“And once he was in control he did exactly the opposite to what you had intended,” Mallory said. “One of the great ironies of post-war history.”
De Beaumont swallowed some more cognac and con-tinued. “Even more ironic that I, Phillipe de Beaumont, de-scendant of one of the greatest of French military families, should have helped place in power the man who has de-stroyed the greatness of his country.”
“That remains to be seen,” Mallory said. “I’d say that Charles de Gaulle was moved by one thing only – deep patriotism. Whatever he’s done he’s done because he thought it best for France.”
De Beaumont shrugged. “So we disagree? It’s of little moment. After his visit to St. Malo on the 3rd of next month he will no longer present a problem.”
“I don’t know what you have in mind, but I wouldn’t
count on anything. How many times have your people failed now? Eight, isn’t it?”
“I flatter myself that my own organisation has been rather more successful. These affairs need the trained mind, Malory. Everything I handle is a military operation, planned to the last detail in conditions of the strictest security.L’Alouette affair, I have handled personally from the be-ginning. My colleagues in Paris know nothing about it. I work strictly on my own and use them as an information service only.”
Mallory shook his head. You can’t last much longer. You’re working on too big a scale. AlreadyL’Alouette’s become more of a liability than anything else.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong.” De Beaumont got to his feet, took a couple of charts from the cupboard beside his chair and crossed to a small table. “Come over here. You’ll find this interesting.”
They were Admiralty charts of the area between Guern-sey and the French coast and he joined them together quickly. “Here is He de Roc and St. Pierre, thirty miles south-west of Guernsey. The nearest French soil is Pointe du Chateau, only twenty miles away. You know the area?”
Mallory shook his head. “The closest I’ve been is Brest.”
“A dangerous coast of small islands and reefs, lonely and wild. You will notice lie de Monte only a quarter of a mile off the coast, the Gironde Marshes opposite. There is a small cottage on an island perhaps half a mile into the marsh on the main creek. Eight miles from a road and very lonely. Not even a telephone. There are only two people in residence at the moment.”
“And you want them?”
“Only the man. Henri Granville.”
Mallory straightened, a frown on his face. “You mean Granville the judge, the Procureur General who retired last month?”
“I congratulate you on your intimate knowledge of French affairs. He arrived there with his wife yesterday. They are quite alone. Of course, no one is supposed to know. He’s fond of solitude – solitude and birds. Unfortunately for him, a contact of mine in Paris got news of his movements last night and let me know at once. I’m sending Jacaud across inL’Alouette later today. His execution should cause quite a stir.”
“You’re crazy,” Mallory said. “He must be eighty if he’s a day. On top of that, he’s one of the best-loved men in France. God in heaven, everybody loves Granville! Politics doesn’t enter into it.”
“On three occasions now he has presided at tribunals which have condemned old comrades of mine to death,” de Beaumont said. “Now he must pay the consequences. By striking at Granville we prove once and for all that we are a force to be reckoned with. That no man, however powerful, no matter what his public standing, is safe from our ven-geance.”
“Henri Granville never condemned anyone in his life with-out good reason. Harm him in any way and you’ll bring the mountain in on you.” Mallory shook his head. “You’ll never get away with it.”
De Beaumont smiled faintly, crossed to the fire and poured more cognac into his glass. “You think not?” He swal-lowed a little of the cognac and sighed. “I will postpone your execution till this evening. By that time Jacaud will have returned. It will give me some satisfaction in sending you to your death with the knowledge that Henri Granville has preceded you.”