Under the Net

by Iris Murdoch

  ‘He’s hungry,’ said the woman in the pinafore.

  ‘Why don’t you do something?’ said the woman in the hat to her husband in that maddening way women have. I felt quite sorry for the fellow.

  He scratched his head. ‘Why can’t we just leave him alone?’ he said. ‘He’s not doing any harm.’

  This was such a sensible remark that I couldn’t but wave to him my congratulations and fellow-feelings. The effect must have been gruesome. He recoiled.

  ‘You can’t leave him there,’ said the woman with the pinafore. She had come out on to the fire escape too. ‘He’s looking straight into our rooms. Suppose the children were to see him?’

  ‘I tell you, he’s got away from somewhere!’ said the woman above.

  A female who was obviously a char then appeared at the kitchen door of the flat below, and had to have the whole matter explained to her. All this while I was in a cold sweat in case the hullabaloo might attract the attention of Sadie and Sammy; but they were either so drunk or else so absorbed in their plot that so far they had noticed nothing.

  ‘I’d like to look it over again before I see H. K.,’ Sadie was saying, ‘Where is it, incidentally?’

  ‘It’s at my flat,’ said Sammy.

  ‘Could we phone and have it brought over at once?’ Sadie asked.

  ‘There’s no one there,’ said Sammy, ‘that is unless our new star has come. But that’s unlikely.’ He laughed.

  ‘You know, I think that was a terribly bad idea of yours,’ said Sadie. ‘That stuff’s just out of date.’

  ‘You’re jealous!’ said Sammy. ‘Look, I’ll call there this evening and bring it round then; will that do?’

  ‘That’ll do,’ said Sadie.

  ‘Late!’ said Sammy.

  ‘That’ll do!’ said Sadie.

  There was laughing and scuffling. I wished them joy of each other. But most of all I wished that I could understand what in heaven’s name they were up to.

  ‘I’ll leave squaring Donaghue to you,’ said Sammy.

  ‘We aren’t on very good terms,’ said Sadie. ‘Did I tell you I tried to employ him as a caretaker, but he cleared off?’

  ‘With Belfounder on the rampage you’ll need an armed guard,’ said Sammy. ‘But why employ an ass like Donaghue? You really have no common sense at all.’

  ‘I rather like him,’ said Sadie simply. This bit touched me deeply.

  ‘Well, you look after him then,’ said Sammy.

  ‘Oh, stop worrying, will you?’ said Sadie. ‘One translation’s just like another. If he won’t let us use his we can buy another translation overnight. All we need is to let H.K. see it now in English. As for the Frenchman, he’d sell us his grandmother for dollars.’

  This set me reeling, and I was just getting to the answer when Sammy gave it to me. ‘It makes a nice title, doesn’t it?’ he said. ‘The Wooden Nightingale.’

  I sat there with my mouth open. But I was given no time to reflect. The scene opposite claimed my attention once more; things over there were beginning to move fast.

  ‘Better call the police, if you ask me,’ said the char. ‘Better to let the police deal with them kind, I always think.’

  The house opposite stood on one side of a wide cobbled lane which gave on to Queen Anne Street. At the comer of this lane I now saw that a small crowd was collecting, attracted by the drama on the fire escape.

  ‘Look at ’im looking down!‘ said the char. “E knows what’s going on!’

  ‘You go and dial nine nine nine,’ said the woman in the hat to her husband.

  Then the char, who hadretired for a moment, reappeared armed with an extremely long cobweb brush. ‘Shall I poke ’im with my brush and see what‘e does?’ she asked; and she forthwith mounted the fire escape and brought the brush into play, delivering me a sharp jab on the ankle.

  This was too much. In any case, I had heard enough. I now had all tne materials needed for the solution of the problem, and I was in mortal terror that at any moment Sadie and Sammy would come out.

  With leisurely grace, under the fascinated gaze of many eyes. I uncurled my legs, and crawled on my stomach down the first two or three steps. After that I stood up, and rubbed my limbs, which had become very stiff, and walked without haste down the fire escape.

  ‘I told you he was mad!’ said the woman in the pinafore.

  ‘He’s getting away! Do something!’ said the woman in the hat.

  ‘Oh, let him go, poor devil!’ said the husband.

  ‘Quick!’ said the char. And they all hurried down the other fire escape to join the little crowd at the bottom.

  When I reached the foot of the steps I took a quick look back to see if anyone had emerged from Sadie’s flat. There was no one. My tormentors were standing all together in the laneway. We looked at each other in silence.

  ‘Creep up on him slow like,’ said the char.

  ‘Look out, he may be dangerous,’ said someone else.

  They stood hesitating. I took a look behind me, the alley which led into Welbeck Street was clear. Uttering a piercing hiss I suddenly rushed forward towards them; and they scattered in terror, some retreating up the fire escape and some back down the lane. Then I doubled back into Welbeck Street and took to my heels.

  Eleven

  I MADE for the nearest quiet place I knew of, which happened to be the Wallace Collection, to sit down and put together the fragments of my answer. Sitting facing the cynical grin of Frans Hals’s Cavalier, I laboured at it. My mind was still not working very fast. My translation of Breteuil’s Rossignol de Bois, which I had left with Madge, had been purloined by Sammy. No, it hadn’t, it had been presented to Sammy by Madge. Why? To be made a film out of. Who by? Some fellow called H. K. who knows no French. An American probably. What’s in this for Sadie? Sammy sells this idea to this Yank, and sells him Sadie at the same time. What about Bounty Belfounder? Sadie walks out on them. Can they do anything about that? Apparently not, they haven’t got Sadie tied up properly. What about me? If I won’t play it doesn’t matter tuppence once this H. K. has been sold the idea. Would Jean Pierre defend me? Of course not. He’ll deal directly with where the dollars are. Anyhow, have I any rights? None. Then what am I complaining about? My typescript has been stolen. Stolen? Madge shows it to Sammy, who shows it to H. K. Stolen? What’s Madge up to anyway? Madge is being double-crossed by Sammy, who ditches her for Sadie. Sammy uses Madge and Sadie uses Sammy to get her revenge on Hugo and make a fortune in dollars at the same time. I began to see the whole picture. What was so maddening was that The Wooden Nightingale would in fact make a marvellous film. It really had everything. Madge, in days when she imagined that it might somehow be possible to persuade me to make money, had gone on about it continually. Poor Madge! She had picked the winner, but Sadie and Sammy would hit the jackpot.

  ‘Not if I can help it!’ I exclaimed, and made for the exit.

  ‘An entertaining story,’ said the Cavalier. ‘I applaud your decision.’

  What was my decision? There were no two ways about it. I must try to get back my typescript at once. To do this would be to defend my own interests, and to defend Hugo’s, and, what mattered most, to do down Sadie and Sammy. That would be striking a blow for Madge too. Where was the typescript? At Sammy’s flat. Where was Sammy’s flat? The universal provider of information to which I had applied before told me that Sammy lived in Chelsea. It was clear that I should have to work fast. I must get hold of the typescript before this H. K. could see it. The way Sadie had referred to it suggested that it had not yet been copied. Sammy had implied that he would not be visiting his flat until the evening. He had said that it was probably empty. I rang Sammy’s number and got no reply. Then I decided that I badly needed Finn.

  I rang Dave’s number and after some delay Finn answered, sounding rather dazed. I told him that I was glad he hadn’t been drowned, and that I wanted him to come and join me as soon as he could. When he knew it was me he cursed me for a long time in Gaeli
c, and said that he’d been asleep. I congratulated him, and asked how soon he could get along. At last after much grumbling he said he would come to meet me in the King’s Road, and there about three-quarters of an hour later we duly met. The time was then about twenty to three.

  I had taken the precaution of asking Finn to bring with him an implement which we called the Master Key, which was a lock-picking tool of simple style which we had designed together on scientific principles. You may think it odd that two ordinary law-abiding citizens like myself and Finn should have troubled to provide ourselves with such an article. But we have found by experience that there are a surprising number of occasions in a society such as ours when simply in defence of one’s own rights, as in the present case, one needs to get through a locked door to which one possesses no key. And after all, one may even find oneself locked out of one’s house, and one can’t call the Fire Brigade every time.

  We telephoned again to make sure the flat was empty; and then as we walked along the road I told Finn the outline of the story. He found this so interesting that he quite got over his bad temper. It was clear, however, that he still had a dreadful hangover. He had the slightly squinting look which he gets with a hangover, and kept shaking his head as he went along. I have often asked Finn why he shakes his head when he has a hangover, and he tells me that it’s to make the spots move away from in front of his eyes. It surprises me when Finn, with all his Irish training, stands up to a drinking bout less well than I do ; though on this occasion it was possible that although, like the Walrus, I had got all I could, Finn had in fact, like the Carpenter, got hold of more. He has an almost psychic capacity for finding drink at all hours. Whatever the reason, he was in bad shape, while I was by now feeling fine, only a little bit weak in the stomach.

  I wasn’t at all sure how easy it would prove to get into Sammy’s flat. Sammy was the sort of person who might easily have installed a special lock, or worse still a burglar alarm. He lived, moreover, in one of those enormous blocks of service flats, where it was possible that we might be interfered with in our work by the porter or some other busybody. When we reached the block I sent Finn round to the other side of the building to see if he could find a tradesmen’s entrance, in case we were disturbed, while I walked in the front way, keeping an eye lifting for porters. We met outside Sammy’s door, which was on the fourth floor. Finn said there was a decent quiet tradesmen’s entrance. I told him I had seen only one porter, who sat in a glass cage near the main door and didn’t look as if he was likely to move. Finn whipped out the Master Key, while I kept watch at the end of the corridor. In a minute or two Sammy’s door was opening quietly and we both went in.

  We found ourselves in a wide hallway. Sammy had one of the large comer flats. We tried a door, which led into the kitchen.

  ‘We’ll concentrate on the living-room and on his bedroom,’ I said.

  ‘Here’s his bedroom,’ said Finn, and started opening drawers. He lifts and replaces objects with the speed and dexterity of a factory hand on piece work; and as he puts it himself, divil a one would know that it was other than the spring breeze had touched their things. We were both gloved, of course. I watched him for a moment, and then I made for what I took to be the main living room. The door opened right enough into a large comer room, with windows on both sides. But what I saw as I opened the door made me stop dead in my tracks.

  I looked at it for a while, and then I called to Finn, ‘Come and have a look at this!’

  He joined me. ‘Mother of God!’ he said.

  Right in the middle of the room was a shining aluminium cage, about three feet tall and five feet square. Inside the cage, growling softly and fixing us with a nervous bright eye, was a very large black-and-tan Alsatian dog.

  ‘Can it get out?’ said Finn.

  I approached the cage, and as I did so the animal growled more loudly, wagging its tail vigorously at the same time in the ambiguous way dogs have.

  ‘Be careful with the brute!’ said Finn, who doesn’t care for dogs. ‘It’ll be springing out on you.’

  I studied the cage. ‘It can’t get out,’ I said.

  ‘Well, thank God,’ said Finn, who once this was clear seemed to have no further interest in the phenomenon. ‘Don’t be teasing it now,’ he added, ‘or it’ll set up a howl will bring the cops on to us.’

  I looked at the animal curiously; it had a kind intelligent face, and in spite of its growls it seemed to be smiling.

  ‘Hello,’ I said, and thrust my hand through the bars, whereon it became silent and licked me prodigiously. I began stroking its long nose.

  ‘And don’t be acting the maggot with it either,’ said Finn; ‘we haven’t got all day.’

  I knew that we hadn’t got all day. Finn went back to Sammy’s bedroom and I began to study the living-room. I was very anxious indeed to find the typescript. I kept pausing to imagine with delight Sammy’s fury on finding that it was gone. I ransacked Sammy’s bureau and a chest of drawers. Then I searched through a cupboard on the landing. I looked in suitcases, and brief-cases, and under cushions and behind books, and even went through the pockets of all Sammy’s coats. I came upon various interesting objects, but not the typescript. There was no sign of the thing. Finn had drawn a blank too. We searched the other rooms, but without much hope, as they looked as if they were very little used.

  ‘Where the hell else can we look?’ asked Finn.

  ‘I’m sure he’s got a secret safe,’ I said. The fact that the bureau was unlocked suggested this. If I knew my Sammy, he was a man with plenty to hide.

  ‘Well, if he has it’ll do us no good finding it,’ said Finn, ‘for we’ll not be able to open it.’

  I feared he was right. But we scoured the house again, tapping the floorboards, and looking behind pictures, and making sure that there was no drawer or cupboard which we had missed.

  ‘Come on,’ said Finn, ‘let you and I be making tracks.’ We had been there nearly three-quarters of an hour.

  I stood in the living-room cursing. ‘The bloody thing must be in some place,’ I said.

  ‘True for you!’ said Finn, ‘and it’ll likely stay in that place.’ He pointed to the dial of his watch.

  The dog had been watching us all the time, its bushy tail sweeping to and fro against the bars. ‘A fine watch-dog you are!’ Finn told it.

  The roof of the cage, which like its floor was made of solid aluminium, was pitched high enough to let the beast stand upright, but not high enough for it to prick its ears when standing up.

  ‘Poor boy!’ I said. ‘You know,’ I said to Finn, ‘it’s very odd this dog being here. I’ve never seen anyone put a dog in a cage like that, have you?’

  ‘I suppose it’s some sort of special dog,’ said Finn. Then I whistled. There suddenly came back to my mind what Sammy had said about a new star; and in that moment I recognized the animal.

  ‘Did you ever see Red Godfrey’s Revenge?’ I asked Finn, ‘or Five in a Flood?’

  ‘Is it cracked you are?’ said Finn.

  ‘Or Stargazers’ Farm or Dabbling in the Dew?‘

  ‘What are you at at all?’ he said.

  ‘It’s Mister Mars!’ I cried, pointing at the beast. ‘It’s Marvellous Mister Mars, the dog star. Don’t you recognize him? Sammy must have bought him for the new film!’ I was so fascinated by this discovery that I forgot all about the typescript. Nothing thrills me so much as meeting a film star in real life, and I had been a fan of Mars for years.

  ‘Och, you’re potty,’ said Finn, ‘all Alsatians look alike. Come away now before himself arrives back on us.’

  ‘But it is Mars!’ I cried. ‘Aren’t you Mister Mars?’ I said to the dog. It pranced and wagged its tail faster than before. ‘There you are!’ I said to Finn.

  ‘A fat lot that tells you!’ said Finn. ‘Aren’t you Rin Tin Tin?’ he said to the dog, who wagged its tail faster still.

  ‘Well, what about this?’ I said.

  Inscribed unobtrusively
along the top of the cage were the words: Marvellous Mister Mars — and on the other side The property of Plantasifilms Ltd.

  ‘That bit’s out of date,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll not dispute it then,’ said Finn. ‘I’m off,’ he added and made for the door.

  ‘Oh wait!’ I said, in such a tone of anguish that he stopped.

  I was beginning to have a wonderful idea. While it came slowly up I held both hands pressed to my temples and kept my eyes fixed on Mister Mars, who gave one or two soft encouraging barks as if he knew what was coming into my mind.

  ‘Finn,’ I said slowly, ‘I have an absolutely wonderful idea.’

  ‘What?’ said Finn suspiciously.

  ‘We’ll kidnap the dog,’ I said.

  Finn stared at me. ‘What in the world for?’ he said.

  ‘Don’t you see?’ I cried, and as the glorious daring and simplicity of the scheme became even plainer to me I capered about the room. ‘We’ll hold him as a hostage, we’ll exchange him for the typescript!’

  Finn’s look of puzzlement softened into a look of patience. He leaned against the edge of the door. ‘They wouldn’t play,’ he said, speaking slowly as to a child or a lunatic, ‘and why should they indeed? We’ll only get ourselves in trouble. And anyway, there wouldn’t be time.’

  ‘I won’t go away from here empty handed!’ I told him.

  The time element was certainly serious. But I felt a feverish desire to become an actor in this drama. It was worth taking a risk with Mars. Sammy’s position over the typescript was just dubious enough to restrain him from getting tough. If I could embarrass him by detaining Mars, or even persuade him that Mars’s safety was at stake, he might at least be made to parley about the typescript. In fact, I had no really clear plan in my mind at all. I am a swift intuitive type of thinker. All I knew was that I had a bargaining-point under my hand and that I would be a fool not to take advantage of it. Even if the whole manoeuvre did no more than annoy and inconvenience Sammy, it would have been worth it. I explained all this to Finn as I started to examine the cage to see how it opened. Finn, who now saw that my mind was made up, shrugged his shoulders and started examining the cage too, while Mars followed us round inside, watching our movements with obvious approval.