The Trojan Horse (9 page)

David added thoughtfully, ‘The reasoning is sound. But what about this requisitioning party? Don't tell me that we've arrived just in the nick of time to save the heroine from having the secret engine stolen from her by her father's enemies.'

‘I doubt it,' I said. ‘You've got a thriller mentality, David. But stranger coincidences happen in real life. What is more likely is that we have arrived just in time to see the boat requisitioned by the naval authorities. A lot of these small craft are being called in for patrol work just now.'

We had reached the beach, but there was no sign of the girl. The foreshore was narrow and the slope to it was paved. On this paved slope lay a few small boats. The studio itself backed on to the shore. The road curved round and finished against a shoulder of rock, and in this rock gaped the mouth of a cave with daylight visible at the other end. I went over to it and entered. It sloped sharply to another beach, and fishermen's nets and other gear were stored against the walls of it.

We went down it and emerged on to the second and smaller beach. Here were more boats and among them, a motor-cruiser painted white with the name
Sea Spray
in black on the stern. She was a forty-footer, fast-looking, but broad enough in the beam to be handy in a seaway. From beyond the boat came the sound of voices raised in altercation.

We moved nearer. ‘Look, I've said I'm sorry,' came
a man's voice. ‘I'm not responsible for the requisition order I have. I'm merely acting on instructions.'

‘What if the boat isn't mine?' This was a woman's voice, clear and firm.

‘That doesn't make any difference. I've explained that. All I'm concerned about is the boat, not its ownership. Anyway, if the boat isn't yours, what are you worrying about?'

‘Well, the boat is mine, but the engine isn't. It's a very costly kind of engine and the person who lent it to me would be most upset if it passed out of my hands with the boat. You'll have to let your order stand over until I've had the engine removed.'

There was no doubt in my mind now. I nodded to David and we rounded the stern of the boat to find a young naval lieutenant in the act of clambering on to the yacht. ‘I'm afraid legally an engine is part of a boat,' he was saying. ‘It wouldn't be much good to us without one, anyway.'

He had two sailors with him and he motioned them on board. But it was the girl that riveted my attention. She was dressed in a blue corduroy suit, which, though it had obviously seen a great deal of hard wear, was well enough cut to look very smart with its navy shirt and red-striped tie. But though her figure was entrancingly neat and boyish, it was her head that inevitably held one's gaze. I think it was the finest head I had ever seen on a woman. The face was oval to the point of the firm chin and framed in black hair brushed sleek to the nape of the neck. The mouth was clearly moulded and full enough to give promise
of warmth. The nose was straight and small, with delicately chiselled nostrils, and the thin line of the eyebrows swept upwards over large dark eyes to a high forehead. It is difficult to describe her and at the same time give any idea of the extreme perfection of those features. It was a beauty that took your breath away when you first saw it. It was the nearest I have ever seen in life to the head of Nefertiti.

‘Well, you can't take her out in this sea,' she said. Two angry spots of colour were showing through the tan of her cheeks.

The lieutenant turned towards the sea and saw us. He was obviously extremely uncomfortable. Looking at the girl, I could appreciate his difficulty. ‘We'll manage it all right,' he said gruffly, and climbed on board.

‘Just a minute,' I said, as he beckoned the two ratings to join him. He swung round, his face still flushed. ‘I'm a barrister. Perhaps you would let me have a look at your requisition order?' I turned to the girl. ‘Miss Freya Schmidt?' I asked quietly, and the look of surprise on her face was unmistakable. She did not deny the name. ‘My name is Kilmartin,' I told her. ‘Your father asked me to come down here to discuss a little matter of business with you.' Her large eyes suddenly seemed to dilate, and I knew that surprise had given place to fear. But I could do nothing to help her.

The lieutenant dropped down on to the beach at my side. He produced an order from the pocket of his greatcoat. As I had suspected, it was perfectly in order. ‘I'm sorry the lady is so upset about it, sir,' he
said, as I handed it back to him. ‘But it's nothing to do with me. I'll take every care of it, and if you can get the order rescinded, then it'll be all right. But, however much she objects, I'm afraid I'll have to take it now. Those are my orders.' I think he was glad to have a man to deal with.

‘Who took out the order, do you know?' I asked.

‘Well, the naval authorities at Falmouth made out the order,' he said, indicating the signature. ‘Who actually discovered the boat, I don't know. You see, we've got quite a number of scouts out along the coasts, picking out likely vessels for patrol work. And this is just the sort of craft we want.'

‘Where are you taking her?' I asked. ‘I shall want to know where to find her if I can get this order rescinded.'

‘I doubt whether you'll get it rescinded, sir,' he said. ‘She's a good boat for light patrol work.'

‘Well, just in case, I'd like to know where I can find her.'

‘I'm taking her up to the Thames Estuary.'

‘Whereabouts?'

He glanced at the order again. ‘Calboyd Diesel Power Boat Yards, Tilbury,' he said. He glanced at the graceful lines of the boat. ‘Maybe they're going to put a powerful engine in her and convert her into a torpedo boat. She's got the lines for it. Have you any objections if I get on with the job now?'

I shrugged my shoulders and looked across at Schmidt's daughter. There was nothing I could do. These were not Calboyds' people. They were naval
men. Out of the tail of my eyes I had caught sight of a drifter lying off the inlet, her bows headed into the wind. As no one made any comment, the lieutenant turned and climbed on board the boat.

The girl watched him with large sombre eyes. I felt she was very near to tears. ‘This is Evan Llewellin's boat, isn't it?' I asked her.

She nodded.

‘And it's fitted with your father's engine?'

Her eyes met mine, and again I noticed that sudden flicker of fear. ‘What do you know about us?' she asked. ‘Do you know where my father is?'

For answer I took out her father's letter from my pocket and handed it to her. She looked at the writing for a long time, as though trying to pluck up the courage to open it. Then suddenly she made up her mind and ran her finger down the fold of the envelope. She read it through slowly, as though bewildered by it. Then she looked up at me. I saw the tears gathering in her eyes. ‘Is – he's dead, isn't he?'

‘I don't know,' I said.

Her long finely-shaped hands were clutched so tight that the nails bit into the flesh. ‘Pray God he's dead,' she whispered. ‘Oh, God, don't let them torture him.' Then suddenly she became aware again of the two of us, standing there. ‘He has suffered so much and he was such a brilliant man,' she explained. She had control of herself now. ‘Will you come up to the studio? We can talk there.'

‘This is a friend of mine – Mr David Shiel,' I said. She nodded to David. I think it was the first time she
had really become aware of him. ‘I'll explain how he comes into it with the rest,' I said.

She led the way back to the studio. She did not speak, and I left the silence unbroken. She seemed to have withdrawn into herself, as though she wished to be alone with her thoughts. I could do nothing to comfort her.

The studio was a small brick building that did service as a bed-sitting-room cum workshop. There was a friendly coal fire blazing in the grate and a divan bed in the corner. There was a sink near the window and a big serviceable bench littered with tools. The easel and canvases of the owner were stacked behind the door. A kettle was singing in front of the fire and, like a person in a dream, she began to make tea. When this was served, she squatted down on the floor in front of the fire and we drew up two wooden chairs.

Then I told her the story, omitting nothing. She did not once interrupt, and when I had finished she sat silent, seemingly lost in thought. At last she looked up and her eyes travelled from me to David. ‘You have been very kind, both of you,' she said. ‘It must have been a fantastic story and it was kind of you to take my father at his word.' She hesitated. Then she said, ‘Franzie didn't kill Evan Llewellin. He was incapable of hurting anyone. Besides, Evan was the best friend we ever had. It's on his money that I'm living down here.'

‘Can you add anything to what your father wrote on that first page of the code message?' I asked.

But she shook her head. ‘Nothing,' she said. ‘In fact, what he wrote there is largely new to me. I was bundled off in the yacht shortly after war broke out. The engine had been installed in it in July. I knew people were after it, and I presumed that it was Calboyds. But I knew nothing about the company being under Nazi control. I don't think my father knew it then. Evan and I brought her here on our own, and then he went back to Swansea. My instructions were to lie low. I got very little news. Every fortnight there was a message from my father in the personal column of the
Daily Telegraph
under Olwyn, my mother's name – that was all. The day after I read about Evan's death there was a little message from my father to say that he was all right and that I was to sit tight here until I heard from him. That was three weeks ago, and not a word since. It's been horrible just sitting here, waiting.'

‘And what now?' I asked.

‘I don't know.' Her voice sounded weary and very dejected. ‘The police must be informed. Oh, God!' she cried, ‘if I only knew what had happened to him.'

‘There's more to it than that,' I said. ‘You understand the implication of that part of his message we did decode? Tell me, just how good is that engine?'

A far-away look came into her eyes. ‘Franzie was a genius,' she said. ‘And that engine is the fruits of his genius.' She looked up at me and her voice became suddenly matter-of-fact. ‘I won't bore you with technical details, but I'm a fairly good engineer, and that engine is something far in advance of anything that
has yet been designed. It's not a marine engine, though, geared down as it is in the
Sea Spray
, it gives a pretty amazing performance. It's an aero engine. Do you know anything about the principles of aeronautics? Well, I think you'll understand this. The production of an aero engine that gives a higher speed isn't just a question of increasing the revs. If the propeller goes too fast, it creates a vacuum. You don't necessarily need a high-revving engine. What you need is an engine that is light and yet gives tremendous power behind the swing of the propeller, so that it bites into the air. You follow?' I nodded. ‘The diesel engine is, of course, the ideal type of engine for aircraft because it develops great power at relatively slow speeds. The drawback to the diesel so far has been its weight. The cylinders have to be extremely strong to stand the pressure. So far this has required a heavy weight of metal by comparison with the petrol engine. My father, as he told you, was a specialist in metal alloys. His chief discovery was a new lightweight alloy of unusual strength. The secret of this alloy is still his. Realising where its possibilities lay, he then set to work to modify the diesel design. Eventually he produced the engine that is now in the
Sea Spray'

‘Won't those naval boys realise they've got hold of something unusual when they take her out?' David asked.

‘No. Whilst I've been here, I have incorporated a little switch valve of which I have the key. The valve, which is now regulating the fuel supply, will keep the engine down to a performance very little different
from that of an ordinary diesel. But a firm like Calboyds will soon discover what is checking the performance and put in a new valve.'

‘How long will that take?' I asked.

She shrugged her shoulders and poured out some more tea. ‘I don't know,' she replied. ‘A day – perhaps more.'

‘And how long to analyse the alloy?'

She looked up quickly and there was something in her eyes that I did not for the moment understand. ‘Ah, I see what it is,' she said. ‘You are thinking of your country.'

‘And yours, too,' I said. ‘You were born before the 1915 Act.'

‘Yes, mine, too,' she said. ‘I'm sorry. I always think of myself as an Austrian. But now – They might take a week or a month to analyse it – who knows. But if I were in their position, I should take a piece of metal from the engine for analysis, make rough drawings of the design and then try and smuggle the engine itself through to Germany. It would be surprising if both methods failed.'

‘Agreed,' I said. ‘I think that's what they'll try to do. And that is what we've got to prevent at all costs.'

‘How?' she asked.

‘I don't know yet.'

‘The police must be told everything,' she said, after a moment's pause. ‘Do you know anyone in the police force?'

‘I do,' I said. ‘But it would be folly to try and tell the police at this stage that one of the biggest
industrial firms in the country is under Nazi control. Calboyd is a public figure – philanthropist and all that. The police would just laugh at us.'

‘I don't mind. I must find Franzie. Don't you understand,' she cried, turning her big eyes on me appealingly, ‘these men are fiends. They may be torturing him. Literally torturing him, I mean. You English never can be made to understand that on the Continent people are tortured.'

I leaned forward, looking down into her eyes. ‘Don't you understand, Freya, that you're putting the life of one man before the lives of thousands? If Calboyds are not exposed and this engine gets to Germany, then we lose our superiority in quality as well as in numbers, and if we do that, we lose the war. Will you risk that, even to save your father from torture? He wouldn't. He knew the danger he faced, but he was not prepared to yield that engine, though the offers made him were reasonably good considering the probable alternative.'