The Return of Raffles by Peter Tremayne

Author:Peter Tremayne [Tremayne, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lume Books
Published: 2017-04-30T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

‘Well,’ I prompted as we walked across the lawns, ‘what shall we do now — make some excuse and leave before the German ambassador and his party get here?’

Raffles shook his head violently.

‘No, by the Lord Harry! We can’t miss this opportunity to track down Fuchs.’

He stopped in mid-stride and suddenly grinned.

‘I think it is about time that Mackenzie started to pull his weight in this little affair.’

I did not understand what he meant and said so. ‘Devenish said that the ambassador’s party were arriving by motor car, didn’t he?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then, from what you say, there are only two roads by which they could approach Hurstdevenish. If we could get some of Mackenzie’s uniformed men to stop the car with an urgent message for von Heumann asking him to return to the embassy, it would give us at least another day to hunt around for Fuchs without von Heumann interfering.’

I pursed my lips.

‘But when von Heumann gets back to the embassy he will discover that he has been tricked.’

‘Yes, but by whom? The police could blandly tell him they were mistaken. And by the time he returns to Hurstdevenish we might have accomplished our task. He couldn’t return before tomorrow morning.’

I looked at my wrist watch.

‘We’d better get hold of Mackenzie,’ I said.

‘You say that he is going to stay at the White Bull in the village under the name of Mister Cleophane of Dundee?’

‘It seems to be his favourite pseudonym,’ I commented.

‘Well, it’s a three quarter of a mile walk, you’d better get cracking.’

I bit my lips in annoyance. Raffles always seems to land me with the dirty jobs.

‘Off you go, Bunny. Sharp’s the word!’ prompted Raffles.

With a deep sigh I turned and started off swiftly towards the roadway — hardly more than a narrow track, in fact — which led me towards the village. It was a good half-an-hour before I came down the knoll to the collection of cottages which constituted the village of Hurstdevenish. The village had grown up with the estate and once all its inhabitants worked on Devenish lands. But times had changed. The villagers were still primarily farm workers but were distributed among the other profitable small holdings in the surrounding countryside.

As I approached the old half timbered Tudor building which was the White Bull, I spotted my man at once. Mackenzie was sitting on a rustic wooden bench outside the public house, sipping a frothing pint of stout.

‘Afternoon, Mister Cleophane,’ I said cheerily as I took a seat beside him.

‘What is it, Manders?’ he returned brusquely. ‘You’re not supposed to know me,’ he added sotto voce.

I reddened. Really, these spy games were beyond me.

‘Never mind,’ grunted Mackenzie, alias Mister Cleophane, ‘we’ll pretend we just met. What is it?’

I suppose one must forgive the poor fellow his rudeness. He had always been a thorn in our side when Raffles and I were on opposite sides of the fence. It must seem difficult to adapt to the new circumstances.

I briefly explained Raffles’ suggestion.

Mackenzie scratched at his chin.

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