Shadow of Doom by John Creasey Page B

Paris?
    Palfrey told him what he knew.
    â€˜It’s pretty well the same here,’ said Mann. ‘Chief trouble, transport. But’ – he scowled ferociously – ‘the B.M. wolves find it. Plenty of it. I don’t know who’s to blame. My opinion of the Government is that it’s sound. But I wouldn’t say the same of all civil servants. This dock strike—who can blame the men? Midaut is behaving like a swine. He’s got a good reputation, used to be all right, but now’ – Mann swallowed his whisky and put his glass down with a bang. ‘He seems to have lost his senses. There is work at the docks by night. Not only his—all over the place. Usually manhandled supplies. Sometimes with lorries and vans. Of course the men don’t like it. They feel sure the food is going where it shouldn’t.’
    â€˜Is it?’asked Palfrey.
    â€˜I wouldn’t like to commit myself,’ said Mann, ‘but something odd is happening.’
    â€˜Do you know Midaut?’ asked Palfrey.
    â€˜Yes. He used to see the Press whenever they asked for it; now he surrounds himself with a bodyguard and won’t open his mouth. I’ll tell you one thing, Palfrey: that man’s frightened. And if he’s behind Black Market he’s got good reason for being frightened, because one day the crowds will really go wild. When I say they’ll tear him limb from limb, I mean limb from limb and finger from finger. They’ve been good, these Belgians, but it mustn’t go on much longer. What are you after Midaut for?’
    Palfrey smiled. ‘I’m looking for some radium.’
    â€˜Radium!’ said Mann. ‘Here, give me another drink.’ He drank. ‘Radium,’ he said, witheringly. ‘Don’t try that one on me. I suppose you want an introduction to Midaut?’
    â€˜It would be helpful,’ murmured Palfrey.
    â€˜Don’t be so sure,’ said Mann. ‘It probably won’t get you past his outer defences.’ He scribbled a note, all the same, and Palfrey, deciding to waste no time, went immediately to the dock-owner’s offices. He was assured that Midaut was not there. He went to his home, a flat in the best residential part of Antwerp, overlooking the Schelde and the grim Forte de la Flandre, with the swing-boats, skittle-alleys and fairground of the Kursaal near by.
    Midaut, he was assured, was not there.
    The next morning the Belgian newspapers were splashed with sensation; Jacques Midaut had committed suicide and had left a letter saying that the ships were being unloaded by night and the cargoes were going to the Black Market. He declared that he had been blackmailed into helping, that he could stand it no longer and intended to take the easy way out. Leading articles shrieked for action, the Government stepped in; by the end of the day negotiations with the strikers were over and the men were back at work.
    There was new life in Antwerp, noticeable in the squared shoulders and the springy steps of the people, but it did not make any reduction in the number of pale, hungry faces, in the crowds which besieged the soup kitchens, or in the activities of the Black Market.
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    It was little more than half an hour’s flight from Antwerp to Rotterdam. Palfrey and his party reached there on the day after the Antwerp strike had been settled. All three of them were quiet as they left the airport, as if they were afraid of what they would see about them. In the centre of the city the devastation was the more remarkable because a few streets and squares had been left untouched. There were the usual food queues, the usual thin, unhealthy faces.
    Palfrey took the others to the University Hospital, near the Zoological Gardens and overlooking the park and the river. Inside there was bustling efficiency. The out-patients’ rooms were crammed; here the whole suffering of a nation was evident – mute, patient,