Eye Of The Needle Part 17

"Yes."

"He won't use it, of course-too obvious. He's more likely to steal a boat. On the other hand, he may still be heading for Inverness."

"I've alerted the police up there."

"Good. But look, I don't think we can make any a.s.sumptions about his destination. Let's keep an open mind."

"Yes."

G.o.dliman stood, picked up the phone, and began to pace the carpet. "Also, don't a.s.sume it was he who got off the train on the wrong side. Work on the premise that he got off before, at, or after Liverpool." G.o.dliman's brain was in gear again, sorting permutations and possibilities. "Let me talk to the Chief Superintendent."

"He's here."

There was a pause, then a new voice said, "Chief Superintendent Anthony speaking."

G.o.dliman said, "Do you agree with me that our man got off this train somewhere in your area?"

"That seems likely, yes."

"All right. Now the first thing he needs is transport-so I want you to get details of every car, boat, bicycle, or donkey stolen within a hundred miles of Liverpool during the next twenty-four hours. Keep me informed, but give the information to Bloggs and work closely with him following up the leads."

"Yes, sir."

"Keep an eye on other crimes that might be committed by a fugitive-theft of food or clothing, unexplained a.s.saults, ident.i.ty card irregularities, and so on."

"Right."

"Now, Mr. Anthony, you realize this man is more than just a conventional murderer?"

"I a.s.sume so, sir, from the fact of your involvement. However, I don't know the details."

"It's a matter of national security, important enough to keep the Prime Minister in hourly contact with this office."

"Yes...uh, Mr. Bloggs would like a word, sir."

Bloggs came back on. "Have you remembered how you know his face? You said you thought you did-"

"Oh, yes-and it's of no value, as I predicted. I met him by chance at Canterbury Cathedral and we had a conversation about the architecture. All it tells us is that he's clever-he made some perceptive remarks, as I recall."

"We knew he was clever."

"As I said, it does us no good."

Chief Superintendent Anthony, a determined member of the middle cla.s.s with a carefully softened Liverpool accent, did not know whether to be peeved at the way M15 ordered him about or thrilled at the chance to save England on his own manor.

Bloggs recognized the man's conflict-he'd met with it before when working with local police forces-and he knew how to tip the balance in his own favor. He said, "I'm grateful for your helpfulness, Chief Superintendent. These things don't go unnoticed in Whitehall, you know."

"Only doing our duty..." Anthony was not sure whether he was supposed to call Bloggs "Sir."

"Still, there's a big difference between reluctant a.s.sistance and willing help."

"Yes. Well, it'll likely be a few hours before we pick up this man's scent again. Do you want to catch forty winks?"

"Yes," Bloggs said gratefully. "If you've got a chair in a corner somewhere..."

"Stay here," Anthony said, indicating his office. "I'll be down in the operations room. I'll wake you as soon as we've got something. Make yourself comfortable."

Anthony went out, and Bloggs moved to an easy chair and sat back with his eyes closed. Immediately, he saw G.o.dliman's face, as if projected onto the backs of his eyelids like a film, saying, "There has to be an end to bereavement...I don't want you to make the same mistake..." Bloggs realized suddenly that he did not want the war to end; that would make him face face issues, like the one G.o.dliman had raised. The war made life simple-he knew why he hated the enemy and he knew what he was supposed to do about it. Afterward...but the thought of another woman seemed disloyal. issues, like the one G.o.dliman had raised. The war made life simple-he knew why he hated the enemy and he knew what he was supposed to do about it. Afterward...but the thought of another woman seemed disloyal.

He yawned and slumped farther into his seat, his thinking becoming woolly as sleep crept up on him. If Christine had died before the war he would have felt very differently about remarrying. He had always been fond of her and respected her, of course; but after she took that ambulance job respect had turned to near-awestruck admiration, and fondness turned to love. Then they had something special, something they knew other lovers did not share. Now, more than a year later, it would be easy for Bloggs to find another woman he could respect and be fond of, but he knew that would no longer be enough for him. An ordinary marriage, an ordinary woman, would always remind him that once he, a rather ordinary man, had had the most extraordinary of women....

He stirred in his chair, trying to shake off his thoughts so that he could sleep. England was full of heroes, G.o.dliman had said. Well, if Die Nadel got away...

First things first....

Someone shook him. He was in a very deep sleep, dreaming that he was in a room with Die Nadel but could not pick him out because Die Nadel had blinded him with a stiletto. When he awoke he still thought he was blind because he could not see who was shaking him, until he realized he simply had his eyes closed. He opened them to see the large uniformed figure of Superintendent Anthony above him.

Bloggs raised himself to a more upright position and rubbed his eyes. "Got something?" he asked.

"Lots of things," Anthony said. "Question is, which of 'em counts? Here's your breakfast." He put a cup of tea and a biscuit on the desk and went to sit on the other side of it.

Bloggs left his easy chair and pulled a hard chair up to the desk. He sipped the tea. It was weak and very sweet. "Let's get to it," he said.

Anthony handed him a sheaf of five or six slips of paper.

Bloggs said, "Don't tell me these are the only crimes in your area-"

"Of course not," Anthony said. "We're not interested in drunkenness, domestic disputes, blackout violations, traffic offenses, or crimes for which arrests have already been made."

"Sorry," Bloggs said. "I'm still waking up. Let me read these."

There were three house burglaries. In two of them valuables had been taken-jewelry in one case, furs in another. Bloggs said, "He might steal valuables just to throw us off the scent. Mark these on the map, will you? They may show some pattern." He handed the two slips back to Anthony. The third burglary had only just been reported, and no details were available. Anthony marked the location on the map.

A Food Office in Manchester had been robbed of hundreds of ration books. Bloggs said, "He doesn't need ration books-he needs food." He set that one aside. There was a bicycle theft just outside Preston and a rape in Birkenhead. "I don't think he's a rapist, but mark it anyway," Bloggs told Anthony.

The bicycle theft and the third of the house burglaries were close together. Bloggs said, "the signal box that the bike was stolen from-is that on the main line?"

"Yes, I think so," Anthony said.

"Suppose Faber was hiding on that train and somehow we missed him. Would the signal box be the first place the train stopped at after it left Liverpool?"

"It might be."

Bloggs looked at the sheet of paper. "An overcoat was stolen and a wet jacket left in its place."

Anthony shrugged. "Could mean anything."

"No cars stolen?"

"Nor boats, nor donkeys," Anthony replied. "We don't get many car thefts these days. Cars are easy to come by-it's petrol people steal."

"I felt sure he'd steal a car in Liverpool," Bloggs said. He thumped his knee in frustration. "A bicycle isn't much use to him, surely."

"I think we should follow it up, anyway," Anthony pressed. "It's our best lead."

"All right. But meanwhile, double-check the burglaries to see whether food or clothing was pinched-the victims might not have noticed at first. Show Faber's picture to the rape victim, too. And keep checking all crimes. Can you fix me transport to Preston?"

"I'll get you a car," Anthony said.

"How long will it take to get details of this third burglary?"

"They're probably interviewing at this minute," Anthony said. "By the time you reach the signal box I should have the complete picture."

"Don't let them drag their feet." Bloggs reached for his coat. "I'll check with you the minute I get there."

"ANTHONY? This is Bloggs. I'm at the signal box." This is Bloggs. I'm at the signal box."

"Don't waste any time there. The third burglary was your man."

"Sure?"

"Unless there are two b.u.g.g.e.rs running around threatening people with stiletto knives."

"Who?"

"Two old ladies living alone in a little cottage."

"Oh, G.o.d. Dead?"

"Not unless they died of excitement."

"Eh?"

"Get over there. You'll see what I mean."

"I'm on my way."

IT WAS the kind of cottage that is always inhabited by two elderly ladies living alone. It was small and square and old, and around the door grew a wild rose bush fertilized by thousands of pots of used tea leaves. Rows of vegetables sprouted tidily in a little front garden with a trimmed hedge. There were pink-and-white curtains at the leaded windows, and the gate creaked. The front door had been painted painstakingly by an amateur, and its knocker was made from a horseshoe. the kind of cottage that is always inhabited by two elderly ladies living alone. It was small and square and old, and around the door grew a wild rose bush fertilized by thousands of pots of used tea leaves. Rows of vegetables sprouted tidily in a little front garden with a trimmed hedge. There were pink-and-white curtains at the leaded windows, and the gate creaked. The front door had been painted painstakingly by an amateur, and its knocker was made from a horseshoe.

Bloggs knock was answered by an octogenarian with a shotgun.

He said, "Good morning. I'm from the police."

"No, you're not," she said. "They've been already. Now get going before I blow your head off."

Bloggs regarded her. She was less than five feet tall, with thick white hair in a bun and a pale, wrinkled face. Her hands were matchstick-thin, but her grasp on the shotgun was firm. The pocket of her ap.r.o.n was full of clothes-pegs. Bloggs looked down at her feet, and saw that she was wearing a man's working boots. He said: "The police you saw this morning were local. I'm from Scotland Yard."

"How do I know that?" she said.

Bloggs turned and called to his police driver. The constable got out of the car and came to the gate. Bloggs said to the old lady, "Is the uniform enough to convince you?"

"All right," she said, and stood aside for him to enter.

He stepped down into a low-ceiling room with a tiled floor. The room was crammed with heavy, old furniture, and every surface was decorated with ornaments of china and gla.s.s. A small coal fire burned in the grate. The place smelled of lavender and cats.

A second old lady got out of a chair. She was like the first, but about twice as wide. Two cats spilled from her lap as she rose. She said, "h.e.l.lo, I'm Emma Patron, my sister is Jessie. Don't take any notice of that shotgun-it's not loaded, thank G.o.d. Jessie loves drama. Will you sit down? You look so young to be a policeman. I'm surprised Scotland Yard is interested in our little robbery. Have you come from London this morning? Make the boy a cup of tea, Jessie."

Bloggs sat down. "If we're right about the ident.i.ty of the burglar, he's a fugitive from justice," he said.

"I told you!" Jessie said. "We might have been done in-slaughtered in cold blood!"

"Don't be silly," Emma said. She turned to Bloggs. "He was such a nice man."

"Tell me what happened," Bloggs said.

"Well, I'd gone out the back," Emma began. "I was in the hen coop, hoping for some eggs. Jessie was in the kitchen-"

"He surprised me," Jessie interrupted. "I didn't have time to go for me gun."

"You see too many cowboy films," Emma admonished her.

"They're better than your love films-all tears and kisses-"

Bloggs took the picture of Faber from his wallet. "Is this the man?"

Jessie scrutinized it. "That's him."

"Aren't you clever?" Emma marveled.

"If we were so clever we'd have caught him by now," Bloggs said. "What did he do?"

Jessie said, "He held a knife to my throat and said, 'One false move and I'll slit your gizzard.' I believe he meant it."

"Oh, Jessie, you told me he said, 'I won't harm you if you do as I say.'"

"Words to that effect, Emma!"

Bloggs said, "What did he want?"

"Food, a bath, dry clothes and a car. Well, we gave him the eggs, of course. We found some clothes that belonged to Jessie's late husband, Norman-"