Fellow Passenger
Page 23
I looked out of the window. There was a sheer drop to the street. With no escape possible I had only one way to save something from the wreck; and that was to shave off my beard at once before a photograph of me could be taken. You can describe a man with a beard as long as you like, but provided you use only words no one can be quite certain how he really appeared. I had to prevent all the waiters and public who had seen me with Cornelia from rushing down to police stations with yarns that Howard-Wolferstan had been entertaining a beautiful spy. Nor did I want that excellent jeweller from whom I had obtained six hundred pounds to be compelled to suspect who Peter Bowshot St John Godolphin really was; he would certainly be proof against the temptation to report to the police if he could convince himself that there was a reasonable doubt. Which was my true motive—love of Cornelia or six hundred pounds? I do not know. Two floors above she may—unless I am completely misjudging her—have been exercised by a somewhat similar problem.
I jammed the bed against the door; and the dressing-table, lengthwise, between bed and far wall. Satisfied that the police who called for me would not be able to open the door more than a couple of inches, I set about the removal of my beard. It was a longish job, for I had only nail scissors. When most of the beard—dying in the full flower of its experience—was in the basin and I had begun to lather my face, the police were at the door and quietly requesting Mr Winthrop to open it.
They had no wish to make a noise in a respectable hotel—especially as they must already have investigated so many innocent Latins in dressing-gowns and pyjamas which they were reluctant to explain—and they talked to me reassuringly while I packed and dressed. My evening clothes, which might lead enquiries to Cornelia, and my new suit I rolled up in a tight ball and tied with string. I tried to land the bundle in the back of a passing truck and missed. Then a bus ran over it and a passing taxi-driver picked it up. I never heard any more of it.
The police outside my door carried on with soothing conversation addressed to Mr Winthrop, in which I began to detect a note of impatience. If their disgusting little colleague were right in his identification, the notorious spy might be destroying his papers or committing suicide; and there was nothing they could do about either.
‘Gentlemen,’ I said at last, ‘if you will now stop pushing for a moment, I will remove the furniture.’
They came tumbling into the room, hotel manager, house detective, plain-clothes detective and two decent London constables trying to look stern. They found me in the old tweed coat and shabby trousers which had served Faiz Ullah so well.
‘Claudio Howard-Wolferstan,’ I said, ‘and at your service.’
EPILOGUE
by Sir Alexander Romilly,
C.H., D.SC., D.LITT., F.R.S.
WHEN FIRST I WAS shown Mr Howard-Wolferstan’s manuscript and approached with the suggestion that I should write an introduction to it, I rejected the proposal as one which illuminated the enterprise of a youthful publisher rather than his sense of propriety. But, where a preface might suggest to interested parties that I approve a work of which the execrable taste, enlivened though it be by ribaldry, can arouse and indeed deserves nothing but disgust, an epilogue which confines itself to the mere confirmation of the truth of Mr Howard-Wolferstan’s narrative may reasonably be considered a duty to the Establishment over which I and my colleagues have the honour to preside.
The interests of a certain former member of my staff appear to have been somewhat wider than I had any reason to suspect, and I will refrain from comment upon her reasons for resignation and her present choice of the Pacific coast of South America as a domicile. Since, however, the integrity and competence of my Establishment have been impugned by the fantastic allegations of the more irresponsible sections of the Press to the effect that Mr Howard-Wolferstan and this former member of my staff are secretly engaged on the construction of a Primary Reactor for the Andean Republics, I think it only proper to point out:
(a) that the lady in question is not a physicist;
(b) that her work was solely concerned with problems of metal fatigue, and their solution;
(c) that, so far as Mr Howard-Wolferstan is concerned, I am of the opinion, while disclaiming both my right and my intention to influence senatorial investigation in the United States of America, that a degree of personal charm, of musical proficiency and of political irresponsibility do not provide an intellectual equipment sufficient to undertake Nuclear Fission.
The unexpected release of Mr Howard-Wolferstan, after he had been held for three months in the Tower of London upon a charge of High Treason, gave rise to comment in which the readiness of a healthy democracy to argue from unjustifiable hypotheses was only equalled by the vehemence, no doubt legitimate, with which they were expressed.
Had this document at that time seen the light, a clearer but not necessarily more favourable view of Mr Howard-Wolferstan’s motives and morals would have been available to such leaders of public opinion as are able to read with ease and accuracy. As it was, Mr Howard-Wolferstan being a prisoner on remand, the document was privileged. It could be, and in fact was, handed by him to his solicitor, but might not be divulged to the prosecution and still less to the public. The essential facts, however, were freely admitted in the prisoner’s statements to the police and in his markedly cordial replies to War Office interrogators. Both authorities could only advise the Crown that on a charge of High Treason no jury would convict.
The withdrawal of the prosecution, after all the publicity which had attended Mr Howard-Wolferstan’s arrest and rearrest, was indeed difficult to justify. I venture to suggest that a note of gaiety might profitably have been introduced into the explanations to Parliament and public. In this solemn century, however, no government can afford to be accused of light-heartedness; and, while the fear of ridicule may excuse the indefinite and unhelpful nature of the information given to the House of Commons by the former government, it had regrettably little influence upon the scenes which led to the suspension of Mr Elias Thomas Conger and the appointment of a Select Committee.
That publication of this narrative is desirable I cannot admit; but that misconceptions on both sides of the Atlantic have rendered it necessary I do not deny. Mr Howard-Wolferstan’s permission and that of a former member of my staff were given with a complacency in which patriotism no doubt outweighed the hope of profit; for their joint recommendation was that the manuscript should be printed without alteration or amendment in order that the internal evidence of its authenticity, provided by both style and matter, should be unassailable.
While recognizing the truth of their contention, the publishers have found such exactitude impossible. To avoid causing unbearable distress to living persons, names have been changed where necessary, and the fugitive’s route has been slightly altered.
As regards the extraneous evidence of Mr Howard-Wolferstan’s veracity:
(1) I have already mentioned that his solicitor received the manuscript directly from Mr Howard-Wolferstan before the release of the latter from the Tower. I should add, perhaps, that the firm of solicitors in question is well known to me, is of the very highest repute and does not normally engage in practice in the criminal courts.
(2) The Chief Constable of my County has permitted me to state that on November 4th, 1953, at the request of the Metropolitan Police, search was made in the attic chimneys of Moreton Intrinseca Manor and the remains of a pillow-case, bearing the monogram of the late Sir Edward Lockinge, were discovered in situ together with three rings, valued at £105 16s. 8d., and a single diamond which appeared to have become detached from its setting.
(3) The Assistant Commissioner of Metropolitan Police ultimately responsible for the investigation has authorized me to state:
(a) that Mr Howard-Wolferstan’s account of his movements, where it can be confirmed, has been found to be accurate;
(b) that in so far as his voyage is concerned the in
formation given to the police by Lieut. Karlis tends to agree with that of Mr Howard-Wolferstan, especially in Karlis’ second statement given after the death of Mr C. C. Emmassin;
(c) that the sworn statement of the gentleman described in the narrative as ‘Harry Cole’ is consistent with the records of Scotland Yard, but that, since there is no evidence apart from Mr Howard-Wolferstan’s manuscript that the proceeds of the Lockinge burglary were in fact recovered by him and his alleged accomplice, no further action can be taken at present;
(d) that owing to the usual intelligent co-operation between the Metropolitan Police and the Public, Mr Howard-Wolferstan’s bandage was discovered in a coal merchant’s yard near Shadwell Station, and that brilliant and imaginative work by an Inspector of the C.I.D. led almost immediately to the identification of the sweep. Mr Howard-Wolferstan would have been arrested the following day if he had not unexpectedly changed his appearance meanwhile.
I should add, perhaps, that I have no desire to enter into idle correspondence or engage in controversy. My concern is solely with the facts, not with such interpretation as may be put upon them by communists, anti-communists and other religious sectaries. And, if I may be permitted to finish upon a personal note, it is that I myself, unlike the majority of my uninvited correspondents, consider this earth upon which we are privileged to carry out our duties a most pleasurable dwelling-place. Let that be my assurance to those who flatter my colleagues and myself by supposing that we are not only able but resigned to effect destruction which the infinite dangers of a hostile cosmos have, since the birth of the planet, been inadequate to accomplish.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1955 by Geoffrey Household
Cover design by Drew Padrutt
978-1-5040-0814-3
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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New York, NY 10014
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