1965 - This is for Real Page 6

  “Why?”

  “You know Rossland. He keeps to the sidelines.”

  “Then who is seeing this woman?”

  “I told you...one of his men.”

  “You don't know who he is?”

  Dorey took off his glasses and began to polish them again.

  “No.”

  “When do you expect to hear?”

  “They don't meet until eleven.”

  She glanced at her watch. The time now was quarter to eleven.

  “I don't think you should wait,” she said. “If Radnitz is in this, it could be dangerous.”

  Dorey was thinking the same thing. He went over to the telephone and dialled Rossland's number. After a long pause, he replaced the receiver.

  “He's not there.”

  They looked at each other.

  “He could be there,” Janine said and got to her feet. “I think we should go. This is bothering me.”

  Dorey nodded. He went to his desk, unlocked a drawer and took from it a .38 automatic. He checked it with the hand of an expert, then put it in his hip pocket. He went to the closet for his coat.

  Twenty minutes later, they were riding up in the lift to Rossland's apartment.

  As Dorey was about to ring the bell, he saw the door stood ajar. He took out his gun and transferred it to the pocket of his overcoat, then he gently pushed open the door and moved into the hall. Janine Mowed him The lights were on in the sitting room. Moving like a ghost, Dorey edged the door and looked into the room. He gave a convulsive grunt when he saw Rossland.

  “Shut the door,” he said softly. “He's in there ... he's dead.”

  Her face expressionless, Janine closed the front door. She then entered the sitting room and came close to Dorey who was looking down at Rossland. She gave the murdered man one horrified glance, then turned away.

  “Look at his hand,'' she said unsteadily.

  Again Dorey grunted. Grimacing, he joined her as she looked around the room.

  “Doesn't look as if they searched here.” she said. “They were in a hurry.” They persuaded him to talk, killed him and cleared out.”

  “We'd better leave, Janine,” Dorey said. Moving to the door, “We don't want to be caught here.”

  They left the apartment as quietly as they had come in.

  Once in Dorey's car Janine said, “This is something big, John. You shouldn't have given it to Rossland. You should have seen this woman yourself.”

  “How was I to know?” Dorey said defensively. “I tell you I'm always getting cranks calling me on the telephone.”

  “Where is this cellar club?”

  “Boulevard de Clichy.”

  “We'll go there.”

  Dorey glanced at her.

  “It'll be too late. It's half past eleven.”

  “We'll go there,” Janine repeated, “and hurry.” As Dorey started the car and edged out into the traffic, she went on. “This is Radnitz's work. I'm sure of it! If this isn't something really big, he wouldn't have had Rossland killed. Haven't you any idea who Rossland sent to meet this woman? Don't you know any of his men?”

  “No. Rossland would never tell me the names of his agents. He was scared I might take them away from him.”

  “This isn't going to look very good to Warley, is it John?” she said quietly. “You get the tipoff. Instead of reporting to Warley, you turn Rossland on to it... Rossland of all people. He turned an unknown onto it and Radnitz moves in. By now Radnitz will have caught Rossland's man and he'll know what the woman has to sell: something important to the security of America. Not brilliant, is it?”

  Dorey felt his hands turn clammy. There were times when he found himself uneasy about Janine. Not for the first time, he wished he had made her his mistress. There was a time when she would have been willing. As his mistress, he might have had a firmer hold on her.

  “We all make mistakes.” he said. “I don't see how I can be blamed.”

  She lit a cigarette.

  He glanced at her uneasily, then decided it would be better not to make further excuses.

  They reached the cellar club at a few minutes to midnight.

  By then Dorey had recovered from the shock of Rossland's death and his nimble brain was working efficiently again.

  “You had better wait in the car,” he said. “I'll handle this.”

  She nodded and he entered the club.

  The fat man in the green smoking jacket whose name was Husson, greeted him.

  “I want to talk to you.” Dorey said curtly and showed his Embassy pass. “This could be police business.”

  Husson looked started. Dorey's air of authority impressed him. If the police came here and found that trick mirror, he thought, there would be a lot of tiresome unpleasantness.

  He led Dorey to a small office behind the bar.

  “Now monsieur, what can I do for you?” he asked, waving Dorey to a chair and sitting behind the desk.

  “A woman who calls herself Madame Foucher has been here I understand.” Dorey said.

  He saw Husson hesitate, then nod.

  “That is right, monsieur.”

  “Is she here now?”

  “She left some time ago.”

  “She met someone?”

  “An American came to see her.”

  “What can you tell me about Madame Foucher?”

  Husson lifted his shoulders.

  “She came here yesterday, asked for a private room where she could meet a friend tonight at eleven. She paid well. I saw no reason why I shouldn't oblige her monsieur.”

  “Can you describe her?”

  “She was coloured: unusually tall, handsome, young and well-dressed.”

  “Coloured?” Dorey said, leaning forward to stare at Husson.

  “West African... Senegalese I should imagine.”

  Dorey then remembered the woman's odd accent when she had spoken to him on the telephone. He should have known she was Senegalese and he was infuriated with himself for not knowing.

  “The man kept the appointment?”

  “Yes monsieur. He has only just left with two other men. He hasn't been gone more than ten minutes.”

  “Who were these other two men?”

  “I don't know. They came into the club, had a drink, then the next time I noticed them, they were leaving with this American who had the rendezvous with Madame Foucher.”

  “Can you describe them?”

  Husson thought for a moment. “I didn't particularly notice them, monsieur. It isn't easy to see people in the club. I think the smaller man had a beard. I didn't notice the other man.”

  “And the American?”

  Husson gave him a fairly accurate description of Girland which meant nothing to Dorey.

  “You have never seen Madame Foucher before?”

  “No.”

  “Did she have a car?”

  “I wouldn't know. She arrived and I took her to the room.”

  “She didn't tell you the name of this man who visited her?”

  “No, monsieur.”

  Dorey gave up. At least he had found out something, but he couldn't see for the moment if it were going to be of any use to him. Rossland's man had met the woman. She had gone, then Radnitz's men had taken this man away.

  He stood up.

  Thank you. I think you have given me all the information I need,” he said.

  Husson looked sharply at him.

  “There will be no trouble?”

  “No, there will be no trouble,” Dorey returned and leaving the club, he joined Janine in the car.

  Quickly, he told her what he had learned.

  She said, “Don't you think you should now report the whole thing to Warley. John?”

  “Certainly not!” Dorey said without hesitation “I can handle this. I'm going to find this Senegalese woman. I'll have a check made at the airports. She might have arrived only within the last few days. It shouldn't be too difficult. I have a good description of her. Someone at the a
irports might remember her.”

  “By now they are persuading Rossland's man to talk,” Janine said. “In a little while, they will know who this woman is and where to find her. I think you're going to be too late John.”

  “I must chance that. If I'm too late, then Warley will also be too late. He can't do better than I can.”

  With an obstinate expression in his eyes, Dorey drove fast in the direction of his apartment

  chapter four

  Seconds after Radnitz had driven away, Thomas came into the room and looked anxiously at Girland.

  “Did he say anything about me?” Thomas demanded.

  Girland rubbed the back of his aching neck while he looked at Thomas's white, frightened face.

  “I told him I was in the club an hour before you sealed it off,” he said. “It seemed to make him happy: should make you happy too.”

  Borg and Schwartz came into the room. Borg grinned at Girland.

  “You're pretty smart.” he said. “I was getting ready to dig a hole for you.”

  “I'm smart all right” Girland looked at Thomas. “It's getting past my bedtime. I'll have my gun.”

  Thomas hurriedly gave him the .45 which Girland pushed into his holster.

  “This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” Girland said and moved to the door. He paused and looked directly at Schwartz, “Business before pleasure stoneface. I'll even the score when we have wrapped up this little job.”

  He went out of the room to the sound of Borg’s explosive laugh.

  The time now was a little after one o'clock, but Girland had something to do before he went to bed. With some difficulty he found a taxi and told the driver to take him to Le Figaro building on Champs Elysees.

  When the taxi pulled up before the arched entrance leading to the offices of the newspaper. Girland paid, got out and walked to the busy reception desk.

  “Mr. Vemey in?” he asked the elderly woman who looked at him with tired eyes.

  “He's in his office. Who shall I say?”

  Girland spelt out his name.

  The woman spoke on the telephone, then beckoned to a girl in a blue overall who came over. She told her to take Girland to Vemey’s office. The girl had a nice figure, but it was a pity. Girland thought that her nose was too sharp and her mouth bad-tempered. He followed her into the small lift, reached the third floor, then followed her swaying hips down a long corridor to a tiny office where Jacques Vemey was sitting behind a desk, talking on the telephone.

  Vemey was a legman for the paper's gossip columnist. He was thin and dark with close cut hair, a chin beard and a taste for loud sports clothes that set Girland's teeth on edge.

  He waved to a chair when he saw Girland, completed his conversation and then hung up.

  “Hello. Mark,” he said. “What's it this time?”

  He and Girland had known each other for a long time.

  Vemey had his suspicions that Girland was some kind of agent, but there had been a time, some three years ago when Girland had given him money to help him out of a very tight jam. Vemey had known that Girland couldn't afford to part with the money, but he had parted with it. This was something Vemey hadn't forgotten. He was happy to give Girland any information he could supply without asking questions.

  Girland sat down and offered Borg's pack of cigarettes.

  When the two men were smoking, he said. “What do you know about Herman Radnitz, staying at the George V Hotel?”

  Vemey squinted at Girland through the cigarette smoke.

  “Radnitz? Why surely, everyone knows about him.”

  “I don't,” Girland said, a slight edge to his voice. “I wouldn't be here if I did.”

  “Sorry Mark,” Vemey said. “I just assumed everyone did know about him”

  “Who is he and what is he?”

  “Well, suppose you want to build a dam in Hong Kong. Suppose you want to put up a power plant in Bombay. Suppose you want to launch a car service between England and Denmark. Before you start even to think about it, you'd consult Radnitz who would fix the financial end. Radnitz handles anything big that costs big money,” Vemey tapped ash off his cigarette. “He's in practically everything: ships, oil, building construction, aircraft. You ask who he is. He's Mr. Big Business.”

  Girland frowned. His neck was aching again.

  “Then why the hell haven't I heard of him if he's that big?”

  Vemey smiled.

  “He hates publicity. He knows all the newspaper bosses. He helps them, so they lay off him. He's the Rasputin of finance: probably the most powerful magnate in the world.”

  “Any idea what he's worth?”

  “None at all. I'll bet he could lay ten million pounds sterling on the table without disturbing his financial balance. He's big. Mark: really Mr. Big.”

  Girland shifted on the hard seat of his chair.

  “Does he live permanently at George V?”

  “He doesn't live permanently anywhere. He has a chateau in the Loire district. He has his own place in Paris. He has places all over the world, but he seldom lives in them He prefers a good hotel. He lost his wife a couple of years ago so why should he worry about a permanent home? He moves around all the time. He's just back from Moscow. It wouldn't surprise me if he hadn't put in a bid for the Kremlin as a weekend place. He's that kind of a man.”

  Girland became alert.

  “What was he doing in Moscow?”

  “I wouldn't know.” Vemey said and shrugged. “More big business.” He looked thoughtfully at Girland. “You come in from time to time and ask all kinds of questions, but this is the oddest I wouldn't have thought you would have interested yourself in Radnitz.”

  “It's for my scrapbook,” Girland said and got to his feet. “Well, thanks, Jacques. I'll leave you to get on with your work. Don't pine for me. You'll see me before long.”

  “I don't ask questions,” Vemey said, his face serious, “but as you are my friend I have to warn you to have nothing to do with Radnitz. He's dangerous.”

  “Thanks.” Girland smiled. “When I have saved up enough money. I'll buy you a beautiful dinner.”

  He waved his hand and left the office. After he had taken the lift to the ground floor, he walked out into the chilly wind that blew up the Champs Elysees.

  He found a taxi to take him back to his apartment. He climbed the stairs slowly, thinking, so this is how it feels like to be old. It had been quite a night, he thought. but now at last, I'm free of Rossland, and I'm heading for the big money.

  In his apartment, he stripped off his clothes and took a hot shower, then he put on pyjama trousers and flopped into bed.

  In the darkness, he thought about this mysterious woman, Radnitz and Robert Henry Carey. He thought too of Rossland, lying alone in his room, his fingernails torn off, his face congested and very dead.

  His final thought before he fell asleep was of Tessa, with her long legs, her blonde hair and her compactly built, beautiful body.

  Sleep closed over him and washed even her out of his mind.

  ***

  The telephone bell brought Dorey out of a light doze. He was sitting at his desk, his head in his hands. He stiffened to attention, glanced at his desk clock and saw it was twenty minutes after three.

  Janine lying on the settee, started out of an uneasy sleep and half sat up.

  Dorey lifted the receiver.

  “Hello, yes? Dorey here.”

  “This is O'Halloran. I'm calling from Orly airport.” a tough cop voice said. Captain Tim O'Halloran was one of the best officers of the American Security Branch. “Drawn blank down here. We've checked thoroughly. During the past week, around a hundred or so Senegalese have passed through the barriers. She might have been amongst them, but I doubt it. We've gone through all the embarkation cards. Most of the women were with men and those on their own were old. Do you think he was travelling with a man Mr. Dorey?”

  “I don't know. I don't see why not.”

  “Well,
okay, I'll get some of the boys to check all the married couples. It'll be a job, but it can be done. She might have come in by boat. S.S. Ancerville berthed a couple of days go. I've alerted the police at Marseilles to check. There was also a cargo boat from Dakar, berthing at Dunkirk. She could have been on that”

  “How long will all this take?” Dorey demanded.

  “For a complete check at least five days. Best we can do.”

  “She could have left the country by then,” Dorey said.

  “I don't think so Mr. Dorey. We're now ready for her. She can't get out. We've sewn up the airports, the trains, and the ships. We may take time to find her, but if she tries to leave, we'll have her.”

  Dorey thought bitterly, she'll probably be dead by then.

  “Okay. Captain, do your best. This is urgent.”

  “We'll keep working on it.” O'Halloran said and hung up.

  Janine looked inquiringly at Dorey who shrugged.

  “You're right: we're too late. They can't hope to trace her within five days.” He rubbed his hand across his forehead. “What has a woman from Senegal got to sell that's important enough for Radnitz to have a man killed?”

  “Why don't you send one of your men to Rossland's place and search it? He might have kept records of his men,” Janine said. “We should have looked ourselves.”

  “If someone had walked in on us we would have been in a hell of a mess,” Dorey said. He thought for a moment, then reached for the telephone. “Jack Kerman could do it.” He dialled, then waited. A sleepy voice demanded who was calling. Dorey quickly explained what he wanted done. “This is top priority Kerman. I must have a list of Rossland's operators. Go over there and take the place to pieces.”

  The man at the other end of the line was alert now.

  “Can do... will do.” and he hung up.

  Dorey nodded to Janine.

  “He might find something.”

  “We're late starters,” Janine said. “This man of Rossland's could be dead by now.”

  Dorey said. “I'll put two men to watch Radnitz's hotel. If they spot this youth with a beard, we'll pick him up and we'll talk to him the way they talked to Rossland.”

  Janine got stiffly to her feet

  “Now you're getting into gear John. I'm going home. I need my beauty sleep.”