Dennis Wheatley - Contraband

'She refused to give me any information, but I managed to hang on to her during a good bit of the following day and took her over to lunch at the Guillaume Conquerant Restaurant at Dives. Afterwards, when I was going to get my car to motor her back to Deauville, I was set upon, probably by a man whom she had pointed out during lunch and whom she referred to as the "Limper". In any case someone chucked a handful of pepper in my face and gave me a biff in the stomach.

'By the time I was fit to stagger round again my car had disappeared and the girl with it. When I got back to Deauville I found that my car had been returned to the hotel garage but I was only just in time to catch the boat for England that night. That's the story for what it's worth and here's your man's pocketbook.'

'Much obliged. Now, can you give me a description of this young woman?'

Gregory hesitated a second. He had no desire to put the police on Sabine's track, whatever she might have been up to, but Sir Pellinore had been insistent that he must give the authorities all the information he had so he could hardly avoid complying with the Superintendent's request.

'I can give you a sort of description,' he said, 'but I doubt if it will be very much use to you because, while one woman may be extremely beautiful, and another as plain as the back of a cab, their bald description about height, colouring, and so on, might tally almost completely. This one is of medium height, with what I suppose you would call a heart shaped face. She has black hair parted at the side and curled at the back of the head. I couldn't tell you the colour of her eyes exactly; pencilled eyebrows, like ninety per cent of women these days, and that's about all there is to it.'

'Nationality?' prompted the Superintendent.

'French I should think: she speaks excellent English though.'

'Age?'

'About twenty-six.'

'Body?'

'Good figure, fairly well developed bust.'

'Legs?'

'She'd get in the front row of the chorus on her legs all right.'

'Nose?'

'Straight.'

'Complexion?'

'Roses on pale bronze, but she was touched up, of course,, like any other smart woman.'

'Cheeks?'

'Full.'

'Ears?'

'I didn't notice.'

'Mouth?'

'Full curved lips.5

'Teeth?'

'Small, white, even.'

'Forehead?'

'Broad.'

'Hands?'

'Plump, pointed, with the usual crimson nails.'

'Carriage?'

'Very upright.'

'Jewellery?'

'She was wearing a big sapphire on the third finger of her right hand, when I saw her, and four no five, diamond bracelets; the heavy expensive sort, you know, and she had a pair of big pearls in her ears.'

The Superintendent stopped making notes on the pad in front of him and remarked: 'Well, I've had worse descriptions than that to go on.'

Gregory smiled ruefully. The description was far more full than he had intended to make it.

'I think we may assume too the Superintendent went on, 'that, in your view at least, she was not as plain as the back of a cab, but extremely beautiful, since you risked getting yourself knifed on her account after only having seen her for a few moments.'

'I followed her because it was part of my job,' said Gregory tonelessly.

'Just as you wish. Now, what about the man she pointed out to you and referred to as the "Limper"?'

'I only caught sight of him for a second and his back was turned towards me. He was a tall fellow, over six feet I should say, dressed in a smart, light grey, lounge suit and a Homburg. He dragged his left foot a little. That's all I can tell you.'

'Thanks. It's a pity though that you can't tell us more about him, because he might be an old friend of ours whom we've lost sight of for some time. The lady, of course, we knew all about before.'

'The devil you did!' exclaimed Gregory.

'Yes. Wells got away all right and naturally he gave us details of the occurrence in his report. He'll be glad to have his pocketbook back. The woman's not French, but Hungarian, and you're right about her being a good looker. He laid stress on that in his description of her.'

'If you had it already why on earth did you bother me for it then?'

'Just a matter of routine, sir. We have rather a habit here of checking up as often as possible.'

'Checking up whether I was lying to you, eh?'

The big man's eyes twinkled. 'I wouldn't exactly say that, but I always like to establish the mental orientation of my visitors as far as possible; if you understand what I mean. Now, what can you tell me about the elderly man who was with the girl at the Casino?'

'I don't think you'll need any description of him. It was Lord Gavin Fortescue.'

For a second the Superintendent's blue eyes went curiously blank, but not a muscle of his face betrayed his sudden interest, and a less acute observer than Gregory would have missed his carefully concealed reaction.

'Lord Gavin Fortescue,' he repeated casually. 'Yes, we can get particulars of him easily enough, as we can of most well-known people. Are you quite sure though that it was Lord Gavin?'

'Certain. I could hardly be mistaken could I?'

'No. Once seen never forgotten, as the saying goes/ the Superintendent replied, admitting that he was quite well acquainted with Lord Gavin's strikingly unusual appearance. 'Strange, though, to find a gentleman like him mixed up in an affair like this isn’t it?'

'Is it?' Gregory countered. 'He's such a queer bird I should have thought it quite possible you had him on your records already.'

'Really now.' Marrowfat's eyebrows shot up in bland surprise. 'I can't imagine why you should think that. We know nothing of him officially.' He lowered his voice and leaned forward confidentially. 'Now, just what's your view of this business, sir?'

Gregory shrugged. 'I'm afraid I haven't got one at the moment. It's clear, of course, that the girl lured your man down to that cafe where the thugs set on him.'

'Very interesting,' nodded the Superintendent. 'In your view, then, Lord Gavin Fortescue sent those thugs to lay out our man?'

'That's about the size of it.'

'What d'you think he was after?'

'I haven't the faintest idea, but I hope to find out in the course of the next few days.'

Superintendent Marrowfat raised his carroty eyebrows again. 'But what's your interest in the matter, outside the lady, may I ask? It's hardly your business to ferret out Lord Gavin Fortescue's affairs.'

'No, but I'm engaged on a private investigation for Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust at the moment and the two things may link up together.'

'What sort of thing are you investigating?'

'That is Sir Pellinore's affair, and if he hasn't told you it's hardly my place to do so. He was hoping though, I think, that you might agree to my working with your people.'

Superintendent Marrowfat shook his large round head. 'I'm sorry sir: I'm afraid we can't agree to that. You see it would be quite contrary to regulations and I don't think the matter Inspector Wells was sent over to look into can have any bearing on a private issue which appears to rest between Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust and Lord Gavin Fortescue. We're very much obliged for the information you've brought us all the same.'

The Superintendent was glancing through the papers in the wallet. 'You didn't happen to find a telegram in this by any chance did you?' he asked after a moment.

'I'm afraid not.' Gregory lied glibly. He had never been particularly keen on police cooperation and since his offer of assistance had been rejected he had no intention of letting them have a sight of what he considered to be his best card.

'Pity,' said the big man, searching Gregory's face with innocent blue eyes. 'Wells had no time to make a copy of it and the thugs must have got it back after all.'