Tug of War Read Online Free PDF

that slightly embarrassed way we have to the side or past the lens or narcissistically into it. His expression is impossible to read. A mask. There are signs of a wound along his jaw and
I’d say he was about two stones underweight.’ He began to read out snatches from the accompanying text. ‘The man of mystery was found wandering around a railway station . . .
It’s thought one of a batch of late-release prisoners from a German prisoner-of-war camp for the mentally ill . . . Poor chap. That would account for his vacant expression. The man cannot
speak, has lost his memory and has been passed along from one asylum to another, fetching up at Reims where he is thought to have originated. The director of the asylum . . . um . . . from a swift
perusal of this report I’d say he would seem to be a splendid fellow . . . has interested himself in the stranger’s case and taken this unusual step to try to establish his identity and
locate his family.’
    Joe looked up more cheerfully. ‘Well, I can’t see a problem there. A man with such striking looks must have been instantly identified, wouldn’t you think?’
    Redmayne sighed. ‘And there’s our problem, Sandilands. Would you believe – over a thousand families from all over France have claimed him! They’ve mobbed the
asylum demanding to take him home with them. And, as you might guess, most of the claimants are female! Mothers, wives and sisters by the dozen. All desperate to get their man – or perhaps any man – back from the front after all these years. Poor devils.’
    ‘Easy enough to rule out most of the candidates, I’d have thought. Just a matter of process. Now I’d have –’
    ‘Yes, yes. Whatever you can think of, the French authorities have already done. Height five foot eleven, fair hair, blue eyes. Well, in a country of largely dark-haired, dark-eyed
inhabitants, those facts ruled out ninety per cent of the bidders for a start. He didn’t feature in their Bertillon files so – no criminal record. Unless he went uncaught during his
career of course. There’s always that. The French police only record the sportsmen they’ve actually apprehended and put behind bars.’
    ‘Fingerprints, sir? Have they explored the possibilities? I know the system hasn’t captured the French imagination – so much invested in the Bertillon recording method –
but surely a comparison would be possible and most revealing? I understand their police laboratory in Lyon to be in advance of anything we can supply ourselves here in London.’
    Joe heard the touch of eagerness in his own voice and sighed.
    Redmayne hurried on, playing his fish with confidence. ‘Other physical details like limbs broken before the war . . . presence or absence of . . . eliminated a few more candidates and the
upshot is – the authorities were left with a solid core of four claimants who will not be discouraged. They are all perfectly certain that the man belongs to them. Here’s a
list.’
    Joe took the sheet of paper and read out one by one the names and addresses of the claimants. ‘Number one: Madame Guy Langlois. A grocer’s wife – or widow, do you suppose? From
a village near Reims. Claims to be his mother. Her son, Albert, disappeared during the first battle of the Marne.’
    ‘“Missing in action. Presumed to be dead,”’ supplied Redmayne. ‘But no body was ever found and no identification medallion handed in.’
    ‘Number two: a Mademoiselle Mireille Desforges of Reims, claiming a “certain relationship” with the mystery man from before the war, vows she can identify him to
everyone’s satisfaction by particular physical characteristics not yet revealed to the public. “A certain relationship”? Rather coy phrasing from our confrères?’
    ‘Yes. Family newspaper. Probably means he was her what d’ye call it? . . . her pimp? And the “satisfaction” she promises would undoubtedly be her own. Chap probably made
off with her money in the way