Hare Sitting Up

by Michael Innes

  ‘Sir John Appleby? I am Brimblecombe, the Society’s Librarian and Secretary. I must apologize for keeping you waiting. We hold our Summer Conversazione next month. It means a great deal of work – a great deal of work on the administrative side. I have just got the cards into the envelopes. Presently I must get the stamps stuck on. I generally do that after tea. A great deal of licking is involved. To be precise, 874 licks. I sometimes think that it might be done with a contrivance – perhaps some sort of sponge.’

  ‘I rather think I’ve seen something of the sort in post offices.’

  ‘Is that so?’ The Librarian and Secretary appeared to be keenly interested. ‘Would you mind if I made a note of that? It deserves investigation.’

  Appleby indicated his perfect acquiescence in this procedure. ‘I hope you didn’t mind my ringing up,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I’ve kept you here beyond your usual hour.’

  ‘Not at all, not at all.’ Dr Brimblecombe stroked his moustache as a lesser man might stroke his beard. ‘I think I understood you to say that you were speaking from Ailsworth. Lord Ailsworth is one of our most distinguished members, I need hardly say. Unhappily, we see very little of him, very little of him, indeed. I entertain not the slightest hope of his attending the Conversazione. You didn’t happen to mention it to him?’

  ‘I knew nothing about it, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Ah, no – of course, of course. And how is the dear old man? You said something about the Great Auk, Sir John, that rather alarmed me. If Lord Ailsworth has been inclining his ear to that story, then, I fear, senility cannot be very far off.’

  ‘He regards the rumour about the Great Auk as great nonsense.’

  ‘You relieve me. You relieve me, greatly.’

  Appleby smiled. ‘And you, for that matter, relieve me, Dr Brimblecombe. I take it that there is a rumour about the Great Auk?’

  ‘Certainly there is.’

  ‘I had a lurking fear that Lord Ailsworth was making it up.’

  Dr Brimblecombe chuckled. ‘Quite so. His sense of humour can be very odd. In fact, he is very odd altogether. And as the story about the Great Auk is very odd too, one might well conclude that the former had been the author of the latter.’ Dr Brimblecombe paused rather doubtfully, as if wondering whether this had been a perspicuous form of words. ‘There appears to be a number of explanations of how this Garefowl story got about.’

  ‘Lord Ailsworth’s is that some young man working on Ardray believed himself to have seen the birds. A young man who was later killed in an accident.’

  ‘It may be so. I confess to finding the whole thing very puzzling. And my own suspicion is that it has its origin in a joke or hoax rather than in honest error.’

  ‘There is really no possibility that it is true, Dr Brimblecombe? I remember coming across a book lately which maintained that a good many creatures thought to be extinct can actually be found extant if a search is conducted with sufficient pertinacity.’

  ‘I assure you, Sir John, that nothing of the sort can apply in the present case.’ Dr Brimblecombe delivered himself of this with great gravity, and while drawing himself up to his full height of about five feet. ‘The Council of the Society would – I have not the slightest doubt – lend its full authority to the statement that the Great Auk is extinct. No intelligent man could review the evidence and believe otherwise.’

  Appleby was silent for a moment. ‘That sets me a bit of a puzzle, I must confess. And it brings me to my first question. Is Professor Howard Juniper a Fellow – or any sort of member – of your Society?’

  ‘Howard Juniper? No, I am sure he is not. But we have a Miles Juniper, who is probably his brother. Perhaps you have confused the two?’

  ‘I hope not. We have some evidence that Howard Juniper made rather a hobby of birdwatching at one time. And further evidence that he has kept up, or revived, the interest; and that it took him lately to Ailsworth. But I can take it that he hasn’t developed the sort of serious interest in ornithology that would bring him your way?’

  Brimblecombe nodded emphatically. ‘Certainly you can. If Professor Juniper had even proposed himself as a member, he would have been admitted without question. Indeed, a man of his great scientific eminence would almost certainly have been elected a Fellow, even if he hadn’t published papers and so forth in our field. He is, of course, a Fellow over the way.’ Dr Brimblecombe made a slightly offhand gesture apparently in the direction of the premises occupied by the Royal Society.

  ‘I see. Well, if his interest in birds was entirely casual and amateur, it is slightly less surprising, perhaps, that he should have taken this Great Auk business seriously.’ Appleby frowned, as if this line of thought dissatisfied him. ‘Do you think there may be other rare birds on Ardray?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ Dr Brimblecombe spoke with sudden vigour. ‘One can’t devote a lifetime to birds, Sir John, without concluding that the majority have a great deal of sense. And any sensible creature would keep well clear of the island of Ardray nowadays, from all one hears. I’d be much surprised if there are any birds at all. You are no doubt aware that the Council of the Society holds strong views – very strong views – on the complete disregard of ornithological interests in the setting up of experimental stations and proving grounds and test ranges and so forth by the armed forces. In some instances the thing amounts to the wholesale murder of indigenous fauna – nothing less.’

  ‘That is most deplorable, Dr Brimblecombe. Lord Ailsworth, by the way, seems to hold strong views too. You know him personally?’

  ‘Most certainly. We sat on a committee together during the war – a committee set up to advise the Government on ecological warfare.’

  ‘I don’t think I ever heard of it. What was the idea?’

  ‘It was thought that pests and so on might be exploited to harass the enemy in areas where the ecological balance was particularly vulnerable. Lord Ailsworth had some startling ideas about the possible rôle of birds.’

  ‘I see. It was a very pretty notion, certainly. Lord Ailsworth was a public-spirited man in those days – keen on winning the war, and so forth?’

  Dr Brimblecombe found it necessary to ponder this question. ‘He undoubtedly hated the Nazis. He found everything hateful about them – with the exception of their hating us. He felt that, in that particular regard, there was much to be said for their point of view.’

  Appleby laughed. ‘I’ve glimpsed that aspect of the old man. Yet he’s a mild and courteous person as well. I’m bound to say that this business is bringing me into contact with a lot of queer characters.’ Appleby, as he said this, became aware that he was looking at Dr Brimblecombe in a manner that conceivably made the remark somewhat invidious. ‘And some remarkable birds too,’ he added hastily. ‘The Ruddy Shelduck and the Perry River White-fronted Goose.’

  ‘Very interesting,’ Dr Brimblecombe said drily. ‘But if you contact the Great Auk, I hope you’ll let me know.’

  Appleby had scarcely got home when he was called to the telephone.

  ‘Miles Juniper here,’ said the voice. ‘I’m in my brother’s confounded laboratory. I suppose this telephone is all right?’

  ‘I’m sure it is. How are you holding the fort?’

  ‘Badly, I imagine. Fortunately they are all as blind as bats down here. You’ve got no news?’

  ‘I’m afraid I haven’t found your brother, if that’s what you mean?’

  ‘Then I can’t take more of this.’ Appleby thought that Miles Juniper sounded genuinely desperate. ‘I must have my brother’s disappearance announced. I’m more and more convinced that this damned charade is utterly wrong.’

  ‘Could you hold on for another twenty-four hours, Juniper? I did mean to make this evening a deadline, as a matter of fact. But I am on something of a trail now, and I want to have one more go.’

  ‘A trail?’ Juniper’s voice was suddenly eager. ‘Tell me about it, for heaven’s sake.’

  ‘Did you know your brother was interested in bi
rds?’

  ‘In birds?’ Juniper sounded surprised. ‘Well, yes – in a way. Howard was quite keen at one time. Actually, it’s been rather more an interest of my own. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because it’s quite certain that, about six weeks ago, your brother treated himself to an expedition to Lord Ailsworth’s bird sanctuary. You’ve heard of the place?’

  ‘Of course I have. I’m a little surprised. But I can imagine Howard’s taking a jaunt of that sort into his head. What about it?’

  ‘He met Lord Ailsworth, and told him of a secret plan he had for exploring the island of Ardray.’

  ‘What!’ Juniper was suddenly astounded. ‘I don’t think I understand you. Lord Ailsworth told you this?’

  ‘Just so. I suppose you know about Ardray?’

  ‘Let me see. I don’t know that I do. Except that it’s miles off the west coast of Scotland, and pretty grim. It’s absurd that Howard should want to go off there.’

  ‘Not so absurd, it seems, as the reason he gave Lord Ailsworth. He was going to find the Garefowl – the Great Auk.’

  ‘What absolute nonsense!’

  Appleby laughed grimly. ‘Ornithologically, I gather it’s just that. Do you think your brother would know it was just that?’

  ‘I’d be very surprised if he didn’t.’

  ‘Do you think it very odd that he should go down to consult Lord Ailsworth on such a project?’

  ‘Of course I do. Damn it, Appleby – talk sense.’

  ‘I’m trying to do just that. And to think sense too.’ Appleby paused. ‘If your brother is too well-informed to find plausible a story that the Great Auk has appeared on Ardray, and if he goes down to Ailsworth for the purpose of proclaiming to an eccentric earl that he does find it plausible, and that he is himself going to Ardray to find the creature: well, to just what conclusion does that lead?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know.’ It seemed to Appleby that Miles Juniper was now a thoroughly bewildered man. ‘So I hope, Appleby, that you do know.’

  ‘I can only suggest that your brother was leaving a very odd sort of false trail. That, if he had the bad luck to be caught on Ardray, there would be an eminent old nobleman to come forward and say it had all been on account of a crazy notion about birds.’

  There was a silence – so long that Appleby thought Miles Juniper must have hung up. But nothing of the kind had occurred. ‘Sorry,’ Juniper’s voice said. ‘It’s just my brain reeling. You’re too damned clever, by a long way. But you don’t seem to have found Howard, all the same.’

  ‘I’m going to find him.’

  ‘All right. For God’s sake do. And I’ll keep on with this bloody imposture until this time tomorrow. If all these eggheads don’t find me out, that is, and clap me into gaol.’

  ‘Good. And thank you very much, Juniper. I’ll be back tomorrow evening.’

  ‘You’ll be back? You mean you’re going to that absurd island?’

  ‘Naturally. I fly there at dawn. The Admiralty won’t like it.’

  ‘But that’s a mere detail, I suppose?’

  ‘Well, yes. In a matter of this size it certainly is. Goodbye.’

  Appleby hung up the receiver and went to join Judith in the drawing-room. She glanced up from a letter she was writing. ‘John,’ she said at once, ‘whatever are you scowling at?’

  ‘Scowling? Am I scowling?’

  ‘Furiously.’

  ‘I’m very sorry, I’m sure. Do I often scowl?’

  Judith considered this seriously. ‘You scowl when you’ve made a fool of yourself.’

  ‘I’d call that excusable, more or less. But I haven’t been making a fool of myself. At least I’m tolerable sure I haven’t.’

  ‘You scowl when you have a nasty sense that something has eluded you.’

  ‘But I don’t think–’ Appleby stopped and stared at his wife. ‘Yes, you’re quite right. I have just that sense. And I’ve had it once before in this accursed business. It’s almost as if – as if somebody had whistled a significant tune, and I’d failed to notice it.’

  ‘A tune?’

  ‘Something like that. It’s as if I’d been let down, not by my brains, but by my ear. And I just can’t get hold of the thing.’

  Judith signed her letter and reached for blotting paper. ‘Sleep on it,’ she said.

  8

  Preparing to get out of his aeroplane, Appleby regarded the waiting helicopter with disfavour. ‘Have I to get into that thing?’ he asked the pilot.

  ‘I’m afraid so, sir. They don’t go in for airstrips out on Ardray. I doubt whether there’s as much as a bowling green.’

  ‘A bowling green? What would they want that for?’

  ‘All egg heads and boffins out there, except for a few service chaps to look after them. Bowls would be about their mark, I’d say. And badminton for the youngsters in their early fifties.’ The pilot smiled cheerfully. ‘Jolly game, badminton would be, in an Ardray gale.’

  ‘Gales are the thing out there?’

  ‘Oh, very much so. It’s quite supernatural, it seems. Freezing temperatures, howling blizzards and tempestuous seas when the whole of the rest of the Atlantic ocean is like a millpond.’

  ‘You disturb me.’ Appleby took another look at the helicopter. ‘Do you think it will have – um – a safe driver?’

  ‘Reasonably safe, sir, as long as he doesn’t drop off to sleep. Jumbo Brown. A frightful old drunkard, but quite a nice chap. Only reckless when he’s been in trouble with women. Of course, he often is. Even up here, I believe – although they brought him north to get him away from them. Jumbo has been ferrying people to and from Ardray for months now. That’s why he sometimes drops into a doze.’

  ‘I shall endeavour to combat his somnolence with stimulating conversation.’

  ‘Not under those rotors, you won’t. Goodbye, sir. I’m sure you’ll have a lovely trip.’

  Appleby climbed from the plane. ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘By the way, I’d ask for a parachute, if I were you. They may have one lying around.’

  ‘Thoughtful of you,’ Appleby said. ‘Goodbye.’

  Jumbo Brown provided his passenger not with a parachute but a rug. He tucked him up in this with all the respectful solicitude of an old family coachman.

  ‘I say, sir’ – and Jumbo jerked a thumb in the direction of the craft which Appleby had just quitted – ‘did they send you north in that?’

  ‘Certainly they did.’

  ‘Criminal, isn’t it? Not as if you were an everyday chore, like an Air-Vice or an MP. And was that Batty Tarratt?’

  ‘I understand Tarratt to have been the young man’s name.’

  ‘Dear, dear! They’ve put him on that job, you know, because of his poor tortured nerves. What luck you’ve had. So far, that’s to say. I suppose Batty will take you south again. By the way, did he smell of drink?’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘That’s bad. Drink steadies old Batty wonderfully. But when he’s keeping off it – well, he just isn’t safe. Nice day, isn’t it? Of course, we’ll bounce about a bit later on.’

  Appleby settled himself in his seat. I may be given to scowling from time to time, he was telling himself, but commonly I must have a really nice face. To provoke all this unabashed juvenile fun. Mr Clwyd, now, wouldn’t care for it at all.

  ‘All prepared, sir? I just have to wait a signal from the island. Nothing must take off for it from here without the official come-hither.’

  ‘I see. By the way, what about getting there by surface? If I lost my nerve at the sight of your horrible machine, Mr Brown, and insisted on going by water, just what would it be like?’

  ‘Well, sir, it would depend on whether you hit anything.’

  ‘There’s plenty to hit?’

  ‘Lord, yes. Not such another piece of water in the world. Littered with wrecks. Viking ships, Spanish galleons, German pocket battleships. Anything you care to name, positively on view from dawn to dusk.’


  ‘Not a part of the world to do a little amateur cruising in?’

  ‘It would depend upon how one felt about heaven, and that sort of thing. St Wulfius must have had a pretty strong line there.’

  ‘St Wulfius?’

  ‘A missionary type, one gathers. Sailed about these waters a long time ago. And had a cell or something on Ardray. Retired there eventually to be an anarchist.’

  ‘An anarchist? How very odd.’

  ‘Or is it an anchorite? Kind of a hermit, you know. And he must have been about the last chap on the island until all this hush-hush got going. Ah, there’s my signal. I’d put on the helmet, sir, if I were you. Not one of those noiseless flying hearses, this craft of mine.’

  Appleby surveyed the terrain – an activity facilitated by the fact that the floor of the helicopter was for the most part transparent. Apart from the airstrip and its small huddle of sheds, there was no sign of human habitation. In an increasingly crowded world, there are nevertheless spots that are being progressively denuded of inhabitants. And this was one of them. On one of the nearby hillsides, it was true, he could see a thinly spread-out flock of sheep. But the shepherd would come bumping over the moors on a motorbike, perhaps from some clachan a dozen miles away. And the only other irruption, from year’s end to year’s end, would be by companies of gentlemen concerned to prove their skill at shooting pheasants and grouse. But although it was near the end of August, there was no sign of anybody after the grouse yet. Perhaps there weren’t any there to be shot. Perhaps what Dr Brimblecombe called the ecological balance had gone against them.

  A helicopter was a very unnatural affair – much more so than an ordinary aeroplane. Perhaps it would be all right if one had done a lot of pioneering with balloons; this business of being sucked straight up above a uniformly widening horizon might then seem entirely unalarming. The contours were already flattening out, but presumably Mr Jumbo Brown wouldn’t continue for long to climb in this perpendicular way. Unless, of course, he had dropped off to sleep in earnest. But now there was a change in the note of the engine; the rotorblades were doing whatever they did to ferry one along; the landscape tilted, turned subtly on an axis and began to flow away in a normal-looking fashion beneath them. They were on the way to Ardray.