Passenger to Frankfurt

! 31

  He pushed a cigarette-box along the table.

  'Sit down. Something forgotten, something left unsaid?'

  'Very nice man, Mr Chetwynd,' said Horsham. 'We've gc

  him quietened down, I think. He and Colonel Munro. They'r

  a bit upset about it all, you know. About you, I mean.'

  'Really?'

  Sir Stafford Nye sat down too. He smiled, he smokec and he looked thoughtfully at Henry Horsham. 'And wher

  do we go from here?' he asked.

  'I was just wondering if I might ask, without undue curie

  sity, where you're going from here?'

  'Delighted to tell you,' said Sir Stafford Nye. I'm goin

  to stay with an aunt of mine. Lady Matilda Cleckheatoi 111 give you the address if you like.'

  'I know it,' said Henry Horsham. 'Well, I expect that

  a very good idea. She'll be glad to see you've come horn safely all right. Might have been a near thing, mightn't it'i

  Is that what Colonel Munro thinks and Mr Chetwynd?'.

  'Well, you know what it is, sir,' said Horsham. 'Yo

  know well enough. They're always in a state, gentlemen i

  that department. They're not sure whether they trust yo

  or not.'

  'Trust me?' said Sir Stafford Nye in an offended void

  "What do you mean by that, Mr Horsham?'

  Mr Horsham was not taken aback. He merely grinnec

  'You see,' he said, 'you've got a reputation for not takin things seriously.'

  'Oh. I thought you meant I was a fellow traveller or

  convert to the wrong side. Something of that kind.'

  'Oh no, sir, they just don't think you're serious. They thin

  you like having a bit of a joke now and again.'

  'One cannot go entirely through life taking oneself and

  Other people,'seriously,' said Sir Stafford Nye, disapprovingly.

  - 'No. But you took ~a pretty good risk, as I've said before.

  didn't you?'

  'I wonder if I know in the least what you are talkie about.'

  TO tell you. Things go wrong, sir, sometimes, and the

  don't always go wrong because people have made ther

  go wrong. What you might call the Almighty takes a ham or the other gentleman--the one with the tail, I mean,'

  Sir Stafford Nye was slightly diverted.

  'Are you referring to fog at Geneva?' he said.

  'Exactly, sir. There was fog at Geneva and that upsf

  people's plans. Somebody was in a nasty hole.* 32

  Tell me all about it,' said Sir Stafford Nye. 'I really would like to know.'

  'Well, a passenger was missing when that plane of yours

  left Frankfurt yesterday. You'd drunk your beer and you

  were sitting in a corner snoring nicely and comfortably by

  yourself. One passenger didn't report and they called her and

  they called her again. In the end, presumably, the plane left

  without her.'

  'Ah. And what had happened to her?'

  It would be interesting to know. In any case, your passport

  arrived at Heathrow even if you didn't.'

  'And where is it now? Am I supposed to have got it?'

  'No. I don't think so. That would be rather too quick

  work. Good reliable stuff, that dope. Just right, if I may

  say so. It put you out and it didn't produce any particularly

  bad effects.'

  'It gave me a very nasty hangover,' said Sir Stafford.

  'Ah well, you can't avoid that. Not in the circumstances.' 'What would have happened,' Sir Stafford asked, 'since

  you seem to know all about everything, if I had refused to

  accept the proposition that may--I will only say may--

  have been put up to me?'

  It's quite possible that it would have been curtains for

  'Mary Arm.'

  Mary Arm? Who's Mary Arm?'

  'Miss Daphne Theodofanous.'

  That's the name I do seem to have heard--being summoned

  as a missing traveller?'

  'Yes, that's the name she was travelling under. We call her

  Mary Arm.'

  "Who is she--Just as a matter of interest?'

  'In her own line she's more or less the tops.'

  'And what is her line? Is she ours or is she theirs, if you

  know who "theirs" is? I must say I find a little difficulty

  myself when making my mind up about that.'

  'Yes, it's not so easy, is it? What with the Chinese and

  the Russkies and the rather queer crowd that's behind all

  the student troubles and the New Mafia and the rather odd

  lot in South America. And the nice little nest of financiers

  who seem to have;got something funny up their sleeves. Yes,

  it's not easy to say.'

  'Mary Arm,' said Sir Stafford Nye thoughtfully. 'It seems

  a curious name to have for her if her real one is Daphne

  Theodofanous.'

  f-t-p. 33 b

  Well, her mother's Greek, her father was an Englistum

  and her grandfather was an Austrian subject.'

  'What would have happened if I hadn't made her e loan

  of a certain garment?'

  'She might have been killed.'

  'Come, come. Not really?'

  'We're worried about the airport at Heathrow. Thi .;s

  have happened there lately, things that need a bit of -

  plaining. If the plane had gone via Geneva as planned, it

  would have been all right. She'd have had full protection

  all arranged. But this other way--there wouldn't have

  been time to arrange anything and you don't know who's

  who always, nowadays. Everyone's playing a double game

  or a treble or a quadruple one.'

  'You alarm me,' said Sir Stafford Nye. 'But she's all right, is she? Is that what you're telling me?'

  'I hope she's all right. We haven't heard anything to the

  contrary.'

  'If it's any help to you,' said Sir Stafford Nye, 'somebody

  called here this morning while I was out talking to my little

  pals in Whitehall. He represented that I telephoned a firm

  of cleaners and he removed the suit that I wore yesterday,

  and also another suit. Of course it may have been merely

  that he took a fancy to the other suit, or he may have made

  a practice of collecting various gentlemen's suitings who have

  recently returned from abroad. Or--well, perhaps you've got

  an "or" to add?'

  'He might have been looking for something.'

  'Yes, I think he was. Somebody's been looking for something.

  All very nice and tidily arranged again. Not the way

  I left it. All right, he was looking for something. What va.i he looking for?'

  'I'm not sure myself,' said Horsham, slowly. 'I wish I

  was. There^s something going on--somewhere. There ar' bits of it sticking out, you know, like a badly done up

  parcel. You get a peep here and a peep there. One moment

  you think it's going on at the Bayreuth Festival and the

  next minute you think it's tucking out of a South American

  estancia and then you get a bit of a lead in the USA. There's

  a lot of nasty business going on in different places, working up

  to something. Maybe politics, maybe something quite different

  from politics. It's probably money.' He added: 'You kw^ Mr Robinson, don't you? Or rather Mr Robinson knows you,

  I think he said.'

  'Robinson?' Sir Stafford Nye considered. 'Robinson, cs 34

  English name.' He looked across to Horsham. 'Large, yellow

  face?' he said. 'Fat? Finger in financial pies generally?
'

  He asked: 'Is he, too, on the side of the angels--is that what

  you're telling me?'

  'I don't know about angels,' said Henry Horsham. 'He's pullsd us out of a hole in this country more than once.

  people like Mr Chetwynd don't go for him much. Think

  he's too expensive, I suppose. Inclined to be a mean man,

  Mr Chetwynd. A great one for making enemies in the wrong

  place.'

  'One used to say "Poor but honest",' said Sir Stafford

  Nye thoughtfully. 'I take it that you would put it differently.

  You would describe our Mr Robinson as expensive but

  honest. Or shall we put it, honest but expensive.' He sighed.

  'I wish you could tell me what all this is about,' he said

  plaintively. 'Here I seem to be mixed up in something and

  no idea what it is.' He looked at Henry Horsham hopefully,

  but Horsham shook his head.

  'None of us knows. Not exactly,' he said.

  'What am I supposed to have got hidden here that someone

  i comes fiddling and looking for?'

  'Frankly, I haven't the least idea. Sir Stafford.'

  'Well, that's a pity because I haven't either."

  'As far as you know you haven't got anything. Nobody

  gave you anything to keep, to take anywhere, to look after?'

  'Nothing whatsoever. If you mean Mary Arm, she said

  she wanted her life saved, that's all.'

  'And unless there's a paragraph in the evening papers, you have saved her life.'

  'It seems rather the end of the chapter, doesn't It? A

  pity. My curiosity is rising. I find I want to know very

  much what's going to happen next. All you people seem

  very pessimistic.'

  'Frankly, we are. Things are going badly in this country.

  Can you wonder?'

  'I know what you mean. I sometimes wonder myself--'

  35

  Chapter 4 DINNER WITH ERIC

  'Do you mind if I tell you something, old man?' said Eric

  Pugh.

  Sir Stafford Nye looked at him. He had known Eric Pugh

  for a good many years. They had not been close friends.

  Old Eric, or so Sir Stafford thought, was rather a boring

  friend. He was, on the other hand, faithful. And he was

  the type of man who, though not amusing, had a knack of

  knowing things. People said things to him and he remembered

  what they said and stored them up. Sometimes he could

  push out a useful bit of information.

  'Come back from that Malay Conference, haven't you?'

  Yes,' said Sir Stafford.

  'Anything particular turn up there?'

  'Just the usual,' said Sir Stafford.

  'Oh. I wondered if something had--well, you know what

  I mean. Anything had occurred to put the cat among the

  pigeons.'

  'What, at the Conference? No, just painfully predictable.

  Everyone said just what you thought they'd say only they

  said it unfortunately at rather greater length than you could

  have imagined possible. I don't know why I go on these things.'

  Eric Pugh made a rather tedious remark or two as to

  what the Chinese were really up to.

  'I don't think they're really up to anything,' said Sir Stafford.

  'All the usual rumours, you know, about the diseases poor

  old Mao has got and who's intriguing against him and why.'

  'And what about the Arab-Israeli business?'

  That's proceeding according to plan also. Their plan,

  that is to say. And anyway, what's that got to do with

  Malaya?'

  'Well, I didn't really mean so much Malaya.'

  'You're looking rather like the Mock Turtle,' said S.r

  Stafford Nye. ' "Soup of the evening, beautiful soup." Wherefore

  this gloom?'

  'Well, I just wondered if you'd--you'll forgive me, woe r you?--I mean you haven't done anything to blot your

  copybook, have you, in any way?'

  The?' said Sir Stafford, looking highly surprised.

  'Well, you know what you're like. Staff. You like giving

  people a jolt sometimes, don't you?'

  36

  I have behaved impeccably of late,' said Sir Stafford.

  'What have you been hearing about me?'

  'I hear there was some trouble about something that happened

  in a plane on your way home.' 'Oh? Who did you hear that from?'

  'Well, you know, I saw old Cartison.'
  'Yes, I know. I know he is like that. But he was just saying that somebody or other--Winter-ton, at least--seemed

  to think you'd been up to something.'

  'Up to something? I wish I had,' said Sir Stafford Nye.

  There's some espionage racket going on somewhere and .he got a bit worried about certain people.'

  'What do they think I am--another Philby, something of

  , that kind?'

  'You know you're very unwise sometimes in the things you

  say, the things you make jokes about.'

  It's very hard to resist sometimes,' his friend told him. 'All

  these politicians and diplomats and the rest of them. They're

  so bloody solemn. You'd like to give them a bit of a stir up

  now and again.'

  ' >''Your sense of fun is very distorted, my boy. It really is.

  I worry about you sometimes. They wanted to ask you some (questions about something that happened on the flight back

  and they seem to think that you didn't, well--that perhaps

  you didn't exactly speak the truth about it all.'

  'Ah, that's what they think, is it? Interesting. I think I

  must work that up a bit.'

  I'Now don't do anything rash.' 'I must have my moments of fun sometimes.'

  'Look here, old fellow, you don't want to go and ruin

  your career just by indulging your sense of humour.'

  'I am quickly coming to the conclusion that there is nothing

  so boring as having a career.'

  'I know, I know. You are always inclined to take that

  point of view, and you haven't got on as far as you ought

  to have, you know. You were in the running for Vienna at

  one time. I don't like to see you-muck up things.'

  'I am behaving with the utmost sobriety and virtue, I

  assure you,' said Sir Stafford Nye. He added, "Cheer up, Eric.

  You're a good friend, but really, I'm not guilty of fun and games.'

  Eric shook his head doubtfully.

  It was a fine evening. Sir Stafford walked home across

  37

  Ifs--1

  Green Park. As he crossed the road in Birdcage Walk, a

  car leaping down the street missed him by a few inches.

  Sir Stafford was an athletic man. His leap took him safely

  on to the pavement. The car disappeared down the street.

  He wondered. Just for a moment he could have sworn that

  that car had deliberately tried tOy run him down. An interesting

  thought. First his flat had been searched, and

  now "he himself might have been marked down. Probably

  a mere coincidence. And yet, in the course of his life,

  some of which had been spent in wild neighbourhoods and

  places. Sir Stafford Nye had come in contact with danger.

  He knew, as it were, the touch and feel and smell of danger.

  He felt it now. Someone, somewhere was gunning for him.

  But why? For what reason? As far as he knew, he had not

  stuck his neck out in any way. He wonder
ed.

  He let himself into his flat and picked up the mail that

  lay on the floor inside. Nothing much. A couple of bi:.

  and copy of Lifeboat periodical. He threw the bills on ' :i his desk and put a finger through the wrapper of Lifehoi .

  It was a cause to which he occasionally contributed. I;? turned the pages without much attention because he vr.s still absorbed in what he was thinking. Then he stopped

  the action of his fingers abruptly. Something was taped

  between two of the pages. Taped with adhesive tape. He

  looked at it closely. It was his passport returned to him

  unexpectedly in this fashion. He tore it free and looked at

  it. The last stamp on it was the arrival stamp at Heathrow

  the day before. She had used his passport, getting back here

  safely, and had chosen this way to return it to him. Where

  was she now? He would like to know.

  He wondered if he would ever see her again. Who was

  she? Where had she gone, and why? It was like waiting

  for the second act of a play. Indeed, he felt the first act

  had hardly been played yet. What had he seen? An oldfashioned

  curtain-raiser, perhaps. A girl who had ridiculously

  wanted to dress herself up and pass herself oif as of the

  male sex, who had passed the passport control of Heathrow

  without attracting suspicion of any kind to herself and who

  had now disappeared through that gateway into London.

  No, he would probably never see her again. It annoyed him.

  But why, he thought, why do I want to? She wasn't particularly

  attractive, she wasn't anything. No, that wasn't quite

  true. She was something, or someone, or she could not have

  induced him, with no particular persuasion, with no overt

  sex stimulation, nothing except a plain demand for help, to

  38

  do what she wanted. A demand from one human being to

  another human being because, or so she had intimated, not

  precisely in words, but nevertheless it was what she had intimated,

  she knew people and she recognized in him a man

  who was willing to take a risk to help another human

  being. And he had taken a risk, too, thought Sir Stafford

  Nye. She could have put anything in that beer glass of his.

  He could have been found, if she had so willed it, found as a

  dead body in a seat tucked away in the corner of a departure

  lounge in an airport. And if she had, as no doubt she must

  have had, a knowledgeable recourse to drugs, his death might

  have been passed off as an attack of heart trouble due to

  altitude or difficult pressurizing--something or other like that.

  Oh well, why think about it? He wasn't likely to see her

  again and he was annoyed.

  Yes, he was annoyed, and he didn't like being annoyed.

  He considered the matter for some minutes. Then he wrote

  out an advertisement, to be repeated three times. 'Passenger to Frankfurt. November 3rd. Please communicate with fellow

  traveller to London.' No more than that. Either she would

  or she wouldn't. If it ever came to her eyes she would know

  by whom that advertisement had been inserted. She had

  had his passport, she knew his name. She could look him

  up. He might hear from her. He might not. Probably not.

  K not, the curtain-raiser would remain a curtain-raiser, a silly

  Sttle play that received late-comers to the theatre and diverted

  them until the real business of the evening began. Very .Useful in pre-war times. In all probability, though, he would

  not hear from her again and one of the reasons might be

  that she might have accomplished whatever it was she had

  Erne to do in London, and have now left the country once

  ore, flying abroad to Geneva, or the Middle East, or to

  Russia or to China or to South America, or to the United ~ ates. And why, thought Sir Stafford, do I include South merica? There must be a reason. She had not mentioned >uth America. Nobody had mentioned South America.

  scept Horsham, that was true. And even Horsham had only

  entioned South America among a lot of other mentions.

  On the following morning as he walked slowly homeward,

  ter handing in his advertisement, along the pathway across

  . James's Park his eye picked out, half unseeing, the autumn

  lowers. The chrysanthemums looking by now stiff and leggy

  ''ith their button tops of gold and bronze. Their smell came

  ' him faintly, a rather goatlike smell, he had always thought,

  smell that reminded hjm of hillsides in Greece. He must

  39

  remember to keep his eye on the Personal Column. Not yet.

  Two or three days at least would have to pass before his own

  advertisement was put in and before there had been time for

  anyone to put in one in answer. He must not miss it if there