17

Conference With VIPS

 

“Ben,” Doreen Morrison said in the husky voice which reflected the nervous tension under which she lived these days, “when is it going to end?”

“It won’t be long.” Limm tried to reassure her.

“That’s what you keep on saying.”

“It can’t be much longer.”

She turned away from him and looked over Hyde Park. The private hotel was near Liverpool and Oxford Streets, a clean, pleasant place in a good central position. They had adjoining but not communicating rooms. Along the passage, at the landing, a policeman was on duty all the time. Outside, back and front, there were other policemen. The sun shone on the tops of the trees, and on the grass, but not into this room, which faced east.

It was early afternoon.

“If only we knew why it was happening.” A querulous note sounded in Doreen’s voice, and there was tightness at her lips; her eyes seemed to hold resentment as well as fear.

“Dorry, my sweet, you must know—”

“Don’t keep saying I know!” cried Doreen.

“The secret must be hidden in your mind,” insisted Limm doggedly. “They wouldn’t try to kill you for no reason at all. Paul Barring was positive someone had told you incriminating things about him – if only you could remember.”

“There isn’t anything!” Doreen raised her voice, and there was a wild look in her eyes. “There just can’t be.”

“If only we could hit on it—”

“You can’t hit on something which doesn’t exist!”

“If you would keep on talking about yourself, where you’ve been, whom you’ve talked to, you’d suddenly remember some significant thing,” went on Limm doggedly. “It’s the only way.”

“You keep on saying that and I keep on trying!” Tears seemed to shimmer in her eyes. “You keep on making me think of what happened when I was with Denise on the ship, and I want to forget. Can’t you understand? I don’t want to remember the Kookaburra, or anything that happened on it. I just want to forget.”

“Yes, I know,” Limm said, gently but quite firmly. “You don’t want to remember, so you don’t remember. But if you could recall it just once and get it out of your system you could forget it for the rest of your life.”

When she didn’t speak, just stared at him with her eyes brimming over, he went on, “You’d feel much better for it, Dorry. While you lock it up in your mind it festers like a sore.”

She screwed up her eyes.

“You’re only saying this because that man West asked me to remember.”

“I’m not,” Limm told her positively. “I have strong personal reasons for wanting to know. Dorry, listen. Something you and Denise saw or heard on board that ship almost certainly explains the attacks. Sheldon must have heard it, too, and Neil Sanderson – the First Engineer. You remember Neil. It was probably said when you were all together, having drinks, or having a swim some time. If you could remember it would be like exorcising a devil.”

“All right,” Doreen said huskily. “I’ll try. I absolutely hate it, because I keep having to think about Denise, and it hurts so much. Can’t you understand?”

“You’ll never know how much I understand,” Limm said. He put his arms round her, held her tightly, and put his lips close to her ear. “Or how much I long to help.”

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” said Luke Shaw. “Superintendent West of Scotland Yard made it all right. Mr West, this is Mr Raymond Flag, the Chairman of the board.”

Raymond Flag was tall, youthful-looking, in spite of silvery hair, quite handsome, with a boardroom manner, and a Savile Row look about his clothes. His handshake was firm, his palm cool.

“I am grateful for your readiness to help, Superintendent.”

“I’m here to try,” Roger said.

“My brother, Gregory, is the Managing Director of the Company,” Raymond Flag said.

Gregory was shorter, thickset, dark-haired, forty-ish; a piece of human granite. His handclasp was like the grip of a vice. His fingers had corns and callouses, his face had the weather-beaten look of the weekend sailor.

“How are you?”

“How’re you?” murmured Roger.

“And our cousin, Mortimer Flag, the company’s Secretary,” Raymond said. “You see, the Blue Flag Line is kept in the family.”

Mortimer was the youngest, yet running to fat; a good-time boy, Roger thought, fair-haired and pale-faced, but with intelligent eyes despite a weak mouth.

“Do you have absolute control?” asked Roger.

“We have sixty per cent. The rest is shared between our shareholders in Hong Kong and London,” answered Raymond. “Come and sit down, Superintendent.”

They were in a narrow room, obviously a boardroom. A long window almost filled one wall, with magnificent views over the harbour, perfect today with fleecy clouds in a rich blue, sunlit sky. Eight chairs were gathered about an oval table, and a quick glance told Roger that each chair was different. He made no comment. They all sat down, the Flags obviously in their accustomed places with Raymond in the middle and a Flag on either side of him. Roger and Shaw sat opposite them. In the middle of the figured walnut table was an inlaid map of Australia.

“Is the Commissioner coming?” asked Raymond.

“He couldn’t make it,” Shaw said.

“A pity. Well, Superintendent”—Raymond looked at Shaw, not Roger—“I am sure you are as anxious as I to get to business.”

“My word, yes.” Shaw was almost too emphatic. “Right down.”

“Have you any progress to report?”

“Some.”

Shaw was laconic as he gave details of the attack on Doreen at Hong Kong, and the attack on Roger that morning. All three directors switched their gaze towards Roger.

“So we know they’re still frightened of the girl, and don’t particularly want the Yard to interfere.” Shaw looked bland. “I can understand that, can’t you?”

“I don’t yet understand why Mr West is here.” Mortimer sounded peevish. “Until you arrived these crimes all took place outside this country, didn’t they?”

“I’m puzzled, too.” Gregory spoke with a bluntness which suited his solid figure. “These were murders committed in England.”

“They were indeed.” Raymond spread his hands over the desk and the bright polish reflected a gold ring on the little finger of the left hand. “Is there any reason why these crimes should not have had their origin in England? Our resident manager, Lancelot Smith, appears to have felt some responsibility and conceivably connived at the crimes. We have no information about that but consider it most unlikely.”

Shaw frowned. Roger sat silent.

“Marcus Barring is wanted for murder and attempted murder, and he came right here to Sydney,” Shaw said carefully.

“Couldn’t the New South Wales Police have handled that on their own?” enquired Mortimer. Fat and good-time boy he might be, but he was also waspish. “Scotland Yard’s responsibility is surely in England, where the crimes were committed. Even the alleged crime at Hong Kong is on a Crown Colony, not in Australia.”

Shaw glanced at Roger, who still didn’t speak. The attack – and it was an attack – seemed to embarrass Shaw, and he moistened his lips. His voice was gruff.

“We came here to discuss the best thing to do to protect your ships,” he said. “Not try to shelve responsibility.”

“We’re not shelving any responsibility.” Mortimer Flag eased his spotless white collar from his pink neck.

“The truth is, Superintendent,” Raymond interpolated, speaking mildly and looking so straight at Shaw that it seemed as if he was pretending that Roger wasn’t there, “we have spent most of the morning discussing this affair. It appears that one officer of our ships – a man to whom we once had some obligation – was dismissed for bad conduct. His brother, who was a member of the crew, left in protest. Such things have happened before, and doubtless will again. Apparently these men had some reason for hostility to some of the ship’s passengers while in England – not to officers or crew, but to passengers. We have come to the conclusion that this is not necessarily connected with the Blue Flag Line, unless you can prove that it is.”

He still avoided Roger’s eyes.

“I say it is,” Shaw asserted roughly. “I say that what happened to the Koala could happen to the Kookaburra.”

“And I say that is nonsense.” Raymond Flag’s voice was icy.

“It’s guff, that’s what – plain guff.” Gregory shifted his position.

“As the legal authority on the board I have no hesitation in saying that this is guesswork, with no basis in fact,” Mortimer stated. “Coming from anyone else it would most certainly be dangerously near slander and defamation.”

Shaw’s look at Roger seemed to hold appeal, saying it was past time Roger interrupted. Roger sat silent, glancing from man to man, each of whom studiously avoided looking at him, quite sure what he should do.

Shaw took the bull by the horns.

“So you won’t co-operate. Is that it?”

“Give us one single reason – valid reason – why we should co-operate and we will do everything we can to help,” Raymond said smoothly. “Until we have it there is nothing we can do.”

“Nothing you will do, you mean?” Shaw was nearly out of temper.

Gregory pushed his chair back and stood up.

“Don’t be so damned rude. There’s nothing we can do because we think you’re trying to use us to pull Scotland Yard’s coals out of the fire. My God! If the rumour spread around that you thought one of our ships—”

“All of your ships, gentlemen.” Roger spoke for the first time, so unexpectedly that he startled the others.

“You’re out of your mind!” Gregory almost shouted. “If this rumour gets around, what do you think will happen to our stocks? They’ll go down with a bang. What do you think will happen to our customers? They’ll find other ships. It’s difficult enough to get business as things are – with this, it would be ten times worse.”

“As it was with the Barring Line before you made them bankrupt,” Roger put in.

“It’s happened to a dozen shipping companies. It isn’t going to happen to this one.”

“I wonder.” Roger smiled at Shaw and stood up. “We’d better go, Luke.”

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Shaw was angry for a different reason now.

“Perhaps Mr West has nothing to say,” Raymond Flag put in sarcastically.

“Not to you, gentlemen,” Roger said. “As the Blue Flag Line won’t co-operate, we’ll obviously have to find someone who will. Those ships have to be warned. There are about four thousand human beings on them, and even if you’re not interested in capital loss, other people will be very interested in the loss of human lives.”

“There’s no one else you can go to,” Mortimer said; he was pulling at his collar.

Roger grinned at Shaw.

“Apparently Mr Flag hasn’t heard of the power of the Press. But we really ought to get along. It’s getting late.”

He put a hand on Luke’s arm and they turned away. For a moment there was utter silence, and even Luke seemed baffled. Then Roger saw his face split into a grin, and he snorted and smothered a laugh. He opened the door as Raymond Flag called out, “Are you threatening us?”

Roger swung round on his heel. He felt completely on top of the situation but as he raised his voice his lips twisted, as if he could hardly control his anger.

“No I am not threatening you. I am telling you that in my considered opinion there is lethal danger to one or more ships of your line, and there is no way of finding out which one without your co-operation. So I am going to cable my office in London, and release the story of the danger to the ships. I shall ask all public authorities to co-operate in warning the ships’ masters. The London papers will pick the story up within a few hours, all Australian papers will have it in the morning. If that’s the kind of publicity you want, that’s what you’ll get. Your ships must be warned one way or the other.”

He turned back to the door.

“Good on you,” Luke Shaw whispered.

“You have not yet convinced us that a warning is necessary,” Raymond Flag insisted, but there was a placatory note in his voice. “Come and discuss this reasonably.”

“Oh, no,” Roger said. “Superintendent Shaw used plenty of reason, and you flatly refused to listen. Either we warn the ships through your normal channels by sending coded instructions to the masters for a complete search of each ship for concealed explosives, or we do it through the Press in plain English. Which is it to be?”

The three Flags, Gregory standing, the others sitting, looked at one another with silent admissions of defeat. Raymond made a good effort at least to restore some dignity to the directors’ position.

“If the police are so convinced that this is necessary, we will of course co-operate. How soon can you have the message ready for coding?”

Luke Shaw, poker-faced, his jubilation showing only in his eyes, dipped his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.

“Here it is,” he said.

 

Every Master of a Blue Flag Line ship received the message by radio that day. Ships in the Indian Ocean, the Pacific, the Atlantic, ships in ports as far apart as London, New Orleans, Hong Kong, Saigon, Buenos Aires, Colombo, Fremantle, and Sydney, all had the message. It read:

 

Reason to believe attempt to sink your ship might be made by member of passengers or crew. Carry out comprehensive search for explosive immediately and radio result to police headquarters Sydney and a copy to Ocean House.

 

“Every ship will report all clear,” Mortimer Flag said as Roger and Shaw checked over the list of ships and places. “Perhaps you’ll then admit that it’s a waste of time.”

“Let’s wait for the result, shall we?” Shaw said bluffly. “Now what we want to know is whether any of you can give us an idea what it’s all about.”

“We do not think the ships are in danger,” Raymond said coldly. “So we certainly can’t help you there.”

“You don’t think the Barring family is gunning for you, do you?”

“We do not,” said Raymond. “That is an old affair. We paid the old man a sum in compensation, purely ex gratia, and gave those of his sons who wanted a position the security they needed. There is no reason at all to believe that they are carrying out any vendetta.”

“Lancelot Smith killed himself,” Roger reminded him. “You’ve seen a note of the statement he made before he died.”

“Lancelot Smith suffered from delusions,” Raymond declared, still coldly. “We had no reason to think that they affected his general efficiency. It was Smith who supervised our take-over of the Barring Line. He always felt some degree of responsibility. Paul and Marcus Barring made some threats against him, and he was nervous from then on. That is why we sent him to the London office.”

“He stated quite positively that what happened to the Koala could happen to any ship in the line,” Roger pointed out.

“He believed the Barrings sank the Koala. No one else did. He roused the suspicions, and as a result there was a delay in the findings of the Court of Inquiry, but the findings, when promulgated, were quite clear; there was no evidence as to the cause. The two Barring brothers ran a launch service at the Great Barrier Reef, and their launches crossed the Koala’s course. Certainly there was no evidence against the Barrings; had there been, presumably the police would have acted.”

“We’d have acted,” Shaw growled.

Five minutes afterwards the two detectives left the office; no one shook hands, the atmosphere was cold, almost hostile. They were in a police car outside the office when Shaw spoke thoughtfully, his jubilation gone.

“They seemed pretty sure of themselves, Handsome. We couldn’t have fooled ourselves, could we?” When Roger didn’t answer, Shaw went on, “If we get an all clear from every ship, it will look as if they know what they’re at. If I’d stuck my neck out like you did yours, they would be after my blood.”

“They can’t get at mine so easily,” Roger said mildly.

They settled down, and the chauffeur leaned over and handed a large envelope to Shaw.

“That was delivered half an hour ago, sir. The messenger said it was urgent.”

Shaw ripped the envelope open, found a photograph, and pulled it out. It was the right way up, and both men stared at an unfamiliar face but one which was vaguely like Limm’s.

A typewritten note on the back said:

 

Benjamin Limm, of Cowra, NSW. Now prospecting in North-Western Australia.

 

“You see that?” breathed Shaw. “Our man isn’t Limm.”

“Let’s get to his hotel, fast,” said Roger.