Chapter 10 - Dark Work on the Home Front

Back in England, meanwhile, Gimlet was fretting to begin his own mission in the Faroe Islands but the need to follow up his contact with Villiers-Silver was delaying him. An invitation to a Christmas gathering at the latter's Somerset home was too good an opportunity to miss, though Copper was wary as they set off into the dark December evening.

'Wonder if there'll be a nasty surprise on the way home like there was last time,' he grumbled.

'He'd hardly be silly enough to draw attention to himself in that way,' considered Gimlet. 'He'll know we reported the previous incident and two in a row would make anyone suspicious.'

'He might think that way but some of 'is men may not.'

'They'll have been told to lay off. That clumsy effort on the road was a piece of misjudged initiative, which I'm sure infuriated him. He wants to keep an eye on me now. Assess if there's a threat.'

'I still don't like it.'

'I'm more concerned about Cub, having to act as our advance guard in the Faroes. And Trapper hasn't reported for a while. We're finding it hard to act as a unit at present.'

Trapper had been given a watching brief over Sir Simon and his cohorts. He was following two of them now, at a distance, since he thought he knew where they were going – the house set back from the road that this pair had been dropped off at after being shadowed from the Stately Home. He had been here before and discovered how to scale the wall by a helpful tree and gain entrance to the house without activating its alarms. The house was uninhabited, apart from a caretaker, and only used for confidential meetings, he supposed.

There were two cars drawn up before the entrance. There was also a dog but he had made friends with that by passing on a number of occasions and feeding it tit-bits through the gate. His scent had become so familiar that it welcomed him now, eager for its treat, which he did not fail to provide. A plentiful growth of ivy gave access to the upper floor near by the garage roof, which allowed a more secure footing. He used this facility now, easily gaining egress, and, peering carefully through a gap in hastily drawn curtains, found it hard to restrain a gasp. The room was unexceptional. A man sat at a desk just below the window. Another stood by the door, a gun in his hand. But what startled Trapper was the identity of the forlorn figure, flanked by the two men he had followed. It was a lady he had met before – the one they called Frecks.

Huddled against a sharp biting wind, Cub Peters surveyed his surroundings. With the exception of the airport bus, waiting nearby, and the distant ferryboat, chugging towards them, there was nothing to meet his eye but rock and grass and water. His journey from the airport in the Faroe Islands had lasted for almost half-an-hour so far and he could not recall catching sight of a tree. Close by was a waterfall, leaping dramatically down a cliff to plunge into the fjord below. So common was this feature it was almost as if the land had only recently been hauled up from the ocean and the waters were still running off. A bleak, rugged place, he decided, but it had its own kind of beauty, those majestic torrents being part of it.

The ferry arrived and Cub returned to the warmth of the bus. He had only a handful of travelling companions – Faroese returning from business trips to Denmark, no doubt.

The bus trundled on to the ferry and, with a drizzle in the wind, Cub now elected to stay on board rather than enjoy more fresh air. Actually he was surprised to find the area still free of snow, since they were about two hundred miles north of Scotland and this was December. He knew, though that the Gulf Stream still mollified the extremes of cold, even in this high latitude, clearly to a significant degree.

He wondered how Gimlet was getting on. Breaking the party up had been unavoidable once the lead to Villiers-Silver was discovered; there was productive work going on there, he was sure, but he doubted if his own role would come to anything. Officially he had come to gather material for a book on the Islands and was making notes on the scenery to satisfy that end. It gave him some excuse for his real scouting mission but what and how he was supposed to scout was beyond him. So far any action had come about through ill-judged moves by the opposition, who clearly thought Raymond had more information than he actually possessed. If anything were to accrue here it would have to be from the same reason, he decided. Whether he would be connected with Gimlet, now known to their enemies, was a matter of speculation. He thought not, in which case, when Gimlet did come, he was not to make direct contact with him other than as one Englishman abroad to another.

The ferry arrived at the harbour of a small town and the bus resumed its journey to Torshavn, the capital. It seemed to Cub that one of his fellow passengers was paying more than a passing interest in him but maybe he was being a trifle paranoid. The man, thickset and dark-moustached beneath a battered old peaked hat, which might have been naval in its day, turned his head away again to stare forward. His face was expressionless.

They arrived on the wet and windy quay at Torshavn. Cub found a taxi and was soon knocking on the door of the house, whose spare apartment he was renting. A homely couple answered, the man slim and clean-shaven, his wife plump and surprisingly rosy-cheeked. They handed him the key and he made himself at home. Taking advantage of a break in the weather, he followed their directions to the nearest shop and, having purchased his initial provisions, came back to make himself a meal. Daylight had predictably perished early, he noted. It was not a lavish meal, mainly out of tins and washed down with hot tea, but it was agreeable none the less. Lying on his bed afterwards, he wondered whether he was being watched – had there been anyone at the airport they could hardly have missed him – and how he would be able to maintain contact with Gimlet. This was, he mused, a place where one could disappear very easily.

It had been the Air Commodore's idea that Frecks should return to England as soon as he heard from Lisbon of Steeley's phone call.

'The Gadfly has an enormous range,' he explained to her. 'Carrington and Mackail will be able to pick Worrals up and fly right through without returning here. If the sea's calm enough, they'll be able to come down and top-up on the way in any case if they need to. There's a B.E.A. flight in a couple of hours and there's a seat for you on it. I'll be on a RAF plane as soon as I get word of Worrals being on her way.'

'Where will the Gadfly make for?'

'It'll probably refuel in the Scilly Isles and go on to London. They should arrive sometime tomorrow, if all goes well, and you could be there to meet them.'

The flight was uneventful but Frecks endured it with conflicting emotions. How Worrals could have escaped from Pereira's grasp, she couldn't imagine but it was joyful news if true. There was still the matter of a rendezvous with the Gadfly, however – a prospect that filled her with anxiety. Still, in twenty-four hours time, they might be together again if all the plans worked out and that would be a great relief.

It was dark when she arrived at Gatwick Airport. Having nothing to declare, she was quickly through the landing formalities and looking for the sign to the railway station when she heard a voice behind her.

'Miss Lovell?'

She turned. A tall, good looking young man stood there, a peaked hat on his head.

'Yes,' she said, cautiously.

'Air Commodore Raymond thought you ought to be met.'

'That's very kind of him. Is he concerned with my comfort or my safety?'

'He didn't say. Bit of both, I expect.'

Worrals would have made some choice observations at this point but Frecks was quite willing to be pampered for once and simply smiled.

'I hope you don't mind,' the man said, a little awkwardly, 'and please don't tell anyone or I'll be in trouble, but . . . er . . .my girl-friend's also due to arrive about now and I thought, since there'll be room in the car . . .'

Frecks smiled encouragingly.

'That's all right. Far be it from me to obstruct the course of young love.'

'Ah, here she is,' he said as a young dark-haired woman approached, pushing a trolley. They kissed and the party moved to the car park.

'Where have you come from?' asked Frecks.

'Paris,' said the woman. 'No chance to shop, though, worse luck.'

They reached the car and Frecks happily agreed to go in the back so the lovers could chat in the front. There was a glass partition in between so she wouldn't overhear any of the loving conversation. With her bags safely in the boot, Frecks got in and the door was closed. There was a faint hiss as she sat down – air escaping no doubt – but, as the car drove away, she began to feel drowsy. Not surprising, perhaps, after recent tensions, but as her thoughts started to jumble, she tried to attract the attention of those in front. Suddenly it was difficult to use her arms and, as she spiralled into unconsciousness, her final impression was that of the hissing noise continuing from under her seat.

She was aware of movement as she began to come round but the car had stopped by the time she could sit up. Two men opened the back door and half-dragged, half-carried her into a building and up some stairs into a room, where, still giddy and befuddled, she felt herself dropped on to a settee. Vaguely she could hear the car that had brought her driving away and her next sensation was of two sharp slaps around the face and a growling man's voice.

'Snap out of it,' he ordered.

Frecks began to focus. She looked for the young couple who had tricked her but they had gone, presumably in the car she had heard leaving. Three burly men stood around her; a fourth sat at a table, watching her intently, his eyes, cold as a vulture's, filling her with horror.

'Give her a wet towel,' he said. 'We need her talking quickly.'

The alacrity with which this command was obeyed showed him to be a man of some authority. The towel, though, was flung at her with some force. She wiped her face with it and then was given some water to drink. She handed back the glass, which was placed on the table, and was then forced to her feet by two of the men. A third stood behind her, holding a gun. She stood facing the man at the table, her thoughts in a turmoil. That there must have been an agent of da Silva's in Gibraltar was obvious and it was hardly surprising that they should be aware of Raymond's name. But the speed of their operation was daunting.

'No-one knows you are here,' the figure at the desk was saying, 'so your only hope of being freed is to answer my questions. If we are satisfied with your responses, you will be returned to some distant place in the same manner as you have been brought here.'

'I bet!' thought Frecks. 'Spill the beans to you and my only escape will be a hole in the ground.' It was inconceivable that they should simply let her go. She had been in some tough spots in her time but none seemed more hopeless than this.

'Just a few identities is all we ask,' said the man, his voice more cultured than the others but icy with menace. 'Who gave you the material that you smuggled out to Gibraltar?'

Frecks thought for a moment.

'We did see a lot of a Captain Pereira,' she said.

Instantly, at a sign from those vulture eyes, one of the men beside her wrenched her left arm behind her back while the other once more slapped her viciously across the face. Behind her the man with the gun laughed.

'We do not have time to waste,' her questioner said, sharply. 'It will be very unpleasant for you if you do not co-operate – very unpleasant. Why endure the agonies of a broken arm when you will tell us everything in the end, anyway?'

There was a clatter from outside and the dog barked.

'See what that is,' he said to the man behind her. 'Probably just a cat but best be sure.'

The man, gun in hand, left.

'Nobody can enter these grounds without us knowing,' the man at the table explained. 'Now let me ask you again. Who gave you the information in San Miguel? And what other contacts did you make?'

Frecks did not answer. This time the backhanded blow to her face sent her sprawling on to the settee again, a cry of pain spilling from her lips.

'We haven't started to be unpleasant yet,' the man assured her. 'And scream as much as you like – the nearest people are a long long way away.'

He came from behind the desk so that when she looked up there were three grim figures staring down at her. Frecks held her face in her hands. Her nose was bleeding as a result of the blow and she tried to reach in her handbag for a handkerchief but was prevented.

'Not till you answer my questions,' the man said. 'Now . . .'

He stopped suddenly, staring at something behind her.

'Hands up,' said a new voice, with cold dispassion.

Frecks looked round and almost screamed again. There stood a figure in a long coat, his face masked by a stocking – the stuff of nightmares.

The two men who had been beside her raised their hands instantly but their leader was hesitant.

'What if I don't?' he began.

The newcomer fired and a bullet seared away a piece of jacket close to the neck, tore through the curtains and embedded itself in the window frame. The man was persuaded.

'Face down on the floor,' the voice continued. 'If I had my way you would die slowly. You, woman,' he said to Frecks, still cowering on the settee, 'take this spare gun and shoot anyone who moves.'

Frecks stood up and took the automatic she was handed.

'You bet,' she said, fear beginning to give way to anger. 'It'll be a pleasure.'

The figure took from a pocket some twine and proceeded to bind the men. He was obviously well practised in knots, thought Frecks, observing. He also removed a gun from each, then walked over to the wall and wrenched out the phone. Frecks gazed in bewilderment and still some apprehension as he motioned her outside.

On the stairs he removed the stocking and the coat.

'Ma foi,' he said, 'I wouldn't want to wear these for long.'

'You're one of Gimlet's men,' gasped Frecks in relief. 'Trapper!'

'A votre service, mademoiselle. Now I think we must depart.'

'Where did the stocking come from?'

'There are two opened suitcases inside the front door. I got it from there.'

'Then it's probably mine.'

'Better have it back, then,' said Trapper, handing it to her, a trifle sheepishly.

The contents of Frecks' cases were strewn about the floor in the hall.

'Pack quickly,' Trapper advised. 'I'll find some meat for the dog.'

'What about the other man?'

'He's sleeping. Lucky for us he came out the right door.'

It took a moment or two for Frecks to bundle her clothes inside the cases and restore a little pile of possessions to her BEA cabin bag.

'You'll never climb the fence with those,' Trapper observed, returning. 'I'll activate the front gates. We'll go out in style.'

The dog, which had been on the other side of the building when Trapper knocked its master out, growled suspiciously at their approach but the meat and Trapper's familiar smell mollified it. Laden with Frecks' luggage, they passed without incident, much to Trapper's relief, for he did not want to have to shoot the creature.

A waning moon gave them a sliver of light as they passed thankfully through the open gates and Frecks followed Trapper to where he had parked his car. She giggled slightly in her relief.

'What's so funny?' asked Trapper, who was carrying the cases.

'I was just thinking,' said Frecks, 'if it has this result, you can wear my stockings any time you like.'

Trapper clicked his tongue, an old trick he had picked up from Canadian Indians.

'They look better on you,' he said gallantly and trudged on.

The gates to the Villiers-Silver mansion were open when Copper and Gimlet approached and Copper was able to drive straight in.

'That could be useful,' mused Gimlet. 'Obviously with a party this size, it would be a bind to keep opening and shutting them. But, if you see anything that would be useful to pursue, follow it up. I can always hitch a lift with Freddie if it comes to it.'

'Right, sir,' said Copper.

Gimlet was welcomed by a rotund beaming butler, who announced his arrival with all formality. One of the first people he saw was Freddie and he greeted him immediately.

'Still in this neck of the woods, then,' said Gimlet. 'I thought you'd have been heading back to Sussex by now – Christmas by the family hearth and all that.'

'I'm off tomorrow,' said Freddie. 'My cousin's back from the States so he'll start looking after Uncle George again. Save me a heap of time in commuting.'

Villiers-Silver came over, smiling a welcome.

'Good to see you, Captain King,' he said. 'I trust you are well.'

'Can't complain. Yourself?'

'Not so bad.'

'Did you hear about the rogue lorry that nearly wrote us off after that do at Captain Ashton's?'

'No,' said Villiers-Silver, his face betraying nothing. 'It was quite foggy that night, I recall. Lot of idiots on the roads these days, of course. They'll give anyone a licence who can start and stop the thing. Much damage?'

'Negligible. My driver reacted in time, fortunately.'

'Let's hope tonight is less eventful.'

'Yes, indeed.'

They talked of trivialities for a while. Villiers-Silver went off to greet another guest and then returned.

'Kept in touch with any of your men?' he enquired, almost casually. 'Commando unit you ran, wasn't it?'

'Yes,' said Gimlet guardedly. 'I run into some of them now and then. Annual get-together – that sort of thing.'

'Must've been a pretty varied bunch.'

'All good men and true.'

'Some closer than others, I imagine. Comrades in arms often become good friends.'

'Yes,' agreed Gimlet. 'Has that been your experience, too?'

'Oh yes, oh yes,' said the other vaguely. 'Only my war was a little quieter than yours by all accounts. Oh, excuse me.'

He broke off as his butler beckoned and moved into another room. Gimlet chatted to other guests and wondered why Villiers-Silver had shown such interest. Clearly he would have marked down Copper but Cub and Trapper were unsuspected as far as he knew and he meant to keep it that way. It struck him that his host's anxieties might also embrace Freddie, which could be a useful distraction unless any more little road accidents were planned.

Whatever information the butler had conveyed had disconcerted Sir Simon, causing his smile to flicker uncertainly at times.

'Not bad news, I hope,' probed Gimlet, hypocritically.

'Business matters,' said Sir Simon. 'Problems with some of my associates.'

Below stairs, Copper was reminiscing with Freddie's chauffeur when the phone rang. Sir Simon's driver answered it and then left the room.

'Think I'll get a breath of air,' said Copper and wandered out, keeping as much out of sight as he could. Sure enough, a few moments later, the other man emerged and, eschewing the Rolls Royce, drove off in a humble Ford. Copper, sliding into Gimlet's Bentley, let him get almost to the gates before setting off in pursuit, not flicking on his lights till the other vehicle had taken a right turn into the road outside. He did likewise and settled down to follow.

Once Frecks' cases had been transferred to the boot of Trapper's car, his intention had been to drive away. He was about to start up, in fact, with Frecks beside him, when they heard the noise of another vehicle approaching.

Trapper paused, kept his lights off and waited. He had parked off the road amidst some bushes and doubted if he could be seen. The vehicle came past, driven with some urgency, but stopped for a moment at the open gates. Frecks suspected it might be the car she was kidnapped in, now returned.

'Take this gun,' Trapper said when she reported her suspicions. 'It might be instructive to hear what they are saying.'

'You're not going back in there!'

'Why not? They'll think we're well away. The last thing they'll expect is for us to stay around.'

With that Trapper faded into the night, leaving Frecks uncomfortable and alone.

Copper hadn't driven very far before he noted the car in front turning off near the railway station. Reaching the point he realised that the chauffeur had simply entered the car park of a public house. Copper was just in time to see the man disappearing into the building and soon picked out the car in the lighted forecourt.

He stopped, flummoxed for the moment. It looked as if the man had simply gone off to his local for a drink. There was no reason why he shouldn't, in fact – his master was unlikely to need him that evening. In that case there was little point in Copper remaining. He could go into the pub himself, of course, but to be seen would defeat his object and he decided to wait a while before making any further decision.

Another large car drove in from the other direction with four men aboard. It stopped right beside the building and they went in. Within a few minutes, though, the car was driving out again and back the way it had come. Copper noted, idly, that there were now three men in the back seat.

'Well, they didn't stay long,' he mused. 'Must've just dropped by to pick up their mate.'

A thought struck him and he got out of the car and walked towards the inn. He looked inside and made some purchases but a few quick glances told him his man was not there.

'Swelp me,' he growled, walking smartly back. 'Fancy falling for an old trick like that. I might 'ave guessed 'e'd expect me to come after 'im.'

Back in the car, he drove off at once in the direction the other vehicle had taken, not in any hopes of picking up its traces, for nearly ten minutes had passed since it had left, but following a hunch that he knew its destination.

'That place Trapper was 'aving a decko at's this way,' he muttered, heading out of the village. 'If that gang of toughs turns up, 'e might need a little 'elp.'

Frecks sat nervously in the car, waiting for Trapper to return. True she had a gun in her hand but it was far too dark to be sure of using it effectively and, unless her life was actually threatened, she had no inclination to fire it anyway. There might be little light but she still felt the car would be conspicuous if anyone were prowling around and, closing the door as quietly as she could, she took up a position behind a nearby tree, confident now that, even if the vehicle was discovered, she would not be.

Moments later she heard another car approaching. It passed at some speed, braking sharply to turn in at the gate. There had been no attempt to close these, which suggested that the lone occupant was expected.

More silence succeeded for a while. An owl hooted nearby; a sudden rustle in the bushes indicated a brief struggle for life and death in the animal kingdom. But the next sound was more sinister: it was a smothered cough. She made out two shapes moving stealthily towards her. They stopped by the car. She expected a torch to flick on but instead there was a muffled conference and the figures moved back to the bushes. Frecks began to ease away but suddenly felt herself grabbed from behind, her gun dropping to the floor.

Now the torch was turned on, dazzling her by its beam.

'This must be the girl,' grated a voice. 'Where's her companion, I wonder.'

'Let's ask her,' said a man to her left. That made four of them, she registered bleakly. 'Give her arm a jerk, Lefty.'

The man behind her twisted her arm up behind her back. She gasped with pain but just as it was becoming unbearable, something sang through the air, there was a startled half-grunt behind her and all the pressure ceased. Instead she could feel her captor knocking her forward slightly as he sprawled to the floor against her heel. The torch swung round, wildly. Frecks tried to run but an arm on her left clutched her.

She lashed out frantically but there came another disturbance. The man holding her was suddenly pulled away. A sound of fists succeeded and he, too, was lying on the ground. The torch flashed back again and Frecks noticed that one man had a gun. The strange whistling noise returned for an instant and the torch fell on the floor, its bearer now clutching his wrist. The gun was fired blindly, the bullet whining harmlessly into the trees, then there was another scuffle and more blows. The final man tried to pick up the torch but then sank to the ground as he too received a blow to the head.

'C'est ca,' said Trapper calmly.

'Where's the chauffeur?' came Copper's voice.

'Inside.'

'That should be it, then. There were four of 'em plus 'im.'

'Time we left, I t'ink,' decided Trapper, moving to the car. They jumped in, Frecks settling thankfully in the front, and drove away.

'Didn't expect to see you,' Copper said to her, conversationally.

Frecks explained what had happened. 'You timed your arrival well,' she finished.

'I'd been following them. Drop me off 'ere,' he added to Trapper. 'This is where I parked Gimlet's motor.'

'Be quick,' Trapper advised, looking in his mirror. There are two vehicles behind us.'

'Ho, are there?' growled Copper. 'I bought some bottles of beer in that pub earlier. See 'ow they like going over them when they're broken.'

He leapt out as Trapper stopped. Seconds later Frecks, an eye to the rear, heard the car start up and saw the sleek lines of the Bentley emerge. Copper jumped out with his bottles, which he proceeded to smash. Trapper started off again.

'If Copper's trick fails we may have to try other means of persuasion,' he said significantly.

'You can't start a gun battle in an English country lane,' said Frecks, shocked.

'They fired at us,' said Trapper simply.

Frecks gazed behind. The lights of a vehicle travelling swiftly came into view. At the last second the driver must have spied the glass, for he swerved violently to avoid it. Whether he succeeded or not was immaterial, for he lost control, bounced off a tree and came to rest with the car bonnet plunged into bushes. Too close to stop, the second vehicle caught the back of the car, spinning it round to face the way it had come, and itself crashed off the road on the other side. Trapper clicked his tongue in satisfaction.

'I hope they weren't innocent travellers,' cried Frecks, suddenly aware of that possibility.

'We won't go back to see,' said Trapper, drily.

They stopped for a conference a little further on. Copper was chuckling.

'That'll learn 'em,' he said. 'They won't go kidnapping in that car for a while.'

'There could be trouble if they're badly hurt,' Frecks pointed out.

'You might 'ave been badly hurt if Trapper 'adn't got you out,' returned Copper, 'and so might I if that bullet had 'it me. Serve 'em right fer driving recklessly in a country lane. What say you, Trapper, me ol' mate. Am I right?'

Trapper clicked his tongue.

'Every time, pal,' he agreed.

'Don't forget those cars probably carry radio,' Frecks reminded. 'If you haven't bent their aerials too much, they may still be able to communicate.'

'True,' said Trapper. 'Where now?'

'I'll get back to Gimlet,' said Copper promptly. I'll need to be safely in the house looking innocent by the time that chauffeur returns. Best take Frecks to Gimlet's, where we can all look after her.'

'I'd prefer to go to London,' said Frecks, 'especially if there's a chance of Worrals coming in tomorrow. She'll need to be warned in case they try the same stunt on her. Besides, if they're already suspicious of Gimlet, his house might be the very place they'll expect you to take me.'

'You've got something there,' conceded Copper.

'I'll drive you to London,' Trapper offered. 'I'll ring Gimlet when we're there and see what he suggests.'

'You be all right on yer own,' queried Copper. 'Maybe Trapper should stay in cooey till we know what's what.'

'Fine with me,' assented Trapper. 'How do you feel about that?'

'I'd be grateful,' said Frecks, fervently. 'You can spend the night in Worrals' room. Might get the neighbours talking for a bit but that can't be helped.'

'Right then,' Trapper said. 'We'd better be moving.'

'By the way,' asked Frecks as Copper departed, 'what were you hitting them with?'

Trapper chuckled.

'I can't carry a bow and arrow around England,' he explained. 'This is less conspicuous.'

He held up a catapult.

'Plenty of ammunition available, too.'

Copper drove back to the huge house without incident, parked the car in its previous earlier position and slipped inconspicuously inside. It was not long before people started to leave and soon it was his turn to drive to the entrance. Gimlet was shaking hands with Villiers-Silver and came down the steps to enter the car, Copper opening the door for him.

'I'm dropping into Freddie's en route for a night-cap,' Gimlet said as they drove away.

'Aye, aye, sir,' said Copper.

A few minutes later, as they passed the public house, they noticed Villiers-Silver's chauffeur with blood on his face, getting out of a car, which had a dented offside and a battered bonnet.

'Ho,' Copper intoned with satisfaction. 'He seems to 'ave met with an accident.'

'Make sure you don't,' said Gimlet curtly.