Vanishing Point by Victor Canning

Author:Victor Canning [Canning, Victor]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0688011071
Published: 2019-10-14T13:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

KERSLAKE KNEW THAT the man was upset at not being able to talk to Warboys personally. When he wanted something he was accustomed to go right to the top without let or hindrance.

Kerslake said, “I’m sorry, Sir Julian, but he left yesterday by air for America. A conference in Washington. He won’t be back for four or five days. Perhaps I can help you?”

Sir Julian sat on the other side of the desk, black-haired, black-suited, his hands clasped on top of a heavy walking stick, gold-banded but, thought Kerslake, hiding no rapier to be drawn quickly for defence or attack. If such were ever needed others would do his work.

Grudgingly Sir Julian said, “Well, I suppose so. You’re fully briefed about this Crillon business?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, so be it. Take a look at these.”

He drew a small, rubber-banded package from his jacket pocket and dropped it in front of Kerslake.

Kerslake slipped the rubber band free and spread the six photographs before him on the table, neatly as though laying out a hand of cards. He took his time and a little more over each – knowing he would be touching the raw of the man’s impatience. He was professionally interested in and emotionally disdainful of all that this man represented and would have represented if the German Panzer divisions had come rolling up the beaches of Southern England all those years ago, and was thinking, too, of the Dunkirk beaches where he had lost an uncle in the Navy – destroyers – and where his father had the fingers of his right hand blown away so that his life work as a sign-painter and decorator had come to an end. Turning each photograph and reading the details on the back, he knew where they had come from . . . In fact he, himself, still waited to receive a similar pack for Birdcage. It was no surprise to him that Sir Julian had more influence with some of the French authorities than Birdcage. His pourboire sweeteners in the right places were ethically denied to Birdcage. Finishing with them, he said, “Six Maurice Crillons. All the right age group and all artists, art masters or connected with the art world.”

“They are. One of them could be the man I want.”

“We both want, Sir Julian.”

“Don’t trifle. The man could be among them.”

“He could – and even if you checked them all in France you wouldn’t know which was the right one unless you could establish that he has or has had the portrait of Sir Andrew.” Enjoying himself behind a slow bleakness of dislike for the man, Kerslake went on. “Even if they were laid out in front of Sir Andrew you know he would give no help. His position has been defined. For him the game is over. But not for us. Do you have any suggestions?”

“I understand from Warboys that this Crillon picked up a local Salisbury girl and took her to France.”

“So he did. But, I gather that she is a very sentimental, romantic type.

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