22

The Strange Behaviour of George Kent

Olivia was not sure whether Kent was still suffering from the shock of Anne Duval’s murder or whether there was something else on his mind.

She wanted to believe the latter: that Washington’s suspicions had some foundation. She did not believe there was much she could do. Indeed, when she called at Kent’s flat, she wondered whether she would be welcome. But he received her in friendly fashion, expressing the hope that his differences with her father would be settled quickly.

I’m sure they will,’ she told him.

‘I’m so glad.’ Kent gave a quick smile. ‘It is worrying, Miss Livesey … most worrying. You will convey my best wishes to him, won’t you?’

‘Of course,’ Olivia smiled back, reassuringly.

‘Thank you so much. I … oh, excuse me!’ he added, as the telephone rang. He lifted the receiver—and a moment later, said in a sharp incredulous tone:

‘David! What on …!’

Then apparently realising what he had said, he glanced over his shoulder. Olivia was staring at him, wide-eyed.

‘I can’t listen to …’ Kent began hastily.

But he did listen, and after a while protested in more urgent tones:

‘No, no! I can’t do it. I tell you I can’t! David, I’d no idea that you …’

Olivia stared, wishing desperately that she could hear what Garth was saying. The effect on Kent was remarkable: his forehead was beaded with sweat and his voice unsteady. Before he replaced the receiver, he said in a low-pitched voice:

‘Oh, all right, all right!’ Then rang off.

He did not immediately turn to Olivia. When he did, his eyes looked as if he were suffering from a mental torment too great to be endured. She knew that whatever Garth had said had shocked him deeply. He seemed to be breaking up in front of her eyes.

‘You must go, please!’ he said thickly. ‘Please …!’

‘What did Mr. Garth want!’ she demanded.

‘I … I can’t tell you. Miss Livesey, please go. I have most important work to do and … and …’

‘What did he want?’

‘He wants … help. He …’ Kent licked his lips: ‘He wants money.…’

‘Are you going to give it to him?’ she asked tensely.

‘I … I don’t know. He says he can prove his innocence if … if only he can get money.’

‘Do you believe him?’

Kent drew a deep breath.

‘It … it’s hard to say. I’ve known him a long time, but… surely he understands I can do nothing! If I were seen with him, I should be suspect! I’d like to give him a chance … but I can’t see how I can do more than I already have.…’

‘Where is he?’ Olivia asked, with an effort.

‘At… at the house of a friend … in Chertsey.’

‘How much money does he want?’

‘Five hundred pounds. He … Miss Livesey, there is nothing you can do! You must not become further embroiled in this unhappy business.’

‘What is the address?’ she demanded, evenly.

‘I will not give it to you! I will not do anything which could encourage you to meet Garth—and perhaps lay yourself open to grave suspicion. I should never forgive myself if…’

‘You’ll give me that address,’ she told him. ‘Or I shall tell the police that you know where he is. One or the other! I won’t let him hide away, with no one to help him and without the money he wants. Better the police get him again!’ Her voice was flat: ‘Do you want the police to know that you’ve heard from him?’

‘I … I can’t betray him!’ gasped Kent.

‘Give me the address,’ she insisted.

He argued pointlessly for some time, but eventually submitted: she had known that he would. She found herself actively disliking George Kent. Behind that facade of pompous propriety, there was something sly and furtive. He would go to any lengths to justify himself in his own eyes: he cared only for himself.

When she reached the street, she did not know quite what to do.

Was there any sense at all in seeing Garth?

She could send him the money by post; even by special messenger. But she wanted to see him. And although she argued with herself, she knew that she would go.

The banks were closed, but there was plenty of money at Queen’s Gate and she had a safe-key. She could take what she wanted and replace it next morning; probably no one would even know she had taken it. But at all events, her I.O.U. was quite sufficient. She could face up to any consequences as to the reason afterwards. She considered the wisdom of consulting Washington, but decided against it: it would be moral blackmail to take advantage of his loyalty.

Both her father and Washington were out, when she reached Number 27. So was Catesby. She scribbled her I.O.U. and took the money from the safe, wrapped the wad of notes in brown paper and put it in her bag. Then went out, found a taxi, learned from the driver that the London terminus she needed was Waterloo, and had him take her there.

She reached Chertsey station about five o’clock. One dilapidated taxi and another—gleaming limousine-type—were waiting. The driver of the latter approached her:

‘Taxi, ma’am.’

‘Yes, please. Do you know …’ she glanced at her note of the address: ‘The Haven, Riverside Drive.’

‘I know Riverside Drive, ma’am. We’ll soon find the house.’

He held the door open, and she climbed in. Leaning back on the cushions, she felt an increasing tension. And, fifteen minutes afterwards, when the taxi pulled into the narrow driveway of a small house near the river, her heart was beating so fast that it threatened to suffocate her.

Then she saw George Kent.

She was getting out of the taxi when she caught a glimpse of him at a window. For a long moment, she just stood there, staring, trying to imagine why he had forestalled her. Then suddenly instinctively aware of being in far deeper waters than she had suspected before, she wanted desperately to get away. She turned to the driver.

‘I’ve decided to ...’ she began, and he gripped her arm tightly and forced her forward.

He acted so swiftly that she was in the porch before she knew what was happening. The door opened and as a neatly-dressed maid stood aside, he thrust Olivia forward into the hall. Before she had recovered her balance, the door was closed behind her—and three men appeared from a doorway on her left.

One was Garth; another, Kent. The third, who pushed through them to the front, was a vast, shaggy-looking man whose teeth showed very white against his dark beard.

‘My dear Miss Livesey,’ he said softly. ‘How nice it is to see you!’

She stared at him, mesmerised. She wanted to look at Garth, but she could not take her eyes from this giant of a man in front of her. His smile was a menacing, evil thing: he was like a great bear, frighteningly powerful and fully aware of it.

He gripped Olivia’s arm and drew her into the room. Garth stood aside, his face set. Kent looked frightened, but now she was more than ever aware of his cunning, and repelled by it.

‘When Kent told me he had given you the address, I felt I had to be here to greet you myself,’ Ryall went on. ‘You are anxious to help Garth, I understand? Most touching! Garth happily, has no sentimental regard for you—he agreed with me that it was much wiser that you should come here than be allowed to remain at large.’

She looked at Garth, something like horror in her eyes; but she could read nothing in his face.

‘What … what is all this about?’ she demanded, forcing herself to keep her voice steady.

‘Your impetuosity has led you astray, I fear,’ said Ryall. ‘Just as Garth was led astray by being too sensitive about his own skin—and Kent, because he needed money. Both of them have been good enough to give me some help: I hope you will do the same. Because my dear Miss Livesey, I think you can be very useful to me. Very useful indeed!’

‘I’ll have nothing to do with …’

‘I think you will, my dear. All I want is for you to make contact with your father’s friend, Washington. I know he will come hurrying down here the moment he knows where you are. He is very fond of you, is he not?’

Olivia moistened her lips nervously.

‘Don’t be frightened, my dear. You will be quite well cared for provided you attempt nothing foolish and do what I …’

‘Ryall!’ Kent exclaimed: ‘If you do anything to harm her.…’

Ryall swung round on him, a man transformed. Olivia went cold as she saw the glare in his eyes, heard the viciousness in his voice.

‘Hold your tongue! There will be no sudden flood of remorse from you! You brought her here … knew I wanted to get Washington here and saw how it could be done through her. That is all I want from you!’

Kent backed away like a whipped cur.

Garth remained silent, but looked out of the window. Ryall, suave again, turned to her and pointed to a telephone.

‘Call your dear friend “Ben”!’

‘What do you want with him?’ she demanded, harshly.

‘That hardly concerns you, my dear,’ he purred, menacing again. ‘Call him! Give him that address’—he touched a slip of paper by the telephone—‘and tell him it is most important that you see him quickly. Is that quite clear?’

Olivia’s chin lifted.

‘I won’t do it!’

‘Now, Miss Livesey,’ he purred again, ‘I do not wish to make it unpleasant for you. But believe me, I shall not shrink from doing so! There are ways and means of persuading you, none of which is likely to fail. Be sensible, please!’

‘I won’t do it,’ she repeated, doggedly.

She stared into his eyes. Her heart was pounding with fear and she felt weak at the knees. She did not know what methods he would use, but she had no doubt that he would, indeed, find a way of making her talk. She was vaguely aware that she was in a state of emotional shock.

Her mind refused even to contemplate David Garth’s involvement and all that it connotated. And her loathing for Kent had been replaced by a kind of numbness that admitted only fear.

Then Garth spoke for the first time.

‘I’ll phone Washington,’ he offered. ‘He’ll come if I tell him what the trouble is.’

Ryall turned on him and barked:

‘You will do nothing of the kind! He will come for his precious Olivia without hesitation. If you call him, he will probably arrange some trap … might even go to the police! If you wish to help, convince her. You know what will happen to her if she refuses!’

Garth looked at her.

The numbness remained, but rising through it came a sickening wave of loathing and shame combined. This was the man in whom she had believed—whom she had been ready to help at whatever cost to herself. How would she be able to trust her own judgement ever again?

She was revolted, too, by the cold-blooded deliberation with which Kent had inveigled her here. He had used Garth’s alleged need of help as the bait—deliberately, calculatedly, leading’ her into a trap: leading her here, as the bait to trap Ben Washington.

But why Ben? What could Ben do for Ryall.

‘You’ll be well-advised to telephone Washington,’ Garth told her, quietly. ‘Otherwise …’ He glanced at Ryall: ‘It will not be pleasant, Miss Livesey. I know Washington would far prefer that you did call him.’

‘I won’t…’ she began again; pale-faced now, and very, very frightened.

‘Miss Livesey,’ Garth began again. ‘You …’

‘Enough!’ cried Ryall. He strode forward and slapped her hard across the face, sending her reeling against Garth and almost deafening her. His second blow, across the other cheek sent her crashing into Kent.

Both men stood still, doing nothing to help her. As she staggered, trying to keep on her feet, he struck her brutally again. And this time, she fell so heavily against Garth that he lost his own balance.

They fell together, Olivia on top.

‘Get up!’ Ryall snarled. ‘Get up, my dear Miss Livesey! I am trying to make you see sense without too much inconvenience. But I can very quickly call on others who will show much less finesse, I assure you!’

She was conscious of the threatening tone of the words, but hardly knew what he said: another voice was whispering in her ear. Garth, one arm about her as he pushed her from him, apparently slipped and fell again so that her hair fell about his face. He spoke softly and urgently.

‘Phone him! Trust me … phone him!’

‘Get … up!’ Ryall snapped. And bending, gripped her arm and jerked her to her feet. She stared dazedly at him, hardly seeing his face and hearing nothing of what he said.

Garth’s voice was in her ears: seemed to be speaking, still. She certainly would not have given in so easily but for that whispered exhortation. She hardly knew whether she even believed she could trust him. But she was miserably conscious that she would not be able to withstand Ryall’s pressure for long.

She would make the call, sooner or later. And she wanted, so much, to trust Garth: wanted, too, to show him that she did. Dear God, she was thinking, don’t let me be wrong!

‘… Or do you want further persuasion?’ Ryall’s voice reached her again as she saw Garth get slowly to his feet. And listlessly, she moved towards the telephone.

‘Excellent!’ Ryall purred. ‘You had better have a drink of water, my dear … and give yourself time to recover. It would not do for you to sound unhappy, would it?’

She was glad of the water; and when she spoke to Washington a few minutes later, her voice sounded normal enough. She gave him the address on the paper—also in Chertsey—and finished on an urgent note:

‘I must go! But Ben … you will come?’

‘Where are you?’ Washington asked evenly.

‘I’m … in a phone booth. Ben, it’s terribly important … you must come!’

‘I’ll be there as fast as I can arrange it,’ he assured her. ‘Be careful, Olivia! Don’t do anything hasty!’

He rang off at once and Olivia replaced her own receiver slowly. She could not look at Garth. She looked dully towards Ryall and dropped into a chair and buried her face in her hands.

She was half-carried, half-dragged out of that room to one on the next floor. Its one small window was barred on the inside. But even if she had had anything with which to lever a bar free, there was one man ‘working’ in the garden immediately below and she heard Ryall instructing another to keep watch at her door.

Then Ryall went away and she was left to her thoughts and her fears and the uncertain assurance of Garth’s voice:

‘Phone him! Trust me … phone him!’

Ryall did not go downstairs immediately.

Instead, he went to a room not far from Olivia’s and entered it—surprising even Russi by the silence of his approach. The plump-faced American jumped up from his armchair.

‘Has it worked?’ he demanded, tensely, and Ryall’s bearded face parted in a beaming smile of self-gratification.

‘Washington will be there in about an hour,’ he announced, his eyes gleaming. ‘You will make the arrangements to bring him here, my friend … and after that, we shall have nothing to worry about!’

Russi said: ‘You’re sure he is Brown?’

‘Of course I’m sure!’ Ryall growled. ‘I will admit I realised it with something of a shock. But there is now no doubt, my friend. You see how excellently it has all worked out. Washington will come here … and we shall deal with him as Washington. Not as Brown! Then we shall take over the whole thing, ourselves. There is no way our plans can fail!’

‘And you can make a deal with the others?’

‘I have told you that I can make all the money that you or I are ever likely to need!’ snapped Ryall. ‘Nor is it an income that will suddenly stop. And tomorrow night at The Beacon, my friend, we shall be putting the finishing touches.’

‘Sure, that’s all fixed.’

‘Then surely you can see how easily the deal, as you put it, can be made?’ Ryall shrugged. ‘It matters little which representatives are unable to continue their work. Had you been successful with the Americans, of course, it would have saved us the necessity of continuing.…’

‘Listen, Ryall … don’t give me that! I’m not dumb. You’re working this racket two ways, I know.’

Ryall said, deceptively gentle:

‘Indeed, Russi! And just what do you mean by that?’

‘I mean that I know you’re working for Berlin,’ Russi retorted. ‘Hell, what do I care? I’ve got no country … all I want is a rakeoff. But don’t take me for a fool, Ryall. You’re killing the bunch at The Beacon because Berlin wants it done … it’d make no difference to the other racket, if they lived. The maid and the chauffeur … they’re Nazis, too.’

Ryall stared at him, unblinking.

The silence in the room was tense and Russi’s round eyes were watchful. Ryall smoothed his beard thoughtfully for a moment or two, then smiled: a slow, mirthless smile.

‘How clever you are, my friend! And since you would not make the statement unless you were certain of your facts, I shall admit it. How did you find out, may I ask?’

‘I did some hard thinking,’ Russi smiled, thinly. ‘I told myself that it wasn’t as simple as it looked. I knew Brown was aiming at destroying food to push up prices … wanted agreements held up till the prices reached the level to suit him, and he knew where the stuff was stored, in the States. But I know you’ve got other interests in the States, Ryall.’

‘I control a large Corporation in America, yes,’ Ryall agreed, softly. ‘It is one of the biggest growing and distributing combines in the world, and it has other members who, like myself, are of German blood. So we could help our own people by damaging the Allied war effort—and take our due rewards, at the same time.’

The massive shoulders lifted in a contemptuous shrug.

‘We allowed Brown to make the preliminary arrangements—the fool! He is so obsessed with preserving this melodramatic masquerade that he has not even dreamed that we, too, have been play-acting! Using him, until we were ready to take over! We did not know for whom he was working, but now that we know our ‘Brown’ is Washington, we can be sure it is the Livesey Corporation. You see, my friend … it is all very simple!’

Russi grinned: ‘That’s the word, I guess. Simple!’

‘Exactly … as with your own arrangements. You have your men, you train them well, no? Some, of course, are my own German friends.’ Ryall laughed, softly. ‘You did not know that, did you?’

‘I don’t give a damn,’ said Russi. ‘I knew some of the guys were German … so what? All I’m interested in, Ryall, is getting my cut.’

‘You need have no fear, my friend! Your men are primed for the attack at The Beacon?’

‘They’ve got their orders, sure.’

‘Just what are they?’

‘Like we arranged,’ Russi shrugged. ‘All those people who’ve had the letters, they get together at The Beacon … in the Assembly room, like it says in the invitation. Then … up it goes.’

‘Just what goes up?’ Ryall asked.

‘Aw, hell … what does it matter. I’ve got guys with machine-guns at all the corners … up in the gallery. They just squeeze the triggers, and that’s it! Then when they’ve all stopped squealing, they set the place on fire. Don’t worry … my men know just what to do.’

‘You have no further instructions for them at all.’

‘I tell you, it’s all done. They don’t need wet-nursing on a job!’

Ryall beamed upon him.

‘Admirable! I knew you were a first-class workman, Russi—and I shall always be grateful for your help. But now …!’ He beamed again … ‘Really, my friend, I do not think I need you any more.’

‘Say, what the hell…?’

Russi’s hand darted to his shoulder-holster, but before he could draw out his gun, Ryall shot him, from his pocket, through the chest and stomach. Russi staggered; his lips opened but he uttered only a gasping, choking sound. Ryall fired again: Russi crumpled up and then sprawled forward on the floor.

Ryall looked down at him dispassionately.

‘We might have worked together for a long time had you not known all the truth, my friend,’ he murmured. ‘But perhaps it is as well. Now, I have only to deal with Mr. Washington-Brown. The clever Mr. Washington-Brown!’

Then he went calmly to instruct the ‘chauffeur’ to collect ‘Washington-Brown’ from the nearby rendezvous. And that done, he hummed a little to himself, as if he were thoroughly happy.