12
One Up to Gerry Wells
It was over an hour later when Gregory committed one of the biggest blunders he had ever made in his life.
He knew little of Sabine, except that she was enchantingly lovely, possessed a gaiety which matched his own, and that a mutual passion had swept them off their feet; so his error was, perhaps, excusable. It was only natural that, after the wonderful hour they had spent together, he should be more desperately anxious than ever to save her from the danger which menaced her as an associate of Gavin Fortescue.
There was no question of her guilt. He knew, and what was far worse Inspector Wells knew, that she was up to her eyebrows in the smuggling racket. She must be perfectly well aware that she was laying herself open to the severest penalties if she continued her criminal activities and, now that the police had their teeth into the business, Gregory saw with appalling clarity that it could only be a matter of time before she was arrested.
Once she was charged in a court of law there could only be one verdict upon the evidence which would be submitted. The fact that she was a young and lovely woman might gain her the sympathy of the jury, but leniency was not their province and, however reluctant they might be to do so, they would have to find her 'guilty'. The judge would certainly not allow a plea that Gavin Fortescue had been a benefactor to her and her mother as sufficient excuse for becoming a member of his criminal organisation and would pass sentence upon
The thought of her as a female convict, in rough clothes, serving a sentence among thieves, prostitutes, and child beaters, was absolutely unbearable to Gregory and momentarily it overbalanced his usual astute judgment of the best way in which to handle a situation…
She did not show him by the flicker of an eyelid that he had blundered, but listened to all he said with grave attention and apparent gratitude; yet she would not commit herself to following the line of action he urged upon her, saying that she must have time to think it over.
Feeling he had gained ground, and that at least she would not commit herself further for the time being, he mixed some cocktails and asked what she intended to do that evening.
'I do not know now,' she replied slowly.
'Why not dine with me then?' he suggested. 'Let's go gay. We'll forget all this until you've had time to sleep on it.'
To his immense relief she consented, and so it was agreed that she should take a taxi back to the Carlton while he changed into evening clothes, and that he should pick her up there at eight o'clock.
He had no hesitation in letting her go. They kissed again and clung to each other as though they were parting for a period of years although they were to meet again in a little over an hour.
It was only when he was in his bath that doubts about the wisdom of his action began to assail him. She had been so quiet and said so little while he had been pressing arguments upon her to cut clear of the mess she was in before it was too late. She had promised nothing and he really knew so little of how deeply she might be implicated in Lord Gavin's plans. What if he had failed to convince her of her danger and she gave him the slip. Knowing now, from his own admission, that he was working with the police, she would avoid any place where she feared he might find her. It might be weeks or months before she visited Quex Park again, and that was the only place from which he could hope to pick up her trail if she once abandoned the Carlton.
He began to dress with feverish haste, frantic with anxiety now that he had given himself away, lest she might disregard his warning and yet be compelled, from the nature of her activities, and the knowledge of his intentions, to sacrifice their overwhelming attraction for each other and disappear altogether.
By the time he was ready to telephone a cab his face was dark with anger. An inner voice kept telling him that he had acted like a lunatic. He had been mad to let her out of his sight for a second and utterly insane to confess that he was working with the police. How could his prayers that she should cut adrift from Lord Gavin possibly have any effect when she was so deeply involved. If only he had held his peace he could at least have followed her up quite easily, or even kept in touch with her by arrangement, as long as she had no suspicion that he was spying on her. Then, he would have been at hand to warn her just as the police net was about to close and perhaps be able to help her in escaping its meshes. Now, he had spiked his own guns by blurting out a premature warning. The sort of folly of which any callow youth, bitten by his first calf love, might have been guilty. He let out a peculiarly blasphemous and quite unprintable Italian oath as he bounded down the stairs.
On the way westward in the taxi he only paused long enough to buy her a great spray of orchids and a buttonhole for himself. Then, immediately he reached the hotel, he dashed straight to the desk and asked the clerk to telephone her room.
A moment later his worst forebodings were realised. The bland young man behind the reception counter shook his head. 'I'm sorry, sir, Mademoiselle Szenty left here half an hour ago.'
'For good?' snapped Gregory.
'She took her luggage with her.'
'Did she leave an address?'
'No sir, but if you're Mr. Sallust she left a letter for you.'
'I am. Let's have it please.' With swift fingers Gregory tore
open the blue envelope and read the few lines upon the single
sheet:
My dear,
You work for the police. To confess it, because you hoped to save me, that was generous of you, but if you had known me better you would never have done so. How is it possible that I should ever betray the man who has been so good, to my mother and myself?
That you should be engaged in this work is tragic for me. I liked you so very much, but now we must put our brief hour behind us because it is impossible for us ever to meet as friends again.
Sabine.
For a moment Gregory regarded the big box of orchids which he had bought for her a little stupidly. What should he do with them? Those gorgeous blossoms which he had hoped to see gracing her shoulder were useless now: nothing but a bitter mockery of a joy that might have been.
With an impatient gesture he thrust them over to the reception clerk. 'Flowers,' he said briefly. 'If you've got a wife or girl friend they may come in useful.' Then he turned angrily away.
To his surprise he found himself staring into Gerry Wells's freckled face. The young Inspector was standing there, clad in a neat dark blue lounge suit, a black soft hat dangling in one hand and a walking stick in the other. He was smiling broadly.
'Well, how's the amateur detective getting on?' he inquired cheerfully.
'He's not,' Gregory snapped. 'For God's sake let's have a drink. I've mucked up the whole darned business.' Then he led the way down the passage to the cocktail bar.
'Let's hear the worst,' Wells suggested when they were seated at one of the little tables with drinks before them.
'I met her here just before lunch,' Gregory tossed off his drink and ordered another, 'staged the party perfectly, brought old Sir Pellinore along so she shouldn't suspect I had any idea she was staying here. In the afternoon she met some buyer at the Royal Palacethen I got her along to my rooms. Everything was going swimmingly until after tea then I lost my head and behaved like a stupid schoolboy.'