”

Mansel nodded.

“I frankly admit that he had me on,” he said. “He set out to satisfy me that he wasn’t too bad: and he damned well did it, William. Of course I’ve no excuse, for what of a well-bred man who works with a wallah like Gedge?”

“So clear when one sees it,” I said. “And I quite liked the swine, while Jenny–”

“Steady,” said Mansel. “Do you remember her words. ‘He’s dangerous, too. I felt that all the time.’ Her instinct, William, is worth many parcels of jewels.”

Twenty minutes later, we left the house for the
plage
…

Keeping our sand shoes on, we left our bathing gowns in front of our tent and strolled together down to the edge of the waves. Mansel and I were knee-deep, when Jenny called and pointed along the shore. (The gesture had been rehearsed, for Mansel left nothing to chance.) At once we turned and joined her, to stroll, three abreast, northwards, beside the tumbling surf.

So, for nearly a mile, when the sand took the shape of dunes and the forest drew close to the sea. And there we took a path which led into the woods.

I shall always remember that walk – indeed, I remember wishing that we had taken it before. The day was immensely hot, but the forest was pleasantly cool; the bracken all about us was dappled with light and shade; the steady hum of the insects and the murmur of the sea we had left made up a comfortable harmony, giving the lie to apprehension and preaching Herrick’s doctrine with all their might; and Jenny, walking before me along the narrow path, looked like some hamadryad, taking the way she had taken for half a century.

We moved very slowly, for we had plenty of time, and, as we expected, we had the woods to ourselves. When once we had seen the road, we kept it in sight, but we did not leave the forest, till Carson came.

We reached a spot above the crossroads ten minutes before he arrived, and I was thankful to see him, because, for some stupid reason, I longed for a cigarette.

Jenny, of course, was dressed before either Mansel or I; but within ten minutes of time we had taken our seats in the car.

Mansel spoke over his shoulder – he had the wheel.

“What about Bergerac? We ought to be there by nine, and they do you uncommonly well at The Lion of Gold.”

“Every time,” said Jenny.

“Bergerac has it,” said Mansel, and let in his clutch. He spoke to Carson. “Where are we picking up Bell?”

“Five miles east of Dax, sir. We know the place.”

“Right,” said Mansel. And then, “I never asked you – anything to report?”

“Nothing at all, sir,” said Carson. “That doesn’t mean, of course, there was nobody there: for I took good care to keep my eyes to myself.”

“Quite right,” said Mansel, and put down his foot. “I don’t want to pass through Dax, so tell me when to turn off.”

Bell had fifty miles to cover, while we had but twenty-five, for he was to go by Bayonne, clean out of his way: we had therefore expected to wait for thirty-five minutes or so at the rendezvous: but when an hour had gone by, but Bell had not come, we were none of us very easy, and that is putting it low. But when another hour had gone by, but Bell had not come, we were, to say the least, most deeply concerned.

What was so trying was that we could do nothing but wait. We could not go to meet him, because we did not know which way he would come: to go to seek him was futile, so long as a chance remained that he was no more than late.

I looked at Mansel.

“If he’s not here by nine,” said I, “Jenny must stay here with Carson, and we must go out on patrol.”

Mansel nodded.

“I think so. I decline to believe that he’s met it, but that he is up against something is painfully clear. So much for my blasted plan.”

“Be fair to yourself,” said I. “Short of leaving one of the cars, what more could we have done?”

“This,” said Mansel. “Bell should have left tomorrow, instead of this afternoon. By then the coast would have been clear. I made a bad mistake, when I said that whoever was watching was bound to wait until Carson was overdue. Nine men out of ten would have waited: but Gedge is the tenth. I’ll lay you any money that he was watching himself.”

“Why should he go for Bell? He doesn’t even know him by sight.”

“I hope he hasn’t,” said Mansel. “But I think that he’s followed him – because he is perfectly certain that Bell will lead him to us. A bird in the hand, you know…”

“It was,” said I, “a big decision to take. And Bell’s damned quick off the mark, so he had no time to think.”

“Ah, but that’s Gedge,” said Mansel. “Brevet called him ‘quite brilliant,’ and so he is. Of course I may be quite wrong. Bell may have had a smash. But that does not alter the fact that I made a bad mistake.”

Five minutes later, to our immense relief, the Rolls slid round a turning and up to our side.