The Unlikely Spy(66)
"Thank you. That's very kind of you."
Meadows picked up his raincoat and put it on. "Did they say anything else that you can remember?"
"Well, they did say one other thing." Eunice Wright hesitated a moment, and her face colored. "The language is a little on the rough side, I'm afraid."
"I assure you I won't be offended."
"The smaller one said, 'When I find that' "--she paused, lowering her voice, embarrassed to say the words--" 'when I find that f*cking bitch I'm going to kill her myself.' "
Meadows frowned. "You're certain of that?"
"Oh, yes. When you don't often hear language like that, it's hard to forget."
"I'll say." He handed her his card. "If you think of anything else, please don't hesitate to call. Good morning, Mrs. Wright."
"Good morning, Detective-Sergeant."
Meadows put on his hat and saw himself to the door. So they were looking for a woman. Maybe it wasn't the Popes after all. Maybe it was just two blokes looking for a girl. Maybe the similar descriptions were just coincidence. Meadows didn't believe in coincidence. He would drive back to the Popes' warehouse and see if anyone had spotted a woman hanging around there lately.
23
LONDON
Catherine Blake assumed that Allied officers who knew the most important secret of the war had been made aware of the threat posed by spies. Why else would Commander Peter Jordan handcuff his briefcase to his wrist for a short walk across Grosvenor Square? She also assumed that officers had been warned about approaches by women. Earlier in the war she had seen a poster outside a club frequented by British officers. It showed a luscious, big-breasted blonde in a low-cut evening gown, waiting for an officer to light her cigarette for her. Across the bottom of the poster were the words KEEP IT MUM, SHE'S NOT SO DUMB. Catherine thought it was the most ridiculous thing she had ever seen. If there were women like that--tarts who hung around clubs or parties listening for gossip and secrets--she did not know about them. She did suspect that such indoctrination would make Peter Jordan distrustful of a beautiful woman suddenly vying for his attention. He was also a successful, intelligent, and attractive man. He would be very discriminating in the women he chose to spend time with. The scene at the Savoy the other night was evidence of that. He had become angry with his friend Shepherd Ramsey for setting him up with a young, stupid girl. Catherine would have to make her approach very carefully.
Which explained why she was standing on a corner near the Vandyke Club with a bag of groceries in her arms.
It was shortly before six o'clock. London was shrouded in the blackout. The evening traffic gave off just enough light for her to see the doorway of the club. A few minutes later a man of medium height and build emerged. It was Peter Jordan. He paused for a moment to button his overcoat. If he kept to his evening routine he would walk the short distance to his house. If he broke his routine by flagging down a taxi, Catherine would be out of luck. She would be forced to come back again tomorrow night with her bag of groceries.
Jordan turned up the collar of his overcoat and started walking her way. Catherine Blake waited for a moment and then stepped directly in front of him.
When they collided there was the sound of paper splitting and tins of food tumbling to the pavement.
"I'm sorry, I didn't see you there. Please, let me help you up."
"No, it's my fault. I'm afraid I've misplaced my blackout torch and I've been wandering around out here lost. I feel like such a fool."
"No, it's my fault. I was trying to prove to myself that I could find my way home in the dark. Here, I have a torch. Let me turn it on."
"Do you mind turning the beam toward the pavement? I believe my rations are rolling toward Hyde Park."
"Here, take my hand."
"Thank you. By the way, you can stop shining the light in my face any time now."
"I'm sorry, you're just--"
"Just what?"
"Never mind. I don't think that sack of flour survived."
"That's all right."
"Here, let me help you pick these things up."
"I can manage. Thank you."
"No, I insist. And let me replace the flour for you. I have plenty of food at my house. My problem is I don't know what to do with it."
"Doesn't the navy feed you?"
"How did--"
"I'm afraid the uniform and the accent gave you away. Besides, only an American officer would be silly enough to intentionally walk the streets of London without using a torch. I've lived here all my life, and I still can't find my way round in the blackout."
"Please, let me replace the things you've lost."
"That's a very kind offer but it's not necessary. It was a pleasure bumping into you."
"Yes--yes, it was."
"Can you kindly point me in the direction of Brompton Road?"
"It's that way."
"Thank you very much."
She turned and started to walk away.
"Hold on a minute. I have another suggestion."
She stopped walking and turned around.