by Denis Hughes
He tapped Carol’s door and waited. Her answer came in a hushed voice from within. Bentick opened the door and smiled when he saw she was looking better than the last time he saw her. There was a trace of colour in her cheeks now, and she actually raised a smile in return as he stood in the open doorway.
Bentick was on the point of speaking to her when there was a call from the lower floor of the house. He recognised Barringville’s voice and turned with a frown. Barringville sounded oddly excited. Bentick made a hasty excuse to Carol and left her.
“Come here,” said Barringville when Bentick reached the hall. “I’ve news that’s good—to both of us!”
Bentick followed him to the library, wondering what in the world could have happened to change the statesman so quickly from worry to excitement.
Barringville started without preamble: “I’ve just had a call from London,” he said. His eyes were gleaming. “The man who died in the laboratory was not Nargan! He was an impostor. A spy! A clever one, I admit, for he fooled us all, but luckily he didn’t get away with anything.”
Bentick gaped in amazement. “But his credentials were all in order,” he said, mystified. “I’d never have brought him here if they hadn’t been. And he fitted the description I was given. I don’t understand!”
“He would!” said Barringville dryly. “He apparently followed the real Nargan, held him up and locked him in an empty room across the Channel, then assumed his disguise. Through a leakage he already knew the passwords and all the rest of it. He was sent, of course, on behalf of one of our most bitter enemies, but thanks to the Telecopter he failed to return with the information they sought. The real Nargan was discovered last night, but word has only just reached us of what happened.”
Bentick whistled softly. “Then there’s been no damage done, sir?” he said. “What a relief!” He paused. “Maybe Professor Dale’s instinctive dislike of him wasn’t such a bad thing after all.”
Barringville agreed. Then: “Not a word of this to anyone but those directly concerned,” he said. “Another meeting has already been arranged between Nargan and myself, but I doubt if you’ll be on that. Cain has other work more agreeable to your taste.” He smiled at the agent.
“May I tell Carol—Miss Collins, sir?” he asked.
Barringville said he could, but was relying on their common sense not to spread the news further.
Bentick went up the stairs two at a time. He wasted little time in passing on the stupendous news to Carol, and her relief when she heard it knew no bounds.
“Poor Professor Dale,” she said presently. “I almost wish I hadn’t been so afraid of him and the Telecopter. He must have known there was something wrong with Nargan—or I should say the man we thought was Nargan.”
Bentick smiled down at her upturned face. “Perhaps he did,” he answered slowly. “Perhaps he knew a whole lot more than we thought. Remember he brought a lot of the Future into the Present Time. For myself I’m content to live in the Present.”
She was watching him with a peculiar light in her eyes. “So am I,” she whispered. “The Future is always in front of us, but I’m not afraid of it any longer.”
“Nor I,” answered Bentick. “Not any more. You see, Carol, I can foresee all I want to of the Future without having to use a thing like the Telecopter.”
She made no reply. She had no need to. It was all there for Bentick to read in her face.
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