CHAPTER 15

Paula Bentley

HAMMOND heard the thud which followed Mark’s gasp. He swung round and reached the door in a few strides, pulled it open—and stared into the hall. Mark was on the floor, trying to get up and to press his hands against his stomach at the same time. The maid was staring, open-mouthed, petrified with horror.

The bedroom door was open.

Hammond reached the room and went inside—and as he did so there was a single shot. Hammond stood helpless as a hole appeared in Bentley’s forehead. He pushed the door back, believing that the assailant was hiding behind it, but the door hit the wall and swung back. The stranger, who had been hiding behind the wardrobe, leapt out and tried to slam the door in Hammond’s face. It struck Hammond’s foot and went back. The stranger was revealed for a moment, gun in hand. He ran at Hammond, who stretched out an arm to stop him.

The man fired point-blank.

The maid screamed.

Paula Bentley saw Hammond stagger, saw Mark still trying to get up, his face distorted with pain, and saw the dark man with the gun. He caught sight of her as he made for the open front door, and waved the gun wildly. The maid began to scream at the top of her voice, high-pitched, ear-splitting screams.

On the hall table was a gong on a brass stand. Paula picked the hammer up by the handle attached to the round, leather head, and as the man with the gun backed away, she flung it at him. He was taken by surprise, and dodged to one side. Paula ran at him, while the maid’s screams grew louder. There was bedlam in and below the flat, for voices sounded downstairs and doors banged.

The hammer hit the wall and bounced back against the man with the gun, proving enough to spoil his aim. Paula reached him and caught his wrist. He tried to wrench himself free, but failed. He drew back his free hand and drove it towards her stomach—but as he did so, Mike Errol appeared on the landing, and struck the man on the back of the head.

The murderer’s fist scraped past Paula’s waist. She held on to the man’s wrist until Mike relieved her.

Mike twisted; the gun dropped.

‘Pick it up, will you?’ Mike asked Paula, calmly.

The girl obeyed, and stood for a moment with the automatic in her hand, breathing heavily. Then she looked at Hammond, who had not stirred. Other men appeared in the flat, most of them strangers to her, but there were one or two from flats in the same building.

She put the gun on the table and walked to Hammond. As she reached him, she glanced into the bedroom and saw her brother. There was a patch of red on his forehead, and blood had trickled down into his eyes.

Clearly he was dead.

She took a step towards him, stopped and turned round. Then she went down on one knee by Hammond’s side. He had been wounded in the chest, and the blood was spilling slowly to the carpet. Her hands were icy cold as she felt his pulse; it was beating.

He was unconscious, and there was an expression of dismay on his face.

A man said: ‘Hallo, hallo, what’s all this?’

Into the flat strode Dr. Little—‘Doc’ to the Department. By then Mark was leaning against the wall, trying to regain his breath, and Dunster was also in the bedroom.

Paula took May into the sitting-room, made her sit down, and poured out some whisky. She stood, soothing the little woman while the men took possession of the flat. Mark had recovered enough to play his part, although his stomach was still painful. The prisoner, who had not uttered a word since Mike had arrived and struck him, was standing in a corner. Two Special Branch men were watching him, but he was not hand-cuffed. Doc Little examined Hammond and found the wound a little too much to one side to be fatal, but Hammond was still unconscious.

An ambulance arrived, and Hammond was carried out on a stretcher. Bentley, who had died instantaneously, was also taken out. The dark little stranger did not speak, but his eyes were bright with fear.

Doc Little, his urgent work finished, looked at Mark.

‘How did he get in?’ he demanded.

I don’t know,’ said Mark. He looked almost with reproach at his cousin. ‘Didn’t you see him?’

‘He didn’t come in by the street door,’ said Mike.

‘That’s certain, sir,’ volunteered a Special Branch man.

‘He came to the front door of the flat,’ said Mark.

‘He didn’t get in by a window or by the fire-escape,’ said Dunster, his curly hair rumpled and his round face sober. ‘I’m quite sure of that.’

‘Well, he got in somehow,’ said Mark, rubbing his stomach gently.

‘Not necessarily,’ said Doc Little. ‘I mean, not necessarily this morning, or since you’ve been watching the place.’

‘We’ve been watching night and day,’ said Mike.

‘Well, then——’

A well-dressed woman who had come from the flat below volunteered the information that the stranger had been living in the building for a week—he had rented a furnished flat on the second floor, and lived there alone. There was some relief in the knowledge that there had been no negligence.

•           •           •           •

Loftus was in Craigie’s office when Mark came to report. Loftus had just arrived from Bournemouth, and Craigie had done most of the talking. He had been there when the telephone call had come, and now he looked at Mark, his face expressionless, while Mark went through it all again, between intervals of rubbing his stomach, and carefully explained how the stranger had gained access.

‘I ought to have stopped him,’ Mark said. ‘It was just that I didn’t think anyone could get through—I wasn’t awake.’

‘Steady,’ said Loftus. ‘No self-reproaches, we’ve got too much to do. At least we know where the main leakage was.’

‘That’s about all,’ said Mark dismally.

‘It isn’t quite all,’ said Craigie. He went to the wash-basin, which was built into the wall, filled a kettle and put it on an electric ring. ‘We’ve got Gertrude Ryall to watch. She certainly hasn’t been seen with Rutter, or in Bournemouth, and she gives us the other line that we’ve been looking for. As for Bentley——’ He paused, and took his pipe from his lips. ‘I think, on the whole, it was the best way out for him.’

‘You haven’t seen his sister,’ said Mark.

‘She’ll come to that conclusion, too,’ said Craigie. ‘There was nothing but disgrace to face, and now there is a chance that her brother’s name won’t reach the Press. Members of the family have held high positions at Whitehall for centuries, it’s a tradition. She herself is studying for the Diplomatic Service, and was at our Washington Embassy for some years.’

‘How’s Bruce?’

‘Not seriously hurt,’ said Loftus. ‘He’ll be all right in a few weeks. I’m sorry he’s got to spend a time convalescing, we didn’t want him brooding just now, but it might also do him good in the long run.’ It was not callousness, it was a dispassionate review of the facts. Loftus, as well as Craigie, had learned to be dispassionate.

‘How about Christine?’ asked Mark.

‘She’s doing nicely,’ said Loftus. ‘Well out of danger.’

‘Good!’ Mark looked more cheerful. ‘Well, where do we go from here?’

‘Gertrude Ryall is our first quarry,’ said Craigie. ‘I hope to get some word about her soon. We’ve discovered where she lives in London—a small flat in a mews near Bentley’s place—and we know that she had a flat in a house at Solihull, Birmingham. Both are being watched, of course. There’s a report that a bearded man, perhaps Kelly, left the same house in Birmingham a few days ago,’ said Craigie. ‘We’re having that checked. Everything considered, I think there’s a fair chance of getting results soon.’

‘Yes,’ said Mark. ‘I hope so.’

The green light showed in the mantelpiece, and Craigie leaned forward and pressed the knob beneath it. The door slid open, to reveal Mattley standing there with Mike Errol. The atmosphere grew tense; for there was no doubt that Mattley had bad news. He was obviously deciding on how best to deliver it.

‘At least you’re making progress,’ he said, at last, but none of the others spoke. ‘I have some grave news.’

Loftus shifted a little in his chair.

Mattley went on:

‘Professor Gabriel Toller was attacked last night when he was taking a walk, escorted, near the experimental station where he is working. He was not killed, nor gravely injured, but he had with him the formula for T.N.25.’

Mike snapped his fingers, making a sharp report.

‘That was stolen,’ said Mattley. ‘Moreover, the United States and the Russian Governments have received further approaches from the individual who first offered them the formula and gave them the information. He has sent them the first half of the formula, as an earnest of what is to come. It coincides, letter for letter, with the original—the original which Toller developed and which, we believed, only he and Dr. Morritz knew. So that the formula was seen before it was stolen from Toller.’

After a long pause, Loftus said:

‘Pointless.’

‘What is pointless?’ Mattley looked at him.

‘The attack on Toller,’ said Loftus.

‘Not necessarily,’ objected Craigie. ‘Morritz might have parted with half of the formula, so they might not have the rest.’

‘I don’t think that’s likely,’ said Loftus.

‘I’ll leave you to work on that,’ said Mattley, standing up. ‘Of course, Toller himself is largely to blame for this fresh mishap. He has constantly refused to take his danger seriously, in spite of the many attempts on his life.’

‘Our efforts have been cancelled out,’ said Loftus.

‘I shouldn’t take it quite as badly as that,’ said Mattley. ‘I know you will see this through, as you have seen so many other things through. Nothing must be allowed to prevent you.’

As he spoke a telephone rang. A mauve light shone in it. Craigie stood up. ‘That’s from Bournemouth,’ he said, ‘there might be some news, if you’d care to wait.’

‘I will, thanks,’ said Mattley.

Craigie went to the desk and answered the call. It was rarely possible to judge from Craigie’s reactions whether news was good or bad, but to all of them it seemed that he stiffened and showed a faint hint of excitement.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘On no account lose her.’ After a few more words he replaced the receiver and looked at the others, paused for a moment, and then said: ‘Gertrude Ryall is in Bournemouth.’

‘Well, well, well!’ said Mark.

‘Visiting Chineside, as Bentley did?’ asked Mike.

‘No, a different house. We might soon have firm news for you, sir,’ he added, and Mattley gave a smile from which all touch of winter had gone, before he went out.