Dick Barton and the Great Tobacco Conspiracy Read online

  ‘Sick? He’s drunk! I’m sorry, Mr Barton, but facts are facts and ...’

  At that very moment, as if to confirm Barton’s worst fears about his diagnosis of the situation, Rex Marley passed out. His body went rigid and he pitched forward, unconscious. Quickly, Barton closed the gap between himself and the falling man, managing to catch him under the arms and break his fall.

  ‘Snowey,’ Barton called as he took the weight. ‘Quick!’

  Almost immediately, the door burst open and Snowey, followed by Virginia, hurried in.

  ‘Here I am, sir.’

  Barton wasted no time. ‘Get Mr Marley into my car, Snowey.’

  Snowey hoisted Rex Marley from Barton’s arms, and began to carry him towards the door as Virginia, almost beside herself, called out, ‘What’s happened? What’s happened?’ Her voice had regained its earlier alarm.

  Sam turned towards her. He was still angry. ‘Your brother’s made a complete and utter fool of me, that’s what’s happened!’

  ‘That’s enough of that!’ Barton said sharply, as he turned towards the door. ‘I’ll get his things from the dressing-room.’ And with that he went off, leaving Virginia Marley looking into the rather shamefaced eyes of Sam, the Blue Parrot’s manager.

  Later, sitting in the passenger seat of Dick Barton’s Riley as he drove quickly through the West End, Virginia felt slightly better. At least someone competent was now in command of the situation. And for the time being, her brother was safe, in the back of the car with Snowey. But he was still unconscious.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Virginia’s voice broke the silence.

  Barton spoke crisply. His attention did not wander from the road. ‘We’re taking him back to my flat. He’s in no state to be left on his own. And I don’t suppose your father ...’ he left the question unfinished.

  ‘Daddy and Rex don’t really get on,’ Virginia explained.

  Again, Barton’s voice filled the small space between them. ‘I’d assumed as much,’ he said. And then more carefully. ‘Rex needs careful watching for a week or two.’

  Virginia looked curiously at the ex-captain. He obviously had possession of some information about Rex that she herself lacked. She wondered what it was. But there was no time for questions. Silently, the Riley cut through the London streets. The speedometer flickered upwards.

  The front door of Dick Barton’s Chelsea flat opened, and Barton and Snowey, supporting the semi-conscious Rex Marley between them, came into the hall. Virginia followed a moment later. She shut the door and switched on the light.

  Barton said as he looked at Rex while carrying him down the hall: ‘It’s beddy-byes for you, my lad.’

  Virginia watched them take her brother towards what was obviously Barton’s bedroom. She admired the way they handled the matter.

  ‘He’s as light as a feather, ain’t he, sir?’ Snowey’s voice echoed down the corridor towards Virginia.

  ‘Yes,’ Barton said sombrely. He didn’t like the look of things one bit. ‘I’d say he’s lost a lot of weight since I last saw him.’

  Between them, they managed to open the door to Dick Barton’s room, and carry the still unconscious Marley over to the bed in the far comer of the room. Then they lowered him on to the bed.

  ‘Just get his shoes off, Snowey,’ Barton said. ‘I’ll loosen his tie.’

  As Snowey busied himself at the foot of the bed, Barton looked at the face of his friend as he worked. It was a grim business. He wondered how he would tell Virginia.

  When he had loosened Rex’s tie and collar, he stood back from the bed, and helped Snowey spread out the eiderdown that he was already holding. Rex had scarcely moved at all since they had brought him in.

  At that moment, Virginia appeared in the doorway. ‘Shall I make some tea?’ she said. She had recovered her composure. That made things even more difficult.

  ‘Good thinking, Ginny.’

  Virginia smiled at him before she disappeared. He stood there, looking down at the prone body under the eiderdown. What had started out as an evening that promised more excitement than usual had turned into something far more sinister. Snowey’s puzzled voice brought his speculation to an end. For the moment.

  ‘I’d swear that he’d had a bit too much to drink if it wasn’t that he don’t smell of booze.’

  ‘No, Snowey,’ Barton said slowly. ‘Rex Marley never touches ardent spirits, we know that. This is something rather more serious.’

  When he had finished speaking, Barton turned on his heel and left the room. Still deep in thought, he crossed over to the fireplace. He hardly noticed when Virginia came in.

  ‘The kettle’s on.’

  Barton turned towards her. Telling her was going to be difficult. The Virginia he had known was no longer a schoolgirl, but then she could hardly be expected to know of the kind of things that could affect a man in the Middle East.

  ‘This is not going to be very pleasant, Virginia.’

  Her answer was immediate and defiant. ‘I’m not a child, Mr Barton.’

  The ex-captain had no difficulty in recognising that fact. But still, he was going to have to be as tactful as he could ‘No. You’re a very plucky young lady, I can see that, but ...’

  Snowey’s entrance from the bedroom interrupted his explanation. Barton sensed that, for the moment, even Virginia was glad of the respite. ‘Sleeping like a babe, he is, sir.’

  ‘Good,’ Barton replied.

  Snowey was not aware that he had arrived at a crucial moment. ‘Did I hear someone mention a cup of char?’ he said. He could do with it after all that hefting.

  But he scarcely had a chance to finish his sentence. There was the crack of a distant rifle shot. Simultaneously, one of the living-room windows shattered. Shards of glass flew into the room.

  ‘Down on the floor – quick! Snowey – the lights.’

  Quickly, Barton took command of the situation. He pushed Virginia to the floor, and threw himself down beside her. In the meantime Snowey had crossed the room in two strides and snapped off the electric light switch.

  ‘What was that?’ Virginia was in total confusion.

  Barton’s voice was firm: ‘Our old friend the three-o-three, if I’m not mistaken.’

  As if to confirm this deduction, another shot cracked. Glass littered the room once again.

  Barton spoke from his position on the floor. ‘This fellow is getting beyond a joke. Snowey – get the door open and get into the lift. I’ll be right behind you. We’ll see who it is taking pot shots at us.’

  ‘Right you are, sir.’ Snowey formed a slow grin. ‘I thought we was finished with this sort of caper.’

  ‘Apparently this gentleman has other ideas,’ Barton replied.

  Crouching, Snowey made his way across the room, and opened the door. Barton followed behind him as he’d promised. Before he went out he turned towards Virginia.

  ‘Stay there, Ginny – and keep your pretty little head down.’

  Snowey White burst out of the front door of the mansion buildings. At the outer fringes of a pool of light across the road, he saw the indistinct figure of a man running towards a parked car. The man was carrying a three-o-three.

  ‘Here! You.’

  Snowey ran even as he shouted. The car was about a hundred yards away down the street. Good job he’d kept in trim, he thought as he ran towards it. He gained ground, but not enough. The engine was running. The figure threw open the rear door of the car. Even before the door was shut properly, someone had put his foot down on the accelerator, and the vehicle roared away. As the tyres screeched, Snowey stopped in the road to regain his breath. He was still panting when Barton appeared at his elbow.

  ‘Get the number, Snowey?’

  ‘No chance, sir.’ Snowey replied between breaths. ‘Number plate’s covered in mud.’

  ‘An old trick,’ Barton said, ‘but effective enough.’

  They turned towards the house.

  When Barton returned to the living-room, Vir
ginia was pacing anxiously up and down. Her earlier unease had now become near-panic. ‘Mr Barton,’ she said as soon as he appeared. ‘I want to know! You must tell me what’s wrong with Rex.’

  Barton took up his usual stance in front of the fireplace. He turned towards the defiant Virginia. For a long moment, in total silence, he looked at her.

  Then, reaching into his pocket, he said: ‘When I went to get your brother’s things from his dressing room, I noticed this in his ashtray.’

  He held up what appeared to be a half-smoked, roughly rolled cigarette.

  ‘A fag end?’ Snowey couldn’t understand what it was all about. There was nothing particularly odd about it.

  ‘Not quite, Snowey,’ Barton said grimly. ‘It’s what they call in their filthy trade a “reefer”.’ He turned towards Virginia. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m afraid your brother is a dope addict.’

  She stared at him, wide-eyed, too horrified to speak.

  ‘Dope?’ Snowey questioned. He didn’t understand all this.

  Barton spoke again. ‘Marijuana, Snowey.’

  Virginia stared at the reefer. Though she was now grown up, no one had ever taught her how to come to terms with this. Dick Barton looked grim. A reefer.

  Can Rex Marley be cured of his addiction and his career saved? Who fired the mysterious shots through Dick Barton’s window?

  Read the next chapter of Dick Barton – Special Agent.

  Chapter Two

  Beautiful young Virginia Marley, daughter of millionaire industrialist, Sir Richard Marley, asks Dick Barton for help. Her brother Rex, a well-known crooner, is in trouble. Marley collapses on stage and is taken to Dick’s flat. A gunman fires several shots through Barton’s window but gets away unidentified. Barton breaks the news to Virginia that her brother is a drug addict.

  Now read on...

  ‘Mari-what, sir?’ Snowey didn’t quite understand what Barton was’ on about. He knew about drugs of course, but not the details of what it could do to you.

  Barton was still holding the reefer in front of him. ‘Hemp, hashish, cannabis, dagga – call it what you will – once in its clutches a man is doomed.’ Then with a disgusted expression he threw the reefer into the fireplace. After a moment, he spoke again, ‘Unless –’

  Virginia interrupted him quickly. ‘Unless?’

  Grimly, Barton related what he knew about hashish: ‘Unless he can be physically kept from the stuff for at least two weeks, by which time the craving will have subsided. “Cold Turkey” our American cousins call it.’ He paused for a moment to see how Virginia was taking his news. The blind panic that had been in her eyes was now subsiding. Slowly, anger was taking its place. ‘It’s not pretty, I’m afraid, but it’s effective.’

  ‘But Rex would never take drugs.’ Virginia resisted Barton’s pronouncement. She was having difficulty in believing that Rex could fall so low. He had unconventional tastes in music, it was true. At least as far as her father’s generation had been concerned. But then the war had changed so much.

  ‘Perhaps unknowingly,’ Barton’s voice interrupted Virginia’s thoughts, ‘but the devil’s behind this business – and it’s a very big business indeed – it will stop at nothing to gain a new recruit to their hideous ranks. How poor Rex was sucked in, and by whom, is what we have to find out.’

  Snowey had been listening carefully while his ex-captain spoke. He didn’t like the smell of any of it. ‘I don’t know about big business, sir,’ he said. ‘It sounds a very dirty business.’

  ‘Indeed it is, Snowey. The dirtiest going.’ Just how dirty Dick Barton was not quite sure. But he meant to find out, even if it meant taking up combat stations again.

  Virginia Marley felt quite at a loss. What had started out as bewildering behaviour on Rex’s part was turning out to have sinister implications. ‘But I don’t ...’

  Smiling, Dick Barton interrupted her. ‘That’s quite enough questions for tonight, young lady.’

  ‘I’m not a child, Mr Barton,’ Virginia said. She was determined to find out what had happened to Rex. She wondered if all this ‘reefer’ business was true. But it must be, if Dick Barton said so. Her father had always trusted him. Even now Sir Richard wanted Barton back in International Engineering.’

  ‘You’re a very beautiful young lady,’ Barton said gallantly to Virginia. ‘And I’m going to claim the honour of driving you home.’ Like the gentleman he was, he picked up the fur coat that was lying on the settee, and placed it around her shoulders.

  Snowey watched them, wondering what the governor had in mind for him for the rest of the evening. A spot more baby-sitting probably. Still, it was easier than looking after an anti-tank position.

  As if to confirm Snowey’s suspicions, Barton turned towards him. ‘Snowey, keep an eye on Mr Marley. Don’t let him out of this flat.’

  He’d been right then. It was okay doke with him. Dick Barton always knew what he was doing. ‘Don’t you worry about that, sir,’ Snowey answered as Barton ushered Virginia to the door.

  Barton turned as he opened the door to go out. ‘Just remember,’ he warned. ‘He isn’t himself. He’ll do anything, literally anything, to get this drug. He’ll show great cunning. He may even become violent.’

  When Barton and Virginia had left, Snowey walked over to the fireplace. He was puzzled, he still didn’t quite understand what this ‘marijuana’ business was all about. He stooped down and looked at the remains of the reefer in the fireplace. It still looked ordinary enough. But it was dangerous. Carefully, he picked it up, and held it at arm’s length. Then, he sniffed at it gingerly. It smelt foul. Quickly, he threw it back into the fireplace where it belonged. Then, he wiped his hand clean on his trousers. He didn’t want to become contaminated.

  Once more, Virginia sat in the passenger seat of the Riley Monaco. This time though, she knew the awful truth. Her brother was a drug addict. It would take a long time before he would recover again. If he ever did. She sat, thinking to herself, scarcely caring where they were going.

  ‘A penny for them.’ Barton’s voice broke the silence.

  ‘Will Rex get better again, Mr Barton?’ Virginia couldn’t help but mention what was troubling her.

  ‘Of course he will.’ Barton’s comforting voice echoed across the interior of the car. ‘He’ll have to fight – but he’s a fighter, I know that.’

  But Virginia was still worried. There was one further question that she still had to face. She shifted in her seat: ‘I don’t know what I shall say to Daddy.’

  Without taking his eyes from the road, Barton answered her directly. He never had been one to evade serious issues like this one. ‘Tell him Rex is ill.’ He thought that, if he could, he would spare Sir Richard from the shock. ‘It’s not far from the truth, heaven knows.’

  Silence descended on them once more as the Riley headed through London towards Virginia’s home.

  Meanwhile, Snowey White was preparing himself for a quiet evening in Dick Barton’s flat. He was sitting in the most comfortable easy chair, with a cup of char at his elbow, and a copy of The Sporting Life on his knees. He looked down the list of likely runners, and seeing one that he fancied particularly, licked the pencil stub that he was holding and marked it down.

  It was at that moment that the doorbell rang. Snowey wasn’t expecting anyone, the governor wouldn’t be back for a while yet. Still, he put his paper and pencil down and got up to answer the door.

  He saw through the crack in the door. He hadn’t known what to expect, but he certainly hadn’t been prepared for this. She was a corker. She was dressed in furs so that you could just see her face. She was standing there as cool as you please. She was somewhere around thirty, and she was still beautiful. When she smiled she showed a row of perfect teeth.

  ‘Yes, miss,’ Snowey said. He was very polite.

  ‘Mr Barton?’ Her voice was husky, mid-European. It only added to her charm.

  ‘He ain’t in.’

  She began to wave her arms about in
a gesture of distress. ‘Oh heavens! They told me at the club that my fiancé was here with Mr Barton.’

  He still didn’t quite understand what she meant: ‘Your fiancé, miss?’

  Her distress became even more evident. ‘Rex Marley, the crooner. They told me that he had been taken ill. I am so worried about Rex recently.’

  ‘He’ll be all right, don’t you fret, miss.’ Snowey was beginning to feel sorry for her.

  She stepped closer to him. He could smell her perfume. ‘Then he is here?’

  ‘Well,’ Snowey replied. He wasn’t sure that the governor would like it.

  Once more, she smiled at him. ‘Can I see him, Mr ...?’

  ‘White, miss,’ Snowey said as he introduced himself. ‘ “Snowey,” most people call me, though my monniker’s George by rights.’

  ‘Snowey,’ she said his name like it meant something. ‘I must see Rex. I am so desolate at this illness of his.’

  He began to open the door wider so that she could come in. ‘Well ... all right, miss. Can’t see no harm in that.’

  But the words were scarcely out of his mouth before she turned on him. She reached into the muff she was carrying, and, with perfect grace, produced a small automatic pistol which she trained on his heart.

  ‘Now, Mr Snowey White,’ her voice was almost a purr. ‘I hope you are not going to be a foolish gentleman.’

  ‘Here! What’s this?’

  Snowey was completely taken by surprise. He had not been expecting her to produce a gun from her muff, and he didn’t expect any further developments. So, when a thug in a flat cap and muffler slipped in behind the dreamboat who had turned nasty on him, Snowey didn’t even see the cosh that was brought crashing down on his head. The only things on his skyline were stars.

  The woman, whose name was Melissa, turned towards the thug with the cosh. ‘Good work, Curly,’ she said.

  Snowey didn’t hear a thing.

  There was a blurred face in front of him, but nothing was very clear. Things kept swirling about like a figure eight on a night in Battersea Funfair. And then, out of the swirl, from very far away, came a voice.