sunrise, and they knew once more they were in England, so delicate was its coloring.
CHAPTER 19
Someone had brought Grierson's Lagonda to the airport, and in the stillness of dawn they raced toward London, past the works buses and heavy trucks, the streets of yawning men hunched against the chill of waking, into the quiet of the West End, first to a doctor, who treated Craig's injuries and said nothing at all, then to Queen Anne's Gate, where a blackbird shattered the silence with unending song.
'We're supposed to have breakfast with him,' Grierson said. 'I hope you're hungry. He always is. We'd better wash and shave first.'
They went to a bathroom, and used an electric razor, then into a dining room with an oval table, where a butler like a failed middleweight was arranging chafing dishes on the sideboard. Tea and coffee stood ready, but Grierson was too well drilled to start before Loomis appeared. Craig lit a cigarette, and the butler's eyebrows twitched. When Craig poured himself a cup of tea as well, the butler looked ready to swoon.
'You're supposed to wait for Loomis,' Grierson said.
'How was I supposed to know?' asked Craig. 'I'm only a lousy amateur. And anyway I'm thirsty.'
Grierson had known all along that this wouldn't be an easy meeting. If Craig was prepared for war, that was his privilege after all that had happened. All the same, he knew who would be in the middle.
Loomis bustled in for breakfast, brisk and breezy, in squirearchical tweeds, a Brigade of Guards tie, and very grubby shirt. He looked like a con man overacting. The great ridges of his eyebrows shot up as he saw Craig already smoking, but he mastered his anger and helped himself liberally to kedgeree, and began to eat. Grierson groaned inside, and took kedgeree too, and eggs and bacon, and deviled kidneys. It would be nice just this once to have Loomis in a good mood. Craig had another cup of tea and a thin slice of toast, and watched Loomis eat. The man was gross, greedy, and overwhelniingly, incredibly rude, but he had a tremendous, crude force and a gusto in success that had driven him to the top like a rocket. No doubt the government and civil service department chiefs deplored him; and no doubt too they needed him and put up with him because nobody else could do his job: gangster, judge, detective; and all in one fat, messy parcel.
Breakfast was finished at last, and the three men moved in procession to the great study where they first sat down together. Loomis hummed gently to himself, sinking into the vast chair with a contented sigh that the chair echoed as it accepted his weight.
'Tell me,' said Loomis, 'everything.'
Grierson spoke first, calmly, dispassionately, leaving out no detail that had validity. Craig listened and admired a man's mind functioning with such clinical, detached logic, about Sophie and Maria, about Ashford, about himself. The horror in St. Briac's villa, the mnning chase in the garden, the duel, the escape, they were all reduced to the calmness and deliberation of chess moves, as if the body had not sweated in struggle or cringed in pain: as if death were no more than a piece taken from a board. Yet he was honest about it too. Craig had killed St. Briac, Craig had broken into the villa. The praise flowed as easily as the blame, and as coolly, so detached that there could be no embarrassment. When Grierson had finished, Loomis nodded happily a couple of times and turned to Craig.
'Good. Now you tell it. I want two versions. I want to find out if they tally. Tell me yours, son. And take your time. We've got all day.'
Craig sat still for a moment, reviewing all that had happened. At last he said, 'You great, fat, greedy bastard, what else can I do for you? I killed the men you wanted killed, I stole the papers you wanted stolen. I tried to rescue Ashford for you, I taught Grierson how to fight. About the only thing I didn't do was give myself up, and you didn't expect that anyway. You thought I was dim enough to get myself caught. And you were wrong. You told Grierson to ditch me-and he did-and when we met again I told him I'd kill him if he tried it again. Maybe I would have-I don't know. But you-you bastard, I'd have killed you all right.'
He stopped and waited for the explosion, but Loomis was perfectly calm and relaxed. 'If you'd got out alive,' he said.
'I'd have got out,' Craig said. 'And I'd have come here for you. And while we're telling vulgar truths, let me ask you something. What happened to Pucelli? I thought you were going to keep him here.'
'Now there I owe you an apology,' said Loomis. 'I really do. I admit it. The trouble with Pucelli is he's such a hard man to watch. Our chaps lost him.' For a moment the good humor vanished, and he snarled, 'I've had a word with them about that.' Then he reverted to urbanity. 'But it didn't make all that much difference, did it? I understand that you coped with Pucelli without much trouble?'
'Oh yes,' said Craig bitterly. 'I coped with him. I put a thirty-eight bullet in his arm.'
'There you are then,' Loomis said.
'The hell I am,' said Craig. 'He and his sadist friend might have killed innocent people.'
'Innocent,' Loomis said dreamily. 'What a nice word that is. So quaint. So old-fashioned. A bit stupid, though -in your mouth. They were all your contacts, weren't they? You picked up the two girls; you broke into their house; you were the one who made friends with Turner -firing off guns to let La Valere know where you were.'
'Lucky for me I did,' said Craig. 'They got me out.'
'You picked 'em, all right,' Loomis said. 'I'll admit that. A couple of sexy birds and a brandy-happy millionaire. Between them they had everything you wanted -except discretion.'
'They got me out,' Craig said again.
'And you got them in,' said Loomis. 'If they were in danger, it was your fault. Grierson knew better. He wanted to go on alone. He wanted to leave them.'
'They were good cover,' said Craig. 'And anyway Grierson was going to ditch me.'
'One fight at a time,' Loomis said cheerfully. 'Let's stick to your friends for now. Would you have picked them if they'd been fatter-or skinnier? Would you have stayed at Turner's villa if they hadn't been so sympathetic? You didn't have to stay, you know. Grierson didn't. And as you never tire of telling me, you're such a bloody marvel you could have got out all by yourself- broken finger and all. Which brings you to Grierson's desertion. All right, he did leave you-because I ordered him to-and now I'm going to tell you why. I think you would have got out on your own-and I wanted you to -and what's more I wanted you to make a hell of a noise doing it-because this had to look like an amateur's job. And you were the best amateur we could find. You had the, means, and the motive, and we gave you the opportunity. When it was all over and you got out-'
'If I did,' said Craig.
'You would have,' Loomis said. 'We weren't going to leave you for them to play with indefinitely-when you got out, you were going to disappear. The French would ask for Reynolds and we'd have said he didn't exist. And all the time you'd be living happily ever after in the Bahamas or somewhere.'
'Suppose they'd asked for me as Craig?'
Loomis leered at him. 'How could they? Just imagine them asking for Craig. I ask them why they want him and they say for killing St. Briac and I say we've got proof St. Briac killed Craig weeks ago and ask them if they believe in ghosts. They'd feel foolish. The French hate feeling foolish.'
'So everything's all right?' Craig said.
'Is it? I can explain Grierson. He's just another gunman you hired for the job-but what about Ashford? When I planned the thing, Ashford was just La Valere's little friend. I got Ashford into this the same way I got you. He wasn't a professional-he just happened to be fond of La Valere-and La Valere adored him. I made him work for us. I blackmailed him. And now he's dead -because you let La Valere find him-and that association is known. We'll deny it of course, and they won't be able to prove anything-but it's known all right. There's a man in Paris this minute who realizes I set up a murder. Maybe by now he understands why, too-and it's a damn good reason. It has to be. You don't think I do it every week, do you? When I kill, it's because there's no other way-and St. Briac was one I had to kill. If I hadn't he'd have killed a hell of a lot of people and maybe started a war as well. So I picked you. You were tailor-made. And anyway I know how to pick 'em. I'm never wrong.'
'There has to be a first time, I suppose,' Craig said. 'I'm sorry it had to be me.'
'When I say never, I mean never. Not once. Not even with you. I just don't make mistakes. You do, and I've explained them to you. They're things you should know about, and I'll tell you why you make them if you like. But I
