describing the contents of the old coach-house.’
‘The whole thing’s on his mind and he thinks writing it all out may help him to get shot of it.’
‘He’s looking for a line. It’s rather like those hidden picture-games they used to put in kid’s books. A collection of numbered dots and you joined them up in the given order and found you’d got a pussy-cat or something. Only Rick’s dots aren’t numbered and he can’t find the line.’
‘If there is one.’
‘Yes. There may be no pussy-cat.’
‘It’s the sort of thing you’re doing all the time, isn’t it?’
‘More or less, my treasure. More or less.’
‘Oh!’ Troy exclaimed. ‘I do hope there isn’t a line and I do hope Miss Harkness wasn’t –’
‘What?’
‘Murdered,’ said Troy. ‘That, really, is what the letter’s all about, isn’t it?’
‘Oh yes,’ Alleyn agreed. ‘That’s what it’s all about.’
The telephone rang and he answered it. It was his Assistant Commissioner. Being a polite man he made his usual token apology.
‘Oh, Rory,’ he said. ‘Sorry to disturb you at home. Did I hear you mention your boy was staying on that island where Sunniday Enterprises, if that’s what they call themselves, have set up a holiday resort of sorts?’
It pleased the AC – nobody knew why – when engaged in preliminaries, to affect a totally false vagueness about names, places and activities.
Alleyn said: ‘Yes, sir, he’s there,’ and wondered why he was not surprised. It was as if he had been waiting for this development, an absurd notion to entertain.
‘Staying at this place of theirs? What’s it called? Mount something?’
‘Hotel Montjoy. Lord, no. He’s putting up at a plumber’s cottage on the non-u side of the island.’
‘The Bay. Or Deep Bay, would that be?’
‘Deep Cove,’ Alleyn said, beginning to feel exasperated as well as apprehensive.
‘To be sure. Yes. I remember now, you did say something about a plumber and Deep Cove,’ said the bland AC.
Alleyn thought: You devious old devil, what are you up to? and waited.
‘Well,’ said the AC, ‘the thing is, I wondered if he might be helpful. You remember the dope case you tidied up in Rome? Some of the Ziegfeldt group?’
‘Oh that,’ Alleyn said, greatly relieved. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, as we all know to our discomfort, Ziegfeldt himself still operates in a very big way.’
‘Quite. I understand,’ said Alleyn, ‘there have been extensive improvements to his phoney castle in the Lebanon. Loos on every landing.’
‘Sickening, isn’t it?’ said the AC. ‘Well, my dear Rory, the latest intelligence through Interpol and from chaps in our appropriate branch is that the route has been altered. From Izmir to Marseilles it still rings the changes between the Italian ports and the morphineheroin transformation is still effected in laboratories outside Marseilles. But from there on there’s a difference. Some of the heroin now gets away through a number of French seaports, some of them quite small. You can guess what I’m coming to, I dare say.’
‘Not to St Pierre-des-Roches, by any chance?’
‘And from there to this island of yours –’
‘It’s not mine. With respect,’ said Alleyn.
‘– from where it finds its way to the English market. We don’t know any of this,’ said the AC, ‘but it’s been suggested. There are pointers! There’s a character with a bit of a record who shows signs of unexpected affluence. That kind of thing.’
‘May I ask, sir,’ Alleyn said, ‘the name of the character who shows signs of unexpected affluence?’
‘Of course you may. He’s a plumber and odd-job man living in Deep Cove and he is called Ferrant.’
‘Fancy that,’ Alleyn said tonelessly.
‘Quite a coincidence, isn’t it?’
‘Life is full of them.’
‘So I just wondered if your young man had noticed anything.’
‘He’s noticed his landlord, who is called Ferrant and is a plumber, leaving at dawn by a
‘The whole thing’s on his mind and he thinks writing it all out may help him to get shot of it.’
‘He’s looking for a line. It’s rather like those hidden picture-games they used to put in kid’s books. A collection of numbered dots and you joined them up in the given order and found you’d got a pussy-cat or something. Only Rick’s dots aren’t numbered and he can’t find the line.’
‘If there is one.’
‘Yes. There may be no pussy-cat.’
‘It’s the sort of thing you’re doing all the time, isn’t it?’
‘More or less, my treasure. More or less.’
‘Oh!’ Troy exclaimed. ‘I do hope there isn’t a line and I do hope Miss Harkness wasn’t –’
‘What?’
‘Murdered,’ said Troy. ‘That, really, is what the letter’s all about, isn’t it?’
‘Oh yes,’ Alleyn agreed. ‘That’s what it’s all about.’
The telephone rang and he answered it. It was his Assistant Commissioner. Being a polite man he made his usual token apology.
‘Oh, Rory,’ he said. ‘Sorry to disturb you at home. Did I hear you mention your boy was staying on that island where Sunniday Enterprises, if that’s what they call themselves, have set up a holiday resort of sorts?’
It pleased the AC – nobody knew why – when engaged in preliminaries, to affect a totally false vagueness about names, places and activities.
Alleyn said: ‘Yes, sir, he’s there,’ and wondered why he was not surprised. It was as if he had been waiting for this development, an absurd notion to entertain.
‘Staying at this place of theirs? What’s it called? Mount something?’
‘Hotel Montjoy. Lord, no. He’s putting up at a plumber’s cottage on the non-u side of the island.’
‘The Bay. Or Deep Bay, would that be?’
‘Deep Cove,’ Alleyn said, beginning to feel exasperated as well as apprehensive.
‘To be sure. Yes. I remember now, you did say something about a plumber and Deep Cove,’ said the bland AC.
Alleyn thought: You devious old devil, what are you up to? and waited.
‘Well,’ said the AC, ‘the thing is, I wondered if he might be helpful. You remember the dope case you tidied up in Rome? Some of the Ziegfeldt group?’
‘Oh that,’ Alleyn said, greatly relieved. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, as we all know to our discomfort, Ziegfeldt himself still operates in a very big way.’
‘Quite. I understand,’ said Alleyn, ‘there have been extensive improvements to his phoney castle in the Lebanon. Loos on every landing.’
‘Sickening, isn’t it?’ said the AC. ‘Well, my dear Rory, the latest intelligence through Interpol and from chaps in our appropriate branch is that the route has been altered. From Izmir to Marseilles it still rings the changes between the Italian ports and the morphineheroin transformation is still effected in laboratories outside Marseilles. But from there on there’s a difference. Some of the heroin now gets away through a number of French seaports, some of them quite small. You can guess what I’m coming to, I dare say.’
‘Not to St Pierre-des-Roches, by any chance?’
‘And from there to this island of yours –’
‘It’s not mine. With respect,’ said Alleyn.
‘– from where it finds its way to the English market. We don’t know any of this,’ said the AC, ‘but it’s been suggested. There are pointers! There’s a character with a bit of a record who shows signs of unexpected affluence. That kind of thing.’
‘May I ask, sir,’ Alleyn said, ‘the name of the character who shows signs of unexpected affluence?’
‘Of course you may. He’s a plumber and odd-job man living in Deep Cove and he is called Ferrant.’
‘Fancy that,’ Alleyn said tonelessly.
‘Quite a coincidence, isn’t it?’
‘Life is full of them.’
‘So I just wondered if your young man had noticed anything.’
‘He’s noticed his landlord, who is called Ferrant and is a plumber, leaving at dawn by a
Similar Books
