Cost Price (17 page)

“So shall I, Colette. And I have a friend there whose coming will warm your heart.”

Colette raised her eyebrows.

“I do not think that is likely. Now I must go. Do not be too late for breakfast, or – Jasper will be concerned.”

I laughed.

“Give Jasper my love and tell him not to worry.” Colette looked down at the ground.

“I did not mean – Jasper,” she said.

I took her fingers and kissed them.

“Neither,” I said, “did I.”

She raised a glowing face.

“Good night, Adam.”

“Good night.”

At a quarter to seven the next morning, I was lying behind a hedge. Peering through this, I could see the end of the bridge which was short of a parapet, and the road running off to Doris for half a mile. Bell was a little behind me, watching the road to Godel, which I could not see.

Between the hedge and the road was a ditch which was half a gully, which gave to the stream which was tumbling beneath the bridge. This ditch was covered with bracken, and I had been much inclined to take cover in that. But, moving across the country, I had come first to the hedge, and since I was not yet sure of the line I should take, but Friar was ‘quick on the trigger’, I felt that I should be wiser to stay where I was.

That I did so was just as well, for, after, perhaps, five minutes, I had the shock of my life.

On a sudden, a match was struck – I heard the scrape and the flare – and smoke rose up before me out of the ditch.

Somebody, sitting there, had lighted a cigarette.

Then—

“Wake up, you —,” said Friar. “This isn’t Mayfair.”

“You’re telling me,” groaned Sloper. “Why did I come?”

“For the same reason as I did,” said Friar. “You like the fat of the land.”

“’Aven’t seen much of it lately. — ’aunch o’ gristle, if you ask me.”

“Cultivate faith,” said Friar. “You’ve been with me fourteen years, and when have I let you down?”

“Orright, orright,” said Sloper. “But you didn’ ought to ’ave let that — Boler in.”

Friar raised his head, to peer up and down the road.

“I think we’ve lost him,” he said. “That’s the Boche all over. The — can’t do his job, so he sticks to someone who can. I’m to rake out his chestnuts, but he’s going to pick them up. But you’re wrong, Sloper, as usual. To hang Boler round Mansel’s neck was a very nice move. The mistake I did make was to touch Diana Revoke.” I heard the man suck in his breath. “By God, I’d like to meet her – one of these nights. I’d wring her head from her body and – Gently. I hear a car.”

I had heard a car coming from Doris before he declared the fact. He lowered his head and Sloper rose into my sight. The three of us watched the car pass at a pretty high speed. It was grey and closed and I could see men within.

“Police,” spat Friar. “God — their — souls. If Orris is coming, will he have the sense to drop?”

“I think so,” said Sloper. “I — well rammed it in.”

I saw Friar glance at his watch.

“He ought to be here any minute – with nothing, of course, to report.”

“Lazy,” said Sloper. “That’s Orris. ’E won’t go after ’is man. But point ’im out to ’im, an’ ’e’ll never let go. An’ talk about deception…You ought to of let ’im go back that night at Wagensburg. They’d ’ve bin trustin’ ’im blind in twenty-four hours.”

“Not Mansel,” said Friar. “Chandos, perhaps: but not Mansel. He’s nobody’s fool. Three times he’s bested me.”

“Twice,” said Sloper.

“Three times. But I’ll get him at last, Sloper. It’s time his score was paid. He could have come in, but he wouldn’t. And now he’s stuck. He cannot get the stuff out. I told him he couldn’t – you heard me. And now my words have come true. And if we don’t find him first, he’ll lose to the Boche.” He started up. “By God, where is this–?”

“It ain’t seven yet,” said Sloper.

“Five minutes to,” said Friar. “And he’s not in sight.”

(Orris had said ‘half past seven’ –not ‘seven o’clock’. I began to respect the rogue. Had I been placed as he was, I very much doubt if I should have done so well.)

“An’ if ’e’s nothin’ to say…?”

“We keep our eyes skinned,” said Friar. “I know we’re warm. Any time now they’re going to try and get out. They’re going to take a chance, Sloper: and that is where we shall come in.”

“Or Boler.”

“Boler be damned. The — is trailing us – it’s all he can do. We’ve lost him now; and as long as he doesn’t find us, we can count Boler out.”

“Sez you,” said Sloper. And then, “I don’ like these three-’anded games. Say you comes up with Mansel and takes the stuff…an’ then Boler steps out o’ the laurels an’ says ‘’Scuse me’?”

“In that case Boler will meet it.”

“Gawd,” said Sloper. “An’ ’alf the police be’ind ’im. I wish I was back in London. An’ you can ’ave Mayfair. Wappin’ ’d do me praoud.”

“Don’t be a fool,” said Friar. “This is the biggest thing that anyone’s ever touched. No one has ever played for such stakes before. Gems worth three or four million – whatever we like to ask. No fences to take our winnings out of our mouths. And Ferrers dare say nothing; for, if he does, he incriminates Mansel and Chandos as well as himself – and the stuff goes back to Austria, whence it came. I tell you – if it comes off, you can live in Mayfair as I do…with half a million behind you, all to yourself. South of France, if you like. I tell you, man, you’ll be rolling – for as long as you like to live. Well, that’s worth working for – worth running every risk. Or is it? What d’you think?”

“Oh, I don’ say, if it comes orf, it won’ be jam. But–”

“But what?”

“You didn’ ought to ’ave let that German in. I don’ say that to Orris; but that’s wot I know. Raoun’ Mansel’s neck, if you like: but the —’s raound ours. Look at them — police cars. Gives me the creeps each time I see one o’ them. An’ I ’aven’ got over that do at Wagensburg. Bein’ picked up like that, when I couldn’t think straight. I’d like to know ’oo ’it me. I’d spoil ’is guts.”

“Orris is late,” said Friar, with his eyes on the road. “Where is the — waster?”

Be sure that was what I was thinking.

Since Sloper’s appreciation of his colleague, I had been cursing my folly in letting Orris go. ‘He won’t go after his man. But point him out to him, and he’ll never let go. And talk about deception…’ Orris had been very clever. By being perfectly frank, he had run under my guard.

He had set a first-rate trap into which I had very nearly walked. Not that I had trusted the fellow: but I had underrated his loyalty to Friar. I had actually thought to buy this with fifty pounds. If Orris left the train before Salzburg…and managed to get a car…he could be here any minute. I could have done it – I should have… But it never entered my head that Orris would. And if he did, I was ‘sunk’.

From Orris I turned to Friar. The man was on edge – of that there could be no doubt. I do not at all suggest that his nerve had gone: but he was apologetic – rather pleading his cause with Sloper than keeping his subordinate up to the bit. He knew, as Sloper knew, that the sands were running out – that unless a ‘break’ came quickly, the game was up.

I determined to give him his ‘break’…

The road from Doris to Godel ran roughly from West to East. I lay to the North of that road, and the frontier, some eight miles distant, lay to the South. Twenty paces from the bridge towards Doris, a path was rising sharply into a wood.

Swiftly I pushed myself back, till I was abreast of Bell.

“You will move up,” I breathed, “and watch that ditch. Friar and Sloper are there, and they’re waiting for Orris to come. I’m coming, instead. And I’m going to draw them off. The moment they’re gone you will take their place in the ditch; and when Orris comes, as I have a feeling he will, pull him in and hold him, until I return.”

With that, I crawled to the right, until it was safe to rise: and then I ran, bent double, over the fields. When I was well out of sight, I turned to the left. And then I was through the hedge and was padding down the road towards Godel, with, if I am to be honest, my heart in my mouth.

I dared do no more than walk briskly, for I had a part to play.

I must pretend to be on the way to our lair, in which we were holding the gems, from which we were proposing to leave for Italy. If this pretence deceived Friar, he would not hold me up, but would decide to follow and see where I went. Now he had but a very few seconds to make up his mind. His instinct would be to stop me – I was a bird in the hand: but a moment’s reflection would show him that, if he could successfully follow, he stood to gain far more than two birds in the bush.

I confess I did not enjoy the part of a bird in the hand. If Friar decided to take me, I should be badly placed. If he decided to follow, rather than lose me, the man would certainly fire – and a man whose back is turned, is a very fair mark. But I felt that Orris was coming, and if that was so, there was no other course to take.

One piece of luck I had, and that came in the shape of a van that was pelting along from Godel, before I had reached the path. At once I dived for the ditch on my right-hand side – and so assured Friar that I could not afford to be seen. When it was gone, I emerged and walked on till I came to the path. There I hung on my heel for a moment, to glance up and down the road. And then I took the path boldly, trying my best to believe that I was halfway home.

I dared not go too fast, for I had to allow them good hope of keeping me always in view: of the line the path took I had not the faintest idea, but even if it came to an end, I must by no means falter, for Friar must believe I was taking a way that I knew: most important – and trying – of all, I must never look back, to see if my ruse had borne and was bearing fruit. Suddenly I knew that it had, for one or the other slipped as he left the road.

And here a new fear beset me. This was that Friar or Sloper would stumble or make some such noise as I could not pretend not to hear. In such a case, I must either leap for coven or, if there was no cover, take to my heels – and hope very hard that Friar would miss his man.

However, all went well.

The path, to my great relief, was by no means straight, but bent to right and to left and, after some sixty paces, began to rise. Up it went, over a shoulder, and down to a tumbling stream: and then it crossed a meadow and entered the rising woods.

I knew they were still behind me, for my ears are country trained, and now and again I heard one of them put a foot wrong and strike a stone with his shoe: and since we had gone near a mile and they must be getting tired, I felt that the time was coming when I should give them the slip. The question was how to do it; for all might well be lost, unless they went on, supposing that I was ahead.

And then Fate played into my hands.

As I was approaching a bend, a peasant, with an axe on his shoulder, came striding round. I gave him good day and stopped him.

“Listen, my friend,” I said. “My servants are coming behind me. Their names are Carson and Bell.” The man repeated the names, which were easy to learn. “When you meet them, tell them to be as quick as they can, because the weather is fine and I wish to be gone.”

“I will do your bidding, sir. But servants are all the same. I am my own master, and time is money to me: but the servant draws the same wages, whether he hastens or no.”

We laughed, and I gave him money and told him to drink my health. Then I passed round the bend and, leaving the path, darted into the forest and lay down behind a beech. Almost at once I heard the peasant’s voice…

Friar’s German was said to be poor, but I like to think that he recognized ‘Carson’ and ‘Bell’. Be that as it may, after, perhaps, ninety seconds, he and Sloper came hurriedly round the bend, stooping and peering as they did so, breathing hard and simply streaming with sweat. When they saw that the next reach was empty, they shambled into a run…

When they were out of sight, I took again to the path and made my way back to the road.

For what it was worth, I seemed to have won that trick.

As I left the path for the road, Bell’s head rose out of the ditch thirty paces away.

As I came up—

“You were right, sir,” he said: “I’ve got him. But when he saw me, he turned nasty, and I had to lay him out.”

“So much the better,” said I, getting into the ditch. “And how did it happen, Bell?”

“I moved up as you told me, sir, as soon as you’d gone. Friar an’ Sloper was arguing about Orris. Friar was cursing his soul: but Sloper wouldn’t have that. If Orris was late, he said, it meant he was on to something. An’ then they saw you…

Bell paused and drew in his breath.

“I thought you were for it, sir. Friar had his pistol out before I could think. They never breathed a whisper – I think they was holding their breath. An’ when you turned off up the path, you took them both by surprise. An’ then they fell over themselves to follow you up. The noise they made – I thought you must ’ave heard them…

“An’ at once I whips over that gate an’ takes their place in the ditch.

“Eight to ten minutes later a van comes blinding along, claps on its brakes an’ fetches up on the bridge. An’ Orris climbs out of the cab, gives some notes to the driver an’ then stands back. The van goes on towards Godel, and Orris watches it go. Then he swings round on his heel and makes for the ditch. As he comes up to the edge,

“‘Come on in, Orris,’ I says; ‘I’m waiting for you.’ When he hears my voice, he’s just struck all of a heap: didn’ seem able to move; so I reaches out for his ankle an’ pulls him down. An’ then he goes mad: gets up an’ goes for me, shouting an’ cursing an’ swearing – you never see such a show. So I puts him out, sir: it seemed the easiest way.”

I nodded.

“I’ll say he’s a trier,” I said. “It must have been gall and wormwood when you rose up.”

“I think it did hit him hard, sir. He’d dropped fifty quid to get you. An’ then he meets it again.”

I parted the bracken and took a look at the rogue.

I felt suddenly sorry for Orris – a something pathetic figure, flat on his back. His face was pinched and dirty and travel-stained: he looked undernourished, and one of his knees was drawn up.

“He’s a better man than Punter,” I said. “He doesn’t throw in his hand. And so he’s a blasted nuisance, which Punter never was. What on earth shall we do with him, Bell?”

“We can’t hardly bump him off, sir.”

“No, we can’t,” I said. “It wouldn’t be fair. He’s only done his duty – and done it well. If something Sloper said hadn’t opened my eyes, by God, he’d have torn it, Bell. We should have split on Orris, and that’s the truth.”

“I wondered what made you act, sir. It never entered my head that Orris would try and make it.”