Codeword Golden Fleece (57 page)

They lunched early, and while Rex visited the American Consulate Richard went to a travel agency. They met again at the ‘Sultan Ahmed’ at four o’clock. Rex had at first found considerable difficulty over the loss of his passport, but as he was preparing to leave the country forthwith the authorities had been persuaded to give him an exit visa. Richard’s was being dealt with through the usual channels by the travel agency. A small steamer with accommodation for six cabin passengers was leaving for Istanbul at three o’clock the following afternoon. The voyage was only one hundred and eighty-eight miles as compared with nearly eight hundred miles by rail, and the steamer was due to dock at the Porte on the evening of the 18th.

At six o’clock they went to a café-restaurant and, not knowing when they would get another meal, had a high tea consisting of an omelette and a bottle of red Cotnar wine.

At a quarter past seven they took a taxi out to the north of the
town and left it in the square of the little seaside hamlet in which Vimeru lived, giving the driver a handsome tip and arranging with him to be there to pick them up at ten o’clock. The description they had had of the place from the head clerk made it easy to find. Vimeru’s house proved to be an old red-tiled villa standing alone in a small bay.

The lemon-walled house, set among pines, olives and cypress trees, and overlooking the warm blue waters of the Black Sea, made a charming scene in the gentle evening light. The sun was going down in a cloudless sky, and the lengthening shadows lent an air of mystery to the little valley in which Vimeru’s property lay. A side road that was hardly more than a track curved down towards it, and, moving off this into the myrtle scrub, Rex and Richard took up a position from which they could watch both the house and the track without being seen.

They had been there about an hour when a car appeared, but it was not the Ford V8 that they had been expecting so eagerly. It drove down the gradient to the house where its solitary passenger, a middle-aged man, got out and gave some money to the driver, then went inside. The car backed, turned round and drove off up the track again.

‘Hell’s bells!’ exclaimed Rex. ‘That’s a taxi. Vimeru must have decided to go up by train instead of taking the Ford. What mutts we’ve been! The odds are that the Ford’s been sitting in that garage by the side of the house all day.’

‘If that was Vimeru?’ queried Richard. ‘It’s early for him yet.’

‘Sure, we’d better hang around a bit and see if anyone else turns up.’

The sun was setting in the hills behind them now, and the valley was in shadow. Lights went on in the villa, and the sound of a wireless that had just been turned on came faintly up to them. The minutes dragged and they spoke little, but at last it was nine o’clock and no other vehicle had come down the track.

‘Let’s go,’ said Rex suddenly. ‘That must have been Vimeru. God, if only we’d known, we could have gotten through with this by midday and be on our way to Turkey by now.’

In the semi-darkness they crunched their way through the
maquis
back to the track and walked down it to the house. The principal rooms faced the sea, and there were no signs of life in the front-door side of the villa at all. They had a story all ready to tell Monsieur Vimeru as a reason for asking his permission to search his car, but as they passed within a few feet of
the garage they saw that its double doors were not quite shut.

‘Hist!’ whispered Richard. ‘Why waste time talking to Vimeru and risk his wanting proof that the “Fleece” is ours before he lets us go off with it?’

Rex nodded. ‘Okay! You stay here and keep cave while I slip inside. I’m a quicker mover, these days, than you.’ As he spoke he grasped one side of the tall door firmly and drew it steadily open about two feet. It made only a faint grating noise.

Richard had used his legs more during the past two hours than he had at any time since his smash, and he now leaned against the wall of the house to rest himself. A faint glow came from the partly opened garage doors as Rex switched on his torch inside. The wireless was still playing, and for the people in the other side of the house must have drowned the faint sounds that came to Richard of Rex moving about.

While he waited Richard could feel his heart pounding beneath his ribs. This was the culminating point of their long and arduous chase, during which they had met with so many heartbreaking delays and disappointments. Rex seemed a long time, but the Ford V8 must be there, otherwise he would have been out again by now.

Richard fought down a temptation to look inside the garage and kept his head moving from side to side, alternately glancing at the approach from the back of the house and the front door. Would Rex never come? What the devil was he doing in there? He had had time enough to search half a dozen cars.

Suddenly the glow of light disappeared, the grating noise came again, and Rex was standing beside him.

‘Well?’ whispered Richard.

‘It’s not there.’

‘Are you—are you certain?’ Richard stammered, aghast at the new misfortune.

‘Of course I’m certain.’ Rex’s voice was bitter with disappointment. ‘I turned the Ford inside out. Vimeru must have found it. Come on, let’s tackle him and find out what he’s done with the darned thing.’

Still furious at having been baulked when they had thought themselves so near their goal, they walked to the front door and rang the bell.

It was answered by a dark, youngish woman whom they took to be Madame Vimeru herself. On their asking to see her husband she replied in very poor French:

‘I regret, but he is from home.’

Richard swallowed hard and said: ‘We have important business with him. The people at his office told us that he would be back by nine o’clock tonight.’

She nodded. ‘Yes, I expected him, but my uncle arrived from Mangalia about an hour ago. He has been with my husband there today and brought a message that Monsieur Vimeru will not be back in Constanta till tomorrow morning. If you go to his office then, perhaps …’

Lamely they thanked her and turned away. There was nothing else that they could do.

‘What God-awful luck!’ moaned Richard as they walked slowly back up the track.

‘It sure is,’ Rex agreed, but this time he made an effort to console his friend by adding: ‘Still, the boat doesn’t sail till tomorrow afternoon, so if we can nail Vimeru in the morning maybe we’ll have lost nothing.’

‘That’s true, but somehow there seems to have been a hoodoo on us all the time we’ve been chasing the Golden Fleece. Day after day has been swallowed up in rushing from place to place or waiting for things to happen that never come off.’

‘You’re telling me! And if we don’t get our hooks on it in the next twenty-four hours the game will be up.’

In moody silence they walked on until they reached their taxi, and having given the man directions they did not speak again before it pulled up outside the ‘Sultan Ahmed’.

‘Well,’ said Richard, as Rex helped him out, ‘they say the darkest hour is just before the dawn; let’s hope the old proverb proves correct in our case.’

Rex was about to reply as they passed through the swing doors. Instead, he suddenly grabbed Richard’s arm and exclaimed:

‘Holy Michael! Look over there!’

Richard followed his glance to the far end of the lounge and gave a cry of delight. Simon was sitting there; before him on a small table were three glasses and beside him in an ice-bucket was a magnum of champagne.

He had already seen them and came hurrying forward, grinning from ear to ear.

‘You chaps
have
been a time,’ was his greeting. ‘Been awfully thirsty work waiting for you to turn up.’

‘You old so-an’-so, how did you know we were around?’ grinned Rex, clapping him affectionately on the shoulder.

‘Yes,’ smiled Richard. ‘We didn’t expect you till midday tomorrow at the earliest; so we hadn’t even left a message for you yet.’

Simon wriggled his neck. ‘They told me at the desk that you were staying here, and that you’d gone out at six o’clock. Hoped you’d be back in time to join me for dinner, but guessed you must be dining out, as it wouldn’t have taken you all this time to drive to Vimeru’s and back. Knocked off a bottle to my own check while I fed but thought I’d have something on the ice for when you came in. Just thought you might need a spot of cheering up.’

Richard’s eyes widened. ‘What the devil d’you mean?’ he cried suddenly, grasping Simon by the arm.

‘Well, must have been a bit hard for you chaps, missing the boat like that.’

Rex grabbed his other arm and shook him. ‘Come clean you old sinner. Don’t just stand there grinning like an ape. D’you mean you’ve got it?’

Simon nodded. ‘Um, it was just where you left it; under the back seat of the car. I fished it out this afternoon.’

‘Well, can you beat that?’ Rex sighed from pure relief and happiness, and Richard echoed his sigh.

A porter took the hats and coats of the newcomers; they went to Simon’s table, and a waiter opened the magnum; the band was playing one of those enchanting catchy tunes that are entirely special to Rumania and haunt the cafés for a season without, to the world’s loss, ever getting further afield. The glasses were filled and they drank deep of the cool, sparkling wine.

‘But how in heck did you hit this dump so quickly?’ Rex wanted to know, as soon as he set down his glass.

‘Quite simple,’ Simon smiled. ‘Soon as I got your wire I chartered a private plane.’

‘By Jove!’ exclaimed Richard. ‘Then we’ll be in Istanbul by lunchtime tomorrow. I tried to get one here this morning but there wasn’t a thing to be had.’

‘Ner.’ Simon shook his head. ‘Sorry, Richard, but my chap would only fly me from Cernauti, here. I tried to book him to go on, but his licence doesn’t allow him to leave the country. We’ll have to go on to Turkey by ship. There’s one leaving at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon. I booked on it just before the Travel Office shut, and I learned that you chaps had reserved cabins on her, too.’

‘But tell us,’ grinned Rex, ‘how did you manage to beat us to the Ford?’

‘Got in just after midday. Went straight to Vimeru’s office. They gave me his address but told me he wouldn’t be back till this evening. Thought it worth while to drive out and have a look round. Walked down to the house. No one about, but the garage door was open. Looked in and saw the Ford. Nothing to make a fuss about really, a child could have done it.’

‘Well, I know two children who didn’t,’ laughed Richard. ‘Let’s have another glass of that wine.’

It was the first time all three of them had been together since Simon and Rex had left Richard on the train at Giurgevo, nearly four weeks before, so they had much to tell one another. It was the first time, too, in all those long days and anxious nights of waiting, travelling and scheming, that they had felt really able to relax; so they made a night of it, and a second magnum had gone the way of the first before they eventually sought their beds at half past two.

Next morning they enjoyed the luxury of sleeping late, then at half past ten Richard went into Simon’s room. When they had exchanged greetings he said:

‘I didn’t feel that last night was the time to speak of it, but Rex could only give me a secondhand account of what happened outside the British Legation. All of us realise, I think, that dear Greyeyes was not the man to die in bed. He would have wanted to go down fighting in some desperate encounter for something that he believed to be terribly worthwhile. I’d like to know the details of his last heroic stand to save the Golden Fleece.’

‘I’ll tell you,’ said Simon. And for some twenty minutes he lived again for Richard that agonising scene to the last glimpse he had had of the Duke, his gun dropped from his hand, lolling half out of the taxi.

Neither of them looked at the other, and when Simon had done they sat for a little in silence, heavy of heart for the great loss they had sustained. Then, with a word of thanks, Richard went back to his own room to dress.

Two o’clock found the three friends down at the docks and soon after they were settling themselves into their cabins in one of the little cargo steamers that made a twice-weekly trip down to Istanbul. The passenger accommodation was very simple; six cabins, three on each side, which opened on to a small saloon
with one central table; the saloon served for lounge, dining-room and bar. The Captain, a bearded Rumanian, made them welcome, and they found that they had only one other fellow passenger, a Turkish tobacco manufacturer. But there was also a motley collection of about a score of cheap-fare passengers who, accompanied by a variety of livestock, were to pass the night on deck.

At a little after three o’clock the ropes were cast off, and the ship left port. The weather was good and the sea calm. The friends spent what was left of the afternoon and the early evening up on the afterdeck, then at seven-thirty they partook of a plain but quite passable dinner at which the Captain and his Chief Engineer joined them. The conversation was scrappy and in many tongues, but it served to pass away the time. At nine o’clock the Captain excused himself to go up to his bridge, as a sea mist had arisen. The others talked on for a little, then went up on deck for a breath of air before turning in. The mist had increased to a fog. The forepart of the ship was shrouded in it, and the unfortunate deck passengers were now huddling under their wraps, but the ship was proceeding smoothly at only slightly reduced speed, and the chill of the fog soon drove the three friends to their cabins.

All three were asleep when at about one o’clock they were roused by the sounds of excited shouting. Someone was bellowing from the nearby bridge through a megaphone, and there were fainter, but not less urgent, cries coming, it seemed, from seaward to the port side of the ship.

Suddenly there was a dull thud, and the vessel shuddered slightly. The thud was followed by a bumping, scraping sound. There were more shouts, then a creaking and a rending crash as though some great tree had splintered and been brought down in a heavy gale. The shouting continued for a few moments, then ceased; the cries to seaward gradually faded; the silence of the fog-enshrouded ship was broken only by muffled footsteps and subdued cursing.