PASSENGER TO FRANKFURT
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 CHBISTE
Passenger to
Frankfurt
AN EXTRAVAGANZA
FONTANA/CoUins
First published by Wm. Collins 1970
First issued in Pontana 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 countryEngland
he presumedof shorter and shorter miniskirts, and another
young woman, even better made upin fact quite goodlookingwho
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. Nonot
what one might have thoughtthis 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 sayyour 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 wasyes, 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
^
certainadventures,' 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 herealive . . .'
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 whywhy 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 teethfalse 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 committeea 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 meantbutit 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 justoh,
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^vlj ^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 rr 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 ^^ose(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 agentsour 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 areI did not notice you before.
Tell uswhat 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 isalways has been(you've
only got to read about the last war) nobody wishes to believe
the news the agents bring.'
'SurelyIntelligence'
'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 HorshamI 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 knowif truth is unpalatable.'
'I have to agreethat can and does happennot often,
of that I assure youBut yessometimes'
Mr Lazenby was fidgeting again with his pipe.
'Let us not argue about information. It is a question of
dealingof acting upon the information we have got. This
is not merely a national crisisit is an international crisis.
Decisions must be taken at top levelwe must act. Munro,
the police must be reinforced by the Armymilitary measures
must be set in motion. Herr Spiess, you have always been a
great military nationrebellions 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 weaponsa mere threat of nuclear
warfareand'
'These are not just disaffected schoolboys. With this Army
of Youth there are scientistsyoung biologists, chemists,
physicists. To startor 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 politiciansnot 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 futureits great future,
I hopewill 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 chairto
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 thirtyfortyfiftythat 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 himif 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 Unexrc;::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
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