Dennis Wheatley - Contraband

A quarter of an hour after Sir Pellinore's arrival at the Yard the little crowd of muscular big chinned men shouldered their way out along the passageway from the Superintendent's room, down the stairs, and into the waiting line of swift supercharged cars.

Gregory had brought his own car for his own perfectly good reasons. He got into the back with Sir Pellinore; leaving Rudd to drive it and a plain clothes man beside him to decide on the route they were to take.

As they ran out of the courtyard behind the others Gregory found his thoughts distracted from Sabine for a moment by admiration for the police organisation. There was no fuss or bother; no disturbance of the traffic. The fleet of cars did not form a procession, but separated immediately, all taking different prearranged routes down into the City and through Southwark, on the south side of the Thames, to the scene of their midnight activities.

They were at Queenborough before half past eight and, having already had his instructions, the plainclothes man beside Rudd conducted them to the police station which served the docks. Wells and Marrowfat had just driven up but there was no sign of the squad of Special Branch men who had left the Yard with them.

Sir Pellinore and Gregory got out and followed the Superintendent into the station. In the private office there he introduced them to the Chief Constable of Kent and a number of local officers from Chatham, Rochester and Maidstone. Standing in front of a large scale map, which hung upon the wall of the plainly furnished room, the police chiefs spent half an hour discussing the positions which were soon to be taken up by their various bodies of men on both banks of Windmill Creek and along the southern coast of the Isle of Sheppey.

A local Inspector who had reconnoitred Eastchurch Marshes that afternoon gave them a brief description of the terrain where the landing was expected.

'We shall proceed to Eastchurch village,' he said, 'and leave our cars there; parked out of sight in garages for which I've already arranged. We shall then go on foot down the byway leading south from the village. It's about a two-mile walk through low-lying unwooded country. There's a little cultivated land here and there; but it's mostly marsh which is waterlogged in winter. However, fortunately for us, it's dry enough to walk on without any danger of being bogged this time of the year.

'You'll see from the map the track I'm speaking of doesn't run right down to the water so, at the bend, just at point 13 which marks a slight rise in the ground, we shall turn right and cross the fields for about five hundred yards until we strike that second track which actually leads to the creek. That's probably the road they'll use. That, or the third track half a mile to the right again, which ends at the creek where it's marked "Hook Quay".

'The only buildings between the second and third tracks are a collection of empty tumbledown sheds near Hook Quay and a new cottage on the river bank about two hundred yards south of it which was only built a few months ago. The cottage is inhabited but, as the people who live there may be in with the crowd we're after, I didn't like to risk rousing their suspicions by going near the place when I was having a look round this afternoon.'

The whole party then left the station and, piling into four cars, drove off along the good road to the north of the island until they came to the little village of Eastchurch.

Having garaged the cars they began their walk, crossing the railway line at Eastchurch Station half a mile south of the village, and proceeding after that into the gathering dusk which had now descended upon the lonely stretch of country before them.

They left the lane at point 13 and struck across the low-lying ground with its coarse tufts of high marsh grass, found the road to the east and turned south along it, until they arrived on the banks of the creek; a sluggish stream set between sloping muddy levels.

The opposite bank was about a hundred and fifty yards away and, although scores of police were now lurking in the neighbourhood, not a soul was visible in the failing light. The only life apparent in that desolate waste was an oyster catcher pecking in the mud and a few screaming seagulls which wheeled overhead.

The Chief Constable's party turned inland along the bank towards Hook Quay, making a detour to avoid passing within sight of the new brick cottage which the local inspector had described, and arriving just before ten o'clock at the cluster of empty sheds.

It was dark now and producing their torches, once they were inside the ramshackle buildings, the police made a thorough investigation of them.

They were quite empty but showed signs of recent use. Their windows had been boarded over so that no lights could show and gaps in the wooden walls had been pasted over with brown paper. The earthen floors showed marks where heavy cases had been thrown down upon them and in two of the larger sheds cartwheel tracks were visible.

'It looks as if they work things differently here and store the stuff instead of getting it away immediately,' Wells remarked. 'Although, of course, a fleet of lorries may come rumbling down the lane outside to meet them when they turn up.'

'1 doubt it,' replied the Superintendent. 'A dozen lorries rumbling along the Ashford road or anywhere behind all those coast towns in Thanet wouldn't call for special comment. But here in Sheppey it's different. The roads don't lead anywhere so convoys passing in the middle of the night, even once or twice a month, would be certain to arouse some inquisitive person's suspicions. They wouldn't dare risk that. In my opinion they store the stuff here and local farm carts come along later to collect it. The carts probably deliver the goods to some other depot on the west end of the island, south of Queenborough, where it would be easy to transfer them to the railway with so much goods traffic passing from the docks there up to London.'

Gregory drew Rudd outside and into a smaller shed near by where they were quite alone together. Kneeling down on the floor he spread out his map and shone his torch upon it.

'See where we are now Hook Quay?' he said in a low voice.

'Yes sir,' muttered Rudd.

'Right. Think you can find your way back to the village?'

'Easy. Straight up the track that leads from here. 'Crorst the railway at the level crossin'. Turn right along that second-class road south of the one we come to Eastchurch by for half a mile and there we are. Simple as kiss me 'and.'

'Good lad.' Gregory patted his arm affectionately. 'Now I want you to fade out when no one's looking. Go back to Eastchurch, collect the car, and drive it to the farm marked "Old Hook" on the map. That's just halfway up the track between these sheds and the railway. I daren't let you bring it nearer in case the people here catch the sound of the engine, send a man to investigate, and finding it's my car tumble to what I'm up to. When you reach Old Hook turn the car round and park it at the roadside, facing north, ready for an instant getaway. If one of the local coppers who're playing hide and seek all over the countryside tonight ask what you're up to just say you're acting on Superintendent Marrowfat's orders. We must risk their disbelieving you and coming over to report. When you're through, leave the car and join me here again to let me know everything's all right. That clear?'

'You bet it is. I'll be back under the hour sir.'

Rudd slipped out of the hut and vanished in the darkness. Gregory folded up his map and rejoined the others. Just outside the largest shed Wells was standing; peering down at the small wharf which jutted out from the bank into the sluggish stream.