Died in the Wool (19 page)

‘I remember.'

‘He was trying to get on to some stuff about fortifications at Darwin, and we strung him along quite nicely for a time. Of course he was away a great deal on his wool-buying job. Nothing much happened till August, 1940, when he put it up to me that it might be worth my while to come over here with a letter from him to a lady friend of his, a Mrs Arthur Rubrick, MP, who was keen on English servants. He said a nephew of Mr Rubrick's was doing a job they'd like to get a line on. Very thorough, the Japs, sir.'

‘Very.'

‘That's right. I cabled in code to the Special Branch and they told me to go ahead. They were very interested in Mr Kan. So I came over and it worked out nicely. Mrs Rubrick took me on, and here I stuck. The first catch in it, though, was what would I tell Kurata Kan? The Special Branch warned me that Mr Losse's work was important and they gave me some phoney stuff I could send on to Kan when he got discontented. That was OK. I even rigged up a bit of an affair with some spare radio parts, all pulled to pieces and done up different. I put it in a bad light and took a bad photograph of it and told him I'd done it through a closed window from the top of a ladder. I've often wondered how far it got before some expert took a look at it and said the Japanese for “Nuts.” Kan was pleased enough. He knew nothing. He was only a middle man. Of course it couldn't last. They pulled him in at last on my information, and then there was Pearl Harbor. Finish!'

‘Only as far as Kan was concerned.'

‘True enough, sir. There was the second catch. But you know all about that, Mr Alleyn.'

‘I'd like to hear your end of it.'

‘Would you, sir? OK, then. My instructions from your end had been that I was on no account to let Mrs Rubrick or either of the young gentlemen get any idea that I wasn't exactly what I seemed. After a bit your people let me know that there'd been leakage of information—not my phoney dope, but genuine stuff—about this magnetic fuse. Not through Japanese canals but German ones. Now that was a facer. So my next job was to turn round after three years working the bogus agent, and look for the genuine article. And that,' said Markins plaintively, ‘was where I fluttered to pieces. I hadn't got a thing. Not a bloody inkling, if you'll pardon the expression.'

‘So we gathered,' said Alleyn.

‘The galling thing, Mr Alleyn, the aspect of the affair that got under my professional skin, as you might say, was this: somebody in this household had been working under my nose for months. What did I feel like when I heard it? Dirt. Kuh! Thinking myself the fly operator, cooking up little fake photographs and all the time—look, Mr Alleyn, I handed myself the raspberry in six different positions. I did indeed.'

‘If it's any satisfaction to you,' said. Alleyn, ‘one source of transit was stopped. Two months ago a German supply ship was taken off the Argentine coast. Detailed drawings of the magnetic fuse and instructions in code were found aboard her. The only link we could establish between this ship and New Zealand was the story of a freelance journalist who was cruising round the world in a tramp steamer. There are lots of these sportsmen about, harmless eccentrics, no doubt, for the most part. This particular specimen, a native of Portugal, visited most of the ports in this country during last year. Our people have tracked him down to a pub in a neutral port, where he was seen drinking with the skipper of this German ship, and was suddenly very flush with cash. Intensive probing brought to light an involved story that cast a very murky light on the journalist. All the usual stuff. We're pretty certain of him and he won't be given a shore permit next time the wanderlust drives him this way, romantic little chap.'

‘I remember when he was about,' said Markins. ‘Señor or Don or Something de Something. He was in town during Easter race week last year. The two young gentlemen and Miss Harme and most of the staff went down for three days, I stayed behind. Mr Rubrick was very poorly.'

‘And Miss Lynne?'

‘She stayed behind, too. Wouldn't leave him.' Markins looked quickly at Alleyn. ‘Very sad, that,' he added.

‘Very. We've found that this gentleman lived aboard his tramp steamer while he was in port. He showed up at the races wearing a white beret and clad for comfort rather than smartness; a conspicuous figure. We think this stuff about this gadget of Mr Losse's was passed to him at this time. It had been folded small. The paper was of New Zealand manufacture.'

Markins clucked angrily. ‘Under my very nose, you might say.'

‘Well, your nose was up here and the transaction probably took place on a racecourse two hundred miles away or more.'

‘All the same.'

‘So you see, by a stroke of luck, we stopped the hole, and the information, as far as we know, didn't reach the enemy. Mr Losse was warned by Headquarters that he should take particular care, and at the same time was advised to confide in nobody, not even his partner, about the attempt. Oddly enough he seems to have been sceptical about the danger of espionage while Captain Grace from the beginning has taken a very gloomy view of—who do you think?'

‘You're asking me, sir,' said Markins, in an indignant whisper. ‘Look! If that young man had crawled about after me on his stomach in broad daylight, he wouldn't have given himself away more than he did. Look, sir. He got into my room and messed about like a coal heaver. His prints all over everything! Butted his head in among my suits and left them smelling of his hair oil, and I'm blest if he didn't pinch a bill out of my pockets. Well, I mean to say, it was awkward. If he went howling up to Headquarters about me being a spy or some such, they'd be annoyed with me for putting myself away. It was comical, too. I was there to watch his blinking plant for him and he goes and makes up his mind I'm just what I pretended I was to Kan & Co.'

‘You must have done something to arouse his suspicions.'

‘I never!' said Markins indignantly. ‘Why should I? As far as he knew, I never went near his blinking workroom but once. That was when I had an urgent telephone call for Mrs Rubrick. I heard voices up there and went along. He and Mr Losse were muttering in the doorway and didn't hear me. When he did see me, he looked at me like I was the Demon King.'

‘He says he heard you prowling about the passage at a quarter to three in the morning, three weeks before Mrs Rubrick was killed.'

Markins made a faint squeaking noise. ‘Like hell he did! I never heard such a thing! What'd I be doing outside his workroom? Yes, and what does he do but rush off to Madam and tell her she's got to give me the sack.'

‘You heard about that, did you?'

‘Madam told me. She said she had something very serious to talk to me about. She as good as said I'd been suspected of prying into the workroom. You could have pulled me to pieces with a pin, I was that taken aback. And riled! I reckon my manner was convincing, because she was satisfied. I ought to explain, Mr Alleyn, that I myself had heard somebody that night. I'm a light sleeper and I heard someone all right and it wasn't either of the young gents. They get spasms of working late but they don't bother to tiptoe into the workroom. I got out of bed, you bet, and had a look, but it was all quiet and after a bit I give up. I told Madam. She was very put about. Naturally. I satisfied her, of course, but it was awkward and what's more I'd evidently missed a bit of funny business. Who was it, any way, in the passage? I'm a sweet little agent, and that's a fact. But before we parted she says: “Markins,” she says, “there's something I don't like about this business and next time I go up to Wellington,” she says, “I'm going to speak about it to the authorities. I'm going to suggest that the young gentlemen work under proper protection,” she says, “in their own interest, and I shall tell the Captain what I've decided.” What I cannot understand,' said Markins, pulling at his thin underlip, ‘is why the Captain got it into his head I was an agent.'

‘Perhaps you look like one, Markins.'

‘I begin to think I must, Mr Alleyn, but I'd prefer it was the British variety.'

‘Actually, you know, the circumstances were a bit suspicious. He opened his bedroom door and saw a light disappear in the direction of your room. That afternoon, as you yourself admit, you'd come upon Captain Grace and Mr Losse arranging where they'd leave the key of the workroom. I think he had some cause for alarm.'

Markins darted a very sharp glance at Alleyn. ‘She never said a word about that,' he said.

‘She didn't?'

‘Not a word. Only that the Captain was upset because he thought I'd been poking about the passage late at night. I didn't hear what they were saying that afternoon. They spoke too low and stopped as soon as they saw me.' He gave a thoughtful hiss. ‘That's different. It's a whole lot different. Saw something did he?'

‘A light,' said Alleyn and repeated Douglas's account of the night prowler.

‘The only tangible bit of evidence and I miss it,' said Markins. ‘That's the way to get promotion. I'm disgusted.'

Alleyn pointed out that, whoever the night prowler might have been, he didn't gain access to the room that night. But Markins instantly objected that this failure must have been followed by success as copies for the designs had been handed over to the Portuguese journalist at Easter. ‘You're disappointed in my work, sir,' he whispered dolorously. ‘You're disgusted and I'm sure I don't blame you. Put it bluntly, this expert's been one too many for me. He's got into that room and he's got away with the stuff and I don't know who he is or how he did it. It's disgraceful. I'd be better in the Middle East.'

‘Well,' said Alleyn, ‘it's a poor show, certainly, but I shan't do any good by rubbing it in and you won't do any good by calling yourself names. I'll look at the room. Losse has rigged a homemade but effective shutter that's padlocked over the window every night. There's a Yale lock on the door and after the scare he wore the key on a bootlace round his neck. You can gain entrance by boring a hole in the door post and using wire. That might have been the prowler's errand on the night Grace heard him. He failed then but brought it off some time before Easter. How about that?'

‘No, sir. I kept an eye on that lock. There'd been no interference. While they were away at the races that Easter I took a good look round. The room was sealed all right, Mr Alleyn.'

‘Very well, then, the entrance was effected before the scare, when they were not so careful, and the interloper was returning for another look when Grace heard him. Any objections?'

‘No,' said Markins slowly. ‘No. He'd got enough to work on for the stuff he handed to the Portuguese, and he kept it until the man got to this country. That'll work.'

‘All right,' said Alleyn. ‘Any suspicions?'

‘It might have been the old girl herself,' said Markins, ‘for anything I know to the contrary. There!'

‘Mrs Rubrick?'

‘Well, she was in and out of the room often enough. Always tapping at the door and saying: “Can my busy bees spare me a moment?” '

Alleyn stirred and his shadow moved on the wall. It might be difficult to interview Markins at great length during the day and he himself had a formidable programme to face. Four versions of Flossie already and it must now be half-past two at least. Must he listen to a fifth? He reached out his hand for his cigarettes.

‘What did you think of her?' he asked.

‘Peculiar,' said Markins.

‘Ambitious,' Markins added, after reflection. ‘The ambitious type. You see them everywhere. Very often they're childless women. She was successful, too, but I wouldn't say she was satisfied. Capable. Knew how to get her own way, but once she'd got it, liked everybody else to be comfortable when she remembered them. When women get to her age,' said Markins, ‘they're one of three kinds. They may be OK. They may go jealous of younger women and peculiar about men, particularly youngmen, or they may take it out in work. She took it out in work. She thrashed herself and everybody round her. She wanted to be the big boss and round here she certainly was. Now, you ask me, sir, would she be an enemy agent? Not for money, she wouldn't. She'd got plenty of that. For an idea? Now, what idea in the Nazi book of words would appeal to Madam? The Herrenvolk spiel? I'd say, yes, if she was to be one of the Herrenvolk. But was she the type of lady who'd work against her own folk and her own country? Now, was she? She was great on talking Imperialism. You know. The brand that's not taken for granted quite so much, these days. She talked a lot about patriotism. I don't know how things are at Home, sir, having been away so long, but it seems to me we are getting round to thinking more about how we can improve our country and bragging about it less than we used to. From what I read and hear, it strikes me that the people who criticize are the ones that work and are most set on winning the war. Take some of the English people who got away to the States when the war began. Believe me, a lot of them talked that big and that optimistically you'd wonder how the others got on in the blitz without them. And when there was hints about muddle or hints that before the war we'd got slack and a bit too keen on easy money and a bit too pleased with ourselves—Lord, how they'd perform. Wouldn't have it at any price! I've heard these people say that what was wanted at Home was concentration camps for the critics and that a bit of Gestapo technique wouldn't do any harm. Now, Mrs Rubrick was a little in that line of business herself.'