Peter O'Donnell - Cobra Trap

McBeal had never admitted his connection with Salamander Four, but the contract had been cancelled and the fifty thousandpound fee sent to Modesty for the Colliers as confirmation that it was no longer running. That was over a year ago. Now, out of the blue, McBeal had made contact and Willie was amazed.

"It couldn't 'ave been for a social chat, Princess. What did he want?"

"I don't know yet. Well, I know he wants to meet me, with you present if you and I so wish. He wants me to name a day and time next week, but I needn't tell him the place until just before we meet. The only thing he asks is that a telephone be available."

There was a long silence. At last Willie said, "Weird isn't the word. When you said he wanted to meet you I started thinking he aimed to set you up for a hit, but he's covered that by letting you fix the time and name the place at short notice."

"Right. So what can he have to say to us?"

"Beats me, Princess, but we'd better find out."

"I have the same feeling. I thought of making it noon next Tuesday if you're free then. He lives in Belgrave Square, so I can ring him there half an hour before and tell him to come to the penthouse. He might anticipate that, but I can't see that it matters. We'll be watching him, and anyway he's no hitman, he's a headoffice man."

Willie said, "Tuesday's fine. All right if I come up Monday evening?"

"Yes, I'd like that. Come to dinner."

"Thanks, Princess. See you then."

At noon precisely, five days later, Weng took a call from the porter in reception and was told that Sir Angus McBeal had arrived to see Miss Blaise by appointment. He was alone. "As arranged," Weng reported, "Hudson informed me that Sir Angus was carrying only his hat, umbrella, and a small document case. I have said he was to be sent up."

Modesty and Willie were in the penthouse drawingroom. She said, "All right, Weng. Show him in, then lurk in the kitchen. The intercom's on so you'll hear whatever's said."

When McBeal arrived in the foyer he gave hat and umbrella to Weng but retained the slim document case. Modesty and Willie were standing when he entered the drawingroom. She thought he had aged since she had last seen him a year ago. He still wore the oldfashioned boardroom uniform of dark suit and wing collar, but it seemed to hang looser on him. His thin grey hair was thinner, his long neck more scrawny, and he looked ten years older than a man in his fifties and in normal health should look.

Modesty said, "Good morning, Sir Angus. This is a surprising visit."

"These are surprising times, Miss Blaise," he said in the rather highpitched voice she remembered. "I have come here to thank you and to do you a service."

"To thank me? I can't imagine for what."

"It would be quite impossible for you to do so, Miss Blaise, but I shall be happy to explain. May I sit down?"

She gestured towards an armchair and seated herself on the chesterfield, facing him across a coffee table. He gave her a stiff little bow and moved to the chair. Once he was seated, Willie settled himself beside her on the chesterfield. McBeal cleared his throat and said, "I have discovered that you were the person who recently found Lord Sayle living as a peasant on a farm in the Pyrenees, having suffered total amnesia following the occasion when the aircraft he was piloting crashed in France in 1943."

McBeal paused, looking over his glasses at her as if giving her the opportunity to comment, but she simply looked at him impassively. After a moment or two he went on, "Yes, I know your name was never mentioned in the newspapers, but I happen to know that you were in that area at that time and I suspect that Alexander Sayle or another resident of the farm had some hand in your escape from slow death in a cave."

She felt Willie go stiff beside her, and fought to prevent the abrupt shock of McBeal's last words showing in her face or bodylanguage. Her voice was mellow as she spoke. "Are you saying that was a Salamander Four contract?"

McBeal nodded. "Yes. An inhouse operation. There was no client. I hope you will believe that I protested most strongly and was outvoted."

She looked at Willie, who said, "We might need convincing."

"I hope," said McBeal, "to satisfy you on that score later. For the moment may I say that a considerable schism has developed between my colleagues and me. They have never forgiven the loss of face suffered when forced to cancel the Collier contract and pay the contract price to the Colliers as proof of cancellation."

Modesty said, "You took a different view?"

"Certainly. I have dealt with you face to face, Miss Blaise, they have not. I am less given to emotional reaction than are my colleagues. I pressed the view that you were no threat to us, that if we left you and any friend of yours alone, then you would leave us alone. This did not suffice for them. Hence, after a prudent delay, the contract for your slow death, for the execution of which we engaged a South American team of three who had very good references. They are comparatively new on the criminal scene. Have you heard of Las Sombras?"

She looked at Willie, who shook his head. "The Shadows?" she said. "No, but we'll certainly take note of the name."

"You need not trouble to do so, Miss Blaise. They died shortly after we heard of your safe return. We do not usually terminate subcontractors, but in this instance it was necessary to avoid any possibility of your tracing, through them, the participation of Salamander Four in the enterprise."

Willie Garvin sat with a look of polite interest, trying to conceal the fact that he was struggling to collect his scattered wits. Here was this man, a principal of the most successful criminal group outside America for the past twenty years, sitting before a woman they had tried to kill, and retailing the manner of the event as if presenting a report on the halfyear results to a company boardroom.

Modesty said quietly, "Do you remember what I said we would do about Salamander Four if any attempt was made to kill either of us?"

"I do indeed, and vividly, Miss Blaise. You said you would kill us, the four principals, to prevent any further attempt, and I believed you. It was a very rational proposition."

"Be advised that it still holds, Sir Angus."

McBeal looked at his watch. "As to that, I shall shortly offer an alternative I hope you will find acceptable and may even deem a substantial service. Meanwhile may I proceed to the other purpose of my visit?"

"The other-? Oh, to thank me for something. Yes, I'd be most interested to hear about that."

"It refers to my opening remarks concerning your discovery of Lord Sayle, believed killed in action over fifty years ago." McBeal began to unzip the document case on his lap and Willie reached under his jacket to where twin knives were sheathed, but when McBeal's hand emerged it held only a bundle of a dozen or so letters, the paper on which they were written now yellowing with age. He laid them on the table before Modesty, and when he spoke his voice had changed. The words came hesitantly, as if he were shaken by emotion.

"These letters were sent to my mother during the war," he said. "Her name was Elaine McBeal, and she died when I was five. Her parents brought me up. They are long dead, and I have no other family."

Utterly bewildered and now making no attempt to hide it, Modesty said, "You wish me to read them?"

"At least one or two, if you please. All of them if you so wish."

She picked up the top letter. It was dated September 1942 and bore the letterhead of Sayle Manor, Fenstone Green, Kent. A touch of prescience sent a shiver of strange anticipation through her. She drew a deep breath and began to read. The letter was only two short pages, and in it the writer hoped that he and Elaine would be able to make their leave coincide next time round, and that Elaine would spend at least part of it with him at the manor. There was more, for it was a very loving letter.