9

Olivia

The blanket stretched from her neck to her feet; only her head showed. As she blinked dazedly about her, Mark went across to switch on a softer table-lamp, while Mike switched off the main light.

‘Thank … you,’ she murmured, haltingly, and the two words were enough to betray her American accent.

Mike went over to the foot of the settee and smiled down at her.

‘So it wasn’t too bad?’ he said.

Her eyes widened, puzzling.

‘Too … bad? What do you …’ She broke off abruptly, staring at him with sudden fear.

Then suddenly she flung off the blanket and tried to get up. Her short lace night-dress was certainly badly torn, although hardly in a condition to justify the warden’s precautions. But the two men gasped, obviously shocked by the display of so much long, bare leg, as Mike stepped forward swiftly and pressed her shoulders back against the cushion.

‘It’s all right!’ he soothed. ‘He’s not badly hurt.’

‘Are … are you sure?’ The fear faded, but not altogether ‘My father—Mr. Livesey.…’

‘He’s all right,’ Mike assured her. ‘He’ll take a little while to come round, but he has only superficial injuries—hardly more serious than your own. Mustn’t shock grandpa, here,’ he added brightly, pulling the blanket over her again.

‘Grandpa?’ she echoed, glancing about her, and the warden looked away quickly.

‘Forget it!’ grinned Mike. ‘Look, Miss Livesey, I don’t like worrying you—but there are one or two questions which should be answered quickly. How many other people should there be in the house?’

‘About … a dozen.’

‘Were they in the house, when you went to bed?’

‘Yes, surely. Why do you …?’ Her eyes filled with fear again: ‘You mean … they’re not, now? But what’s happened to …?’

‘They’re not about now,’ said Mike. ‘But they’ll turn up, all right—a dozen people can’t just disappear into the night! Who attacked you, do you know?’

She shook her head—and winced: it was obviously aching.

‘I was asleep. Someone came into my room—he’d tied a scarf round my mouth before I could shout.’ She shivered. ‘I was terrified! And then he locked me in. But I had another key, so I got out. Then—not knowing how many there were, or …’ she shivered again—‘what they might do, if they saw me, I tried to get out of the house and find help.’

‘Nice work,’ approved Mike. ‘You found it!’ He bent to pick up a silk scarf which lay with a pair of high-heeled slippers beside the settee. ‘This it?’

‘Yes….’ She frowned. ‘I couldn’t untie the knot—it was still round my neck ...’

The warden cleared his throat self-consciously.

‘Begging the lady’s pardon, sir—but I took the liberty of removing it.’

‘Good man,’ said Mark, solemnly. ‘Doesn’t do to let too much get in the way of a person’s breathing.’

Mike grinned at him behind the man’s back. But he was reflecting that the girl had answered all his questions with commendable clarity, at the same time explaining why she had not cried out or called for help. But the whereabouts of the missing staff and residents was still a poser.

Well, Loftus and Hammond were on the way....

He nodded towards Mark.

‘My cousin,’ he introduced him, and Mark inclined his head. ‘Mark Errol. I’m Mike.’

‘How ... how are you?’ Her eyes seemed to be trying to smile. ‘I’m … Olivia Livesey.’

‘How many men attacked you, Miss Livesey?’ asked Mark.

‘One.’

‘Did you see him well enough to recognise him?’

‘I saw him well enough to know he was a complete stranger to me.’ She wrinkled her brow, trying to remember. ‘What happened to me? I remember he saw me, and started shooting, and I … I think I fell down. Didn’t … didn’t someone try to catch me?’

‘More or less,’ Mike told her, and grimaced wryly. ‘It was a question of you or the gunman, so I concentrated on the gunman. I wouldn’t, another time!’ he smiled, then added to the warden: ‘Do you think you could get some tea? It would do her a world of good.’

‘All these questions won’t,’ growled the warden. ‘Why don’t you let her be?’

‘We shan’t worry her much longer,’ Mike assured him. ‘And it really is important.’

The man scowled but went out at once, and violet-blue eyes smiled gratefully up at Mike. She was flushed now; and her soft, dark hair was prettily dishevelled. She was quite charming, Mike thought—and almost beautiful, despite a bruise on one cheek and a cut on the other.

‘Who are you?’ she demanded.

‘We were looking for the men who attacked your father,’ Mike evaded, easily. ‘The trail led here. Then we heard the shooting …’

He broke off at a sudden, noisy clatter of footsteps in the hall—several people hurrying together across the marble floor, by the sound of it. Voices were raised: angry, excited, anxious—and all with pronounced American accents. Then the babble grew suddenly louder, as the door shot open to admit a tall, fresh-faced fair-haired man in an almost comically gaudy dressing-gown.

‘Livvy!’ he cried, and flinging himself towards the settee, he crushed the girl in his arms. Mike could not be sure, but he thought that Olivia hesitated fractionally before she returned the embrace.

He exchanged glances with Mark.

‘I think perhaps …’ he began, after a pause, cutting short the newcomer’s rain of endearments.

‘Livesey!’ gasped the young man, jumping to his feet. ‘Livesey! Jumping snakes, where is he? Livvy, sweetheart, is he all right?’

‘He’s as well as you are,’ Mike told him. ‘But Miss Livesey will probably have a relapse if you keep shouting the roof off.’ He smiled pleasantly.

The fair-haired young man stared at him, showing no signs of umbrage. He had the clean-cut look common to many Americans and his pleasant face had strength and character.

‘Gee, yes—sorry, Livvy! I didn’t think. You’re sure the Old Man’s all right? You can tell me—I’m Catesby. Dick Catesby.’

‘Mike Errol—and my cousin Mark, also Errol,’ Mike rejoined. ‘I’ve been busy convincing everyone that he’s perfectly fit.’ He felt just a little uneasy: he could not know how quickly Livesey would recover from the attack, and he would hate to have to tell the girl if he was wrong.

He saw Mark glance towards the open door—and having heard no sound, was astonished to see another man already inside it.

The newcomer, who was fully-dressed in a dark, well-cut suit, was very small: certainly no more than five feet tall, and slimlybuilt. He was olive-skinned and his hair had that peculiarly dull blackness which characterises some American Indian tribes. His nose, large and hooked, dominated his face and his expression as he looked from one Errol to the other was coldly inscrutable. Then his dark gaze found Olivia—and his thin lips parted in a smile that completely transformed him.

‘Ben!’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, Ben! Is Dad …?’

‘He is just fine, Olivia. He sent me down to check that you were not hurt.’ The small man’s voice was deep-toned but very quiet, yet somehow reached every corner of the room. Over his shoulder, he called: ‘Wills—go and tell Mr. Livesey that Olivia is quite safe.’

‘O.K.,’ answered a man in a nasal voice, and footsteps plodded off across the hall.

There followed a few moments, which, as Mike afterwards put it, ‘Ben’ let them know by unseen smoke-signals that he considered their presence an unnecessary intrusion. But the Errols were on a job: the only ‘messages’ they were prepared to receive were the kind that came direct from Craigie. They greeted his frigid hostility with beaming smiles—and stayed.

Olivia, too, had seemed to be expecting them to go. But now she broke the silence:

‘Ben, these are the gentlemen who—saved me.’

Once more, the little man’s expression altered magically. Clearly, Mike decided, he worshipped the girl. In a flash, he and Mark had become men to whom, in ‘Ben’s’ eyes, gratitude alone could never be enough.

His manner was curiously impressive: despite his stature, there was remarkable dignity in the man.

‘I am deeply grateful, gentlemen. And I know Mr. Livesey will wish to signify his own appreciation in person.’

‘That’s all right,’ Mike said easily. ‘Our job, when all’s said and done. Did I hear a biggish crowd in the hall, just now?’

‘Ben’ smiled drily.

‘My colleagues had been incarcerated in the cellar. They were what might be termed excited, when eventually they were released. You doubtless heard them hurrying to their rooms to learn what was missing. They assumed, I imagine, that he had been robbed.’

‘I wonder if he was?’ said Mark, and Mike frowned with him, struck by the same new and disturbing idea.

They had no time to brood on it, however. The front door opened suddenly, and they heard the voice of Bill Loftus enquiring for them. A moment later, he appeared in the doorway, moving now with none of the stiffness he had shown at the office. Behind him came Hammond, but it was Loftus who took the eye.

‘Hallo, hallo!’ he said cheerfully, his glance flicking from the Errols to the two Americans and then lighting on the girl with a broad reassuring smile. ‘Everyone alive and kicking, Mike—if I may put it like that?’ He beamed again, and ‘Ben’ asked quietly but firmly:

‘May I enquire the identity of you gentlemen?’

‘Bruce?’ Loftus queried, careful not to usurp any of his successor’s responsibilities.

‘Go ahead,’ Hammond smiled.

‘Right!’ Loftus turned back to ‘Ben’: ‘You might call us Special Branch agents—the equivalent of Federal Bureau men. May I present—Bruce Hammond, Mike Errol, Mark Errol. My name is Loftus.’

‘Ben’ inclined his head.

‘Thank you, sir. Allow me to introduce Miss Olivia Livesey, Mr. Richard Catesby. And I am Benjamin Roosevelt Washington.’ His eyes seemed to anticipate amused astonishment, if not worse. When they all merely nodded acknowledgement, his own smile returned at once. ‘My parents,’ he murmured, ‘were very good Americans.’

‘Ah!’ said Loftus, and smiled with him.

Then he and Hammond took control.

They did so smoothly, upsetting no one; but in less than an hour every person at Number 27, Queen’s Gate, had been questioned. Their stories were almost identical, and nothing, as far as it was possible to ascertain for the moment, had been stolen. The safe in the study next to Livesey’s bedroom, Washington assured them, was untouched.

Finally, Hammond and Loftus went with Washington to see Arnold K. Livesey himself, leaving the Errols with Olivia and the youthful Catesby.

Livesey had been more seriously hurt than his daughter, but his injuries were comparatively light.

A doctor had seen him and his head was bandaged. But his face was hardly less ruddy than usual, and his blue eyes were bright and piercingly direct. He sat propped up against his pillows, smoking; his cigarette in a long, black holder jutting out at a jaunty angle, his massive shoulders doubly impressive in royal blue pyjamas which contrasted vividly with the snowy linen.

Arnold K. Livesey was a character: Hammond’s first glimpse convinced him of that.

‘Is it true Livvy’s O.K.?’ he demanded of Washington, as soon as they appeared, and the little man said soothingly:

‘She’s fine, Arnold. She was hardly hurt at all.’

Livesey scowled at the other two.

‘She’s really all right?’

Hammond nodded easily.

‘A few minor cuts and bruises,’ he assured him. ‘Nothing more.’

Loftus, leaning against the dressing-table, watched with amusement, what amounted to a battle for ascendancy between Livesey and the deceptively quiet-looking Hammond. It was obvious that the American was used to mastery in any situation, although there was nothing aggressive in his manner: it was more an excess of self-confidence.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded now.

Hammond explained briefly.

‘Special agents, huh?’ Livesey boomed. ‘Too bad you weren’t a bit quicker off the mark, son.’

Hammond raised an eyebrow.

‘Why do you think you had visitors?’ he asked mildly.

‘You need me to tell you?’ demanded the American. ‘I’m not popular around here. There’s plenty of folk would like to see me dead and buried!’

‘You’re alive,’ Hammond reminded him.

‘I sure am, and I aim to …’ Livesey stared. ‘Say! You mean you guys have something to do with that?’

‘Everything,’ nodded Hammond. ‘Our men were here on time. Yours …’ he smiled amiably ‘… were in the cellar. All of them. They were forced there at gunpoint by your assailants—presumably so that you could receive their undivided attentions thereafter.’

Livesey gaped at him. After a long pause, he said:

‘That’s what happened—the boys fell as easy as that?’

‘Just as easily as you did,’ Hammond said, pointedly.

Livesey’s stare became fixed; it looked as if Hammond had been too blunt. Then the sharp blue eyes creased at the corners and he uttered a great guffaw.

‘I like that!’ he roared. ‘I like it plenty! I guess that puts you and me in our place—eh, Ben? O.K., Hammond—you were on time and we owe you one helluva lot.’

‘Our job,’ murmured Hammond. ‘Now, do you know why you were attacked?’

‘Haven’t I just told you?’

‘You’ve made a suggestion. What I’d like to know is whether the man who attacked you asked questions—made any statements—that would confirm your suspicions?’

‘Oh, sure. He asked questions.’

‘Questions about what?’

Livesey said drily: ‘I’m allergic to questions.’

Hammond showed a touch of impatience.

‘If we don’t know what it’s about, how can we prevent it from happening again?’ he demanded. ‘We’ve full authority to make investigations. You’ve seen my card.’

‘Sure. But I‘d need full authority to talk freely on this one, son. Sorry—that’s the way it is! It’ll have to wait.’

‘Delay could do a lot of harm,’ Hammond told him. And added flatly, as the big man grimaced: ‘Kearnley was attacked this evening. He’s in hospital and it isn’t certain he will recover. It’s probable that others were also attacked. Many Americans are in this country—on one official visit or another. You must know there’s been trouble brewing for some time. What are you trying to do—make it worse?’

His voice was still mild, but his manner had stiffened.

Livesey pursed his lips, took the butt from the holder and leaned to a bedside table to fit in another cigarette. Then, abruptly, he said:

‘O.K.—you win. He wanted details of what foodstuffs we plan to ship from the States to the Continent as soon as the last shot’s fired.’

‘Did he get them?’

‘Now listen to me, Mister Hammond,’ Livesey growled. ‘I don’t give information away like that!’

‘No, and they wouldn’t have had time to make you,’ conceded Hammond. ‘Did he particularise what he wanted to know?’

‘He did,’ said Livesey grimly. ‘He wanted to know how much stuff is already stored near the ports for shipment. There’s plenty, I’ll tell you! And he was mighty keen to know exactly where it’s all kept, and just what it is.’

‘I see. Had you ever seen him before?’

‘I had not.’

‘Can you describe him?’

‘Well, he was an American.’

Hammond’s eyes widened.

‘Are you sure of that?’

‘Look, son—I guess I know when a man has a real American accent, and when he’s putting one on. I’m dead sure! He was American, all right—and from New York or some place near. I didn’t see his face: he was masked.’

‘A real mask? Or a scarf over his face?’

‘A scarf. All I could see were his eyes—but I wouldn’t forget them, in a hurry. They were a real pale grey—big, and round. Like a baby’s—you know! He was wearing grey, too—some kind of silky-looking stuff. Expensive looking, too. Good cut.’

Livesey’s dry smile flashed briefly: ‘Good American cut, that is! He was just warming up with the questions when another fellow stuck his head in to say Livvy had gotten out of her room. There was some shooting right after that. Then I got myself hit over the head—with a gun.’

‘Ah!’ said Hammond.

‘Maybe you know why,’ growled Livesey, and Hammond smiled.

‘I know that if he hit you over the head with a gun instead of shooting you with it, he doesn’t want you dead, yet. So at least we’ve got that—you’re more valuable to him alive than dead, Mr. Livesey! There’s nothing more, at all?’

‘It sounds plenty to me,’ growled the American.

‘It helps,’ Hammond admitted briefly. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Where are you going?’ demanded Livesey.

‘To report. I’ll let you know later what is arranged. Meanwhile, we shall watch the house back and front—and it would be wise if you would let our men know where you are going, any time you leave the house.’

‘I don’t want a bodyguard!’ snapped Livesey.

‘I think you’d be safer with one,’ said Hammond mildly. ‘Goodnight, gentlemen.’ He inclined his head to Livesey and Washington in turn, then left the room, and Loftus echoed his ‘goodnight’ and followed suit.

As the door closed behind him, Livesey was scowling, Washington expressionless.

‘He thinks he’s smart,’ Livesey ground out, at last.

‘Perhaps he is,’ said Washington, gently. ‘Don’t you think you should stop worrying about it for tonight, and get to sleep?’

He did not wait for any response but left the room—moving with that remarkably silent, almost stealthy manner which had earlier so astonished Mike.

In the passage, he moved more quickly.

At the foot of the stairs, Hammond and Loftus were talking to Mike Errol. Once he had seen them, he walked sedately down and waited on one side as Hammond continued to give instructions.

‘Livesey’s to be followed wherever he goes,’ Hammond wound up. ‘And his daughter. All right, Mike—that’s the lot.’

‘Right—and I’ll take Olivia,’ Mike grinned. ‘Mark will look after the old man.’

Hammond smiled.

‘I’ll leave that to you.’ He had made no attempt to prevent Washington from overhearing, and now turned with a smile to ask pleasantly: ‘Did you want me?’

‘I should like a word with you,’ Washington nodded, gravely. ‘Shall we step in here?’ He went towards the small lounge, then stopped. ‘Unless Olivia …?’

‘She’s gone back to bed,’ Mike told him.

‘Thank you. In that case.…’

Hammond and Loftus followed him into the room, and he went to stand with his back to the mantelpiece. Somehow it was impossible to think of him as a small man. That innate dignity helped, of course: lent him stature. Hammond found it quite impossible even to guess at his age. He wondered if Loftus found him as intriguing a character.

Loftus was leaving this interview to him, too: had perched himself on the high end of the settee. He would have a good chance of studying the man.

‘I have served Arnold Livesey for many years,’ Washington began, quietly. ‘And I know him better than most people. I wish to advise you not to be annoyed by his manner.’

Hammond’s eyebrows rose.

‘Why should we be?’

‘You might well consider it—truculence. It is not—please believe that. He will appreciate all you have done when he has had time to recover from the shock and from the very great anxiety he felt for his daughter. Please understand …’ He hesitated, then went on: ‘I mean to say, Mr. Hammond, that since the death of his wife, not very long ago, he has depended a great deal on Olivia. Any thought of danger or injury to her affects him far more deeply than anything else ever could.’

‘I see,’ murmured Hammond.

‘Also, he is by nature a very self-assertive man.’ Washington smiled briefly. ‘He has clear-cut ideas and knows exactly what he wants to do and how it is to be done—perhaps because he is also very able.’

‘I’d gathered that,’ Hammond murmured drily.

‘It would truly be a tragedy if anything were to happen to him,’ Washington said, earnestly. ‘One hesitates to use the word “irreplaceable”. But he has a habit of keeping a great deal to himself. He distrusts others and he distrusts written statements.’

‘That has its disadvantages, admittedly. But there’s a lot to be said for it. And if he is sensible, nothing will happen to him. Can you make him take the necessary precautions?’

‘I think so,’ Washington nodded: ‘Yes, I think so. But he will probably prefer to have a Federal Bureau man to look after him.’ He grimaced ruefully, apologetic: ‘You understand, Mr. Hammond, I mean nothing derogatory by that, but …’ He spread his right hand a little: ‘It is just his way.’

Hammond nodded smilingly then looked a query at Loftus, who shook his head: he had no questions.

‘Then we all know where we stand,’ said Hammond easily. ‘Thank you for filling us in, Mr. Washington.’

A few minutes later, he and Loftus left the house.

There were police outside, now, as well as the fatherly warden. Yet even a dozen yards away from the house, there was complete peace and quiet. Nothing seemed more unlikely than that raid on Number 27.

Hammond’s car was parked a few yards further along the road. They made their way to it in silence, climbed in, and started off. Hammond waited until they had turned into the main road, then said a dry:

‘Well, Bill?’

‘You handled him well, old son,’ Loftus said judicially. ‘Not the way I would have done it, perhaps,’ he grinned. ‘But you achieved your object. He doesn’t know what to make of you, so he’ll be wary—I presume you did want that?’

‘Yes.…’ Hammond seemed very thoughtful. ‘What did you make of him?’

‘Washington summed him up.’

‘M’mm … Why didn’t they kill him?’

‘I don’t know. But I’d say you were about right—he’s of more value alive than dead.’

‘It could be that,’ Hammond frowned. ‘It could also be that it was all a put-up job, Bill. Or am I going haywire? But the whole of the staff pushed into the cellar, everything set for a secret session upstairs—if the girl hadn’t broken away, what would have happened? And teetering along on her high heels, in a white nightie,’ he added drily, ‘against a dark wall—she’d take a bit of missing, even with a pop-gun.’

Loftus said, slowly:

‘What are you driving at, Bruce?’

‘That I don’t trust Arnold K. Livesey,’ Hammond told him abruptly.