14: The New Recruit

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COLEMORE shot back the bolts, opened the door and went in; the first thing he saw was a man lying fully dressed on a bed smoking a cigarette and working out a crossword puzzle. The man looked up sharply and said, "Hullo, haven't seen you before. Who are you?"

"That depends," said Colemore cautiously. "Who are you?"

"Detective-Inspector Warren."

Colemore's eyes widened with surprise and instinctively he turned to shut the door behind him.

"Don't do that!" said Warren. "If you do, we shan't get out again."

Anthony looked at the door, it had no handle on the inside.

"Dear me," he said mildly. "And what are you doing here? Waiting for somebody?"

"Don't be silly," said Warren. "I'm a prisoner here and you're going to get me out."

"You've said it brother. I don't think this is a very healthy house, somehow, come on, let's be going. Can you walk? I mean, not damaged in any way---no, I see you're not. Down those stairs, can you see? I'll shut this door again and bolt it. That's right. No, round to the left, don't you remember coming up here?"

"No," said Warren briefly. "I wasn't conscious. Which way now?"

Colemore threw a careful pencil of light from his torch on the front door. It had a Yale lock but was not bolted.

"This way," he said. "It'll lock itself after us and thus betray no sign of burglarious entry. Just a moment."

He ran back through the kitchen, closed and latched the scullery window by which he had entered, and returned to the front door to find Warren leaning against the wall.

"What's the matter? For goodness' sake don't be taken ill now. Come on out."

"I'm all right," said Warren, walking out of the open door. "Excitement, probably."

The door shut behind them, Colemore took his arm and led him rapidly down the drive.

"If a car comes down the road we make a dive into one of these front gardens," he said. "When are your hosts expected back, do you know?"

"Some time to-night," said Warren, "since it is night. I didn't know. They left me food and drink for the whole day and said they'd be back at supper-time. That's about nine p.m. usually. What is this place?"

"Teddington."

"Really? Where's the police station?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," said Colemore.

"Aren't you in the Force, then?"

"Good heavens, no," said Colemore, laughing. "Whatever put that idea into your head?"

"I don't know, unless it was your manner when you walked into the room. Did you know I was there?"

"No, I didn't. I was just having a look round and came across you."

"Oh, indeed," said Warren, and added after a moment's thought, "I'm in the Special Branch myself."

Colemore considered this. He had never heard of the Special Branch, but it sounded hopeful. He decided upon frankness.

"Does that mean you are working for---or with---the Intelligence people?"

"Why do you ask?" said Warren.

"Because I want to be put in touch with them at once and as unobtrusively as possible. Not one of the clerks for somebody's secretary, either, but someone at the top who knows his onions."

Warren began to think that his rescuer was rather a queer bird who might be genuine and, again, might not. Walking into that house as though he'd bought the place and then saying he didn't know Warren was there. How did he come to enter that place at all if he were neither Intelligence nor the police?

"I daresay that might by arranged," said Warren casually. "I'm going to the police station to ask for a car to London, it might be better than going by train. You'd better come with me."

"Are you sure it can be managed?" said Colemore urgently. "Because, if not, the sooner we part the better. If I'm seen with you my number's up."

"I can't take you myself to such a man as you want," said Warren frankly. "I'm only a humble Detective-Inspector. But I can take you to Chief-Inspector Bagshott at Scotland Yard, he deals with all that sort of thing."

"No, no. I don't want the police. It's British Intelligence I want and nobody else will do."

"Chief-Inspector Bagshott will take you along, that's what I meant. He deals with the Intelligence people."

"Oh, very well," said Colemore unwillingly. All these police, no doubt armed with Beisegel's description----

"There's a constable," said Warren suddenly. "He'll direct us."

When they reached the police station Warren dived inside like a rabbit into his home burrow, and Colemore reluctantly followed. He could hardly wait about outside in case Symes, or some other member of that party, came past; besides, if only he had known it, Warren would never have permitted it. Colemore was much too interesting a man to let go. He was left to sit unhappily in the outer room and be regarded with curiosity by the desk sergeant while Warren went into the Superintendent's room and shut the door behind him.

"I am Detective-Inspector Warren of the Special Branch," he began, "here's my card----"

"What!" said the Superintendent. "Not the man who disappeared three weeks ago? Good Lord, man, where have you been?"

"Locked up," said Warren grimly. "I'm afraid I can't say any more without permission, I must report first."

"Locked up. Not in my Division, surely?"

Warren smiled and did not answer the question. "I really wanted to ask you, Superintendent, whether you could possibly let me have a police car up to Scotland Yard. I've got a man outside there I don't want to lose sight of."

"Is he a prisoner?"

"Not yet."

"Oh. I wondered whether he was one of the people who locked you up."

"So do I, that's why I don't want to lose him."

"Oh, ah. Yes, in that case you shall certainly have a car." The Superintendent touched a bell and gave orders to the constable who answered it.

"I am very much obliged to you, Superintendent," said Warren.

"Don't mention it. I am delighted to see you alive, Detective-Inspector. I---we---began to think you weren't."

"I began to wonder, myself," admitted Warren.

"But---in my Division---" began the Superintendent, but the constable appeared again in the doorway and said that the car was ready.

---

"I expect you know the rest," said Colemore to Hambledon. "Warren made one or two gentle attempts to pump me on the way to town and tactfully gave it up when he realized I wasn't going to talk, Chief-Inspector Bagshott was a little more pressing, but he also gave it up when all I did was to bleat for Intelligence like a lost lamb for its mother. So we came along here and here we are."

"Yes," said Hambledon. He leaned back in his chair and studied the man opposite to him. Colemore was a lean man of medium height, brown-haired and grey-eyed, with nothing particularly noticeable about him except an air of self-reliance which was to be expected in one who had led such a life as his. There was alertness in his eyes and more than a trace of recklessness in his expression; altogether he looked a man who might have done all the things he described and was prepared to do that and more again if suitably encouraged.

"So you want to work for M.I.5," said Hambledon. "You certainly seem to be in a position where you might be quite useful."

Colemore nodded. "So long as my friends don't put the raid on the Teddington house to my account."

"Oh dear, no. Unless you were seen, and I hope for your sake you weren't. A brief account will appear in the papers to the effect that a light was shining from an attic window so the police investigated. Your friends will think that Warren managed to shift the black-out. It was of course, the police who found and liberated Warren."

"So simple," said Colemore, "when you put it like that. To get down to brass tacks, what d'you want me to do, exactly?"

"Keep in with them and keep me informed."

"But how am I to get in touch with you? If I'm seen----"

"You won't be. All you have to do will be to ring up the Saturn Motor Hire Company---see the rings going round---here's one of their cards."

"Oh, I've seen them," said Colemore. "They have white patches on the spokes of the wheels so that when they're running they look like circles."

"That's them," said Hambledon ungrammatically. "They're a perfectly genuine firm and lots of people use them. It was one of my brighter ideas, if I may say so. The drivers keep careful logs of whom they've driven and where to; most useful sometimes. Most of the cars are quite ordinary but they have one or two special ones, and you'll get those. Sit on the right side at the back, put your right hand down and feel under the edge of the seat near the end. Your fingers will encounter a bell-push, but it doesn't ring a bell. It flashes a little blue light where only the driver can see it. So you can order the car to your hotel, say 'The Ritz' in a lordly voice, and drive away. Then press the button and the driver will bring you here without more said. Very convenient, especially if at any time you happen to have a passenger you'd like to show me."

"But suppose we're followed by another car," began Colemore.

"You won't be---not successfully. You wait and see."

"I'd better be getting back to my hotel," said Anthony, looking at the clock. "I'm supposed to be in by eleven or so in case they want to telephone." He gave Hambledon the address. "It's past midnight, but I am out on the rampage for once." He got up and stretched himself. "Gosh, what a seance we've had."

"Have you any idea," said Hambledon, "what they want you to do?"

"None. But they believe I'm Brampton, remember, they may think I have family or social contacts which may be useful. I don't know. I only hope they don't produce one of the gang who used to know Brampton, that's all. Have you any tips you can give me?"

"We know," said Hambledon, rising stiffly, "we know of course that there is a German espionage organization at work---there always has been and I suspect there always will be. This edition seems to be more efficient than usual. We even know who some of the small fry are, but we're leaving them alone because we want the heads."

"According to that fellow with the clipped ear who interviewed me in the prison camp, I'm to be one of the heads myself," said Colemore cheerfully. "If I look like making an ass of myself, you can come and arrest me."

"Without hesitation," said Tommy.

"By the way---one minor point---will the police continue to search for the missing German prisoner, Beisegel? To say nothing of the missing British prisoner, Colemore?"

"I think I can call them off the hunt for Beisegel," said Hambledon. "Your life will probably be sufficiently complex without having to dodge the police on that score. I'm afraid the Maidstone Jail business is rather outside my sphere of influence, but it's a long time ago and I should imagine they've left off looking for you by now. Especially as you escaped to the Continent such a short time before the War, the obvious solution is that you just got lost, like so many others. Of course, if you fell foul of the police in any way and they took your finger-prints, the game would be up."

Colemore nodded. "I will be tactful. Er---thanks awfully for listening to all that."

"For believing all that, is what you really mean. Strange to say, I do. Well, good-bye and good hunting. There's a car at the door which will drop you at a quiet spot near the hotel---the commissionaire will show you into the right car. We have been extra careful since they got poor Abbott that way. Good luck."

Next morning Symes strolled into the hotel and Colemore, greeting him with something near enthusiasm, looked for signs of distress over the Teddington affair but saw none. Symes looked as unruffled as before.

"Sorry to have left you high and dry so long," he said. "Meant to have looked you up before this, but one thing and another prevented me."

"I'm awfully glad you've come," said Colemore. "I was beginning to wonder whether you'd forgotten me. I hardly liked to bother you with a letter when there was really nothing to say."

Symes nodded. "Doing anything in particular this morning? Let's go out for a stroll, shall we? It's a nice day for once."

They turned into Kensington Gardens, and Symes said, "By the way, don't write to that Teddington address now. You didn't, did you?"

"No," said Colemore in a surprised voice. "No, I didn't."

"That's all right. There's been a spot of bother down there. Some ass showed a light and the police kicked up about it."

"But surely---a small fine----"

"When you want me in future," said Symes, disregarding this, "ring up this number." He took from his pocket-book a card with 'Alan G. Symes' engraved upon it, and wrote a number on the back. "If I'm not there, somebody will tell you when to ring again."

"Thanks very much. Shall I memorize this and destroy it?"

"No, why? It's quite an innocent number."

Colemore nodded and said nothing.

"What I really wanted to see you about," said Symes, "was a little affair that's being arranged near Petersfield, in Hampshire. Know Petersfield?"

"No," said Colemore, "don't you pass it going to Portsmouth by train? I've never got out there."

"Yes. The Portsmouth road passes through, too."

Colemore held his peace. Major Brampton was a Yorkshire man and did not necessarily know the Portsmouth road.

"There's a sabotage job," went on Symes. "Our man is perfectly reliable about explosives and he knows the spot, but he wants somebody with him to lend a hand. I thought it would interest you, and perhaps, give you experience. Know anything about sabotage work?"

"Only in theory," said Anthony. "I haven't had much practical experience."

"I thought you probably hadn't. There's a place where a road-bridge crosses the railway---the main road and the main line. He'll show you."

"Won't it be guarded?" said Colemore.

"I don't think so," said Symes carelessly.

"But---" began Colemore.

"Don't worry," said Symes. "Will you meet our fellow by the War Memorial at Waterloo Station at ten minutes to six to-night? He is a tall man, lined face, hair turning grey, dressed in dark trousers, fawn raincoat, grey felt hat, black-and-white checked scarf--one of those shepherd's plaid things. He will be carrying a rather large suitcase with a blue stripe painted across the ends and narrow aluminium stripes edging the blue ones."

"I think I ought to be able to pick him out. What's his name?"

"You can call him Eddie."

Colemore parted from Symes, went for a brief run round the Underground Railway to make sure he wasn't being followed, and telephoned the Saturn Hire Company to pick him up. The car duly arrived and Colemore slid across the back seat to the right side and felt under the edge. There was a bell-push there, and he pressed it. The driver did not appear to take the faintest notice, but instead of stopping at the Criterion Restaurant as originally requested he drove straight to Hambledon's office.

"Splendid," said Colemore. "Thanks very much."

"Would you wish me to wait, sir?"

"Please. I don't suppose I shall be long."

Colemore unfolded his story and Hambledon listened with cheerful interest.

"Thank you very much," he said. "That's fine. Arrangements shall be made. I suppose the decorative suitcase will be full of gelignite and what-not, I hope he won't drop it down the steps at Waterloo. Useful place, Waterloo, if not picturesque. We should miss it."

"What do I do?" asked Colemore.

"Whatever Eddie tells you. Just behave perfectly normally and try to look as though you're merely going to Hampshire to find a house to let."

"An expression of hopeful incredulity?"

"That'll do. Anything else?"

"I've got Symes' telephone number," said Colemore, and gave it. "He told me not to write to the Teddington house. He said there'd been some trouble about lights showing."

"We didn't catch anybody there," said Hambledon. "Nobody came there after you and Warren left, I mean. Perhaps somebody walked along Meon Road and felt a sudden psychic aversion to entering number eight, so he simply went on past the gate. The police do affect some people like that, I understand. They know they're there without seeing them. Very useful. I'll have this telephone number looked up."

"I don't think there's anything else at the moment."

"No? Well, I expect there soon will be. Good-bye, and have a jolly evening."

When Colemore had gone, Hambledon rang up Bagshott and made certain arrangements.

"You'll have to be careful," he said. "Heaven knows what that blighter Eddie has got in his suitcase. Don't let him throw it at you, will you? No Rugby scrimmage from any of your young toughs."

"It's the last thing they'd do," began Bagshott indignantly.

"It would be," said Hambledon. "Good afternoon."