Copper's Cruise 2

 

Chapter 2 A little freelance forgery

 

“Excuse me, one moment, Monsieur, you appear to have quite a large number of ten franc notes,” said the customs officer.

“It’s a convenient size of currency; easy enough for most establishments to break but not as fiddly as small amounts,” said Alexander.

“You will have to excuse me whilst I call someone to have it examined,” said the customs officer. “Perhaps you will come and wait in my office.”

“Are you actually accusing Child’s bank, the oldest bank in England, of uttering false currency?” asked Alexander, disbelievingly. “And accusing a member of Scotland Yard of distributing it?”

“I have my orders,” said the customs officer. “Please order your servant to bring you with me.”

“I’m his fiancée,” said Ida, haughtily. “I hope your office can accommodate us all.”

It was not really suitable. Ida disposed herself on the desk to permit Alma the chair belonging to the customs officer, Gladys hitched herself up onto a filing cabinet, with a boost from Campbell, who took possession of the small, hard chair for those being interviewed, but sat backwards, and astride on it. Alexander wheeled himself behind the desk and started going through the drawers whilst they were left kicking their heels.

A more senior customs officer came into the room to find himself confronted as if for an interview, and was well aware that he was not about to browbeat some disabled Englishman who had been held on suspicion, but was in the presence of Major Alexander Armitage, DSO with bar, MC, mentioned in dispatches, Inspector of Police, Scotland Yard, and not to be messed about.  And his staff.

“Tell me,” said Alexander, in flawless French, “How long you have believed yourself to be Napoleon to cause trouble to innocent travellers, whose spending money is still wrapped in pristine and unsealed wrappers of a most respectable bank?”

“My apologies for my over-zealous underling, Major Armitage,” said the official. “I, Hébert Duschamps, apologise without reservation, my underling does not understand what is meant by ‘Scotland Yard,’ and he also wishes for me to express his apologies. You must understand that we have been troubled by forgeries and there is reason to suppose that the forgeries have also been wrapped in the bands apparently of another most respectable bank. They, too, are forgeries. A swift telephone call to Child’s bank has, of course, cleared up any misunderstanding, and I trust you will be able to be on your way without further ado. Please! I beg you, take your leave.”

“It just won’t do, you know,” said Alexander. “We have missed our connection on le tren bleu. I am travelling to convalesce, after being wounded in the line of duty, with my fiancée, who is delicate, and my immediate superior’s wife as her companion, who has been unwell. And yet, your underling, who seems to keep more pornography in his desk than paperwork, has seen fit to subject two delicate women to the rigors of bureaucratic bumblings, mewing us up in this poky office stinking of Gauloises cigarette smoke and garlic to the detriment of the health of all of us, and you tell us we may go after we have missed our connection. What do you expect us to do? Kick our heels in the station all night? Take an inferior train to the Club Train to Paris? Go looking for a hotel when we are already exhausted by the fumblings of your inferior which are akin to those of a fifteen year old boy watching the coquette next door through a peep hole?”

Alexander knew the trick of bullying French bureaucracy, having learned this during the war, and it was a matter of some fifteen minutes before his party was installed, on the French Government, in the Hôtel Meurice, with an ensuite for every room and an air of age-old gentility.  Since it dated back to the eighteenth century, purely to cater to English tourists, this was hardly surprising.

Their bookings on the Blue Train had been moved seamlessly to the morrow, and the sister-establishment to the Hôtel Meurice, Calais, the Hôtel Meurice, Paris, apprised of their delay in arrival.

“I wonder if I should have offered to help?” said Alexander.

“No,” said Ida. “You’re on leave. It’s their problem.”

Alexander would have let it go at that, had not he decided to go to the hotel bar for a small nightcap.

“You must be new to this,” said a dark, floridly handsome young man. “I see they let you go, though. How did you pull off that one?”

“A packet of genuine notes,” said Alexander.

“Well, maybe you aren’t as green as you’re cabbage looking,” said the florid one. “Sid’s my name. The forged bank wrapper thing is all blown open, and the buggers are on the lookout for it.”

“I see,” said Alexander. “How do you get over it?”

“I’m a salesman travelling in ladies’ corsets; rolled up tight in place of the boning,” said Sid. “Minnie carries patchwork, and it’s inside of the patches, and George, well, looking lugubrious suits him bein’ a vicar, and a hole in the middle of his Bible, as well as a few in his dog-collar. Nice idea, the wheelchair, a new twist. I heard one of us managed a few times with a false plaster-cast, but there’s only so many times you can pull that one.  I must say, Nobby’s good at picking couriers. Though why he sent you at the same time as sending me, I don’t know; it’ll be harder to shift the loot.”

“I’m heading for Marseille,” said Alexander.

“Oh, that will explain it,” said Sid.

Alexander managed to lose Sid, by the expedient of plying him with brandy above Sid’s usual grade of tipple, and left the courier of forged currency propped up on the bar, singing tunelessly to himself.

Alexander demanded the use of the manager’s telephone, and put in a call to Barrett at home.

“What is it?” Barrett was concerned.

“I fell in with some utterers of forged currency,” said Alexander.

Barrett groaned.

“Of course you did,” he said. “Well, what have you to tell me?”

“Someone called Nobby is the boss, and three of his employees who distribute the stuff are Sid, who is one Sidney Albright, according to the register, who is here at this moment, Minnie, who does very expensive patchwork, a reverend gentleman named George, with a hollowed-out Bible and space in his dog-collar. There are others.”

“Well, I’m damned,” said Barrett.

“Not unless you assault the wrong clergyman,” said Alexander. “Apparently he looks like an undertaker who has lost a body and found a patch of mould.”

“Oh! Prating George,” said Barrett. “George Wilder. I can pull him in. Minnie Brett is his sweetheart. They hang out with the Dorsett brothers... Monty and Mike. Well, well, moved into forgery; I wonder who his artist is.”

“Not a difficult note to forge, but they still need someone capable,” agreed Alexander. “Well, I’ll get onto my friendly customs officer this end, and see if this can’t be quietly wound up.”

A few enquiries found Alexander able to reach the senior customs man who had arranged all this.

“Well, M. Duschamps, this is Alexander Armitage,” he said. “How clever of you to arrange to place me near to a suspect, knowing that I would be unable to keep my nose out of your forgery problem. You’re right, Sid Albright has a heap of currency rolled small in the pockets for boning in the ladies’ corsetry he is carrying, and my superior is about to raid the forgers in London. It worked brilliantly, making him think I was another courier, he spilled everything to me. You’ll send an agent de police to effect an arrest... no, no, mon vieux, don’t bother to mention my part, I really am on holiday for my health... bon chance!”

Alexander went to bed, hoping that the matter would not come to the ears of Ida.

He was to be foiled in that desire when Hébert Duschamps kissed him heartily on both cheeks when seeing them off at the station.

“Ah, my cabbage!  You have cracked open this terrible case,” cried Duschamps. “I owe you a debt of gratitude! And to cover my blushes also by saying that I sent you to that hôtel to contact the crook... it is your generosity, which Hébert Duschamps will not forget! I have the wire from your Superintendant Barrett that they have picked up all those involved! Superbe!”

Alexander endured the effusive thanks, and managed to escape.

“Alexander Simon Caleb Frederick Armitage!” scolded Ida.

“Anyone would think I encouraged chummy to assume I was part of his gang,” said Alexander, plaintively. “I couldn’t ignore it now, could I?”

“You, sir, have the bad habit of being found by trouble,” said Ida, sternly.

“And it has exhausted me,” said Alexander, in a fading voice.

“Oh, my poor dear,” said Ida, who was ninety percent certain he was faking, but was unable to resist her lover’s apparent need for love, not vituperation.

Alexander permitted her to fuss around him.

A bit of good will in Calais never hurt either, with characters like Harry Shearer on the horizon.

 

Copper's Cruise, 1

 

 

Chapter 1 A chance Encounter

 

“I don’t suppose it’s what you’re used to,” said Superintendant Barrett, almost belligerently, as he lead Alexander and Ida to the dining room. “My wife isn’t really well enough to stretch to a heap of courses with all the silverware and napery, we have one elderly maid.”

“Sir, at home, it’s the company that counts, and we eat with a plain linen tablecloth, meat and two veg and a pudding after. Can I handle dinners of several courses? Yes. Do I prefer convivial family dinners? Yes.” Alexander bowed to his hostess. “Thank you for going to such an effort to welcome Ida and me to your home,” he said. “You will find any policeman appreciates home cooking so much more when he’s been eating in the police canteen.”

“Oh, Mr. Armitage, it’s so nice to meet you, and your good lady, my Edwin would have it that you needed a lot of courses, and I said to him, ‘Nonsense, Edwin, the poor boy is wounded in the line of duty, what he needs is building up, not a heap of French kickshaws which don’t feed a man.”

“Ma’am, you are a woman after my own heart. Ida, my poppet, take note.”

“When have I ever fed you on idle kickshaws?” said Ida. “Mrs. Barrett, I’m Ida.”

“And I’m Alma, my dear, and I hope we’ll be friends,” said Mrs. Barrett.

“And I feel a fool,” said Barrett, ruefully.

“Sir, I keep telling you, I’m an ordinary copper who just happens to have a private income,” said Alexander. “I can smell some wonderful things.”

“That’ll be the leg of lamb,” said Mrs. Barrett. “I marinade it with a teaspoon of honey, one of ginger, one of mustard powder and half a teaspoon each of salt and pepper. Edwin calls it ‘barbequed billygoat’ but he always takes seconds.”

“It sounds delectable,” said Alexander. Ida wheeled him in his wheelchair to the dinner table. Strictly speaking, Alexander did not need it all the time, but he had been told by the doctor to use it as much as possible whilst he healed from a nasty belly wound, occasioned by being tortured by a nasty pair of young villains. Ida was ruthless in making him use it, since he had set himself up as bait, to ensure catching them, and she had no intention of permitting him to forget it.

“I’ll be taking notes,” said Ida. “I learned to cook from the family housekeeper, and at Girl Guides, but I never turn down learning more. Do you favour gas, or electricity? We’re in the throes of relocating, and I get to have my choice.”

“Oh, I know that gas ovens can be dangerous, but they are so much easier to control than electric,” said Mrs. Barrett. “Please, seat yourselves; we’ve got a nice pea soup for starters, because you can’t fault a nice pea soup. I usually do onion, but some people don’t like onions. I can’t think why.”

“I knew a chap who got indigestion from them, but as he was inclined to pig a whole jar of pickled onions in one sitting with fresh bread and paté, I’m not sure if it was the onions, their quantity, or the fresh bread and paté,” said Alexander.

“Bit of a moot point,” said Barrett.

“Well, yes,” said Alexander. “He got his onions from home and the bread and paté from the farm where we were billeted.  He used to eat Nicolette’s onion soup so fast I reckon it was the air he took in more than the onions that caused him problems.”

“Should I know more about Nicolette?” asked Ida.

“She was lovely, adorable, and we were all in love with her, and she was also very married, and her husband was Corsican and carried a wicked hooked knife,” said Alexander, cheerfully. “I always swore I wouldn’t marry unless I could meet a girl who could cook as well as Nicolette and had the same wit and charm; and you, my dear, surpass her.”

“Oh, he’s a keeper,” said Mrs. Barrett.

“Yes, I think so,” said Ida.

The pea soup was lightly minted, and was followed by the roast leg of lamb, with new potatoes finished in the oven under a butter glaze, roast carrots, and string beans with mint sauce.  Baked pears with ice cream finished the repast.

“Only tinned pears, I’m afraid,” said Mrs. Barrett. “Pears have such a short season.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” said Alexander. “A wonderful repast.”

 

“I’ll clear and wash up, so you can all look at brochures,” said Mr. Barrett. His chin was belligerent again.

“Take note; I like a domesticated husband,” said Ida.

“I can wash up.  I know how to ply vinegar and baking soda to clean things too,” said Alexander.

“He is a keeper,” said Mrs. Barrett.

“We’re henpecked, but I won’t tell anyone if you don’t, sir,” said Alexander. They shared a smirk as their respective ladies decried this calumny.

 

The brochures spread on the table, Alexander let the ladies look through them.

“The Thomas Cook tours are quite comprehensive, and they leave on a number of dates for flexibility, but I wasn’t sure how good a sailor you are, and I confess I’ve had a few problems with a belly wound, and the idea of sailing through the Bay of Biscay to visit Portugal and then down to Spain did not thrill me,” said Alexander.

“At this time of year? No, indeed, the Channel must be quite rough,” said Mrs. Barrett.

“It struck me that we could do worse than take the boat train to Calais, for the shortest crossing, and then board the Blue Train, which goes through Paris, and, if you wanted, we could book to Paris, spend a day or two there, and then go on overnight to Nice.”

“That does sound nice,” said Mrs. Barrett. “And in Nice we pick up a boat?”

“P&O, we can get one which calls at Pisa, Rome, and Cairo,” said Alexander. “If you ladies want a Nile cruise, I believe they run them regularly, then back on P&O to Barcelona, Nice, and back on the Blue Train. Or a P&O ship runs from Portsmouth to Cairo and back if you were homesick and wanted to leave sooner.”

“Well, that sounds a nice, flexible itinerary,” said Mrs. Barrett. “I’ll leave it entirely to you; I confess, I’m interested to see these new Egyptian treasures.”

“I plan to train to be an archaeologist, so I am definitely interested,” said Ida.

“There’s some other bloke she’s interested in, even though he’s an older man by several thousand years,” quipped Alexander. “He’s got a name which sounds like a London underground station.”

“This is going to be bad,” said Ida.

“Tooting Common,” said Alexander.

“I suppose it’s better than ‘Toot an’ come in,’ which was your previous effort on Tutankhamen,” said Ida. “Now, don’t you look at me like that, the puppy-dog eyes do not work when they’re grey eyes, not brown. And putting up your front paws and huffing doesn’t help,” as Alexander mimed sitting up to beg.

“Oh, well, it was worth a try,” said Alexander.

“What a lovely couple you are,” said Alma Barrett. “So much in love, and comfortable enough with it to tease each other.”

“We are lucky to have found each other,” said Alexander, sincerely. Ida nodded, and found she had slipped her hand into his.

 

Once the details were sorted out, Alexander started to arrange bookings ahead of time. Ida might tut at him insisting on bearding P&O in their London office to make advance bookings but he was adamant. As he was over making sure that Alma, Ida, Gladys, and Campbell would be carrying pistols, and licenced to do so. And that he made all the women practise.

“I’m perfectly fit enough to do small things, just because I can’t chase down villains doesn’t make me an invalid,” he said.

“You were supposed to be taking it easy,” said Ida.

“I am,” said Alexander.

“Well, Gladys did some nursing, and she reckons that the difficult ones are the ones who heal better,” said Ida.

“I know you could do it as well as me, but the blighters in these offices will argue with you because you’re a woman, because they will think they can lean on you for easier options for them, costing more for you,” said Alexander. “And it will irritate you.  Besides, I want this sorted out, and the tooter the sweeter.”

“How you tommies do murder French,” said Ida, who had to admit he was right. She could argue, and she would, but it would be wearing. Even if she said that her husband had told her just what to do, there would be those who assumed he was too much an invalid if needing a cruise to be much use and would try to bully her into their idea of a good cruise for an invalid.

Ida resented it.

Had she been a couple of years older, doubtless she would have gained more poise through having been involved in nursing or driving for the war effort, as Gladys had been, a nurse at first, then, when there was nobody to drive the ambulance she had taken that on with aplomb, teaching herself to drive on the job.

 

Ida celebrated her birthday in style with the Armitage family, inviting Superintendent and Mrs. Barrett as well, and her brother, David, far more relaxed in the Armitage household than he had been for a while, coming to terms as he was with Helen’s death.

“Listen, I thought I’d use this occasion to make an announcement,” said David. “I don’t really want to marry again in the traditional way, because there will never be anyone like Helen. But Elinor Truckle has agreed to marry me in a marriage of convenience, so I have someone soothing to keep the house running – when I have rebuilt it – so I can work without interruption. And organise servants, and so on.”

“You are a selfish creature, David, did you bludgeon poor Miss Truckle into agreeing to that infamous idea?” said Ida.

“What’s infamous about it? Elinor gets a rich, clever, good-looking husband and security for life, and I get someone to smooth over daily problems,” said David.

“You left out ‘modest’ in the husband description,” said Alexander.

David flushed.

“Well, I know a lot of women find me attractive, I am rich, and I am clever,” he said, defensively.

“And so decisive,” murmured Miss Truckle, blushing slightly.

“And Helen knew when to stand up against him being a bully by saying, ‘Oh, do you really think so? I wondered if...’ about things,” said Ida. “Now, if you are planning a celibate marriage, David, have you considered if Miss... if Elinor might like a child after years of looking after other people’s children?”

“Er...” said David, in lively horror.

“I am content to not have to have anything to do with children,” said Miss Truckle with relative vehemence. “After all, we have you, dear Ida, for David to leave his money to, and if any of your children want to be architects, they can apprentice with him.”

“We’re going to leave it a year, and then go on a tour to America to see the architecture of Frank Lloyd Wright,” said David.

“Just remember that building for dry, warm zones is not the same as building for damp England,” said Ida. “We always had a leak in wet weather in  the servants’ quarters from the flat roof of Foursquares.”

“We did?” said David.

“We did, but you didn’t want to know.”

“I will do better when I rebuild,” said David. “The roof shall be a greenhouse for out of season vegetables, and part of the floor will be glass tiles to permit light down into the interior.”

“So long as there is no chance of anything falling through,” said Ida.

“Er, yes,” said David.

 

oOoOo

 

Alexander was glad when they were finally on their way to France, taking the boat train to Dover from Victoria Station . The ferry was waiting, having just arrived from France, and Alexander was gladder than he might have readily confessed to have a wheelchair. As Campbell dealt with customs for him, he looked up into the eyes of one of the disembarking passengers, overseeing the unloading of some goods. The recognition was mutual.

“Albert Maplin!” said Alexander.

The man was over in a stride.

“Don’t you never give up, you effing flatfoot busy?” he growled. He took the handles of the wheelchair. “I don’t see no uniforms, playin’ one o’ your hunches, I betcha, an’ a tragic accident occurred.”

Alexander felt a hard push to his chair, heard Maplin cry out, ‘Oh no! Look out!’ as his chair careened towards the edge of the dock.

Alexander threw himself sideways. A dip in harbour water in January was not likely to be healthy, even if he did not get crushed between the big ferry and the dock.  Campbell and Ida both leaped forward, and Gladys hit Maplin over the head with her carved bone umbrella handle.

Various dock police came running.

“Alexander Armitage, Scotland Yard! Hold that man!” said Alexander. Ida helped him up as Campbell righted the wheelchair.

“Alex, you are clutching your wound! Have you pulled it?” demanded Ida.

“I’m fine! Bring that sergeant over here,” said Alexander, having been settled tenderly back in his chair.

The sergeant hastened over, and Alexander presented his credentials.

“And what, sir, is going on?” asked the sergeant.

“I recognised the fellow as Albert Maplin; major domo, as you might say, to Harry Shearer.  Big time club owner in London; Maplin manages Harlequin’s Fayre, the biggest. Shearer’s a man of interest but we’ve never caught him.  And when Maplin set eyes on me watching him unload a consignment of, I assume, champagne, he looks like a rabbit on the road at night, comes over, and tries to run me off the dock.”

“You’re saying he tried to murder you?” gasped the sergeant.

“Yes, I am,” said Alexander.

“And you was undercover in a wheelchair?”

“No, dammit, I’m on sick leave for being wounded in the course of duty and I’m effing well bleeding, so just go and sit on Maplin, and take every bit of his luggage apart until you find out what it was worth risking killing a police inspector over,” said Alexander. “And no, I don’t care to press charges, I want to catch my boat, not do your job for you.”

“He isn’t always strictly fair when he’s in pain,” said Ida. “Dear me, we shall have to check out your scar when we are on board, I’m sure there’ll be a doctor.”

“And you are, miss?”

“His fiancée; and just deal with Maplin, none of us are going to answer any more questions, because you’ve seen he acted suspiciously. Good day,” said Ida, wheeling Alexander firmly past the police, and onto the gangplank.

She demanded the ship’s doctor and had Alexander lying down in the stateroom they had hired through the Club Train connection.

The doctor examined Alexander.

“That’s a very untidy appendectomy,” he said.

“Was a knife wound. Appendectomy was incidental,” said Alexander.

The doctor tutted.

“It has strained the wound, but it has not opened  far; I see you had the stitches out already, I am going to put a single stitch in here, but let me or another doctor know if you feel any pain or bloating. I don’t believe you’ve damaged anything inside, there’s no oedema, only a very little blood from the ragged end of this external wound, which is more to the side. But I’m not an expert, so be alert for anything that causes discomfort. I don’t want to open you up for no reason.”

“Thanks, doc,” said Alexander. “Just put the stitch in.”

 

 

oOoOo

 

There was a telegram awaiting Alexander in Calais when they disembarked.

“Maplin nicked, half pound heroin, won’t cough to Shearer’s part. Go and have holiday you young idiot and stop policing, Barrett.”

Alexander laughed; he felt much better.

“As if I chose it!” he said.