Dennis Wheatley - The Launching of Roger Brook

Listen to me, mon ami," he said, with sudden sternness. "You have this matter wrong. If you wish I will accompany you to the office of police and prove to them before you that I am one Julien Quatrevaux of Rennes, a Breton by birth and second officer of the India trader, Tobago Queen, now lying in Le Havre. But to do so it will be necessary to send for papers to my lodgings, which are at the far end of the town, and my whole morning will be lost. I have a seat booked in the diligence to carry me back to Le Havre. If I miss it I'll not be there by nightfall and my ship may sail without me. That would put me to considerable loss as well as great inconvenience. Should I be so sub­jected on account of your wild fancies I will not only sue you for detaining me without warrant and for the loss I shall sustain, but seek you out later with a seaman's cudgel and beat you to within an inch of your life. Now! Do you wish to gamble your absurd imaginings against these penalties, or not?"

The man hesitated. One thousand louis was an enormous reward; to a poor man it was a fortune. But the account given by his vis-a-vis of himself seemed solidly circumstantial and, if true, threatened to land him in endless trouble. After a moment he shrugged, and said:

"Monsieur, I meant no offence. But you must admit that you are like enough to the description of this felon to raise anyone's suspicions."

"That may be!" replied Roger tersely, "but I am not he. Good day to you," and, turning on his heel he walked firmly, but unhurriedly, away.

His bluff had worked; nevertheless the encounter had shaken him badly. It was all he could do to control his pace and prevent himself looking back to see if the man had run off in search of an agent de ville. Turning into the first side street he came to, the instant he was out of sight round the corner, he took to his heels.

When he eased his pace half a mile farther on, and dropped into a walk, he was white and breathless. He knew now that whether the packet sailed or not from Dieppe that evening it would be fatal for him even to go near her jetty again; as the man might be lying in wait for him there with a police agent. Moreover, although the storm had passed, he dared not seek out the fishing-masters and ask one of them to take him across. Too many of them had seen him on the Tuesday in the clothes in which he had come from Paris and, on seeing him again, would undoubtedly connect him with the description of the wanted felon, which must now be the talk of the harbourside. By now, too, tile roan horse must have been found, proving that he had chosen Dieppe for his attempt to reach England; so every moment he remained there he would be in imminent peril of recognition and capture. Clearly he must get away from the town at the earnest possible moment.

During his flight he had lost himself, but glimpsing the sea through a narrow alley he turned along it and, having reached the esplanade, soon found his way back to his lodgings. On his way there he made up his mind to move along the coast, in the hope of finding a vessel in a smaller harbour, where there were no trails of his presence to make the place so piping hot for him. Having collected his bag he settled with the fat landlady and, leaving the town by its south-western exit, took the road to Fecamp.

As soon as he was out of sight from the last houses of Dieppe he climbed over some sand dunes until he found a convenient hollow and set about redisguising himself as well as he could. His alarming experi­ence with the thick-set man had convinced him that he still looked too like a gentleman and that he would do better to give himself a more villainous appearance. Taking off his topcoat and the square-crowned bowler he buried them in the sand, and put on again the old cloak and the stocking-cap; but, before adjusting the latter he tied a folded silk handkerchief round his forehead and pulled it down over one of his tell-tale blue eyes as though it was a bandage.

Proceeding on his way again he endeavoured to think up further measures by which he might trick M. de Crosne's bloodhounds. The fact that he had been advertised as an Englishman speaking French like a native, suddenly struck him. Clearly they would be inquiring for a man who appeared to be a Frenchman, and certainly not one who admitted to being English. Therefore, he might fox them by a double bluff if he gave out that he was English and spoke only a little very bad French.

After another mile or so he had supplemented this idea by deciding to infer that he was an English smuggler who had got left behind on a recent trip. The fact that he had decided against parting with his sword, and the bandage that he now wore over one eye, already lent him the air of a seafaring desperado. The smugglers brought good money to the coastal villages and so were regarded as friends by the fisher-folk; and, wanting to get home, would provide him with an excellent reason for seeking a passage across the Channel.

Having spent so many hours in bed during the past two days and nights he was fully recovered from the fatigue of his long ride and, the sun having come out, he tramped along in better spirits than he had been for some time. Soon after midday he stopped for a meal at a wayside inn and, having rested for an hour, pushed on. By five o'clock in the afternoon he had walked eighteen miles and entered the little port of St. Valery-en-Caux.

To his intense annoyance he saw that the harbour was almost empty and standing out to sea a cluster of about fifteen vessels. It could only be the fishing-fleet, and must have sailed about an hour before.

As he approached the quay he saw that a couple of longshoremen were in the process of loading fresh vegetables on to a two-masted barque. To reach it he had to pass the customs office and, on the notice board outside it, he caught sight of another of those damnable placards offering one thousand louis for his capture, dead or alive.

The sight of it almost unnerved him and caused him to turn tail; but he realised that by this time there would be one of them posted up on every quayside from Dunkirk to Brest and that if he was to get away at all he must, sooner or later, chance recognition in endeavouring to secure a passage. He knew that by far his safest course would have been to go into hiding for a few weeks; but that was impossible, unless he were prepared to give up his attempt to prevent the seizure of the Dutch ports, and that, nothing would have induced him to do.

Bracing himself for the encounter he slouched up to the bigger of the two longshoremen, and asked in mangled French and English when the barque was due to sail, and whither she was bound.

"She'll sail on the night tide, round four of the morning," the man replied. "That is, if the weather holds; but it's none too promising and the fishing-fleet has put out for a few hours only because it's been weather-bound these past two days. The barque is carrying a mixed cargo to Falmouth."

Roger pretended not to fully understand and while the man repeated the information for him more slowly he was thinking; 'Falmouth is a devilish long way from London and I have already been three days on my journey. The crossing will take the best part of two days, and from Cornwall to London thirty hours at least. Allowing for unforeseen delays 'tis unlikely that I'll get to Whitehall before the morning of the 5th of September; That will leave the Cabinet a margin of only four dear days in which to act. Still, better that than no chance at all, and I suppose I'll be lucky if I can induce the Captain to take me.'

Having thanked the man he inquired the Captain's name and, on being told that it was Rapenot, he walked with a rolling gait up the gang-plank.

Captain Rapenot was in his cabin. He proved to be a tall, grizzled fellow with gold rings in his ears and a hook in place of a left arm. He looked up from his bills of lading and greeted Roger with a none-too-friendly stare.