Alan Hunter: Gently by the Shore

‘We’ve got nothing on him… nothing whatever… we couldn’t even take his licence away.’

‘But good God, sir!’ gabbled Sir Daynes, ‘that ring — it’s positive evidence — when he denied possession he practically declared his culpability!’

‘We should never find it… he’s a clever man.’

‘And being able to tell you Stratilesceul’s nationality when even Central Records didn’t know him — it’s damning, sir, absolutely damning!’

‘Just his word against mine… or intelligent guessing.’

‘We’d better throw a cordon round the place and raid it,’ snarled the chief super, ‘he’ll have records — names and addresses — there’ll be a short-wave transmitter somewhere.’

Gently shook his head very firmly. ‘Not in Louey’s place. He’s far too fly. If they were ever there — which I doubt — they came out directly this Stratilesceul business got muddled.’

‘But how shall we know for sure if we don’t raid it?’

‘We know for sure now. He would never have behaved so confidently if he’d got anything to hide.’

‘There’ll be something to give him away.’

‘I wouldn’t like to bet on it.’

‘And we can’t just sit around waiting for him to disappear and set up somewhere else.’

‘He’ll do that all the quicker if he knows you’re out gunning for him.’

‘I say pull him in!’ erupted the colonel from his thoracic deeps. ‘Confront him with the other fella — make them see the game is up!’

‘I’m afraid it wouldn’t have that effect, colonel… they’re very old hands at this particular game.’

‘But damn it, sir, we must do something!’

‘Yes!’ struck in Sir Daynes irritably, ‘you’re very good at telling us what we can’t do, Gently, now suppose for a change you tell us what we can do?’

Gently sighed and felt about in his pockets for a peppermint cream that wasn’t there.

‘There’s just one saving grace about this business, as far as I can see… and it’s up to us to play it for all it’s worth. In your previous dealings with the TSK’ — he inclined his head deferentially towards the chief super — ‘I think you have had to do solely with agents of the party. Is that correct?’

The chief super scowled what was presumably an affirmative.

‘They were men like Streifer — men with an ideal — men who would sooner go to the gallows than give the least particle of information about the party. Now in the present instance there is a significant difference. We have here a person involved — deeply involved — who isn’t a party member, who has no burning desire to liberate mankind, and who is only being prevented from giving evidence by mortal fear for her personal safety. That person is the prostitute Frenchy. She knows enough, I’m reasonably certain, to put Louey into the dock beside Streifer… perhaps somebody else too. But she’s been got at. She doesn’t dare testify. She’s seen how Stratilesceul finished up, and no doubt she’s been told that whoever she gives away, there’ll always be someone left to take care of her.

‘But there she is — somebody who can do our job for us. If we can only find a way to coax her to talk we shall have Louey and possibly his associates in the palm of our hand. Unfortunately it runs in a circle… we’ve got to pull in Louey and company before she’ll talk, and before she talks we can’t pull in Louey and company…’

‘In fact it doesn’t seem to be getting us very far, does it?’ interrupted the chief super jealously.

Gently sucked a moment on his unlit pipe. ‘What puzzles me is how they got her to help them in the first place,’ he mused. ‘I’ve never been able to see that quite clearly…’

‘If they’re terrorizing her now they could have terrorized her before.’

‘I don’t think so… not Frenchy. She isn’t one to terrorize easily. I imagine Louey would need a corpse at his back before he could get much change out of her and the job she had to do would be better done in the spirit of co-operation than in the spirit of coercion.’

‘Well then — she was paid.’

‘But she didn’t have any money.’

‘Of course not!’ snapped the chief super, ‘her boyfriend would have had it.’

‘She doesn’t admit to any boyfriend, not even to get herself bailed.’

The chief super drew a deep and ugly breath. ‘It isn’t getting us anywhere!’ he bawled. ‘Does it matter two hoots how they got her to do it? The fact is that she did do it, and precious little help it looks like being to us!’

Gently shook his head in respectful admonishment. ‘It means there’s a link somewhere… something we don’t know about. There’s a link between Louey and Frenchy, and as a result of that link Frenchy was prepared to act the decoy, without pressure and probably without payment…’

‘Perhaps this Louey fella’s the boyfriend himself,’ suggested the colonel.

‘He’s too clever… and women aren’t his weakness. No. It’s something else.’

‘I really can’t see that it’s important, Gently,’ weighed in Sir Daynes.

‘It isn’t!’ barked the chief super, ‘we simply sit here wasting our time while the chief inspector amuses himself by…’

He broke off as a tap came at the door. It was Sergeant Dutt’s homely visage that appeared.

‘Begging your pardon, sir…’

‘Yes? What is it?’

‘It’s something for Chief Inspector Gently, sir… he wanted to know directly a certain party left the premises.’

‘Well, cough it up — don’t stand there like a dummy!’

Dutt transferred his stolid gaze to his superior. ‘It’s Frenchy, sir…’

‘Frenchy!’ Gently rose slowly to his feet.

‘I just arrived back, sir, and they tell me she was bailed aht half an hour ago.’

A faraway look stole into Gently’s eye. ‘And who was it, Dutt… did you get the name?’

‘Yessir. It was a Mr Peach, sir.’

The faraway look lengthened till it embraced some islands of the distant Hebrides. ‘Peachey!’ murmured Gently, ‘my old friend Peachey! I always had a feeling we should find him sewn into the lining of this case… somewhere!’

It rained still, as though it had never thought of stopping that side of Michaelmas. The picture-houses, theatres and pavilions were packed solid with moist audiences, the cafes had never had such a day, the lessees of dance-halls and amusement arcades were indulging in dreams of a late-autumn holiday at Cannes or Capri… Only the beach was having a bad time of it. Only the beach was dark and deserted and desolate to behold. Soft, unnoticed, another flood-tide crept upwards towards the hectic Front. It washed round the piles under the piers, looked up at its auld enemy, the cliffs, and made to list a few more degrees a certain post which some policemen had set up in the shingle.

But there was nobody there to see it, except a crouching halfwit. The rest of Starmouth kept tryst with their bright lights. Rain it might and rain it did, but the electric rash burned on, the music wailed, the rifles spanged, the audiences laughed and the great Till of Starmouth rang its steady chorus.

Artie in the bar was getting quite irritable with his customers, and he could afford to be. They didn’t want away once they were there. And it was a gay crowd that night, on the eve of the races. Several old faces had turned up which had been missing for quite a while… it was just like it had been before that b. Inspector Gently set foot in the place, as the sporty individual observed. Even Louey seemed in a festive mood. He had been out twice in the course of the evening and each time it had been drinks all round. It was communicative, that mood of Louey’s. For better or worse it affected the company in the bar. But now the clouds which had momentarily gathered about the gigantic brow had faded away, the sunshine had returned, the bar was its old happy self again…