Fear is the Key

"You have, of course, made an illegal entry into the United States." Judge Mollison was a difficult man to knock off his stride. "How, I don't pretend to know — it happens constantly in those parts. Probably by Key West and a landing at night somewhere between Port Charlotte and here. It doesn't matter. And so now, in addition to assaulting officers of the law and carrying a gun without declaring it or possessing a licence for it, you can be charged with illegal entry. A man with your record could collect a stiff sentence for those, Ford.

"However, you won't. Not here, at least. I have consulted with the state immigration authorities and they agree with me that what best meets the case is deportation: we wish no part of any person like you. We understand from the Cuban authorities that you broke custody while being held on a charge of inciting violence among dockworkers and on a further alleged charge of attempted shooting of the policeman who arrested you. Such offences carry heavy penalties in Cuba. The first charge is not an extraditable offence and on the second we have had no demand from the competent authorities. However, as I say, we intend to work not under extradition laws but deportation laws — and we're deporting you to Havana. The proper authorities will be there to meet your plane when it lands to-morrow morning."

I stood still and said nothing. The court-room was very quiet. Presently I cleared my throat and said, "Judge, I think that's downright unkind of you."

"It depends on the point of view," he said indifferently. He rose to go, caught sight of the envelope the youth had brought in and said: "No, wait a moment," and sat down again, slitting open the envelope. He smiled bleakly at me as he extracted the flimsy sheets of paper.

"We thought we would ask Interpol to find out what was known about you in your own country, although I hardly think now there will be any further useful information. We have all we want… No, no, I thought not, nothing fresh here, not known… no longer listed. Wait a minute though!" The calm leisured voice rose to a sudden shout that brought the somnolent reporter jack-in-the-box bolt upright and sent him scurrying after notebook and pen that had spilled over the floor. "Wait a minute!"

He turned back to the first page of the cable.

"37b Rue Paul-Valery, Paris," he read rapidly. "Your request received, etc. etc. Regret inform you no criminal listed in rotary card index under name of John Chrysler. Could be any of four others under alias, but unlikely: identification impossible without cephalic index and fingerprints.

"Remarkable resemblance from your description to the late John Montague Talbot. Reasons for your request and demand for urgency unknown but enclosed please find summarised copy of salient features of Talbot's life. Regret unable help you further, etc.

"John Montague Talbot. Height 5 feet 11 inches, weight 185 lb., deep red hair parted far over on left side, deep blue eyes, heavy black brows, knife scar above right eye, aquiline nose, exceptionally even teeth. Carries left shoulder perceptibly higher than right owing to fairly severe limp."

The judge looked at me and I looked out the door: I had to admit the description was not at all bad.

"Date of birth unknown, probably early 1920's. Place of birth unknown. No record of war career. Graduated Manchester University 1948 with B.Sc. in-engineering. Employed for three years by Siebe, Gorman amp; Co." He broke off, looked sharply at me. "Who are Siebe, Gorman amp; Co.?"

"Never heard of them."

"Of course not. But I have. Very well-known European engineering firm specialising, among other things, in all types of diving equipment. Ties in rather neatly with your employment with a salvage and diving firm in Havana, doesn't it?" He obviously didn't expect an answer, for he carried on reading at once.

"Specialised in salvage and deep-water recovery. Left Siebe Gorman, joined Dutch salvage firm from which dismissed after eighteen months following inquiries into whereabouts of two missing 28-lb. ingots worth 60,000 dollars salvaged by firm in Bombay Harbour from the wreck of the ammunition and treasure ship Fort Strikene which blew up there 14th April, 1944. Returned England, joined Portsmouth salvage and diving firm, associated with ' Corners' Moran, notorious jewellery thief, during salvage work on the Nantucket Light which sank off the Lizard, June 1955, carrying valuable cargo diamonds from Amsterdam to New York. Salvaged jewels to the value of 80,000 dollars were found to be missing. Talbot and Moran traced to London, arrested, escaped from police wagon when Talbot shot police officer with small concealed automatic. Police officer subsequently died."