16: Treasure Hunt

A FEW days later, Colemore telephoned to Symes to ask for the keys of number eight Meon Road, Teddington. "Send them here by messenger, will you? Yes, to this hotel. I may use them to-night if nothing unforeseen happens. Thanks for the tyre-lever."

"I'll send both front and back door keys if you like," said Symes, "though I expect the back door's bolted. By the way, you remember, don't you, that there's a moon to-night?"

"Yes, both keys, please. And I like moonlight. If there are any policemen about I would so very much rather see them than collide with them."

"I'll come with you, shall I?"

"Heavens, no," said Colemore firmly. "I'm obliged for the offer, but I'd much rather be alone. Don't think of it, please. I'll telephone to-night when I get back." He rang off before Symes could reply, and smiled to himself. "That'll fetch him," he murmured. "As Hambledon said it's no use putting on an act unless you have an audience."

Colemore arrived at Teddington shortly after nine. He did not follow Symes' directions for reaching the house, he had spent some time in Hambledon's office studying a large-scale map, showing footpaths, right-of-way and other short cuts in the Meon Road district. He came to the house by way of a timber-merchant's yard, a path round a Methodist chapel and two private gardens; the last of these backed on to the garden of Symes' house. He walked between the tidy rows of Brussels sprouts and winter kale to the back door, which was not even locked, though the scullery he entered was in total darkness. He opened the kitchen door, Hambledon heard him and came across the hall to meet him.

"Well done, Colemore," he said. "Come in where it's warm. We're nearly ready for you."

"Did you find much stuff there?" asked Colemore.

"Most useful," said Hambledon. "Most illuminating---at least, I've no doubt it will be when it's all decoded. We've been here for the past two hours taking photostat copies of all their memoranda, and photographs of finger-prints too. Also the numbers of the notes, all pound and ten-shilling ones, by the way. There were one or two letters which arrived by post after Warren's release from the top attic, but I think it can be assumed that the police have seized them, you wouldn't expect to find them still here."

"No, of course not. Were they of any interest?"

"Not much. The milk bill, and a letter from a poor gentleman asking for a remittance. He gives no address and signs the letter with a number, but we hope those notes will tell us who he is. Sit down by the fire and have a cigarette. How long do you think you ought to stay?"

"A quarter of an hour or twenty minutes, not more. I don't think Symes knew exactly when I arrived," said Colemore, "but he might possibly have heard something. It's as well to be careful. Your man at Waterloo told me that my friend had left by an earlier train."

"Symes arrived more than an hour ago," said Hambledon, "and has been lurking in the gardens waiting for you to pass along the road. He must be getting a little chilly by now, it is not a pleasant evening. Yes, what is it?" Hambledon went to the door in response to a call from another room and entered into low-voiced conversation with somebody in the hall. Colemore leaned back in his chair, waiting; the house seemed full of people. There were two men sitting at the dining-table near him, checking over the numbers of treasury notes; they wore rubber gloves, as did another man at the far end of the table who was arranging papers carefully in order with reference to a list at his elbow. A fourth man came into the room and handed him a dozen more sheets, saying, "That's the lot," in a casual voice.

"Sure? I thought there was one on blue ruled paper--here it is. Quite right, thank you." He went on sorting.

Colemore looked at the ruined fireplace; the splintered oak panel lying in the hearth and the rough brickwork exposed which it had formerly covered. A shallow recess had been chipped out to leave a space behind the panel, the wooden plugs holding the screws of which Symes had spoken were showing with the screws still in them. The panel had been ripped off by force as arranged, just in case Symes, or some of his people, ever managed to examine it. Hambledon was always thorough.

Hambledon himself returned and said cheerfully, "Shan't be long now. They've only got to pack up the parcel again exactly as it was even to the knots in the string and then you can have it. Do you mind if I have your raincoat and trousers, please?"

Colemore stared. "What on earth for?"

"You are going to show evidences of having had a rough trip getting away from here, and I thought it would be nicer for you if you weren't inside the clothes while the evidence was collected. You needn't be shy, there are no ladies present. I don't think I need have your waistcoat, but I'll have the jacket of your suit, please. Thanks very much. I won't keep you long."

Hambledon went away with the clothes over his arm and Colemore sat down again feeling very self-conscious in woollen underwear and waistcoat, but the busy men at the table took no notice at all. It would be all one to them thought Anthony, if he were as naked as when he was born or dressed in gauze and spangles as a fairy queen.... He was just becoming aware of a draught from the open door when Hambledon returned with a messy-looking bundle.

"Escaping from this house," said Tommy, "you unluckily attract the attention of the constable who has just entered the front garden. You immediately flee to the right, past the pergola, you know; and tear your trousers on the fence between this garden and the next. Here is the tear." Hambledon displayed a large three-cornered tear in the left knee. "The constable blows his whistle and switches on a torch which illuminates shrubs and bushes in a spectacular and pleasing manner. The whistle is answered by other constables stationed round the house, they also switch on torches and run hither and thither. You still keep going across gardens in a course roughly parallel to the road, in the garden next but one to this you trip over something and nearly take a header into the lily pond. Or perhaps it contains gold-fish, I haven't really examined it. That was where you get the right side of your coat---here---and your sleeves so wet. Passing from there, you lie doggo under some bushes while the hunt sweeps past you; it is at this point that you collect all this mud. You allow the police to pass by and then get up and walk quietly into the road. There is an unattended car standing by a gateway a hundred yards up the road; contrary to regulations the owner has not immobilized it. You will visibly realize what a state you are in, enter the car and drive away. After which the owner will emerge from the nearest house, bewailing his loss to the police who will tell him it serves him right and take his name and address. I hope Symes will be interested and amused. He is at the moment in a clump of beeches just inside the field opposite, about halfway to the car, I expect you remember it." Colemore nodded. "Well, is that all clear?"

"Perfectly, thanks. What do I really do---just pass quietly across a couple of gardens and emerge in the road?"

"Yes. The police will gambol round you, but you needn't take any notice. They get very little opportunity for innocent enjoyment, you know, I expect they'll make the most of it."

"My face and hands ought to be muddy, oughtn't they?" said Anthony, dressing himself. "Gosh, these things are in a mess."

"Yes, aren't they? I attended to them myself. There's a pail of nice wet mud in the kitchen, you can dabble in it before you go. Leave the car wherever it happens to suit you to do so, the police will find it. I'll keep the tyre-lever, it may come in handy."

---

Alan Symes left London much too early and arrived at Teddington much too soon for Colemore, but not nearly soon enough to see Hambledon and his party arrive at the house in Meon Road. Symes did not wait at Teddington station for fear Colemore should see him and tell him to go away and stay there. He went to the neighbourhood of Meon Road and found a place in somebody's garden from which he ought to see Colemore pass by. He waited for some time, several people went past but not Colemore. Symes began to shiver, it was a cold night. Better to walk on a little, perhaps. A door opened in the house behind him and an Aberdeen terrier rushed out, capering in the moonlight. Symes moved unwisely and the dog saw him. It was, indeed, better to walk on a little.

He went on until the Aberdeen's barking died away, and found himself in Meon Road itself; he walked boldly past the house and pretended to post a letter in a pillar-box outside number ten. Number eight was dark and silent, but as he came by the gate again something moved under the may trees and he saw the outline of a policeman's helmet.

After that he moved uneasily from place to place, getting really anxious because Colemore did not come. Of course, he might have changed his mind. Symes took refuge at last in a clump of beeches about fifty yards up the road in the fields opposite the houses. He peered at his watch by the light of the moon, it was nearly half-past nine. "I'll wait till ten," said Symes to himself, "and then clear off home if nothing happens. This is a waste of time." He shivered in the night air.

At ten minutes to ten he started violently, flattened himself against one of the trees and stared anxiously across the road. Something was happening, very much so. There was a bright light in the garden of number eight, and a whistle blew, piercing, insistent. Another answered, more lights sprang up, more whistles, and shouting. The torches flitted among tree-trunks and behind bushes, and there were crashing noises as bodies forced their way through undergrowth. Symes ran crouching in the shadow to the roadside hedge and threw himself flat behind it.

A voice cried. "I see him! To your left, Bill! Stop you there!" Windows went up in numbers nine and seven, eager heads leaned out and anxious voices asked, "What is it? Parachutists? Where's the Home Guard?"

"Coming, Madam! You're quite safe, don't worry. Behind that shed there!"

Symes lay flat in the wet grass, shaking with excitement. That queer fellow had certainly done it this time, he could hardly hope to escape all this. The place must have been surrounded by police.

Lights, whistles, shouts and trampling swept past Symes' view-point and persevered across the gardens, leaving an uneasy quiet behind. Symes raised himself on his elbows just in time to see a man in civilian clothes come out of one of the gates opposite and stroll---stroll!---across the road towards him. The man was plainly recognizable in the moonlight, it was unmistakably Colemore.

Symes waited till Colemore came abreast of him and then whistled softly, thinking to stop him and get possession of those precious papers. But the whistle had entirely the wrong effect. Colemore leapt as if he had been stung and went off up the road like a startled rabbit. He reached the car, hesitated and hurled himself into it. The next moment the engine started, the car moved forward, accelerated, and flashed out of sight.

Symes stood up, cursing under his breath. It was dangerous to stay there, the police would probably search the fields on their way back. He pushed through the hedge and walked on towards the station.

A policeman came suddenly forward from a gateway and said abruptly, "Excuse me. Have you seen a man in a raincoat and soft grey hat come out of these gardens just now?"

"No," said Symes. "No, I'm sorry. I've only just come along the road." They were then at about the spot where the car had stood, and a gentleman came from the house opposite in haste; stopped, stared, and said, "Where's my car?"

"Did you leave it here, sir?"

"Precisely here. What the devil----"

"Did you immobilize it, sir?"

"No--well, no, I didn't. I only went inside for a moment, just to leave a book----"

"Well, you know the regulations, sir, don't you? If you'd complied with regulations the car'd be still there."

"But constable----"

"I must trouble you for your name and address----"

Symes unostentatiously removed himself. The last thing he wished was to be questioned further, and he thought himself lucky to be allowed to go. He went quietly and quickly away; the constable and the bereft car-owner grinned at each other.

"So that's one of them, is it?"

"That's right. Well, we shall know him again."

Symes went home and waited anxiously for Colemore to telephone as promised; he waited all night but no call came. By early morning he was nearly frantic with anxiety, he abandoned his flat to brood over the telephone in Spink's stuffy office downstairs. Not that he liked Colemore personally, quite the contrary; especially since Eddie's misadventure at Waterloo Station had given Colemore an opportunity for censure. But Symes was not his own master, and he did not like to think what would happen if the promising new recruit came to a bad end through his agency. Besides, there was all that money and the papers. All that money. Perhaps Colemore had kept the money himself and---what might he not do with the memoranda?

But soon after eight in the morning the telephone rang and Symes leapt to answer it. Colemore's voice at the other end, cool, unexcited, faintly supercilious. "That you, Symes? Bilston here. Can you meet me at that boarding-house near King's Cross where we first met? Willowmore Road, that's it. Take a room, please, I want to change. You can get me another suit, can't you? Thanks very much. This one's in rather a mess, I don't like to walk into my hotel looking like this. Mrs. What's-her-name the manageress would, I'm sure, draw the worst conclusions. About nine, then? I'll be there."

"Have you---" began Symes, but there was a click and the telephone went dead.

Anthony Colemore strolled into the house without knocking and greeted Symes kindly.

"Sorry I couldn't ring up last night," he said. "I was rather moving about from place to place, and then I didn't like to ask to use the 'phone where I slept. It wasn't very private. I thought you'd just conclude I'd put off the trip."

"I was rather anxious," admitted Symes.

"You shouldn't have worried, I was all right. Did you manage to find a suit for me? Oh, well done. Come up and tell me all the news while I change."

They retired to a bedroom upstairs; when Symes had shut the door Colemore took out a flat parcel from an inside pocket in his raincoat and handed it over.

"Is that the one you wanted? It may be a bit damp, I fell into a lily pond at one stage of the proceedings."

Symes snatched at the parcel, examined it, felt it, and sighed with relief.

"That's it," he said. "Well done, indeed. So you got away all right after all. I gather there was a certain amount of trouble."

"Trouble? Oh, I wouldn't call it that. I had to run for it, that's all."

"Seen the papers this morning?"

"No," said Colemore, genuinely surprised. "Why?"

"Look," said Symes, and gave him one. "I only saw it myself ten minutes ago."

Colemore interrupted his dressing to sit on the edge of the bed with the paper. Hambledon had got busy. Second only in importance to the War news were head-lines; "Burglary at Teddington. Murder of a Policeman."

"Gosh," said Colemore blankly. "I'm sure I didn't kill him."

"'Constable Evett of the Teddington police,'" Colemore read aloud, "'saw a suspicious movement at the door of a house in Meon Road, Teddington. The house was unoccupied and the police had been asked to watch it.'"

Colemore grinned at Symes and said, "I'd like to know who asked 'em, wouldn't you? To continue. 'He went up the drive and challenged the man who was in the act of coming out of the house. The man made as if to run away and constable Evett blew his whistle to summon assistance. At that the intruder turned upon him and hit him on the head with a tyre-lever, inflicting injuries which proved almost immediately fatal. The weapon was found within a few yards of the spot, and a photograph of it appears in Column 6 on this page. It is an ordinary two-foot tyre-lever, such as is used in garages for removing motor-car tyres, but the thin end has been sharpened to a chisel edge. Any person having any knowledge of a tyre-lever having been altered in this way, or who can give any information whatever about it, is asked to communicate immediately with the police at the nearest police station.'" Colemore left off reading and frowned thoughtfully. "That's very awkward, you know. There's always the devil of a fuss in this country if a policeman comes to a bad end. Look at the Gutteridge case."

"Did any of them get a good look at you?" asked Symes.

"Only this fellow," said Colemore. "He was right in front of me and there wasn't room to dodge. I didn't hit very hard, he must be one of those thin-skulled people. I wouldn't have hit him at all only I had those papers of yours on me and I didn't like to risk capture. I gathered that they were rather important."

"Rather important!" said Symes, and tore open the parcel. "I should say they were important. They're more precious than the lives of a dozen policemen if you only knew it. Look at that," he said, and gave Colemore a moment's glance, no more, at what appeared to be a long list of numbers. "They're in code, of course, but British Intelligence would have worried them out in the end, even without the key. We should be sunk indeed if they solved that one."

"You haven't got the key there too, surely," said Colemore.

"Heavens, no. That's in a safer place even than these were."

"I should hope so."

"I can't tell you," said Symes, with unusual animation, "what a good job of work you've done getting these. It's quite remarkable. It's amazing. Those whom we serve will be very pleased with you indeed, please allow me to be the first to congratulate you."

"Thank you," said Colemore. "I should be rather pleased with myself if it wasn't for this,"---he tapped the paper. "Anywhere except in Britain it wouldn't matter, but here----"

"Oh, the policeman," said Symes carelessly.

"I had to drop the tyre-lever," said Colemore. "There was some running to be done. By the way, there was somebody behind a hedge who whistled softly as I passed by. He might have seen my face. I didn't stop to investigate. He might inform the police," added Colemore, wondering whether Symes would admit having been there himself.

Symes hesitated, and then did admit it. "I just hung about on the chance I might be able to help you."

"No harm done as it happened," said Colemore, rather sternly, "but suppose the police had drawn both sides of the road at once. Where would you have been then? In the jug, that's where. Acting suspiciously, aiding and abetting."

"They wouldn't have caught me," said Symes confidently.

"It is a mistake to underrate the English police. You got away with it that time, but I'd much rather you didn't run these risks in future, at least, not with me."

"Sorry," said Symes. "You see, it was your first job, and we were a little nervous. We shan't be in future, believe me," he added more genially.

"Let's forget it. Well, now I'm respectably dressed again, is there anything to loiter here for?"

Colemore went to see Hambledon as soon as was consistent with his personal safety, surrounding the journey to the Foreign Office with all the precautions he could devise.

"Well?" said Tommy. "How are you and all your little friends to-day?"

"Fine, thank you. Quite pleased with me, too."

"Long may it last. I always say that confidence tricksters are good intelligence agents gone wrong. I should have made a passable con. man myself, but the career has its drawbacks."

"I suppose so," said Colemore. "I haven't tried it myself---not yet. By the way, if I may ask, what is all this about a policeman being murdered? I never murdered any policeman."

"Of course you didn't. I put that in for your sake, as a safeguard."

"I don't follow that. Safeguard against whom?"

"Your new friends. Listen. They think you've killed a policeman."

"Yes."

"And people who murder policemen are disliked in this country. Remember the Gutteridge case?"

"Odd you should refer to that," said Colemore. "I mentioned it to Symes less than an hour ago."

"What did he say?"

"I got the impression that he'd never heard of it. Also, he seemed to think policemen were not important. I told him they were, very."

"I expect some of Symes' superiors are better informed than he is," said Hambledon. "The point of the imaginary Constable Evett's apocryphal murder is this. There will come a time when disasters and set-backs begin to afflict Symes and his crew, and when that time comes they---or some of them---may come to suspect you. Then somebody a trifle more intelligent than the rest will say 'No. It is impossible that this man can be double-crossing us. He has killed a policeman and is consequently in our power, because an anonymous letter will put the police on his track at any time. He must faithful be, he dare not otherwise do. Heil Hitler!' That's what they'd say," concluded Hambledon.

Colemore nodded. "They may use it as a threat to make me do what I'm told."

"I shouldn't wonder at all. Then you can turn a delicate shade of green, allow your knees to knock lightly together--and come and tell me all about it. Those papers we photographed are all in code and our experts have gone intensively broody over them."

Colemore repeated what Symes had told him about the key to the cipher.

"It would be courteous and helpful," said Tommy, "if he'd tell you where he keeps it. Then we can go and photograph that too. There is also a list of telephone numbers which is not so simple as it looks. They are London numbers, or appear to be, Flaxman, Frobisher, Drake and so on, and we said 'Ha! The Lord hath laid the enemy upon the lee bow.' Drake did say that, didn't he? Well, somebody did. But when we came to look at 'em closely, they dried up. Some of them are genuine, one's a monumental mason in Kensington, perfectly respectable people above even my suspicions; another is, believe it or not, the Office of Works; and so on. But others are not real telephone numbers at all, they----"

"You haven't a copy here, I suppose?"

"I have, yes. Here it is," said Hambledon, and held out a large photograph.

Colemore turned it round so that the typing was upside-down to him, and glanced at it sideways. "That's it. He let me have just a glimpse of that and said it was worth the lives of a dozen policemen and if you could solve that they'd be sunk."

"Fancy that, now," said Tommy slowly. "Well, well. You are a great help, Colemore, you are indeed. Now the code people can get in a fresh supply of wet towels and try again. I'll send it across to them at once and if it wasn't for the points rationing system I'd send 'em a few tins of sardines with it. Anything else you want to report?"

"I don't think so. Symes did make reference to 'those whom we serve,' but I didn't gather whether he meant our immediate bosses or the German High Command."

"You don't think Symes is chief organizer?"

"No, I don't. The chief organizer wouldn't spend a couple of hours in a cold field watching me play 'touchlast' with the Teddington police. Symes might be the London manager, perhaps. I don't know yet."

"As a matter of fact," said Hambledon, "we have acquired from various sources a few gleams of light about the chief organizer. I won't tell you what they are because they are very dim and may only be misleading. I may be going away to the country for a few days to look at one or two things, but if you want to tell us about anything, come here just as usual and ask for Charles Denton. You may remember that your friend Eddie was accused of picking a gentleman's pocket of a wallet with twenty pounds in it? That was Charles Denton's wallet."

"What an extraordinary coincidence," said Colemore.

Hambledon leaned back in his chair and put the tips of his fingers together. It is a fact that he was once a schoolmaster.

"If you happen to put a drawing-pin on the seat of a chair," he said, "and the next moment someone comes unexpectedly into the room and sits on it, that's coincidence. But if you intentionally plant the said pin where you think somebody is likely to sit----"

"I think it will be a pleasure to make the acquaintance of Mr. Denton," said Anthony.

"Men of pure heart and unblemished intentions find him pleasant company. Talking about pure hearts reminds me of Symes, though I can't think why. I wonder who and what he was when he started his career. What's his nationality do you think?"

"I don't know at all. He doesn't bear a stamp of any kind---public school or Army or anything else I recognize. He's not interested in sport, or art, or music. He never mentions family connections or a home---you know, 'I had an old aunt who kept white mice,' or anything like that. I'd better cultivate Symes a little more, perhaps."

Hambledon nodded. "'Splendidly null,' in fact. By the way, that telephone number he gave you is at 51 Willowmore Road. That's the cheap boarding-house you went to, isn't it?"

"Oh, really?" said Colemore. "Yes, I met him there this morning. But Symes wouldn't live in a place like that, you know."

"You haven't seen all over the house, have you?" said Tommy. "Or perhaps he lives next door. We shall find out in due course, no doubt."

"When I first met him I was definitely a subordinate, but after Eddie came that crash I became haughtily censorious at once. Moral superiority is my motto."

"Continue to be morally superior," said Hambledon. "It's always a good line with that crowd, they are themselves psychologically leprous. Any information will be gratefully received, but his past isn't really important. His future it is which is receiving my sleepless attention."

Colemore got up to go. "By the way, you've no idea what the chief organizer looks like, I suppose?"

"Anything between Donald Duck and Hermann Goering. No, I haven't, nobody's seen him. Whatever it looks like, it's got a brain, Colemore."