H. Bedford-Jones

“ Durant realized now that, given any half-decent landing-place, they stood in little actual danger. It all depended on the landing place—but this was a big gamble. Sharply banked, the De Haviland plunged earthward, gathering speed for the final straightening out; struts and braces quivered, thrummed madly; wind whistled and shrieked through the smashed side windows. His eyes going to the altimeter on the cockpit wall, Durant saw the needle shake and turn, twenty-five hundred—two thousand—fifteen hundred—a thousand feet! ”

“ Durant marveled at it; no American, accustomed to wide highways and a gradual sweep around other cars, could have tooled a car at any speed along these narrow English lanes, except with long practice. With a head-on collision apparently imminent, each car would give a jerky twist, out and back—and they would be past. There was a peculiar knack to it, and the Russian had this knack at his fingers' ends.
"Why the general rush?" inquired Larson, when the two of them were alone in the car. "Everybody seemed in a devil of a hurry to get gone!" ”

“ It was also a complete success, to which Larson now added a pair of black-rimmed spectacles. With his mustache gone and his hair changed from gray to a glossy black, he looked twenty years younger; eyebrows had become black too, and subtle changes in the outline of his face, due probably to wads of cotton against his teeth, gave him an entirely new look, as did the goggles—stamping him in London as an American tourist. ”

“ Why bother to kill him?"
"Because Americans have loud voices." Makoff chuckled. "And certainly we do not want the law after us! Surely you can realize this?"
Durant nodded and banished his frown. "Right! Indeed, it is magnificent. This Michael is an admirable fellow—I congratulate you on having him. He handles details wonderfully!"
"He should," said Makoff. "He's no other than Michael Korin, who killed Grand Duke Vassily last year in Tours and turned over all his papers to me. Well, I've no time to lose. Give my regards to the charming Baronne—and this envelope. It's her passage to Paris." ”

“ Why?"
"I don't cotton to him," said the other. "He may be a nobleman and all that, and the cousin of Baroness Glincka—that the name?—but I know a crook when I see one. I'd ought to, eh? Yes sir. That bird, for all his society airs, is a bad one."
"I believe you," said Durant with a chuckle. Wary Makoff! The Russian had sensed this suspicion in Larson, and did not intend to show himself as a guest. "Makoff wont show up here, I'm glad to say. How do you know I'm not a crook too?" ”

“ Durant stared, wondering at such recklessness. "You're not serious?"
Larson chuckled. "Think it queer, eh? Well, it is! But in the old country, you know,—and all over Europe for that matter,—American money is badly wanted. Not in gold, because it's not pure, but bills. So I'm bringing back a small fortune in hundred-dollar bills. You've no idea what can be bought with hundred-dollar American bills in Europe! I'm going to make my whole family comfortable for life, I can tell you. ”

“ When Larson drinks his early tea, he's done for. Places are already booked for you and Michael on the noon plane from Croydon for Paris. It'll be another day or two at least before Larson's body is discovered, perhaps much longer. You and Michael will bring the stuff. Your seat in the plane is booked in your own name, Michael's in that of Giles Hopper—his passport identity. All clear?"
"Quite," said Durant, "except the necessity for murder. Why not rob him and go? Murder in England means that the law will be at your heels for life."
"Certainly." Makoff eyed him with a grim smile. ”

“ Larson chewed his cigar. "Well, well! And to think of you—but I suppose you don't imagine that I know who you are? But I do. That's why I'm afraid to accept your invitation. I'd like to, because I like you; anyone can see you're straight as a string, in spite of what they say about nobility. Now, I'm not so sure about that Russian chap—"
"Nobility?" repeated Durant. Larson broke into a laugh.
"Oh, I know about it! That Russian told me. You see, so long as you're Durant to me, it's all right. We get on fine. But when you become Lord Northcote—gosh, man! ”

“ A little after, Durant was aware of Larson bending over him, fumbling at his wrists, shaking, excited, yet also laughing.
"Men coming," said Larson. "Two airplanes landing, too—looks like a landing-ground. For the love of heaven, Durant, keep your mouth shut about the money!"
"But he got away with it!" exclaimed Durant. Freed, he sat up, saw the high radio towers and the huts below. "This is Abbeville, just outside town—they can get him. I had the pilot radio his name and—"
"Lay off!" cried Larson frantically. "I got to get to Paris and drop out of sight quick—beat it! Understand? ”

“ Warn Larson? Impossible. Against his plans and hopes for rescuing Helen Glincka from the blackmail grip of Makoff, Durant would have let a dozen Larsons go to death. Being a party to it was another matter altogether, and here he could act as events gave him clue. He was well assured that Makoff would have made careful plans by wire, for the Russian had a very able criminal organization to back him up; warning Larson, then, might only precipitate the disaster. ”

“ Damnable luck running into that chap on the train—used to be a Scotland Yard man. Wonder what he is now? A baronet, maybe."
"You don't seem worried," said Durant.
The other shrugged.
"Not a bit. I've got two passports—different names, different faces. Inside half an hour every passport bureau in the country will be looking out for my face and Larson's name; I couldn't get out of England on that passport if I wanted to! But on the other, and with you to help, it'll work. Anything will work with one of the nobility in it."
"As court records prove!" And Durant chuckled. "Right-ho! We'll see." ”

“ Can you get out here by eleven?"
"We've our own car," said Durant. "Yes, we can get out by eleven or shortly after."
"Right-ho!"
Durant hung up and glanced at the man beside him.
"Special plane going over to Paris. We must get to Croydon at eleven. You, I, Larson."
"Good," said the Russian. "I'll arrange to have the Daimler picked up at the aërdrome—it's a rented car. Or Dardent can attend to that detail."
"We'd better all go out at once, carry our luggage, pile in and be off," said Durant. "The house is being watched—you'll have to make a dash for it and throw 'em off." ”

“ Durant calmly opened all the packages, found them to be as stated, and then stowed them away in his grip, which he replaced in his room, after locking. He chuckled again to think what Makoff would say to this simple acquisition—after so much pains and expense had been bestowed to get Larson in a murder-trap!
"Decidedly," he said cynically, "it pays to be an honest man!" ”

“ You'll get off at Plymouth too?"
"Yes. Boris is planning something at London, before going on. I'm not sure what; but the victim is that white-haired man who keeps to himself. Larson, the name is. Boris introduced him to me tonight, using my real name. He's a nice old man."
"And a game's on, eh?" Durant knew Larson by sight—a stiff, bronzed man with white hair and mustache, and shrewd, kindly old eyes, traveling alone.
"Something. Boris wants you to come into the smoking-room, and meet Larson. I think he's a Dane who's made a fortune in America and is taking a trip to Denmark—that's my guess. ”

“ I thought that fellow had a bad look to his eye, all along."
"All right; we'll drop him in Paris, then. Meantime, about your money: Giles will drive us today, and that's why the place is safe enough until tonight. We'll go over by air, and there's no Customs examination that way; better make the money into a separate packet and take it with you, however, as the luggage is packed in a separate compartment."
Larson nodded, and his wrinkled, shrewd old face cracked in a grin. "Fine, My Lord, fine! We'll have some fun, eh?"
Durant rather thought they would—before it was over. ”

“ Helen Glincka was on the stairs, and Durant took her bags and set them with his own.
"It'll be touch and go," he said, perceiving that the general feeling was that the police were after them all. Naturally, he alone knew the actual facts. "Depends on getting off on the jump. Not a word of anything wrong, now, before Larson! Helen, we'll drop you at the Savoy. Go on to Paris tonight via Havre, as arranged; you're in no danger. ”

“ I'm going right on—taking the afternoon plane over tomorrow."
Lewis fumbled for a card-case. He was a smallish man, very alert—a wholesale druggist from the Middle West, now engaged in smuggling a suitcase filled with cocaine into France—a task in which Durant presumably was aiding. True, Durant had saved him from Boris Makoff, had dumped the cocaine into the Atlantic and substituted baking soda for it—and for these services, known and unknown, Lewis was an ally. Once in Paris, he promised to be a most important ally. ”

“ House small. Others may come. Giles full charge everything. As Durant pocketed the letter, it occurred to him that Makoff must have chalked up a pretty telegraph bill from Plymouth.
"Lord, how it's changed in fifteen years!" exclaimed Larson, staring out at the streets. Thin rain was falling. "The busses—would you look at 'em! Block the streets, almost—bigger than the houses! Where are we heading?"
"Richmond," said Durant. "I've a small place there. By the way, I think Baroness Glincka will show up tomorrow, for the week-end, and perhaps Count Dardent. ”

“ That's Sir John Brentwood himself—of Scotland Yard."
Durant gripped him by the arm, hard.
"All right. Brace up, now! He's looking the place over—we have time to get away. Something's slipped; perhaps they're after you, perhaps after me. We'll get our luggage aboard the car, drop Baronne Glincka downtown, drop Dardent and his wife, get out to Croydon and make the noon plane. Understand? I'll telephone for bookings. Warn Dardent, get rid of the cook instantly, clear the place. Go!"
The man slipped away, obviously badly shaken by what he had seen. Durant turned into Larson's room. ”

“ This done, Durant rose and went forward. He reached up and tried to open the little embrasure, but to no effect. The pilot turned, shrugged, and shook his head, shouting something that was lost.
Unable to pass the envelope through, Durant held it up to the glass. The pilot read it, and his eyes widened. Then he nodded comprehension and turned around again; craning up, Durant watched him lean forward, speaking into the microphone set before him. Already the Channel was far behind, the brown-green field-patches of France flitting past underneath. . . . ”

“ The longest-living author of this work died in 1949, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 74 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works. ”