'Hmm; that alters matters,' grunted Sir Pellinore after a moment. 'Even if the Government give in, I've no doubt that many of the best elements among the French will elect to fight on with us, particularly in the French Colonies, and we can't afford to have untrustworthy men among them. Yes, you must get those files, Gregory, and if you find an opportunity to give that woman the works without being caught yourself, by all means do so; she deserves a bullet more than any criminal in the whole of Europe who still remains un-hanged.'
'Have you any idea what time she's leaving?' Gregory asked.
'Yes. At seven o'clock. I actually heard her giving instructions to the head waiter for a picnic-basket to be ready for her at that hour.'
'D'you know where she's going?'
Sir Pellinore passed a hand over his white hair. 'No; I haven't the faintest notion.'
'She has a villa at Pointe des Issambres, so she's probably going there. At such short notice it would be almost suicidal for me to attempt to tackle her here in the hotel, so I think the best thing would be for me to try to hold her up at some lonely spot outside the town.'
'That's it,' Sir Pellinore nodded; but don't let her get too far, Gregory, because I'm sailing tomorrow at midnight and I want to take you home with me.'
'With luck,' said Gregory, 'I'll be back long before that. I know how busy you are, and as it's now nearly six o'clock I haven't any too much time to make my preparations; so I'll get along.'
When Sir Pellinore had gripped his hand and wished him luck he went downstairs and strolled out to the hotel garage.
Outside it were two mechanics and a little group of chauffeurs discussing the crisis with such animation that they were completely absorbed, and Gregory had no difficulty in slipping past without any of them noticing him.
There were several lines of cars inside the building but he soon found the Ford. It was the only commercial vehicle among the whole fleet of automobiles, and as he peered at it from between two other cars, he saw that a tough-looking fellow was sitting on the driver's seat with his head pillowed on his arms, drowsing at the wheel. This did not at all surprise him, as he had not for one moment imagined that Madame la Baronne would leave the pseudo laundry-van—which probably contained a fortune—unguarded.
Gregory's first intention, having identified the van, had been to go on ahead and choose some suitable spot for holding the Baroness up, but he was quick to realise that he had no guarantee whatever that she was actually going to Pointe des Issambres. She had a villa there but she might quite possibly be going somewhere else, in which case she would probably take a different road and he would then miss her altogether, It therefore seemed that his only safe course was to follow her when she set off until they reached a deserted stretch of road where he could puncture her back tyres by shooting at them and bring her to a standstill.
But a more careful scrutiny at the van showed him that, although it had the appearance of a Ford, it was not a Ford at all. The exhaust pipe was much too big, so evidently the Baroness had a far more powerful engine fitted under the Ford bonnet. That presented a nasty snag as, given clear roads— which were probable if she were crossing France from Bordeaux to the South through an area where few refugees would be moving—his taxi would never be able to keep up with her.
It then occurred to him that his best chance of achieving his end was, if he could, to conceal himself in the van and travel with her. As she was leaving at seven o'clock it was reasonable to suppose that she would put in only three or four hours' driving then pull up somewhere for the night. If that somewhere proved to be one of the many excellent wayside hostelries that line the roads of France he would have a much better opportunity of dealing with her and getting away afterwards than he could possibly have in Bordeaux, and he would still be back in plenty of time to sail with Sir Pellinore for England the following night.
Treading very cautiously, so as not to rouse the driver, he worked his way round behind several cars until he reached the back of the van; but, as he had feared, the doors had a good solid lock which it would have been quite impossible to force without alarming the man at the wheel.
For a few moments Gregory stood there deep in thought, then he tiptoed round to a car in front of and to the left of the van. The car had been left unlocked so that the garage men could move it. Opening the far door, Gregory crawled inside and gently lowered the opposite window. By squinting from it he could just see the driver without being seen himself. Taking out his automatic, he clicked a bullet up into the chamber, knelt down, rested the barrel on the ledge of the window and, aiming carefully so as not to hit the man, pressed the trigger.
Owing to its silencer the report of the pistol was no more than a cough, and, as Gregory had intended, the shot shattered the windscreen of the van just above the man's head. Ducking down so that he was completely hidden, he held his breath and waited.
The sound of tinkling glass was instantly followed by a yell of fright and rage, then louder shouts which brought the garage hands and chauffeurs running in from outside. In the excited conversation that followed Gregory gathered that the driver had no idea at all what had happened and was under the impression that somebody must have thrown a brickbat at the windscreen while he was dozing; but the others assured him that nobody had entered the garage, and Gregory soon learnt that his ruse had succeeded. The driver had been cut by the flying glass and was being led off by his companions to have his slight injuries doctored.
As soon as the coast was clear Gregory left his hiding-place, went straight to the back of the van and with two more shots from his pistol shattered its lock. Pulling open the doors he rapidly surveyed the van's contents. There were half a dozen medium-sized pictures in gilt frames, several packing-cases—
doubtless containing other objets d'art—two Louis Vinton wardrobe-trunks, three suitcases, the rawhide dressing-case that he well remembered seeing in Rotterdam, six large japanned-steel deed boxes and five or six valuable fur coats thrown on the top of the pile.
It was the deed-boxes that he was after, but he could not possibly make off with all six of them, as he could distinctly catch the murmur of quick voices and knew that several of the chauffeurs must have remained outside the garage to discuss the extraordinary incident that had just occurred.
In ten seconds he had decided that he dared not attempt to burgle the van and must carry out his original idea of travelling in it; but the smashed lock, when discovered, would almost certainly lead to a search of the van's interior unless some explanation were offered for it, so the obvious thing was to make the whole episode appear like a carefully-planned theft.
Snatching up the fur coats, he hurried with them to an aged, semi-derelict Citroen that he had noticed at the back of the garage and pushed them into its boot, where it was unlikely that they would be discovered for some time; then, hurrying back to the van, he made a few rapid readjustments to its contents.
He did not alter the general layout of the various articles but drew them all a little nearer to the back of the van so that a space was left behind the driver's seat in which he could lie down without being observed by anyone who looked inside. Then, leaving the doors wide open, he took off his coat to form a pillow for his head and settled down to make himself as comfortable as he could.