“What about you? She’s terribly inquisitive and she retails it all to her friends.’’
“Oh, say my car was farther along.’’
“She’ll be surprised when no one else uses that door.’’
“She’ll forget, won’t she?’’
“Perhaps. She’s not very strong in the head, now.’’
Ann had been waiting impatiently during this exchange. Now she burst out, “He’s going to Tilbury, isn’t he? He said you were helping him. South America, isn’t it?’’
“So he told you that, did he? I thought he might.’’
“That was why he wanted us to arrange this mock suicide. So that he could disappear and They would really think he was dead.’’
Carfax looked angry.
“He didn’t tell me that. Asked me if I could put out a rumour he’d been arrested. Of course I said that couldn’t be done.’’
“But it was done,’’ Stephen said. “How did he work that one?’’
“He was never at a loss,’’ Carfax said, bitterly. “He has a positive genius for getting other people to do his dirty work.’’
“That isn’t fair!’’ they cried in chorus.
“But he is going to South America, isn’t he?’’ Ann persisted. “Can’t you tell us? Is he going to South America?’’
Carfax shook his head. He would tell them nothing more. Instead he began to ask them about Colin. He shook his head again over their detail of how Colin had been foxed.
“Pointless,’’ he said. “Quite pointless.’’
“No, it wasn’t,’’ Margaret was emphatic now. “It was arranged to stop pursuit. Boris knew they have spies everywhere. He was being watched. We couldn’t risk Colin interfering. We couldn’t let him in on it. His conscience wouldn’t have allowed him to co-operate, would it?’’
“They aren’t as clever as some people imagine. Energetic, yes. Dedicated, for the most part. Plenty of personnel. Plenty of equipment. But crude on the whole. Operations not very well laid on.’’
“Boris knows them better than you do.’’
“Perhaps.’’
They became silent. Margaret got up, saying, “I’ll make some coffee,’’ and went down to the kitchen, where she found the Ogdens, their shopping-bags on the table, listening to Louise, who was trying not to answer their excited questions.
“Oh, m’m,’’ Mrs. Ogden said at once, clutching Margaret’s arm. “Ogden and me heard such dreadful things when we got off the bus at the top of the road.’’
“Mr. Sudenic, m’m,’’ Ogden said, in a gruff voice. “Nothing serious happened to the gentleman, I hope?’’
Margaret sent Louise away, put on a very serious voice and said, “We must hope for the best. He’s been taken to hospital.’’
Mrs. Ogden collapsed on a chair.
“Then it’s true,’’ she said. “That Home Secitary, whoever he is, has got something to answer for, I will say.’’
Margaret put together her coffee tray without assistance from her stricken staff.
“Louise said she wanted a bucket and floor cloth,’’ Mrs. Ogden said, recovering herself a little. “I was about to ask her what for, when you sent her away, m’m.’’
Margaret hesitated. Perhaps it would make Mrs. Ogden worse to see the hall, but on the other hand, if Louise were left to clean up alone the girl might break down completely and confide the true story to the Ogdens, who would never be able to keep it to themselves.
“If you wouldn’t mind, you might take them up to her,’’ she said, gently, going to the percolator, which was beginning to gurgle. “It was to clean up the hall, where the paint is stained, in the – accident.’’
Mrs. Ogden moved at once.
“It’s only the hall,’’ Margaret explained. “After we heard the shot we found – blood – there.’’
“Good God Almighty!’’ exclaimed Ogden, who had been listening at the scullery door.
Mrs. Ogden set her lips in a firm line.
“I’ll go up,’’ she said.
When she arrived in the hall she found Louise, standing looking helplessly about her. Mrs. Ogden inspected the hall carpet, where a few pale stains were showing, and the wainscot, where the stains were darker.
“You go along in to them and have your coffee,’’ she said, kindly. “I’ll get on with this lot. You’ve ’ad a shock, love. Not that we ’aven’t all had a shock, but we weren’t here for the worst of it, like.’’
Louise thanked her, but turned away and went upstairs to her own room. She had no wish to hear any more talk about Boris, his escape, his future or anything at all to do with him.
Mrs. Ogden set about cleaning the carpet and turned her attention more closely to the wainscot. She stared for some time at the dark, reddish-purple liquid drops that hung there. As a woman, an old woman, a wife and mother, she was well acquainted with blood in many forms and was in no way disturbed by this sight. She had dealt with wounds, too, freshly bleeding or clotted, clean or infected. After a minute or two, turning over what she saw in her mind, she set to cleaning the stained paint, after which she took the bucket downstairs and explained her views to Ogden, who was peeling potatoes for lunch.
It was a few minutes later, when Mrs. Ogden took the plate of liver out of the fridge, that she understood and called Ogden to her side.
“Look at that, Sam, will you?’’ she said, holding out the plate to him.
“Ba gum,’’ he said, slowly. “Dry as a bone. It was fair swimming when I moved it breakfast time.’’
“It were. But fridge’s as clean as a whistle.’’
“There weren’t no shooting, then? No bloody suicide?’’
“There were shot, all right. I saw hole above one of they pictures.’’
“It were put-up job. Happen ’e’s not dead nor like to die at all.’’
They grinned at each other, delighted with this thought and their own cleverness.
“Mum’s the word, though,’’ Mrs. Ogden said, serious again.
“They’d never forgive us if they knew we’d twigged their little game.’’
“Take me for a fool?’’ Ogden growled and went back to his potatoes.
Upstairs the conspirators sipped their coffee and became calmer. Carfax no longer scolded them, though it was plain he had not forgiven their interference in his far simpler, more efficient plan. After all, it was Boris who had combined the two schemes, who had enlisted the help of his old retainer to present a really convincing proof of his supposed desperation, while giving himself more security for his escape. But, characteristically, Carfax thought, he had left them holding the baby. It was up to himself to sort out the problem of getting this other man home safely, of squaring the hospital, of dodging the reporters. Not an easy task, any of it.
“Did Sudenic leave you any idea how you were to clean up after him?’’ he asked.
“How d’you mean?’’ Stephen asked.
“His flat – the rent – the rest of his possessions? This stand-in of his? Was he paid or is he doing it out of pure devotion?’’
They all looked blank.
“I thought as much,’’ Carfax said, angrily. “Out of the country and doesn’t give a damn what sort of mess he leaves behind him.’’
“I’m sure he wouldn’t—’’ Ann began, but Margaret interrupted her.
“Of course he’ll have made his own arrangements for his flat and everything. This stand-in, as you call him, no doubt has his own instructions as we had ours.’’
“Sudenic invented the whole scheme, did he?’’
“Of course not,’’ Stephen put in. “The main idea, yes, but we worked out the details for him.’’
“It was such fun,’’ Ann said, so wistfully that they all, including Carfax, collapsed into laughter.
The telephone bell rang. Margaret picked up the receiver.
“For you, John,’’ she said. “Take it in the study, if you like.’’
He went across the hall rap
idly. When he took the call Margaret put down the instrument in her hand.
“Silly,’’ said Stephen. “You could have listened in.’’
“And been told to get off the line? Don’t be absurd. John would know I hadn’t hung up. You’ll have to pipe down now, Steve. You’re a bit above yourself. Our little excitement is over.’’
“John’s isn’t,’’ said Stephen, but he would not explain what he meant.
In the study Carfax was at that moment learning what lay behind Stephen’s remark.
“D’you mean to say you’ve lost him?’’ Carfax said, furiously.
A very worried voice went on with the report.
“As I said, sir, it was in Barking. Traffic was heavy. I took the centre lane at these lights, to get ahead without delay. There was a lorry on my right and another car on my left. I was looking at the lights, but I happened to glance in my back mirror. I saw Mr. – the gentleman – get out of my near side door and go straight through the off-side rear door into the other car. The lights were just changing, sir. I had to move.’’
“Why didn’t you follow him?’’
“The car turned off at once down the side road. Three cars followed it, two straight on, before I could pull over. By the time I was round the corner his car had gone. Must have turned out of that road as soon as it could.’’
“What was its number?’’
There was a pause, then a small voice said, “I didn’t get it, sir. Those other cars between me and it—’’
Carfax swore.
“I’m very sorry, sir,’’ the voice said, aggrieved now. “It was all over in a flash.’’
“It didn’t occur to you to watch for other cars following you? I thought I told you—’’
“I kept as good a lookout as I could, sir. The traffic – and then it happened so unexpected—’’
“Most things do,’’ said Carfax, impatiently, “in this business. Did he take his grip?’’
“Yes, sir. But he left the brief-case.’’
“Very well. Report back at once and turn in the brief-case to me.’’
It was a dummy, anyway, he thought wearily. Sudenic had balled up his plan yet again. He was sick of Sudenic. After making two calls himself, he went back to the others.
“You may as well know,’’ he said, “that your considerate friend has double-crossed me again.’’
He repeated what he had heard.
“It seems to have been an arrangement of his own, but naturally my driver in the car that took him from here, was not able to see much. Apparently Sudenic left our car of his own accord, with his bag, stepped into the other car, which seems to have had only a driver, no passengers, and went off into the blue.’’
“He wasn’t kidnapped?’’ Ann said, clasping her hands in sudden anguish.
“If he was,’’ Carfax answered. “I couldn’t care less. But I don’t think so.’’
“Where’s he gone?’’ asked Stephen innocently.
“Don’t ask futile questions when you’re probably the one that knows the answer. No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. If you get into trouble later it’s your own affair.’’
Stephen shrugged.
“Think I’d risk my so-called career to that extent?’’ he asked, smiling.
“Boris had other friends,’’ said Margaret. “I’m sure of that.’’
“I suppose he didn’t like the idea of South America,’’ Ann said. “I must say I don’t altogether blame him.’’
“Have you now sealed all the other ports, as he isn’t going to Tilbury?’’ Stephen asked.
“D’you expect me to answer that?’’
They glared at one another, then Carfax said, “By the way, I noticed a parcel addressed to you, on the table near the door in Colin’s room.’’
Stephen went out, returning in a few minutes with a revolver in one hand and a note in the other.
“I take back my last remark, John,’’ he said. “Boris has given me back my gun – the one he gave me before the war. He says—’’ He slipped the weapon into his pocket and read from the paper in his hand. “‘I give you back this, Stephen, with all my thanks for the help it has been to me. I shall not need it now. Carfax has presented me with more modern equipment.’’’
“John!’’ they all said, together.
Carfax said nothing. There was nothing he could say, except bring down more curses on that bastard’s head. He looked at his watch.
“Good heavens!’’ he said, “d’you realize the time?’’
“You’ll have lunch?’’ Margaret asked, automatically. “It doesn’t look as if Colin will be back. I wonder where he’s got to.’’
She spoke lightly, but she was feeling guilty and rather miserable at the thought of Colin, humiliated, tricked, keeping away because he could not bear to confront them.
They heard the front door open and shut and footsteps, slow footsteps, in the hall.
“I believe that’s Colin now,’’ Ann said.
The drawing-room door opened and he stood there with a tragic face and drooping, exhausted figure.
“He’s dead!’’ he announced. “Dead of a gunshot wound the doctor said. I followed the ambulance to the hospital, a man in the crowd told me where to go. I waited – I didn’t go up. They told me it was no good. He wouldn’t know anyone. They found the gun in his pocket. Suicide. As if I didn’t know. It was my fault! I drove him to it! He’s dead!’’
His stricken audience could not speak, except for Carfax, who said sharply, “Did you say a gun? Let me pass, Colin. I must use your phone.’’
He was out of the room in an instant to ring up the local police divisional headquarters with an urgent request to secure the weapon immediately for M.I.5. Afterwards he left the house, without explanation and without taking leave of the others. They could tell Colin what they liked. He had more important matters to see to.
When Carfax was out of the room Stephen said, shakily, “Are you absolutely sure he’s – the man is – dead?’’
Colin nodded.
“It wasn’t Boris,’’ Stephen went on. “It wasn’t Boris.’’
“Not Boris? Are you out of your mind or am I?’’
They began to tell him, all together, so that he had to shout to them to stop and let him hear them one at a time and slowly.
He took it in at last, but when they expected his usual reaction of anger, scorn and sarcasm, he only moved forward very slowly, a stricken man still, and dropping into a chair, covered his face with his hands.
Stephen took Ann by the arm and led her away. They found Ogden in the hall. He had come up to inquire if lunch was to be served at the usual time and how many there would be for it. Stephen opened the study door: the room was empty.
“Mr Carfax has left,’’ he said. “We’re just off now. Mr. Colin has come in and Mrs. Colin is with him. I’d give them a quarter of an hour or so. He’s very tired and they’re both upset.’’
“Very good, sir.’’ Ogden looked him straight in the eyes. “I’d like to say how much Martha and me feel over this. But it’s best for Mr Sudenic to go, sir, isn’t it?’’
Margaret knelt beside Colin, her only concern to comfort and restore him. At first she made no headway. He did not seem to hear her until he lifted his head and said, with great bitterness, “You can’t beat those ruthless fanatics with a charade of that sort.’’
“But you did beat them, Colin. You’ve made them believe it really was Boris. They’ll accept it. They’ll stop hunting for him. If that other man – he was an old servant from their Polish home – if it wasn’t those devils who killed him, mistaking him for Boris – then he killed himself, for Boris. You had nothing to do with it. You couldn’t have.’’
She put her arms round him to draw him close.
“Stop blaming yourself, stop grieving, my darling. We’re all so proud of you, so grateful. Because it’s you who have saved Boris. You, Colin.’’
He knew it was not true, o
r only partly true, but it was supremely comforting. With hope swelling his heart to bursting point he abandoned himself to her new surprising tenderness.
Chapter Nineteen
Boris went aboard the English freighter, Gertrude, at Harwich soon after four o’clock that afternoon. His escort, Bill Phillimore, Ann’s brother, dropped him from the second escape car about half a mile from the docks. There was nothing strange in that area in a seaman, dressed in jersey, serge trousers and sea boots, hauling a grip and oilskins from the back seat, thanking the driver in broken English for the lift and trudging off in the direction of the wharves.
As he had left the black brief-case in the car John Carfax had provided, so now he left in Bill’s car a naval officer’s jacket and cap. Besides these, on the back seat, all covered by a rug, there lay the pedlar’s tray of toy spaceships.
The crowd had melted abruptly when the ambulance drove away, but before that Bill himself had faded from the scene, packed away his wares and taken up his station in his car not far from the entrance to the mews behind the Brentwoods’ house.
It had all been too easy, Bill thought, as he drove on again after dropping Boris. He turned out of the docks road to work his way back into the town and from the centre took the main road to London. Too easy and all over too soon. Life was going to be pretty drab for the next week or two.
When he reached his ship Boris was told to see the captain at once. The latter, a man in late middle-age, weather-beaten and experienced, eyed him for a few minutes without speaking. Then held out a hand for Boris’s papers.
The latter handed them over, the detail of Voliniak’s previous voyages, proof of his identity, the hospital certificate of discharge. Only in the case of this document had Boris made any alteration and that merely in the date. He had removed the horizontal part of the seven that indicated the current month of July so that it appeared as if he had left the hospital in January.
The skipper read the certificate, continuing to stare at it while he considered this stalwart crew’s illness. ‘Operation for intestinal obstruction’. It meant nothing much to him. Only that the man had been opened up for something wrong with his guts and might have less than efficient belly muscles.
The Alien Page 18
