The Trojan Horse (11 page)

‘Yes,' I said. ‘I searched them myself. But there was someone before me. He came to get some clothes for Schmidt, who was supposed to be in some hospital.'

He took me up on that. ‘Supposed to be?' he cried, and his voice rose almost into a shout. ‘Then I suppose you know that he's not in hospital, that he's just vanished?'

‘I expected it,' I said.

‘Look here, Andrew, you and me have got to have a little talk. Can I come round to your rooms?'

‘No. I'm speaking from a little place in Devon.'

‘What the hell are you doing down there? All right, it doesn't matter. Let's get down to business.'

‘Listen,' I said. ‘I rang you up to tell you something, and this call is costing about two bob a minute.'

‘Well, damn it, you can afford it, can't you? What were you going to tell me?'

‘Just this. Did you know Evan Llewellin kept a motor-cruiser at Swansea?'

‘Yes, and it's missing. I've been searching all over the place for it.'

‘Well, it has just been requisitioned by the naval authorities. It's now on its way to the Calboyd Diesel Power Boat Yards at Tilbury. I think it'll repay investigation.
Perhaps I should tell you that Schmidt was a specialist in diesel engines.'

‘I know that.'

‘Did you also know that Calboyds had been after it?'

‘How do you know?'

‘Never mind that now. And look here, Desmond,' I added, ‘this is entirely between ourselves – about Calboyds, I mean. I've no proof yet. But keep your eyes open and for God's sake don't let them hold that boat of Llewellin's for a moment, or your evidence will be gone.'

‘What are you talking about?' Crisham's voice sounded exasperated. ‘Listen, Andrew. Where the devil do you stand in this business? What's your game? Has Schmidt become a client of yours, because, if so, you can set your mind at rest.'

‘You mean you've discovered that he didn't murder Llewellin?'

‘Yes. But it's no thanks to him. Running off like that, the fool nearly ran his head into a noose. It's just a stroke of luck that we've been able to fix him up with an alibi. Just as I thought the case was as clear as daylight, along comes an old scallywag who has been thieving scraps of metal from Llewellin's works. He looked in through the open door of the stamping-shop that night just as two men were coming out of Llewellin's office, and he could see Llewellin's body bent over the drill. He slipped away and nearly ran into Schmidt crossing from his own shed to the stamping-shop.'

‘Well, that's fine,' I said. ‘And who did murder Llewellin?'

‘If I knew, I wouldn't be wrangling over the phone with you,' he said angrily. ‘What I want to know is where you come in? What do you know about this business? Where's Schmidt? Where's his confounded daughter? And who murdered Llewellin? This case is giving me a pain in the neck and the Commissioner has been leading me a dog's life because – well, I suppose I oughtn't to tell you this – because Evan Llewellin was a secret agent. He covered the Swansea area, and since the beginning of the war he had been particularly helpful to the Ministry of Economic Warfare. Now, for God's sake, tell me what you know.'

‘All I know is in that statement at my bank, and you'll be able to read it at your leisure when I am no longer of this world. In the meantime, all I can tell you is that Schmidt's daughter is with me now and that Schmidt was framed. Find Schmidt and I think he'll be able to clear up the whole business. But understand this, Desmond,' I added, ‘don't run away with the idea that this business is as simple as murder. It's big. Work in with the Intelligence, and remember particularly what I said about getting hold of that boat and keeping an eye on Calboyds.' I cut short his sudden burst of questions by putting down the receiver.

When, over coffee, I told the others what I had said, David's comment was, ‘Having gone so far, I should have thought it would have been best to tell him the whole thing.'

‘Listen, David,' I said. ‘If you were an obstinate bulldog of a policeman, what would you say to that yarn? I've told him enough to make him curious. So long as he's curious, he'll go ferreting around Calboyds, however much of a howl they kick up. He's like that. A little knowledge makes him a dangerous man. Give him the whole thing worked out for him and he won't stir. Don't forget what we're up against. Calboyds isn't some tuppenny-ha'penny little concern. It's a big and powerful organisation and there's maybe something even bigger still behind it. If he thought he was on the point of trying to expose Calboyds as a Nazi-controlled company operating in favour of the enemy, he'd fight shy of it. He'd be out of his depth completely. But let him think that he's just investigating a murder that is linked up in some way with a little industrial swindling, and he knows his duty and will do it.'

Freya, I could see, was not interested in our conversation. She was sitting with clasped hands and a smile on her lovely face. ‘Well, that's one of your father's difficulties over,' I said. ‘Perhaps it's an omen.'

‘Oh, I hope so,' she said. Then suddenly she leaned forward and took my hands. ‘You've been so kind,' she said. It was an impulsive gesture, but something within me seemed to shrink from the touch of her smooth fingers. Her big dark eyes were swimming. The boyishness was gone suddenly from her and she was a woman on the verge of tears because she had found friends. She turned to David. The movement was less impulsive and she did not take his hands.
‘Thank you,' she said. ‘Thank you both. You have given me new heart.'

‘You've put new heart into me, too,' David said with a laugh. But I fancy his eyes were serious. He had come to Cornwall like a romantic schoolboy prepared to fall for the damsel in distress, and the damsel's beauty had exceeded his wildest dreams. Well, I must admit, they made a grand pair. And I wished suddenly that I was younger.

After our coffee we sat and smoked cigarettes and held a council of war. David was all for some desperate attempt to get the boat back. But I said, ‘No, there's a better way than that – the legal method, which they used. I know Rear-Admiral Sir John Forbes-Pallister. I can get him at the Admiralty and I think he'll be able to get that order rescinded. Another thing, we don't want to make straight for the Calboyd yards by car. We've thrown these boys off our track by swinging north like this out of the direct road route to London. Crisham will look after the boat for a day or two at any rate. And remember this, if we remain on the defensive, we're lost. We've got to attack. And the only place to open an offensive is in the City. The whole thing hinges on this control. I'm certain of that. If we can find out who is really at the back of Calboyds, then we'd be getting somewhere.'

‘Or if we could find my father,' said Freya.

‘That's true,' I said. ‘But I think the two go together. Crisham will do his best in the routine manner.'

They both agreed with me, so we pushed on to
Barnstaple, where we arranged for the car to be driven back to Penzance, and boarded an Ilfracombe-London express. We had dinner on the train and got into Paddington shortly after ten. I took them to a boarding-house in Guildford Street kept by a Mrs Lawrence. Both my rooms and David's studio were bound to be under observation. Mrs Lawrence was a Scotswoman married to a Chinaman – a wonderful combination for running a London boarding-house. I had had rooms there in my student days and she was glad to see me again. She looked tired and old, and when I discovered that she could let us have three rooms, I guessed the war had hit her business pretty badly. She took a fancy to Freya at once and fussed round her like an old hen, whilst her husband came and went with hot-water bottles and tea and his barely intelligible chatter of English.

I had just got into my pyjamas and was sitting in front of the hissing gas-fire in my dressing-gown smoking a pipe and thinking over the situation, when there was a knock at the door and David came in. He also had reached the dressing-gown stage and in his hand he held the evening paper that he had bought at Paddington. ‘I thought this might interest you.' He handed me the paper and pointed to a paragraph on one of the inside pages. It ran:

Sir James Calboyd has been appointed Director of Aero Engine Production. This appointment was announced by the Prime Minister in
answer to a question in the House this afternoon.

Sir James Calboyd is the chairman and founder of the Calboyd Diesel Company and the Prime Minister emphasised that the appointment had been made in conformity with the Government's policy of appointing industrial specialists to control industry wherever control has been found necessary.

Sir James is well known as a philanthropist. And it will be remembered that for many years he has been an advocate of the greater use of diesel engines for aircraft. He has a wide knowledge of the aircraft industry and of aero engine design. It is common knowledge that the Calboyd factories are undergoing rapid expansion and that the output of diesel engines for our bomber aircraft is being rapidly increased.

I looked across at David, who had pulled up a chair to the fire. ‘The old boy has a big pull somewhere,' I said. ‘It looks as though friend Schmidt was right about that order.'

David nodded. He was smoking a cigarette. ‘But is he our man?'

‘No,' I said. I had made up my mind on that point from the start. ‘Have you ever met him? Well, if you had, I think you would realise where he fits in. He's the unwitting tool behind which the Nazi control can operate without fear of discovery. You have some
knowledge of the history of the man – how he built up Calboyds by mating a small engineering business to a little marine yard on the Mersey. He was probably quite a clever engineer, but not brilliant. He succeeded enough to be able to afford to buy other people's brains. Very likely he used German brains. Calboyds has been built up since the last war and German brains were cheaply had in those post-war years. Don't forget, Germany is the home of the diesel engine. With success, Calboyd emerged as a philanthropist and was seen in the drawing-rooms of Mayfair. Mayfair is not a far cry from the skirts of Government, especially if you have money to spread about. He's a successful but not a brilliant man. And he's solid British – cultivates a military figure and can trace his family back to the Middle Ages. No, he's not our man, David.'

‘Well, how are we going to find out who is?'

‘That is just what I was considering when you came in. We haven't much time. That paragraph about Calboyds proves it – quite apart from the danger of their getting at the boat. And we've got to take the offensive.' I took my pouch from the corner of the washhand-stand and began to refill my pipe. ‘My line of attack is the City. I ought to be able to find someone in that rabbit-warren who can tell me who is at the back of Calboyds. But it may take time. It may be a question of delving into the background of the big share-holders. There's Ronald Dorman and the two others, besides Calboyd – John Burston and Alfred Cappock.' I lit my pipe and looked across the
flame at David, his big powerful body hunched over the fire. ‘Somehow,' I said, ‘we've got to trace Schmidt. Alive or dead, I believe he'll prove to be the key to the whole thing.'

‘I don't follow that at all,' David replied. ‘If he's alive and at liberty, he would have come to see you that Monday.'

‘I'm not sure about that,' I replied. It was a point that I had been turning over in my mind for some time. ‘I think he knew he'd got me interested. Perhaps that's all he wanted to do. Remember, he was on his own, wanted for murder by the police and foreign agents for the knowledge he possessed. If I had been in his shoes, I should have looked around for an ally. As a suspected murderer there were not many people open to him. But there was a chance with a man who was accustomed to defending criminals and murderers in the courts. Anyway, that's one way of looking at it, and if I remember rightly it was you who suggested it.'

‘That's true,' David replied. ‘But don't forget he was expecting the worst. I think it might be safer to work on the assumption that he is either dead or a prisoner. And in either case, I don't see that he's of much use to us.'

‘Take it at the worst and he's dead,' I said. ‘If we knew where he had been killed and could trace what he had been up to during his stay in London, we should know something. I have an idea he has friends among the refugees in this country. Somewhere he will have left a clue.'

David rose to his feet and stretched himself. ‘Somewhere,' he said. ‘You can't go looking through London for a clue dropped by an elderly Jewish refugee. I'm for bed, and in the morning I'm going to Manchester to see Calboyds about that money they owe me.'

So in the morning we each went our ways, he to Euston and I to the City. I left Freya instructions to stay indoors, and I told Mrs Lawrence to go out and get her a book and some chocolates.

But by the end of the morning I was tired of pumping friends about Calboyds and was feeling a little light-headed because my curiosity had involved me in a good deal of drinking. About lunch-time I found myself wandering into the City Office of the
Record
. Henderson, the City Editor, I knew through Jim Fisher, Editor of the
Record
. He greeted me like a long-lost friend and hauled me off to lunch with him. He ordered an enormous meal for us both at Pimms and then demanded that I tell him about the Margesson murder case, which I had completed just before the outbreak of war. ‘The City is dead, old boy. I'm bored stiff.' So I explained to him how I had got the woman off. And in exchange I got nothing out of him except the lunch. ‘Calboyds, old boy,' he said, when I broached the subject. He was already a little drunk. ‘Been out with Slater and a few of the boys,' he explained, ‘trying to get the low-down on this bullet-proof glass racket like a good little City Editor.' He made a wide encircling gesture with his hands. ‘Calboyds. Now there you've got something.
You go in, old boy – make a packet if only this war lasts.' He leaned close to me and whispered confidentially in my ear. ‘There's a big deal on there right now. I have it straight from the jolly old horse himself – you know, old Jimmy Calboyd, monocle and all. He's landing himself a contract for 10,000 of those new Calboyd Dragon engines. He tells me there's nothing to beat 'em – nothing at all. They're the goods, old boy. Absolutely. Knock the bloody Boche as flat as – as—' He looked round for something to illustrate flatness and then spread his hands in a vague but expressive gesture. ‘And do you know who gives him the order, Andie, my lad?'