Chapter Twenty-eight

Barney drove the car. Hedda sat with him in the front, and Bogue was by her side. The other four sat in the back. When they reached the water tower Bogue jumped out and walked quickly round to the little side door, which opened before he could ring the bell. The rest of them followed at leisure.

“Johnny,” Eileen Delaney said, “was it all right, Johnny?”

“Of course it was all right. They loved me, isn’t that so?” He appealed to the others.

“It was a mad thing to do, but if you’re sure it was all right, nobody noticed –”

“Don’t fuss, Del. You know I don’t like to be fussed. Is Max back yet?”

“He rang up from London. He should be here in half an hour. You shouldn’t have done it, Johnny, it was crazy.” Down the parrot nose two tears slowly rolled.

“I like to be crazy, didn’t you know? Del, we’ve got guests. Applegate, here, you know, and I know him too.” He jerked a thumb. “You saw me when I was looking out of an upper window like a character in the Prisoner of Zenda or something. But now, do you know Miss Pont and Miss Gardner?” He made this introduction with a formal gravity that obviously delighted Maureen. Was Hedda similarly impressed by it? Applegate could not be sure.

Eileen Delaney was still expressing her ladylike pleasure at meeting Hedda and Maureen when a key turned in the door. It opened and Deverell came in. He stood for a moment stock-still, expressionless. Bogue said: “You know him, but I don’t think you know who he is. My son, Geoffrey.”

Now that he saw the two together, Applegate wondered how he could have failed to recognise Deverell’s likeness to the snap of Bogue, a likeness not of particular features but of general aspect. Bogue was speaking again.

“Geoffrey’s been what you might call masquerading for a day or two at my old home.” Old home, Applegate thought with a slight shock of surprise, of course it was Bogue’s old home.

“You killed Montague,” Applegate said. He spoke with certainty.

“He ran into a little trouble, but nothing that can’t be straightened out,” Bogue said. Deverell said nothing, but looked at Applegate thoughtfully. “Now, Del, my dear, aren’t we going to be a little bit crowded for our conference? I don’t want to say I prefer anybody’s room to his company, but Barney and this boy here, what’s his name – ?”

“Arthur,” said Arthur.

“You make Miss Gardner nervous and perhaps you make Miss Pont nervous. I’m not sure you don’t make me nervous, so just take a walk round the houses, will you.”

Arthur looked at Jenks. “I don’t think –”

“You don’t think and you’ll never learn to think, so why not button your mouth,” Bogue said lightly. “You’re talking to me, not Henry. Don’t mix me up with Henry. I’m not like Henry in any way at all.”

“Should we go and have a hand of nap upstairs, chief?” Barney asked in his hoarse voice.

“Nap, draw poker or blind man’s buff as long as you get out of here.” When they had gone up the stone staircase Bogue pulled at his tie and threw it off, then turned a chair round and sat with his arms round the top of it, smiling at them. Remember what he is, Applegate said to himself, he’s a cheat, a blackmailer, a man who traded on the misery of Jews. Yet even while he told himself these things he felt the waves of Bogue’s easy charm washing over him. He shook his head like a man trying to disperse the early fumes of alcohol, and looked at Hedda to see if she was similarly affected. She was staring at her shoes.

“Let’s talk.” Bogue waved a hand at Applegate. “Will you begin or shall I? What do I call you, Charles, Mr Applegate, it’s up to you? But you’d better call me Johnny. Everybody else does.”

“Call me what you like.” Applegate found it necessary to clear his throat. “You begin. Tell us why you’re here at all, and why everybody thinks you’re dead. A man named Shalson told me he’d shot you twice.”

“Did Skid tell you that?” Bogue laughed. “He was always a bit of a romancer. You shouldn’t believe everything Skid says. You want a proof he didn’t shoot me – well, here I am. But you’ll only get mixed up, listening to a romancer like Skid. Would you like me to tell you the story now, straight up, just the way it was? All right. Let’s begin in 1943, when I said goodbye to England, home and beauty. Things were rather awkward then.”

“They found out you were acting as a double agent, and decided you were expendable.” Applegate quoted from Colonel Tarboe.

“Is that what they told you? Then let it go,” Bogue’s voice did not lose any of its warmth and richness, but Applegate thought he saw a momentary flash of something like anger in the blue-grey eyes. He tried to press home what seemed in some way to be a tactical advantage.

“And you were just going to become the richest man in the world.”

“Yes. You know all about that.” Why should he assume that, Applegate wondered? “Counter espionage decided to murder me, it doesn’t sound so pretty when you put it like that, does it? Skid was told to do the job, but changed his mind at the last moment. Where is Skid, by the way?”

The boy who now had to be thought of as Geoffrey said in his soft voice: “He left the Bramley Arms this morning and took a train to London.”

Bogue pulled at his jowl and frowned. “Skid’s not a fool. I wonder.” He dismissed whatever it was he wondered. “So Skid and I jumped together. We parted company soon after we landed. The plane crashed and the death of Johnny Bogue was announced. I must say he didn’t seem to be greatly lamented. It’s rather a shock to read your obituary notices, but it’s better than being dead.”

“That was more than ten years ago.”

“So it’s a life history you’re wanting, is it? Here’s my card.” Applegate took it and read: Norman P Gambal. In the bottom right-hand corner of the card was printed: Gambal United Enterprises, 133 Calle Getulio Vargas, São Paulo.

“Mr Mallory-Eckberger comes from São Paulo too.”

“It’s a great city,” Bogue said enthusiastically. “Second city in Brazil, shooting up faster than Los Angeles, and full of opportunities for a commercial genius like me. You ought to come out to São Paulo, Charles. Organise the cultural side of life there, it’s a bit lacking in culture.”

“Drinks and sandwiches.” Eileen Delaney reappeared from behind a curtain that must lead into a tiny kitchen.

“This is real hospitality,” said Bogue. “Have some whisky, Hedda. You look like a girl who’d drink whisky.”

“Do I?” As Bogue handed her the glass their fingers touched. Applegate was surprised to feel in himself a twinge of jealousy.

“Ham sandwich? Del’s own cutting, but she won’t mind me saying it’s not like what we had at Bramley in the old days. They were real parties we gave then, you’d have enjoyed them, Hedda.”

“I’m sure I would.” Now Hedda turned on Bogue the full light of her blazing eyes.

“Did Nella Fish enjoy them too?” Applegate asked.

He had been hoping to disconcert Bogue, but perhaps that was impossible. The plump little man put down the half-eaten sandwich and stared at him thoughtfully, then said with what was surely a deceptive mildness: “That was such a long time ago. I’ve forgotten. Don’t ride me too hard, Charles, or we shan’t be able to do business, and that would be a pity.”

“What were you doing in the concert party?” Applegate heard Maureen’s voice almost with a shock.

“Do you know, I’m almost ashamed to tell you, it’s so silly.” Bogue smiled shyly, disarmingly. “And Charles here will never believe anything I say anyway, because he’s been listening to the gossip of too many old women. The fact is, a boat dropped me off here a couple of days ago, and since then I’ve been waiting for Max. I got bored, and I found out that Barnacle Bill used to be an old chum of mine. I did a lot of amateur theatricals when I was at Bramley Hall, did you know that? I thought it would be fun to take his place just for one performance. So Barney slipped him a tenner, didn’t mention my name of course, and he stepped out for one performance. Does it sound like fun, Maureen?”

“Oh, yes.”

“It was madness, Johnny, and you know it,” Eileen Delaney said.

Bogue pushed away his chair, walked over to a window and stood beside it, gesticulating excitedly. “All right, all right, it was madness, you say. I say it was the kind of thing a man like me has to do every so often if he’s going to stay alive. Do you know what was out there, Del? A lot of old crows and fossils who wouldn’t have anything to do with Johnny Bogue when he was in his prime. Can’t let that man Bogue have the Town Hall for a speech, he’s a Fascist. Don’t go to Bogue’s parties, he’s a vulgar fellow. Can’t accept the money he’s given towards the new school, it might be tainted.” Bogue’s voice was high, almost out of control. His hands were shaking. “They had a genius here and they didn’t know it. They had a genius in this country, and first they put him in prison, then they give instructions he should be knocked off. Do you know what’s wrong with them all, politicians and soldiers and security boys and all? They’re jealous. They were jealous of Johnny Bogue, afraid he would show them up for what they were, mediocrities and lickspittles. That goes for them all, from Ramsay Mac onwards and downwards. They put their foot on Johnny and pressed hard. But Johnny Bogue was too smart for them. You have to wake up early in the morning to be smarter than Johnny. Did you understand that song I sang them, any of you? Of course you didn’t, you’re too polite. It was in back slang and it went: ‘You sons of bitches, you can kiss my–’”

“Johnny,” Eileen Delaney said sharply.

He stopped. My God, Applegate thought in fascinated horror, he believes all that, it’s real to him, the man really is a bit mad. All that stuff about injustice and mediocrities, part of him believes it. Slowly Bogue’s face lost its mottled, purplish look and he regained control of his hands. In his usual rich, warm voice he said: “That’s the answer to your question, Maureen. It was the Anarchist in me coming out.”

Maureen’s “Yes” was a whisper.

“Now, let’s get down to it. I’m dealing with you, Charles, is that right?”

“You’re dealing with me,” Applegate said.

“All right. You’ve got the stuff through a bit of luck. When Geoffrey went to look a couple of days ago it was still there, packed up. Now it’s gone. But having the stuff doesn’t mean you can do anything with it. I can do something with it, but I haven’t got it. Now, where is it?”

“You don’t expect me to tell you that.”

“All right, you’ve tucked it away somewhere. What’s your proposition?”

“I don’t see why I should make any proposition.”

“Really, Charles, all this fencing,” Jenks said reproachfully. “I shouldn’t have expected it from a direct sort of person like you.”

“You won’t make a proposition, all right. Here’s mine.” Bogue was talking quickly and sharply now, partly to confuse him, Applegate thought, partly to obliterate the recollection of that outburst. “A five per cent cut of the proceeds. That’s after deducting expenses.”

“Five per cent.” He was genuinely surprised. “That seems very little.”

“My dear Charles, have you any idea of how much we shall clear on this deal? With any luck at all it will be half a million pounds. Net.”

Applegate pursed his lips for whistling, but made no sound. He looked at the other faces. Hedda, lips slightly parted, was looking at Bogue. Eileen Delaney leaned back in her chair, one thin veiny hand tapping on the other. Jenks snickered suddenly, cut the sound off. Deverell (to give him the name that seemed to come most easily) stared at Bogue with painful concentration. Tension increased in the room, quite tangibly, as if a switch had been turned on that rarefied the atmosphere. From this tension only Maureen Gardner, sitting back on a sofa, seemed immune.

Bogue went on. “That makes your share twenty-five thousand. Is that too bad for a lucky discovery? Bearing in mind that you’ll keep right out of the picture, taking none of the risk.”

Applegate found it necessary to touch his own lips with his tongue. “I didn’t know it was as much as that.”

“For a lucky dip like yours, I should say it was pretty good.”

“How do you make out that we’re taking none of the risk?” Hedda asked. “You’re going to Brazil, right?”

“We’re going to Brazil,” Bogue agreed.

“You’re leaving an unsolved murder behind you. The police won’t like to leave it that way.”

“Well?”

“Do I have to spell out every word? Charles is linked with the murder, and so am I. If we’re to be clear, arrangements will have to be made to hand over” – she looked hard at Bogue –“the guilty party.”

“You don’t miss a trick, do you? It’s a point you’ve got there, but I’d sooner talk about the cash side of it first. When we’ve come to an agreement on that –”

“No.” Hedda said it decisively. “First of all we’ve got to know we’re safe.”

Bogue stared at her hard for a minute, then burst out laughing. “That’s some girl you’ve got there, Charles.”

“He hasn’t got me, nobody’s got me. Are we going to talk about that or shall we go?”

Bogue laughed again, laughed until he had to wipe his eyes. From his rumpled jacket he produced a case with cigars in it, and offered them round. Some not very obscure compulsion made Applegate, who rarely smoked them, accept one of the fat, formidable cylinders. A great deal of puffing and flaring went on while the cigars were lighted. Jenks, Eileen Delaney, Deverell and Hedda lighted cigarettes. Blue smoke rose into the air, producing, curiously, a relaxation of the tension in the room. Bogue waved his cigar at Hedda. “You have the floor, my dear. Tell us what you want.” He sat down in a chair, leaned back and closed his eyes. His cigar pointed upwards.

“First we ought to get it clear what did happen,” Hedda said in her hard voice. “There’s a lot Charles and I don’t know, we admit it. Eddie Martin was killed by Barney because he wanted to play it alone, is that right?”

Eileen Delaney croaked an answer. “Six weeks ago now Johnny got in touch and told us what he’d been able to arrange with Max. Without Max it was no good, you understand that?”

Hedda nodded. Did they know that, Applegate wondered, and how?

“That was the first we heard of Johnny, the first we knew he was alive. He didn’t trouble to get in touch until he wanted something. That’s Johnny’s kind of faithfulness, years of silence until he wants you. You want to remember that.”

Bogue opened his eyes, looked at her. “Just get on with it, Del. They don’t want to hear your private grief.”

“Eddie was just coming out of prison, and Johnny wanted him to handle it. You know about Eddie?”

“My chief of staff,” Bogue murmured.

“We know about Eddie,” Applegate confirmed. The fumes of the cigar made his eyes smart.

“But Eddie was half-smart. When I told him the set-up the first thing he did was to get a false passport, stamped for Brazil. Then he got in touch with Max, to fix a deal with him, and Max told Johnny. Eddie was told to work with me, but he came down here alone. I sent Barney down after him.”

“And Barney killed him.” The little woman said nothing, but stubbed out her cigarette.

“Then Montague. Do you want to talk about Montague, or shall I?” She looked at Deverell.

Of them all, Applegate thought, Deverell behind his calm exterior showed the most sign of strain. Now he jumped to his feet and words spattered from him like confetti. “For God’s sake let’s get this over and talk about something serious. Montague was a little rat. When I saw him he suggested we should work together, said he was an agent of Henry’s.” Deverell’s voice was scornful. “Told me Eileen wasn’t to be trusted. Then he said something about you, Dad, and I –”

“All right.” Bogue took the cigar from his lips, spoke emphatically. “Don’t say any more, Geoffrey. You got into a scrape, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

“At that time you didn’t know Mr Bogue was alive,” Hedda said to Jenks.

“No. It came as a shock to me. A pleasant one, of course.”

“We decided to let Henry in to avoid any more trouble,” Eileen Delaney explained.

“That covers everything,” Hedda said briskly. Bogue opened one eye to look at her and then closed it again. “Now all we have to decide is what to do about it. As far as Charles and I are concerned, we shall be quite content if Craigen and Deverell are handed over to the police. Is everybody agreeable to that?”

There was a moment of appalled silence. Then Bogue sat up straight in his chair, put down his cigar, and laughed again. He leaned over and pinched Hedda on the thigh. “You’re a girl after my own heart, Hedda, you really are. Catch you out in a bluff and you try another bluff. The answer is no. I can safely say that nobody on my side is agreeable to the suggestion, and you know it.”

“Outrageous,” Eileen Delaney croaked. Deverell looked angrily at Hedda.

Bogue put his hands together. “At the same time, let’s admit it, you’ve made a point. We’ve got to hand over somebody. Who is it to be? I don’t think it need be two people, Eddie’s death was suicide in the book.”

Applegate took the cigar out of his mouth. His tongue seemed to be made of leather. “The police are not satisfied. They’re liable at any time to link it up with Montague.”

“I see two possibilities,” Bogue went on, as if he had not spoken. “All of us here are ruled out, for one reason or another. But –” He jerked his thumb upwards.

Eileen and Jenks were both moved to protest. Jenks’ hand went up to the pimple, his voice squeaked. “No. I won’t hear of it.”

The woman croaked. “Johnny, you’re joking.”

Bogue spread his hands in a gesture placatory, negligent, amused. “All right, I’m joking. Let’s forget it. Let’s talk about money, I’m willing.”

Hedda said: “No.”

There could be no doubt now of the amusement in Bogue’s voice. “You say no. All right, argue it out with her, Del, Henry too. Settle it how you like, I’ll still be happy.”

“Leaving out everybody in this room,” Applegate said.

“That’s right. Leaving out everybody in this room.”

Jenks and Eileen both began talking at once. Then Jenks gobbled in his throat, and she spoke:

“You’re losing your grip, Johnny. You don’t want to let this bitch dictate terms. It’s not like you. After all, we’ve got them here.”

Now Jenks came in, bustling with grievance. “I really quite agree. I’m very fond of Charles, but –”

“We were going to be partners,” Applegate said. “Remember that.”

“But here they are, after all.”

“And here they might as well stay,” Bogue added. “Is that your meaning, Henry?”

“Well.” Jenks wriggled uncertainly. “I mean to say, after all, it’s not up to them to dictate terms to us. We negotiate, if I may say so, from strength.”

“You always were a fool, Henry,” Bogue said, with weary contempt. “Tell him, somebody. You, Hedda.”

“You might be able to get things out of us, but you can’t afford to have any more trouble down here. Is that right?”

Bogue sighed and stretched luxuriously. There were damp patches under his armpits. “Of course. We have them, sure. They have us. In a different way, but they’ve got us just the same.”

“But I don’t see…” Jenks was pulling at his long blue chin. He looked petulant.

“You never did see, Henry. You were born without sight, and you’ll die blind. We let Barney and your boyfriend get information out of them by their little tricks.”

“I wasn’t suggesting –”

“Stop your cant, that’s what it comes down to. Maybe they get it easily, maybe they have to kill one of them. But even if it’s easy, what happens afterwards?”

“We could shut them up until we’re out of the country.” Jenks’ voice faltered. He looked down at the ground.

“And then they get out, and they know enough about what goes on to stop the whole thing. What it comes down to is this, we’ve got to get rid of them or they’ve got to come in. Now, my conscience isn’t clear enough to stand a weight like getting rid of them. I don’t know about you. Don’t worry, Maureen, I’m only talking about something that isn’t going to happen.”

Applegate saw that Hedda was holding Maureen’s hand. Jenks muttered something.

“Barney and your boy are different. They don’t know B from a bull’s foot. Barney’s handy with a knuckleduster, and I don’t doubt the boy’s good with a knife, but what have they got up top? You could spread their grey matter thin and still get it on a sixpence.”

“Arthur’s a good boy,” Jenks said indignantly. “Just because he never finished his education there’s no need for you to be mean about him.”

“ – his education,” Bogue said pleasantly. “You’re getting on my wick, Henry. What do you say, Del?”

“I couldn’t let you turn Barney over. He’s not very bright, but he’d never do that to you or to me.”

“All right, all right.” Bogue spoke to Hedda. “There’s your answer then, my dear. You can’t have either of them. We must leave the police to make their own conjectures.”

“Come on, Maureen.” Hedda and Maureen stood up. Applegate put down the butt of his cigar and stood up too.

“Johnny, you’re not going to let them go,” Jenks squeaked alarmedly. “Johnny.”

Bogue was tilted back in his chair, eyes closed. “It’s no use, Henry. What Hedda wants is reasonable enough but you say she can’t have it. Let them go.”

Deverell, very pale, had moved between Hedda and the door. “Let them go, Geoffrey.” Eyes closed, plump face lifted so that double chin was eradicated, Bogue gave an impression of indifferent sweet reasonableness. In this reasonableness there must be a trick, for the man was made up of nothing but tricks. Yet, looking at the relaxed figure stretched in the armchair, short legs comfortably folded, it was hard to believe in a trick.

Eileen Delaney took another cigarette and tapped it on her thumbnail. Her beady eyes looked at Jenks.

Deverell stood aside. Hedda reached the door, grasped the handle. In his chair Jenks, long and thin, wriggled like a worm under torture. The words he spoke were hardly audible. “…what you like.”

Bogue did not speak or move. It was Eileen who rasped: “What did you say?”

“I said do what you like.” Jenks pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose.

Still without opening his eyes, Bogue said gently: “It’s not what I like, it’s what you like. We throw Arthur to the lions, do we?”

“Do what you like, do what you like.” Now Jenks’ voice was almost a shriek. Unmistakable tears ran down his narrow cheeks. His phrases came confusedly. “I should have known better…mixed up with again…always destroyed my happiness…hateful sadistic beast.”

Bogue sat up, pulled down his creased waistcoat, smiled brightly and boyishly. “Once a Henry always a Henry. All right. Take your hand off the door handle, Hedda, and sit down again. It’s Arthur.”

“But can we be sure he’ll do it?”

“Where Henry is concerned money comes first, everything else is a bad second. Now, Arthur shouldn’t present too many difficulties. Get him picked up on an assault charge, flashing that Boy Scout knife of his. Did Arthur know Montague, Henry?” Jenks nodded miserably. “Good. Plant some letters from Montague on him strongly suggesting that their relationship was what you might call compromising. Have you got any letters from Montague that begin just straight, without ‘Dearest Henry’ on top?”

“Frank wasn’t like that.” Jenks’ voice was miserable.

“That’s not important. Have you got anything that might do?”

“I expect so, yes.”

“Then that will save the trouble of tracing and copying. Not that the police will ask too many questions when Arthur is delivered into their laps and we’ve disappeared. Not if I know the police. And I do know the police.” Bogue’s smile was positively impish. “Now, if everybody’s happy, let’s get back to what we were talking about. We’ve wasted enough time on Arthur.”

Applegate looked at his watch. The time was twenty minutes past nine.