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Authors: Michael Gilbert
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way.
“First,” he said, “one should be excused for asking your credentials.”
Nap was ready for this one.
“I suggest,” he said, “that you ring up the Governor of Holloway Prison – he might allow you, in the circumstances, to speak to Miss Lamartine, and in any case he knows my name. Or you might ring up my office and ask for my father. He will confirm that we act for the lady.”
“I accept your credentials,” said the directeur calmly. Despite his pompous manner he did not look like a fool. Indeed, it seemed unlikely that the head of such an organisation could be a fool.
“A minute with my files,” he said, and turned to the shelf beside him.
“Mademoiselle Victoria Lamartine,” he said, “formerly of Paris – you do not want her former Paris address, I take it. The house has, anyway, been destroyed. Evacuated in 1939 to Langeais near Angers, department of Maine-et-Loire. Engaged in Resistance work. Arrested the fifteenth of September, 1943. In the hands of the enemy until August, 1944 during which time she had a son born in prison. The son died in 1947. Mademoiselle Lamartine applied for permission to work in England. In view of her known history the references and deposit were waived and work was secured for her in London at the hotel in Pearlyman Street near Euston Station.”
“Thank you,” said Nap. “Much of that was known to us but the confirmation, you understand, may be useful.”
“Honorifique Sainte, hotelier, 15 Rue du Pont Saumur, department Indre-et-Loire. Of good conduct during the war, though not, so far as is known, actively engaged in Resistance work. Application to open a hotel in London made in May, 1946. Deposit of 500,000 francs. References, Pierre and André Marquis, farmers of Avrillé-les-Ponceaux, and M. Gimelet, lawyer, of 20 Rue de Gazomètre, Angers. Aged fifty-five.”
“Thank you,” said Nap. He made a note of the names and dates. “Finally – I hardly think it likely – but—”
“Monsieur Le Lieutenant Wells,” said the directeur, looking down at the form on the desk. “We should hardly be able to help you. We concern ourselves, you understand, with French citizens who have come over to England. We have no right, even, to ask them questions, but we are able to assist them, and so they keep us informed of their movements. Inquiries in France, however, are another matter. If we wish to make inquiries in France we have to obtain the assistance of the proper authorities.”
“The Sûreté,” suggested Nap.
“If the matter is criminal, certainly. Or of the Department of the Interior.”
“I see,” said Nap. “Well, thank you at all events for what you have given me.”
On his way out he noticed that the door of the reception room was open. He looked in, but the room was empty.
After Nap had left the room the directeur sat for a few moments in silence. Then he walked over to the door in the corner and threw it open. In a small anteroom the black-haired girl was sitting, a shorthand notebook on her knee. She did not get up when the directeur came in and it was noticeable that they spoke as equals.
“It would still appear to me,” said the directeur – he seemed to be taking up an argument where it had been left off, “to be a perfectly normal inquiry. I have read of the trial, of course. And these are the inquiries which Mademoiselle Lamartine’s friends might be expected to make. My only criticism is that they should have been made earlier.”
“I agree,” said the girl. “But there are facts which you do not know.” She shut her notebook. “This morning, for instance, that young man, Mr. Rimbault, met his friend, Major McCann. They had a very animated conversation. The subject matter of this conversation is only conjectural, but Major McCann was last night involved in an altercation – an exceedingly violent altercation – with two of the minor members of the English end of an organisation in which we happen to be
“First,” he said, “one should be excused for asking your credentials.”
Nap was ready for this one.
“I suggest,” he said, “that you ring up the Governor of Holloway Prison – he might allow you, in the circumstances, to speak to Miss Lamartine, and in any case he knows my name. Or you might ring up my office and ask for my father. He will confirm that we act for the lady.”
“I accept your credentials,” said the directeur calmly. Despite his pompous manner he did not look like a fool. Indeed, it seemed unlikely that the head of such an organisation could be a fool.
“A minute with my files,” he said, and turned to the shelf beside him.
“Mademoiselle Victoria Lamartine,” he said, “formerly of Paris – you do not want her former Paris address, I take it. The house has, anyway, been destroyed. Evacuated in 1939 to Langeais near Angers, department of Maine-et-Loire. Engaged in Resistance work. Arrested the fifteenth of September, 1943. In the hands of the enemy until August, 1944 during which time she had a son born in prison. The son died in 1947. Mademoiselle Lamartine applied for permission to work in England. In view of her known history the references and deposit were waived and work was secured for her in London at the hotel in Pearlyman Street near Euston Station.”
“Thank you,” said Nap. “Much of that was known to us but the confirmation, you understand, may be useful.”
“Honorifique Sainte, hotelier, 15 Rue du Pont Saumur, department Indre-et-Loire. Of good conduct during the war, though not, so far as is known, actively engaged in Resistance work. Application to open a hotel in London made in May, 1946. Deposit of 500,000 francs. References, Pierre and André Marquis, farmers of Avrillé-les-Ponceaux, and M. Gimelet, lawyer, of 20 Rue de Gazomètre, Angers. Aged fifty-five.”
“Thank you,” said Nap. He made a note of the names and dates. “Finally – I hardly think it likely – but—”
“Monsieur Le Lieutenant Wells,” said the directeur, looking down at the form on the desk. “We should hardly be able to help you. We concern ourselves, you understand, with French citizens who have come over to England. We have no right, even, to ask them questions, but we are able to assist them, and so they keep us informed of their movements. Inquiries in France, however, are another matter. If we wish to make inquiries in France we have to obtain the assistance of the proper authorities.”
“The Sûreté,” suggested Nap.
“If the matter is criminal, certainly. Or of the Department of the Interior.”
“I see,” said Nap. “Well, thank you at all events for what you have given me.”
On his way out he noticed that the door of the reception room was open. He looked in, but the room was empty.
After Nap had left the room the directeur sat for a few moments in silence. Then he walked over to the door in the corner and threw it open. In a small anteroom the black-haired girl was sitting, a shorthand notebook on her knee. She did not get up when the directeur came in and it was noticeable that they spoke as equals.
“It would still appear to me,” said the directeur – he seemed to be taking up an argument where it had been left off, “to be a perfectly normal inquiry. I have read of the trial, of course. And these are the inquiries which Mademoiselle Lamartine’s friends might be expected to make. My only criticism is that they should have been made earlier.”
“I agree,” said the girl. “But there are facts which you do not know.” She shut her notebook. “This morning, for instance, that young man, Mr. Rimbault, met his friend, Major McCann. They had a very animated conversation. The subject matter of this conversation is only conjectural, but Major McCann was last night involved in an altercation – an exceedingly violent altercation – with two of the minor members of the English end of an organisation in which we happen to be
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