Sinister Errand

1: The Heap of Feathers-3

The station sergeant was agreeable and sympathetic. I said: "A relative of mine— a cousin named Carew— was killed early this morning by one of these flying bombs— the one that came down in the Square. I thought I ought to make a proper identification."

He said he'd look into it and went away. I leaned up against the desk and smoked a cigarette.

When he came back he said: "That's quite right. Apparently somebody— a civilian— saw him come out of a house in Verity Street. He saw him go across the Square just about the time the 'doodle-bug' came down. It blew a truck that was in the square on top of him. He could have been killed either by the bomb or the truck. If you'd like to see him he's round in the mortuary. I'll take you round there. By the way, could I have your name and address?"

I produced an identity card; then we went round to the mortuary.

It was Sammy all right. His face was practically untouched. He looked better looking than ever, I thought. The rest of him was covered over with a blanket. I stood there looking at him, thinking about the old days. I thought it was a bit tough that Sammy who'd been in so many tight corners should be finished by Mr. Hitler's V1. I wondered exactly what he'd had on him when he died; whether there was anything he wouldn't have liked found.

I said to the Sergeant: "I suppose there were some effects?"

He said: "Yes." He looked at Sammy. "You're satisfied about him?"

I said: "Yes, that's Carew. There's no question about it."

He asked: "Are you the next of kin or is there anybody else?"

I said: "Yes, there's an aunt. I didn't want to worry her about it till I was quite certain. I'll let her know about it."

He said: "By the way, I'd like you to look at some of the things we found on him. Strangely enough, he had two identity cards, both of which seemed to be legitimate. One is in the name of Carew, and the other in another name. I suppose you wouldn't know anything about that?"

I said: "No, I wouldn't know anything about that."

He went to a drawer and produced a silk handkerchief; I remembered it— a rather nice Chinese silk thing that Sammy had had a long time. He brought it over and put it on the desk. There was a rather badly torn pocket-book, a few coins, a twisted tiepin and a .38 Colt Automatic. I looked at the things.

The Sergeant said: "I wonder what he was carrying a gun for."

I said I wouldn't know. I said that Carew had been a rather dramatic sort of person— one of those people who like carrying pistols. I picked the gun up and took the clip out. I looked at it: slipped it back again.

I said: "I wonder why it is men want to carry automatic pistols. I suppose it's a theatrical habit."

He nodded. He wrapped the things up in the silk handkerchief; put them back in the drawer.

I said: "You've been very kind. I'll go off now and have a word with his aunt. I expect she'll come round. You'll want all the ends properly tied up."

He said it would be rather nice if she could.

I said good-evening, went out of the police station, walked down the road until I found a bar. I went in and bought myself a large whisky and soda. I drank it slowly and wondered what I was going to do about Sammy and one or two other things. The situation looked as if it was going to be very difficult, I thought. If I got in touch with the Old Man he'd probably be damned annoyed. He gets like that. He expects people to work out their own salvation and I couldn't see myself working out anything at all on this job.

I had another whisky and soda, walked around for a bit until I found a telephone call box, went inside and rang the Old Man. His voice came over the wire as terse and acid as ever.

I said: "Listen, I'm not very happy about anything. I want to talk to you."

He said: "For God's sake— what do you have to talk to me for? I thought you were intelligent. You've got the reputation for being intelligent anyway. What's the matter? Haven't you seen Carew?"

I said: "No, and I'm afraid I shan't have the opportunity either."

There was a pause; then he said: "I see. All right. I'll be at the Half Moon, off Bruton Street, in fifteen minutes' time. There's a little private bar at the back."

I said: "All right," and hung up.

It took me the fifteen minutes to walk to Bruton Street. I went into the Half Moon, through the saloon bar into the private bar on the other side. I bought myself a drink and carried it over to the table in the corner where the Old Man was sitting. He'd got a large glass of port in front of him. His face was more lined than ever, but his hands were still young looking and strong. Standing there, looking at him, I thought he was a rather marvellous old boy when you came to consider it; he hadn't aged much since I'd seen him last, two years before.

He said: "Sit down. What's all this damned nonsense about Carew?"

I said: "It's not a bit of good losing your temper. It's not going to get anybody anywhere. Here's the story. After I spoke to you on the telephone I called Sammy. I got through to him because he hadn't telephoned me. He was going to a party. He told me to meet him there. This was last night. Well, I went there. It was quite a good party— the usual sort of thing— you know, some very attractive women and a lot of liquor..."

He interrupted. He said: "You didn't get a chance to talk to him?"

"That's right," I said. "I think he'd had a couple. I tried to get him into a corner once or twice, but he didn't want to talk."

The Old Man said: "Probably he didn't want to talk there. Maybe he was scared of something."

I raised my eyebrows. "I wonder what would scare Sammy," I said.

The Old Man looked at me. His eyes were a little tired, I thought.

He said: "He was scared all right about something. All right, what happened then?"

I said: "Well, when I saw that we weren't going to get down to any sort of business I suppose I got drunk too. I went home. I got up late this afternoon. I'd got his address written down on a piece of paper in my pocket. I went round there. It looked as if he'd got up in a hurry. I looked around to see if he'd left any sort of tip-off and I found a little pile of swansdown in a tray on the dressing-table. There was a woman round there— a nice looking woman. She suggested he might be at a pub called The Heap of Feathers. I went round there. There I got on to another place he'd been to. He'd been there with a woman, Apparently he left there early this morning. Some civilian saw him leave the place; saw him turn across into the Square. Then a flying bomb came down and a repair truck was blown on top of him. That was the end of him."

The Old Man never batted an eyelid. He said: "Have you seen him?"

I nodded. "I've just left the mortuary," I said. "It was Sammy all right."

The Old Man sighed. He said: "It's not so good, is it?"

I looked at him. "Isn't it?" I said. "Why isn't it?"

He said: "The trouble is I don't know what Sammy was doing. He was sent down here by you know who. He got in touch with me the day before yesterday. He told me he was on to something pretty big. He asked if you were around. I said we were expecting you back off the boat some time soon. He said if you arrived for you to be put in touch with him. He'd talk to you about it and you could let me know. He said there wasn't any time to be lost. He'd got to get a ripple on. He didn't particularly want to contact me. Now you know as much as I do."

I said: "Well, it sounds like one of those nice intelligent obvious set-ups... I don't think. Nobody knows anything about anything except Sammy— and he's dead."

The Old Man finished his glass of port. He picked it up, took my empty glass, went to the bar, ordered more drinks, brought them back. He put my whisky in front of me and sat down.

I said: "Where do I go from here?"

He looked at me and smiled. He said: "Well, there's two things can be done. We can either write Sammy off and let it go like that or you can try somehow to pick up the pieces and see what you can make of it. You and he were rather friendly, weren't you?"

I said: "Yes, Sammy was rather a friend of mine."

He said: "What a piece of luck that he should have to be killed at a time like this. That's what you'd call a bad break, isn't it?"

I got up. I said: "It's not so good. I'll be on my way." I smiled at him. "I think we'll take the second alternative," I said. "I'll see if I can put any of the pieces together. There's no harm in trying anyway."

He liked that. He gave me one of his big toothy grins. He said: "You're not a bed feller after all. You're damn conceited, but you're not so bad. You do what you can. If you want anything let me know."

I said I would.

He went on: "If I know anything about you, you're interested in something. Something's got you over this business, hasn't it? I suppose you were fonder of Carew than you're inclined to let on?"

I lit a cigarette. "Maybe," I said. "Maybe it's that, but there's another thing. He wasn't killed by any 'doodle' bomb. Somebody killed him."

He raised his eyebrows. He said: "So you think it's like that?"

I said: "I know it is. I'll be seeing you."

I went out into the street. I left him looking at the glass of port.

After a bit I began to walk back in the direction of Verity Street. Inside I was rather tickled with the whole business. I thought it was one of the funniest spots I had ever been in my life. So Sammy had been on to something that he hadn't told anybody about, but he was going to tell me. And then when he got the chance at the party last night he ducked. That was probably because he knew he was high and didn't want to talk then. Well, he certainly wouldn't talk now, and the Old Man had put me in a spot— a bad spot. I'd got to play this off the cuff. Whoever it was said "when in doubt don't" wasn't really very wise. If you're in doubt and you don't do anything, things get worse. The thing to do is to follow your nose. It's certain to lead you into something some time.

I stood in front of Janine's front door looking at her engraved card under the bell-push, wondering about her. After a bit I stabbed the bell with my forefinger. The door clicked open and I went up the curving stairs. She was standing on the landing leaning against the doorpost in practically the same attitude as when I'd seen her before.