Chapter Eleven

Trevelyan sat perfectly still, acting with patience itself, as he waited for me to close the door. For a moment he seemed to smile at me but I suspected he suffered acutely from the fact that the armchair was painfully too small for his bulk.

‘Good afternoon, sir!’ he wheezed in a humble manner, his eyes shifting continuously.

I viewed everything he said or did with the utmost suspicion, convinced that he did nothing in life unless there was some profit for him at the end of it. There was something decisively sinister about the man and I resented his unsolicited presence.

‘Is it your usual custom to break into hotel rooms when the occupants are absent?’ I accused flatly.

‘You’re too harsh, my friend,’ he replied, taking a long draw on his Havana cigar. ‘I merely let myself into your room for the purpose of expediency. Consider the reason for my action. I had the option of telephoning you every fifteen minutes to determine whether you’d returned or that you were simply waiting in the room. The former would have been wasteful and inconvenient, No, sir, logic deemed it far simpler to wait for you here. After all, I’m not a burglar breaking in to steal your goods.’

‘This is the first and last time, Trevelyan!’ I warned him. ‘Don’t let me catch you in this room unless you’ve been invited.’ There was little point in pursuing the argument. A broadside across his bows was sufficient to prevent him from repeating his actions. ‘Do you have any information for me?’ My tone was curt and I sat on the bed expectantly.

He ignored my question and launched into a flight of fantasy. ‘I wonder if you could get hold of a film of The Hucksters for me. Greenstreet made the film for M-G-M in 1947. He played the character Evan Llewllyn Evans, a soap tycoon, but the story was based on the real-life cigarette magnate George Washington Hall. Sidney was magnificent as usual. He replaced his normal dignity with vulgarity substituting gaudiness for subtle charm, and his refinement was changed to bravura... if you understand my meaning. There was one scene in particular where he spat on the table in front of Clark Gable to make a point. ‘Mr. Norman,’ he said to Gable. ‘You’ve just seen men do a disgusting thing. But you’ll always remember it.’ By golly, what an undignified scoundrel he portrayed in the film!’

‘All right, Trevelyan,’ I countered sharply, becoming impatient with his tiresome play-acting. ‘What’s it all about?’

His eyes narrowed and his mouth puckered slightly as he became serious. ‘You did well today,’ he commended. ‘There were rumours that the vehicle involved in Laity’s disappearance had been hidden so well that no one would ever find it... but you did. I admire you for that, sir. I’m very impressed!’

‘I thought you were working for me.’ I snapped. ‘Not the other way around.’

‘If we share the information received the truth will come closer far more quickly. Don’t you agree?’

‘Providing you adjust your charges accordingly when you send me the bill,’ I retorted, causing him to break into a smile.

‘I’m so glad I met you, my friend,’ he guffawed, although the effort seemed to cause him great discomfort. ‘You bring colour into my life in a very dull part of the world, I wish there were more like you.’ He paused for a few moments preparing to surprise me with a small revelation. ‘I met a man today who challenged Laity to a duel.’

I shrugged my shoulders to display indifference. ‘I’ve already met Meacham. He told me all about it.,’

‘Not Meacham!’ he spat harshly. ‘That fool wouldn’t know which way to point the pistol. Someone else! Your foster brother was less than discreet with another man’s wife. He was actually caught in bed with her by her husband. The duel was arranged to commence at seven o’clock in the morning in Tehidy woods. There were the usual seconds and a couple of spectators who wanted to see him get his deserts. As soon as everyone was ready, the chief steward invited Laity to select his pistol of two in a box. He chose one, looked down the barrel, loaded it, and cowardly pointed it at his adversary’s head pulling the trigger. The doctor attended the wounded husband but the man was stone dead. I have to admit, I like Laity’s gall. In a sense it was a repeat of the story of the Gordian Knot which Alexander the Great severed with his sword. Couldn’t be bothered with all the preliminaries, just got on with the job crudely. Naturally everyone was shocked by the callous murder Laity claimed that the pistol went off accidentally. If you believe that you’d believe anything. But who could prove otherwise? Sometime later, on the way back, he was lectured on the matter of honour. ‘What’s the value of honour if you lose,’ he returned. ‘They lay you in a coffin six feet deep and that’s it!’ I rather agree with him. You see, Laity has the instinct of survival which doesn’t include the folly of of the British term ‘fair play!’ In the American vernacular, it goes ‘Never give the other guy an even break’... or as James Cagney once said in a film: ‘Don’t get mad... get even!’’

Is this another of your fantastic stories?’ I challenged, wondering if there was any element of the truth in it.

He placed his hand on his heart as a token of complete sincerity. ‘No. sir. It’s the truth. It remained a secret because duelling was made illegal. I hear you met young Tamsin Basset today. A rare English rose. The older one, her mother, is just as beautiful. I thought Laity would settle with her because she was one of the women with whom he was really interested. But he ws too itinerant... like a caged tiger in a zoo. Then she married Thurstan Basset.’ He stopped as his face took on a serious expression. ‘Let me give you fair warning, free gratis, my friend. Inherent risks lie ahead for you if you continue to make further enquiries in that direction. You will be led into great danger.’

I shrugged off his prediction easily. How could my visit to Tamsin Basset end in peril? The trouble with Trevelyan was that he always wanted to be dramatic. I stared at him plainly.

‘All this chatter’s not being helpful, Trevelyan,’ I told him, ‘which leads me to believe you’re here for another purpose.’

His eyes rolled slightly as he took another draw on his cigar. ‘That’s what I like about you. You’re so perceptive. Without beating about the bush, I came to ask you about the black box taken from the car in the swamp. I’d be prepared to pay you handsomely for its contents... ‘

‘I’m sure you would,’ I interrupted rudely. ‘You Won’t be surprised when I tell you it’s not for sale.’

‘You didn’t let me finish, my friend. I was going to say I would pay handsomely for the contents of the box providing they were genuine.’

‘Genuine? Come on, Trevelyan! They were removed from a car that had been buried for thirty years. I was three when they opened up the rusted boot.’

‘I’m glad you’re easily satisfied,’ he responded caustically. ‘My informants advise me that the position may be otherwise.’

‘Are you telling me that someone raised the car from the swamp, removed the original documents, replaced them with false ones, and then buried the car again. What do you take me for?’

He pouted his lower lip and shook his head slowly. ‘My dear, sir,’ he muttered. ‘You of all people... a film writer! Where’s your imagination? Why shouldn’t someone do such a thing if they didn’t want anyone else to know that they had it?’

‘No one knew the car had been buried! Look... I’m not going to enter into a realm of polemics. You just want to get your grubby hands on the papers.’

‘Only if they’re genuine.’

Was I really out of my league? Had someone recovered the paper and substituted false ones to fool someone like me at a later stage. Anything was possible.

‘How can anyone tell whether the papers are genuine or not?. Roger Blake was the only one who knew what he was doing at the time. Even now, details of the project are kept closely under wraps.’

‘I know a man who can tell,’ he said simply.

I could see that he was on the edge of excitement by the way he shifted in the armchair. ‘Can you arrange for him to come here to examine the papers?’

‘I don’t see why not. What do I get out of it?’

‘What do you want?

‘A copy of the notes if they’re genuine. A small fee if they’re not... for the cost of the expert. We should find out one way or the other.’

‘You obviously have reason for doubt,’ I complained bitterly, ‘and I’ll go along with you for the moment.’

He smiled easily. ‘I knew you’d see it my way in the end. I’ll have someone here tomorrow morning.’ He rose from the armchair with difficulty and stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray, ‘I think we’re beginning to form an understanding.’ He moved awkwardly towards the door. ‘Don’t forget my copy of The Hucksters. It means a lot to me.’

He closed the door behind him and I opened the window to clear the stale smoke. Everyone who came to my room seemed to want to pollute the atmosphere with smoke. It was getting on my nerves!