A Toast to Tomorrow by Manning Coles

Author:Manning Coles [Coles, Manning]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rare Treasure Editions
Published: 2021-11-09T00:00:00+00:00

13

Hambledon walked slowly home thinking over Bluehm’s disclosures. So Reck had done it, Reck the wireless operator of Mülheim, the transmitter of other men’s words, the person of no importance, the drunken little beast, he had babbled and Bill Saunders had died. Men who knew the Chief of Police met him in the street that night, took one look at that grim face and abstracted gaze and did not venture to greet him. “Did you see his face?” they said. “Someone is going to catch it for something, heaven forbid he should ever look like that at me.”

He went up the stairs to his flat, entered his study and wrote a few lines on a sheet of paper, after which he walked heavily down the passage to Reck’s room and handed the paper to him. “What’s the matter?” asked Reck, staring. “Code and transmit that message to-night.”

“Has anything happened? What’s the matter with you?”

“Read the message, damn you.”

Reck dropped his eyes to the paper and read aloud: “T-L-T. Hambledon to F.O. London. Murderers of Saunders discovered and dealt with stop Kaspar Bluehm of Köln and Reck of Mülheim.”

“My God,” said Reck, dropping the paper, “you must be mad. I never even knew that he was dead.”

“Nevertheless, you helped to kill him. So you will code and transmit that message and then you will die.”

“I swear to you I am completely innocent. I’m a drunken old waster, but I’d shoot myself before I’d—why, he was one of our men. I don’t know anything—when did he die?”

“About thirteen years ago,” said Hambledon. “He was shot by that fool Kaspar Bluehm—remember him?”

“Yes—no, I don’t think I ever met him. Wasn’t he Marie Bluehm’s brother?”

“Yes. You met him once anyway, he came to see you in your retreat at Mainz you’re always wanting to go back to, the mad-house, you know.”

“Did he?” said Reck, rubbing his head. “I don’t know—I can’t remember. Why did he come?”

“He came,” said Hambledon very deliberately, “to ask you for information about Bill Saunders because he had a private grudge against him. He asked for Dirk Brandt, of course, you told him he was Bill Saunders, a British agent—”

“No!” shrieked Reck. “I didn’t do that, don’t say it, I—”

“You told him Saunders had gone back to England—”

“Stop, for God’s sake, you’re torturing me. On my honour—”

“Your honour!” said Hambledon unpleasantly. “I expect you told him he was Michael Kingston of the Hampshires, too. Anyway, you told him enough to enable him to walk in on Bill one quiet night and shoot him. So Bluehm died an hour ago, and I don’t think you’re fit to live, do you?”

“No,” said Reck with dignity. “If this thing is true, I am not.”

“Of course it’s true, who else could have told him? He traced up Bill’s contacts till he came to you, quite simple. He thought he’d been awfully clever. He told me I was a British spy, too, that’s what he called me, apparently Bill told him that, since I was dead it didn’t matter.

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