Читать книгу The Memory Man - Coutts Brisbane - Страница 7

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THE Café des Deux Mondes scarcely lived up to its resounding title. It was small, anything but cosmopolitan in decorations or cuisine, and indeed was rather a frowsy and old-fashioned restaurant. But its chef was fairly accomplished, and its charges were reasonable. Though it did not do a boom business, it had a regular clientèle, and on the whole did well enough.

That is, it showed a fair profit, enough to support its proprietor, Antonio Piranelli, in the very modest luxury which seemed to be all he desired.

The "Deux Mondes" was divided into three parts. Half a dozen marble-topped tables by the entry formed the café proper. The restaurant beyond could accommodate about sixty diners at a pinch; beyond this again, flanking the serving hatches and tables, was a small room with one table, reserved by the proprietor for himself and his friends.

It had a rather unusual feature, a curtained recess furnished with spy-holes through which Piranelli might observe the restaurant without being seen himself, besides a narrow door leading to a corridor running into a side alley. Antonio Piranelli, therefore, did not need to be at home to anyone he did not wish to see. A dozen steps and he was out.

However, on this evening of the day that had seen the interesting trial of the new combined rangefinder and sighting apparatus known to a few people in the Admiralty as RRS. SS. 4, it was not he but Karyl Thunnsenn who sat in the little alcove and from time to time glanced expectantly into the restaurant as he made his report in a low voice.

"So, as we discovered the hangar to be well guarded, as I had anticipated, we retired. Ostoff has received contusions on the shoulder and knee, I myself have a bullet hole through the skirts of my overcoat. The only result of the expedition is two photographs, which I will show you in a moment. They could have been obtained with a great deal less trouble from any news photograph bureau."

"Meaning to say it was all wasted time and trouble, eh?" growled Piranelli.

"Meaning exactly that. I've been wanting to talk to you straight, Antonio," Thunnsenn said softly. "Ostoff and Schelm think the same. You're a fine boss to work for, only you aren't good at the practical side of the work. You get good information up to a point, and then you fall down on the work-out, so to say."

Piranelli's pale, rather pasty face grew crimson, a hand slid towards his left armpit—and fell away again as Thunnsenn's eyes grew suddenly steely. He smiled wryly with a visible effort.

"You say—up to a point. Whatta you mean by that?" he asked.

Thunnsenn glanced again through the spy-hole, nodded to the other couple, and drew out a flat folder. Two photos lay within. Each showed the flying-boat, Sky Ranger, Mark IV. Ho. Ov. 3o, and the group of launches by her.

They were first-class photographs, giving remarkable detail of the plane, the launches, and the men in them.

"D'you see anyone you know among these fellows?" asked Thunnsenn carelessly.

"That is Admiral Ryde-Harker. And that is Sir Astley Marshall, yes, the First Lord of the Admiralty. Very good!" murmured Piranelli.

"Thought so! The trouble with you, Antonio, is that you don't see what's under your nose. See this fella that's sort of out of the picture, not having a brass-bound hat. D'you know him?"

Thunnsenn indicated one figure with a finger tip. Piranelli frowned as he stared at it.

"In effect—I seem to know the face," he grunted. "And yet—"

"Take a look at those three folks that have just come in and sat down. Giorgio is going, to take their order. See if you recognize one of them," purred Thunnsenn, slipping aside and inviting Piranelli with a gesture to take his place at the watching post.

"Eh? But—but that is Mistaire Davison! You mean to say he..." Piranelli stammered, turning puzzled eyes from a swift scrutiny of the restaurant. "He come here reg'lar, I dunno how long. Alla the time I been here. What you mean? He is like this man in the boat, but—he is a fool man! He speaks soft and low, or else he bellows. Sometimes I t'ink he is not what you call all there!"

"You're the one who isn't all there sometimes!" sneered Thunnsenn. "You get bits of good information, yes, but you miss a lot. Now, I don't get much, but what I get is a lot better. That's Perry Davison. He was down looking on at that show. D'you know why? Because he's the man who worked out all the figures for this new range-finder and sighting apparatus. He's the man who has worked out the figures for all the new construction, all the gadgets connected with the British Navy, for the past eight or nine years at least. Why, he could tell us all we want to know—and you think he isn't all there! Gosh, Piranelli, you can be an awful sap!"

"Eh?" Piranelli's astonishment was ludicrous. "Thatta fella? Why, he—he is so silly—he see me do a leetle conjuring trick wit' a coin I make to vanish—and now, whenever I see him, he ask me to do it some more. A leetle silly trick that a boy might do, but it please him no end! I cannot believe he is so clever as you say."

"Yes, he is." Thunnsenn turned to Ostoff and Schelm. "The coast's clear. Better get to it now," he said, and like one the pair slid out through the side door. Piranelli saw them go and turned interrogatively to Thunnsenn.

"What is the great beeg idea?" he asked, still in the muted tones of one who has received a shock. Thunnsenn lit a cigarette and blew a cloud before he smiled tantalizingly, and replied:

"We're not in this for our health, Antonio, and if we don't show results soon we'll all be told we aren't wanted. And perhaps we'll be made safe, eh?"

Piranelli shuddered. He did not like that allusion. The Great Power for which he and the others worked had a short sharp way with its discarded servants. It made them safe; shut their mouths in the one absolutely effective way. He wilted.

"My Karyl, we are all together in this. We shall help each other all we can. What do you propose, eh?"

"That we take the quickest and best way of getting the information we want. We'll never get it in your way. You think these English fools—but they're not. They only play at being fools, the very best way of fooling so-clever men like you. We shall never see that range-finder, so therefore we must investigate the man who knows all about it, this Davison. I have found where he lives, close by in Soho Square. He lives alone. He is out every evening. Schelm and Ostoff have gone to search his rooms. They may find something valuable. If not—there are ways to make him talk. Now, go and make much of him. Later I will follow him and see where he goes."

"Yes. I will make myself ver' friendly," agreed Piranelli, and presently went out into the restaurant.

He paused at a couple of tables for a friendly word with the early diners, then passed on to the table where Perry Davison beamed upon Ellice and Billy as they discussed hors-d'oeuvres. The beam broadened as Piranelli halted before him, his pasty face one expansive bright smile.

"Good-evening, Mistaire Davison! You find all righta, eh?" he said throatily as he bowed.

"Quite all right, so far. I'm introducing my young friends to your celebrated establishment, so go on being all right," chuckled Perry. "I—er—I say, Piranelli, you—you couldn't do those tricks with that half-crown, could you?" he added diffidently. "Piranelli's very good at conjuring, Ellice. He should be on the stage. Show them, Piranelli!"

"It ees nothing!" Piranelli shrugged and smiled deprecatingly. "Mistaire Davison, he mak' too much of my leetle tricks. They are not so ver' wonderful—but I show you. It is old, old, of course. So!"

He picked up half a crown that hadn't been there a moment before, from the corner of the table by Perry's side, flicked it into the air. It disappeared, to reappear from the empty tumbler beside Ellice. For a couple of minutes he put the coin through its paces, while Perry, smiling rather foolishly, followed all his movements, his mouth opening and shutting in a series of pleased chuckles.

Billy Harwood, watching both performances, was astounded. Surely Uncle Perry could not be quite so simple as he appeared to be? Billy could not decide whether he looked more like the village idiot or a new-born babe. He glanced at Ellice, who nodded reassuringly, as much as to say that her uncle's vagaries were all in the day's work and nothing to be astonished at.

"There now! One time I show you some others, Mistaire Davison, wit' leetle apparatus, how I mak' a goldfish come in a bowl that was empty, and some more things like that, if it amuse you," said Piranelli. "It is a good fun. All for a laugh. Now, I mus' go see to the chef."

With another broadly comprehensive, benedictory smile Piranelli bowed and retreated in good order, followed by Perry's thanks.

"It's very wonderful, isn't it, my dear?" he said in awed tones.

"Nunky dear, it isn't really! You should see the things this Chinese Hi Lo does."

"He's really marvellous, sir," supplemented Billy. "This chap means well, but he can't be expected to be like a real professional."

"I must endeavour to see Hi Lo. But I still think Piranelli is marvellous," insisted Perry.

Billy nodded and let it go at that. One can't tell the uncle of one's dearly beloved that by rights he should have a nurse always in attendance, but once again he reflected that great ability of one kind too often is accompanied by something very like imbecility in others.

The dinner proceeded. Piranelli, back in his den, grinned sourly at Thunnsenn.

"You saw?" he said. "That is the way he does every time. He asks me to do that foolishness. Those two with him thought I was a great fool's head. But—"

"Let them think!" snapped Thunnsenn. "But keep on good terms with him. I have a notion—if this search fails, as it may. Tell me when he is going."

Ellice and Billy were the first to move. They wanted to see the show at the Megatherium, and went off, leaving Nunky to finish his coffee. When at last Perry Davison went out into the night Thunnsenn was close behind him.

Davison did not return to his flat. He walked slowly down Dean Street, turned out of it, wandering aimlessly along as though taking a constitutional, halted suddenly before a shop, made as though to enter, turned back; in short, for the next quarter of an hour he gave a perfect exhibition of indecision.

Thunnsenn fumed. He had much ado to keep out of sight of his quarry. This aimless tacking to and fro began to get on his nerves. They were in Queen Street, when all of a sudden Davison seemed to make up his wandering mind, and stepped into a taxi. Thunnsenn promptly signalled to another, and as it stopped, a big, ugly-looking man brushed him aside.

"My need is greater than thine, sweet chuck!" remarked the stranger. "Charing Cross, driver, and move!"

"My cab!" snarled Thunnsenn, trying to step into the vehicle. With a side glance he saw Davison getting under way. Another moment and the trail would be lost. "I called it!"

"My thanks for your kindly service, fair sir!" quoth the big man. "Move, driver! Double fare!"

And upsetting Thunnsenn's balance with that double thrust of a finger used by the police in argument, he slammed the door and rolled off. Thunnsenn swore in four languages, all to no avail. Perry Davison was gone into the everywhere.

Thunnsenn returned to the Café des Deux Mondes in no mood to enjoy the excellent dinner that awaited him. Schelm and Ostoff had not returned. They did not enter till nearly ten o'clock, and a glance at their weary, forlorn faces showed at once that failure had been their portion.

"It wass the maddest place I haf ever seen!" declared Schelm. "What do we find in his desk? Cross-wort puzzles—und they are mostly done wrong also! Und everywhere else are foolish papers for boys, yes, und for fool-girls! Ach! I am seek with the foolishness of it all! Ostoff also!"

Ostoff shook his head morosely. He produced half a dozen copies of Jenny's Own Weekly and spread them on the table.

"There are these. There are many figures and letters on the margins. I think it is a simple cipher," he said with a sneering look at Schelm. "Myself, I have, I think, solved the beginning. We will see. Look, they are all beside the fool love-story-tale called 'When Love was Barred.' Wait but a little and I think I have it. This one!"

He got busy with pencil and paper. Thunnsenn, watching, grew interested. Schelm took a hand after a surreptitious glance at Ostoff's figures. For a few minutes the three were absorbed. It was Thunnsenn who looked up first with a queer wild glare in his eyes.

"It's a cipher—and simple enough," he growled. "But what do you make of this sentence? 'Poor Ernestine! How sad to lose her faith in human kindliness! How foolish!' What can that possibly mean? Is it a key sentence?"

"If it iss, then what iss this?" Schelm snorted. "Listen! 'My heart bleeds for Ernestine. Is she always doomed to misunderstand Anthony?' Now, that makes sense, yes—no? But what does it mean? Iss this man insane?"

They looked at each other in perplexity. If these sentences were but the outpourings of a simple, sentimental soul, moved by the troubles of the heroine of "When Love was Barred," why in the name of common sense had Perry Davison gone to the trouble of writing them in a cipher? The thing was beyond reason. They suspected that the simple words held the clue to some tremendously important secret.

"It is perhaps that herein are hidden words of another code?" suggested Ostoff. "Or the hiding-place of his real papers, his notes?"

"Whatever they are—" began Thunnsenn.

Thus! thud! thud! Three blows fell upon the narrow door giving upon the corridor to the alley, three odd, glinting points of light suddenly appeared on the inner surface of the upper panel. With a low cry of fury and alarm, Piranelli leapt at the door, unlocked and tore it open. The outer door slammed as he did so. He sprang down the corridor, wrenched the door open and stared out into the alley. It was empty. He returned to find the three staring at—three small stilettos, the sort of thing sometimes to be found in ladies' work-baskets, and sometimes in the sleeve of a Neapolitan water-front rat!

They had bone handles and needle-sharp points which had driven clean through the tough wood. They were arranged in a triangle. Attached to the handle of each was a small tab bearing a name.

"'Thunnsenn. Schelm. Ostoff,'" read Piranelli in a voice that was none too steady, and plucked the things out. "You bes' take each the proper one," he said with a ghastly attempt at a chuckle, and handed each of the three the weapon bearing his name. "Well? What is it all about, eh? Who is this that knows you, that knows you are here?"

"Perhaps it is a hint from up above, eh?" suggested Thunnsenn. "Our big Number One is not pleased with the lack of progress? This is a notice to proceed more quickly? Very well. But what now? Think, Piranelli!"

"So you need me after all? It is good that I have thought," Piranelli declared. "Listen! I have watched this Mistaire Davison and it seems to me he is what you call good subjec'. I can put heem to sleep, I do think, if it is rightly work. To-morrow night, then. He always stay longer on a Sunday. I make a leetle festa, I ask him upstairs, I tell him I show him more tricks—and I put him to sleep. Then, you shall come and ask him what question you wish. If, as you, Thunnsenn, say, he has these so many secrets in his head, then we get them out, eh?"

"If you really can hypnotize him..." Thunnsenn said doubtfully.

"But yes! I am good at it. I have the strong power, and it is easy with the proper things to help. I will do it. To-morrow. Now, go—and watch well. I do not like these leetle daggers. It is a bad sign!"

The three slipped out, none of them happy. The mystery of the stilettos was disquieting from its very oddity. Death, they felt, hovered near. Each had his hand upon a hidden weapon as they took their way by a devious route to the flat they occupied at the top of an old block in a street off Holborn. But nothing happened to disturb them further, no-one was in sight when at last, after many turnings calculated to baffle any follower, they regained their quarters.

"But can Piranelli really hypnotize this man?" asked Ostoff.

"I haf seen. He is goot, yes," replied Schelm. "For a while once he did it on the stage, in America. Then he kill a man by accident, and so he leave der country. Oh, yes, he will do it, I think."