PASSENGER TO FRANKFURT

Agatha Christie

Agatha Christie was born in Torquay of an English

mother and an American father. Her first novel was

The Mysterious Affair at Styles, written towards the

end of the First World War, in which she served as a

V.A.D. in France. It was in this book that she created

the brilliant little Belgian detective with the egg

shaped head and the impressive moustaches, Hercule

Poirot, who was destined to become the most popular

detective in crime fiction since Sherlock Holmes.

In 1926 she wrote what is still considered her

masterpiece. The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. This was

the first of her books to be published by William

Collins, who have been her publishers ever since.

Her 73rd detective novel. Elephants Can Remember,

appeared in November 1972.

Agatha Christie, now in her eighties, is married

to Sir Max Mallowan, a well-known archaeologist,

and apart from her writing, her husband's subject,

archaeology, remains her chief outside interest.

They live in a beautiful house in Devon, overlooking

the river Dart, and they also have a home in London.

Hallowe'en Party

Sad Cypress

Cat Among the Pigeons

Parker Pyne Investigates

Dead Man's Folly

Murder in Mesopotamia

The Moving Finger

A Pocket Full of Rye

The Hollow

The Body in the Library

Third Girl

Hercule Poirot's Christmas

Why Didn't They Ask Evans?

Appointment with Death

Lord Edgware Dies

The Hound of Death

Towards Zero

The A.B.C. Murders

Hickory Diekory Dock

Five Little Pigs

and many others

AGATHA CHRISTIE

Passenger to

Frankfurt

AN EXTRAVAGANZA

FONTANA/Collins

First published by Wm. Collins 1970

First issued in Fontana Books 1973

Second Impression August 1973

Third Impression September 1973

© Agatha Christie Ltd., 1970

Printed in Great Britain

Collins Clear-Type Press London and Glasgow

TO MARGARET GUILLAUME

CONDITIONS OF SALE:

This book is sold subject to the condition that

it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent,

re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without

the publisher's prior consent in any form of

binding or cover other than that in which it is

published and without a similar condition

including this condition being imposed on the

subsequent purchaser

CONTENTS

Introduction 7

BOOK 1: INTERRUPTED JOURNEY

1          Passenger to Frankfurt 13

2          London            21

3          The Man from the Cleaners      28

4          Dinner with Eric           36

5          Wagnerian Motif          45

6          Portrait of a Lady         50

7          Advice from Great-Aunt Matilda         58

8          An Embassy Dinner     63

9          The House near Godalming      72

BOOK 2: JOURNEY TO SIEGFRIED

10        The Woman in the Schloss       89

11        The Young and the Lovely       103

12        Court Jester     109

BOOK 3: AT HOME AND ABROAD

13        Conference in Paris      117

14        Conference in London  121

15        Aunt Matilda Takes a Cure      131

16        Pikeaway Talks           141

17        Herr Heinrich Spiess    145

18        Pikeaway's Postscript  156

19        Sir Stafford Nye Has Visitors   158

20        The Admiral Visits an Old Friend 164

21        Project Benvo  172

22        Juanita  174

23        Journey to Scotland     177

Epilogue           190

'Leadership, besides being a great creative

force, can be diabolical . . .'

jan smuts

INTRODUCTION

The Author speaks:

The first question put to an author, personally, or through

the post, is:

'Where do you get your ideas from?'

The temptation is great to reply: 'I always go to Harrods,'

or 'I get them mostly at the Army & Navy Stores,' or, snappily,

'Try Marks and Spencer.'

The universal opinion seems firmly established that there is

a magic source of ideas which authors have discovered how to

tap.

One can hardly send one's questioners back to Elizabethan

times, with Shakespeare's:

Tell me, where is fancy bred,

Or in the heart or in the head,

How begot, how nourished?

- Reply, reply.

You merely say firmly: "My own head.'

That, pf course, is no help to anybody. If you like the

look of your questioner you relent^and go a little further.

'If one idea in particular seems attractive, and you feel

you could do something with it, then you toss it around,

play tricks with it, work it up, tone it down, and gradually

get it into shape. Then, of course, you have to start writing

it. That's not nearly such fun--it becomes hard work. Alternatively,

you can tuck it carefully away, in storage, for perhaps

using in a year or two years' time.'

A second question--or rather a statement--is then likely

to be:

'I suppose you take most of your characters from real life?'

An indignant denial to that monstrous suggestion.

'No, I don't. I invent them. They are mine. They've got

to be my characters--doing what I want them to do, being

what I want them to be--coming alive for me, having then- own ideas sometimes, but only because I've made them

become real.'

So the author has produced the ideas, and the characters

--but now comes the third necessity--the setting. The first

two come from inside sources, but the third is outside--

7

'Leadership, besides being a great creative

force, can be diabolical . . .'

JAN SMUTS

INTRODUCTION

\

The Author speaks:

The first question put to an author, personally, or through

the post, is:

'Where do you get your ideas from?'

The temptation is great to reply: 'I always go to Harrods,'

or 'I get them mostly at the Army & Navy Stores,' or, snappily,

Try Marks and Spencer.'

The universal opinion seems firmly established that there is

a magic source of ideas which authors have discovered how to

tap.

One can hardly send one's questioners back to Elizabethan

times, with Shakespeare's:

Tell me, where is fancy bred,

Or in the heart or in the bead,

How begot, how nourished?

Reply, reply.

You merely say firmly: "My own head.'

That, of course, is no help to anybody. If you like the

look of your questioner you relent_and go a little further.

'If one idea in particular seems attractive, and you feel

you could do something with it, then you toss it around,

play tricks with it, work it up, tone it down, and gradually

get it into shape. Then, of course, you have to start writing

it. That's not nearly such fun--it becomes hard work. Alternatively,

you can tuck it carefully away, in storage, for perhaps

using in a year or two years' time.'

A second question--or rather a statement--is then likely

to be:

'I suppose you take most of your characters from real life?'

An indignant denial to that monstrous suggestion.

'No, I don't. I invent them. They are mine. They've got

to be my characters--doing what I want them to do, being

what I want them to be--coming alive for me, having their

own ideas sometimes, but only because I've made them

become reed.'

So the author has produced the ideas, and the characters

--but now comes the third necessity--the setting. The first

two come from inside sources, but the third is outside--

7

it must be there--waiting--in existence already. You don't

invent that--it's there--it's real.

You have been perhaps for a cruise on the Nile--you

remember it all--just the setting you want for this particular

story. You have had a meal at a Chelsea cafe. A quarrel

was going on--one girl pulled out a handful of another

girl's hair. An excellent start for the book you are going

to write next. You travel on the Orient Express. What fun

to make it the scene for a plot you are considering. You go to

tea with a friend. As you arrive her brother closes a book he

is reading--throws it aside, says: 'Not bad, but why on

earth didn't they ask Evans?'

So you decide immediately a book of yours shortly to be

written will bear the title. Why Didn't They Ask Evans?

You don't know yet who Evans is going to be. Never

mind. Evans will come in due course--the title is fixed.

So, in a sense, you don't invent your settings. They

are outside you, all around you, in existence--you have \only to'lstretch out your hand and pick and choose. A railway

train, a hospital, a London hotel, a Caribbean beach,

a country village, a cocktail party, a girls' school.

But one thing only applies--they must be there--in existence.

Real people, real places. A definite place in time and

space. If here and now--how shall you get full information--

apart from the evidence of your own eyes and ears? The

answer is frighteningly simple.

It is what the Press brings to you every day, served up

in your morning paper under the general heading of News.

Collect it from the front page. What is going on in the world

today? What is everyone saying, thinking, doing? Hold up

a mirror to 1970 in England.

Look at that front page every day for a month, make

notes, consider and classify.

Every day there is a killing.

A girl strangled.

Elderly woman attacked and robbed of her meagre savings.

Young men or boys--attacking or attacked.

Buildings and telephone kiosks smashed and gutted.

Drug smuggling. .""" .

Robbery and assault.

Children missing and children's murdered bodies found not

far from their homes.

Can this be England? Is England really like this? One feels--no--not yet, but it could be.

Fear is awakening--fear of what may be. Not so much

because of actual happenings but because of the possible

causes behind them. Some known, some unknown, but felt. And not only in our own country. There are smaller paragraphs

on other pages--giving news from Europe--from Asia

--from the Americas--Worldwide News.

Hi-jacking of planes.

Kidnapping.

Violence,

Riots.

Hate.

Anarchy--aD growing stronger.

All seeming to lead to worship of destruction, pleasure

in cruelty.

What does it all mean? An Elizabethan phrase echoes

from the past, speaking of Life:

< .. it is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

, Signifying nothing.

And yet one knows--of one's own knowledge--how much

goodness there is in this world of ours--the kindnesses done,

the goodness of heart, the acts of compassion, the kindness of

neighbour to neighbour, the helpful actions of girls and boys.

Then why this fantastic atmosphere of daily news--of

things that happen--that are actual facts?

To write a story in this year of Our Lord 1970--you must

come to terms with your background. If the background is

fantastic, then the story must accept its background. It, too,

must be a fantasy--an extravaganza. The setting must include

the fantastic facts of daily life.

Can one envisage a fantastic cause? A secret Campaign

for Power? Can a maniacal desire for destruction create a

new world? Can one go a step further and suggest deliverance

by fantastic and impossible-sounding means?

Nothing is impossible, science has taught us that.

This story is in essence a fantasy. It pretends to be nothing

more.

But most of the things that happen in it are happening, or giving promise of happening in the world of today.

It is not an impossible story--it is only a fantastic one.

Book I

i;          INTERRUPTED JOURNEY

Chapter 1

PASSENGER TO FRANKFURT

Fasten your seat-belts, please.' The diverse passengers in

the plane were slow to obey. There was a general feeling

that they couldn't possibly be arriving at Geneva yet. The

drowsy groaned and yawned. The more than drowsy had

to be gently roused by an authoritative stewardess.

"Your seat-belts, please.'

The dry voice came authoritatively over the Tannoy. It explained in German, in French, and in English that a short

period of rough weather would shortly be experienced. Sir

Stafford Nye opened his mouth to its full extent, yawned and

pulled himself upright in his seat. He had been dreaming

very happily of fishing an English river.

He was a man of forty-five, of medium height, with a

smooth, olive, clean-shaven face. In dress he rather liked to

affect the bizarre. A man of excellent family, he felt fully

at ease indulging any such isartorial whims. If it made the

more conventionally dressed of his colleagues wince occasionally,

that was merely a source of malicious pleasure to

him. There was something about him of the eighteenthcentury

buck. He liked to be noticed.

His particular kind of affectation when travelling was a

kind of bandit's cloak which he had once purchased in

Corsica. It was of a very dark purply-blue, had a scarlet

lining and had a kind of burnous hanging down behind

which he could draw up over his head when he wished to,

so as to obviate draughts.

Sir Stafford Nye had been a disappointment in diplomatic

circles. Marked out in early youth by his gifts for great

things, he had singularly failed to fulfil his early promise.

A peculiar and diabolical sense of humour was wont to

afflict him in what should have been his most serious moments.

When it came to the point, he found that he always

preferred to indulge his delicate Puckish malice to boring

himself. He was a well-known figure in public life without

ever having reached eminence. It was felt that Stafford Nye,

though definitely brilliant, was not--and presumably never

would be--a safe man. In these days of tangled politics and

tangled foreign relations, safety, especially if one were to

reach ambassadorial rank, was preferable to brilliance. Sir

Stafford Nye was relegated to the shelf, though he was occa13

sionally entrusted with such missions as needed the art of

intrigue, but were not of too important or public a nature.

Journalists sometimes referred to him as the dark horse of

diplomacy.

_ Whether Sir Stafford himself was disappointed with his own career, nobody ever knew. Probably not even Sir Stafford

himself. He was a man of a certain vanity, but he was also

a man who very much enjoyed indulging his own proclivities

for mischief.

He was returning now from a commission of inquiry in

Malaya. He had found it singularly lacking in interest.

His colleagues bad, in his opinion, made up their minds

beforehand what their findings were going to be. They saw

and they listened, but their preconceived views were not

affected. Sir Stafford had thrown a few spanners into the

works, more for the hell of it than from any pronounced

convictions. At all events, he thought, it had livened things up. He wished there were more possibilities of doing that

sort of thing. His fellow members of the commission had

been sound, dependable fellows, and remarkably dull. Even

the well-known Mrs Nathaniel Edge, the only woman member,

well known as having bees in her bonnet, was no fool when

it came down to plain facts. She saw, she listened and she

played safe.

He had met her before on the occasion of a problem to

be solved in one of the Balkan capitals. R was there that

Sir Stafford Nye had not been able to refrain from embarking

on a few interesting -suggestions. In that scandalloving

periodical Inside News it was insinuated that Sir

Stafford Nye's presence in that Balkan capital was intimately

connected with Balkan problems, and that his mission was a

secret one of the greatest delicacy. A kind friend had sent

Sir Stafford a copy of this with the relevant passage marked.

Sir Stafford was not taken aback. He read it with a delighted

grin. It amused him very much to reflect how ludicrously far

from the truth the journalists were on this occasion. His

presence in Sofiagrad had been due entirely to a blameless

interest in the rarer wild flowers and to the urgencies of an

elderly friend of his. Lady Lucy Cleghorn, who was indefatigable

in her quest for these shy floral rarities, and who at any

moment would scale a rock cliff or leap joyously into a bog

at the sight of some flowerlet, the length of whose Latin

name was in inverse proportion to its size.

A small band of enthusiasts had been pursuing this

botanical search on the slopes of mountains for about ten

14

days when it occurred to Sir Stafford that it was a pity the

paragraph was not true. He was a little--just a little--

tired of wild flowers and, fond as he was of dear Lucy, her

ability despite her sixty-odd years to race up hills at top

speed, easily outpacing him, sometimes annoyed him. Always

just in front of him he saw the seat of those bright

royal blue trousers and Lucy, though scraggy enough elsewhere,

goodness knows, was decidedly too broad in the beam

to wear royal blue corduroy trousers. A nice little international

pie, he had thought, in which to dip his fingers, in

which to play about . . .

In the aeroplane the metallic Tannoy voice spoke again.

It told the passengers that owing to heavy fog at Geneva,

the plane would be diverted to Frankfurt airport and proceed

from there to London. Passengers to Geneva would

be re-routed from Frankfurt as soon as possible. It made

no difference to Sir Stafford Nye. If there was fog in London,

he supposed they would re-route the plane to Prestwick.

He hoped that would not happen. He had been to Prestwick

once or twice too often. Life, he thought, and journeys by

air, were really excessively boring. If only--he didn't know

--if only--what?

It was warm in the Transit Passenger Lounge at Frankfurt,

so Sir Stafford Nye slipped back his cloak, allowing its crimson

lining to drape itself spectacularly round his shoulders. He

was drinking a glass of beer and listening with half an ear

to the various announcements as they were made.

'Flight 4387. Flying to Moscow. Flight 2381 bound for

Egypt and Calcutta.' <._

Journeys all over the globe. How romantic it ought to be.

But there was something about the atmosphere of a Passengers'

Lounge in an airport that chilled romance. It was

too full of people, too full of things to buy, too full of similarly

coloured seats, too full of plastic, too full of human

beings, too full of crying children. ?He tried to remember who

had said:

I wish I loved the Human Race;

I wish I loved its silly face

Chesterton perhaps? It was undoubtedly true. Put enough

people together and they looked so painfully alike that

one could hardly bear it. An interesting face now, thought

Sir Stafford. What a difference it would make. He looked

15

disparagingly at two young women, splendidly made up.

dressed in the national uniform of their country—England

he presumed—of shorter and shorter miniskirts, and another

young woman, even better made up—in fact quite goodlooking—who

was wearing what he believed to be called a

culotte suit. She had gone a little further along the road of

fashion.

He wasn't very interested in nice-looking girls who looked

like all the other nice-looking girls. He would like someone

to be different. Someone sat down beside him on the plasticcovered

artificial leather settee on which he was sitting. Her

face attracted his attention at once. Not precisely because

it was different, in fact he almost seemed to recognize it as

a face he knew. Here was someone he had seen before.

He couldn't remember where or when but it was certainly

familiar. Twenty-five or six, he thought, possibly, as to age. A

delicate high-bridged aquiline nose, a black heavy bush of

hair reaching to her shoulders. She had a magazine in front

of her but she was not paying attention to it. She was, in fact,

looking with something that was almost eagerness at him.

Quite suddenly she spoke. It was a deep contralto voice, almost

as deep as a man's. It had a very faint foreign accent. She

said,

•Can I speak to you?'

He studied her for a moment before replying. No—not

what one might have thought—this wasn't a pick-up. This

was something else.

'I see no reason,' he said, "why you should not do so.

We have time to waste here, it seems.'

'Fog,' said the woman, 'fog in Geneva, fog in London,

perhaps. Fog everywhere. I don't know what to do.'

'Oh, you mustn't worry,' he said reassuringly, 'they'll

land you somewhere all right. They're quite efficient, you

know. Where are you going?'

'I was going to Geneva.'

'Well, I expect you'll get there in the end.'

'I have to get there now. If I can get to Geneva, it will

be all right. There is someone who will meet me there. I

can be safe.'

'Safe?' He smiled a little.

She said, 'Safe is a four-letter word but not the kind of

four-letter word that people are interested in nowadays.

And yet it can mean a lot. It means a lot to me.' Then she

said, 'You see, if I can't get to Geneva, if I have to leave

this plane here, or go on in this plane to London with no

16

arrangements made, I shall be killed.' She looked at him

sharply. 'I suppose you don't believe that.'

'I'm afraid I don't.'

'It's quite true. People can be. They are, every day.'

'Who wants to kill you?'

'Does it matter?'

'Not to me.'

'You can believe me if you wish to believe me. I am speaking the truth. I want help. Help to get to London

safely.'

'And why should you select me to help you?'

'Because I think that you know something about death.

You have known of death, perhaps seen death happen.'

He looked sharply at her and then away again.

'Any other reason?' he said,

'Yes. This.' She stretched out her narrow olive-skinned

hand and touched the folds of the voluminous cloak. This,'

she said.

For the first time his interest was aroused.

'Now what do you mean by that?'

'It's unusual--characteristic. It's not what everyone wears.'

'True enough. It's one of my affectations, shall we say?'

'It's an affectation that could be useful to me.'

'What do you mean?'

'I am asking you something. Probably yon 'will refuse

but you might not refuse because I think you are a man

who is ready to take risks. Just as I am a woman who takes

risks.'

'I'll listen to your project,' he said, with a faint smile.

'I want your cloak to wear. I want your passport. I want

your boarding ticket for the plane. Presently, in twenty

minutes or so, say, the flight for London will be called. I

shall have your passport, I shall wear your cloak. And so I

shall travel to London and arrive safely.'

'You mean you'll pass yourself off as me? My dear girl.'

She opened a handbag. From it she took a small square

mirror.

'Look there,' she said. 'Look at me and then look at

your own face.'

He saw then, saw what had bee'tt vaguely nagging at his

mind. His sister, Pamela, who had died about twenty years

ago. They had always been very alike, he and Pamela.

A strong family, resemblance. She had had a slightly masculine

type of face. His face, perhaps, had been, certainly

in early life, of a slightly effeminate type. They had both

17

had the high-bridged nose, the tilt of eyebrows, the sligh

sideways smile of the lips. Pamela had been tall, five foci

eight, he himself five foot ten. He looked at the woma^ who had tendered him the mirror.

There is a facial likeness between us, that's what you

mean, isn't it? But my dear girl, it wouldn't deceive anyone

who knew me or knew you.'

'Of course it wouldn't. Don't you understand? It doesn;

need to. I am travelling wearing slacks. You have bee;.

travelling with the hood of your cloak drawn up roun,.

your face. All I have to do is to cut off my hair, wrap it u;

in a twist of newspaper, throw it in one of the litter-baske^ here. Then I put on your burnous, I have your boards card, ticket, and passport. Unless there is someone who

knows you well on this plane, and I presume there is not

or they would have spoken to you already, then I cac safely travel as you. Showing your passport when it's necessary,

keeping the burnous and cloak drawn up so that my

nose and eyes and mouth are about all that are seen. i

can walk out safely when the plane reaches its destination because no one will know I have travelled by it. Walk out

safely and disappear into the crowds of the city of London.'

'And what do I do?' asked Sir Stafford, with a slight

smile.

'I can make a suggestion if you have the nerve to face

it'

'Suggest,' he said. 'I always like to hear suggestions.'

'You get up from here, you go away and buy a magazine

or a newspaper, or a gift at the gift counter. You leave your

cloak hanging here on the seat. When you come back with whatever it is, you sit down somewhere else--say at the

end of that bench opposite here. There will be a glass in front of you, this glass still. In it there will be something

that will send you to sleep. Sleep in a quiet corner.'

'What happens next?'

'You will have been presumably the victim of a robbery,'

she said. 'Somebody will have added a few knock-out drops to your drink, and will have stolen your wallet from you.

Something of that kind. You declare your identity, say that

your passport and things are stolen. You can easily establish

your identity.'

'You know who I am? My name, I mean?'

'Not yet,' she said. 'I haven't seen your passport yet. I've

no idea who you are.'

'And yet you say I can establish my identity easily.'

18

'I am a good judge of people. I know who is important

or who isn't. You are an important person.'

And why should I do all this?'

Perhaps to save the life of a fellow human being.*

'Isn't that rather a highly coloured story?'

'Oh yes. Quite easily not believed. Do you believe it?'

He looked at her thoughtfully. 'You know what you're

talking like? A beautiful spy in a thriller.'

'Yes, perhaps. But I am not beautiful.'

'And you're not a spy?'

'I might be so described, perhaps. I have certain information.

Information I .want to preserve. You will have to

take my word for it, it is information that would be valuable

to your country.'

'Don't you think you're being rather absurd?'

'Yes I do. If this was written down it would look absurd,

But so many absurd things are true, aren't they?'

He looked at her again. She was very like Pamela. Her

voice, although foreign in intonation, was like Pamela's.

What she proposed was ridiculous, absurd, quite impossible,

and probably dangerous. Dangerous to him. Unfortunately, though, that was what attracted him. To have the nerve to

Jggest such a thing to him! What would come of it all? It

mid be interesting, certainly, to find out.

What do I get out of it?' he said. That's what I'd like

to know.'

She looked at him consideringly. 'Diversion,' she said.

'Something out of the everyday happenings? An antidote

to boredom; perhaps. We've not got very long. It's up to

you.'

'And what happens to your passport? Do I have to buy

myself a wig, if they sell such a thing, at the counter? Do I

have to impersonate a female?'

'No. There's no question of exchanging places. You have

been robbed and drugged but you remain yourself. Make

up your mind. There isn't long. Time is passing very quickly. I have got to do my own transformation.'

'You win,' he said. 'One mustn't refuse the unusual, if it

is offered to one.'

'I hoped you might feel that way, but it was a tossup.'

From his pocket Stafford Nye took out his passport. He slipped it into the outer pocket of the cloak he had been

Wearing. He rose to his feet, yawned, looked round him,

Fked at his watch, and strolled over to the counter where

ious goods were displayed for-sale. He did not even look

19

back. He bought a paperback book and fingered some sin;

woolly animals, a suitable gift for some child. Finally L^ chose a panda. He looked round the lounge, came bac<

to where he had been sitting. The cloak was gone and sc

had the girl. A half glass of beer was on the table still

Here, he thought, is where I take the risk. He picked up

the glass, moved away a little, and drank it. Not quickly

Quite slowly. It tasted much the same as it had tasted before

'Now I wonder,' said Sir Stafford. 'Now I wonder.'

He walked across the lounge to a far corner. There wa..

a somewhat noisy family sitting there, laughing and talkir.K

together. He sat down near them, yawned, let his head fa ;

back on the edge of the cushion. A flight was announced

leaving for Teheran. A large number of passengers got u;

and went to queue by the requisite numbered gate. The lounr,;

still remained half full. He opened his paperback book. R:

yawned again. He was really sleepy now, yes, he was ver

sleepy . . . He must just think out where it was best for him '

go off to sleep. Somewhere where he could remain . . .

Trans-European Airways announced the departure o;

their plane. Flight 309 for London.

Quite a good sprinkling of passengers rose to their feet t;

obey the summons. By this time though, more passenger?

had entered the transit lounge waiting for other planes. Ar

nouncements followed as to fog at Geneva and other dis

abilities of travel. A slim man of middle height wearing ;

dark blue cloak with its red lining showing and with a hoot- drawn up over a close-cropped head, not noticeably more

untidy than many of the heads of young men nowadays,

walked across the floor to take his place in the queue toi

the plane. Showing a boarding ticket, he passed out througu

gate No. 9.

More announcements followed. Swissair flying to Zurich

BEA to Athens and Cyprus--And then a different type of

announcement.

'Will Miss Daphne Theodofanous, passenger to Geneva,

kindly come to the flight desk. Plane to Geneva is delayed

owing to fog. Passengers will travel by way of Athens. The

aeroplane is now ready to leave.'

Other announcements followed dealing with passengers to

Japan, to Egypt, to South Africa, air lines spanning the world.

Mr Sidney Cook, passenger to South Africa, was urged if- come to the flight desk where there was a message for hiir;

Daphne Theodofanous was called for again. 20

This is the last call before the departure of Flight 309.'

In a corner of the lounge a little girl was looking up at a

man in a dark suit who was fast asleep, his head resting

against the cushion of the red settee. In his hand he held a

small woolly panda. '

The little girl's hand stretched out towards the panda,

Her mother said:

'Now, Joan, don't touch that. The poor gentleman's asleep.'

'Where is he going?'

'Perhaps he's going to Australia too,' said her mother,

'like we are.'

'Has he got a little girl like me?'

'I think he must have,' said her mother.

The little girl sighed and looked at the panda again. Sir

Stafford Nye continued to sleep. He was dreaming that he

was trying to shoot a leopard. A very dangerous animal, he

was saying to the safari guide who was accompanying him.

'A very dangerous animal, so I've always heard. You can't

trust a leopard.'

The dream switched at that moment, as dreams have a

habit of doing, and he was having tea with his Great-Aunt

Matilda, and trying to make her hear. She was deafer than

ever! He had not heard any of the announcements except the

first one for Miss Daphne Theodofanous, The little girl's

mother said:

'I've always wondered, you know, about a passenger that's

missing. Nearly always, whenever you go anywhere by air,

you hear it. Somebody they can't find. Somebody who hasn't

heard the call or isn't on the plane or something like that.

I always wonder who it is and what they're doing, and why

they haven't come. I suppose this Miss What's-a-name or

whatever it is will just have missed her plane. What will they

do with her then?'

Nobody was able to answer her question because nobody

had the proper information. /

Chapter 2

LONDON

Sir Stafford Nye's flat was a very pleasant one. It looked

out upon Green Park. He switched on the coffee percolator

and went to see what the post had left him this morning.

21

It did not appear to have left him anything very inte

ing. He sorted through the letters, a bill or two, a re< and letters with rather uninteresting postmarks. He shu

them together and placed them on the table where s

mail was already lying, accumulating from the last

days. He'd have to get down to things soon, he suppo^ His secretary would be coming in some time or other ;

afternoon.

He went back to the kitchen, poured coffee into a cup

and brought it to the table. He picked up the two or three

letters that he had opened late last night when he arrived. One of them he referred to, and smiled a little as he read it.

'Eleven-thirty,' he said. 'Quite a suitable time. I woncer

now. I expect I'd better just think things over, and get ; re- pared for Chetwynd.'

Somebody pushed something through the letter-box. Ha went out into the hall and got the morning paper. Thera was very little news in the paper. A political crisis, an ite;i;i

of foreign news- which might have been disquieting, but

he didn't think it was. It was merely a journalist letting .':;! steam and trying to make things rather more import a :'ii than they were. Must give the people something to re^d.

A girl had been strangled in the park. Girls were alw--:,s

being strangled. One a day, he thought callously. No cr^id

had been kidnapped or raped this morning. That was a \^'x surprise. He made himself a piece of toast and drank .-'s

coffee.

Later, he went out of the building, down into the street,

and walked through the park in the direction of Whiteh; i

He was smiling to himself. Life, he felt, was rather go J

this morning. He began to think about Chetwynd. Ci. :

wynd was a silly fool if there ever was one. A good fa9a :'.

important-seeming, and a nicely suspicious mind. He'd ra; "

enjoy talking to Chetwynd.

He reached Whitehall a comfortable seven minutes \'. That was only due to his own importance compared v a

that of Chetwynd, he thought. He walked into the roi

Chetwynd was sitting behind his desk and had a lot i

papers on it and a secretary there. He was looking prop ^ important, as he always did when he could make it.

'Hullo, Nye,' said Chetwynd, smiling all over his

pressively handsome face. 'Glad to be back? How - ^ Malaya?'

'Hot,' said Stafford Nye.

'Yes. Well, I suppose it always is. You meant atmospherically.

I suppose, not politically?'

'Oh, purely atmospherically,' said Stafford Nyei

He accepted a cigarette and sat down.

Get any results to speak of?'

'Oh, hardly. Not what you'd call results. I've sent in my

report. All a lot of talky-talky as usual. How's Lazenby?'

'Oh, a nuisance as he always is. He'll never change,' said

Chetwynd.

'No, that would seem too much to hope for. I haven't

served on anything with Bascombe before. He can be quite

fun when he likes.'

'Can he? I don't know him very well Yes. I suppose he

can.'

'Well, well, well. No other news, I suppose?'

'No, nothing. Nothing I think that would interest you.*

'You didn't mention in your letter quite why you wanted

to see me.'

'Oh, just to go over a few things, that's all. You know,

in case you'd brought any special dope home with you.

Anything we ought to be prepared for, you know. Questions

in the House. Anything like that'

'Yes, of course.'

'Came home by air, didn't you? Had a bit of trouble, I

gather.'

Stafford Nye put on the face he had been determined to

put on beforehand. It was slightly rueful, with a faint tinge

of annoyance.

*0h, so you heard about that, did you?' he said. 'Silly

business.'

'Yes. Yes, must have been.'

'Extraordinary,' said Stafford Nye, 'how things always get

into the press. There was a paragraph in the stop press this

morning.'

'You'd rather they wouldn't have, I suppose?' ''Well, makes me look a bit of an ass, doesn't it?' said

Stafford Nye. 'Got to admit it. At my age too!'

'What happened exactly? I wondered if the report in the

paper had been exaggerating.'

'Well, I suppose they made the most of it, that's all. You

know what these journeys are. Damn boring. There was

fog at Geneva so they had to re-route the plane. Then

there was two hours' delay at Frankfurt.'

'Is that when it happened?'

; 23

'Yes. One's bored' stiff in these airports. Planes comin

planes going. Tannoy going full steam ahead. Flight 3(

leaving for Hong Kong, Flight 109 going to Ireland. Tfc

that and the other. People getting up, people leaving. Ai

you just sit there yawning.'

'What happened exactly?' said Chetwynd.

'Well, I'd got a drink in front of me, Pilsner as a matt

of fact, then I thought I'd got to get something else to rea

I'd read everything I'd got with me so I went over to tl

counter and bought some wretched paperback or other:

Detective story, I think it was, and I bought a woolly

animal for one of my nieces. Then I came back, finism i

my drink, opened my paperback and then I went to sleep '

'Yes, I see. You went to sleep.'

'Well, a very natural thing to do, isn't it? I suppose the called my flight but if they did I didn't hear it. I didn :

hear it apparently for the best of reasons. I'm capable <;

going to sleep in an airport any time but I'm also capab

of hearing an announcement that concerns me. This tin :. I didn't. When I woke up, or came to, however you lil<',

to put it, I was having a bit of medical attention. Somi

body apparently had dropped a Mickey Finn or somethini- or other in my drink. Must have done it when I was away

getting the paperback.'

'Rather an extraordinary things to happen, wasn't it'/'

said Chetwynd.

'Well, it's never happened to me before,' said Stafford

Nye. 'I hope it never will again. It makes you feel an awfi;;

fool, you know. Besides having a hangover. There was s doctor and some nurse creature, or something. Anyway.

there was no great harm done apparently. My wallet ha":

been pinched with some money in it and my passport. It we;

awkward of course. Fortunately, I hadn't got much money

My travellers' cheques were in an inner pocket. There alway- has to be a bit of red tape and all that if you lose yol;

passport. Anyway, I had letters and things and identificatio':

was not difficult. And in due course things were, square.

up and I resumed my flight.'

'Still, very annoying for you,' said Chetwynd. 'A perso of

your status, I mean.' His tone was disapproving.

'Yes,' said Stafford Nye. 'It doesn't show me in a ver

good light, does it? I mean, not as bright as a fellow c

my--er--status ought to be.' The idea seemed to amuse him

'Does this often happen, did you find out?'

*I don't think it's a matter of general occurrence. It coul

24

be. I suppose any person with a pick-pocket trend could

notice a fellow asleep and slip a hand into a pocket, and

if he's accomplished in his profession, get hold of a wallet

or a pocket-book or something like that, and hope for some

luck.'

'Pretty awkward to lose a passport.'

'Yes, I shall have to put in for another one now. Make a lot of explanations, I suppose. As I say, the whole thing's

a damn silly business. And let's face it, Chetwynd, it doesn't

show me in a very favourable light, does it?'

'Oh, not your fault, my dear boy, not your fault. It could

happen to anybody, anybody at all.'

'Very nice of you to say so,' said Stafford Nye, smiling at

him agreeably. 'Teach me a sharp lesson, won't it?'

'You don't think anyone wanted your passport specially?'

I shouldn't think so,' said Stafford Nye. 'Why should they

want my passport. Unless it was a matter of someone who

wished to annoy me and that hardly seems likely. Or somebody

who took a fancy to my passport photo--and that seems

even less likely!'

'Did you see anyone you knew at this--where did you

say you were--Frankfurt?'

'No, no. Nobody at all.'

Talk to anyone?'

'Not particularly. Said something to a nice fat woman

who'd got a small child she was trying to amuse. Came

from Wigan, I think. Going to Australia. Don't remember

anybody else.'

'You're sure?'

There was some woman or other who wanted to know

what she did if she wanted to study archaeology in Egypt.

Said I didn't know anything about that. I told her she'd

better go and ask the British Museum. And I had a word

or two with a man' who I think was an anti-vivisectionist.

Very passionate about it.'

'One always feels,' said Chetwynd, 'that there might be

something behind things like this.'

Things like what?'

'Well, things like what happened to you.*

'I don't see what can be behind this,' said Sir Stafford.

'I daresay journalists could make up some story, they're

so clever at that sort of thing. Still, it's a silly business. For

goodness' sake, let's forget it.'I suppose now it's been mentioned

in the press, all my friends will start asking me about

it. How's old Leyland? What's he up to nowadays? I heard

25

one or two things about him out there. Leyland always ta ? a bit too much,'

The two men talked amiable shop for ten minutes or

then Sir Stafford got up and went out.

'I've got a lot of things to do this morning,' he said. 'P

sents to buy for my relations. The trouble is that if one gi ._

to Malaya, all one's relations expect you to bring excre

presents to them. I'll go round to Liberty's, I think. Thay

have a nice stock of Eastern goods there.'

He went out cheerfully, nodding to a couple of men s;a

knew in the corridor outside. After he had gone, Chetwy:ij

spoke through the telephone to his secretary.

'Ask Colonel Munro if he can come to me.'

Colonel Munro came in, bringing another tall middle- aged man with him.

'Don't know whether you know Horsham,' he said, in

Security.'

Think I've met you,' said Chetwynd.

'Nye's just left you, hasn't he?' said Colonel Munro. 'Ar ything

in this story about Frankfurt? Anything, I mean, tl.a.t

we ought to take any notice of?'

'Doesn't seem so,' said Chetwynd. 'He's a bit put c't

about it. Thinks it makes him look a silly ass. Which it doe:;,

of course.'

The man called Horsham nodded his head.- That's the way he takes it, is it?'

'Well, he tried, to put a good face upon it,' said Chetwyr, '.

'All the same, you know,' said Horsham, 'he's not really a

silly ass, is he?'

Chetwynd shrugged his shoulders. These things nappe" '

he said.

'I know,' said Colonel Munro, 'yes, yes, I know. All t^s same, well, I've always felt in some ways that Nye is a ' 't

unpredictable. That in some ways, you know, he mighfc i

be really sound in his views.'

The man called Horsham spoke. 'Nothing against bin

he said. 'Nothing at all as far as we know.'

'Oh, I didn't mean there was. I didn't mean that at a" '

said Chetwynd. 'It's just--how shall I put it?--he's d

always very serious about things.'

Mr Horsham had a moustache. He found it useful

have a moustache. It concealed moments when he found

difficult to avoid smiling.

'He's not a stupid man,' said Munro. 'Got brains, y< 26

know. You don't think that--well, I mean you don't think

there could be anything at all doubtful about this?'

'On his part? It doesn't seem so.'

'You've been into it all, Horsham?'

'Well, we haven't had very much time yet. But as far

as it goes it's all right. But his passport was used.'

'Used? In what way?'

^It passed through Heathrow.'

You mean someone represented himself as SSr Stafford

Nye?'

'No, no,' said Horsham, 'not in so many words. We could

hardly hope for that. It went through with other passports.

There was no alarm out, you know. He hadn't even woken

up, I gather, at that time, from the dope or whatever it was

he was given. He was still at Frankfurt.'

'But someone could have stolen that passport and come on the plane and so got into England?'

'Yes,' said Munro, 'that's the presumption. Either someone

took a wallet which had money in it and a passport, or

else someone wanted a passport and settled on Sir Stafford

Nye as a convenient person to take it from. A drink was

waiting on a table, put a pinch in that, wait till the man went

off to sleep, take the passport and chance it.'

'But after all, they look at a passport. Must have seen it

wasn't the right man,' said Chetwynd.

'Well, there must have been a certain resemblance, certainly,'

said Horsham. 'But it isn't as though there was any

notice of his being missing, any special attention drawn to

that particular passport in any way. A large crowd comes

through on a plane that's overdue. A man looks reasonably

like the photograph in his passport. That's all. Brief glance,

handed back, pass it on. Anyway what they're looking for

usually is the foreigners that are coming in, not the British lot.

Dark hair, dark blue eyes, clean shaven, five foot ten or whatever

it is. That's about all you want to see. Not on a list of

undesirable aliens or anything like that.'

'I know, I know. Still, you'd say if anybody wanted merely

to pinch a wallet or some money or that, they wouldn't

use the passport, would they. Too much risk.'

'Yes,' said Horsham. 'Yes, that is the interesting part of

it. Of course,' he said, 'we're making investigations, asking a

few questions here and there.'

'And what's your own opinion?'

'I wouldn't like to say yet,' said Horsham. 'It takes a little

time, you know. One can't hurry things'

27

'They're all the same,' said Colonel Munro, when H< sham had left the room. 'They never will tell you anytnii

those damned security people. If they think they're on t

trail of anything, they won't admit it.'

'Well, that's natural,' said Chetwynd, 'because they mig be wrong.'

It seemed a typically political view.

'Horsham's a pretty good man,' said Munro. They thi

very highly of him at headquarters. He's not likely to

wrong.'

Chapter 3

THE MAN FROM THE CLEANERS

Sir Stafford Nye returned to his flat. A large woman bounced

out of the small kitchen with welcoming words.

'See you got back all right, sir. Those nasty planes. Yru

never know, do you?'

'Quite true, Mrs Worrit,' said Sir Stafford Nye. Two how late, the plane was.'

'Same as cars, aren't they,' said Mrs Worrit. 'I mea

you never know, do you, what's going to go wrong wi..« them. Only it's more worrying, so to speak, being up in t;e

air, isn't it? Can't just draw up to the kerb, not the sane

way, can you? I mean, there you are. I wouldn't go by one

myself, not if it was ever so.' She went on, 'I've ordered ;n

a few things. I hope that's all right. Eggs, butter, cofft:, tea--' She ran off the words with the loquacity of a Ne '"

Eastern guide showing a Pharaoh's palace. There,' said M''s

Worrit, pausing-to take breath, 'I think that's all as you're

likely to want. I've ordered the French mustard.'

'Not Dijon, is it? They always try and give you Dijoi

''I don't know who he was, but it's Esther Dragon, ti

one you like, isn't it?'

"Quite right,' said Sir Stafford, 'you're a wonder.'

Mrs Worrit looked pleased. She retired into the kitchi

again, as Sir Stafford Nye put his hand on his bedroom do

handle preparatory to going into the bedroom.

'All right to give your clothes to the gentleman wh i called for them, I suppose, sir? You hadn't said or left we

or anything like that.'

'What clothes?' said Sir Stafford Nye, pausing. 28

'Two suits, it was, the gentleman said as called for them.

Twiss and Bonywork it was, think that's the same name as

called before. We'd had a bit of a dispute with the White

Swan Laundry if I remember rightly.'

•Two suits?' said Sir Stanford Nye. 'Which suits?'

'Well, there was the one you travelled home in, sir. I

made out that would be one of them. I wasn't quite so

sure at it the other, but there was the blue pinstripe that

you d' ; 't leave no orders about when you went away. It

could : i with cleaning, and there was a repair wanted

doing •' the right-hand cuff, but I didn't like to take it on

myseh hile you were away. I never likes to do that,' said

Mrs W.--rit with an air of palpable virtue.

'So ; -•;; chap, whoever he was, took those suits away?'

'I h. ,e I didn't do wrong, sir.' Mrs Worrit became

worried.

'I don't mind the blue pinstripe. I daresay it's all for the

best. The suit I came home in, well—'

'It's a bit thin, that suit, sir, for this time of year, you

know, sir. All right for those parts as you've been in where *

it's hot. And it could do with a clean. He said as you'd

rung up about them. That's what the gentleman said as

called for them.'

'Did he go into my room and pick them out himself?'

'Yes, sir. I thought that was best.'

'Very interesting,' said Sir Stafford. 'Yes, very interesting.'

He went into his bedroom and looked round it. It was

neat and tidy. The bed was made, the hand of Mrs Worrit

was apparent, his electric razor was on charge, the things

on the dressing-table were neatly arranged.

He went to the wardrobe and looked inside. He looked

in the drawers of the tallboy that stood against the wall

near the window. It was all quite tidy. It was tidier indeed

than it should have been. He had done a little unpacking

last night and what little he had done had been of a cursory

nature. He had thrown underclothing and various odds

and ends in the appropriate drawer but he had not arranged

them neatly. He would have done that himself either today

or tomorrow. He would not have expected Mrs Worrit to do it

for him. He expected her merely to keep things as she found

them. Then, when he came back from abroad, there would be

a time for rearrangements and readjustments because of

climate and other matters. So someone had looked round here,

^onieone had taken out drawers, looked through them quickly,

^""rriedly, had replaced things, partly because of his hurry,

29

more tidily and neatly than he should have done. A qui

careful job and he had gone away with two suits Sand ;

plausible explanation. One suit obviously worn by Sir Staso ;

when travelling and a suit of thin material which might ha ..

been one taken abroad and brought home. So why?

'Because,' said Sir Stafford thoughtfully, to himself, b \ cause somebody was looking for something. But what? Ar

who? And also perhaps why?' Yes, it was interesting.

He sat down in a chair and thought about it. Present

his eyes strayed to the table by the bed on which se

rather pertly, a small furry panda. It started a train i

thought. He went to the telephone and rang a number.

That'you. Aunt Matilda?' he said. 'Stafford here.'

'Ah, my dear boy, so you're back. I'm so glad. I read

the paper they'd got cholera in Malaya yesterday, at lea

I think it was Malaya. I always get so mixed up with tho

places. I hope you're coming to see me soon? Don't pretend

you're busy. You can't be busy all the time. One reaFv

only accepts that sort of thing from tycoons, people

industry, you know, in the middle of mergers and tsk

overs. I never know what it all really means. It uscl mean doing your work properly but now it means it'-Rgs

all tied up with atom bombs and factories in concrete, a'd

Aunt Matilda, rather wildly. 'And those terrible comp"'*:

that get all one's figures wrong, to say nothing of m&' i

them the wrong shape. Really, they have made lif& so dsi

cult for us nowadays. You wouldn't believe the things they'

done to my bank account. And to my postal address to

Well, I suppose I've lived too long.'

'Don't you believe it! All right if I come down next week

'Come down tomorrow if you like. I've got the vic<i

coming to dinner, but I can easily put him off.'

'Oh, look here, no need to do that.'

'Yes there is, every need. He's a most irritating man ai

he wants a new organ too. This one does quite well as it

I mean the trouble is with the organist, really, not the orga

An absolutely abominable musician. The vicar's sorry for hi

because he lost his mother whom he was very fond of. B

really, being fond of your mother doesn't make you play t '

organ any better, does it? I mean, one has to look at thin

as they are.'

'Quite right. It will have to be next week--I've got a

few things to see to. How's Sybil?'

'Dear child! Very naughty but such fun.'

'I brought her home a woolly panda,' said Sir Stafford

Nye.

'We,'; that was very nice of you, dear.'

'I Sic; I she'll like it,' said Sir Stafford, catching the panda's

eye and feeling slightly nervous.

'Well, at any rate, she's got very good manners,' said

Aunt Matilda, which seemed a somewhat doubtful answer,

the meaning of which Sir Stafford did not quite appreciate.

Aunt Matilda suggested likely trains for next week with

the warning that they very often did not run, or changed

their plans, and also commanded that he should bring her

down a Camembert cheese and half a Stilton.

'Impossible to get anything down here now. Our own

grocer--such a nice man, so thoughtful and such good taste

in what we all liked--turned suddenly into a supermarket,

six times the size, all rebuilt, baskets and wire trays to

carry round and try to fill up with things you don't want

and mothers always losing their babies, and crying and having

hysterics. Most exhausting. Well, I'll be expecting you, deaf- boy.' She rang off.

The telephone rang again at once.

'Hullo? Stafford? Eric Pugh here. Heard you were back

from Malaya--what about dining tonight?'

'Like to very much.'

'Good--Limpits Club--eight-fifteen?'

Mrs Worrit panted into the room as Sir Stafford replaced

the receiver.

'A gentleman downstairs wanting to see you, sir,' she

said. 'At least I mean, I suppose he's that. Anyway he said

he was sure you wouldn't mind.'

'What's his name?'

'Horsham, sir, like the place on the way to Brighton.'

'Horsham.' Sir Stafford Nye was a little surprised.

He went out of his bedroom, down a half flight of stairs

that led to the big sitting-room on the lower floor. Mrs

Worrit had made no mistake. Horsham it was, looking as

he had looked half an hour ago, stalwart, trustworthy, cleft

chin, rubicund cheeks, bushy grey moustache and a general

air of imperturbability.

'^Hope you don't mind,' he said agreeably, rising to his feet

Hope I don't mind what?' said Sir Stafford Nye.

'Seeing me again so soon. We met in the passage outside

Mr Gordon Chetwynd's door--if you remember?'

'No objections at all,' said Sir Stafford Nye,

! 31

He pushed a cigarette-box along the table.

'Sit down. Something forgotten, something left unsaid?'

'Very nice man, Mr Chetwynd,' said Horsham. 'We've gc

him quietened down, I think. He and Colonel Munro. They'r

a bit upset about it all, you know. About you, I mean.'

'Really?'

Sir Stafford Nye sat down too. He smiled, he smokec and he looked thoughtfully at Henry Horsham. 'And wher

do we go from here?' he asked.

'I was just wondering if I might ask, without undue curie

sity, where you're going from here?'

'Delighted to tell you,' said Sir Stafford Nye. I'm goin

to stay with an aunt of mine. Lady Matilda Cleckheatoi 111 give you the address if you like.'

'I know it,' said Henry Horsham. 'Well, I expect that

a very good idea. She'll be glad to see you've come horn safely all right. Might have been a near thing, mightn't it'i

Is that what Colonel Munro thinks and Mr Chetwynd?'.

'Well, you know what it is, sir,' said Horsham. 'Yo

know well enough. They're always in a state, gentlemen i

that department. They're not sure whether they trust yo

or not.'

'Trust me?' said Sir Stafford Nye in an offended void

"What do you mean by that, Mr Horsham?'

Mr Horsham was not taken aback. He merely grinnec

'You see,' he said, 'you've got a reputation for not takin things seriously.'

'Oh. I thought you meant I was a fellow traveller or

convert to the wrong side. Something of that kind.'

'Oh no, sir, they just don't think you're serious. They thin

you like having a bit of a joke now and again.'

'One cannot go entirely through life taking oneself and

Other people,'seriously,' said Sir Stafford Nye, disapprovingly.

- 'No. But you took ~a pretty good risk, as I've said before.

didn't you?'

'I wonder if I know in the least what you are talkie about.'

TO tell you. Things go wrong, sir, sometimes, and the

don't always go wrong because people have made ther

go wrong. What you might call the Almighty takes a ham or the other gentleman--the one with the tail, I mean,'

Sir Stafford Nye was slightly diverted.

'Are you referring to fog at Geneva?' he said.

'Exactly, sir. There was fog at Geneva and that upsf

people's plans. Somebody was in a nasty hole.* 32

Tell me all about it,' said Sir Stafford Nye. 'I really would like to know.'

'Well, a passenger was missing when that plane of yours

left Frankfurt yesterday. You'd drunk your beer and you

were sitting in a corner snoring nicely and comfortably by

yourself. One passenger didn't report and they called her and

they called her again. In the end, presumably, the plane left

without her.'

'Ah. And what had happened to her?'

It would be interesting to know. In any case, your passport

arrived at Heathrow even if you didn't.'

'And where is it now? Am I supposed to have got it?'

'No. I don't think so. That would be rather too quick

work. Good reliable stuff, that dope. Just right, if I may

say so. It put you out and it didn't produce any particularly

bad effects.'

'It gave me a very nasty hangover,' said Sir Stafford.

'Ah well, you can't avoid that. Not in the circumstances.' 'What would have happened,' Sir Stafford asked, 'since

you seem to know all about everything, if I had refused to

accept the proposition that may--I will only say may--

have been put up to me?'

It's quite possible that it would have been curtains for

'Mary Arm.'

Mary Arm? Who's Mary Arm?'

'Miss Daphne Theodofanous.'

That's the name I do seem to have heard--being summoned

as a missing traveller?'

'Yes, that's the name she was travelling under. We call her

Mary Arm.'

"Who is she--Just as a matter of interest?'

'In her own line she's more or less the tops.'

'And what is her line? Is she ours or is she theirs, if you

know who "theirs" is? I must say I find a little difficulty

myself when making my mind up about that.'

'Yes, it's not so easy, is it? What with the Chinese and

the Russkies and the rather queer crowd that's behind all

the student troubles and the New Mafia and the rather odd

lot in South America. And the nice little nest of financiers

who seem to have;got something funny up their sleeves. Yes,

it's not easy to say.'

'Mary Arm,' said Sir Stafford Nye thoughtfully. 'It seems

a curious name to have for her if her real one is Daphne

Theodofanous.'

f-t-p. 33 b

Well, her mother's Greek, her father was an Englistum

and her grandfather was an Austrian subject.'

'What would have happened if I hadn't made her e loan

of a certain garment?'

'She might have been killed.'

'Come, come. Not really?'

'We're worried about the airport at Heathrow. Thi .;s

have happened there lately, things that need a bit of -

plaining. If the plane had gone via Geneva as planned, it

would have been all right. She'd have had full protection

all arranged. But this other way--there wouldn't have

been time to arrange anything and you don't know who's

who always, nowadays. Everyone's playing a double game

or a treble or a quadruple one.'

'You alarm me,' said Sir Stafford Nye. 'But she's all right, is she? Is that what you're telling me?'

'I hope she's all right. We haven't heard anything to the

contrary.'

'If it's any help to you,' said Sir Stafford Nye, 'somebody

called here this morning while I was out talking to my little

pals in Whitehall. He represented that I telephoned a firm

of cleaners and he removed the suit that I wore yesterday,

and also another suit. Of course it may have been merely

that he took a fancy to the other suit, or he may have made

a practice of collecting various gentlemen's suitings who have

recently returned from abroad. Or--well, perhaps you've got

an "or" to add?'

'He might have been looking for something.'

'Yes, I think he was. Somebody's been looking for something.

All very nice and tidily arranged again. Not the way

I left it. All right, he was looking for something. What va.i he looking for?'

'I'm not sure myself,' said Horsham, slowly. 'I wish I

was. There^s something going on--somewhere. There ar' bits of it sticking out, you know, like a badly done up

parcel. You get a peep here and a peep there. One moment

you think it's going on at the Bayreuth Festival and the

next minute you think it's tucking out of a South American

estancia and then you get a bit of a lead in the USA. There's

a lot of nasty business going on in different places, working up

to something. Maybe politics, maybe something quite different

from politics. It's probably money.' He added: 'You kw^ Mr Robinson, don't you? Or rather Mr Robinson knows you,

I think he said.'

'Robinson?' Sir Stafford Nye considered. 'Robinson, cs 34

English name.' He looked across to Horsham. 'Large, yellow

face?' he said. 'Fat? Finger in financial pies generally?'

He asked: 'Is he, too, on the side of the angels--is that what

you're telling me?'

'I don't know about angels,' said Henry Horsham. 'He's pullsd us out of a hole in this country more than once.

people like Mr Chetwynd don't go for him much. Think

he's too expensive, I suppose. Inclined to be a mean man,

Mr Chetwynd. A great one for making enemies in the wrong

place.'

'One used to say "Poor but honest",' said Sir Stafford

Nye thoughtfully. 'I take it that you would put it differently.

You would describe our Mr Robinson as expensive but

honest. Or shall we put it, honest but expensive.' He sighed.

'I wish you could tell me what all this is about,' he said

plaintively. 'Here I seem to be mixed up in something and

no idea what it is.' He looked at Henry Horsham hopefully,

but Horsham shook his head.

'None of us knows. Not exactly,' he said.

'What am I supposed to have got hidden here that someone

i comes fiddling and looking for?'

'Frankly, I haven't the least idea. Sir Stafford.'

'Well, that's a pity because I haven't either."

'As far as you know you haven't got anything. Nobody

gave you anything to keep, to take anywhere, to look after?'

'Nothing whatsoever. If you mean Mary Arm, she said

she wanted her life saved, that's all.'

'And unless there's a paragraph in the evening papers, you have saved her life.'

'It seems rather the end of the chapter, doesn't It? A

pity. My curiosity is rising. I find I want to know very

much what's going to happen next. All you people seem

very pessimistic.'

'Frankly, we are. Things are going badly in this country.

Can you wonder?'

'I know what you mean. I sometimes wonder myself--'

35

Chapter 4 DINNER WITH ERIC

'Do you mind if I tell you something, old man?' said Eric

Pugh.

Sir Stafford Nye looked at him. He had known Eric Pugh

for a good many years. They had not been close friends.

Old Eric, or so Sir Stafford thought, was rather a boring

friend. He was, on the other hand, faithful. And he was

the type of man who, though not amusing, had a knack of

knowing things. People said things to him and he remembered

what they said and stored them up. Sometimes he could

push out a useful bit of information.

'Come back from that Malay Conference, haven't you?'

Yes,' said Sir Stafford.

'Anything particular turn up there?'

'Just the usual,' said Sir Stafford.

'Oh. I wondered if something had--well, you know what

I mean. Anything had occurred to put the cat among the

pigeons.'

'What, at the Conference? No, just painfully predictable.

Everyone said just what you thought they'd say only they

said it unfortunately at rather greater length than you could

have imagined possible. I don't know why I go on these things.'

Eric Pugh made a rather tedious remark or two as to

what the Chinese were really up to.

'I don't think they're really up to anything,' said Sir Stafford.

'All the usual rumours, you know, about the diseases poor

old Mao has got and who's intriguing against him and why.'

'And what about the Arab-Israeli business?'

That's proceeding according to plan also. Their plan,

that is to say. And anyway, what's that got to do with

Malaya?'

'Well, I didn't really mean so much Malaya.'

'You're looking rather like the Mock Turtle,' said S.r

Stafford Nye. ' "Soup of the evening, beautiful soup." Wherefore

this gloom?'

'Well, I just wondered if you'd--you'll forgive me, woe r you?--I mean you haven't done anything to blot your

copybook, have you, in any way?'

The?' said Sir Stafford, looking highly surprised.

'Well, you know what you're like. Staff. You like giving

people a jolt sometimes, don't you?'

36

I have behaved impeccably of late,' said Sir Stafford.

'What have you been hearing about me?'

'I hear there was some trouble about something that happened

in a plane on your way home.' 'Oh? Who did you hear that from?'

'Well, you know, I saw old Cartison.' < 'Terrible old bore. Always imagining things that haven't ^happened.'

'Yes, I know. I know he is like that. But he was just saying that somebody or other--Winter-ton, at least--seemed

to think you'd been up to something.'

'Up to something? I wish I had,' said Sir Stafford Nye.

There's some espionage racket going on somewhere and .he got a bit worried about certain people.'

'What do they think I am--another Philby, something of

, that kind?'

'You know you're very unwise sometimes in the things you

say, the things you make jokes about.'

It's very hard to resist sometimes,' his friend told him. 'All

these politicians and diplomats and the rest of them. They're

so bloody solemn. You'd like to give them a bit of a stir up

now and again.'

' >''Your sense of fun is very distorted, my boy. It really is.

I worry about you sometimes. They wanted to ask you some (questions about something that happened on the flight back

and they seem to think that you didn't, well--that perhaps

you didn't exactly speak the truth about it all.'

'Ah, that's what they think, is it? Interesting. I think I

must work that up a bit.'

I'Now don't do anything rash.' 'I must have my moments of fun sometimes.'

'Look here, old fellow, you don't want to go and ruin

your career just by indulging your sense of humour.'

'I am quickly coming to the conclusion that there is nothing

so boring as having a career.'

'I know, I know. You are always inclined to take that

point of view, and you haven't got on as far as you ought

to have, you know. You were in the running for Vienna at

one time. I don't like to see you-muck up things.'

'I am behaving with the utmost sobriety and virtue, I

assure you,' said Sir Stafford Nye. He added, "Cheer up, Eric.

You're a good friend, but really, I'm not guilty of fun and games.'

Eric shook his head doubtfully.

It was a fine evening. Sir Stafford walked home across

37

Ifs--1

Green Park. As he crossed the road in Birdcage Walk, a

car leaping down the street missed him by a few inches.

Sir Stafford was an athletic man. His leap took him safely

on to the pavement. The car disappeared down the street.

He wondered. Just for a moment he could have sworn that

that car had deliberately tried tOy run him down. An interesting

thought. First his flat had been searched, and

now "he himself might have been marked down. Probably

a mere coincidence. And yet, in the course of his life,

some of which had been spent in wild neighbourhoods and

places. Sir Stafford Nye had come in contact with danger.

He knew, as it were, the touch and feel and smell of danger.

He felt it now. Someone, somewhere was gunning for him.

But why? For what reason? As far as he knew, he had not

stuck his neck out in any way. He wondered.

He let himself into his flat and picked up the mail that

lay on the floor inside. Nothing much. A couple of bi:.

and copy of Lifeboat periodical. He threw the bills on ' :i his desk and put a finger through the wrapper of Lifehoi .

It was a cause to which he occasionally contributed. I;? turned the pages without much attention because he vr.s still absorbed in what he was thinking. Then he stopped

the action of his fingers abruptly. Something was taped

between two of the pages. Taped with adhesive tape. He

looked at it closely. It was his passport returned to him

unexpectedly in this fashion. He tore it free and looked at

it. The last stamp on it was the arrival stamp at Heathrow

the day before. She had used his passport, getting back here

safely, and had chosen this way to return it to him. Where

was she now? He would like to know.

He wondered if he would ever see her again. Who was

she? Where had she gone, and why? It was like waiting

for the second act of a play. Indeed, he felt the first act

had hardly been played yet. What had he seen? An oldfashioned

curtain-raiser, perhaps. A girl who had ridiculously

wanted to dress herself up and pass herself oif as of the

male sex, who had passed the passport control of Heathrow

without attracting suspicion of any kind to herself and who

had now disappeared through that gateway into London.

No, he would probably never see her again. It annoyed him.

But why, he thought, why do I want to? She wasn't particularly

attractive, she wasn't anything. No, that wasn't quite

true. She was something, or someone, or she could not have

induced him, with no particular persuasion, with no overt

sex stimulation, nothing except a plain demand for help, to

38

do what she wanted. A demand from one human being to

another human being because, or so she had intimated, not

precisely in words, but nevertheless it was what she had intimated,

she knew people and she recognized in him a man

who was willing to take a risk to help another human

being. And he had taken a risk, too, thought Sir Stafford

Nye. She could have put anything in that beer glass of his.

He could have been found, if she had so willed it, found as a

dead body in a seat tucked away in the corner of a departure

lounge in an airport. And if she had, as no doubt she must

have had, a knowledgeable recourse to drugs, his death might

have been passed off as an attack of heart trouble due to

altitude or difficult pressurizing--something or other like that.

Oh well, why think about it? He wasn't likely to see her

again and he was annoyed.

Yes, he was annoyed, and he didn't like being annoyed.

He considered the matter for some minutes. Then he wrote

out an advertisement, to be repeated three times. 'Passenger to Frankfurt. November 3rd. Please communicate with fellow

traveller to London.' No more than that. Either she would

or she wouldn't. If it ever came to her eyes she would know

by whom that advertisement had been inserted. She had

had his passport, she knew his name. She could look him

up. He might hear from her. He might not. Probably not.

K not, the curtain-raiser would remain a curtain-raiser, a silly

Sttle play that received late-comers to the theatre and diverted

them until the real business of the evening began. Very .Useful in pre-war times. In all probability, though, he would

not hear from her again and one of the reasons might be

that she might have accomplished whatever it was she had

Erne to do in London, and have now left the country once

ore, flying abroad to Geneva, or the Middle East, or to

Russia or to China or to South America, or to the United ~ ates. And why, thought Sir Stafford, do I include South merica? There must be a reason. She had not mentioned >uth America. Nobody had mentioned South America.

scept Horsham, that was true. And even Horsham had only

entioned South America among a lot of other mentions.

On the following morning as he walked slowly homeward,

ter handing in his advertisement, along the pathway across

. James's Park his eye picked out, half unseeing, the autumn

lowers. The chrysanthemums looking by now stiff and leggy

''ith their button tops of gold and bronze. Their smell came

' him faintly, a rather goatlike smell, he had always thought,

smell that reminded hjm of hillsides in Greece. He must

39

remember to keep his eye on the Personal Column. Not yet.

Two or three days at least would have to pass before his own

advertisement was put in and before there had been time for

anyone to put in one in answer. He must not miss it if there

was an answer because, after all, it was irritating not to know

--not to have any idea what all this was about.

He tried to recall not the girl at the airport but his sister

Pamela's face. A long time since her death. He remembered

her. Of course he remembered her, but he could not somehow picture her face. It irritated him not to be able to do so.

He had paused just when he was about to cross one of the

roads. There was no traffic except for a car jigging slowly

along with the solemn demeanour of a bored dowager. An

elderly car, he thought. An old-fashioned Daimler limousine,

He shook his shoulders. Why stand here in this idiotic way,

lost in thought?

He took an abrupt step to cross the road and suddenly

with surprising vigour the dowager limousine, as he had

thought of it in his mind, accelerated. Accelerated with a 'sudden astonishing speed. It bore down on him with such

swiftness that he only just had time to leap across on to the

opposite pavement. It disappeared with a flash, turning

round the curve of the road further on.

'I wonder,' said Sir Stafford to himself. 'Now I wonder.

Could it be that there is someone that doesn't like me? Someone

following me, perhaps, watching me take my way home,

waiting for an opportunity?'

*

Colonel Pikeaway, his bulk sprawled out in^lis chair in the small room in Bloomsbury where he sat from ten to five

with a short interval for lunch, was surrounded as usual by an atmosphere of thick cigar smoke; with his eyes closed,

only an occasional blink showed that he was awake and

not asleep. He seldom raised his head. Somebody had said

that he looked like a cross between an ancient Buddha and

a large blue frog, with perhaps, as some impudent youngster , had added, just a touch of a bar sinister from a hippopotamus in his ancestry.

The gentle buzz of the intercom on his desk roused him.

He blinked three times and opened his eyes. He stretched

forth a rather weary-looking hand and picked up the receiver.

'Well?' he said.

His secretary's voice spoke.

The Minister is here waiting to see you.'

40

'Is he now?' said Colonel Pikeaway. 'And what Minister

is that? The Baptist minister from the church round the

corner?'

'Oh no. Colonel Pikeaway, it's Sir George Packham.'

'Pity,' said Colonel Pikeaway, breathing asthmatically. 'Great

pity. The Reverend McGill is far more amusing. There's a

splendid touch of hell fire about him.'

'Shall I bring him in. Colonel Pikeaway?'

1 suppose he will expect to be brought in at once. Under

Secretaries are far more touchy than Secretaries of State,'

said Colonel Pikeaway gloomily. 'All these Ministers insist

on coming in and having kittens all over the place.'

Sir George Packham was shown in. He coughed and

wheezed. Most people did. The windows of the small

room were tightly closed. Colonel Pikeaway reclined in his

chair, completely smothered in cigar ash. The atmosphere

was almost unbearable and the room was known in official

circles as the 'small cathouse'.

'Ah, my dear fellow,' said Sir George, speaking briskly

and cheerfully in a way that did not match his ascetic and

sad appearance. 'Quite a long time since we've met, I think.'

'Sit down, sit down do,' said Pikeaway. 'Have a cigar?'

Sir George shuddered slightly.

'No, thank you,' he said, 'no, thanks very much.'

He looked hard at the windows. Colonel Pikeaway did

not take the hint. Sir. George cleared his throat and coughed

again before saying:

g 'Er--I believe Horsham has been to see you.*

'Yes, Horsham's been and said his piece,' said Colonel' Pikeaway, slowly allowing his eyes to close again.

!'I thought it was the best way. I mean, that he should

call upon you here. It's most important that things shouldn't

get, round anywhere.'

'Ah,' said Colonel Pikeaway, 'but they will, won't they?'

'I beg your pardon?'

They will,' said Colonel Pikeaway.

'I don't know how much you--er--well, know about this

last business.'

'We know everything here,' said Colonel Pikeaway. 'That's

what we're for.'

'Oh--oh yes, yes certainly. About Sir S.N.--you know

who I mean?'

'Recently a passenger from Frankfurt,' said Colonel Pike- way.

'Most extraordinary business. Most extraordinary. One 41

wonders--one really does not know, one can't begin to

imagine . ..'

Colonel Pikeaway listened kindly.

'What is one to think?' pursued Sir George. 'Do you know

him personally?'

'I've come across him once or twice,' said Colonel Pikeaway.

'One

really cannot help wondering--'

Colonel Pikeaway subdued a yawn with some difficulty.

He was rather tired of Sir George's thinking, wondering,

and imagining. He had a poor opinion anyway of Sir George's

process of thought. A cautious man, a man who could be

relied upon to run his department in a cautious manner. Not

a man of'scintillating intellect. Perhaps, thought Colonel Pikeaway,

all the better for that. At any rate, those who think

and wonder and are not quite sure are reasonably safe in

the place where God and the electors have put them.

'One cannot quite forget,' continued Sir George, 'the disillusionment

we have suffered in the past.'

Colonel Pikeaway smiled kindly.

'Charleston, Conway and Courtland,' he said. 'Fully trusted,

vetted and approved of. All beginning with C, all crooked

as sin.'

'Sometimes I wonder if we can trust anyone,' said Sir George

unhappily.

'That's easy,' said Colonel Pikeaway, 'you can't.'

'Now take Stafford Nye,' said Sir George. 'Good family,

excellent family, knew his father, his grandfather.'

'Often a slip-up in the third generation,' said Colonel

Pikeaway.

The remark did not help Sir George.

'I cannot help doubting--I mean, sometimes he doesn't

really seem serious.'

'Took my two nieces to see the chateaux of the Loire when

I was a young man,' said Colonel Pikeaway unexpectedly.

'Man fishing on the bank. I had my fishing-rod with me, too.

He said to me, " Vous rfetes pas un pecheur s6rieux. Vous avez

des femmes avec voiis" '

'You mean you think Sir Stafford--?'

'No, no, never been mixed up with women much. Irony's

his trouble. Likes surprising people. He can't help liking to

score off people.'

'Well, that's not very satisfactory, is it?'

'Why not?' said Colonel Pikeaway. 'Liking a private joke

is much better than having some deal with a defector.'

42

'If one could feel that he was really sound. What would

you say—your personal opinion?'

, 'Sound as a bell,' said Colonel Pikeaway. 'If a bell is

sound. It makes a sound, but that's different, isn't it?' He

smiled kindly. 'Shouldn't worry, if I were you,' he said.

Sir Stafford Nye pushed aside his cup of coffee. He picked

up the newspaper, glancing over the headlines, then he turned

it carefully to the page which gave Personal advertisements.

He'd looked down that particular column for seven days

now. It was disappointing but not surprising. Why on earth

should he expect to find an answer? His eye went slowly

down miscellaneous' peculiarities which had always made

that- particular page rather fascinating in his eyes. They

were not so strictly personal. Half of them or even more

than half were disguised advertisements or offers of things for

sale or wanted for sale. They should perhaps have been put

under a different heading but they had found their way here

considering that they were more likely to catch the eye that

way. They included one or two of the hopeful variety.

'Young man who objects to hard work and who would

like an easy life would be glad to undertake a job that

would suit him.'

'Girl wants to travel to Cambodia. Refuses to look after

children.'

'Firearm used at Waterloo. What offers.'

'Glorious fun-fur coat. Must be sold immediately. Owner

going abroad.'

'Do you know Jenny Capstan? Her cakes are superb.

Come to 14 Lizzard Street, S.W.3.'

For a moment Stafford Nye's finger came to a stop. Jenny

Capstan. He liked the name. Was there any Lizzard Street?

He supposed so. He had never heard of it. With a sigh, the

finger went down the column and almost at once was arrested

once more.

'Passenger from Frankfurt, Thursday Nov. 11, Hungerford

Bridge 7.20.'

Thursday, November llth. That was—yes, that was today.

Sir Stafford Nye leaned back in his chair and drank more

coffee. He was excited, stimulated. Hungerford. Hungerford

Bridge. He got up and went into the kitchenette. Mrs Worrit

was cutting potatoes into strips and throwing them into a

large bowl of water. She looked up with some slight surprise.

"Anything you want, sir?'

43

^

'Yes,' said Sir Stafford Nye. 'If anyone said Hungerford

Bridge to you, where would you go?'

'Where should I go?' Mrs Worrit considered. 'You mean

if I wanted to go, do you?'

'We can proceed on that assumption.'

'Well, then, I suppose I'd go to Hungerford Bridge,

wouldn't I?'

'You mean you would go to Hungerford in Berkshire?'

Where is that?' said Mrs Worrit.

'Eight miles beyond Newbury.'

'I've heard of Newbury. My old man backed a horse

there last year. Did well, too.'

'So you'd go to Hungerford near Newbury?'

'No, of course I wouldn't,' said Mrs Worrit. 'Go all that

way--what for? I'd go to Hungerford Bridge, of course.'

'You mean--?'

'Well, it's near Charing Cross. You know where it is. Over

the Thames.'

'Yes,' said Sir Stafford Nye. 'Yes, I do know where it is

quite well. Thank you, Mrs Worrit.'

It had been, he felt, rather like tossing a penny heads or

tails. An advertisement in a morning paper in London meant

Hungerford Railway Bridge in London. Presumably therefore

that is what the advertiser meant, although about this particular

advertiser Sir Stafford Nye was not at all sure. Her

ideas, from the brief experience he had had of her, were

original ideas. They were not the normal responses to be

expected. But still, what else could one do. Besides, there

were probably other Hungerfords, and possibly they would

also have bridges, in various parts of England. But today,

well, today he would see.

It was a cold windy evening with occasional bursts of thin

misty rain. Sir Stafford Nye turned up the collar of his

mackintosh and plodded on. It was not the first time he had

gone across Hungerford Bridge, but it had never seemed

to him a walk to take for pleasure. Beneath him was the

river and crossing the bridge were large quantities of hurrying

figures like himself. Their mackintoshes pulled round

them, their hats pulled down and on the part of one and all

of them an earnest desire to get home and out of the wind

and rain as soon as possible. It would be, thought Sir Stafford Nye, very difficult to recognize anybody in this scurrying

crowd. 7.20. Not a good moment to choose for a rendezvous

of any kind. Perhaps it was Hungerford Bridge in Berkshire.

Anyway, it seemed very odd.

He plodded on. He kept an even pace, not overtaking

those ahead of him, pushing past those coming the opposite

way. He went fast enough not to be overtaken by the others

behind him, though it would be possible for them to do so

if they wanted to. A joke, perhaps, thought Stafford Nye.

Not quite his kind of joke, but someone else's.

And yet--not her brand of humour either, he would

have thought. Hurrying figures passed him again, pushing

him slightly aside. A woman in a mackintosh was coming

along, walking heavily. She collided with him, slipped, dropped

to her knees. He assisted her up.

All right?'

'Yes, thanks.'

She hurried on, but as she passed him, her wet hand, by

which he had held her as he pulled her to her feet, slipped

something into the palm of his hand, closing the fingers

over it. Then she was gone, vanishing behind him, mingling

with the crowd. Stafford Nye went on. He couldn't overtake

her. She did not wish to be overtaken, either. He hurried on

and his hand held something firmly. And so, at long last it

seemed, he came to the end of the bridge on the Surrey side.

A few minutes later he had turned into a small cafe and

sat there behind a table, ordering coffee. Then he looked

at what was in his hand. It was a very thin oilskin envelope.

Inside it was a cheap quality white envelope. That too he

opened. What was inside surprised him. It was a ticket.

A ticket for the Festival Hall for the following evening.

Chapter 5

WAGNERIAN MOTIF

Sir Stafford Nye adjusted himself more comfortably in his

seat and listened to the persistent hammering of the Nibelungen,

with which the programme began.

Though he enjoyed Wagnerian opera, Siegfried was by

Oo means his favourite of the operas composing the Ring. Rheingold and Gotterdammerung were his two preferences. the music of the young Siegfried, listening to the songs

the birds, had always for some strange reason irritated

45

him instead of filling him with melodic satisfaction. It might

have been because he went to a performance in Munich in

his young days which had displayed a magnificent tenor of

unfortunately over-magnificent proportions, and he had been

too young to divorce the joy of music from the visual joy of

seeing a young Siegfried that looked even passably young. The

fact of an outsized tenor rolling about on the ground in an

access of boyishness had revolted him. He was also not

particularly fond of birds and forest murmurs. No, give him

the Rhine Maidens every time, although in Munich even the

Rhine Maidens in those days had been of fairly solid proportions.

But that mattered less. Carried away by the melodic

flow of water and the joyous impersonal song, he had not

allowed visual appreciation to matter.

From time to time he looked about him casually. He had

taken his seat fairly early. It was a full house, as it usually

was. The intermission came. Sir Stafford rose and looked

about him. The seat beside his had remained empty. Someone

who was supposed to have arrived had not arrived.

Was that the answer, or was it merely a case of being excluded

because someone had arrived late, which practice still

held on the occasions when Wagnerian music was listened to.

He went out, strolled about, drank a cup of coffee, smoked

a cigarette, and returned when the summons came. This

time, as he drew near, he saw that the seat next to his was

filled. Immediately his excitement returned. He regained his

seat and sat down. Yes, it was the woman of the Frankfurt Air

Lounge. She did not look at him, she was looking straight

ahead. Her face in profile was as clean-cut and pure as he

remembered it. Her head turned slightly, and her eyes passed

over him but without recognition. So intent was that nonrecognition

that it was as good as a word spoken. This was a

meeting that was not to be acknowledged. Not now, at any

event. The lights began to dim. The woman beside him turned.

'Excuse me, could I look at your programme? I have

dropped mine, I'm afraid, coming to my seat.'

'Of course,' he said.

He handed over the programme and she took it from him.

She opened it, studied the items. The lights went lower.

The second half of the programme began. It started with the

overture to Lohengrin. At the end of it she handed back

the programme to him with a few words of thanks.

'Thank you so much. It was very kind of you.'

The next item was the Siegfried forest murmur music.

He consulted the programme she had returned to him. It

46

was then that he noticed something faintly pencilled at

the foot of a page. He did not attempt to read it now. Indeed,

the light would have not been sufficient. He merely

closed the programme and held it. He had not, he was

quite sure, written anything there himself. Not, that is, in

his own programme. She had, he thought, had her own

programme ready, folded perhaps in her handbag and had

already written some message ready to pass to him. Altogether,

it seemed to him, there was still that atmosphere of secrecy,

of danger. The meeting on Hungerford Bridge and the envelope

with the ticket forced into his hand. And now the silent

woman who sat beside him. /He glanced at her once or twice

with the quick, careless glance that one gives to a stranger

sitting next to one. She lolled back in her seat; her highnecked

dress was of dull black crepe, an antique torque of gold

encircled her neck. Her dark hair was cropped closely and

shaped to her head. She did not glance at him or return any

look. He wondered. Was there someone in the seats of the

Festival Hall watching her--or watching him? Noting whether

they looked or spoke to each other? Presumably there must he,

or there must be at least the possibility of such a thing.

She had answered his appeal in the newspaper advertisement.

Let that be enough for him. His curiosity was unimpaired,

but he did at least know now that Daphne Theodofanous

--alias Mary Ann--was here in London. There were possibilities

in the future of his learning more of what Was afoot. But the plan of campaign must be left to her. He must follow

her lead. As be had obeyed her in the airport, so he would

obey her now and--let him admit it--life had become suddenly

more interesting. This was better than the boring

conferences of his political life. Had a car really tried to

run him down the other night? He thought it had. Two

attempts--not only one. It was easy enough to imagine that

one was the target of assault, people drove so recklessly

nowadays that you could easily fancy malice aforethought

when it was not so. He folded his programme, did not look at

it again. The music came to its end. The woman next to him

spoke. She did not turn her head or appear to speak to him,

but she spoke aloud, with a little sigh between the words as

though she was communing with herself or possibly to her

neighbour on the other side.

The young Siegfried,' she said, and sighed again.

The programme ended with the March from Die Meister^nger. After enthusiastic applause, people began to leave

their seats. He waited to see if she would give him any lead,

47

but she did not. She gathered up her wrap, moved out of

the row of chairs, and with a slightly accelerated step, moved

along with other people and disappeared in the crowd.

Stafford Nye regained his car and drove home. Arrived

there, he spread out the Festival Hall programme on his

desk and examined it carefully, after putting the coffee to

percolate.

The programme was disappointing to say the least of it.

There did not appear to be any message inside. Only on

one page above the list of the items, were the pencil marks

that he had vaguely observed. But they were not words or

letters or even figures. They appeared to be merely a musical

notation. It was as though someone had scribbled a phrase

of music with a somewhat inadequate pencil. For a moment

it occurred to Stafford Nye there might perhaps be a secret

message he could bring out by applying heat. Rather gingerly,

and in a way rather ashamed of his melodramatic fancy, he

held it towards the bar of the electric fire but nothing resulted.

With a sigh he tossed the programme back on to the table.

But he 'felt justifiably annoyed. All this rigmarole, a rendezvous

on a windy and rainy bridge overlooking the river! Sitting

through a concert by the side of a woman of whom he

yearned to ask at least a dozen questions--and at the end of

it? Nothing! No further on. Still, she had met him. But why?

If she didn't want to speak to him, to make further arrangements

with him, why had she come at all?

His eyes passed idly across the room to his bookcase

which he reserved for various thrillers, works of detective

fiction and an occasional volume of science fiction; he shook

his head. -Fiction, he thought, was infinitely superior to

real life,' Dead bodies, mysterious telephone calls, beautiful

foreign spies in profusion! However, this particular elusive

lady might not have done with him yet. Next time, he thought,

he would make some arrangements of his own. Two could

play at the game that she was playing.

He pushed aside the programme and drank another cup

of coffee and went to the window. He had the programme

still in his hand. As he looked out towards the street below

his eyes fell back again on the open programme in his hand

and he hummed to himself, almost unconsciously. He had a

good ear for music and he could hum the notes that were

scrawled there quite easily. Vaguely they sounded familiar

as he hummed them. He increased his voice a little. What was

it now? Turn, turn, turn turn ti-tum. Turn. Turn. Yes, definitely

familiar.

48

He started opening his letters.

They were mostly uninteresting. A couple of invitations,

one from the American Embassy, one from Lady Athelhampton,

a Charity Variety performance which Royalty

would attend and for which it was suggested five guineas

would not be an exorbitant fee to obtain a seat. He threw

them aside lightly. He doubted very much whether he wished

to accept any of them. He decided that instead of remaining

in London he would without more ado go and see his Aunt

Matilda, as he had promised. He was fond of his Aunt Matilda

though he did not visit her very often. She lived in a rehabilitated

apartment consisting of a series of rooms in one

wing of a large Georgian manor house in the country which

she had inherited from his grandfather. She had a large,

beautifully proportioned sitting-room, a small oval diningroom,

a new kitchen made from the old housekeeper's room,

two bedrooms for guests, a large comfortable bedroom for

herself with an adjoining bathroom, and adequate quarters

for a patient companion who shared her daily life. The remains

of a faithful domestic staff were well provided for and housed.

The rest of the house remained under dust sheets with periodical

cleaning. Stafford Nye was fond of the place, having spent

holidays there as a boy. It had been a gay house then. His

eldest uncle had lived there with his wife and their two

children. Yes, it had been pleasant there then. There had been

money and a sufficient staff to run it. He had not specially

noticed in those days the portraits and pictures. There had

been large-sized examples of Victorian art occupying pride of

place--overcrowding the walls, but there had been other

masters of an older age. Yes, "there had been some good

portraits there. A Raebum, two Lawrences, a Gainsborough,

a Leiy, two rather dubious Vandykes. A couple of Turners,

too. Some of them had had to be sold to provide the family

with money. He still enjoyed when visiting there strolling about

and studying the family pictures.

His Aunt Matilda was a great chatterbox but she always

enjoyed his visits. He was fond of her in a desultory way,

but he was not quite sure why it was that he had suddenly

wanted to visit her now. And what it was that had brought

family portraits into his mind? Could it have been because

there was a portrait of his sister Pamela by one of the leading artists of the day twenty years ago. He would like to see "lat portrait of Pamela and look at it more closely. See how

close the resemblance had been between the stranger who

49

had disrupted his life in this really outrageous fashion an

his sister.

He picked up the Festival Hall programme again wi* some irritation and began to hum the pencilled notes. Tui

turn, ti turn--Then it came to him and he knew what it was It was the Siegfried motif. Siegfried's Horn. The youi

Siegfried motif. That was what the woman had said last nigh

Not apparently to him, not apparently to anybody. But :

had been the message, a message that would have mean nothing to anyone around since it would have seemed t

refer to the music that had just been played. And the moti

had been written on his programme also in musical termi

The Young Siegfried. It must have meant something. Wel

perhaps further enlightenment would come. The Youn

Siegfried. What the heU did that mean? Why and ho^ and when and what? Ridiculous! All those questioning words

He rang the telephone and obtained Aunt Matilda's numbel

'But of course, Staffy dear, it will be lovely to have yol

Take the four-thirty train, it still runs, you know, but i

gets here an hour and a half later. And it leaves Paddingto

later--five-fifteen. That's what they mean by improving th

railways, I suppose. Stops at several most absurd stations o

the way. All right. Horace will meet you at King's Marston

'He's still there then?'

'Of course he's still there.'

'I suppose he is,' said Sir Stafford Nye.

Horace, once a groom, then a coachman, had survive

as a chauffeur, and apparently was still surviving. 'He mus

be at least eighty,' said Sir Stafford. He smiled to bimsell

Chapter 6

PORTRAIT OF A LADY

'You look very nice and brown, dear,' said Aunt Matild

surveying him appreciatively. 'That's Malaya, I suppose. I it was Malaya you went to? Or was it Siam or Thailand

They change the names of all these places and really i

makes it very difficult. Anyway, it wasn't Vietnam, wa

it? You know, I don't like the sound of Vietnam at al It's all very confusing. North Vietnam and South Vietnar

and the Viet-Cong and the Viet--whatever the other thin is and all wanting to fight each other and nobody wantin

50

to stop. They won't go to Paris or wherever it is and sit

round tables and talk sensibly. Don't you think really, dear

--'I've been thinking it over and I thought it would be a

very nice solution--couldn't you make a lot of football

fields and then they could all go and fight each other there,

but with less lethal weapons. Not that nasty palm burning

stuff. You know. Just hit each other and punch each other

and all that. They'd enjoy it, everyone would enjoy it and

you could charge admission for people to go and see them

do it. I do think really that we don't understand giving

people the things they really want.'

'I think it's a very fine idea of yours, Aunt Matilda,' said

Sir Stafford Nye as he kissed a pleasantly perfumed, pale

pink wrinkled cheek. 'And how are you, my dear?'

'Well, I'm old,' said Lady Matilda Cleckheaton. "Yes, I'm

old. Of course you don't know what it is to be old. If it

isn't one thing it's another. Rheumatism or arthritis or a nasty

bit of asthma or a sore throat or an ankle you've turned.

,' Always something, you know. Nothing very important. But

there it is. Why have you come to see me, dear?'

' Sir Stafford was slightly taken aback by the directness of

the query.

J "I usually come and see you when I return from a trip I abroad.'

'You'll have to come one chair nearer,' said Aunt Matilda.

Tm just that bit deafer since you saw me last. You look

different . . . Why do you look different?'

'Because I'm more sunburnt. You said so.'

'Nonsense, that's not what I mean at all. Don't tell me

it's a girl at last.'

A girl?'

'Well, I've always felt it might be one some day. The

trouble is you've got too much sense of humour.'

'Now why should you think that?'

'Well, it's what people do think about you. Oh yes, they

do. Your sense of humour is in the way of your career, too,

You know, you're all mixed up with all these people. Diplomatic

and political. What they call younger statesmen and

elder statesmen and middle statesmen too. And all those

different Parties. Really I think it's too silly to have too

many Parties. First of all those awful, awful Labour people.'

She raised her Conservative nose into the air. 'Why, when

I was a girl there wasn't such a thing as a Labour Party.

Nobody would have known what you meant by it. They'd

have said "nonsense". Pity it wasn't nonsense, too. And then

51

there's the Liberals, of course, but they're terribly wet. And

then there are the Tones, or the Conservatives as they call

themselves again now.'

'And what's the matter with them?' asked Stafford Nye,

smiling slightly.

Too many earnest women. Makes them lack gaiety, you

know.'

'Oh well, no political party goes in for gaiety much nowadays.'

'Just so,' said Aunt Matilda. 'And then of course that's

where you go wrong. You want to cheer things up. You

want to have a little gaiety and so you make a little gentle

fun at people and of course they don't like it. They say "Ce

n'est pas un gar if on serieux," like that man in the fishing.'

Sir Stafford Nye laughed. His eyes were wandering round

the room.

'What are you looking at?' said Lady Matilda.

'Your pictures.'

'You don't want me to sell them, do you? Everyone

seems to be selling their pictures nowadays. Old Lord

Grampion, you know. He sold his Turners and he sold

some of his ancestors as well. And Geoffrey Gouldman.

All those lovely horses of his. By Stubbs, weren't they?

Something like that. Really, the prices one gets!

'But I don't want to sell my pictures. I like them. Most

of them in this room have a real interest because they're

ancestors. I know nobody wants ancestors'nowadays but

then I'm old-fashioned. I like ancestors. My own ancestors,

I mean. What are you looking at? Pamela?'

'Yes, I was. I was thinking about her the other day.'

'Astonishing how alike you two are. I mean, it's not even

as though you were twins, though they say that different

sex twins, even if they are twins, can't be identical, if you

know what I mean.'

'So Shakespeare must have made rather a mistake over

Viola and Sebastian.'

'Well, ordinary brothers and sisters can be alike, can't

they? You and Pamela were always very alike--to look at,

I mean.'

'Not in any other way? Don't you think we were alike in

character?'

'No, not in the least. That's the funny part of it. But of

course you and Pamela have what 1 call the family face.

Not a Nye face. I mean the Baldwen-White face.'

her something about it. Perhaps I did read it AD very pure, I suppose. Not too sexy?'

Certainly not We didn't have sexy books. We had romance.:

The Prisoner of Zenda was very romantic. One fell in love, usually, with the hero, Rudolf Rassendyll.'

'I seem to remember that name too. Bit florid, isn't it?'

'Well, I still think it was rather a romantic name. Twelve

years old, I must have been. It made me think of it, you

know, your going up and loolung at that portrait. Princess

Flavia,' she added.

Stafford Nye was smiling at her.

"You look young and pink and very sentimental,' he said.

Well, that's just what I'm feeling. Girls can't feel like

that nowadays. They're swooning with love, or they're fainting

when somebody plays the guitar or sings in a very loud

voice, but they're not sentimental. But I wasn't in love with

Rudolf Rassendyll. I was in love with the other one--his

double.'

'Did he have a double?'

'Oh yes, a king. The King of Ruritania.'

Ah, of course, now I know. That's where the word

Ruritania comes from: one is always throwing it about.

Yes, I think I did read it, you know. The King of Ruritania, and Rudolf Rassendyll was stand-in for the King and fell

in love with Princess Flavia to whom the King was officially

betrothed.'

Lady Matilda gave some more deep sighs.

'Yes. Rudolf Rassendyll had inherited his red hair from

an ancestress, and somewhere in the book he bows to the

portrait and says something about the--I can't remember

the name now--the Countess Amelia or something like that

from whom he inherited his looks and all the rest of it. So I looked at you and thought of you as Rudolf Rassendyll

and,you went out and looked at a picture of someone who

ought have been an ancestress of yours and saw whether ^e reminded you of someone. / So you're mixed up in a

romance of some kind, are you?'

'What on earth makes you say that?'

'Well, there aren't so many patterns in life, you know.

One recognizes patterns as they come up. It's like a book

on knitting. About sixty-five different fancy stitches. Well,

you know a particular stitch when you see it. Your stitch,

at the moment, I should say, is the romantic adventure.'

She sighed. 'But you won't tell me about it, I suppose.'

There's nothing to tell,' said Sir Stafford. 55

'You always were quite an accomplished liar. Well, never mind. You bring her to see me some time. That's all I'd

like, before the doctors succeed in killing me with yet another

type of antibiotic that they've just discovered. The

different coloured pills I've had to take by this timel You

wouldn't believe it.'

'I don't know why you say "she" and "her"--'

'Don't you? Oh, well, I know a she when I come across

a she. There's a she somewhere dodging about in your life.

What beats me is how you found her. In Malaya, at the

conference table? Ambassador's daughter or minister's daughter?

Good-looking secretary from the Embassy pool? No,

none of it seems to fit. Ship coming home? No, you don't

use ships nowadays. Plane, perhaps.'

You are getting slightly nearer,' Sir Stafford Nye could

not help saying.

'Ah!' She pounced. 'Air hostess?'

He shook his head.

''Ah well. Keep your secret. I shall find out, mind you.

I've always had a good nose for things going on where

you're concerned. Things generally as well. Of course I'm

out of everything nowadays, but I meet my old cronies

from time to time and it's quite easy, you know, to get a

hint or two from them. People are worried. Everywhere--

they're worried.'

'You mean there's a general kind of discontent--upset?'

'No, I didn't mean that at all. I mean the highups are

worried. Our awful governments are worried. The dear old

sleepy Foreign Office is worried. There are things going on,

things that shouldn't be. Unrest.'

Student unrest?'

'Oh, student unrest is just one flower on the tree. It's blossoming

everywhere and in every country, or so it seems.

I've got a nice girl who comes, you know, and reads the

papers to me in the mornings. I can't read them properly

myself. She's got a nice voice. Takes down my letters and she

reads things from the papers and she's a good kind girl.

She reads the things I want to know, not the things that

she thinks are right for me to know. Yes, everyone's worried,

as far as I can make out and this, mind you, came more or

less from a very old friend of mine.'

'One of your old military cronies?'

'He's a major-general, if that's what you mean, retired

a good many years ago but still in the know. Youth is

what you might call the spearhead of it all. But that's not

56

really what's so worrying. They--whoever they are--work

through youth. Youth in every country. Youth urged on.

Youth chanting slogans, slogans that sound exciting, though

they don't always know what they mean. So easy to start

a revolution. That's natural to youth. All youth has always

rebelled. You rebel, you pull down, you want the world to

be different from what it is. But you're blind, too.''There

are bandages over the eyes of youth. They can't see where

things are taking them. What's going to come next? What's

in front of them? And who it is behind them, urging them

on? That's what's frightening about it. You know, someone

holding out the carrot to get the donkey to come along and

at the same time there is someone behind the donkey urging

it on with a stick.'

'You've got some extraordinary fancies.*

They're not only fancies, my dear boy. That's what people

said about Hitler. Hitler and the Hitler Youth. But it was a

long careful preparation. It was a war that was worked out

in detail. It was a fifth column being planted in different

countries all ready for the supermen. The supermen were

to be the flower of the German nation. That's what they

thought and believed in passionately. Somebody else is perhaps

believing something like that now. It's a creed that

they'll be willing to accept--if -it's offered cleverly enough.'

'Who are you talking about? Do you mean the Chinese

or the Russians? What do you mean?'

'I don't know. I haven't the faintest idea. But there's something

somewhere, and it's running on the same lines. Pattern

again, you see. Pattern! The Russians? Bogged down by

Communism, I should think they're considered old-fashioned.

The Chinese? I think they've lost their way. Too much Chairman

Mao, perhaps. I don't know who these people are who

are doing the planning. As I said before, it's why and where

and when and who.'

'Very interesting.'

'It's so frightening, this same idea that always recurs.

History repeating itself. The young hero, the golden superman

that all must follow.' She paused, then said, 'Same idea,

you know. The young Siegfried.'

57

ADVICE FROM

GREAT-AUNT MATILDA

Great-Aunt Matilda looked at him. She had a very sharp

and shrewd eye. Stafford Nye had noticed that before. He

noticed it particularly at this moment.

''So you've heard that term before,' she said. 'I see,'

'What does it mean?'

'You don't know?' She raised her eyebrows.

'Cross my heart and wish to die,' said Sir Stafford, in

nursery language.

'Yes, we always used to say that, didn't we,' said Lady

Matilda. 'Do you really mean what you're saying?'

'I don't know anything about it.'

'But you'd heard the term before,'

*Yes. Someone said it to me.'

'Anyone important?'

It could be. I suppose it could be. What do you mean

by "anyone important"?'

'Well, you've been involved in various Government missions

lately, haven't you? You've represented this poor, miserable

country as best you could, which I shouldn't wonder wasn't

rather better than many others could do, sitting round a table

and talking. I don't know whether anything's come of all that.'

'Probably not,' said Stafford Nye. 'After all, one isn't

optimistic when one goes into these things.'

'One does one's best,' said Lady Matilda correctively.

'A very Christian principle. Nowadays if one does one's

worst one often seems to get on a good deal better. What

does all this mean. Aunt Matilda?'

*I don't suppose I know,' said his aunt

'Well, you very often do know things.'

'Not exactly. I just pick up things here and there.*

'Yes?'

Tve got a few old friends left, you know. Friends who

are in the know. Of course most of them are either practically

stone deaf or half blind or a little bit gone in the

top storey or unable to walk straight. But something still

functions. Something, shall we say, up here.' She hit the

top of her neatly arranged white head. 'There's a good

deal of alarm and despondency about. More than usual That's one of the things I've picked up.'

58

'Isn't there always?'

'Yes, yes, but this is a bit more than that. Active instead

of passive, as you might say. For a long time, as I have noticed from the outside, and you, no doubt, from the

inside, we have felt that things are in a mess. A rather bad

mess. But now we've got to a point where we feel that perhaps

something might have been done about the mess.. There's

an element of danger in it. Something is going on--something

is brewing. Not just in one country. In quite a lot of

countries. They've recruited a service of their own and

the danger about that is that it's a service of young people.

And the kind of people who will go anywhere, do anything,

unfortunately believe anything, and so long as they are promised

a certain amount of pulling down, wrecking, throwing

spanners in the works, then they think the cause must be a

good one and that the world will be a different place. They're

not creative, that's the trouble--only destructive. The creative

young write poems, write books, probably compose music,

paint pictures just as they always have done. They'll be all

right--But once people learn to love destruction for its own

sake, evil leadership gets its chance.'

'You say "they" or "them". Who do you mean?'

'Wish I knew,' said Lady Matilda. 'Yes, I wish I knew.

Very much indeed. If I hear anything useful. 111 tell you. Then you can do something about it.'

'Unfortunately, I haven't got anyone to tell, I mean to

pass it on to.'

'Yes, don't pass it on to - just anyone. You can't trust

people. Don't pass it on to any one of those idiots in the

Government, or connected with government or hoping to

be participating in government after this lot runs out. Politicians

don't have time to look at the world they're living

in. They see the country they're living in and they see it as

one vast electoral platform. That's quite enough to put on

their plates for the time being. They do things which they

honestly believe will make things better and then they're

surprised when they don't make things better because they're

not the things that people want to have. And one can't

help coming to the conclusion that politicians have a feeling

that they have a kind of divine right to tell lies in a good

cause. It's not really so very long ago since Mr Baldwin

made his famous remark--"If I had spoken the truth, I should

have lost the election." Prime Ministers still feel like that Now

and again we have a great man, thank God. But it's rare.'

'Well, what do you suggest ought to be done?'

59

'Are you asking my advice? Mine? Do you know how

old I am?'

'Getting on for ninety,' suggested her nephew.

'Not quite as old as that,' said Lady Matilda, slightly

affronted. 'Do I look it, my dear boy?'

*No, darling. You look a nice, comfortable sixty-six.'

'That's better,' said Lady Matilda. 'Quite untrue. But

better. If I get a dp of any kind from one of my dear old

admirals or an old general or even possibly an air marshal

--they do hear things, you know--they've got cronies still

and the old boys get together and talk. And so it gets

around. There's always been the grapevine and there still

is a grapevine, no matter how elderly the people are. The

young Siegfried. We want a clue to just what that means

--I don't know if he's a person or a password or the name of

a Club or a new Messiah or a Pop singer. But that term

covers something. There's the musical motif too. I've rather

forgotten my Wagnerian days.' Her aged voice croaked

out a partially recognizable melody. 'Siegfried's horn call,

isn't that it? Get a recorder, why don't you? Do I mean a

recorder. I don't mean a record that you put on a gramophone--I

mean the things that schoolchildren play. They

have classes for them. Went to a talk the other day. Our

vicar got it up. Quite interesting. You know, tracing the

history of the recorder and the kind of recorders there

were from the Elizabethan age onwards. Some big, some small,

all different notes and sounds. Very interesting. Interesting

hearing in two senses. The recorders themselves. Some of

them give out lovely noises. And the history. Yes. Well, what

was I saying?'

'You told me to get one of these instruments, I gather.'

'Yes. Get a recorder and learn to blow Siegfried's horn

call on that. You're musical, you always were. You can

manage that, I hope?'

'Well, it seems a very small part to play in the salvation

of the world, but I dare say I could manage that.'

'And have the thing ready. Because, you see--' she tapped

on the table with her spectacle case--'you might want it to

impress the wrong people some time. Might come in useful.

They'd welcome you with open arms and then you might

learn a bit.'

'You certainly have ideas,' said Sir Stafford admiringly. 'What else can you have when you're my age?' said his

great-aunt. 'You can't get about. You can't meddle with

people much, you can't do any gardening. All you can do is

60

sit in your chair and have ideas. Remember that when

you're forty years older.'

'One remark you made interested me.'

'Only one?' said Lady Matilda. That's rather poor measure

considering how much I've been talking. What was it?'

'You suggested that I might be capable of impressing the

wrong people with my recorder--did you mean that?'

'Well, it's one way, isn't it? The right people don't matter.

But the wrong people--well, you've got to find out things, haven't you? You've got to permeate things. Rather like a

death-watch beetle,' she said thoughtfully.

'So I should make significant noises in the night?'

'Well, that sort of thing, yes. We had death-watch beetle

in the east wing here once. Very expensive it was to put it

right. I dare say it will be just as expensive to put the world

right.'

'In fact a good deal more expensive,' said Stafford Nye.

That won't matter,' said Lady Matilda. 'People never mind

spending a great deal of money. It impresses them. It's when

you want to do things economically, they won't play. We're

the same people, you know. In this country, I mean. We're

the same people we always were.'

'What'do you mean by that?'

'We're capable of doing big things. We were good at running

an empire. We weren't good at keeping an empire running,

but then you see we didn't need an empire any more

And we recognized that. Too difficult to keep up. Robbie

made me see that,' she added.

'Robbie?' It was faintly familiar.

'Robbie Shoreham. Robert Shoreham. He's a very old

friend of mine. Paralysed down the left side. But he can

talk still and he's got a moderately good hearing-aid.'

'Besides being one of the most famous physicists in the

world,' said Stafford Nye. 'So he's another of your old

cronies, is he?'

'Known him since he was a boy,' said Lady Matilda. 'I suppose it surprises you that we should be friends, have a

lot in common and enjoy talking together?'

'Well, I shouldn't have thought that--'

That we had much to talk about? It's true I could never

do mathematics. Fortunately, when I was a girl one didn't

even try. Mathematics came easily to Robbie when he was

about four years old, I believe. They say nowadays that

that's quite natural. He's got plenty to talk about.^He liked

me always because I was frivolous and made him laugh.

61

And I'm a good listener, too. And really, he says some very

interesting things sometimes.'

'So I suppose,' said Stafford Nye drily.

'Now don't be superior. Moliere married his housemaid,

didn't lie, and made a great success of it--if it is Moliere I

mean. '\ If a man's frantic with brains he doesn't really want

a woman who's also frantic with brains to talk to. It would

be exhausting. He'd much prefer a lovely nitwit who can

make him laugh. I wasn't bad-looking when I was young,'

said Lady Matilda complacently.''I know I have no academic

distinctions. I'm not in the least intellectual. But

Robert has always said that I've got a great deal of common

sense, of intelligence,'

'You're a lovely person,' said Sir Stafford Nye. 'I enjoy coming to see you and I shall go away remembering all

the things you've said to me. There are a good many more

things, I expect, that you could tell me but you're obviously

not going to.'

'Not until the right moment comes,' said Lady Matilda,

'but I've got your interests at heart. Let me know what

you're doing from time to time. You're dining at the American

Embassy, aren't you, next week?'

'How did you know that? I've been asked.'

'And you've accepted, I understand.'

'Well, it's all in the course of duty.' He looked at her

curiously. 'How do you manage to be so well informed?'

Oh, Milly told me.'

'Milly?'

'Milly Jean Cortman. The American Ambassador's wife.

A most attractive creature, you know. Small and rather perfect-looking.'

'Oh, you mean Mildred Cortman.'

'She was christened Mildred but she preferred Milly Jean.

I was talking to her on the telephone about some Charity

Matinee or other--she's what we used to call a pocket Venus.'

'A most attractive term to use,' said Stafford Nye.

Chapter 8

AN EMBASSY DINNER

As Mrs Cortman came to meet him with outstretched hand,

Stafford Nye recalled the term his great-aunt had used. Milly

Jean Cortman was a woman of between thirty-five and forty.

She had delicate features, big blue-grey eyes, a very perfectly

shaped head with bluish-grey hair tinted to a particularly

attractive shade which fitted her with a perfection of grooming.

She was very popular in London. Her husband, Sam

Cortman, was a big, heavy man, slightly ponderous. He was

very proud of his wife. He himself was one of those slow,

rather over-emphatic talkers. People found their attention

occasionally straying when he was elucidating at some length

a point which hardly needed making.

'Back from Malaya, aren't you. Sir Stafford? It must

have been quite interesting to go out there, though it's

not the time of year I'd have chosen. But I'm sure we're

all glad to see you back. Let me see now. You know Lady

Aldborough and Sir John, and Herr von Roken, Frau von

Roken. Mr and Mrs Staggenham.'

They were all people known to Stafford Nye in more or

less degree. There was a Dutchman and his wife whom he

had not met before, since they had only just taken up their

appointment. The Staggenhams were the Minister of Social

Security and his wife. A particularly uninteresting couple,

he harf always thought.

'And the Countess Renata Zerkowski. I think she said she'd

met you before.'

'It must be about a year ago. When I was last in England,'

said the Countess.

And there she was, the passenger from Frankfurt again.

Self-possessed, at ease, beautifully turned out in faint greyblue

with a touch of chinchilla. Her hair dressed high (a

wig?) and a ruby cross of antique design round her neck.

'Signer Gasparo, Count Reitner, Mr and Mrs Arbuthnot.'

About twenty-six in all. At dinner Stafford Nye sat between

the dreary Mrs Staggenham and Signora Gasparo on

the other side of him. Renata Zerkowski sat exactly opposite

him.

An Embassy dinner. A dinner such as he so often attended,

holding much of the same type of guests. Various members

of the Diplomatic Corps, junior ministers, one or two in63

dustrialists, a sprinkling of socialites usually included because

they were good conversationalists, natural, pleasant people

to meet, though one or two, thought Stafford Nye, one or

two were maybe different. Even while he was busy sustaining

his conversation with Signora Gasparo, a charming person

to talk to, a chatterbox, slightly flirtatious; his mind was

roving in the same way that his eye also roved, though the

latter was not very noticeable. As it roved round the dinner

table, you would not have said that he was summing up

conclusions in his own mind. He had been asked here. Why?

For any reason or for no reason in particular. Because his

name had come up automatically on the list that the secretaries

produced from time to time with checks against such members

as were due for their turn. Or as the extra man or the extra

woman required for the balancing of the table. He had always

been in request when an extra was needed.

'Oh yes,' a diplomatic hostess would say, 'Stafford Nye

will do beautifully. You will put him next to Madame Soand-so,

or Lady Somebody else.'

He had been asked perhaps to fill in for no further reason

than that. And yet, he wondered. He knew by experience that

there were certain other reasons. And so his eye with its swift

social amiability, its air of not looking really at anything in

particular, was busy,

Amongst these guests there was someone perhaps who

for some reason mattered, was important. Someone who had

been asked--not to fill in--on the contrary--someone who

had had a selection of other guests invited to fit in round

him--or her. Someone "who mattered. He wondered--he

wondered which of them it might be.

Cortman knew, of course. Milly Jean, perhaps. One never

really knew with wives. Some of them were better diplomats

than their husbands. Some of them could be relied

upon merely for their charm, for their adaptability, their

readiness to please, their lack of curiosity. Some again, he

thought ruefully to himself, were, as far as their husbands

were concerned, disasters. Hostesses who, though they may

have brought prestige or money to a diplomatic marriage,

were yet capable at any moment of saying or doing the wrong

thing, and creating an unfortunate situation. If that was to

be guarded against, it would need one of the guests, or two or

even three of the guests, to be what one might call professional

smoothers-over.

Did this dinner party this evening mean anything but a

social event? His quick and noticing eye had by now been

64

round the dinner table picking out one or two people whom

so far he had not entirely taken in. An American business

man. Pleasant, not socially brilliant. A professor from one of

the universities of the Middle West. A married couple, the

husband German, the wife predominantly, almost aggressively

American. A very beautiful woman, too. Sexually, highly

attractive. Sir Stafford thought. Was one of them important?

Initials floated through his mind. FBI. CIA. The business man

perhaps a CIA man, there for a purpose. Things were like

that nowadays. Not as they used to be. How had the formula

gone? "Big brother is watching you. Yes, well it went further

than that now. Transatlantic Cousin is watching you. High

Finance for Middle Europe is watching you. A diplomatic

difficulty has been asked here for you to watch him. Oh yes.

There was often a lot behind things nowadays. But was that

just another formula, just another fashion? Could it really

mean more than that, something vital, something real? How

did one talk of events in Europe nowadays? The Common

Market. Well, that was fair enough, that dealt with trade,

with economics, with the inter-relationships of countries.

That was the stage to set. But behind the stage. Backstage.

Waiting for the cue. Ready to prompt if prompting

were needed. What was going on? Going on in the big

world and behind the big world. He wondered.

Some things he knew, some things he guessed at, some

things, he thought to himself, I know nothing about and

nobody wants me to know anything about them.

His eyes rested for a moment on his vis-a-vis, her chin

tilted upward, her mouth just gently curved in a polite

smile, and their eyes* met. Those eyes told him nothing,

the smile told him nothing. What was she doing here? She

was in her element, she fitted in, she knew this world. Yes,

she was at home here. He could find out, he thought, without

much difficulty where she figured in the diplomatic

world, but would that tell him where she really had her

place?

The young woman in the slacks who had spoken to him

suddenly at Frankfurt had had an eager intelligent face.

Was that the real woman, or was this casual social acquaintance

the real woman? Was one of those personalities a part

being played? And if so, which one? And there might be more

than just those two personalities. He wondered. He wanted

to find out.

Or had the fact that he had been asked to meet her been

pure coincidence? Milly Jean was rising to her feet. The

p-t.p. 65 c

other ladies rose with her. Then suddenly an unexpected

clamour arose. A clamour from outside the house. Shouts.

Yells. The crash of breaking glass in a window. Shouts.

Sounds--surely pistol shots. Signora Gasparo spoke, clutching

Stafford Nye's arm.

'What again!' she exclaimed. 'D»'ol--again it is those

terrible students. It is the same in our country. Why do

they attack Embassies? They fight, resist the police--go

marching, shouting idiotic things, lie down in the streets. Si, si. We have them in Rome--in Milan--We have them

like a pest everywhere in Europe. Why are they never happy,

these young ones? What do they want?'

Stafford Nye sipped his brandy and listened to the heavy

accents of Mr Charles Staggenham, who was being pontifical

and taking his time about it. The commotion had subsided.

It would seem that the police had marched off some of the

hotheads. It was one of those occurrences which once would

have been thought extraordinary and even alarming but which

were now taken as a matter of course.

'A larger police force. That's what we need. A larger

police force. It's more than these chaps can deal with. It's

the same everywhere, they say. I was talking to Herr Lurwitz

the other day. They have their troubles, so have the French.

Not quite so much of it in the Scandinavian countries. What

do they- all want--just trouble? I tell you if I had my way--'

Stafford Nye removed his mind to another subject while

keeping up a flattering pretence as Charles Staggenham

explained just what his way would be, which in any case

was easily to be anticipated beforehand.

'Shouting about Vietnam and all that. What do any of

them know about Vietnam. None of them have ever been

there, have they?'

'One would think it very unlikely,' said Sir Stafford Nye,

'Man was telling me earlier this evening, they've had a

lot of trouble in California. In the universities--If we had a

sensible policy . . .'

Presently the men joined the ladies in the drawing-room

Stafford Nye, moving with that leisurely grace, that air o) complete lack of purpose he found so useful, sat down by s

golden-haired, talkative woman whom he knew moderately well, and who could be guaranteed seldom to say anything worth listening to as regards ideas or wit, but who wa;

excessively knowledgeable about all her fellow creatures withir

the bounds of her acquaintance. Stafford Nye asked no direc

questions but presently, without the lady being even aware or

66

the means by which he had guided the subject of conversation, he was hearing a few remarks about the Countess Renata

Zerkowski.

'Still very good-looking, isn't she? She doesn't come over

here very often nowadays. Mostly New York, you know,

or that wonderful island place. You know the one I mean.

Not Minorca. One of the other ones in the Mediterranean.

Her sister's married to that soap king, at least I think it's a

soap king. Not the Greek one. He's Swedish, I think. Rolling

in money. And then of course, she spends a lot of time in

some castle place in the Dolomites--or near Munich--very

musical, she always has been. She said you'd met before,

didn't she?'

'Yes. A year or two years ago, I think.'

'Oh yes, I suppose when she was over in England before.

They say she was mixed up in the Czechoslovakian business.

Or do I mean the Polish trouble? Oh dear, it's so difficult, isn't it. All the names, I mean. They have so many z's and it's . Most peculiar, and so hard to spell. She's very literary.

You know, gets up petitions for people to sign. To give writers

asylum here, or whatever it is. Not that anyone really pays

much attention. I mean, what else can one think of nowadays

except how one can possibly pay one's own taxes. The travel

allowance makes things a little better but not much. I mean,

you've got to get the money, haven't you, before you can

take it abroad. I don't know how anyone manages to have

money now, but there's a lot of it about. Oh yes, there's a

lot of it about.'

She looked down in a complacent fashion at her left

hand, on which were two solitaire rings, one a diamond

and one an emerald, which seemed to prove conclusively

that a considerable amount of money had been spent upon

her at least.

The evening drew on to its close. He knew very little

more about his passenger from Frankfurt than he had known before. He knew that she had a facade, a facade it seemed

to him, very highly faceted, if you could use those two

alliterative words together. She was interested in music.

Well, he had met her at the Festival Hall, had he not? Fond

of outdoor sports. Rich relations who owned Mediterranean

islands. Given to supporting literary charities. Somebody in

fact who had good connections, was well related, had entries

to the social field. Not apparently highly political and yet,

quietly perhaps, affiliated to some group. Someone who moved

about from place to place and country to country. Moving 67

among the rich, amongst the talented, about the literary world,

He thought of espionage for a moment or two. That

seemed the most likely answer. And yet he was not wholly satisfied with it.

The evening drew on. It came at last to be his turn to

be collected by his hostess. Milly Jean was very good at

her job.

'I've been longing to talk to you for ages. I wanted to

hear about Malaya. I'm so stupid about all these places in Asia, you know, I mix them up. Tell me, what happened

out there? Anything interesting or was everything terribly

boring?'

'I'm sure you can guess the answer to that one.'

'Well, I should guess it was very boring. But perhaps

you're not allowed to say so.'

'Oh yes, I can think it, and I can say it It wasn't really

my cup of tea, you know.'

'Why did you go then?'

'Oh well, I'm always fond of travelling, I like seeing countries.'

'You're such an intriguing person in many ways. Really,

of course, all diplomatic life is very boring, isn't it? / oughtn't

to say so. I only say it to you.'

Very blue eyes. Blue like bluebells in a wood. They

opened a little wider and the black brows above them came

down gently at the outside corners while the inside corner' went up a little. It made her face look like a rather beautiful Persian cat. He wondered what Milly Jean was really like

Her soft voice was that of a southerner. The beautifully

shaped little head, her profile with the perfection of a coin--

what was she really like? No fool, he thought. One who

could use social weapons when needed, who could charrn when she wished to, who could withdraw into being enigmatic.

If she wanted anything from anyone she would b

adroit in getting it. He noticed the intensity of the glanc'- she was giving him now. Did she want something of him

He didn't know. He didn't think it could be likely. Sb?

said, 'Have you met Mr Staggenham?'

'Ah yes. I was talking to him at the dinner table. I hadn't

met him before.'

'He is said to be very important,' said Milly Jean. 'He

the President of PBF as you know.'

'One should know all those things,' said Sir Staff 01" Nye. 'PBF and DCV. LYH. And all the world of initials.'

'Hateful,' said Milly Jean. 'Hateful. All these initials, no

68

personalities, no people any more. Just initials. What a hateful

world! That's what I sometimes think. What a hateful

world. I want it to be different, quite, quite different--'

Did she mean that? He thought for one moment that

perhaps she did. Interesting . . ,

Grosvenor Square was quietness itself. There were traces

of broken glass still on the pavements. There were even

eggs, squashed tomatoes and fragments of gleaming metal.

But above, the stars were peaceful. Car after car drove up

to the Embassy door to collect the home-going guests. The

police were there in the corners of the square but without

ostentation. Everything was under control. One of the political

guests leaving spoke to one of the police officers. He came

back and murmured, 'Not too many arrests. Eight. They'll be

up at Bow Street in the morning. More or less the usual lot.

Petronella was here, of course, and Stephen and his crowd.

Ah well. One would think they'd get tired of it one of these

days.'

'You live not very far from here, don't you?' said a

voice in Sir Stafford Nye's ear. A deep contralto voice. 'I can drop you on my way.'

'No, no. I can walk perfectly. It's only ten minutes or so.'

It will be no trouble to me, I assure you,' said the Countess

Zerkowski. She added, 'I'm staying at the St James's Tower.'

The St James's Tower was one of the newer hotels.

'you are very kind.'

It was a big, expensive-looking hire car that waited. The

chauffeur opened the door, the Countess Renata got in and

Sir Stafford Nye followed her. It was she who gave Sir

Stafford Nye's address to the chauffeur. The car drove off.

'So you know where I live?' he said.

'Why not?'

He wondered just what that answer meant: Why not?

'Why not indeed,' he said. 'You know so much, don't

you?' He added, 'It was kind of you to return my passport.'

'I thought it might save certain inconveniences. It might

be simpler if you burnt it. You've been issued with a new

°ne, I presume--'

'You presume correctly.'

'Your bandit's cloak you will find in the bottom drawer

of your tallboy. It was put there tonight. I believed that

Perhaps to purchase another one would not satisfy you, and indeed that to find one similar might not be possible.' a--It will mean more to me now that it has been through

^

certain—adventures,' said Stafford Nye. He added, 'It has

served its purpose.'

The car purred through the night

The Countess Zerkowski said:

"Yes. It has served its purpose since I am here—alive . . .'

Sir Stafford Nye said nothing. He was assuming, rightly

or not, that she wanted him to ask questions, to press her,

to know more of what she had been doing, of what fate

she had escaped. She wanted him to display curiosity, but

Sir Stafford Nye was not going to display curiosity. He rather

enjoyed not doing so. He heard her laugh very gently. Yet he

fancied, rather surprisingly, that it was a pleased laugh, a

laugh of satisfaction, not of stalemate.

'Did you enjoy your evening?' she said.

'A good party, I think, but Milly Jean always gives good

parties.'

'You know her well then?'

'I knew her when she was a girl in New York before

she married. A pocket Venus.'

She looked at him in faint surprise.

'Is that your term for her?'

'Actually, no. It was said to me by an elderly relative

of mine.'

'Yes, it isn't a description that one hears given often of a

woman nowadays. It fits her, I think, very well. Only—'

'Only what?'

'Venus is seductive, is she not? Is she also ambitious!

'You think Milly Jean Cortman is ambitious?'

'Oh yes. That above all.'

'And you think to be the wife of the Ambassador to St

James's is insufficient to satisfy ambition?'

'Oh no,' said the Countess. 'That is only the beginning.'

He did not answer. He was looking out through th

car window. He began to speak, then stopped himself. H

noted her quick glance at him, but she too was silent. ]

was not till they were going over a bridge with the Thanif

below them that he said:

'So you are not giving me a lift home and you are nc

going back to the St James's Tower. We are crossing th

Thames. We met there once before, crossing a bridgi

Where are you taking me?'

'Do you mind?'

'I think I do.'

'Yes, I can see you might.'

'Well of course you are quite in the mode. Hi-jackir

70

is the fashion nowadays, isn't it? You have hi-jacked me.

Why?'

'Because, like once before, I have need of you.' She added,

'And others have need of you.'

'Indeed.'

'And that does not please you.'

''It would please me better to be asked.'

"If I had asked, would you have come?'

'Perhaps yes, perhaps no.'

'I am sorry.'

'I wonder.'

They drove on through the night in silence. It was not

a drive through lonely country, they were on a main road.

Now and then the lights picked up a name or a signpost so

that Stafford Nye saw quite clearly where their route lay.

Through Surrey and through the first residential portions

of Sussex. Occasionally he thought they took a detour or a

side road which was not the most direct route, but even of

this he could not be sure. He almost asked his companion whether this was being done because they might possibly

have been followed from London. But he had determined

rather firmly on his policy of silence. It was for her to speak,

for her to give information. He found her, even with the

additional information he had been able to get, an enigmatic character.

They were driving to the country after a dinner party

in London. They were, he was pretty sure, in one of the

more expensive types of hire car. This was something planned

beforehand. Reasonable, nothing doubtful or unexpected

about it. Soon, he imagined, he would find out where it was

they were going. Unless, that is, they were going to drive

as far as the coast. That also was possible, he thought. Haslemere,

he saw on a signpost. Now they were skirting Godalniing.

All very plain and above board. The rich countryside

of moneyed suburbia. Agreeable woods, handsome residences.

They took a few side turns and then as the car finally slowed,

they seemed to be arriving at their destination. Gates. A small

white lodge by the gates. Up a drive, well-kept rhododendrons

on either side of it. They turned round a bend and drew up

before a house. 'Stockbroker Tudor,' murmured Sir Stafford

Nye, under his breath. His companion turned her bead inquiringly.

'Just a comment,' said Stafford Nye. 'Pay no attention. 1 take it we are now arriving at the destination of your

choice?'

71

"And you don't admire the look of it very much.'

The grounds seem well-kept up,' said Sir Stafford, follow

ing the beam of the headlights as the car rounded the bend.

'Takes money to keep these places up and in good order.

I should say this was a comfortable house to live in.'

'Comfortable but not beautiful. The man who lives in it

prefers comfort to beauty, I should say.'

'Perhaps wisely,' said Sir Stafford. 'And yet in some ways

he is very appreciative of beauty, of some kinds of beauty,'

They drew up before the well-lighted porch. Sir Stafford

got out and tendered an arm to help his companion. The

chauffeur had mounted the steps and pressed the bell. He

looked inquiringly at the woman as she ascended the steps.

'You won't be requiring me again tonight, m'lady?'

'No. That's all for now. We'll telephone down in the

morning.'

'Good night. Good night, sir.'

There were footsteps inside and the door was flung openSir

Stafford had expected some kind of butler, but instead there was a tall grenadier of a parlour-maid. Grey-haired,

tight-lipped, eminently reliable and competent, he though...

An invaluable asset and hard to find nowadays. Trustworthy,

capable of being fierce.

'I am afraid we are a little late,' said Renata.

The master is in the library. He asked that you and the gentleman should come to him there when you arrived.'

Chapter 9

THE HOUSE NEAR GODALMING

She led the way up the broad staircase and the two of

them followed her. Yes, thought Stafford Nye, a very comfortable

house. Jacobean paper, a most unsightly carved

oak staircase but pleasantly shallow treads. Pictures nice';

chosen but of no particular artistic interest. A rich man '

house, he thought. A man, not of bad taste, a man of coi

ventional tastes. Good thick pile carpet of an agreeab;^ plum-coloured texture.

On the first floor, the grenadier-like parlour-maid we ;

to the first door along it. She opened it and stood back

let them go in but she made no announcement of name

The Countess went in first and Sir Stafford Nye followed

her. He heard the door shut quietly behind him.

There were four people in the room. Sitting behind a

large desk which was well covered with papers, documents,

an open map or two and presumably other papers which

were in the course of discussion, was a large, fat man with

a very yellow face. It was a face Sir Stafford Nye had seen

before, though he could not for the moment attach the

proper name to it. It was a man whom he had met only

in a casual fashion, and yet the occasion had been an

important one. ,He should know, yes, definitely he should

know. But why—why wouldn't the name come?

With a slight struggle, the figure sitting at the desk rose

to his feet. He took the Countess Renata's outstretched

hand.

'You've arrived,' he said, 'splendid.'

'Yes. Let me introduce you, though I think you already

know him. Sir Stafford Nye, Mr Robinson.'

Of course. In Sir Stafford Nye's brain something clicked

like a camera. That fitted in, too, with another name. Pikeaway. To say that he knew all about Mr Robinson was not

true. He knew about Mr Robinson all that Mr Robinson

permitted to be known. His name, as far as anyone knew,

was Robinson, though it might have been any name of foreign

origin. No one had ever suggested anything of that kind.

Recognition came also of his personal appearance. The high

forehead, the melancholy dark eyes, the large generous mouth,

and the impressive white teeth—false teeth, presumably, but

at any rate teeth of which it might have been said, like in Red

Riding Hood, 'the better to eat you with, child!'

He knew, too, what Mr Robinson stood for. Just one

simple word described it. Mr Robinson represented Money

with a capital M. Money in its every aspect. International

money, worid-wide money, private home finances, banking,

money not in the way that the average person looked at it.

You never thought of him as a very rich man. Undoubtedly

he was a very rich man but that wasn't the important thing.

He was one of the arrangers of money, the great clan of

bankers. His personal tastes might even have been simple, but

Sir Stafford Nye doubted if they were. A reasonable standard

of comfort, even luxury, would be Mr Robinson's way of life.

But not more than that. So behind all this mysterious business

there was the power of money.

'I heard of you just a day or two ago,' said Mr Robinson,

73

as he shook hands, 'from our friend Pikeaway, you know.'

That fitted in, thought Stafford Nye, because now he

remembered that on the solitary occasion before that he

had met Mr Robinson, Colonel Pikeaway had been present.

Horsham, he remembered, had spoken of Mr Robinson. So

now there was Mary Arm (or the Countess Zerkowski?) and

Colonel Pikeaway sitting in his own smoke-filled room with

his eyes half closed either going to sleep or just waking up,

and there was Mr Robinson with his large, yellow face, and

so there was money at stake somewhere, and his glance shifted

to the three other people in the room because he wanted to

see if he knew who they were and what they represented,

pr if he could guess.

In two cases at least he didn't need to guess. The man

who sat in the tall porter's chair by the fireplace, an elderly

figure framed by the chair as a picture frame might have

framed him, was a face that had been well known all over

England. Indeed, it still was well known, although it was

very seldom seen nowadays. A sick man, an invalid, a

man who made very brief appearances, and then it was

said, at physical cost to himself in pain and difficulty. Lord

Altamount. A thin emaciated face, outstanding nose, grey

hair which receded just a little from the forehead, and

then flowed back in a thick grey mane; somewhat prominent

ears that cartoonists had used in their time, and a deep

piercing glance that not so much observed as probed. Probed

deeply into what it was looking at. At the moment it was

looking at Sir Stafford Nye. He stretched out a hand as

Stafford Nye went towards him.

'I don't get up,' said Lord Altamount. His voice was

faint, an old man's voice, a far-away voice. 'My back doesn't

allow me. Just come back from Malaya, haven't you, Stafford

Nye?'

'Yes.'

'Was it worth your going? I expect you think it wasn't.

You're probably right, too. Still, we have to have these

excresences in life, these ornamental trimmings to adorn

the better kind of diplomatic lies. I'm glad you could come

here or were brought here tonight. Mary Ann's doing, 1

suppose?'

So that's what he calls her and thinks of her as, thought Stafford Nye to himself. It was what Horsham had called

her. She was in with them then, without a doubt. As foi Altamount, he stood for--what did he stand for nowadays?

Stafford Nye thought to himself; He stands for England.

74

He still stands for England until he's buried in Westminster

Abbey or a country mausoleum, whatever he chooses. He

has been England, and he knows England, and I should say

he knows the value of every politician and government official

in England pretty well, even if he's never spoken to them.

Lord Altamount said:

'This is our colleague. Sir James Kleek.'

Stafford Nye didn't know Kleek. He didn't think he'd

even heard of him. A restless, fidgety type. Sharp, suspicious

glances that never rested anywhere for long. He had the

contained eagerness of a sporting dog awaiting the word of

command. Ready to start off at a glance from his master's

eye.

But who was his master? Altamount or Robinson?

Stafford's eye went round to the fourth man. He had

risen to his feet from the chair where he had been sitting

close to the door. Bushy moustache, raised eyebrows, watchful,

withdrawn, managing in some way to remain familiar

yet almost unrecognizable.

'So it's you,' said Sir Stafford Nye, 'how are you, Horsham?'

'Very pleased to see you here. Sir Stafford.'

Quite a representative gathering, Stafford Nye thought,

with a swift glance round.

They had set a chair for Renata not far from the fire

and Lord Altamount. She had stretched out a hand--her

left hand, he noticed--and he had taken it between his

two hands, holding it for a minute, then dropping it. He said:

'You took risks, child, you take too many risks.'

Looking at him, she said, 'It was you who taught me that, and it's the only way of life.'

Lord Altamount turned his head towards Sir Stafford Nye. 'It wasn't I who taught you to choose your man. You've

got a natural genius for that.' Looking at Stafford Nye, he

said, 'I know your great-aunt, or your great-great-aunt, is

she?'

'Great-Aunt Matilda,' said Stafford Nye immediately.

'Yes. That's the one. One of the Victorian tours-de-force of the 'nineties. She must be nearly ninety herself now.'

He went on:

'I don't see her very often. Once or twice a year perhaps. fiut it strikes me every time--that sheer vitality of hers

that outlives her bodily strength. They have the secret of

that, those indomitable Victorians and some of the Edwardians

as well.'

75

Sir James Kleek said, 'Let me get you a drink, Nye?

What will you have?'

'Gin and tonic, if I may.'

The Countess refused with a small shake of the head.

James Kleek brought Nye his drink and set it on the table

near Mr Robinson. Stafford Nye was not going to speak

first. The dark eyes behind the desk lost their melancholy

for a moment. They had quite suddenly a twinkle in them.

'Any questions?' he said.

Too many,' said Sir Stafford Nye. 'Wouldn't it be better

to have explanations first, questions later?'

'Is that what you'd like?'

'It might simplify matters.'

'Well, we start with a few plain statements of facts. You

may or you may not have been asked to come here. If not,

that fact may rankle slightly.'

'He prefers to be asked always,' said the Countess. 'He

said as much to me.'

'Naturally,' said Mr Robinson.

'•I was hi-jacked,' said Stafford Nye. 'Very fashionable. I

know. One of our more modem methods.'

He kept his tone one of light amusement.

'Which invites, surely, a question from you,' said Mr Robinson.

'Just

one small word of three letters. Why?'

'Quite so. Why? I admire your economy of speech. This

is a private committee—a committee of inquiry. An inquiry

of world-wide significance.'

'Sounds interesting,' said Sir Stafford Nye.

'It is more than interesting. It is poignant and immediate.

Four different ways of life are represented in this room

tonight,' said Lord Altamount. 'We represent different

branches. I have retired from active participation in the

affairs of this country, but I am still a consulting authority.

I have been consulted and asked to preside over this par

ticular inquiry as to what is going on in the world in thi;

particular year of our Lord, because something is going

on. James, here, has his own special task. He is my right

hand man. He is also our spokesman. Explain the genera

set-out, if you will, Jamie, to Sir Stafford here.'

It seemed to Stafford Nye that the gun dog quivered

At last! his eagerness seemed to be saying. At last! At las

I can speak and get on with iti He leaned forward a litti'

in his chair.

It things happen in the world, you have to look for &

76

cause for them. The outward signs are always easy to see

but they're not, or so the Chairman--' he bowed to Lord

Altamount--'and Mr Robinson and Mr Horsham believe,

important. It's always been the same way. You take a natural

force, a great fall of water that will give you turbine power.

You take the discovery of uranium from pitchblende, and

that will give you in due course nuclear power that had not

been dreamt of or known. When you found coal and minerals,

they gave you transport, power, energy. There are forces at

work always that give you certain things. But behind each

of them there is someone who controls it. You've got to find

who's controlling the powers that are slowly gaining ascendancy

in practically every country in Europe, further afield

still in parts of Asia. Less, possibly, in Africa, but again in the

American continents both north and south. You've got to get

behind the things that are happening and find out the motive

force that's making them happen. One thing that makes

things happen is money.'

He nodded towards Mr Robinson.

'Mr Robinson, there, knows as much about money as

anybody in the world, I suppose.'

'It's quite simple,' said Mr Robinson. There are big movements

afoot. There has to be money behind them. We've

got to find out where that money's coming from. Who's

operating with it? Where do they get it from? Where are

they sending it to? Why? It's quite true what James says:

I know a lot about money! As much as any man alive knows

today. Then there are what you-might call trends. It's a word

we use a good deal nowadays! Trends or tendencies--there

are innumerable words one uses. They mean not quite the

same thing, but they're in relationship with each other. A

tendency, shall we say, to rebellion shows up. Look back

through history. You'll find it coming again and again, repeating

itself like a periodic table, repeating a pattern. A desire

for rebellion. A feeling for rebellion, the means of rebellion,

the form the rebellion takes. It's not a thing particular to any

particular country. If it arises in one country, it will arise in

other countries in less or more degrees. That's what you mean,

sir, isn't it?' He half turned towards Lord Altamount. 'That's

the way you more or less put it to me.'

'Yes, you're expressing things very well, James.'

It's a pattern, a pattern that arises and seems inevitable.

You can recognize it where you find it. There was a period

when a yearning towards crusades swept countries. All over "urope people embarked in ships, they went off to deliver

77

the Holy Land. All quite clear, a perfectly good pattern

of determined behaviour. But why did they go? That's the

interest of history, you know. Seeing why these desires and

patterns arise. It's not always a materialistic answer either.

All s'orts of things can cause rebellion, a desire for freedom,

freedom of speech, freedom of religious worship, again a

series of closely related patterns. It led people to embrace

emigration to other countries, to formation of new religions

very often as full of tyranny as the forms of religion they

had left behind. But in all this, if you look hard enough, if

you make enough investigations, you can see what started the

onset of these and many other--'I'll use the same word--

patterns. In some ways it's like a virus disease. The virus can

be carried--round the world, across seas, up mountains. It can

go and infect. It goes apparently without being set in motion.

But one can't be sure, even now, that that was always really

true. There could have been causes. Causes that made things

happen. One can go a few steps further. There are people. One person--ten persons--a few hundred persons who are

capable of being and setting in motion a cause. So it is not

the end process that one has to look at. It is the first people

who set the cause in motion. You have your crusaders, you

have your religious enthusiasts, you have your desires for

liberty, you have all the other patterns but you've got to go

further back still. Further back to a hinterland. Visions,

dreams. The prophet Joel knew it when he wrote "Your old

men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions."

And of those two, which are the more powerful? Dream;

are not destructive. But visions can open new worlds to you--

and visions can also destroy the worlds that already exist ...

James Kleek turned suddenly towards Lord Altamount 'I don't know if it connects up, sir,' he said, 'but you told

me a story once of somebody in the Embassy at Berlin. A

woman.'

'Oh that? Yes, I found it interesting at the time. Yesit

has a bearing on what we are talking about now. One o the Embassy wives, clever, intelligent woman, well educated

She was very anxious to go personally and hear the Fiihre

speak. I am talking, of course, of a time immediately preceding

the 1939 war. She was curious to know what orator

could do. Why was everyone so impressed? And so she wen

She came back and said, "It's extraordinary. I wouldn't have

believed it. Of course I don't understand German very we

but I was carried away, too. And I see now why everyoc

is. I mean, his ideas were wonderful . . . They inflamed yoi 78

The things he said. I mean, you just felt there way no other

way of thinking, that a whole new world would happen if

only one followed him. Oh, I can't explain properly. I'm

going to write down as much as I can remember, and then

if I bring it to you to see, you'll see better than my just

trying to tell you the effect it had."

'I told her that was a very good idea. She came to me

the next day and she said, "I don't know if you'll believe

this. I started to write down the things I'd heard, the things

Hitler had said. What they'd meant—but—it was frightening

—there wasn't anything to write down at all, I didn't seem

able to remember a single stimulating or exciting sentence.

I have some of the words, but it doesn't seem to mean the

same things as when I wrote them down. They are just—oh,

they are just meaningless. I don't understand."

'That shows you one of the great dangers one doesn't

always remember, but it exists. There are people capable of

communicating to others a wild enthusiasm, a kind of vision

of life and of happening. They can do that though it is not

really by what they say, it is not the words you hear, it is not

even the idea described. It's something else. It's the magnetic

power that a very few men have of starting something, of

producing and creating a vision. By their personal magnetism

perhaps, a tone of voice, perhaps some emanation that comes

forth straight from the flesh. I don't know, but it exists.

'Such people have power. The great religious teachers

had this power, and so has an evil spirit power also. Belief

can be created in a certain movement, in certain things

to be done, things that will result in a new heaven and a

new earth, and people will believe it and work for it and

fight for it and even die for it.'

He lowered his voice as he said: 'Jan Smuts puts it in a

phrase. He said Leadership, besides being a great creative

force, can be diabolical.'

Stafford Nye moved in his chair.

'I understand what you mean. It is interesting what you

say. I can see perhaps that it might be true.'

'But you think it's exaggerated, of course.'

'I don't know that I do,' said Stafford Nye. Things that

^nd exaggerated are very often not exaggerated at all.

Ihey are only things that you haven't heard said before or

thought about before. And therefore they come to you as so

unfamiliar that you can hardly do anything about them

^cept accept them. By the way, may I ask a simple question?

"'hat does one do about them?'

79

It you come across the suspicion that this sort of thing is going on, you must find out about them,' said Lord

Altamount. 'You've got to go like Kipling's mongoose: g(

and find out. Find out where the money comes from anc

where the ideas are coming from, and where, if I may say so,

the machinery comes from. Who is directing the machinery'

There's a chief of staff, you know, as well as a commander

in-chief. That's what we're trying to do. We'd like you to

come and help us.'

It was one of the rare occasions in his life when Sir

Stafford Nye was taken aback. Whatever he may have felt

on some former occasions, he had always managed to conceal

the fact. But this time it was different. He looked from one

to the other of the men in the room. At Mr Robinson, impassively

yellow-faced with his mouthful of teeth displayed;

to Sir James Kleek, a somewhat brash talker. Sir Stafford

Nye had considered him, but nevertheless he had obviously

his uses; Master's dog, he called him in his own mind. H;

looked at Lord Altamount, the hood of the porter's cha"

framed round his head. The lighting was not strong in the

room. It gave him the look of a saint in a niche in a cathedral

somewhere. Ascetic. Fourteenth-century. A great man. Yes,

Altamount had been one of the great men of the past. St&fiord

Nye had no doubt of that, but he was now a very old man.

Hence, he supposed, the necessity for Sir James Kleek, an:'

Lord Altamount's reliance on him. He looked past them to tt i

enigmatic, cool creature who had brought him here; the

Countess Renata Zerkowski alias Mary Arm, alias Daphre

Theodofanous. Her face told him nothing. She was not even

looking at him. His eyes came round last to Mr Henry Hersham

of Security.

With faint surprise he observed that Henry Horsha :

was grinning at him.

'But look here,' said Stafford Nye, dropping all forni^l

language, and speaking rather like the schoolboy of eighteen

he had once been. 'Where on earth do I come in? What do

/ know? Quite frankly, I'm not distinguished in any way :n my own profession, you know. They don't think very much .?£

me at the FO. Never have.'

'We know that,' said Lord Altamount.

It was Sir James Kleek's turn to grin and he did so.

'All the better perhaps,' he remarked, and added apologetically

as Lord Altamount frowned at him, 'Sorry, sir.'

"This is a committee of investigation,' said Mr Robinsc "

'It is not a question of what you have done in the past, ^ 80

what other people's opinion of you may be. What we are

doing is to recruit a committee to investigate. There are not

very many of us at the moment forming this committee. We

ask you to join it because we think that you have certain

qualities which may help in an investigation.'

Stafford Nye turned his head towards the Security man.

'What about it, Horsham?' he said. 'I can't believe you'd

agree with that?'

'Why not?' said Henry Horsham.

'Indeed? What are my "qualities", as you call them? I

can't, quite frankly, believe in them myself.'

'You're not a hero-worshipper,' said Horsham. That's why. You're the kind who sees through humbug. You don't take

anyone at their own or the world's valuation. You take them

at your own valuation.'

Ce n'est pas un garyon serieux. The words floated through

Sir Stafford Nye's mind. A curious reason for which to be

chosen for a difficult and exacting job.

'I've got to warn you,' he said, 'that my principal fault,

and one that's been frequently noticed about me and which

has cost me several good jobs is, I think, fairly well known.

I'm not, I should say, a sufficiently serious sort pf chap for

an important job like this.'

"Believe it or not,' said Mr Horsham, 'that's one of the

reasons why they want you. I'm right, my lord, aren't I?'

He looked towards Lord Altamount.

'Public service!' said Lord Altamount. 'Let me tell you

that very often one of the most serious disadvantages in

public life is when people in a public position take themselves

too seriously. We feel that you won't. Anyway,' he

said, 'Mary Arm thinks so.'

Sir Stafford Nye turned his head. So here she was, no

longer a countess. She had become Mary Arm again.

'You don't mind my asking,' he said, 'but who are you

really? I mean, are you a real countess.'

'Absolutely. Geboren, as the Germans say. My father was

a man of pedigree, a good sportsman, a splendid shot, and

had a very romantic but somewhat dilapidated castle in

Bavaria. It's, still there, the castle. As far as that goes, I

have connections with that large portion of the European

world which is still heavily snobbish as far as birth is concerned.

A poor and shabby countess sits down first at the

table whilst a rich American with a fabulous fortune in dollars "t the bank is kept waiting.'

81

"What about Daphne Theodofanous? Where does she come

in?'

'A useful name for a passport. My mother was Greek.'

,'And Mary Arm?'

It was almost the first smile Stafford Nye had seen on

her face. Her eyes went to Lord Altamount and from him

to Mr Robinson.

'Perhaps,' she said, 'because I'm a kind of maid-of-allwork,

going places, looking for- things, taking things from

one country to another, sweeping under the mat, do anything,

go anywhere, clear up the mess.' She looked towards

Lord Altamount again. 'Am I right,-Uncle Ned?'

'Quite right, my dear. Mary Arm you are and always

will be to us.'

'Were you taking something on that plane? I mean taking

something important from one country to another?'

'Yes. It was known I was carrying it. If you hacSa't

come to my rescue, if you hadn't drunk possibly pois^ ,,.;

beer and handed over your bandit cloak of bright co' s

as a disguise, well, accidents happen sometimes. I shoi - t

have got here.'

'What were you carrying--or mustn't I ask? Are os;

things I shall never know?'

'There are a lot of things you will never know. ''. ere

are a lot of things you won't be allowed to ask. I '.' that question of yours I shall answer. A bare answe ';

fact. If I am allowed to do so.'

Again she looked at Lord Altamount.

'I trust your judgment,' said Lord Altamount. 'Go at --' '

'Give him the dope,' said the irreverent James I r'

Mr Horsham said, 'I suppose you've got to know. / woi

tell you, but then I'm Security. Go ahead, Mary Arm

'One sentence. / was bringing a birth certificate. That s an. I don't tell you any more and it won't be any use ywr asking any more questions.'

Stafford Nye looked round the assembly.

'All right. I'll join. I'm flattered at your asking me. T 8 do we go from here?'

'You and I,' said Renata, 'leave here tomorrow. ^ to the Continent. You may have read, or know, that

a Musical Festival taking place in Bavaria. It is som ^ quite new which has only come into being in the la; ' ;

years. It has a rather formidable German name meaning Company of Youthful Singers" and is supported t

Governments of several different countries. It is in opposition

to the traditional festivals and productions of Bayreuth. Much

of the music given is modern--new young composers are

given the chance of their compositions being heard. Whilst

thought of highly by some, it is utterly repudiated and held in contempt by others.'

'Yes,' said Sir Stafford, 'I have read about it. Are we

going to attend it?'

'We have seats booked for two of the performances.'

'Has this festival any special significance in our investigation?

'

'No,' said Renata. 'It is more in the nature of what you

might call an exit and entry convenience. We go there for

an ostensible and true reason, and we leave it for our next

step in due course.'

He looked round. 'Instructions? Do I get any marching

orders? Am I to be briefed?'

'Not in your meaning of those terms. You are going

on a voyage of exploration. You will learn things as you

go along. You will go as yourself, knowing only what you

know at present. You go as a lover of music, as a slightly

disappointed diplomat who had perhaps hoped for some

post in his own country which he has not been given. Otherwise,

you will know nothing. It is safer so.'

'But that is the sum of activities at present? Germany,

Bavaria, Austria, the Tyrol--that part of the world?'

'It is one of the centres of interest.'

'It is not the only one?'

'Indeed, not even the principal one. There are other" spots on the globe, all of varying importance and interest.

How much importance each one holds is what we have to

find out.'

'And I don't know, or am not to be told, anything about

these other centres?'

'Only in cursory fashion. One of them, we think the roost important one, has its headquarters in South America,

there are two with headquarters in the United States of

America, one in California, the other in Baltimore. There

is one in Sweden, there is one in Italy. Things have become ^ry active in the latter in the last six months. Portugal ^d Spain also have smaller centres. Paris, of course. There are further interesting spots just "coming into production",

you might say. As yet not fully developed,'

You mean Malaya, or Vietnam?'

a. 5'

R I? 83

'No. No, all that lies rather in the past. It was a good

rallying cry for violence and student indignation and foi

many other things.

'What is being promoted, you must understand, is the

growing organization of youth everywhere against their mode

of government; against their parental customs, against very

often the religions in which they have been brought up,

There is the insidious cult of permissiveness, there is the

increasing cult of violence. Violence not as a means of gaining

money, but violence for the love of violence. That particularly

is stressed, and the reasons for it are to the people

concerned one of the most important things and of the

utmost significance.'

'Permissiveness, is that important?'

'It is a way of life, no more. It lends itself to certain

abuses but not unduly.'

'What about drugs?'

The cult of drugs has been deliberately advanced and

fomented. Vast sums of money have been made that way,

but it is not, or so we think, entirely activated for the money

motive.'

All of them looked at Mr Robinson, who slowly shook

his head.

'No,' he said, 'it looks that way. There are people who

are being apprehended and brought to justice. Pushers of

drugs will be followed up. But there is more than just the

drug racket behind all this. The drug racket is a means,

and an evil means, of making money. But there is more to

it than that.'

'But who--' Stafford Nye stopped.

'Who and what and why and where? The four Was.

That is your mission. Sir Stafford,' said Mr Robinson. 'That's

what you've got to find out. You and Mary Arm. It won't

be easy, and one of the hardest things in the world, remember,

is to keep one's secrets.'

Stafford Nye looked with interest at the fat yellov cace

of Mr Robinson. Perhaps the secret of Mr Rob r.son's

domination in the financial world was just that. His ;'icret was that he kept his secret. Mr Robinson's mouth s owed

its smile again. The large teeth gleamed.

'If you know a thing,' he said, 'it is always a great .eroptation

to show that you know it; to talk about it, ii "^net words. It is not that you want to give informatiol, it is not that you have been offered payment to give'infon "on' It is that you want to show how important you ar ^ss) 84

it's just as simple as that. In fact,' said Mr Robinson, and

he half closed his eyes, 'everyttung in this world is so very, very simple. That's what people don't understand.'

The Countess got to her feet and Stafford Nye followed

her example.

'I hope you will sleep well and be comfortable,' said

Mr Robinson. This house is, I think, moderately comfortable.'

Stafford Nye murmured that he was quite sure of that,

and on that point he was shortly to be proved to have been

quite right. He laid his head on the pillow and went to

sleep immediately.

85

Chapter 10

THE WOMAN IN THE SCHLOSS

They came out of the Festival Youth Theatre to the refreshing

night air. Below "them in a sweep of the ground, was a

lighted restaurant. On the side of the hill was another, smaller

one. The restaurants varied slightly in price though neither

of them was inexpensive. Renata was in evening dress of

black velvet. Sir Stafford Nye was in white tie and full

evening dress.

'A very distinguished audience,' murmured Stafford Nye

to his companion. 'Plenty of money there. A young audience

on the whole. You wouldn't think they could afford it.'

'Oh! that can be seen to--it is seen to.'

A subsidy for the 61ite of youth? That kind of thing?'

'Yes.'

They walked towards the restaurant on the high side of the hill.

They give you an hour for the meal. Is that right?'

Technically an hour. Actually an hour and a quarter.*

That audience,' said Sir Stafford Nye, 'most of them,

nearly all of them, I should say, are real lovers of music,'

'Most of them, yes. It's important, you know.'

'What do you mean--important?'

That the enthusiasm should be genuine. At both ends of the scale,' she added.

'What did you mean, exactly, by that?'

Those who practise and organize violence must love

violence, must want it, must yearn for it. The seal of ecstasy

in every movement, of slashing, hurting, destroying. And

the same thing with the music. The ears must appreciate

every moment of the harmonies and beauties. There can

be no pretending in this game.'

'Can you double the roles--do you mean you can combine

violence and a love of music or a love of art?'

'It is not always easy, I think, but yes. There are many

who can. It is safer really, if they don't have to combine

r61es.'

'It's better to keep it simple, as our fat friend Mr Robinson

would say? Let the lovers of music love music, let the

violent practitioners love violence. Is that what you mean?'

I think so.'

1 am enjoying this very much. The two days that we

89

have stayed here, the two nights of music that we have

enjoyed. I have not enjoyed all the music because I am not

perhaps sufficiently modern in my taste. I find the clothes

very interesting.'

'Are you talking of the stage production?'

'No, no, I was talking of the audience, really. You and I, the squares, the old-fashioned. You, Countess, in your society

gown, I in my white tie and tails. Not a comfortable getup,

it never has been. And then the others, the silks and the velvets,

the ruffled shirts of the men, real lace, I noticed, several times

--and the plush and the hair and the luxury of avant garde, the luxury of the eighteen-hundreds or you might almost say of

the Elizabethan age or of Van Dyck pictures.'

'Yes, you are right.'

Tm no nearer, though, to what it all means. I haven't learnt anything. I haven't found out anything.'

'You mustn't be impatient. This is a rich show, supported,

asked for, demanded perhaps by youth and provided by--'

'By whom?'

'We don't know yet. We shall know.'

'I'm so glad you are sure of it.'

They went into the restaurant and sat down. The food

was good though not in any way ornate or luxurious. Once

or twice they were spoken to by an acquaintance or a

friend. Two people who recognized Sir Stafford Nye expressed

pleasure and surprise at seeing him. Renata had a bigger

circle of acquaintances since she knew more foreigners--

well-dressed women, a man or two, mostly German or Austrian,

Stafford Nye thought, one or two Americans. Just a

few desultory words. Where people had come from or were

going to. criticism or appreciation of the musical fare. Nobody

wasted much time since the interval for eating had not been very long.

They returned to their seats for the two final musical

offerings. A Symphonic Poem, 'Disintegration in Joy', by at new young composer, Solukonov, and then the solemn

grandeur of the March of the Meistersingers.

They came out again into the night. The car which was

at their disposal every day was waiting there to take them

back to the small but exclusive hotel in the village street.

Stafford Nye said good-night to Renata. She spoke to him in a lowered voice.

'Four a.m.,' she said. 'Be ready.'

She went straight into her room and shut the door and

he went to his.

90

The faint scrape of fingers on his door came precisely at three minutes to four the next morning. He opened the

door and stood ready.

"The car is waiting,' she said. 'Come.'

They lunched at a small mountain inn. The weather was

good, the mountains beautiful. Occasionally Stafford Nye

wondered what on earth he was doing here. He understood

less and less of his travelling companion. She spoke little.

He found himself watching her profile. Where was she taking

him? What was her real reason? At last, as the sun was

almost setting, he said:

'Where are we going? Can I ask?'

'You can ask, yes.'

'But you do not reply?'

'I could reply. I could tell you things, but would they

mean anything? It seems to me that if you come to where

we are going without my preparing you with explanations

(which cannot in the nature of things mean anything), your

first impressions will have more force and significance.'

He looked at her again thoughtfully. She was wearing a

tweed coat trimmed with fur, smart travelling clothes, foreign

in make and cut.

'Mary Arm,' he said thoughtfully.

There was a faint question in it;

'No,' she said, 'not at the moment.'

'Ah. You are still the Countess Zerkowski.'

'At the moment I am still the Countess Zerkowski.'

'Are you in your own part of the world?'

'More or less. I grew up as a child in this part of the

world. For a good portion of each year we used to come

here in the autumn to a Schloss not very many miles from

here.'

He smiled and said thoughtfully, 'What a nice word it is.

A Schloss. So solid-sounding.'

'Schlosser are not standing very solidly nowadays. They

are mostly disintegrated.'

This is Hitler's country, isn't it? We're not far, are we,

from Berchtesgaden?'

'It lies over there to the northeast.'

'Did your relations, your friends--did they accept Hitler,

believe in him? Perhaps I ought not to ask things like that.' '. 'They disliked him and all he stood for. But they said

"Heil Hitler". They acquiesced in what had happened to

91

their country. What else could they do? What else could

anybody do at that date?'

'We are going towards the Dolomites, are we not?'-

'Does it matter where we are, or which way we are

going?'

'Well, this is a voyage of exploration, is it not?'

'Yes, but the exploration is not geographical. We are

going to see a personality.'

'You make me feel--' Stafford Nye looked up at the

landscape of swelling mountains reaching up to the sky--

*as though we were going to visit the famous Old Man of -'the Mountain.'

The Master of the Assassins, you mean, who kept his followers

under drugs so that they died for him wholeheartedly,

so that they killed, knowing that they themselves would also

be killed, but believing, too, that that would transfer them

immediately to the Moslem Paradise--beautiful women, hashish

and erotic dreams--perfect and unending happiness.'

She paused a minute and then said:

'Spell-binders! I suppose they've always been there throughout

the ages. People who make you believe in them so that

you are ready to die for them. Not only Assassins. The

Christians died also.'

'The holy Martyrs? Lord Altamount?'

'Why do you say Lord Altamount?'

1 saw him that way--suddenly--that evening. Carved in

stone--in a thirteenth-century cathedral, perhaps.'

'One of us may have to die. Perhaps more.'

She stopped what he was about to say.

There is another thing I think of sometimes. A verse in

the New Testament--Luke, I think. Christ at the Last Supper

saying to his followers: "You are my companions and my

friends, yet one of you is a devil." So in all probability one

of us is a devil.'

'You think it possible?'

'Almost certain. Someone we trust and know, but who

goes to sleep at night, not dreaming of martyrdom but of

thirty pieces of silver, and who wakes with the feel of them

in the palm of his hand.'

The love of money?'

'Ambition covers it better. How does one recognize a

devil? How would one fcnow? A devil Would stand out in a

crowd, would be exciting--would advertise himself--would

exercise leadership,'

She was silent a moment and then said in a thoughtful

voice:

'I had a friend once in the Diplomatic Service who told

me how she had said to a German woman how moved she

herself had been at the performance of the Passion Play at

Oberammergau. But the German woman said scornfully:

"You do not understand. We Germans have no need of a

Jesus Christ 1 We have our Adolf Hitler here with us. He

is greater than any Jesus that ever lived." She was quite

a nice ordinary woman. But that is how she felt. Masses

of people felt it. Hitler was a spell-binder. He spoke and

they listened--and accepted the sadism, the gas chambers,

the tortures of the Gestapo.'

She shrugged her shoulders and then said in her normal

voice, 'All the same, it's odd that you should have said

what you did just now.'

What was that?'

'About the Old Man of the Mountain. The head of the

Assassins.'

'Are you telling me there is an Old Man of the Mountain

here?'

'No. Not an Old Man of the Mountain, but there might

be an Old Woman of the Mountain.'

'An Old Woman of the Mountain. What's she like?'

'You'll see this evening.'

'What are we doing this evening?'

'Going into society,' said Renata.

'It seems a long time since you've been Mary Arm.'

'You'll have to wait till we're doing some air travel again.'

'I suppose it's very bad for one's morale,' Stafford Nye

said thoughtfully, 'living high up in the world.'

'Are you talking socially?'

'No. Geographically. If you live in a castle on a mountain

peak overlooking the world below you, well, it makes you

despise the ordinary folk, doesn't it? You're the top' one,

you're the grand one. That's what Hitler felt in Berchtesgaden,

that's what many people feel perhaps who climb mountains

and look down on their fellow creatures in valleys below.'

'You must be careful tonight,' Renata warned him. 'It's

going to be ticklish.'

'Any instructions?'

'You're a disgruntled man. You're one that's against the

Establishment, against the conventional world. You're a

rebel, but a secret rebel. Can you do it?'

93

here by command, by appointment. However you liked to

put it. Renata had been told to bring him here. He wondered

why. He couldn't really think why, but he was quite ir

of it. It was at him she was looking. She was appri n, him, summing him up. Was he what she wanted? Wa it',

yes, he'd rather put it this way, was he what the cust ne:

had ordered?

I'll have to make quite sure that I know what it is she

does want, he thought. I'll have to do my best, otherwise

. . . Otherwise he could quite imagine that she might raise

a fat ringed hand and say to one of the tall, muscular

footmen: 'Take him and throw him over the battlements.'

It's ridiculous, thought Stafford Nye. Such things can't happen nowadays. Where am I? What kind of a parade, a masquerade

or a theatrical performance am I taking part in?

'You have come very punctual to time, child.'

It was a hoarse, asthmatic voice which had once had

an undertone, he thought, of strength, possibly even of

beauty. That was over now, Renata came forward, made a

slight curtsy. She picked up the fat hand and dropped a

courtesy kiss upon it.

'Let me present to you Sir Stafford Nye. The Grafin Charlotte von Waldsausen.'

The fat hand was extended towards him. He bent over

it in the foreign style. Then she said something that surprised

him.

'I know your great-aunt,' she said,

He looked astounded, and he saw immediately that she

was amused by that, but he saw too, that she had expected

him to be surprised by it. She laughed, a rather queer, grating

laugh. Not attractive.

'Shall we say, I used to know her. It is many, many

years since I have seen her. We were in Switzerland together,

at Lausanne, as girls. Matilda. Lady Matilda BaldwenWhite.'

'What

a wonderful piece of news to take home with. me,

said Stafford Nye.

'She is older than I am. She is in good health?'

'For her age, in very good health. She lives in the country

quietly. She has arthritis, rheumatism.'

'Ah yes, all the ills of old age. She should have injections

of procaine. That is what the doctors do here in this altitude.

It is very satisfactory. Does she know that you are visiti'g

me?> 'I imagine that she has not the least idea of it,' said S11'

96

Stafford Nye. 'She knew only that I was going to this festival of modern music.'

'Which you enjoyed, I hope?'

'Oh enormously. It is a fine Festival Opera Hall, is it not?'

'One of the finest. Pah! It makes the old Bayreuth Festival

Hall look like a comprehensive school! Do you know what

it cost to build, that Opera House?'

She mentioned a sum in millions of marks. It quite took

Stafford Nye's breath away, but he was under no necessity

to conceal that. She. was pleased with the effect it made

upon him.

'With money,' she said, 'if one knows, if one has the

ability, if one has the discrimination, what is there that

money cannot do? It can give one the best.'

She said the last two words with a rich enjoyment, a

kind of smacking of the lips which he found both unpleasant

and at the same time slightly sinister.

'I see that here,' he said, as he looked round the walls.

'You are fond of art? Yes, I see you arks. There, on the

east wall is the finest Cezanne in the world today. Some

say that the--ah, I forget the name of it at the moment,

the one in the Metropolitan in New York--is finer. That

is not true. The best Matisse, the best Cezanne, the best of

all that great school of art are here. Here in my mountain

eyrie.'

'It is wonderful,' said Sir Stafford. 'Quite wonderful.'

Drinks were being handed round. The Old Woman of

the Mountain, Sir Stafford Nye noticed, did not drink anything.

It was possible, he thought, that she feared to take

any risks over her blood pressure with that vast weight.

'And where did you meet this child?' asked the mountainous

Dragon.

Was it a trap? He did not know, but he made his decision.

^'At the American Embassy, in London.'

Ah yes, so I heard. And how is--ah, I forget her name

now--ah yes, Milly Jean, our southern heiress? Attractive, did you think?'

Most charming. She has a great success in London.'

And poor duU Sam Cortman, the United States Ambassador?'

A very sound man, I'm sure,' said Stafford Nye politely.

Me chuckled.

'Aha, you're tactful, are you not? Ah well, he does weU

An0^ -Re does what he is told as a good Politician should. '"la it is enjoyable to be Ambassador in London. She could

I>TP 97 D

do that for him, Milly Jean. Ah, she could get him an

Embassy anywhere in the world, with that well-stuffed purse

of hers. Her father owns half the oil in Texas, he owns land

goldfields, everything. A coarse, singularly ugly man_But

what does she look like? A gentle little aristocrat. Not blatant,

not rich. That is very clever of her, is it not?'

'Sometimes it presents no difficulties,' said Sir StaPord

Nye.

'And you? You are not rich?'

'I wish I was.'

"The Foreign Office nowadays, it is not, shall we say,

very rewarding?'

'Oh well, I would not put it like thai . . . After all, one

goes places, one meets amusing people, one sees the world,

one sees something of what goes on.'

'Something, yes. But not everything.'

That would be very difficult.'

'Have you ever wished to see what--how shall I put it--

what goes on behind the scenes in life?'

'One has an idea sometimes.' He made his voice noncommittal.

'I have heard it said that that is true of you, that you

have sometimes ideas about things. Not perhaps the conventional

ideas?'

There have been times when I've been made to feel

the bad boy of the family," said Stafford Nye and laughed.

Old Charlotte chuckled.

'You don't mind admitting things now and again, do you?'

'Why pretend? People always know what you're concealing.'

She looked at him.

'What do you want out of life, young man?'

He shrugged his shoulders. Here again, he had to play

things by ear.

'Nothing,' he said.

'Come now, come now, am I to believe that?'

'Yes, you can believe it. I am not ambitious. Do I loo>

ambitious?'

'No, I will admit that.'

'I ask only to be amused, to live comfortably, to eat, to

drink in moderation, to have friends who amuse me.

The old woman leant forward. Her eyes snapped open and shut three or four times. Then she spoke in ,1 ra1"6 different voice. It was like a whistling note.

'Can you hate? Are you capable of hating?'

To hate is a waste of time.'

98

I see. I see. There are no lines of discontent in your face.

That is true enough. AU the same, I think you are ready to take a certain path which will lead you to a certain

t place, and you will go along it smiling, as though you did I not care, but all the same, in the end, if you find the right

advisers, the right helpers, you might attain what you want,

if you are capable of wanting.'

'As to that,' said Stafford Nye, 'who isn't?' He shook his

head at her very gently. 'You see too much,' he said. 'Much

too much.'

Footmen threw open a door.

'Dinner is served.'

The proceedings were properly formal. They had indeed

iatnost a royal tinge about them. The big doors at the far teKl of the room were flung open, showing through to a ^ghtly lighted ceremonial dining-room, with a painted ceil^R

and three enormous chandeliers. Two middle-aged women

l^proached the Grafin, one on either side. They wore evening

dress, their grey hair was carefully piled on their heads,

each wore a diamond brooch. To Sir Stafford Nye, all the

same, they brought a faint flavour of wardresses. They were,

he thought, not so much security guards as perhaps high-class

nursing attendants in charge of the health, the toilet and other

intimate details of the Grafin Charlotte's existence. After

napectful bows, each one of them slipped an arm below Ac shoulder and elbow of the sitting woman. With the ease of

long practice aided by the effort which was obviously as much aa, she could make, they raised her to her feet in a dignified

fiuhion. ^j 'We will go in to dinner now,' said Charlotte.

With her two female attendants, she led the way. On

her feet she looked even more a mass of wobbling jelly,

yet she was still formidable. You could not dispose of her

in your mind as just a fat old woman. She was somebody,

knew she was somebody, intended to be somebody. Behind

the three of them he Ttod Renata foUowed.

As they entered through the portals of the dining-room, he felt it was almost more a banquet hall than a dining- room. There was a bodyguard here. Tall, fair-haired, handsome

young men. They wore some kind of uniform. As Charotte

entered there was a clash as one and all drew their vfwsh- They crossed them overhead to make a passageway, d Charlotte, steadying herself, passed along that passageay,

released by her attendants and making her progress solo

a vast carved chair with gold fittings and upholstered in

99

golden brocade at the head of the long table. It wa

like a wedding procession, Stafford Nye thought. ,'. ' I or military one. In this case surely, military, strictly mi -;.rybut

lacking a bridegroom.

They were all young men of super physique, t -„ them,

he thought, was older than thirty. They he-.u (,ood

looks, their health was evident. They did not smi'e, ihey

were entirely serious, they were--he thought of a word or

it--yes, dedicated. Perhaps not so much a military proces^a

as a religious one. The servitors appeared, old-fashioned

servitors belonging, he thought, to the Schloss's past, to a time

before the 1939 war. It was like a super production of a

period historic play. And queening over it, sitting in the chair

or the throne or whatever you liked to call it, at the head

of the table, was not a queen or an empress but an old

woman noticeable mainly for her avoirdupois weight and her

extraordinary and intense ugliness. Who was she? What was

she doing here? Why?

Why all this masquerade, why this bodyguard, a security

bodyguard perhaps? Other diners came to the table. They

bowed to the monstrosity on the presiding throne and took

their places. They wore ordinary evening dress. No introductions

were made.

Stafford Nye, after long years of sizing up people, assessed

them. Different types. A great many different types. Lawyers,

he was certain. Several lawyers. Possibly accountants or

financiers; one or two army officers in plain clothes. They

were of the Household, he thought, but they were also in the

old-fashioned feudal sense of the term those who 'sat below

the salt'.

Food came. A vast boar's head pickled in aspic, ven.i<"n. a cool refreshing lemon sorbet, a magnificent edifice

pastry--a super millefeuille that seemed of unbelievable afectionery

richness.

The vast woman ate, ate greedily, hungrily, enjo' ,?_

food. From outside came a new sound. The sounc r '"_ powerful engine of a super sports ear. It passed the i'11'' in a white flash. There came a cry inside the room hov\ the bodyguard. A great cry of 'Heil! Heil! Heil Franz!

The bodyguard of young men moved with the ease of

military manoeuvre known by heart. Everyone had '"'se to their feet. Only the old woman sat without moving, re head lifted high, on her dais. And, so Stafford Nye thougtii.

a new excitement now permeated the room. .j

The other guests, or the other members of the ho'-'sehol

whatever they were, disappeared in a way that somehow

reminded Stafford of lizards disappearing into the cracks of

wall. The golden-haired boys formed a new figure, their

Words flew out, they saluted their patroness, she bowed her

head in acknowledgment, their swords were sheathed and

they turned, permission given, to march out through the door

of the room. Her eyes followed them, then went first to

Renata, and then to Stafford Nye.

'What do you think of them?' she said. 'My boys, my

youth corps, my children. Yes, my children. Have you a

word that can describe them?'

'I think so,' said Stafford Nye. 'Magnificent.' He spoke

Itfher as to Royalty. 'Magnificent, ma'am.' i ..''Ahl' She bowed her head. She smiled, the wrinkles multilying

all over her face. It made her look exactly like a

locodile.

'A terrible woman, he thought, a terrible woman, imossible,

dramatic. Was any of this happening? He couldn't

Clieve it was. What could this be but yet another festival

ilftil in which a production was being given.

The doors clashed open again. The yellow-haired band at the young supermen marched as before through it. This (iflBe they did not wield swords, instead they sang. Sang >Ah unusual beauty of tone and voice.

if After a good many years of pop music Stafford Nye felt

M incredulous pleasure. Trained voices, these. Not raucous

houting. Trained by masters of the singing art. Not allowed

to strain their vocal cords, to be off key. They might be

the new Heroes of a New World, but what they sang was

not new music. It was music he had heard before. An arrangement

of the Preislied, there must be a concealed orchestra

somewhere, he thought, in a gallery round the top of the

room. It was an arrangement or adaptation of various Wag- nenan themes. It passed from the Preislied to the distant ^hoes of the Rhine music.

The Elite Corps made once more a double lane where wnebody was expected to make an entrance. It was not

e old Empress this time. She sat on her dais awaiting

whoever was coming.

And at last he came. The music changed as he came. It

hea^0^131^ motif which ^ n(yw Stafford Nye had got by

caU The melody of the Young Siegfried. Siegfried's horn

ucw nslng up.in its Y0^ and its triumph, its mastery of a

U.CW 1 JVW.MA CUJU 1U» HJHAlJLlj-'lAi J

w world which the young Siegfried came to ^nrough the doorway, marching up bel

101

conquer.

between the lines

of what were clearly his followers, came one of the handsomest

young men Stafford Nye had ever seen. Golden- haired, blue-eyed, perfectly proportioned, conjured up as it

were by the wave of a magician's wand, he came forth out of

the world of myth. Myth, heroes, resurrection, rebirth, it was

all there. His beauty, his strength, his incredible assurance and

arrogance.

He strode through the double lines of his bodyguard

until he stood before the hideous mountain of womanhood

that sat there on her throne; he knelt on one knee, n sed

her hand to his lips, and then rising to his feet, he threv ap

one arm in salutation and uttered the cry that Stafford

Nye had heard from the others. 'Heil!' His German was not

very clear, but Stafford Nye thought he distinguished the

syllables 'Heil to the great mother!'

Then the handsome young hero looked from one side to

the other. There was some faint recognition, though ac uninterested one, of Renata, but when his gaze turned to

Stafford Nye, there was definite interest and appraisal. Caution,

thought Stafford Nye. Caution! He must play his part

right now. Play the part that was expected of him. Only--

what the hell was that part? What was he doing here? What

were he or the girl supposed to be doing here? Why had they come?

The hero spoke.

'So,' he said, 'we have guests!' And he added, smiling

with the arrogance of a young man who knows that he is

vastly superior to any other person in the world. 'Welcome,

guests, welcome to you both.'

Somewhere in the depths of the Schtoss a great bell

began tolling. It had no funereal sound about it, but it had

a disciplinary air. The feeling of a monastery summoned to some holy office.

'We must sleep now,' said old Charlotte. 'Sleep. We will

meet again tomorrow morning at eleven o'clock.'

She looked towards Renata and Sir Stafford Nye.

'You will be shown to your rooms. I hope you "ill &\ee^ well.'

It was the Royal dismissal.

Stafford Nye saw Renata's arm fly up in the Fasc salute

but it was addressed not to Charlotte, but to thi 'yw haired boy. He thought she said: 'Heil Franz jo! 1'" n copied her gesture and he, too, said 'Heill'

Charlotte spoke to them.

'Would it please you tomorrow morning to start the day with a ride through the forest?'

'I should like it of all things,' said Stafford Nyei

And you, child?'

'Yes, I too.'

'Very good then. It shall be arranged. Good night to you

both. I am glad to welcome you here. Franz Joseph--

give me your arm. We will go into the Chinese Boudoir.

We have much to discuss, and you will have to leave in

good time tomorrow morning.'

The menservants escorted Renata and Stafford Nye to

their apartments. Nye hesitated for a moment on the threshold.

Would it be possible for them to have a word or two

now? He decided against it. As long as the castle wads surrounded

them it was well to be careful. One never knew--

each room might be wired with microphones.

Sooner or later, though, he had to ask questions. Certain

things aroused a new and sinister apprehension in his mind.

He was being persuaded, inveigled into something. But what?

And whose doing was it?

The bedrooms were handsome, yet oppressive. The rich

hangings of satin and Velvets, some of them antique, gave

out a faint perfume of decay, tempered by spices. He wondered

how often Renata had stayed here before,

Chapter 11

THE YOUNG AND LOVELY

After breakfasting on the following morning in a small

breakfast-room downstairs, he found Renata waiting for

him. The horses were at the door.

Both of them had brought riding clothes with them. Everything

they could possibly require seemed to have been intelligently

anticipated.

They mounted and rode away down the castle drive. Renata spoke with the groom at some length.

He asked if we would like him to accompany us but 1 ^d no. I know the tracks round here fairly well.'

I see. You have been here before?'

Not very often of late years. Early in my life I knew this

Place very well'

103

He gave her a sharp look. She did not return it. As sh

rode beside him, he watched her profile--the thin, aquiline

nose, the head carried so proudly on the slender neck. s'he

rode a horse well, he saw that. " ,

All the same, there was a sense of ill ease in his mind rhis

morning. He wasn't sure why ". . .

His mind went back to the Airport Lounge. The wo.iian

who had come to stand beside him. The glass of Pihner

on the table . . . Nothing in it that there shouldn't 1 ;e been--neither then, nor later. A risk he had accepted. \,^y,

when all that was long over, should it rouse uneasiness in

him now?

They had a brief canter following a ride through the trees.

A beautiful property, beautiful Woods. In the distance he

saw homed animals. A paradise for a sportsman, a par&dise

for the old way of living, a paradise that contained--what?

A serpent? As it was in the beginning--with Paradise went

a serpent. He drew rein and the horses fell to a walk. He

and Renata were alone--no microphones, no listening walls--

The time had come for his questions.

'Who is she?' he said urgently. 'What is she?'

It's easy to answer. So easy that it's hardly believable.*

Well?' he said.

'She's oil. Copper. Goldmines in South Africa. Armaments

in Sweden. Uranium deposits in the north. Nuclear

development, vast stretches of cobalt. She's all those things.'

'And yet, I hadn't heard about her, I didn't know her name,

I didn't know--'

'She has not wanted people to know.'

'Can one keep such things quiet?'

'Easily, if you have enough copper and oil and nuclear

deposits and armaments and all the rest of it. Money can advertise, or money can keep secrets, can hush things up.'

'But who actually is she?'

'Her grandfather was American. He was mainly railways.

I think. Possibly Chicago hogs in those times. It's like poin^ back into history, finding out. He married a German wo-an

You've heard of her, I expect. Big Belinda, they use " christen her. Armaments, shipping, the whole industri, ":""

of Europe. She was her father's heiress.'

'Between those two, unbelievable wealth,' said Sir Sia .^-r Nye. 'And so--power. Is that what you're telling roe?'

'Yes. She didn't just inherit things, you know. She maw money as well. She'd inherited brains, she was a big faaanci

in her own right. Everything she touched multiplied itself.

Turied to incredible sums of money, and she invested them.

Taking advice, taking other people's judgment, but in the end

always using her own. And always prospering. Always adding

to her wealth so that it was too fabulous to be believed. Money creates money.'

'Yes, I can understand that. Wealth has to increase if

there's a superfluity of it. But--what did she want? What

has she got?'

'You said it just now. Power.'

'And she lives here? Or does she--?'

'She visits America and Sweden. Oh yes, she visits places,

but not often. This is where she prefers to be, in the centre

of a web like a vast spider controlling all the threads. The

threads of finance. Other threads too.'

'When you say, other threads--'

The arts. Music, pictures, writers. Human beings--young

human beings.'

'Yes. One might know that. Those pictures, a wonderful collection.'

There are galleries of them upstairs in the Schloss. There

are Rembrandts and Giottos and Raphaels and there are

cases of jewels--some of the most wonderful jewels in the eWorld.'

, 'All belonging to one ugly, gross old woman. Is she satisfied?'

'Not yet, but well on the way to being.'

'Where is she going, what does she want?'

'She ioves youth. That is her mode of power. To control

youth. The world is full of rebellious youth at. this moment.

That's been helped on. Modern philosophy, modem thought, writers and others whom she finances and controls.'

'But how can--?' He stopped.

'I can't tell you because I don't know. It's an enormous

ramification. She's behind it in one sense, supports rather

curious charities, earnest philanthropists and idealists, raises

innumerable grants for students and artists and writers.'

'And yet you say it's not--'

'No, ifs not yet complete. It's a great upheaval that's

oemg planned. It's believed in, it's the new heaven and the °ew earth. That's what's been promised by leaders for

thousands of years. Promised by religions, promised by those

ho support Messiahs, promised by those who come back to teach the law, like the Buddha. Promised by politicians.

105

The crude heaven of an easy attainment such as the Assassins

believed in, and the Old Man of the Assassins promised his

followers and, from their point of view, gave to them,'

'Is she behind drugs as well?'

"Yes. Without conviction, of course. Only a means of

having people bent to her will. It's one way, too, of destroyino

people. The weak ones. The ones she thinks are no goocC although they had once shown promise. She'd never take drugs

herself--she's strong. But drugs destroy weak people more

easily and naturally than anything else.'

'And force? What about force? You can't do everything

by propaganda.'

'No, of course not. Propaganda is the first stage and

behind it there are vast armaments piling up. Arms that

go to deprived countries and then on elsewhere. Tanks

and guns and nuclear weapons that go to Africa and the

South Seas and South America. In South America there's a

lot building up. Forces of young men and women drilling and

training. Enormous arms dumps--means of chemical warfare--'

'It's a nightmare! How do you know all this, Renata?'

'Partly because I've been told it; from information received,

partly because I have been instrumental in proving

some of it.'

'But you. You and sheT

There's always something idiotic behind all great and

vast projects.' She laughed suddenly. 'Once, you see, she

was in love with my grandfather. A foolish story. He lived

in this part of the world. He had a castle a mile or two

from here.'

'Was he a man of genius?'

'Not at all. He was just a very good sportsman. Handsome,

dissolute and attractive to women. And so, because of that,

she is in a sense my protectress. And I am one of her converts

or slaves! I work for her. I find people for her. 1 carry

out her commands in different parts of the world.'

Do you?'

'What do you mean by that?'

*I wondered,' said Sir Stafford Nye.

He did wonder. He looked at Renata and he t; ought

again of the airport. He was working for Renata, Is v;as working with Renata. She had brought him to this Schloss.

Who had told her to bring him here? Big, gross Charlotte

in the middle of her spider's web? He had had a reputation,

a reputation of being unsound in certain diploma"0 106

Quarters. He could be useful to these people perhaps, but

usci'ul in a small and rather humiliating way. And he

thought suddenly, in a kind of fog of question marks:

Renata??? I took a risk with her at Frankfurt airport. But

I was right. It came off. Nothing happened to me. But all

the same, he thought, who is she? What is she? I don't

know. I can't be sure. One can't in the world today be sure

of anyone. Anyone at all. She was told perhaps to get me.

To get me Into the hollow of her hand, so that business at

Frankfurt might have been cleverly thought out. It fitted

in with my sense of risk, and it would make me sure of her.

It would make me trust her.

'Let's canter again,' she said. 'We've walked the horses

too long.'

'I haven't asked you what you are in all this?'

1 take orders.'

From whom?'

'There's an opposition. There's always an opposition.

There are people who have a suspicion of what's going on,

of how the world is going to be made to change, of how

with money, wealth, armaments, idealism, great trumpeting

words of power what's going to happen. There are people

who say it shall not happen.'

'And you are with them?'

'I say so.'

'What do you mean by that, Renata?'

She said, '/ say so.'

He said: "That young man last night--'

'Franz Joseph?'

'Is that his name?'

"It is the name he is known by.'

'But he has another name, hasn't he?'

'Do you think so?'

'He is, isn't he, the young Siegfried?'

'you saw him like that? You realized that's what he was,

what he stands for?'

'I think so. Youth. Heroic youth. Aryan youth, it has

to be Aryan youth in this part of the world. There is still

that point of view. A super race, the supermen. They must

be of Aryan descent.'

'Oh yes, it's lasted on from the time of Hitler. It doesn't

always come out into the open much and, in other places a" over the world, it isn't stressed so much. South America,

" { say, is one of the strongholds. And Peru and South ""ica also.'

107

What does t) sides look hanc

'Oh, he's qu

would follow t

'Is that true

'He believes

And you?'

'I think I mi

frightening, yoi can do, and nc way they are s

cry and screair

you'll see that :

'You saw C

up--people do

all over the w

in different plac

and girls in thei

and beauty, an

the young whid

of the old wor

west of the Ir

different Count

now--It was si

waves . . .

'But now w

destroying. On

behind it. It's if

violence, becaus

'So that is he

'Sometimes.'

'And what ai

'Come with :

Dante, I'll take

films partly co{

pain and violer

dreams of parad

is which and w.

mind.'

'Do I trust y

That will b(

if you like, or :

The new woric

'Pasteboard,'

She looked a

Like Alice in Wonderland. The cards, the pasteboard

cards all rising up in the air. Flying about. Kings and Queens

and Knaves. All sorts of things.'

'You mean--what do you mean exactly?'

'I mean it isn't real. It's make-believe. The whole damn

thing is make-believe.'

In one sense, yes.'

'All dressed up playing parts, putting on a show. I'm

getting nearer, aren't I, to the meaning of things?'

In a way, yes, and in a way, no--'

'There's one thing I'd like to ask you because it puzzles

me. Big Charlotte ordered you to bring me to see her--

why? What did she know about me? What use did she

think she could make of me?'

'I don't quite know--possibly a kind of Eminence Grise-- working behind a facade. That would suit you rather well.'

'But she knows nothing whatever about me!'

'Oh, that 1' Suddenly Renata went into peals of laughter.

'It's so ridiculous, really--the same old nonsense all over

again.'

'I don't understand you, Renata.'

'No--because it's so simple. Mr Robinson would understand.'

'Would you kindly explain what you are talking about?'

'It's the same old business--"It's not what you are. It's

who you know". Your. Great-Aunt Matilda and Big Charlotte

were at school together--'

'You actually mean--'

'Girls together.'

He stared at her. Then he threw his head back and roared

with laughter.

Chapter 12

COURT JESTER

, y lel!t the Schloss at midday, saying goodbye to their

ostess. Then they had driven down the winding road, leav- "8 the Schloss high above them and they had come at last,

__er "^"y hours of driving, to a stronghold in the Dolomites an ^Phitheatre in the mountains where meetings, concerts u "^""ons of the various Youth Groups were held. eaata faad brought him there, his guide, and from his

109

I

seat on the bare rock he had watcl

I I had listened. He understood a littli

[ jl been talking about earlier that day. J [] ing, animated as all mass gatherings i\ are called by an evangelistic religic

I Square, New York, or in the shadow i

a football crowd or in the super demon

i' i to attack embassies and police and

j rest of it

II She had brought him there to sho

| that one phrase: The Young Siegf

i \'s\ Franz Joseph, if that was really hi

i] the crowd. His voice, rising, falling, t | quality, its emotional appeal, had hek

i ing, almost moaning crowd of you

I [1 men. Every word that he had uttere' I with meaning, had held incredible app

i| ponded like an orchestra. His voice

the conductor. And yet, what had th

|i | been the young Siegfried's message?

l| that he could remember when it came

i that he had been moved, promised tt

iasm. And now it was over. The cr

the rocky platform, calling, crying < , had been screaming with enthusiast]

I fainted. What a world it was nowadi

II |i | thing used the whole time to arous

,| Restraint? None of those things coi

|| more. Nothing mattered but to feel. I I What sort of a world, thought St

i I make? His guide had touched him on t

disentangled themselves from the cr

I their car and the driver had taken

which he was evidently well acqua

' | an inn on a mountain side where to

, i for them.

|,1 They walked out of the inn presen

( a mountain by a well-trodden path

seat. They sat there for some mom

then that Stafford Nye had said age For some five minutes or so they

I] valley, then Renata said, 'Well?' TO I 'What are you asking me?' ' i. | 'What you think so far of what I

I;- 110

'I'm not convinced,' said Stafford Nye.

She gave a sigh, a deep, unexpected sigh. "That's what I hoped you would say.'

'It's none of it true, is it? It's a gigantic show. A show

put on by a producer--a complete group of producers, perhaps-

That monstrous woman pays the producer, hires the

producer. We've not seen the producer. What we've seen

today is the star performer.'

'What do you think of him?'

'He's not real either,' said Stafford Nye. 'He's just an

actor. A first-class actor, superbly produced.'

A sound surprised him. It was Renata laughing. She

got up from her seat. She looked suddenly excited, happy,

and at the, same time faintly ironical.

'I knew it,' she said. 'I knew you'd see. I knew you'd

have your feet on the ground. You've always known, haven't

you, about everything you've met in life? You've known

humbug, you've known everything and everyone for what

they really are.

'No need to go to Stratford and see Shakespearian plays

to know what part you are cast for--The Kings and the

great men have to have a Jester--The King's Jester who

tells the King the truth, and talks common sense, and makes

fun of all the things that are taking in other people.'

'So that's what I am, is it? A Court Jester?'

'Can't you feel it yourself? That's what we want--That's

what we need. "Pasteboard," you said. "Cardboard". A vast,

well-produced, splendid show'. And how right you are. But

people arfc taken in. They think something's wonderful, or

they think something's devilish, or they think it's something

terribly important. Of course it isn't--only--only one's got to

find out just how to show people--that the whole thing, all

of it, is just silly. Just damn silly. That's what you and I "e going to do.'

'Is it your idea that in the end we debunk all this?'

'It seems wildly unlikely, I agree. But you know once

People are shown that something isn't real, that it's just one

enormous leg-puU, well--'

Are you proposing to preach a gospel of common sense?'

"t course not,' said Renata. 'Nobody'd listen to that, ^uld they?'

'Not just at present'

No. We'll have to give them evidence--facts--truth--'

"ave we got such things?'

Ill

'Yes. What I brought back with me via Frankfurt--what

you helped to bring safely into England--'

'I don't understand--'

'Not yet--You will know later. For now we've got a

part to play. We're ready and willing, fairly panting to be

indoctrinated. We worship youth. We're followers and i>.

lievers in the young Siegfried.'

'You can put that over, no doubt. I'm not so sure os myself. I've never been very successful as a worshipper < anything. The King's Jester isn't. He's the great debrnke;.

Nobody's going to appreciate that very much just now are

they?'

'Of course they're not. No. You don't let that side of

yourself show. Except, of course, when talking about your

masters and betters, politicians and diplomats. Foreign Office,

the Establishment, all the other things. Then you can be

embittered, malicious, witty, slightly cruel.'

'I still don't see my role in the world crusade.'

That's a very ancient one, the one that everybody understands

and appreciates. Something in it for you. That's

your line. You haven't been appreciated in the past, but

the young Siegfried and all he stands for will hold out the

hope of reward to you. Because you give him all the inside

dope he wants about your own country, he will promise

you places of power in that country in the good times to come.'

'You insinuate that this is a world movement. Is that true?'

'Of course it is. Rather like one of those hurricanes, you

know, that have names. Flora or Little Annie. They come

up out of the south or the north or the east or the west, but

they come up from nowhere and destroy everything. That's

what everyone wants. In Europe and Asia and America.

Perhaps Africa, though there won't be so much enthusiasm

there. They're fairly new to power and graft and things.

Oh yes, it's a world movement all right. Run by youth and

all the intense vitality of youth. They haven't got knowledge

and they haven't got experience, but they've got vision and

vitality, and'they're backed by money. Rivers and rivers of

money pouring in. There's been too much materialism, so

we've asked for something else, and we've got it. But as its

based on hate, it can't get anywhere. It can't move offthe

ground. Don't you remember in 1919 everyone going about

with a rapt face saying Communism was the answer

everything. That Marxist doctrine would produce "^ heaven brought down to a new earth. So many noblf 112

fliwing about. But then, you see, whom have you got to work i1!' r.e ideas with? After all, only the same human beings

,'u've always had. You can create a third world now, or so

everwne thinks, but the third world will have the same

neopie in i1 as me nrst world or the second world or whatever

names you like to call things. And when you have

the same human beings running things, they'll run them the

same way. You've only got to look at history.'

'Does anybody care to look at history nowadays?'

'No. They'd much rather look forward to an unforeseeable

future. Science was once going to be the answer to

everything. Freudian beliefs and unrepressed sex would be the

next answer to human misery. There'd be no more people

with mental troubles. If anyone had said that mental homes

would be even fuller as the result of shutting out repressions

nobody would have believed him.'

Stafford Nye interrupted her:

'I want to know something,' said Sir Stafford Nye.

What is it?'

Where are we going next?'

South America. Possibly Pakistan or India on the way.

And we must certainly go to the USA. There's a lot going

on there that's very interesting indeed. Especially in California--'

'Universities?' Sir Stafford sighed. 'One gets very tired of universities. They repeat themselves so much.'

They sat silent for some minutes. The light was failing,

but a mountain peak showed softly red.

Stafford Nye said in a nostalgic tone:

'If we had some more music now--this moment--do you

know what I'd order?'

'More Wagner? Or have you torn yourself free from Wagner?'

'No--you're quite right--more Wagner. I'd have Hans ^aehs sitting under his elder tree, saying of the world:

Wad, mad, all mad"--'

'Yes--that expresses it. It's lovely music, too. But we're not mad. We're sane.'

'Eminently sane,' said Stafford Nye. "That is going to be

vv'i^^' Therels one more ^^K I want to know.'

theF01'11'11'8 you won>t teu me- But I've 80t to know- Is that golng to be ^y fun to be got out of this mad business tha_ we're attempting?'

^t course there is. Why not?'

113

'Mad, mad, all mad--but we'll enjoy it all very mud

Will our lives be long, Mary Arm?'

'Probably not,' said Renata.

That's the spirit. I'm with you, my comrade, and m

guide. Shall we get a better world as a result of our efforts!

'I shouldn't think so, but it might be a kinder one. It'

full of beliefs without kindness at present.'

'Good enough,' said Stafford Nye. 'Onward 1'

114

Book 3

AT HOME AND ABROAD

In a room in Paris five men were sitting. It was a room

that had seen historic meetings before. Quite a number of

them. This meeting was in many ways a meeting of a different

kind yet it promised to be no less historic.

Monsieur Grosjean was presiding. He was a worried man

doing his best to slide over things with facility and a charm

of manner that had often helped him in the past. He did

not feel it was helping him so much today. Signer Vitelli

had arrived from Italy by air an hour before. His gestures

were feverish, his manner unbalanced.

'It is beyond anything,' he was saying, 'it is beyond anything

one could have imagined.'

'These students,' said Monsieur Grosjean, 'do we not all

suffer?'

'This is more than students. It is beyond students. What

can one compare this to? A swarm of bees. A disaster of

nature intensified. Intensified beyond anything one could

have imagined. They march. They have machine-guns. Somewhere

they have acquired planes. They propose to take over

the whole of North Italy. But it is madness, that! They are

children--nothing more. And yet they have bombs, explosives.

In the city of Milan alone they outnumber the police. What

can we do, I ask you? The military? The army too--it is in

revolt. They say they are with les jeunes. They say there is no

hope for the world except in anarchy. They talk of something Aey call the Third World, but this cannot just happen.'

Monsieur Grosjean sighed. 'It is very popular among

the young,' he said, 'the anarchy. A belief in anarchy. We

know that from the days of Algeria, from all the troubles from which our country and our colonial empire has suffered.

And what can we do? The military? In the end they back ^e students.'

The students, ah, the students,' said Monsieur Poissonier. I He was a member of the French government to whom

| fte word 'student' was anathema. If he had been asked he

j Would have admitted to a preference for Asian 'flu or even

F1" outbreak of bubonic plague. Either was preferable in

mind to the activities of students. A world with no stuts

in it! That was what Monsieur Poissonier sometimes

,„

dreamt about. They were good dreams, those. They did no;

occur often enough.

'As for magistrates,' said Monsieur Grosjean, 'what ha;

happened to our judicial authorities? The police--yes, the\ are loyal still, but the judiciary, they will not impose sen

tences, not on young men who are brought before them

young men who have destroyed property, government pro

perty, private property--every kind of property. And why

not, one would like to know? I have been making inquiries

lately. The Prefecture have suggested certain things to me.

An increase is needed, they say, in the standard of living

among judiciary authorities, especially in the provincial areas.'

'Come, come,' said Monsieur Poissonier, 'you must be

careful what you suggest.'

'Ma foi, why should I be careful? Things need bringicf

into the open. We have had frauds before, gigantic fraud. and there is money now circulating around. Money, anc

we do not know where it comes from, but the Prefectur-.

have said to me--and I believe it--that they begin to gs;

' \ I'll an idea of where it is going. Do we contemplate, can was contemplate a corrupt state subsidized from some outskisource?'

'In

Italy too,' said Signer Vitelli, 'in Italy, ah, I cou'd tell you things. Yes, I could tell you of what we suspec

But who, who is corrupting our world? A group of indu:

trialists, a group of tycoons? How could such a thing be s>.

This business has got to stop,' said Monsieur Grosjea' ,

'Action must be taken. Military action. Action from the Air

Force. These anarchists, these marauders, they come fro'?!

every class. It must be put down.'

'Control by tear gas has been fairly successful,' said Poiasonier

dubiously.

'Tear gas is not enough,' said Monsieur Grosjean. 'T ie

same result could be got by setting students to peel bund rs

of onions. Tears would flow from their eyes. It needs me e than that.'

Monsieur Poissonier said in a shocked voice:

'You are not suggesting the use of nuclear weapons?' I

'Nuclear weapons? Quel blague! What can we do w "'

nuclear weapons. What would become of the soil of Frar .;

of the air of France if we use nuclear weapons? We < "'

destroy Russia, we know that; We also-know that Ru;

can destroy us.'

'You're not suggesting that groups of marching and dem

strating students could destroy our authoritarian forces'? 118

%

"That is exactly what I am suggesting. I have had a

warning of such things. Of stock-piling of arms, and various

forms of chemical Warfare and of other things. I have had

reports from some of our eminent scientists. Secrets are

known. Stores--held in secret--weapons of warfare have

been stolen. What is to happen next, I ask you. What is to

happen next?'

The question was answered unexpectedly and with more

rapidity than Monsieur Grosjean could possibly have calculated.

The door opened and his principal secretary approached

his master, his face showing urgent concern. Monsieur

Grosjean looked at him with displeasure.

'Did I not say I wanted no interruptions?'

'Yes indeed. Monsieur Ie President, but this is somewhat

unusual--' He bent towards his master's ear. 'The Marshal

is here. He demands entrance.'

The Marshal? You mean--'

The secretary nodded his head vigorously several times

to show that he did mean. Monsieur Poissonier looked at his

colleague in perplexity.

'He demands admission. He will not take refusal.'

The two other men in the room looked first at Grosjean

and then at the agitated Italian.

'Would it not be better,' said Monsieur Coin, the Minister

for Home Affairs, 'if--'

He paused at the 'if as the door was once more flung

open and a man strode in. A very well-known man. A man

whose word had been not only law, but above law in the

country of France for many past years. To see him at this

moment was an unwelcome surprise for those sitting there.

'Ah, I welcome you, dear colleagues,' said the Marshal.

'I come to help you. Our country is in danger. Action must

be taken, immediate action! I come to put myself at your

service. I take over all responsibility for acting in this crisis.

There may be danger. I know there is, but honour is above

danger. The salvation of France is above danger. They march this way now. A vast herd of students, of criminals

who have been released from jails, some of them who have ronimitted the crime of homicide. Men who have committed incendiarism. They shout names. They sing songs. They call

°n the names of their teachers, of their philosophers, of those

who have led them on this path of insurrection. Those who

will bring about the doom of France unless something is done. You sit here, you talk, you deplore things. More than that

oiust be done. I have sent for two regiments. I have alerted th& 119

air force, special coded wires have gone out to our neighbouring

ally, to my friends in Germany, for she is our ally now in

this crisis!

'Riot must be put down. Rebellion! Insurrection! The

danger to men, women and children, to property. I go forth

now to quell the insurrection, to speak to them as their father,

their leader. These students, these criminals even, they are my

children. They are the youth of France. I go to speak to

them of that. They shall listen to me, governments will be

revised, their studies can be resumed under their own auspices.

Their grants have been insufficient, their lives have been

deprived of beauty, of leadership. I come to promise all this.

I speak in my own name. I shall speak also ia your name,

the name of the Government, you have done your best, you

have acted as well as you know how. But it needs higher

leadership. It needs my leadership. I go now. I have lists of

further coded wires to be sent. Such nuclear deterrents as can

be used in unfrequented spots can be put into action in such

a modified form that though they may bring terror to the

mob, we ourselves shall know that there is no real danger

in them. I have thought out everything. My plan will go.

Come, my loyal friends, accompany me.'

'Marshal, we cannot allow--you cannot imperil yourself. We must . . .'

'I listen to nothing you say. I embrace my doom. Bay destiny.'

The Marshal strode to the door.

'My staff is outside. My chosen bodyguard. I go now to speak to these young rebels, this young flower of beauty

and terror, to tell them where their duty lies.'

He disappeared through the door with the grandeur of a leading actor playing his favourite part.

'Bon dieu, he means it!' said Monsieur Poissonier.

'He will risk his life,' said Signer Vitelli. 'Who knows? It is

brave, he is a brave man. It is gallant, yes, but what wil' happen to him? In the mood les jeunes are in now, they might kill him.'

A pleasurable sigh fell from Monsieur Poissonier's lips

It might be true, he thought. Yes, it might be true.

'It is possible,' he said. 'Yes, they might kill him.'

'One cannot wish that, of course,' said Monsieur Grosjesr

carefully.

Monsieur Grosjean did wish it. He hoped for it, thou?1 a natural pessimism led him to have the second thougL

that things seldom fell out in the way you wanted them 10. 120

Indeed, a much more awful prospect confronted him. It was

quite possible, it was within the tradiions of the Marshal's

past, that somehow or other he night induce a large

pack of exhilarated and bloodthirsty students to listen to

what he said, trust in his promises. End insist on restoring

him to the power that he had once held. It was the sort

of thing that had happened once or wice in the career of

the Marshal. His personal magnetism Wis such that politicians

had before now met their defeat when they least expected it.

'We must restrain him,' he cried.

Yes, yes,' said Signer Vitelli, 'he (annot be lost to the

world.'

'One fears,' said Monsieur Poissonitr. 'He has too many

friends in Germany, too many contacts, and you know

they move very quickly in military matters in Germany.

They might leap at the opportunity.'

'Ban dieu, bon dieu,' said Monsieur Grosjean, wiping his

brow. 'What shall we do? What can we do? What is that

noise? I hear rifles, do I not?'

'No, no,' said Monsieur Poissonier wnsolingly. 'It is the

canteen coffee trays you hear.'

"There is a quotation I could use,' said Monsieur Grosjean,

who was a great lover of the druna, 'if I could only

remember it. A quotation from Shakespeare. "Will nobody

rid me of this--"'

' "turbulent priest,"' said Monsieur >oissonier. 'From the

play, Becket.'

'A madman like the Marshal is worse than a priest. A

priest should at least be harmless, though indeed even His

Holiness the Pope received a delegation of students only

yesterday. He blessed them. He called them his children.'

'A Christian gesture, though,' said Monsieur Coin dubiously.

'One can go too far even with Christian gestures,' said

Monsieur Grosjean.

Chapter 14 CONFERENCE IN london

In the Cabinet Room at 10 Downing Street, Mr Cedric

Lazenby, the Prime Minister, sat at the head of the table

and looked at his assembled Cabinet without any noticeable

pleasure. The expression on his face was definitely

121

gloomy, which in a way afforded him a certain relief. Hs

was beginning to think that it was only in the privacy

of his Cabinet Meetings that he could relax his face into

an unhappy expression, and could abandon that look which

he presented usually to the world, of a wise and contented

optimism which had served him so well in the various

crises of political life.

He looked round at Gordon Chetwynd, who was frowning,

at Sir George Packham who was obviously worrying, thinking,

and wondering as usual, at the military imperturbability

of Colonel Munro, at Air Marshal Kenwood, a tightlipped

man who did not trouble to conceal his profound distrust

of politicians. There was also Admiral Blunt, a large formidable

man, who tapped his fingers on the table and bided

his time until his moment should come.

'It is not too good,' the Air Marshal was saying. 'One

has to admit it. Four of our planes hi-jacked within the

last week. Flew 'em to Milan. Turned the passengers out, and

flew them on somewhere else. Actually Africa. Had pilots

waiting there. Black men.'

'Black Power,' said Colonel Munro thoughtfully.

'Or Red Power?' suggested Lazenby. 'I feel, you know,

that all our difficulties might stem from Russian indoctrination.

If one could get into touch with the Russians--I really

think a personal visit at top level--'

'You stick where you are. Prime Minister,' said Admiral

Blunt. 'Don't you start arseing around with the Russkies

again. All they want at present is to keep out of all this

mess. They haven't had as much trouble there with their

students as most of us have. All they mind about is keeping

an eye on the Chinese to see what they'll be up to next.'

'I do think that personal influence--'

'You stay here and look after your own country,' said

Admiral Blunt. True to his name, and as was his wont, be

said it bluntly:

'Hadn't we better hear--have a proper report of what's

actually been happening?' Gordon Chetwynd looked '< 'wards

Colonel Munro.

'Want facts? Quite right. They're all pretty unp&iatable.

I presume you want, not particulars of what's beea ^P'

pening here so much, as the general world situation?'

'Quite so.'

"Well, in France the Marshal's in hospital still. Two

bullets in his arm. Hell's going on in political circles. Large

tracts of the country are held by what they call the Youth power troops.'

You mean they've got arms?' said Gordon Chetwynd in

a horrified voice.

'They've got a hell of a lot,' said the Colonel. 'I don't

know really where they've got them from. There are certain ideas as to that. A large consignment was sent from Sweden

to West Africa.'

'What's that got to do with it?' said Mr Lazenby. 'Who

cares? Let them have all the arms they want in West Africa.

They can go on shooting each other.'

'Well, there's something a little curious about it as far

as our Intelligence reports go. Here is a list of the armaments

that were sent to West Africa. The interesting thing

is they were sent there, but they were sent out again. They

were accepted, delivery was acknowledged, payment may

or may not have been made, but they were sent out of the

country again before five days had passed. They were sent

out, re-routed elsewhere.'

But what's the idea of that?'

'The idea seems to be,' said Munro, 'that they were never

really intended for West Africa. Payments were made and

they were sent on somewhere .else. It seems possible that

they went on from Africa to the Near East. To the Persian

Gulf, to Greece and to Turkey. Also, a consignment of planes

was sent to Egypt. From Egypt they were sent to India, from

India they were sent to Russia.'

'I thought they were sent from Russia.'

'--And from Russia they went to Prague. The whole

thing's mad.'

'I don't understand,' said Sir George, 'one wonders--'

'Somewhere there seems to be some central organization

which is directing the supplies of various things. Planes,

armaments, bombs, both explosive and those that are used

in germ warfare. All these consignments are moving in unexpected

directions. They are delivered by various crosscountry

routes to trouble-spots, and used by leaders and

regiments--if you like to call them that--of the Youth

rower. They mostly go to the leaders of young guerrilla movements, professed anarchists who preach anarchy, and

accept--though one doubts if they ever pay for--some of tue latest most up-to-date models.'

"o you mean to say we're facing something like war on y.' ^orld scale?' Cedric Lazenby was shocked.

123

] .1 The mild man with the Asiatic face who sat lower d

at the table, and had not yet spoken, lifted up his face h

the Mongolian smile, and said:

"That is what one is now forced to believe. Our observa

tions tell us--'

Lazenby interrupted.

'You'll have to stop observing. UNO will have to take

arms itself and put all this down.'

The quiet face remained unmoved.

That would be against our principles,' he said.

Colonel Munro raised his voice and went on with his

summing up.

'There's fighting in some parts of every country. SouthEast

Asia claimed Independence long ago and there are

four, five different divisions of power in South America,

Cuba, Peru, Guatemala and so on. As for the United States,

you know Washington was practically burnt out--the West

is overrun with Youth Power Armed Forces--Chicago is under

Martial Law. You know about Sam Cortman? Shot last night

on the steps of the American Embassy here.'

'He was to attend here today,' said Lazenby. "He was

going to have given us his views of the situation.'

'I don't suppose that would have helped much,' said

Colonel Munro. 'Quite a nice chap--but hardly a live wire.'

'But who's behind all this?' Lazenby's voice rose fretfully.

It could be the Russians, of course--' He looked hopeful.

He sdll envisaged himself flying to Moscow.

Colonel Munro shook his head. 'Doubt it,' he said.

'A personal appeal,' said Lazenby. His face brightened

with hope. 'An entirely new sphere of influence. The Chinese

...?'

'Nor the Chinese,' said Colonel Munro. 'But''you know there's been a big revival in Neo-Fascism in Germany.'

'You don't really think the Germans could possibly . . .'

'I don't think they're behind all this necessarily, but

when you say possibly--yes, I think possibly they easily

could. They've done it before, you know. Prepared things

years before, planned them, everything ready, waiting t01 the word GO. Good planners, very good planners. Staff work

excellent. I admire them, you know. Can't help it.'

'But Germany seemed to be so peaceful and well

'Yes, of course it is up to a point. But do you

South America is practically alive with Germans, with

Neo-Fascists, and they've got a big Youth Federation

Call themselves the Super-Aryans, or something of tha Sund.

124

You know, a bit of the old stuff still, swastikas and salutes,

and someone who's running it, called the Young Wotan or the

Young Siegfried or something like that. Lot of Aryan" nonsense.'

There was a knock on the door and the secretary entered.

'Professor Eckstein is here, sir.'

*We'd better have him in,' said Cedric Lazenby. 'After aB,

if anyone can tell us what our latest research weapons are,

he's the man. We may have something up our sleeve that can

soon put an end to all this nonsense.' Besides being a professional

traveller to foreign parts in the, r61e of peacemaker,

Mr Lazenby had an incurable fund of optimism seldom

Justified by results.

'We could do with a good secret weapon,' said the Air

Marshal hopefully.

Professor Eckstein, considered by many to be Britain's

top scientist, when you first looked at him seemed supremely

unimportant. He was a small man with old-fashioned muttonchop

whiskers and an asthmatic cough. He had the manner

of one anxious to apologize for his existence. He made

noises like 'ah', tirrumph', 'mrrh', blew his nose, coughed

asthmatically again and shook hands in a shy manner, as he

was introduced to those present. A good many of them he

already knew and these he greeted with nervous nods of the

head. He sat down on the chair indicated and looked round

him vaguely. He raised a hand to his mouth and began to

bite his nails.

"The heads of the Services are here,' said Sir George

Packham. 'We are very anxious to have your opinion as

to what can be done.'

'Oh,' said Professor Eckstein, 'done? Yes, yes, done?'

There was a silence.

'The world is fast passing into a state of anarchy,' said

Sir George.

'Seems so, doesn't it? At least, from what I read in the

Paper. Not that I trust to that. Really, the things journalists "unk up. Never any accuracy in their statements.'

I understand you've made some most important discoveries

lately. Professor,' said Cedric Lazenby encouragingly. ^ yes, so we have. So we have.' Professor Eckstein cheered

P a little. 'Got a lot of very nasty chemical warfare fixed

P. If we ever wanted it. Germ warfare, you know, biologwu stuff, gas laid on through normal gas outlets, air pollution

Poisoning of water supplies. Yes, if you wanted it, I

"Ppose we could kill half the population of England given

125

about three days to do it in.' He rubbed his hands.

what you want?'

'No, no indeed. Oh dear, of course not.' Mr La

looked horrified.

'Well, that's what I mean, you know. It's'not a quesi ,n

of not having enough lethal weapons. We've got too mi ;„ Everything we've got is too lethal. The difficulty would oe

in keeping anybody alive, even ourselves. Eh? All the people

at the top, you know. Well--us, for instance.' He gave a

wheezy, happy little chuckle.

'But that isn't what we want,' Mr Lazenby insisted.

'It's not a question of what you want, it's a question of

what we've got. Everything we've got is terrifically lethal.

If you want everybody under thirty wiped off the map,

I expect you could do it. Mind you, you'd have to take a

lot of the older ones as well. It's difficult to segregate one

lot from the other, you know. Personally, I should be against

that. We've got some very good young Research fellows.

Bloody-minded, but clever.'

'What's gone wrong with the world?' asked Kenwood

suddenly.

That's the point,' said Professor Eckstein. 'We don't know.

We don't know up at our place in spite of all we do know

about this, that and the other. We know a bit more about

the moon nowadays, we know a lot about biology, we can

transplant hearts and livers; brains, too, soon, I expect,

though I don't know how that'll work out. But we don't

know who is doing this. Somebody is, you know. It's a sort

of high-powered background stuff. Oh yes, we've got it

cropping up in different ways. You know, crime rings, drug

rings, all that sort of thing. A high-powered lot, directed by

a few good, shrewd brains behind the scenes. We've had it

going on in this country or that country, occasionally on a

European scale. But it's going a bit further now, other side

of the globe--Southern Hemisphere. Down to the Antarctic Circle before we've finished, I expect* He appeared to be

pleased with his diagnosis.

People of ill-will--'

'Well, you could put it like that. El-wffl for fflw"- sake or ill-will for the sake of money or power. Diffic1"11 you know, to get at the point of it all. The poor dc^sbodiK themselves don't know. They want violence and t .? "K violence. They don't like the world, they don't -s ou materialistic attitude. They don't like a lot of o ^

126

ways of making money, they don't like a lot of the fiddles

we do. They don't like seeing poverty. They want a better

world. Well, you could make a better world, perhaps, if

you thought about it long enough. But the trouble is, if

you insist on taking away something first, you've got to

put something back in its place. Nature won't have a vacuum--an

old saying, but true. Dash it all, it's like a heart

transplant. You take one heart away but you've got to put

another one there. One that works. And you've got to arrange

about the heart you're going to put there before you take

away the faulty heart that somebody's got at present. Matter

of fact, I think a lot of those things are better left alone

altogether, but nobody would listen to me, I suppose. And

anyway it's not my subject.'

'A gas?' suggested Colonel Munro.

Professor Eckstein brightened.

'Oh, we've got all sorts of gases in stock. Mind you, some

of them are reasonably harmless. Mild deterrents, shall we

say. We've got all those.' He beamed like a complacent hardware

dealer,

'Nuclear weapons?' suggested Mr Lazenby.

'Don't you monkey with that\ You don't want a radioactive

England, do you, or a radio-active continent, for that

matter?'

'So you can't help us,' said Colonel Munro.

'Not until somebody's found out a bit more about all

this,' said Professor Eckstein. 'Well, I'm sorry. But I must impress upon you that most of the things we're working

on nowadays are dangerous.' He stressed the word. 'Really dangerous.'

He looked at them anxiously, as a nervous uncle might

look at a group of children left with a box of matches to

play with, and who might quite easily set the house on fire.

'Well, thank you. Professor Eckstein,' said Mr Lazenby.

He did not sound particularly thankful.

The Professor gathering correctly that he was released,

smiled all round and trotted out of the room.

Mr Lazenby hardly waited for the door to close before

venting his feelings.

All alike, these scientists,' he said bitterly. 'Never any

Practical good. Never come up with anything sensible. All ^y can do is split the atom--and then tell us not to mess ^out with it!'

lust as well if we never had,' said Admiral Blunt, again

127

bluntly. 'What we want is something homely and dome

like a kind of selective weedkiller which would--' He pai

abruptly. 'Now what the devil--?'

'Yes, Admiral?' said the Prime Minister politely.

'Nothing--just reminded me of something. Can't renumber

what--

The Prime Minister sighed.

'Any more scientific experts waiting on the mat?' asked

Gordon Chetwynd, glancing hopefully at his wristwatch.

'Old Pikeaway is here, I believe,' said Lazenby. 'Got a

picture--or a drawing--or a map or something or other he

wants us to look at--'

'What's it all about?'

'I don't know. It seems to be all bubbles,' said Mr Lazenby

vaguely.

'Bubbles? Why bubbles?1 'I've no idea. Well,' he sighed, Sve'd better have a look

at it.'

'Horsham's here, too--'

'He may have something new to tell us,' said Chetwynd.

Colonel Pikeaway stumped in. He was supporting a rolledup

burden which with Horsham's aid was unrolled and which

with some difficulty was propped up so that those sitting

round the table could look at it.

'Not exactly drawn to scale yet, but it gives yor

idea,' said Colonel Pikeaway.

'What does it mean, if anything?'

128

'Bubbles?' murmured Sir George. An idea came to him.

Is it a gas? A new gas?'

'You'd better deliver the lecture, Horsham,' said Pikeaway.

You know the general idea.'

'I only know what I've been told. It's a rough diagram of an association of world control.'

'By whom?'

'By groups who own or control the sources of power--the

raw materials of power.'

And the letters of the alphabet?'

Stand for a person or a code name for a special group.

They are intersecting circles that by now cover the globe.

'That circle marked "A" stands for armaments. Someone,

or some group is in control of armaments. All types of

armaments. Explosives, guns, rifles. All over the world armaments

are being produced according to plan, dispatched

ostensibly to under-developed nations, backward nations,

nations at war. But they don't remain where they are sent.

They are re-routed almost immediately elsewhere. To guerrilla

warfare in the South American Continent--to rioting and

fighting in the USA--to Depots of Black Power--to various

countries in Europe.

* "D" represents drugs--a network of suppliers run them

from various depots and stockpiles. All kinds of drugs, from

the more harmless varieties up to the true killers. The headquarters

seem likely to be situated in the Levant, and to

pass out through Turkey, Pakistan, India and Central Asia.'

They make money out of it?'

'Enormous sums of money. But it's more than just an

association of Pushers. It has a more sinister side to it. It's

being used to finish off the weaklings amongst the young,

shall we say, to make them complete slaves. Slaves so that

they cannot live and exist or do jobs for their employers

without a supply of drugs.'

Kenwood whistled.

. That's a bad show, isn't it? Don't you know at all who

those Drug Pushers are?'

Some of them, yes. But only the lesser fry. Not the real

ntrollers. Drug headquarters are, so far as we can judge,

" Central Asia and the Levant. They get delivered from

ere ;n the tyres of cars, in cement, in concrete, in all

"ds of machinery and industrial goods. They're delivered

over the world and passed on as ordinary trade goods

-where they are ""^ant to go.

^ r stands for finance. Money! A money spider's web

129 E

p.t.p.

in the centre of it all. You'll have to go to Mr Roi- ,!;son

to tell you about money. According to a memo here, "^-.ney

is coming very largely from America and there's ;;;..;,, a

headquarters in Bavaria. There's a vast reserve in '^i ^ Africa, based on gold and diamonds. Most of the mc-r;.r;.y ^ going to South America. One of the principal cont- ;ks

if I may so put it, of money, is a very powerful and talented

woman. She's old now: must be near to death. But she is

still strong and active. Her name was Charlotte Krapp. Her

father owned the vast Krapp yards in Germany. She was a

financial genius herself and operated in Wall Street. She

accumulated fortune after fortune by investments in all parts

of the world. She owns transport, she owns machinery, she

owns industrial concerns. All these things. She lives in a vast

castle in Bavaria--from there she directs a flow of money to

different parts of the globe.

' "S" represents science--the new knowledge of chemical

and biological warfare--Various young scientists have defected--There

is a nucleus of them in the US, we believe,

vowed and dedicated to the cause of anarchy.'

'Fighting for anarchy? A contradiction in terms. Can

there be such a thing?'

'You believe in anarchy if you are young. You want a

new world, and to begin with you must pull down the old

one--just as you pull down a house before you build a

new one to replace it. But if you don't know where you are

going, if you don't know where you are being lured to go,

or even pushed to go, what will the new world be like, and

where will the believers be when they get it? Some of

them slaves, some of them blinded by hate, some by violence

and sadism, both preached and practised. Some of them--

and God help those--still idealistic, still believing as people

did in Prance at the time of the French Revolution that

that revolution would bring prosperity, peace, happiness, contentment to its people.'

'And what are we doing about all this? What are we

proposing to do about it?' It was Admiral Blunt who spoke.

'What are we doing about it? All that we can. '. assure

you, all you who are here, we are doing all that we can

We have people working for us in every country, '^e have

agents, inquirers, those who gather information, a" ' bring

it back here--' „. i

'Which is very necessary,' said Colonel Pikeawa lrs we've got to know--know who's who, who's witt an

who's against us. And after that we've got to see what, if

anything, can be done.'

'Our name for this diagram is The Ring. Here's a list

of what we know about the Ring leaders. Those with a

query mean that we know only the name they go by--or

alternatively we only suspect that they are the ones we want.'

THE RING

IF Big Charlotte --Bavaria

A Eric Olafsson --Sweden, Industrialist, Armaments

Said to go by

the name of

Demetrios Dr Sarolensky

--Smyrna, Drugs

--Colorado, USA, PhysicistChemist.

Suspicion only

--A woman. Goes by Code

name of Juanita. Said to be

dangerous. No knowledge of

her real name.

Chapter 15

AUNT MATILDA TAKES A CURE

'A cure of some kind, I thought?' Lady Matilda hazarded.

'A cure?' said Dr Donaldson. He looked faintly puzzled

for a moment, losing his air of medical omniscience, which,

of course, so Lady Matilda reflected, was one of the slight

disadvantages attached to having a younger doctor attending

one rather than the older specimen to whom one has been

accustomed for several years.

'That's what we used to call them,' Lady Matilda exPlamed.

'In my young days, you know, you went for the '.ure. Marienbad, Carlsbad, Baden-Baden, all the rest of it

"ist the other day I read about this new place in the

Paper. Quite new and up to date. Said to be all new ideas ^"d things like that. Not that I'm really sold on new ideas,

Dr h i^0111'111'1 "^aUy be afraid of them. I mean, they would

' °'"a-bly be all the same things all over again. Water tasting

131

of bad eggs and the latest sort of diet and walking to take

the Cure, or the Waters, or whatever they call them now, at

a rather inconvenient hour in the morning. And I expect they

give you massage or something. It used to be seaweed. But

this place is somewhere in the mountains. Bavaria or Austria

or somewhere like that. So I don't suppose it would be

seaweed. Shaggy moss, perhaps--sounds like a dog. And

perhaps quite a nice mineral water as well as the eggy

11 sulphury one, I mean. Superb buildings, I understand. The

only thing one is nervous about nowadays is that they never

seem to put banisters in any up-to-date modem buildings.

Flights of marble steps and all that, but nothing to hang on

to.'

1 think I know the place you mean,' said Dr Donaldson.

'It's been publicized a good deal, in the press.'

'Well, you know what one is at my age,' said Lady

Matilda. 'One likes trying new things. Really, I think it

is just to amuse one. It doesn't really make one feel one's

health would be any better. Still, you don't think it would

be a bad idea, do you, Dr Donaldson?'

Dr Donaldson looked at her. He was not so young as

Lady Matilda labelled him in her mind. He was just approaching

forty and he was a tactful and kindly man and

willing to indulge his elderly patients as far as he considered

it desirable, without any actual danger of their attempting

something obviously unsuitable.

'I'm sure it wouldn't do you any harm at all,' he said.

'Might be quite a good idea. Of course travel's a bit tiring

though one flies to places very quickly and easily nowadays.'

'Quickly, yes. Easily, no,' said Lady Matilda. 'Ramps and

moving staircases and in and out of buses from the &i;port

to the plane, and the plane to another airport and Torn

the airport to another bus. All that, you know. But I 'riderstand

one can have wheelchairs in the airports.'

'Of course you can. Excellent idea. If you promise to do

that and not think you can walk everywhere . . .'

'I know, I know,' said his patient, interrupting him 'Y011 do understand. You're really a very understanding m&a- One has one's pride, you know, and while you ci-a still

hobble around with a stick or a little support, you do111 really want to look absolutely a crock or bedridden or something.

It'd be easier if I was a man,' she mused. 'I mean,

one could tie up one's leg with one of those enormous ban^ dages and padded things as though one had the go^ '

mean, gout is aU right for the male sex. Nobody tl"11132

anything the worse of them. Some of their older friends

think they've been tucking in to the port too much because

that used to be the old idea, though I believe that is not

really true at all. Port wine does not give you gout. Yes,

a wheelchair, and I could fly to Munich or somewhere like

that. One could arrange for a car or something at the

other end.'

'You will take Miss Leatheran with you, of course.'

'Amy? Oh, of course. I couldn't do without her. Anyway,

you think no harm would be done?'

'I think it might do you a world of good.'

'You really are a nice man.'

Lady Matilda gave him the twinkle from her eyes with

which now he was becoming familiar.

'You think it'll amuse me and cheer me up to go somewhere

new and see some new faces, and of course you're

quite right. But I like to think that I'm taking a Cure, though

really there's nothing for me to be cured of. Not really, is

there? I mean, except old age. Unfortunately old age doesn't

get cured, it only gets more so, doesn't it?'

The point is really, will you enjoy yourself? Well, I think

you will. When you get tired, by the way, when doing

anything, stop doing it.'

'I shall still drink glasses of water if the water tastes of

rotten eggs. Not because I like them or because frankly I

think they do me any good. But it has a sort of mortifying

feeling. It's like old women in our village always used to

be. They always wanted a nice, strong medicine either coloured

black or purple or deep pink, heavily flavoured with

Peppermint. They thought that did much more good than a

nice little pill or a bottle that only appeared to be full of

ordinary water without any exotic colouring.'

'You know too much about human nature,' said Dr Donaldson.

You're very nice to me,' said Lady Matilda. 'I appreciate

" Amy!'

^Yes, Lady Matilda?'

Get me an atlas, will you. I've lost track of Bavaria and we countries round it.'

'Let

me see now. An atlas. There'll be one in the

lib:

(j ary' ^ suppose. There must be some old atlases about,

"ng back to about 1920 or thereabouts, I suppose.'

, pondered if we had anything a little more modem.' ^tias,' said Amy, deep in reflection.

not, you can buy one and bring it along tomorrow

133

morning. It's going to be very difficult because all the

names are different, the countries are different, and I shan'-i know where I am. But you'll have to help me with that.

Find a big magnifying glass, will you? I have an idea I was reading in bed with one the other day and it probably

slipped down between the bed and the wall.'

Her requirements took a little time to satisfy but the

atlas, the magnifying glass and an older atlas by which to

check, were finally produced and Amy, nice woman that

she was. Lady Matilda thought, was extremely helpful.

'Yes, here it is. It still seems to be called Monbriigge or

something like that. It's either in the Tyrol or Bavaria.

Everything seems to have changed places and got different

names--'

Lady Matilda looked round her bedroom in the Gasthaus.

It was well appointed. It was very expensive. It combined

comfort with an appearance of such austerity as might lead

the inhabitant to identify herself with an ascetic course of

exercises, diet and possibly painful courses of massage. Its

furnishings, she thought, were interesting. They provided

for all tastes. There was a large framed Gothic script on

the wall. Lady Matilda's German was not as good as it had

been in her girlhood, but it dealt, she thought, with the

golden and enchanting idea of a return to youth. Not only

did youth hold the future in its hands but the old were

being nicely indoctrinated to feel that they themselves might

know such a second golden flowering.

Here there were gentle aids so as to enable one to pursue

the doctrine of any of the many paths in life wb.;ch attracted

different classes of people. (Always presuml'ig that

they had enough money to pay for it.) Beside the bed wa5

a Gideon Bible such as Lady Matilda when travei' the United States had often found by her bedsid

picked it up approvingly, opened it at random and '

a finger on one particular verse. She read it, node

head contentedly and made a brief note of it on a r,

that was lying on her bed table. She had often d<

in the course of her life--it was her way of obtainin guidance at short notice.

/ have been young and now am old, yet have I not ''righteous

forsaken.

She made further researches of the room. Handil

but not too apparent was an Almanach de Gotha, modestly

situated on a lower shelf of the bedside table. A most

invaluable book for those who wished to familiarize themselves

with the higher strata of society reaching back for

several hundred years and which were still being observed

and noted and checked by those of aristocratic lineage or

interested in the same. It will come in handy, she thought, I can read up a good deal on that.

Near the desk, by the stove of period porcelain, were

paperback editions of certain preachings and tenets by the

modern prophets of the world. Those who were now or

had recently been crying in the wilderness were here to be

studied and approved by young followers with haloes of

hair, strange raiment, and earnest hearts. Marcuse, Guevara,

Levi-Strauss, Fanon.

In case she was going to hold any conversations with

golden youth she had better read up a little on that also.

At that moment there was a timid tap on the door. It

opened slightly and the face of the faithful Amy came

round the corner. Amy, Lady Matilda thought suddenly,

would look exactly like a sheep when she was ten years

older. A nice, faithful, kindly sheep. At the moment, Lady

Matilda was glad to think, she looked still like a very

agreeable plump lamb with nice curls of hair, thoughtful

and kindly eyes, and able to give kindly baa's rather than

to bleat.

'I do hope you slept well.'

'Yes, my dear, I did, excellently. Have you got that thing?'

Amy always knew what she meant. She handed it to her

employer.

'Ah, my diet sheet. I see.' Lady Matilda perused it, then said, 'How incredibly unattractive 1 What's this water like

one's supposed to drink?'

'It doesn't taste very nice.'

'No, I don't suppose it would. Come back in half an hour. 1 ^ got a letter I want you to post.'

Moving aside her breakfast tray, she moved over to the ^sk. She thought for a few minutes and then wrote her "ater. 'It ought to do the trick,' she murmured.

1 beg your pardon. Lady Matilda, what did you say?'

J^as writing to the old friend I mentioned to you.'

yea ?one you said you havea>t seen for about fifty or sixty

^ady Matilda nodded.

do hope--' Amy was apologetic. 1 mean-^I--it's such

135

a long time. People have short memories nowadays. I do

hope that she'll remember all about you and everything.'

'Of course she will,' said Lady Matilda. "The people you

don't forget are the people you knew when you were about

ten to twenty. They stick in your mind for ever. You

remember what hats they wore, and the way they laughed,

and you remember their faults and their good qualities and

everything about them. Now anyone I met twenty years

ago, shall we say, I simply can't remember who they are.

Not if they're mentioned to me, and not if I saw them even.

Oh yes, she'll remember about me. And all about Lausanne.

You get that letter posted. I've got to do a little homework.'

She picked up the Almanach de Gotha and returned to bed,

where she made a serious study of such items as might

come in useful. Some family relationships and various other

kinships of the useful kind. Who had married whom, who

had lived where, what misfortunes had overtaken others. Not

that the person whom she had in mind was herself likely to

be found in the Almanach de Gotha. But she lived in a part

of the world, had come there deliberately to live in a Schloss

belonging to originally noble ancestors, and she had absorbed

the local respect and adulation for those above all of good

breeding. To good birth, even impaired with poverty, she

herself, as Lady Matilda well knew, had no claim whatever.

She had had to make do with money. Oceans of money.

Incredible amounts of money.

Lady Matilda Cleckheaton had no doubt at all that she

herself, the daughter of an eighth Duke, would be bidden

to some kind of festivity. Coffee, perhaps, and delicious

creamy cakes.

Lady Matilda Cleckheaton made her entrance into csw of

the grand reception rooms of the Schloss. It had b ; a

fifteen-mile drive. She had dressed herself with somf 'are,

though somewhat to the disapproval of Amy. Amy s'" ^;T1 offered advice, but she was so anxious for her pnn'ip" to succeed in whatever she was undertaking that st"' b'10 ventured this time on a moderate remonstrance.

'You don't think your red dress is really a little w-rn. it

you know what I mean. I mean just beneath the arm in '

well, there are two or three very shiny patches--' .

I know, my dear, I know. It is a shabby dress b i4 ^ nevertheless a Patou model. It is old but it was enor ^ 136

expensive. I am not trying to look rich or extravagant. I

am an impoverished member of an aristocratic family. Anyone

of under fifty, no doubt, would despise me. But my hostess

is living and has lived for some years in a part of the world

where the rich will be kept waiting for their meal while the hostess will be willing to wait for a shabby, elderly woman of

impeccable descent. Family traditions are things that one

does not lose easily. One absorbs them, even, when one goes

to a new neighbourhood. In my trunk, by the way, you will

find a feather boa.'

'Are you going to put on a feather boa?*

'Yes, I am. An ostrich feather one.'

'Oh dear, that must be years old.'

'It is, but I've kept it very carefully. You'll see. Charlotte

will recognize what it is. She will think one of the best

families in England was reduced to wearing her old clothes

that she had kept carefully for years. And I'll wear my

sealskin coat, too. That's a little worn, but such a magnificent

coat in its time.'

Thus arrayed, she set forth. Amy went with her as a

well-dressed though only quietly smart attendant.

Matilda Cleckheaton had been prepared for what she

saw. A whale, as Stafford had told her. A wallowing whale,

a hideous old woman sitting in a room surrounded with

pictures worth a fortune. Rising with some difficulty from

a throne-like chair which could have figured on a stage

representing the palace of some magnificent prince from any

age from the Middle Ages down.

'Matilda!'

'Charlotte!'

'Ah! After all these years. How strange it seems!'

They exchanged words of greeting and pleasure, talking

Partly in German and partly in English. Lady Matilda's

German was slightly faulty. Charlotte spoke excellent German,

excellent English though with a strong guttural accent, and

occasionally English with an American accent. She was really,

Lady Matilda thought, quite splendidly hideous. For a mo- "tent she felt a fondness almost dating back to the past ^though, she reflected the next moment. Charlotte had been a ^ost detestable girl. Nobody had really liked her and she

erself had certainly not done so. But there is a great bond,

y what we wiU, in the memories of old schooldays. Whether

lott e had uked her or not she did n&t know- But char" ^ e, she remembered, had certainly--what used to be called

inose days--sucked up to her. She had had visions, pos137

sibly, of staying in a ducal castle in England. Lady Matilda's

father, though of most praiseworthy lineage, had been onfr of the most impecunious of English dukes. His estate had

only been held together by the rich wife he had married whoro he had treated with the utmost courtesy, and who had

enjoyed bullying him whenever able to do so. Lady Matilda

had been fortunate enough to be his daughter by a second

marriage. Her own mother had been extremely agreeable and

also a very successful actress, able to play the part of looking

a duchess far more than any real duchess could do.

They exchanged reminiscences of past days, the tortures

they had inflicted on some of their instructors, the fortunate

and unfortunate marriages that had occurred to some of

their schoolmates. Matilda made a few mentions of certain

alliances and families culled from the pages of the Almanach

de Gotha--'but of course that must have been a terrible

marriage for Elsa. One of the Bourbons de Panne, was it

not? Yes, yes, well, one knows what that leads to. Mo&t

unfortunate.'

Coffee was brought, delicious coffee, plates of millefeuille

pastry and delicious cream cakes.

'I should not touch any of this,' cried Lady Matilda. 'No

indeed 1 My doctor, he is most severe. He said that I must

adhere strictly to the Cure while I was here. But after all,

this is a day of holiday, is it not? Of renewal of youth.

That is what interests me so much. My great-nephew who

visited you not long ago--I forget who brought him here,

the Countess--ah, it began with a Z, I cannot remember

her name.'

The Countess Renata Zerkowski--'

'Ah, that was the name, yes. A very charming young woman, I believe. And she brought him to visit you. It. was

most kind of her. He was so impressed. Impressed, too,

with all your beautiful possessions. Your way of living, and

indeed, the wonderful things which he had heard about you.

How you have a whole movement of--oh, I do not know

how to give the proper term. A Galaxy of Youth. Golden,

beautiful youth. They flock round you. They worship you.

What a wonderful life you must live. Not that I could support

such a life. I have to live very quietly. Rheumatoid

arthritis. And also the financial difficulties. Difficulty in

keeping up the family house. Ah well, you know what it is for

us in England--our taxation troubles.'

'I remember that nephew of yours, yes. He was agreeable,

a very agreeable man. The Diplomatic Service, I understand?'

138

'Ah yes. But it is--well, you know, I cannot feel that

his talents are being properly recognized. He does not say

much. He does not complain, but he feels that he is--well,

he feels that he has not been appreciated as he should. The

powers that be, those who hold office at present, what are

they?'

'Canaille!' said Big Charlotte.

'Intellectuals with no savoir faire in life. Fifty years ago

it would have been different,' said Lady Matilda, 'but nowadays

his promotion has been not advanced as it should. I

will even tell you, in confidence, of course, that he has been

distrusted. They suspect him, you know, of being in with--

what shall I call it?--rebellious, revolutionary tendencies.

And yet one must realize what the future could hold for a

man who could embrace more advanced views.'

'You mean he is not, then, how do you say it in England,

in sympathy with the Establishment, as they call it?'

'Hush, hush, we must not say these things. At least / must

not,' said Lady Matilda.

'You interest me,' said Charlotte. Matilda Cleckheaton sighed.

'Put it down, if you like, to the fondness of an elderly

relative. Staffy has always been a favourite of mine. He

has charm and wit. I think also he has ideas. He envisages

the future, a future that should differ a good deal from

what we have at present. Our country, alas, is politically

in a very bad state. Stafford seems to be very much impressed

by things you said to him or showed to him. You've

done so much for music, I understand. What we need I

cannot but feel is the ideal of the super race.'

'There should and could be a super race. Adolf Hitler

had the right idea,' said Charlotte. 'A man of no impor.

tance in himself, but he had artistic elements in his character.

. And undoubtedly he had the power of leadership.' |r 'Ah yes. Leadership, that is what we need.'

;|' 'You had the wrong allies in the last war, my dear. If fe England and Germany now had arrayed themselves side

I;.. by side, if they had had the same ideals, of youth, strength,

I'.two Aryan nations with the right ideals. Think where your

g|country and mine might have arrived today? Yet perhaps

ven that is too narrow a view to take. In some ways the

ommunists and the others have taught us a lesson. Workers if the world unite? But that is to set one's sights too low.

Vorkers are only our material. It is "Leaders of the world

unite!" Young men with the gift of leadership, of good

139

blood. And we must start, not with the middle-aged men set in their ways, repeating themselves like a gramophone

record that has stuck. We must seek among the student

population, the young men with brave hearts, with great

ideas, willing to march, willing to be killed but willing also

to kill. To till without any compunction--because it is

certain that without aggressiveness, without violence, without

attack--there can be no victory. I must show you something--'

With somewhat of a struggle she succeeded in rising to

her feet. Lady Matilda followed suit, underlining a little her

difficulty, whish was not quite as much as she was making

out.

'It was in May 1940,' said Charlotte, 'when Hitler Youth

went on to its second stage. When Himmler obtained from

Hitler a charter. The charter of the famous SS. It was

formed for the destruction of the eastern peoples, the slaves,

the appointed slaves of the world. It would make room for

the German master race. The SS executive instrument came

into being.' Her voice dropped a little. It held for a moment

a kind of religious awe.

Lady Matilda nearly crossed herself by mistake.

The Order of the Death's Head,' said Big Charlotte.

She walked slowly and painfully down the room and

pointed to where on the wall hung, framed in gilt and surmounted

with a skull, the Order of the Death's Head.

'See, it is my most cherished possession. It hangs here

on my wall. My golden youth band, when they come here,

salute it. And in our archives in the castle here are folios

of its chronicles. Some of them are only reading for strong

stomachs, but one must learn to accept these things. The

deaths in gas chambers, the torture cells, the trials at Nuremberg

speak venomously of all those things. But it was a

great tradition. Strength through pain. They were trained

young, the boys, so that they should not falter or turn back or

suffer from any kind of softness. Even Lenin, preaching his

Marxist doctrine, declared "Away with softness!" It was

one of his first rules for creating a perfect State. But we

were too narrow. We wished to confine our great dream only

to the German master race. But there are other races. They

too can attain masterhood through suffering and violence

and through the considered practice of anarchy. We must

pull down, pull down all the soft institutions. Pull down

the more humiliating forms of religion. There is a religion of strength, the old religion of the Viking people. And we have

140

a leader, young as yet, gaining in power every day. What did

some great man say? Give me the tools and I will do the job.

Something like that. Our leader has already the tools. He

will have more tools. He will have the planes, the bombs,

the means of chemical warfare. He will have the men to

fight. He will have the transport. He will have shipping and

oil. He will have what one might call the Aladdin's creation

of genie. You rub the lamp and the genie appears. It is

all in your hands. The means of production, the means of

wealth and our young leader, a leader by birth as well as

by character. He has all this.'

She wheezed and coughed.

'Let me help you.'

Lady Matilda supported her back to her seat. Charlotte

gasped a little as she sat down.

It's sad to be old, but I shall last long enough. Long

enough to see the triumph of a new world, a new creation.

That is what you want for your nephew. I will see to it.

Power in his own country, that is what he wants, is ,it

not? You would be ready to encourage the spearhead there?'

'I had influence once. But now—' Lady Matilda shook

her head sadly. 'All that is gone.'

'It will come again, dear,' said her friend. 'You were

right to come to me. I have a certain influence.'

'It is a great cause,' said Lady Matilda. She sighed and

murmured, "The Young Siegfried.'

'I hope you enjoyed meeting your old friend,' said Amy

as they drove back to the Gasthaus.

If you could have heard all the nonsense I talked, you

wouldn't believe it,' said Lady Matilda Cleckheaton.

Chapter 16

PIKEAWAY TALKS

The news from France is very bad,' said Colonel Pikeaway,

brushing a cloud of cigar ash off his coat. 'I heard Winston

Churchill say that in the last war. There was a man who

could speak in plain words and no more than needed. It

was very impressive. It told us what we needed to know.

Well, it's a long time since then, but I say it again today,

The news from France is very bad.'

141

He coughed, wheezed and brushed a little more ash off

himself.

"The news from Italy is very bad,' he said. "The news

from Russia, I imagine, could be very bad if they let much

out about it. They've got trouble there too. Marching bands

of students in the street, shop windows smashed. Embassies

attacked. News from Egypt is very bad. News from Jerusalem

is very bad. News from Syria is very bad. That's all

more or less normal, so we needn't worry too much. News

|j|| from Argentine is what I'd call peculiar. Very peculiar indeed.

Argentine, Brazil, Cuba, they've all got together. Call themselves

the Golden Youth Federated States, or something

like that. It's got an army, too. Properly drilled, properly

armed, properly commanded. They've got planes, they've got

bombs, they've got God-knows-what. And most of them

seem to know what to do with them, which makes it worse.

There's a singing crowd as well, apparently. Pop songs, old

local folk songs, and bygone battle hymns. They go along

rather like the Salvation Army used to do--no blasphemy

intended--I'm not crabbing the Salvation Army. Jolly good

work they did always. And the girls--pretty as Punch in then bonnets.'

He went on:

'I've heard that something's going on in that line in the

civilized countries, starting with us. Some of us can be

called civilized still, I suppose? One of our politicians the

other day, I remember, said we were a splendid nation,

chiefly because we were permissive, we had demonstrations,

we smashed things, we beat up anyone if we hadn't anything

better to do, we got rid of our high spirits by showing violence,

and our moral purity by taking most of our clothes

off. I don't know what he thought he was talking about--

politicians seldom do--but they can make it sound all right.

That's why they are politicians.'

He paused and looked across at the man he was talking ti..'.

'Distressing--sadly distressing,' said Sir George Packhan;.

'One can hardly believe--one worries--if one could on- --Is that all the news you've got?' he asked plaintively

'Isn't it enough? You're hard to satisfy. World an ;;'

well on its way--that's what we've got. A bit wobbly ! '

not fully established yet, but very near to it--very cs-"'" indeed.'

'But action can surely be taken against all this?'

'Not so easy as you think. Tear gas puts a stop to r.~ tn & for a while and gives the police a break. And natu'aly

142

we've got plenty of germ warfare and nuclear bombs and

all the other pretty bags of tricks--What do you think

would happen if we started using those? Mass massacre of

aU the marching girls and boys, and the housewife's shopping

circle, and the old age pensioners at home, and a good quota

of our pompous politicians as they tell us we've never had it

so good, and in addition you and me--Ha, ha!

'And anyway,' added Colonel Pikeaway, 'if it's only news

you're after, I understand you've got some hot news of

your own arriving today. Top secret from Germany, Herr

Heinrich Spiess himself.'

'How on earth did you hear that? It's supposed to be

strictly--'

'We know everything here,' said Colonel Pikeaway, using

his pet phrase--that's what we're for.

'Bringing some tame doctor, too, I understand--' he added.

'Yes, a Dr Reichardt, a top scientist, I presume--'

'No. Medical doctor--Loony-bins--'

'Oh dear--a psychologist?'

'Probably. The ones that run loony-bins are mostly that.

With any luck he'll have been brought over so that he

can examine the heads of some of our young firebrands. Stuffed full they are of German philosophy, Black Power

philosophy, dead French writers' philosophy, and so on

and so forth. Possibly they'll let him examine some of the

heads of our legal lights who preside over our -judicial courts

here saying we must be very careful not to do anything

to damage a young man's ego because he might have to

earn his living. We'd be a lot safer if they sent them all

round to get plenty of National Assistance to live on and

then they could go back to their rooms, not do any work, and enJoy themselves reading more philosophy. However,

I'm out of date. I know that. You needn't tell me so.'

'One has to take into account the new modes of thought,'

said Sir George Packham. 'One feels, I mean one hopes-- well it's difficult to say--'

'Must be very worrying for you,' said Colonel Pikeaway.

'Finding things so difficult to say.'

His telephone rang. He listened, then handed it to Sir

George.

'Yes?' said Sir George. 'Yes? Oh yes. Yes. I agree. I "uprose--No--no--not the Home Office. No. Privately, you

mean. Well, I suppose we'd better use--er--' Sir George looked round him cautiously.

This place isn't bugged,' said Colonel Pikeaway amiably,

143

'Code word Blue Danube,' said Sir George Packham in

a loud, hoarse whisper. 'Yes, yes. I'll bring Pikeaway along

with me. Oh yes, of course. Yes, yes. Get on ,to him. Yes,

say you particularly want him to come, but to remember

our meeting has got to be strictly private.'

'We can't take my car then,' said Pikeaway. 'It's too well

known.'

'Henry Horsham's coming to fetch us in the Volkswagen.'

'Fine,' said Colonel Pikeaway. 'Interesting, you know, all

this.'

'You don't think--' said Sir George and hesitated-

I don't think what?'

'I mean just really--well, I--mean, if you wouldn't mind

my suggesting--a clothes brush?'

'Oh, this.' Colonel Pikeaway hit himself lightly on the

shoulder and a cloud of cigar ash flew up and made Sir

George choke.

'Nanny,' Colonel Pikeaway shouted. He banged a buzzer

on his desk.

A middle-aged woman came in with a clothes brush, appearing

with the suddenness of a genie summoned by

Aladdin's lamp.

'Hold your breath, please. Sir George,' she said. "This

may be a little pungent.'

She held the door open for him and he retired outside

while she brushed Colonel Pikeaway, who coughed and

complained:

'Damned nuisance these people are. Always wanting you

to get fixed up like a barber's dummy.'

'I should not describe your appearance as quite like that,

Colonel Pikeaway. You ought to be used to my cleaning

you up nowadays. And you know the Home Secretary suffers

from asthma.'

'Well, that's his fault. Not taking proper care to have

pollution removed from the streets of London.

'Come on. Sir George, let's hear what our German frier 'has

come over to say. Sounds as though it's a matter ci some urgency.'

Chapter 17 HERR HEINRICH SPIESS

Herr Heinrich Spiess was a worried man. He did not seek

to conceal the fact. He acknowledged, indeed, without concealment,

that the situation which these five men had come

together to discuss was a serious situation. At the same

time, he brought with him that sense of reassurance which

had been his principal asset in dealing with the recently

difficult political life in Germany. He was a solid man, a

thoughtful man, a man who could bring common sense to

any assemblies he attended. He gave no sense of being a

brilliant man,'and that in itself was reassuring. Brilliant politicians

had been responsible for about two-thirds of the

national states of crisis in more countries than one. The other

third of trouble had been caused by those politicians who were

unable to conceal the fact that although duly elected by

democratic governments, they had been unable to conceal

their remarkably poor powers of judgment, common sense

and, in fact, any noticeable brainy qualities.

'This is not in any sense an official visit, you understand,'

said the Chancellor.

'Oh quite, quite.'

'A certain piece of knowledge has come to me which I

thought is essential we should share. It throws a rather interesting

light on certain happenings which have puzzled as well

as distressed us. This is Dr Reichardt.'

Introductions were made. Dr Reichardt was a large and comfortable-looking man with the habit of saying 'Ach, so'

from time to time.

'Dr Reichardt is in charge of a large establishment in

the neighbourhood of Karlsruhe. He treats there mental

patients. I think I am correct in saying that you treat there

between five and six hundred patients, am I not right?'

'Ach, so,' said Dr Reichardt.

'I take it that you have several different forms of mental

illness?'

'Ach, so. I have different forms of mental illness, but

nevertheless, I have a special interest in, and treat almost

exclusively one particular type of mental trouble.' He branched

off into German and Herr Spiess presently rendered a brief ^nslation in case some of his English colleagues should ^t understand. This was both necessary and tactful. Two

145

of them did in part, one of them definitely did not, and the

two others were truly puzzled.

'Dr Reichardt has had,' explained Herr Spiess, 'the greatest

success in his treatment of what as a layman I describe

as megalomania. The belief that you are someone other

than you are. Ideas of being more important than you are.

Ideas that if you have persecution mania--'

'Ach, no!' said Dr Reichardt. 'Persecution mania, no, that

I do not treat. There is no persecution mania in my clinic.

Not among the group with whom I am specially interested.

On the contrary, they hold the delusions that they do because

they wish to be happy. And they are happy, and I can keep

them happy. But if I cure them, see you, they will not be

happy. So I have to find a cure that will restore sanity to

them, and yet they will be happy just the same. We call this

particular state of mind--'

He uttered a long and ferociously sounding German word

of at least eight syllables.

'For the purposes of our English friends, I shall still use

my term of megalomania, though I know,' continued Herr

Spiess, rather quickly, 'that that is not the term you use

nowadays, Dr Reichardt. So, as I say, you have in your

clinic six hundred patients.'

'And at one time, the time to which I am about to refer,

I had eight hundred.'

'Eight hundred!'

'It was interesting--most interesting.'

'You have such persons--to start at the beginning--'

'We have God Almighty,' explained Dr Reichardt. 'You comprehend?'

Mr Lazenby looked slightly taken aback.

*0h--er--yes--er--yes. Very interesting, I am sure.*

There are one or two young men, of course, who think

they are Jesus Christ. But that is not so popular as the

Almighty. And then there are the others. I had at the

time I am about to mention twenty-four Adolf Hitlers

This you must understand was at the time when Hitler

was alive. Yes, twenty-four or twenty-five Adolf Hitlers--'

he consulted a small notebook which he took from his

pocket--'I have made some notes here, yes. Fifteen Napoleons

Napoleon, he is always popular, ten Mussolinis, five reincarnations

of Julius Caesar, and many other cases, very curiol and very interesting. But that I will not weary you with ;

this moment. Not being specially qualified in the medical sens'-

it would not be of any interest to you. We will come to the

incident that matters.'

Dr Reichardt spoke again at rather shorter length, and

Hen- Spiess continued to translate.

There came to him one day a government official. Highly

thought of at that time--this was during the war, mind you--

by the ruling government. I will call him for the moment

Martin B. You will know who I mean. He brought with him

his chief. In fact he brought with him--well, we will not beat

about the bush--he brought the Fiihrer himself.'

'Aoh, so,' said Dr Reichardt.

'It was a great honour, you understand, that he should come to inspect,' went on the doctor. 'He was gracious, mein Fiihrer. He told me that he had heard very good reports

of my successes. He said that there had been trouble lately.

Cases from the army. There, more than once there had been

men believing they were Napoleon, sometimes believing they

were some of Napoleon's Marshals and sometimes, you

comprehend, behaving accordingly, giving out military orders

and causing therefore military difficulties. I would have been

happy to have given him any professional knowledge that

might be useful to him, but Martin B. who accompanied him

said that that would not be necessary. Our great Fiihrer,

however,' said Dr Reichardt, looking at Herr Spiess slightly

uneasily, 'did not want to be bothered with such details. He

said that no doubt it would be better if medically qualified

men with some experience as neurologists should come and

have a consultation. What he wanted was to--ach, well, he

wanted to see round, and I soon found what he was really

interested to see. It should not have surprised me. Oh no,

because you see, it was a symptom that one recognizes.

The strain of his life was already beginning to tell on the

Fiihrer.'

' 'I suppose he was beginning to think he was God Almighty

himself at that time,' said Colonel Pikeaway unexpectedly,

and he chuckled.

Dr Reichardt looked shocked.

He asked me to let him know certain things. He said

that Martin B. had told him that I actually had a large

number of patients thinking, not to put too fine a point

on it, that they were themselves Adolf Hitler. I explained

to him that this was not uncommon, that naturally with

the respect, the worship they paid to Hitler, it was only

natural that the great wish to be like him should end even147

tually by them identifying themselves with him. I was

little anxious when I mentioned this but I was delighted

find that he expressed great signs of satisfaction. He took

I am thankful to say, as a compliment, this passionate wi

to find identity with himself. He next asked if he could m< a representative number of these patients with this particuJ

affliction. We had a little consultation. Martin B. seem

doubtful, but he took me aside and assured me that H<

Hitler actually wished to have this experience. What he hi]

self was anxious to ensure was that Herr Hitler did not meet

well, in short, that Herr Hitler was not to be allowed to r

any risks. If any of these so-called Hitlers, believing passio

ately in themselves as such, were inclined to be a little viole

or dangerous ... I assured him that he need have no won

I suggested that I should collect a group of the most amiat

of our Fuhrers and assemble them for him to meet. Herr

insisted that the Fiihrer was very anxious to interview ai

mingle with them without my accompanying him. The patien

he said, would not behave naturally if they saw the chief

the establishment there, and if there was no danger . . .

assured him again that there was no danger. I said, howev<

that I should be glad if Herr B. would wait upon hil

There was no difficulty about that. It was arranged. Messag

were sent to the Fiihrers to assemble in a room for a we

distinguished visitor who was anxious to compare notes wi

them.

'Aoh, so. Martin B. and the Fiihrer were introduced in

the assembly. I retired, closing the door, and chatted wi

the two ADC's who had accompanied them. The Flihn

I said, was looking in a particularly anxious state. He h;

no doubt had many troubles of late. This I may say w

very shortly before the end of the war when things, qui

frankly, were going badly. The Fiihrer himself, they to

me, had been greatly distressed of late but was convinc(

that he could bring the war to a successful close if the ide

which he was continually presenting to his general sta

were acted upon, and accepted promptly.'

"The Fiihrer, I presume,' said Sir George Packham, 'w;

at that time--I mean to say--no doubt he was in a sta

that--'

'We need not stress these points,' said Herr Spiess. 't- was completely beyond himself. Authority had to be tak<

for him on several points. But all that you will know w(

enough from the researches you have made in my country

'One remembers that at the Nuremberg trials--'

148

^iSCS^.

'There's no need to refer to the Nuremberg trials, I'm

sure,' said Mr Lazenby decisively. 'All that is far behind

us. We look forward to a great future in the Common

Market with your Government's help, with the Government

of Monsieur Grosjean and your other European colleagues.

The past is the past.'

'Quite so,' said Herr Spiess, 'and it is of the past that we

now talk. Martin B. and Herr Hitler remained for a very

short time in the assembly room. They came out again

after seven minutes. Herr B. expressed himself to Dr Reichardt

as very well satisfied with their experience. Their car was

waiting and he and Herr Hitler must proceed immediately

to where they had another appointment. They left very

hurriedly.'

There was a silence.

'And then?' asked Colonel Rkeaway. 'Something happened?

Or had already happened?'

'The behaviour of one of our Hitler patients was unusual,'

said Dr Reichardt. 'He was a man who had a particularly

close resemblance to Herr Hitler, which had given him

always a special confidence in his own portrayal. He insisted

now more fiercely than ever that he was the Fiihrer, that he

must go immediately to Berlin, that he must preside over a

Council of the General Staff. In fact, he behaved with no

signs of the former slight amelioration which he had shown

in his condition. He seemed so unlike himself that I really could not understand this change taking place so suddenly.

I was relieved, indeed, when two days later, his relations

called to take him home for future private treatment there.'

'And you let him go,' said Herr Spiess.

'Naturally I let him go. They had a responsible doctor

with them, he was a voluntary patient, not certified, and

therefore he was within his rights. So he left.'

1 don't see--' began Sir George Packham.

'Herr Spiess has a theory--'

'It's not a theory,' said Spiess. 'What I am telling you is

fact. The Russians concealed it, we've concealed it. Plenty

of evidence and proof has come in. Hitler, our Fiihrer, remained in the asylum by his own consent that day and a man

with the nearest resemblance to the real Hitler departed

with Martin B. It was that patient's body which was subsequently

found in the bunker. I will not beat about the

bush. We need not go into unnecessary details.'

'We all have to know the truth,' said Lazenoy.

'The real Fiihrer was smuggled by a pre-arranged under149

ground route to the Argentine and lived there for some

years. He had a son there by a beautiful Aryan girl of good

family. Some say she was an English girl. Hitler's mental

condition worsened, and he died insane, believing himself to

be commanding his armies in the field. It was the only

plan possibly by which he could ever have escaped from

Germany. He accepted it.'

'And you mean that for all these years nothing has

leaked out about this, nothing has been known?'

'There have been rumours, there are always rumours. If you remember, one of the Czar's daughters in Russia

was said to have escaped the general massacre of her family.'

'But that was--' George Packham stopped. 'False--quite

false.'

'It was proved false by one set of people. It was accepted

by another set of people, both of whom had known her.

That Anastasia was indeed Anastasia, or that Anastasia,

Grand Duchess of Russia, was really only a peasant girl.

Which story was true? Rumours! The longer they go on,

the less people believe them, except for those who have

romantic minds, who go on believing them. It has often been

rumoured that Hitler was alive, not dead. There is no one

who has ever said with certainty that they have examined his

dead body. The Russians declared so. They brought no

proofs, though.'

'Do you really mean to say--Dr Reiehardt, do you support

this extraordinary story?'

'Aeh,' said Dr Reiehardt. 'You ask me, but I have told

you my part. It was certainly Martin B. who came to my

sanatorium. It was Martin B. who brought with him the

Fuhrer. It was Martin B. who treated him as the Fuhrer.

who spoke to him with the deference with which one speaks

to the Fiihrer. As for me, I lived already with some hundreds

of Fiihrers, of Napoleons, of Julius Caesars. You must

understand that the Hitlers who lived in my sanatorium, they

looked alike, they could have been, nearly all of them could have been, Adolf Hitler. They themselves could never havr believed in themselves with the passion, the vehement with which they knew that they were Hitler, unless they ha;

had a basic resemblance, with make-up, clothing, continui

acting, and playing of the part. I had had no person;

meeting with Herr Adolf Hitler at any previous time. On'

saw pictures of him in the papers, one knew roughly wh;

our great genius looked like, but one knew only the pictun

that he wished shown. So he came, he was the Fiihrer, Marti'i 150

B. the man best to be believed on that subject said he was the

Fiihrer. No, I had no doubts. I obeyed orders. Herr Hitler

wished to go alone into a room to meet a selection of his—

what shall one say?—his plaster copies. He went in. He

came out. An exchange of clothing could have been made, not

very different clothing in any case. Was it he himself or one

of the self-appointed Hitlers who came out? Rushed out

quickly by Martin B. and driven away while the real man

could have stayed behind, could have enjoyed playing his

part, could have known that in this way and in this way

only could he manage to escape from the country which

at any moment might surrender. He was already disturbed

in mind, mentally affected by rage and anger that the orders

he gave, the wild fantastic messages sent to his staff, what

they were to do, what they were to say, the impossible

things they were to attempt, were not, as of old, immediately

obeyed. He could feel already that he was no longer in

supreme command. But he had a small faithful two or three

and they had a plan for him, to get him out of this country,

out of Europe, to a place where he could rally round him

in a different continent his Nazi followers, the young ones who

believed so passionately in him. The swastika would rise again

there. He played his part. No doubt, he enjoyed it. Yes, that

would be in keeping with a man whose reason was already

tottering. He would show these others that he could play

the part of Adolf Hitler better than they did. He laughed

to himself occasionally, and my doctors, my nurses, they

would look in, they would see some slight change. One patient

who seemed unusually mentally disturbed, perhaps. Pah, there

was nothing in that. It was always happening. With the

Napoleons, with the Julius Caesars, with all of them. Some

days, as one would say if one was a layman, they are

madder than usual. That is the only way I can put it. So

now it is for Herr Spiess to speak.'

'Fantastic!' said the Home Secretary.

'Yes, fantastic,' said Herr Spiess patiently, 'but fantastic

things can happen, you know. In history, in real life, no

matter how fantastic.'

'And nobody suspected, nobody knew?'

'It was very well planned. It was well planned, well

thought out. The escape route was ready, the exact details

of it are not clearly known, but one can make a pretty

good recapitulation of them. Some of the people who were

concerned, who passed a certain personage on from place

to place under different disguises, under different names,

151

some of those people, on our looking back and making ,. „ . ..-^ts their inquiries, we find did not live as long as they might have eir spearhead, their anarchists, their propnets, meir

done.' he Castros, the Guerrillas, their followers, a long

You mean in case they should give the secret away or aining in cruelty and torture and vlolence aM should talk too much?' after it, glorious life. Freedom! As Rvlsrs of the

The SS saw to that Rich rewards, praise, promises of d State.' The appointed conquerors.'

high positions in the future and then--death is a much nonsense,' said Mr Lazenby. Once all this is pui

easier answer. And the SS were used to death. They knew

the different ways of it, they knew means of disposing of

bodies--Oh yes, I will tell you that, this has been inquired

into for some time now. The knowledge has come little by

little to us, and we have made inquiries, documents have

been acquired and the truth has come out. Adolf Hitler

certainly reached South America. It is said that a marriage

ceremony was performed--that a child was born. The child

was branded in the foot with the mark of the swastika.

Branded as a baby. I have seen trusted agents whom I can

believe. They have seen that branded foot in South America.

There that child was brought ud. careful)" ^.---' . . -

d State. The appointed conquerors.'

nonsense,' said Mr Lazenby. 'Once all this is put

-the .whole thing will collapse. This is all quite

What can they do?' Cedric Lazenby sounded srulous.

ess shook his heavy, wise head.

ay ask. I tell you the answer, which is--they do They don't know where they're going. They don't ,t is going to be done with them.'

iean they're not the real leaders?'

_.._„„.„. are the young marching Heroes, treading their

believe Theyha^etn"^ T" '^sted agents whom I can lorv' on-the stepping-stones of violence, of pain, of

Theretha?cL?d was hrolh. foot in south Ameri<:a hey have now their following not only in South

prepared^prePared b Z n^' T^ guarded' shielded. and ^P6- The cult has travelled north- In the prepared for h^ereaT^n c" Lama might have been tetes, there too the young men riot, they march,

Ac fanaticS vou pounds th?^y" hat was the idea behind 3W the banner of the Young ^^ Th^ are theyhadsSrtS^uTw^ ^ was greater than the idea that s ways, they are taught to kill, to enjoy pain, they

new Naris tnP ou /? s was not merelv a reviv^ of the .t the rules of the Death's Head, the rules of Himmler.

but it was'manvw "emlan ^P61- race. It was that, yes, s being trained, you see. They are being secretly

many oSernauon^ ^8S besldes- It was the Y^Sof ated. They do not know what they're being trained

neaSy Terv <S,n^ ^per race of the ^""S men of w do, some of us at least. And you? In this country?' the ranks^7aS7^rf ^ope, to Join together, to join or five of us, perhaps,' said Colonel Pikeaway.

istic worid taTn^Y' troy the old worid' the material- ^ssia they know, in America they have begun to

violent broth^^n^ great Dew band of kmme murdering, hey know that there are the followers of the Young

to powerAnTrt,^ fi, on destnlcti0^ and then on rising iegfried, based on the Norse Legends, and that a

riehtMood- r y now thw leader- A leader with the iegfried is the leader. That that is their new religion.

up with no ereat lik0"" ^ ^ lTder wh0' ^"S" he grew ?ion of the glorious boy, the golden triumph of youth.

golden hairp^f nt T dead father' was--no, is--a. :he old Nordic Gods have risen again.

^^^^^£^ --------

..^-- u^u ^'vJ^*xv vj^v«lj ^ju*^ iu^^l a^aXLL.

hat, of course,' said Herr Spiess, dropping his voice

mmonplace tone, 'that of course is not the simple

truth. There are some powerful personalities behind

il men with first-class brains. A first-class financier, a

idustrialist, someone who controls mines, oil, stores

ium, who owns scientists of the top class, and those

ones, a committee of men, who themselves do not

ilticUlarlv intWWrfino r»r CYtr'tnrdinot-ir hut OTnunythn

K^^^^- ^S

they despised, where Moses led hi« f^J.L-.l-'1^' whom

_^ __... ,,..„ v^,^w ^vM.^i^t^w v/i. M-t*/ *.^F ^idoa, aixu iuuac

thpv ri^^i. a \"" ^r ^^o™se(l land of the Jews, whom ones, a committee of men, who themselves do not

dead 3s fh e Moses led his Lowers. The Jews were irticularly interesting or extraordinary, but nevertheber<

Th- e ground' klued w murdered in the gas cham- we got control. They control the sources of oower. vein. iiiis was to be a land r>f fhfir ^.,-- - »

.--- ^us-w, icu ms rollowers. The Jews were

dead under the ground, killed or murdered in the gas chambers.

This was to be a land of their own, a land gained by their

own prowess. The countries of Europe were to be banded

together with the countries of .South a------ "

----,-,^^wi*j al.^wa»/i3mi& \Jt t^A IA dVA U-IUA1 y , UUl UCVCilUCve

got control. They control the sources of power, 'ntrol through certain means of then" own the young

ho kill and the young men who are slaves. By control

IgS they acauire slaves. Slavps in fvrrv mnntnf iuhr>

___ _„__ »^..^».*t/ »/*- t*A^-AA wn HAfc/ J JUILI.ly

together with the"^^""1" <"^ """P® were to be banded /no kill and the young men who are slaves. By control

me wiinines of South America. There already yes they acquire slaves. Slaves in every country who

^2 myy little progress from soft drugs to hard drugs and who

H 153

are then completely subservient, completely dependent on

men whom they do not even know but who secretly own

them body and soul. Their craving need for a particular

drug makes them slaves, and in due course, these slaves prove

to be no good, because of their dependence on drugs, they

will only be capable of sitting in apathy dreaming sweet

dreams, and so they will be left to die, or even helped to die.

They will not inherit that kingdom in which they believe.

Strange religions are being deliberately introduced to them.

The gods of the old days disguised.'

'And permissive sex also plays its part, I suppose?'

'Sex can destroy itself. In old Roman times the men who

steeped themselves in vice, who were oversexed, who ran

sex to death until they were bored and weary of sex, sometimes

fled from it and went out into the desert and became

Anchorites like St Simeon Stylites. Sex will exhaust itself.

It does its work for the time being, but it cannot rule you

as drugs rule you. Drugs and sadism and the love of power

and hatred. A desire for pain for its own sake. The pleasures

of inflicting it. They are teaching themselves the pleasures of

evil. Once the pleasures of evil get a hold on you, you cannot

draw back.'

'My dear Chancellor--I really can't believe you--I mean,

well--I mean if there are these tendencies, they must be put

down by adopting strong measures. I mean, really, one--

one can't go on pandering to this sort of thing. One must

take a firm stand--a firm stand.'

'Shut up, George.' Mr Lazenby pulled out his pipe, looked

at it, put it back in his pocket again. 'The best plan, I think,'

he said, his idee fixe reasserting itself, 'would be for me to

fly to Russia. I understand that--well, that these facts are

known to the Russians.'

They know sufficient,' said Herr Spiess. 'How much they

will admit they know--' he shrugged his shoulders--'that is

difficult to say. It is never easy to get the Russians to cc'ne

out in the open. They have their own troubles on the Chinese

border. They believe perhaps less in the far advanced stage,

into which the movement has got, than we do.'

'I should make mine a special mission, I should.'

'I should stay here if I were you. Cedric.'

Lord Altamount's quiet voice spoke from where he lea:'d

rather wearily back in his chair. 'We need you here, Ced ..,

he said. There was gentle authority in his voice. 'You are i'e head of our Government--you must remain here. We have "it

154

trained agents—our own emissaries who are qualified for

foreign missions.'

' 'Agents?' Sir George Packham dubiously demanded. 'What

can agents do at this stage? We must have a report from

—Ah, Horsham, there you are—I did not notice you before.

Tell us—what agents have we got? And what can they

possibly do?'

'We've got some very good agents,' said Henry Horsham

quietly. 'Agents bring you information. Herr Spiess also has

brought you information. Information which his agents have

obtained for him. The trouble is—always has been—(you've

only got to read about the last war) nobody wishes to believe

the news the agents bring.'

'Surely—Intelligence—'

'Nobody wants to accept that the agents cere intelligent!

but they are, you know. They are highly trained and their

reports, nine times out of ten, are true. What happens then?

The High-Ups refuse to believe it, don't want to believe it,

go further and refuse to act upon it in any way.'

'Really, my dear Horsham—I can't—'

Horsham turned to the German. '

'Even in your country, sir, didn't that happen? True reports

were brought in, but they weren't always acted upon. People

don't -want to know—if truth is unpalatable.'

'I have to agree—that can and does happen—not often,

of that I assure you—But yes—sometimes—'

Mr Lazenby was fidgeting again with his pipe.

'Let us not argue about information. It is a question of

dealing—of acting upon the information we have got. This

is not merely a national crisis—it is an international crisis.

Decisions must be taken at top level—we must act. Munro,

the police must be reinforced by the Army—military measures

must be set in motion. Herr Spiess, you have always been a

great military nation—rebellions must be put down by armed

forces before they get out of hand. You would agree with

that policy, I am sure—'

The policy, yes. But these insurrections are already what

you term "out of hand". They have tools, rifles, machineguns,

explosives, grenades, bombs, chemical and other gases—'

'But with our nuclear weapons—a mere threat of nuclear

warfare—and—'

'These are not just disaffected schoolboys. With this Army

of Youth there are scientists—young biologists, chemists,

physicists. To start—or to engage in nuclear warfare in Eur-

155

ope--' Herr Spiess shook his head. 'Already we have had an

attempt to poison the water supply at Cologne--Typhoid.'

The whole position is incredible--' Cedric Lazenby looked

round him hopefully-- 'Chetwynd--Munro--Blunt?'

Admiral Blunt was, somewhat to Lazenby's surprise, the

only one to respond.

1 don't know where the Admiralty comes in--not quite

our pigeon. I'd advise you, Cedric, if you want to do the

best thing for yourself, to take your pipe; and a big supply

of tobacco, and get as far out of range of any nuclear

warfare you are thinking of starting as you can. Go and

camp in the Antarctic, or somewhere where radio-activity will

take a long time catching up with you. Professor Eckstein

warned us, you know, and he knows what he's talking about.'

Chapter 18

PIKEAWAY'S POSTSCRIPT

The meeting broke up at this point. It split into a definite

rearrangement.

The German Chancellor with the Prime Minister, Sir

George Packham, Gordon Chetwynd and Dr Reichardt departed

for lunch at Downing Street.

Admiral Blunt, Colonel Munro, Colonel Pikeaway a?. Henry

Horsham remained to make their comments wi

more freedom of speech than they would have permitt :. themselves if the VIP's had remained.

The first remarks made were somewhat disjointed.

Thank goodness they took George Packham with them,'

said Colonel Pikeaway. 'Worry, fidget, wonder, surmise--gets

me down sometimes.'

'You ought to have gone with them. Admiral,' said Colonel

Munro. 'Can't see Gordon Chetwynd or George Packham

being able to stop our Cedric from going off for a top-level

consultation with the Russians, the Chinese, the Ethiopia s.

the Argentinians or anywhere else the fancy takes him.'

'I've got other kites to fly,' said the Admiral gruf

'Going to the country to see an old friend of mine.' H^ looked with some curiosity at Colonel Pikeaway.

'Was the Hitler business really a surprise to you, Pikeawa: .''

Colonel Pikeaway shook his head.

'Not really. We'v known all about the rumours of <"'" 156

Adolf turning up in South America and keeping the swastika

flying for years. Fifty-to-fifty chance of its being true. Whoever

the chap was, madman, play-acting impostor, or the real

thing, he passed in his checks quite soon. Nasty stories about

that, too--he wasn't an asset to his supporters.'

'Whose body was it in the Bunker? is still a good talking

point,' said Blunt. 'Never been any definite identification.

Russians saw to that.'

He got up, nodded to the others and went towards the

door.

Munro said thoughtfully, 'I suppose Eh- Reichardt knows

the truth--though he played it cagey.'

'What about the Chancellor?' said Horsham.

'Sensible man,' grunted the Admiral, turning his head

back from the doorway. 'He was getting his country the

way he wanted it, when this youth business started playing

fun and games with the civilized world--Pity!' He looked

shrewdly at Colonel Munro.

'What about the Golden-Haired Wonder? Hitler's son?

Know all about him?'

'No need to worry,' said Colonel Pikeaway unexpectedly.

The Admiral let go of the door-handle and came back and

sat down.

'All my eye and Betty Martin,' said Colonel Pikeaway,

'Hitler never had a son.'

'You can't be sure of that.'

'We are sure--Franz Joseph, the Young Siegfried, the idolized

Leader, is a common or garden fraud, a rank impostor.

He's the son of an Argentinian carpenter and a good-looking

blonde, a small-part German opera singer--inherited his looks

and his singing voice from his mother. He was carefully chosen

for the part he was to play, groomed for stardom. In his

early youth he was a professional actor--he was branded in

the foot with a swastika--a story made up for him full of

romantic details. He was treated like a dedicated Dalai Lama.'

'And you've proof of this?'

'Full documentation,' Colonel Pikeaway grinned. 'One of

my best agents got it. Affidavits, photostats, signed declaration,

including one from the mother, and medical evidence as

to the date of the scar, copy of the original birth certificate

°f Karl Aguileros--and signed evidence of his identity with

the so-called Franz Joseph. The whole bag of tricks. My agent Sot away with it just in time. They were after her--might ^ye got her if she hadn't had a bit of luck at Frankfurt.'

'And where are these documents now?'

157

'In a safe place. Waiting for the right moment for a

spectacular debunking of a first-class impostor—'

'Do the Government know this?—the Prime Minister?'

''I never tell all I know to politicians—not until I can't

avoid it, or until I'm quite sure they'll do the right thing.'

'You are an old devil, Pikeaway,' said Colonel Munro,

'Somebody has to be,' said Colonel Pikeaway, sadly.

Chapter 19

SIRSTAFFORD NYE HAS VISITORS

Sir Stafford Nye was entertaining guests. They were guests

with whom he had previously been unacquainted except for

one of them whom he knew fairly well by sight. They were

good-looking young men, serious-minded and intelligent, or

so he should judge. Their hair was controlled and stylish,

their clothes were well cut though not unduly old-fashioned.

Looking at them, Stafford Nye was unable to deny that he

liked the look of them. At the same time he wondered what

they wanted with him. One of them he knew was the son

of an oil king. Another of them, since leaving the university,

had interested himself in politics. He had an uncle who owned

a chain of restaurants. The third one was a young man with

beetle brows who frowned and to whom perpetual suspicion

seemed to be second nature.

'It's very good of you to let us come and call upon you,

Sir Stafford,' said the one who seemed to be the blond

leader of the three.

His voice was very agreeable. His name was Clifford Bent.

'This is Roderick Ketelly and this is Jim Brewster. We're

all anxious about the future. Shall I put it like that?'

'I suppose the answer to that is, aren't we all?' said Sir

Stafford Nye.

'We don't like things the way they're going,' said Cliffc';f

Bent. 'Rebellion, anarchy, all that. Well, it's all right as ;

philosophy. Frankly I think we may say that we all seem "^

go through a phase of it but one does come out the oti .'r

side. We want people to be able to pursue academic care

without their being interrupted. We want a good sufficiet "y

of demonstrations but not demonstrations of hooliganism and

violence. We want intelligent demonstrations. And what \

want, quite frankly, or so I think, is a new political par

158

Jim Brewster here has been paying serious attention to

entirely new ideas and plans concerning trade union matters.

They've tried to shout him down and talk him out, but he's

gone on talking, haven't you, Jim?'

'Muddle-headed old fools, most of them,' said Jim Brewster.

'We

want a sensible and serious policy for youth, a more

economical method of government. We want different ideas

to obtain in education but nothing fantastic or highfalutin'.

And we shall want, if we win seats, and if we are able

finally to form a government--and I don't see why we

shouldn't--to put these ideas into action. There are a lot of

people in our movement. We stand for youth, you know, just

as well as the violent ones do. We stand for moderation and

we mean to have a sensible government, with a reduction

in the number of MP's, and we're noting down, looking for

the men already in politics no matter what their particular

persuasion is, if we think they're men of sense. We've come

here to see if we can interest you in our aims. At the moment

they are still in a state of flux but we have got as far as

knowing the men we want. I may say that we don't want the

ones we've got at present and we don't want the ones who

might be put in instead. As for the third party, it seems to have

died out of the running, though there are one or two good

people there who suffer now for being in a minority, but I

think they would come over to our way of thinking. We want

to interest you. We want, one of these days, perhaps not so

far distant as you might think--we want someone who'd

understand and put out a proper, successful foreign policy.

The rest of the world's in a worse mess than we are now.

Washington's razed to the ground, Europe has continual

military actions, demonstrations, wrecking of airports. Oh well,

I don't need to write you a news letter of the past six months,

but our aim is not so much to put the world on its legs

again as to put England on its legs again. To have the

right men to do it. We want young men, a great many young

men and we've got a great many young men who aren't

revolutionary, who aren't anarchistic, who will be willing to

try and make a country run profitably. And we want some of

the older men--1 don't mean men of sixty-odd, I mean men of

forty or fifty--and we've come to you because, well, we've

heard things about you. We know about you and you're the sor^ of man we want.' 'po you think you are wise?' said Sir Stafford.

Well, we think we are.'

159

The second young man laughed slightly.

'We hope you'll agree with us there.'

'I'm not sure that I do. You're talking in this room very

freely.'

It's your sitting-room.'

'Yes, yes, it's my flat and it's my sitting-room. But what

you are saying, and in fact what you might be going to say,

might be unwise. That means both for you as well as me.'

'Oh! I think I see what you're driving at.'

'You are offering me something. A way of life, a new

career and you are suggesting a breaking of certain ties.

You are suggesting a form of disloyalty.'

'We're not suggesting your becoming a defector to any

other country, if that's what you mean.'

'No, no, this is not an invitation to Russia or an invitation

to China or an invitation to other places mentioned in the

past, but I think it is an invitation connected with some

foreign interests.' He went on: ''I've recently come back

from abroad. A very interesting journey. I have spent the last

three weeks in South America. There is something I would

like to tell you. I have been conscious since I returned to

England that I have been followed.'

'Followed? You don't think you imagined it?'

'No, I don't think I've imagined it. Those are the sort of

things I have learned to notice in the course of my career.

I have been in some fairly far distant and--shall we say?--

interesting parts of the world. You chose to call upon me to

sound me as to a proposition. It might have been safer,

though, if we had met elsewhere.'

He got up, opened the door into the bathroom and turned

the tap.

'From the films I used to see some years ago,' he said,

'if you wished to disguise your conversation when a room

was bugged, you turned on taps. I have no doubt that I

am somewhat old-fashioned and that there are better methods

of dealing with these things now. But at any rate perhaps s could speak a little more clearly now, though even then 1 still think we should be careful. South America,' he went so'

'is a very interesting part of the world. The Federation of- South American countries (Spanish Gold has been one name

for it), comprising by now Cuba, the Argentine, Brazil, Peru,

one or two others not quite settled and fixed but coming into

being. Yes. Very interesting.'

'And what are your views on the subject,' the suspicious

looking Jim Brewster asked. 'What have you got to say about

things?'

'I shall continue to be careful,' said Sir Stafford. 'You

will have more dependence on me if I do not talk Unadvisedly.

But I think that can be done quite well after I turn off the

bath water.'

'Turn it off, Jim,' said Cliff Bent.

Jim grinned suddenly and obeyed.

Stafford Nye opened a drawer .at the table and took out a

recorder.

'Not a very practised player yet,' he said.

He put it to his lips and started a tune. Jim Brewster

came back, scowling.

'What's this? A bloody concert we're going to put on?'

'Shut up,' said Cliff Bent. 'You ignoramus, you don't know

anything about music.'

Stafford Nye smiled.

'You share my pleasure in Wagnerian music, I see,' he

said. 'I was at the Youth Festival this year and enjoyed the

concerts there very much.'

Again he repeated the tune.

'Not any tune I know,' said Jim Brewster. 'It might be

the Internationale or the Red Flag or God Save the King

or Yankee Doodle or the Star-Spangled Banner. What the

devil is it?'

'It's a modf from an opera,' said Ketelly. 'And shut

your mouth. We know all we want to know.'

"The horn call of a young Hero,' said Stafford Nye.

He brought his hand up in a quick gesture, the gesture

from the past meaning 'Heil Hitler'. He murmured very

gently,

"The new Siegfried.'

All three rose.

'You're, quite right,' said Clifford Bent. 'We must all, I

think, be very careful.'

He shook hands.

'We are glad to know that you will be with us. One of the

things this country will need in its future—its great future,

I hope—will be a first-class Foreign Minister.'

They went out of the room. Stafford Nye watched them

through the slightly open door go into the lift and descend.

Ha gave a curious smile, shut the door, glanced up at

the clock on the wall and sat down in an easy chair—to

wait . . .

His mind went back to the day, a week ago now, when

he and Mary Arm had gone their separate ways from

Kennedy Airport. They had stood there, both of them finding

it difficult to speak. Stafford Nye had broken the silence

first.

'Do you think well ever meet again? I wonder . . ,'

'Is there any reason why we shouldn't?'

'Every reason, I should think.'

She looked at him, then quickly away again.

'These partings have to happen. It's--part of the job.'

The job! It's always the job with you, isn't it?'

'It has to be.'

'You're a professional. I'm only an amateur. You're

a--' he broke off. 'What are you? Who are you? I don't really

know, do I?'

'No.'

He looked at her then. He saw sadness, he thought, in

her face. Something that was almost pain.

'So I have to--wonder . . . You think I ought to trust

you, I suppose?'

'No, not that. That is one of the things that I have leamt

that life has taught me. There is nobody that one can trusc.

Remember that--always.'

'So that is your world? A world of distrust, of fear, of

danger.'

'I wish to stay alive. I am alive.'

'I know.'

'And I want you to stay alive.'

7 trusted you--in Frankfurt . . .'

'You took a risk.'

'It was a risk well worth taking. You know that as well

as I do.'

'You mean because--?'

'Because we have been together. And now--That is my

flight being called. Is this companionship of ours which

started in an airport, to end here in another airport? Y(

are going where? To do what?'

To do what I have to do. To Baltimore, to Washingto

to Texas. To do what I have been told to do.'

'And I? I have been told nothing. I am to go back i-~ London--and do what there?'

'Wait.'

'Wait for what?'

'For the advances that almost certainly will be made to

you.'

162

'And what am I to do then?'

She smiled at him, with the sudden gay smile that he

knew so well.

"Then you play it by ear. Youll know how to do it,

none better. You'll like the people who approach you. They'll

be well chosen. It's important, very important, that we

should know who they are.'

'I must go. Goodbye, Mary Arm.'

'Auf Wiedersehen*

In the London flat, the telephone rang. At a singularly

apposite moment, Stafford Nye thought, bringing him back

from his past memories just at that moment of their farewell.

'Auf Wiedersehen,' he murmured, as he-rose to his

feet crossed to take the receiver off, 'let it be so.'

A voice spoke whose wheezy accents were quite unmistakable.

Stafford Nye?'

He gave the requisite answer: 'No smoke without fire.'

'My doctor says I should give up smoking. Poor fellow,'

said Colonel Pikeaway, 'he might as well give up hope of

that. Any news?'

'Oh yes. Thirty pieces of silver. Promised, that is to say.'

'Damned swine!'

Yes, yes, keep calm.'

'And what did you say?'

'I played them a tune. Siegfried's Horn motif. I was

following an elderly aunt's advice. It went down very well.'

'Sounds crazy to me!'

'Do you know a song called Juanita? I must learn that

too, in case I need it.'

'Do you know who Juanita is?'

I think so.'

'H'm, I wonder--heard of in Baltimore last.'

'What about your Greek girl. Daphne Theodofanous?

Where is she now, I wonder?'

'Sitting in an airport somewhere in Europe waiting for

you, probably,' said Colonel Pikeaway.

'Most of the European airports seem to be closed down

because they've been blown up or more or less damaged.

High explosive, hi-jackers, high jinks.

"The boys and giris come out to play

The moon doth shine as bright as day--

Leave your supper and leave your sleep

And shoot your playfellow in the street.'

163

'The Children's Crusade S. la mode.'

'Not that I really know much about it. I only know the

one that Richard Coeur de Lion went to. But in a way

this whole business is rather like the Children's Crusade.

Starting with idealism, starting with ideas of the Christian

world delivering the holy city from pagans, and ending

with death, death and again, death. Nearly all the children

died. Or were sold into slavery. This will end the same way

unless we can find some means of getting them out of it . . .'

Chapter 20

THE ADMIRAL

VISITS AN OLD FRIEND

Thought you must all be dead here,' said Admiral Blunt

with a snort.

His remark was addressed not to the kind of butler which

he would have liked to see opening this front door, but

to the young woman whose surname he could never remember

but whose Christian name was Amy.

'Rung you up at least four times in the last week. Gone

abroad, that's what they said.'

'We have been abroad. We've only just come back.'

'Matilda oughtn't to go rampaging about abroad. Not

at her time of life. She'll die of blood pressure or heart

failure or something in one of these modem airplanes.

Cavorting about, full of explosives put in them by the

Arabs or the Israelis or somebody or other. Not safe at all

any longer.'

'Her doctor recommended it to her.'

'Oh well, we all know what doctors are.'

'And she has really come back in very good spirits.'

Where's she been, then?'

'Oh, taking a Cure. In Germany or--I never can quite

remember whether it's Germany or Austria. That new placs,

you know, the Golden Gasthaus.'

'Ah yes, I know the place you mean. Costs the earth,

doesn't it?'

'Well, it's said to produce very -remarkable results.'

'Probably only a- different way of killing you quick< '

said Admiral Blunt. 'How did you enjoy it?'

164

'Well, not really very much. The scenery was very nice,

but--'

An imperious voice sounded from the floor above.

'Amy. Amy! What are you doing, talking in the hall all

this time? Bring Admiral Blunt up here. I'm waiting for

him.'

'Gallivanting about,' said Admiral Blunt, after he had greeted his old friend. That's how you'll kill yourself one

of these days. You mark my words--'

'No, I shan't. There's no difficulty at all in travelling

nowadays.'

'Running about all those airports, ramps, stairs, Buses.*

'Not at all. I had a wheelchair.'

'A year or two ago when I saw you, you said you wouldn't

hear of such a thing. You said you had too much pride to

admit you needed one.'

Well, I've had to give up some of my pride, nowadays,

Philip. Come and sit down here and tell me why you wanted

to come and see me so much all of a sudden. You've neglected

me a great deal for the last year.'

'Well, I've not been so well myself. Besides, I've been

looking into a^few things. You know the sort of thing. Where

they ask your advice but don't mean in the least to take it.

They can't leave the Navy alone. Keep on wanting to fiddle

about with it, drat them.'

b 'You look quite well to me,' said Lady Matilda.

| 'You don't look so bad yourself, my dear. You've got a

I nice sparkle in your eye.'

| 'I'm deafer than when you saw me last. You'll have to

|speak up more.'

'All right. I'M speak up.'

'What do you want, gin and tonic ,or whisky or rum?'

'You seem ready to dispense strong liquor of any kind.

K it's all the same to you, I'll have a gin and tonic.'

Amy rose and left the room.

'And when she brings it,' said the Admiral, 'get rid of

her again, will you? I want to talk to you. Talk to you

particularly is what I mean.'

Refreshment brought, Lady Matilda made a dismissive

wave of the hand and Amy departed with the air of one

who is pleasing herself, not her employer. She was a tactful

young woman.

'Nice girl,' said the Admiral, 'very nice.'

'Is that why you asked me to get rid of her and see she

165

shut the door? So that she mightn't overhear you saying

something nice about her?'

'No. I wanted to consult you.'

'What about? Your health or where to get some new

servants or what to grow in the garden?'

'•I want to consult you very seriously. I thought perhaps

you might be able to remember something for me.'

'Dear Philip, how touching that you should think I can

remember anything. Every year my memory gets worse. I've

come to the conclusion one only remembers what's called

the "friends of one's youth". Even horrid girls one was at

school with one remembers, though one doesn't want to.

That's where I've been now, as a matter of fact.'

'Where've you been now? Visiting schools?'

'No, no, no, I went to see an old school friend whom I

haven't seen for thirty—forty—fifty—that sort of time.'

'What was she like?'

'Enormously fat and even nastier and horrider than I

remembered her.'

'You've got very queer tastes, I must say, Matilda.'

"Well, go on, tell me. Tell me what it is you want me to

remember?'

'I wondered if you remembered another friend of yours.

Robert Shoreham.'

'Robbie Shoreham? Of course I do.'

The scientist feller. Top scientist.'

'Of course. He wasn't the sort of man one would ever

forget. I wonder what put him into your head.'

'Public need.'

'Funny you should say that,' said Lady Matilda. 'I thought

the same myself the other day.'

'You thought what?'

'That he was needed. Or someone like him—if there is

anyone like him.'

'There isn't. Now listen, Matilda. People talk to you a

bit. They tell you things. I've told you things myself.'

"•I've always wondered why, because you can't believe

that I'll understand them or be able to describe them. A

that was even more the case with Robbie than with yo

'I don't tell you naval secrets.'

'Well, he didn't tell me scientific secrets. I mean, only

a very general way.'

'Yes, but he used to talk to you about them, didn't hi

'Well, he liked saying things that would astonish me son

times.'

166

'All right, then, here it comes. I want to know if he ever

talked to you, in the days when he could talk properly,

poor devil, about something called Project B.'

Project B.' Matilda Cleckheaton considered thoughtfully.

'Sounds vaguely familiar,' she said. 'He used to talk about

Project this or that sometimes, or Operation that or this.

But you must realize that none of it ever made any kind of sense to me, and he knew it didn't. But he used to like--

oh, how shall I put it?--astonishing me rather, you know.

Sort of describing it the way that a conjuror might describe

how he takes three rabbits out of a hat without your knowing

how he did it. Project B? Yes, that was a good long time

ago . . . He was wildly excited for a bit. I used to say to him sometimes "How's Project B going on?"'

'I know, I know, you've always been a tactful woman. You can always remember what people were doing or interested

in. And even if you don't know the first thing about

it you'd show an interest. I described a new kind of naval

gun to you once and you must have been bored stiff. But

you listened as brightly as though it was the thing you'd

been waiting to hear about all your life.'

'As you tell me, I've been a tactful woman and a good

listener, even if I've never had much in the way of brains.'

'Well, I want to hear a little more what Robbie said about

Project B.'

'He said--well, it's very difficult to remember now. He

mentioned it after talking about some operation that they

used to do on- people's brains. You know, the people who

were terribly melancholic and who were thinking of suicide

and who were so worried and neurasthenic that they had

awful anxiety complexes. Stuff like that, the sort of thing people

used to talk of in connection with Freud. And he said that

the side effects were impossible. I mean, the people were

quite happy and meek and docile and didn't worry any more,

or want to kill themselves, but they--well I mean they didn't

worry enough and therefore they used to get run over and

all sorts o-f things like that because they weren't thinking of any danger and didn't notice it. I'm putting it badly but you do understand what I mean. And anyway, he said, that was going to be the trouble, he thought, with Project B.'

'Di.l b: describe it at all more closely than that?'

"He sa 1 I'd put it into his head,' said Matilda Cleckheaton Unexr°c;::dly.

'Wt^f; r)o you mean to say a scientist--a topflight ^ei-iiis; he Robbie actually said to you that you had put

167

first thing about science.'

'Of course not. But I used to try and put a little common

sense into people's brains. The cleverer they are, the less

common sense they have. I mean, really, the people who

matter are the people who thought of simple things like perforations

on postage stamps, or like somebody Adam, or whatever

his name was--No--MacAdam in America who put

black stuff on roads so that farmers could get all their crops

from farms to the coast and make a better profit. I mean,

they do much more good than all the high-powered scientists

do. Scientists can only think of things for destroying you.

Well, that's the sort of thing I said to Robbie. Quite nicely,

of course, as a kind of joke. He'd been just telling me that

some splendid things had been done in the scientific world

about germ warfare and experiments with biology and what

you can do to unborn babies if you get at them early

enough. And also some peculiarly nasty and very unpleasant

gases and saying how silly people were to protest against

nuclear bombs because they were really a kindness compared

to some of the other things that had been invented since

then. And so I said it'd be much more to the point if Robbie,

or someone clever like Robbie, could think of something

really sensible. And he looked at me with that, you know,

little twinkle he has in his eye sometimes and said, "Well what

would you consider sensible?" And I said, "Well, instead of inventing all these germ warfares and these nasty gas

and all the rest of it, why don't you just invent somethi

that makes people feel happy?" I said it oughtn't to be a

more difficult to do. I said, "You've talked about this op

ation where, I think you said, they took out a bit of the frc

of your brain or maybe the back of your brain. But anyw

it made a great difference in people's dispositions. The] become quite different. They hadn't worried any more

they hadn't wanted to commit suicide. But," I said, "Well,

you can change people like that just by taking a little bit

bone or muscle or nerve or tinkering up a gland or taki

out a gland or putting in more or a gland," I said, "if you c

make all that difference in people's dispositions, why can't yi

invent something that will make people pleasant or just siee;

perhaps? Supposing you had something, not a sleeping dra'. a;'

but just something that people sat down in a chair and kd

nice dream. Twenty-four hours or so and just woke up t^ I

fed now and again. I said it would be a much better i ' "'

'And is that what Project B was?'

168

'Well, of course he never told me what it was exactly.

But he was excited with an idea and he said I'd put it into

his head, so it must have been something rather pleasant I'd

put into his head, mustn't it? I mean, I hadn't suggested any

ideas to him of any nastier ways for killing people and I

didn't want people even--you know--to cry, like tear gas or

anything like that. Perhaps laughing--yes, I believe I mentioned

laughing gas. I said well if you have your teeth out,

they give you three sniffs of it and you laugh, well, surely,

surely you could invent something that's as useful as that

but would last a little longer. Because I believe laughing gas

only lasts about fifty seconds, doesn't it? I know my brother

had some teeth out once. The dentist's chair was very near

the window and my brother was laughing so much, when he

was unconscious, I mean, that he stretched his leg right out

and put it through the dentist's window and all the glass fell

in the street, and the dentist was very cross about it.'

'Your stories always have such strange side-kicks,' said

the Admiral. 'Anyway, this is what Robbie Shoreham had

chosen to get on with, from your advice.'

'Well, I don't know what it was exactly. I mean, I don't

think it was sleeping or laughing. At any rate, it was something. It wasn't really Project B. It had another name.'

'What sort of a name?'

'Well, he did mention it once I think, or twice. The

name he'd given it. Rather like Benger's Food,' said Aunt

Matilda, considering thoughtfully.

'Some soothing agent for the digestion?'

1 don't think it had anything to do with the digestion.

I rather think it was something you sniffed or something,

perhaps it was a gland. You know we talked of so many

things that you never quite knew what he was talking

about at the moment. Benger's Food. Ben--Ben--it did begin

with Ben. And there was a pleasant word associated with it.'

'Is that all you can remember about it?'

'I think so. I mean, this'was just a talk we had once and

then, quite a long time afterwards, he told me I'd put something into his head for Project Ben something. And after

that, occasionally, if I remembered, I'd ask him if he was still

working on Project Ben and then sometimes he'd be very

exasperated and say no, he'd come up against a snag and

he was putting it all aside now because it was in--in--well,

I mean the next eight words were pure jargon and I couldn't

remember them and you wouldn't understand them if I said ""an to you. But in the end, I think--oh dear, oh dear, this

169

is all about eight or nine years ago--in the end he came one

day and he said, "Do you remember Project Ben? " I said, "Of

course I remember it. Are you still working on it? " And he said

no, he was determined to lay it all aside. I said I was sorry.

Sorry if he'd given it up and he said, "Well, it's not only that

I can't get what I was trying for. I know now that it could be got. I know where I went wrong. I know just what the snag

was, I know just how to put that snag right again. I've got

Lisa working on it with me. Yes, it could work. It'd require

experimenting on certain things but it could work." "Well," I

said to him, "what are you worrying about?" And he said,

"Because I don't'know what it would really do to people."

I said something about his being afraid it would kill peep;;

or maim them for life or something. "No," he said, "it's n.;?.

like that." He said, it's a--oh, of course, now I remembe:He

called it Project Benvo. Yes. And that's because it had m'

do with benevolence.'

'Benevolence!' said the Admiral, highly surprised. 'Benevolence?

Do you mean charity?'

'No, no, no. I think he meant simply that you could make

people benevolent. Feel benevolent.'

'Peace and good will towards men?*

Well, he didn't put it like that.'

'^b, that's reserved for religious leaders. They pre

that to you and if you did what they preach it'd be a v

happy world. But Robbie, I gather, was not preaching.

proposed to do something in his laboratory to bring ab

this result by purely physical means.'

"That's the sort of thing. And he said you can never

when things are beneficial to people or when they're i

They are in one way they're not in another. And he s ;

things about--oh, penicillin and sulphonamides and h( ;

transplants and things like pills for women, though we hac '

got "The Pill" then. But you know, things that seem all ri '

and they're wonder-drugs or wonder-gases or wonder-sol

thing or other, and then there's something about them t

makes them go wrong as well as right, and then you w they weren't there and had never been thought of. Well, th

the sort of thing that he seemed to be trying to get over

me. It was all rather difficult to understand. I said, "Do ;

mean you don!t like to take the risk?" and he said; "Yoi .c

quite right. I don't like to take the risk. That's the trou 'e

because, you see, I don't know in the least what the risk

will be. That's what happens to us poor devils of scientists.

^fe take the risks and the risks are not in what we've

discovered, it's the risks of what the people we'll have to

tell -about it will do with what we've discovered." I said;

"Now you're talking about nuclear weapons again and atom

bombs," and he said, "Oh, to Hell with nuclear weapons and

atomic bombs. We've gone far beyond that."

' "But if you're going to make people nice-tempered and

benevolent," I said, "what have you got to worry about?"

And he said, "You don't understand, Matilda. You'll never

understand. My fellow scientists in all probability would

not understand either. And no politicians would ever understand.

And so, you see, it's too big a risk to be taken. At any

rate one would have to think for a long time."

' "But," I said, "you could bring people out of it again,

just like laughing gas, couldn't you? I mean, you could

make people benevolent just for a short time, and then

they'd get all right again--or all wrong again--it depends

which way you look at it, I should have thought." And he

said, "No. This will be, you see, permanent. Quite permanent

because it affects the--" and then he went into

jargon again. You know, long words and numbers. Formulas,

or molecular changes--something like that. I expect really

it must be something like what they do to cretins. You

know, to make them stop being cretins, like giving them

thyroid or taking it away from them. I forget which it is.

Something like that. Well, I expect there's some nice little

gland somewhere and if you take it away or smoke it out,

or do something drastic to it--but then, the people are

permanently--'

'Permanently benevolent? You're sure that's the right word?

Benevolence?'

'Yes, because that's why he nicknamed it Benvo.'

'But what did his colleagues think, I wonder, about his

backing out?'

'I don't think he had many who knew. Lisa what's-hername,

the Austrian girl; she'd worked on it with him. And

there was one young man called Leadenthal or some name

like that, but he died of tuberculosis. And he rather spoke

as though the other people who worked with him were merely assistants who didn't know exactly what he was doing

°r trying for. I see what you're getting at,' said Matilda

suddenly. "I don't think he ever told anybody, really. I mean,

think he destroyed his formulas or notes or whatever they \vere and gave up the whole idea. And then he had his stroke

171

and got ill, and now, poor dear, he can't speak very well. He's

paralysed one side. He can hear fairly well. He listen" to

music. That's his whole life now.'

'His life's work's ended, you think?'

'He doesn't even see friends. I think it's painful to urn

to see them. He always /ma.kes some excuse.'

'But he's alive,' said Admiral Blunt. 'He's alive still. Got

his address?'

'It's in my address book somewhere. He's still in the s -ine

place. North Scotland somewhere. But--oh, do understa:, ;--

he was such a wonderful man once. He isn't now. He's ji almost

dead. For all intents and purposes.'

There's always hope,' said Admiral Blunt. 'And belief;' he

added. 'Faith.'

'And benevolence, I suppose,' said Lady Matilda..

Chapter 21

PROJECT BENVO

Professor John Gottlieb sat in his chair looking very steadfastly

at the handsome young woman sitting opposite him.

He scratched his ear with a rather monkey-like gesture which

was characteristic of him. He looked rather like a monkey

anyway. A prognathous jaw, a high mathematical head which

make a slight contrast in terms, and a small wizened frame.

'It's not every day,' said Professor Gottlieb, 'that a young

lady brings me a letter from the President of the Ur'ted

States. However,' he said cheerfully, 'Presidents don't always

know exactly what they're doing. What's this all abou I

gather you're vouched for on the highest authority.'

'I've come to ask you what you know or what you an

tell me about something called Project Benvo.'

'Are you really Countess Renata Zerkowski?'

'Technically, possibly, I am. I'm more often knowr as

Mary Arm.'

'Yes, that's what they wrote me under separate c; er.

And you want to know about Project Benvo. Well, t "rs was such a thing. Now it's dead and buried and the luan

who thought of it also, I expect.'

'You mean Professor Shoreham.'

That's right. Robert Shoreham. One of the greatest geniuses

of our age. Einstein, Niels Bohr and some others. But

172

Robert Shoreham didn't last as long as he should. A great

loss to science--what is it Shakespeare says of Lady Macbeth:

"She should have died hereafter."'

'He's not dead,' said Mary Arm.

'Oh. Sure of that? Nothing's been heard of him for a

long time.'

'He's an invalid. He lives in the north of Scotland. He is

paralysed, can't speak very well, can't walk very well. He

sits most of the time listening to music.'

'Yes, I can imagine that. Well, I'm glad about that. If

he can do that he won't be too unhappy. Otherwise it's a

pretty fair hell for a brilliant man who isn't brilliant any

more. Who's, as it were, dead in an invalid chair,'

'There was such a thing as Project Benvo?'

'Yes, he was very keen about it.'

'He talked to you about it?'

'He talked to some of us about it in the early days. You're not a scientist yourself, young woman, I suppose?'

'No, I'm--'

'You're just an agent, I suppose. I hope you're on the

right side. We still have to hope for miracles these days, but

I don't think you'll get anything out of Project Benvo.'

"Why not? You said he worked on it. It would have been

a very great invention, wouldn't it?-Or discovery, or whatever

you call these things?'

'Yes, it would have been one of the greatest discoveries

of the age. I don't know just what went wrong. It's happened

before now. A thing goes along all right but in the

last stages somehow, it doesn't click. Breaks down. Doesn't

do what's expected of it and you give up in despair. Or

else you do what Shoreham did.'

'What was that?'

'He destroyed it. Every damn bit of it. He told me so

himself. Burnt all the formulas, all the papers concerning

it, all the data. Three weeks later he had his stroke. I'm

sorry. You see, I can't help you. I never knew any details

about it, nothing but its main idea. I don't even remember

that now, except for one thing. Benvo stood for Benevolence.'

173

Chapter 22 JUANITA

Lord Altamount was dictating.

The voice that "had once been ringing and dominant w; s

now reduced to a gentleness that had still an unexpected;

special appeal. It seemed to come gently out of the shadov ?

of the past, but to be emotionally moving in a way that ;.

more dominant tone would not have been.

James Kleek was taking down the words as they came,

pausing every now and then when a moment of hesitation

came, allowing for it and waiting gently himself.

'Idealism,' said Lord Altamount, 'can arise and indeed

usually does so when moved by a natural antagonism to

injustice. That is a natural revulsion from crass materia -

ism. The natural idealism of youth is fed more and more by

a desire to destroy those two phases of modem life, injustice

and crass materialism. That desire to destroy what

is evil, sometimes leads to a love of destruction for its own

sake. It can lead to a pleasure in violence and in the infliction

of pain. All this can be fostered and strengthened

from outside by those who are gifted by a natural power of

leadership. This original idealism arises in a non-adult stage.

It should and could lead on to a desire for a new world. It

should lead also towards a love of all human beings, ai "

of goodwill towards them. But those who have once lear

to love violence for its own sake will never become adu'?.

They will be fixed in their own retarded development ai i

will so remain for their lifetime.'

The buzzer went. Lord Altamount gestured and Jams

Kleek lifted it up and listened.

'Mr Robinson is here.'

'Ah yes. Bring him in. We can go on with mis later'

James Kleek rose, laying aside his notebook and pe;'c

Mr Robinson came in. James Kleek set a chair for hii'ii

one sufficiently widely proportioned to receive his form wiii1out

discomfort. Mr Robinson smiled his thanks and arr^ngi i himself by Lord Altamount's side.

'Well,' said Lord Altamount. 'Got anything new fc<- us?

Diagrams? Circles? Bubbles?'

He seemed faintly amused.

'Not exactly,' said Mr Robinson imperturbably, 'it's "ore

like plotting the course of a river--'

174

'River?' said Lord AItamount. 'What sort of a river?'

'A river of money,' said Mr Robinson, in the slightly

apologetic voice he was wont to use when referring to his

speciality. 'It's really .just like a river, money is--coming

from somewhere and definitely going to somewhere. Really

very interesting--that is, if you are interested in these things--

It tells its own story, you see--'

James Kleek looked as though he didn't sec, but AItamount

said, 'I understand. Go on.'

'It's flowing from Scandinavia--from Bavaria--from the

USA--from South-east Asia--fed by lesser tributaries on the

way--'

'And going--where?'

'Mainly to South America--meeting die demands of the

now securely established Headquarters of Militant Youth--'

'And representing four of the five intertwined Circles you

showed us--Armaments, Drugs, Scientific and Chemical Warfare

Missiles as well as Finance?'

'Yes--we think we know now fairly accurately who controls

these various groups--'

'What about Circle J--Juanita?' asked James Kleefc*

'As yet we cannot be sure.'

'James has certain ideas as to that,' said Lord AItamount. 'I hope he may be wrong--yes, I hope so. The initial J is

interesting. What does it stand for--Justice? Judgment?'

'A dedicated killer,' said James Kleek. The female of the

species is more deadly than the male.'

"There are historical precedents,' admitted AItamount. 'Jael

setting butter in a lordly dish before Sisera--and afterwards

driving the nail through his head. Judith executing Holofemes,

and applauded for it by her countrymen. Yes, you may have

something there.'

'So you think you know who Juanita is, do you?' said

Mr Robinson. That's interesting.'

'Well, perhaps I'm wrong, sir, but there have been things

that made me think--' „

'Yes,' said Mr Robinson, 'WE have all had to think, haven't

we? Better say who you think it is, James.'

The Countess Renata Zerkowski.'

'What makes you pitch upon her?'

The places she's been, the people she's been in contact ^th. There's been too much coincidence about the way ^e has been turning up in different places, and all that. "he's been in Bavaria. She's been visiting Big Charlotte --£ 175

there. What's more, s

i that's significant--'

'You think they're

'I wouldn't like to

him, but . . .' He pai

Yes,' said Lord Al

him. He was suspect

'By Henry Horshai ' 'Henry Horsham fo

sure, I imagine. He's b

it too. He's not a foe

'Another of them,' s

ilii ary, how we can bre<

our secrets, let them t

"If there's one person i ] or Burgess, or Philby,

h'B Nye.'

'Stafford Nye, indoc

| Mr Robinson. \. There was that ct

said Kleek, 'and theri 11 Nye, I gather, has sii As for she herself--di

'I dare say Mr R

I 'Do you, Mr Robinsoc I 'She's in the Unitet \[ with friends in Washi

then in California ani

a top-flight scientist. 1

I'1 'What's she doing t

'One would presun

' | voice, 'that she is try

I 'What information?' 1: Mr Robinson sighed

That is what one

it is the same inform ; and that she is doing ]

--it may be for the o

He turned to look i

Tonight, I understa

I that right?'

I 'Quite right*

1 don't think he c

I! turned an anxious fac

so weU lately, sir. It'1

way you go. Air or train. Can't you leave it to Munro and

Hor:;nam?'

'At my age it's a waste of time to take care,' said Lord

a Altamount. 'If I can be useful I would like to die in harness,

-2 as the saying goes.'

He smiled at Mr Robinson.

'You'd better come with us, Robinson.'

Chapter 23

JOURNEY TO SCOTLAND

The Squadron Leader wondered a little what it was all

about. He was accustomed to being left only partly in the

picture. That was Security's doing, he supposed. Taking

no chances. He'd done this sort of thing before more than

once. Flying a plane of people out to an unlikely spot, with

unlikely passengers, being careful to ask no questions except

such as were of an entirely factual nature. He knew some of

his passengers on this flight but not all of them. Lord Altamount

he recognized. An ill man, a very sick man, he thought, a man who, he judged, kept himself alive by sheer willpower.

The keen hawk-faced man with him was his special

guard dog, presumably. Seeing not so much to his safety as

to his welfare. A faithful dog who never left his side. He

would have with him restoratives, stimulants, all the medical

box of tricks. The Squadron Leader wondered why there

wasn't a doctor also in attendance. It would have been an

extra precaution. Like a death's head, the old man looked.

A noble death's head. Something made of marble in a museum.

Henry Horsham the Squadron Leader knew quite well. He

knew several of the Security lot. And Colonel Munro, looking

slightly less fierce than usual, rather more worried. Not very

happy on the whole. There was also a large, yellow-faced man. Foreigner, he might be. Asiatic? What was he doing,

flying in a plane to the North of Scotland? The Squadron

Leader said deferentially to Colonel Munro:

'Everything laid on, sir? The car is here waiting.'

'How far exactly is the distance?'

'Se snteen miles, sir, roughish road but not too bad. There ^e extra rugs in the car.'

'Yc'i have your orders? Repeat, please, if you will. Squadron ^der Andrews.'

177

The Squadron Leader rep

satisfaction. As the car fir

Leader looked after it, won<

those particular people wen

lonely moor to a venerable

lived as a recluse without fr

run of things. Horsham kne^ know a lot of strange things.

to tell him anything.

The car was well and ca

last over a gravel driveway

porch. It was a turreted b\ hung at either side of the bi

, before there was any need t(

| tance.

I An old Scottish woman o

] face, stood in the doorway. ' 1 pants out.

I James Kleek and Horshai

"I alight and supported him u

|| woman stood aside and drop

| She said:

S 'Good evening, y'r lordship

|| He knows you're arriving, \

fires for you in all of them.'

i|| Another figure had arrivec

(| woman between fifty and s

I handsome. Her black hair ^

II had a high forehead, an aqi

II 'Here's Miss Neumann to h

||| I woman.

| Thank you, Janet,' said M:

j| are kept up in the bedrooms 'I will that.'

Illl Lord Altamount shook hanc

'Good evening. Miss Neun

'Good evening. Lord Altan

III | tired by your journey.'

|| 'We had a very good flight

Neumann. This is Mr Robin

Horsham, of the Security De 'I remember Mr Horsham if:

'I hadn't forgotten,' said H

| Leveson Foundation. You w< Shoreham's secretary at that 1 : ' 1

'I was first his assistant in the laboratory, and afterwards his secretary. I am still, as far as he needs one, his secretary.

He also has to have a hospital nurse living here more or

less permanently. There have to be changes from time to

time--Miss Ellis who is here now took over from Miss Bude

only two days ago. I have suggested that she should stay

near at hand to the room in which we ourselves shall be. I

thought you would prefer privacy, but that she ought not to

be out of call in case she was needed.'

'Is he in very bad health?' asked Colonel Munro.

'He doesn't actually suffer,' said Miss Neumann, 'but

you must prepare yourself, if you have not seen him, that

is, for a long time. He is only what is left of a man.'

'Just one moment before you take us to him. His mental

processes are not too badly depleted? He can understand

what one says to him?'

'Oh, yes, he can understand perfectly, but as he is semiparalysed,

he is unable to speak with much clarity, though

that varies, and is unable to walk without help. His brain,

'i in my opinion, is as good as ever it was. The only difference

is that he tires very easily now. Now, would you like some

refreshment first?'

'No,' said Lord Altamount. 'No, I don't want to wait. This is a rather urgent matter on which we have come, so if you will take us to him now--he expects us, I understand?'

'He expects you, yes,' said Lisa Neumann.

She led the way up some stairs, along a corridor and

opened a room of medium size. It had tapestries on the

wall, the heads of stags looked down on them, the place

had been a one-time shooting-box. It had been little changed

in its furnishing or arrangements. There was a big recordplayer

on one side of the room.

The tall man sat in a chair by the fire. His head trembled

a little, so did his left hand. The skin of his face was pulled

down one side. Without beating about the bush, one could

only describe him one way, as a wreck of a man. A man

who had once been tall, sturdy, strong. He had a fine forehead,

deep-set eyes, and a rugged, determined-looking chin.

The eyes, below the heavy eyebrows, were intelligent. He ^d something. His voice was not weak, it made fairly clear

sounds but not always recognizable ones. The faculty of speech

had only partly gone from him, he was still understandable.

Lisa Neumann went to stand by him, watching his lips, ^o that she could interpret what he said if necessary.

I 179

'Professor Shoreham welcomes you. He is very pleased

see you here. Lord Altamount, Colonel Munuro, Sir James

Kleek, Mr Robinson and Mr Horsham. He would like me to

tell you that his hearing is reasonably good. Anything you say

to him he will be able to hear. If there is any difficulty I

can assist. What he wants to say to you he will be able to

transmit through me. If he gets too tired to articulate, I can lip-read and we also converse in a perfected sign language if

there is any difficulty.'

'I shall try,' said Colonel Munro, 'not to waste your time

and to tire you as little as possible. Professor Shoreham.'

The man in the chair bent his head in recognition of the

words.

'Some questions I can ask of Miss Neumann.*

Shoreham's hand went out in a faint gesture towards the

woman standing by his side. Sounds came from his lips,

again not quite recognizable to them, but she translated

quickly.

'He says he can depend on me to transcribe anything

you wish to say to him or I to you.'

'You have, I think, already received a letter from me,'

said Colonel Munro.

That is so,' said Miss Neumann. 'Professor Shoreham

received your letter and knows its contents.'

A hospital nurse opened the door just a crack--but ch1' did not come in. She spoke in a low whisper:

'Is there anything I can get or do. Miss Neumann? I "

any of the guests or for Professor Shoreham?'

'I don't think there is anything, thank you. Miss Eiiis. I should be glad, though, if you could stay in your e.ttingroom

just along the passage, in case we should nee.-' anything.'

'Certainly--I quite understand.' She went away, "S the door softly.

'We don't want to lose time,' said Colonel Munr °

doubt Professor Shoreham is in tune with current i ^

'Entirely so,' said Miss Neumann, 'as far as he is inte L

'Does he keep in touch with scientific advancements and

such things?'

Robert Shoreham's head shook slightly from side to side.

He himself answered.

I have finished with all that.'

'But you know roughly the state the world is in? Th® success of what is called the Revolution of Youth. The

seizing of power by youthful fully-equipped forces.'

180

Miss Neumann said, 'He is in touch entirely with everything

that is going on--in a political sense, that is.'

"The world is now given over to violence, pain, revolutionary

tenets, a strange and incredible philosophy of rule

by an anarchic minority.'

A faint look of impatience went across the gaunt face.

'He knows all that,' said Mr Robinson, speaking unexpectedly.

'No need to go over a lot of things again. He's

a man who knows everything.'

He said:

'Do you remember Admiral Blunt?'

Again the head bowed. Something like a smile showed

on the twisted lips.

'Admiral Blunt remembered some scientific work you had

done on a certain project--'I think project is what you call

these things? Project Benvo.'

They saw the alert look which came into the eyes.

'Project Benvo,' said Miss Neumann. 'You are going back

quite a long time, Mr Robinson, to recall that.'

'It was your project, wasn't it?' said Mr Robinson.

'Yes, it was his project.' Miss Neumann now spoke more

easily for him, as a matter of course.

'We cannot use nuclear weapons, we cannot use explosives

or gas or chemistry, but your project. Project Benvo, we could use.'

There was silence and nobody spoke. And then again

the queer distorted sounds came from Professor Shoreham's

lips.

'He says, of course,' said Miss Neumann, 'Benvo could be

used successfully in the circumstances in which we find

ourselves--'

The man in the chair had turned to her and was saying

something to her.

'He wants me to explain it to you,' said Miss Neumann.

'Project B, later called Project Benvo, was something that

he worked upon for many years but which at last he laid

aside for reasons of his own.'

'Because he had failed to make his project materialize?'

'No, he had not failed,' said Lisa Neumann. 'We had "of failed. I worked with him on this project. He laid it ^ide for certain reasons, but he did not fail. He succeeded.

He was on the right track, he developed it, he tested it in "arious laboratory experiments, and it worked.' She turned w Professor Shoreham again, made a few gestures with

181

her hand, touching her lips, ear, mouth in a strange kind of

code signal.

'I am asking if he wants me to explain just what Benvo does.'

'We do want you to explain.'

'And he wants to know how you leamt about it.'

'We learnt about it,' said Colonel Munro, 'through an

old friend of yours. Professor Shoreham. Not Admiral

Blunt, he could not remember very much, but the other

person to whom you had once spoken about it. Lady Matilda

Cleckheaton.'

Again Miss Neumann turned to him and watched his lips. She smiled faintly.

'He says he thought Matilda was dead years ago.'

'She is very much alive. It is she who wanted us to know

about this discovery of Professor Shoreham's.'

'Professor Shoreham will tell you the main points of what

you want to know, though he has to warn you that this

knowledge will be quite useless to you. Papers, formulae,

accounts and proofs of this discovery were all destroyed. But

since the only way to satisfy your questions is for you to learn

the main outline of Project Benvo, I can toll you fairly

clearly of what it consists. You know the uses and purpose

of tear gas as used by the police in controlling riot crowds;

violent demonstrations and so on. It induces a fit of weeping,

painful tears and sinus inflammation.'

'And this is something of the same kind?'

'No, it is not in the least of the same kind but it can have

the same purpose. It came into the heads of scientists that

one can change not only men's principal reactions and

feeling, but also mental characteristics. You can change man's

character. The qualities of an aphrodisiac are we'i

known. They lead to a condition of sexual desire, there ai-:

various drugs or gases or glandular operations--any of thes.e

things can lead to a change in your mental vigour, increase'

energy as by alterations to the thyroid gland, and Professor

Shoreham wishes to tell you that there is a certain processhe

will not tell you now whether it is glandular, or a gas thi

can be manufactured, but there is something that can chants a man in his outlook on life--his reaction to people a" '

to life generally. He may be in a state of homicidal t'.ir

he may be pathologically violent, and yet, by the influer

Project Benvo, he turns into something, or rather son-. quite different. He becomes--there is only one word if

I believe, which is embodied in its name--he becomes volent. He wishes to benefit others. He exudes kindnes

182

n

;_ has a horror of causing pain or inflicting violence. Benvo

can be released oyer a big area, it can affect hundreds, thousands

of people if manufactured in big enough quantities,

and if distributed successfully.'

'How long does it last?' said Colonel Munro. Twenty-four

hours? Longer?' ,

'You don't understand,' said Miss Neumann. 'It is permanent.'

'Permanent? You've changed a man's nature, you've

altered a component, a physical component, of course, of

his being which has produced the effect of a permanent

change in his nature. And you cannot go back on that? You cannot put him back to where he was again. It has

to be accepted as a permanent change?'

'Yes. It was, perhaps, a discovery more of medical interest

I at first, but Professor Shoreham had conceived of it as a

deterrent to be used in war, in mass risings, riotings, revolutions,

anarchy. He didn't think of it as merely medical. 'It

does not produce happiness in. the subject, only a great wish

for others to be happy. That is an effect, he says, that everyone

feels in their life at one time or another. They have a

great wish to make someone, one person or many people--to

make them comfortable, happy, in good health, all these

things. And since people can and do feel these things, there is,

we both believed, a component that controls that desire in

their bodies, and if you once put that component in operation

it can go on in perpetuity.'

'Wonderful,' said Mr Robinson.

He spoke thoughtfully rather than enthusiastically.

j 'Wonderful. What a thing to have discovered. What a

"thing to be able to put into action if--but why?'

The head resting towards the back of the chair turned

slowly towards Mr Robinson. Miss Neumann said:

'He says you understand better than the others.'

'But it's the answer,' said James Kleek. 'It's the exact answer!, It's wonderful.' His face was enthusiastically excited.

Miss Neumann was shaking her head.

'Project Benvo,' she said, 'is not for sale and not for a Sift. It has been relinquished.'

'Are you telling us the answer is no?' said Colonel Munro incredulously.

'Yes Professor Shoreham says the answer is no. He decided

thai. u ?as against--' she paused a minute and turned to look at taste nan in the chair. He made quaint -gestures with his

head, with one hand, and a few guttural sounds came

183

from his mouth. She waited and then she said, *He will tell

you himself, he was afraid. Afraid of what science has done

in its time of triumph. The things it has found out and

known, the things it has discovered and given to the world.

The wonder drugs that have not always been wonder drugs,

the penicillin that has saved lives and the penicillin that has

taken lives, the heart transplants that have brought disillusion

and the disappointment of a death not expected. He has lived

in the period of nuclear fission; new weapons that have slain.

The tragedies of radio-activity; the pollutions that new

industrial discoveries have brought about. He has been afraid

of what science could do, used indiscriminately.'

'But this is a benefit. A benefit to everyone,' cried Munro. 'So have many things been. Always greeted as great benefits

to humanity, as great wonders. And then come the side

effects, and worse than that, the fact that they have sometimes

brought not benefit but disaster. And so he decided

that he would give up. He says'--she read from a paper

she held, whilst beside her he nodded agreement from his chair--' "J am satisfied that I have done what I set out to do, that I made my discovery. But I decided not to put it into

circulation. It must be destroyed. And so it has been destroyed.

And so the answer to you is no. There is no benevolence on tan.

There could have been once, but now all the formulae, all t:e

know-how, my notes and my account of the necessary prcx. dure are gone--burnt to ashes--I have destroyed my brc

child":

Robert Shoreham struggled into raucous difficult sp-sec' .

'I have destroyed my brain child and nobody in the

world knows how I arrived at it. One man helped rr'° *"?t

he is dead. He died of tuberculosis a year after w :'"

come to success. You must go away again. I cannoi ;'. ;

you.'

'But this knowledge of yours means you could save if

world 1'

The man in the chair made a curious noise. It was laughter.

Laughter of a crippled man.

Save the world. Save the world! What a phrase! Tha-'s

what your young people are doing, they think! Tney going

ahead in violence and hatred to save the work ' ' they don't know how! They will have to do it them, ~'i~ out of their own hearts, out of their own minds. We ^ l give them an artificial way of doing it. No. An artificial goodness? An artificial kindness? None of that. It wo'lldfl t

184

be real. It wouldn't mean anything. It would be against

Nature.' He said slowly: 'Against God.'

The last two words came out unexpectedly, dearly enunciated.

He looked round at his listeners. It was as though he

pleaded with them for understanding, yet at the same time

had no real hope of it.

''I had a right to destroy what I had created--'

'I doubt it very much,' said Mr Robinson, 'knowledge is

knowledge. What you have given birth to--what you have

made come to life, you should not destroy.'

'You have a right to your opinion--but the fact you will

have to accept.'

'No,' Mr Robinson brought the word out with force,

Lisa Neumann turned on him angrily.

'What do you mean by "No"?'-

Her eyes were flashing. A handsome woman, Mr Robinson

thought. A woman who had been in love with Robert

Shoreham all her life probably. Had loved him, worked

with him, and now lived beside him, ministering to him

with her intellect, giving him devotion in its purest form

without pity.

There are things one gets to know in the course of one's .lifetime,' said Mr Robinson. 'I don't suppose mine will

be a long life. I carry too much weight to begin with.' He

sighed as he looked down at his bulk. 'But I do know some

thing--. :'m right, you know, Shoreham. You'll have to admit

I'm ' , it, too. You're an honest man. You wouldn't have

des -;, d your work. You couldn't have brought yourself to

do t You've got it somewhere still, locked away, hidden

aw,,/, of in this house, probably. I'd guess, and I'm only

nia-in; a guess, that you've got it somewhere in a safe

deposit or a bank. She knows you've got it there, too. You

trust her. She's the only person in the world you do trust.'

Shoreham said, and this time his voice was almost distinct:

'Who are you? Who the devil are you?'

'I'm just a man who knows about money,' said Mr

Robinson, 'and the things that branch off from money,

you know. People and their idiosyncrasies and their practices

in life. If you liked to, you could lay your hand on the

work tha.t you've put away. I'm not saying that you could 00 ^"e ' ame work now, but I think it's all there somewhere.

iou we ;old us your views, and I wouldn't say they were all ^ong,' --aid Mr Robinson.

185

'Possibly you're right. Benefits to humanity are tricky

things to deal with. Poor old Beveridge, freedom from

want, freedom from fear, freedom from whatever it was,

he thought he was making a heaven on earth by saying

that and planning for it and getting it done. But it hasn't

made heaven on earth and I don't suppose your Benvo or

whatever you call it (sounds like a patent food) will bring

heaven on earth either. Benevolence has its dangers just

like everything else. What it will do is save a lot of suffering,

pain, anarchy, violence, slavery to drugs. Yes, it'll

save quite a lot of bad things from happening, and it might save something that was important. It might--just might

--make a difference to people. Young people. This Benvoleo

of yours--now I've made it sound like a patent cleaner--is

going to make people benevolent and I'll admit perhaps that it's also going to make them condescending, smug and pleased

with themselves, but there's just a chance, too, that if y;>u

change people's natures by force and they have to go on

using that particular kind of nature until they die, one or t" /o

of them--not many--might discover that they had a natural

vocation, in humility, not pride, for what they were being

forced to do. Really change themselves, I mean, before they

died. Not be able to get out of a new habit they'd learnt.'

Colonel Munro said, 'I don't understand what the hell

you're all talking about.'

Miss Neumann said, 'He's talking nonsense. You have

to take Professor Shoreham's answer. He will do what he

likes with his own discoveries. You can't coerce him.'

'No,' said Lord Altamount. 'We're not going to coerce you or torture you, Robert, or force you to reveal your

hiding-places. You'll do what you think right. That's agreed.'

'Edward?' said Robert Shoreham. His speech failed him

slightly again, his hands moved in gesture, and Miss ^umann

translated quickly.

'Edward? He says you are Edward Altamount?'

Shoreham spoke again and she took the words fron

'He asks you. Lord Altamount, if you are defi

with your whole heart and mind, asking him to put P; ije t

Benvo in your jurisdiction. He says--' she paused, wal '-" ?

listening--'he says you are the only man in public lif ' he

ever trusted. If it is your wish--'

James Kleek was suddenly on his feet. Anxious, wick

to move like lightning, he stood by Lord Altamount's '""

'Let me help you up, sir. You're ill. You're not ell.

Please stand back a little. Miss Neumann. I--I mu set

186

to him. I--I have his remedies here. I know what to do--*

His hand went into his pocket and came out again with

a hypodermic syringe.

'Unless he gets this at once it'll be too late--' He had

caught up Lord Altamount's arm, rolling up his sleeve,

pinching the flesh between his fingers, he held the hypolennic

ready.

But someone else moved. Horsham was across the room, lushing Colonel Munro aside; his hand closed over James

{.leek's as he wrenched the hypodermic away. Kleek struggled

»ut Horsham was too strong for him. And Munro was now

here, too.

'So it's been you, James Kleek,' he said. "You who've

»een the traitor, a faithful disciple who wasn't a faithful ' ijdisciple.'

j | Miss Neumann had gone to me door--had flung it open

imd was calling. .1 'Nurse! Come quickly. Come.'

The nurse appeared. She gave one quick glance to Professor

Shoreham, but he waved her away and pointed across

he room to where Horsham and Munro still held a struggling

Kleek. Her hand went into the pocket of her uniform.

| Shoreham stammered out, 'It's Altamount. A heart attack.' i 'Heart attack, my foot,' roared Munro. 'It's attempted jnurder.' He stopped.

I 'Hold the chap,' he said to Horsham, and leapt across """ie room.

'Mrs Cortman? Since when have you entered the nursing

"ofession? We'd rather lost sight of you since you gave > the slip in Baltimore.'

Milly Jean was still wrestling with her pocket. Now her

hand came out with the small automatic in it. She glanced

towards Shoreham but Munro blocked her, and Lisa Neumann was standing in front of Shoreham's chair.

James Kleek yelled, 'Get Altamount, Juanita--quick--get Altamount.'

Her arm flashed up and she fired, James Kleek said,

'Damned good shoti'

Lord Altamount had had a classical education. He murmured

faintly, looking at James Kleek,

'Jamie? Et to Brute?' and collapsed against the back of ^s chair.

I>r McCulloch looked round him, a little uncertain of what

K 187

he was going to do or say next. The evening had been a

somewhat unusual experience for nun.

Lisa Neumann came to him and set a glass by his side.

'A hot toddy,' she said.

'I always knew you were a woman in a thousand. Lisa.'

He sipped appreciatively.

'I must say I'd like to know what all this has been about--

but I gather it's the sort of thing that's so hush-hush that

nobody's going to tell me anything.'

The Professor--he's all right, isn't he?'

The Professor?' He looked at her anxious face, kindly. ^He's fine. If you ask me, it's done him a world of good.'

'I thought perhaps the shock--'

Tm quite all right,' said Shoreham. 'Shock treatment is

what I needed. I feel--how shall I put it--alive again.' He

looked surprised.

McCulloch said to Lisa, 'Notice how much stronger his

voice is? It's apathy really that's the enemy in these cases--

what he wants is to work again--the stimulation of some

brain work. Music is all very well--it's kept him soothed

and able to enjoy life in a mild way. But he's really a man

of great intellectual power--and he misses the mental activity

that was the essence of life to him. Get him started on it

again if you can.'

He nodded encouragingly at her as she looked doubtfully

at him.

'I think, Dr McCulloch,' said Colonel Munro, 'that we

owe you a few explanations of what happened this evening,

even though, as you surmise, the powers-that-be will demand

a hush-hush policy. Lord Altamount's death--' He hesitated.

The bullet didn't actually kill him,' said the doctor, 'diAth

was due to shock. That hypodermic would have done ie

trick--strychnine. The young man--'

'I only just got it away from him in time,' said Horsb.^

'Been the nigger in the woodpile all along?' asked ne doctor.

'Yes--regarded with trust and-affection for over se^n

years. The son of one of Lord Altamount's oldest friend

'It happens. And the lady--in it together, do I understand?'

'Yes. She got the post here by false credentials. She is also

wanted by the police for murder.'

'Murder?'

'Yes. Murder of her husband, Sam Cortman, the Amen a" Ambassador. She shot him on the steps of the Embassy 188

and told a fine tale of young men, masked, attacking him.'

'Why did she have it in for him? Political or personal?'

'He found out about some of her activities, we think.'

Td say he suspected infidelity,' said Horsham. 'Instead

he discovered a hornets' nest of espionage and conspiracy,

and his wife running the show. He didn't know quite how

to deal with it. Nice chap, but slow-thinking--and she

had the sense to act quickly. Wonderful how she registered

grief at the Memorial Service.'

'Memorial--' said Professor Shoreham.

Everyone, slightly startled, turned round to look at him.

'Difficult word to say, memorial--but I mean it. Lisa, you

and I are going to have to start work again.'

'But, Robert--'

'I'm alive again. Ask the doctor if I ought to take things

easy.'

Lisa turned her eyes inquiringly on McCulloch.

'If you do, you'll shorten your life and sink back into

apathy--'

"There you are,* said Shoreham. 'Fashfashion--medical

fashion today. Make everyone, even if they're--at--death's

door--go on working---'

Dr McCulloch laughed and got up.

'Not far wrong. I'll send you some pills along to help.*

'I shan't take them.'

You'll do.'

At the door the doctor paused. 'Just want to know--

how did you get the police along so quickly?'

'Squadron Leader Andrews,' said Munro, 'had it all in

hand. Arrived on the dot. We knew the woman was around

somewhere, but had no idea she was in the house already.'

'Well--4'U be off. Is all you've told me true? Feel I

shall wake up any minute, having dropped off to sleep half

way through the latest thriller. Spies, murders, traitors,

espionage, scientists--'

He went out.

There was a silence.

Professor Shoreham said slowly and carefully;:

'Back to work--'

Lisa said as women have always said;

'You must be careful, Robert--'

'Not--not careful. Time might be short,'

He said again:

S| 'Memorial--'

H 'What do you mean? You said it before.'

E 189

I

'Do I look all right?' asked Stafford Nye nervously, twisting

his head to look in the glass.

He was having a dress rehearsal of his wedding clothes.

'No worse than any other bridegroom,' said Lady Matilda.

They're always nervous. Not like brides who are usually

quite blatantly exultant.'

'Suppose she doesn't come?'

'She'll come.'

'I feel--I feel--rather queer inside.'

"That's because you would have a second helping of pate

de foie gras. You've just got bridegroom's nerves. Don't fuss

so much, Staffy. You'll be all right on the night--.1 mean

you'll be all right when you get to the church--'

'That reminds me--'

'You haven't forgotten to buy the ring?'

'No, no, it's just I forgot to tell you that I've got a present

for you. Aunt Matilda.'

'That's very nice of you, dear boy.'

'You said the organist had gone--' i 'Yes, thank goodness.'

'I've brought you a new organist.'

'Really, Staffy, what an extraordinary idea! Where did you get him?'

'Bavaria--he sings like an angel--'

'We don't need him to sing. He'll have to play the organ.'

| 'He can do that too--he's a very talented musician.'

" 'Why does he want to leave Bavaria and come to England?'

' 'His mother died.'

'Oh dear, that's what happened to our organist. Organists'

(Bothers seem to be very delicate. Will he require mothering?

I'm not very good at it.'

'I dare say some grandmothering or great-grandmothering

would do.'

The door was suddenly flung open and an angelic-looking

child in pale pink pyjamas, powdered with rosebuds, made a

dramatic entrance--and said in dulcet tones as of one expect-

ag a rapturous welcome-- Was me.'

'Sybil, why aren't you in bed?'

Things aren't very pleasant in the nursery--' "That means you've been a naughty girl, and Nannie isn't

Pleased with you. What did you do?'

Sybil looked at the ceiling and began to giggle.

'I': was a caterpillar--a furry one. I put it on her and it

^m down here.'

191

Sybil's finger indicated a spot in the middle of her chest

which in dressmaking parlance is referred to as 'the cleavage.'

*I don't wonder Nannie was cross--ugh,' said Lady Matilda.

Nannie entered at this moment, said that Miss Sybil was

over-excited, wouldn't say her prayers, and wouldn't go to

bed.

Sybil crept to Lady Matilda's side. 'I want to say my prayers with you, Tilda--' 'Very well--but then you go straight to bed.'

Oh yes, Tilda.'

Sybil dropped on her knees, clasped her hands, and uttered

various peculiar noises which seemed to be a necessary

preliminary to approaching the Almighty in prayer. She sighed,

groaned, grunted, gave a final catarrhal snort, and launched

herself:

'Please God bless Daddy and Mummy in Singapore, and

Aunt Tilda, and Uncle Staffy, and Amy and Cook and Ellen,

and Thomas, and all the dogs, and my Pony Grizzle, and

Margaret and Diana my best friends, and Joan, the last of

my friends, and make me a good girl for Jesus' sake. Amen.

And please God make Nannie nice.'

Sybil rose to her feet, exchanged glances with Nannie

with the assurance of having won a victory, said goodnight

and disappeared.

'Someone must have told her about Benvo,' said Lady

Matilda. 'By the way, Staffy, who's going to be your best

man?'

'Forgot all about it--Have I got to have one?'

i 'It's usual.'

Sir Stafford Nye picked up a small furry animal.

"Panda shall be my best man--please Sybil--please Mry

Ann--And why not? Panda's been in it from the beginnini--

ever since Frankfurt . . .'

Christie, Agatha Paperback

Passenger to Frankfurt.

'ORK PUBLIC LIBRARY

DENNIS