The 92nd Tiger (7 page)

‘I think he said something about guns.’

‘That’s right.’

‘He’s a gun-runner?’

They’re more politely described as arms dealers.’

‘How very interesting.’

Hugo had noticed before that things which ought to shock or upset his mother hardly worried her at all. It was the minor irritations and stupidities of life which infuriated her. People who drove their cars too fast, or too close to the pavement on wet days, or signed their names to multiple letters in
The Times.

She said, ‘You mustn’t tell me about it, of course, if it’s confidential.’

‘I don’t see why I shouldn’t,’ said Hugo.

His mother listened to him, with her head slightly on one side, in a bird-like attitude. It was from her that Hugo had inherited his artistic flair rather than from his father, a large, silent man, who had been killed by the Japanese at Imphal.

She said, ‘Do I gather that the choice is between buying all these things from the government, or buying them from a private firm?’

‘That’s more or less what it amounts to.’

‘Well I know which I’d choose.’

‘The government?’

‘Certainly not. Civil Servants have no business morality at all.’

‘Business men don’t seem to have much morality either.’

‘No. But they have some. Even if it’s only based on self-protection. They don’t swindle other business men, because the people they’ve swindled might get their own back. But a government doesn’t mind about that. It’s so big it thinks no one can hurt it. It’s like doing business with a boa-constrictor.’

‘You sound as though you have been dickering with government departments all your life.’

‘I had a good deal to do with them when your father was killed. I remember when I tried to get some money out of them to send you away to school. They were totally unhelpful. I can still see that silly little man saying to me, “The State provides a perfectly adequate education, Mr. Greest.” I just picked up the inkpot on his desk and threw it at him.’

‘I don’t suppose that made him any more helpful.’

Mrs. Greest gave a throaty chuckle and said, ‘It made
me
feel a lot better. And what happened? The very same day your uncle came along and told me he’d got a nomination to Christ’s Hospital. They were marvellous. Give me private enterprise every time—’

At ten o’clock that morning Colonel Rex telephoned the hotel at which he had discovered that Mr. Nussbaum was staying, and was told that he had gone out, but would be back within the hour.

At eleven o’clock he telephoned again. Mr. Nussbaum had returned, and was somewhere in the hotel. Would he like to have him paged?

The Colonel said, ‘no’. He did not think that this would be advisable. But perhaps Reception would give him a telephone number to ring back. Reception said it could do this.

At twelve o’clock Mr. Nussbaum telephoned the Colonel. Mutual courtesies were exchanged, mutual friends remembered, enquiries made about each other’s families. Mrs. Nussbaum was in excellent health. The Colonel’s old father was still alive. A wonderful man for his age.

Protocol having been observed Mr. Nussbaum suggested that it might be to both their advantages if they had a little talk. The Colonel thought that this might be a good idea. But when, and where?

‘I don’t think,’ said Mr. Nussbaum, ‘that it would be a very good idea if we were seen talking together. You know how tongues wag in our line of business.’

‘They certainly do,’ said the Colonel. ‘I’ll tell you what. I’ve got a quiet little flat here. Why don’t you come along? I’d suggest about eight o’clock this evening. We could have a little drink, and talk things over.’

‘Seems a good idea,’ said Mr. Nussbaum.

‘After that, maybe we could go along together and put a proposition to our mutual client.’

‘Our mutual client?’ said Mr. Nussbaum cautiously.

‘I was referring to a Mr. Greest, who resides at No. 17, Riverside Avenue, Richmond. I believe you spent some time with him yesterday. He will have told you that I saw him the day before.’

There was a short pause, and then Mr. Nussbaum said, in a much more business-like voice, ‘O.K. We’re in this together. We’ll have to work out the split. Right?’

‘Right. And as soon as we’ve worked it out, we put it to Mr. Greest and sign him up, before anyone else gets ideas about coming in on the act. Right?’

‘The sooner the better.’

‘I had an open date to go along and talk to him after dinner tonight. We might go along together. I suggest—’ At this point anyone observing the Colonel would have noticed a curious repetition of what had taken place the day before, when he opened the door of his car. On that occasion he had started to do one thing and it had changed, easily and almost imperceptibly, into something else. This time the same thing happened to what he was saying. ‘I suggest,’ he said, and there was the barest pause after the word, ‘that I run us both up in my car. It’s one I hired when I came over. There’s nothing to connect it with me.’

‘Fine,’ said Mr. Nussbaum.

Hugo thought that it would be easier if he dealt with Major Gilliland on the telephone. He rang him up and recognised the voice of his secretary. She said that the Major was on the outside line, and would he mind holding. Hugo said he didn’t mind at all. In fact, it gave him time to think out exactly what he was going to say.

When the Major’s dry voice said, ‘Mr. Greest. You wanted me?’ he was ready. He said, ‘You very kindly offered to introduce me to your Ordnance people. The idea being that they could improve on my non-existent technical knowledge. I wonder if you’d put it off for a bit.’

‘I haven’t fixed anything yet.’

‘Oh, good.’

‘Has there been a change of plan, then?’

‘In a way. I’m taking on an adviser. A man who seems to know about these things. I thought I ought to listen, first, to what he has to tell me before making my mind up.’

‘Quite right. Don’t hesitate to come back here if you think we can help.’

‘I’ll do that,’ said Hugo, and rang off. It had been easier than he had expected.

Major Gilliland replaced the receiver at his end, and said to his secretary, ‘I’m afraid someone’s got in ahead of us. Pity.’

‘They certainly keep their ears to the ground,’ said his secretary.

Mr. Nussbaum was not sorry that Colonel Rex had suggested eight o’clock that evening for their meeting. He had much to do.

First he had to compose a long and complicated telex message. This could go direct from the hotel, which he had chosen for its telex facilities, to his headquarters in Topeka. There would be time for an answer to reach him before he set out for his rendezvous.

After attending to this he had his second shave of the day and a facial massage in the barber’s shop attached to the hotel, and took a cup of tea in the lounge. Despite his size and shape he was not a gross eater. He drank alcohol solely in the line of business. When he was by himself he preferred soft drinks.

At five o’clock the answer to his telex arrived. He took it up to his room, and decoded it, making pencil notes in the margin. Then he locked it away in his brief-case, which had a combination lock, set to the date of his wife’s birthday.

After this he took out his address book and made a number of telephone calls. The three men he called were in their offices. They all seemed to be late workers. The last call was concluded at a quarter past seven.

He then washed his hands, scrubbing his nails carefully as if to remove the grime of the day’s work, belted on a raincoat, put on a pair of pigskin gloves, and took the lift down to the ground floor.

He stopped at the reception desk to say, ‘I shan’t be back until quite late. If anyone wants me, suggest they call again tomorrow morning, would you?’

The receptionist, who knew Mr. Nussbaum was a big tipper, said he would certainly do that. It then occurred to Mr. Nussbaum that if, as usually seemed to happen, the arrival of the rain had meant the departure of all available taxis, he had little idea of how to get to Inverness Mansions.

The receptionist suggested that a District Line or Circle train would take him to Gloucester Road Station, from which it would not be more than five minutes’ walk. Mr. Nussbaum thanked him, turned up the collar of his raincoat and stepped out, brief-case in hand. He was looking forward to the bargaining match, the contest of bluff and skill, the game of commercial poker which he foresaw.

As he arrived at Inverness Mansions a policeman was coming out. There was a police car drawn up at the kerb. In the foyer the hall porter was talking to a worried-looking little man in pin-stripe trousers and a black coat whom Mr. Nussbaum assumed to be the manager. It took some time to attract their attention.

When he asked for number 28 they both looked at him sharply, and the manager said, ‘Would you be the doctor?’

‘No,’ said Mr. Nussbaum. ‘Just a business acquaintance. I had an appointment with him at eight.’

‘I think a doctor ought to see him first.’

‘He was quite definite, Mr. Parrock, that he did
not
require a doctor. Quite definite, he was.’

‘What’s happened?’ said Mr. Nussbaum.

‘He was attacked,’ said the porter. Two men. Foreigners, he says. As he was coming through the back door.’

The police have the matter in hand,’ said the manager.

‘Was he badly hurt?’

‘It seems he got a cut on the right hand. And wrenched his left shoulder. In my opinion, he should have seen a doctor at once.’

‘I know Colonel Delmaison fairly well,’ said Mr. Nussbaum. ‘He has had what you might call an adventurous career. A matter which might seem to you and me to call for medical attention may appear in a different light to him.’

‘Ah, well,’ said the manager, ‘that puts a rather different complexion on it. The flat’s on the second floor. If he should want anything, tell him to ring down. The sergeant will look after it.’

When Mr. Nussbaum pressed the bell of flat 28 there was a short pause. Then a shuffle of footsteps and a further pause, and the Colonel’s voice, ‘Who is it?’

‘Nussbaum here.’

‘All right. Hold on whilst I operate this bloody handle.’

When the door was opened Mr. Nussbaum appreciated his host’s difficulty. His left arm was in a sling and his right hand was heavily bandaged.

‘Come in,’ said the Colonel. ‘Shut the door. Pour yourself out a drink. The Scotch is in the corner cupboard. You can give me one too. Don’t be stingy with it.’

‘What on earth happened?’

‘What happened,’ said the Colonel morosely, ‘was that I was jumped. At my age, too. I’d put the car away. They must have been waiting for me just inside the back door. Thanks.’

He held the glass between the fingers of his padded right hand and tipped some whisky down his throat. Mr. Nussbaum noticed that some blood had soaked through the bandages.

‘Oughtn’t you to have that properly seen to?’ he said.

‘Just a scratch. The porter tied it up for me. He’s an old soldier. Made a good job of it.’

‘How did you—?’

‘Got it when I grabbed the knife. I had to move quickly. The other one was coming for me.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I kicked him in the gooleys,’ said the Colonel. That taught him the time of day. Luckily that porter came along, and they scarpered. He helped me up here and patched me up.’

‘We’d better call off our visit tonight.’

‘Call off nothing,’ said the Colonel. ‘Do you think I’m going to sidetrack business for a scratch on the hand and wrenched shoulder. I remember once in Bolivia when General Martinez gave me a bucko horse to ride. The old devil did it on purpose. It threw me off and I broke my right arm. I signed the contract before I’d seen a doctor. It’s the only one I’ve signed left-handed.’

Mr. Nussbaum, who had heard this story before, and disbelieved it, said, ‘We shan’t get a taxi. I can promise you that.’

‘We’ll use my car.’

‘You can’t drive it.’

‘No, but you can. Feel in my inside pocket. You’ll find the keys. The Yale is the garage door. The small one with a number on it is the car key. It’s an Austin 1800. Right-hand drive, but apart from that everything in the normal positions. O.K.?’

‘O.K.,’ said Mr. Nussbaum. ‘I’ll bring her round to the front.’ At the door he paused, looked back at the Colonel, who was finishing his drink, the glass held awkwardly in his padded right hand.

‘You’re a tough old devil, aren’t you?’ he said, with an unwilling note of admiration in his voice.

After he had gone, Colonel Rex remained standing, perfectly still. Then he said to himself, ‘I’m a tough old devil.’ It was as though he was reassuring himself.

Then came the roar of the explosion.

Even two storeys up, the blast was powerful enough to crack the window glass. The curtains billowed gently inwards.

‘Did you arrange to have him blown up, Mr. Greest?’

‘No, Hussein. I did not.’

‘Excuse the remark,’ said Sheik Ahmed. ‘The boy forgets his manners.’

‘But in one of the Tiger stories,’ said Prince Hussein. ‘It was called “The Tiger Strikes Back”. It took place in Algeria—’

‘If you cannot talk sensibly,” said his father, ‘I shall have to order you to leave the room. Apologise at once.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Prince Hussein. But he did not sound sorry. Hugo had the impression that in some way the happenings of the previous evening had raised his stock in the eyes of the heir to the throne of Umran.

‘We saw a report in the papers,’ said the Ruler. ‘Have you any idea what occurred?’

‘Colonel Rex telephoned me this morning. There were two men. Haitians or Dominicans he thought. Foreigners certainly. They had made one attempt to kill him already that evening. The Colonel escaped with a wrenched shoulder and a cut hand.’

‘What did he do to them?’ said Hussein.

‘He didn’t tell me.’

‘Perhaps he had a knife himself.’

‘Let Mr. Greest continue with his story.’

‘The police were called. They took a statement, and promised to have one of their men keep an eye on the block. Whilst they were doing this, the two men must have slipped out at the back and put an explosive charge in the Colonel’s car. It was garaged at the back.’