“More than a match for me,” Tommy thought. “And there’s that confounded servant, too.”
For an instant Haydock stood as though moulded in stone, then he relaxed. He said with a laugh:
“Damned funny, Meadowes. You went skating over the floor like a ballet dancer! Don’t suppose a thing like that would happen once in a thousand times. Dry your hands and come into the other room.”
Tommy followed him out of the bathroom. He was alert and tense in every muscle. Somehow or other he must get safely away from this house with his knowledge. Could he succeed in fooling Haydock? The latter’s tone sounded natural enough.
With an arm round Tommy’s shoulders, a casual arm, perhaps (or perhaps not), Haydock shepherded him into the sitting room. Turning, he shut the door behind them.
“Look here, old boy, I’ve got something to say to you.”
His voice was friendly, natural—just a shade embarrassed. He motioned to Tommy to sit down.
“It’s a bit awkward,” he said. “Upon my word, it’s a bit awkward! Nothing for it, though, but to take you into my confidence. Only you’ll have to keep dark about it, Meadowes. You understand that?”
Tommy endeavoured to throw an expression of eager interest upon his face.
Haydock sat down and drew his chair confidentially close.
“You see, Meadowes, it’s like this. Nobody’s supposed to know it but I’m working on Intelligence MI42 BX—that’s my department. Ever heard of it?”
Tommy shook his head and intensified the eager expression.
“Well, it’s pretty secret. Kind of inner ring, if you know what I mean. We transmit certain information from here—but it would be absolutely fatal if that fact got out, you understand?”
“Of course, of course,” said Mr. Meadowes. “Most interesting! Naturally you can count on me not to say a word.”
“Yes, that’s absolutely vital. The whole thing is extremely confidential.”
“I quite understand. Your work must be most thrilling. Really most thrilling. I should like so much to know more about it—but I suppose I mustn’t ask that?”
“No, I’m afraid not. It’s very secret, you see.”
“Oh yes, I see. I really do apologise—a most extraordinary accident—”
He thought to himself, “Surely he can’t be taken in? He can’t imagine I’d fall for this stuff?”
It seemed incredible to him. Then he reflected that vanity had been the undoing of many men. Commander Haydock was a clever man, a big fellow—this miserable chap Meadowes was a stupid Britisher—the sort of man who would believe anything! If only Haydock continued to think that.
Tommy went on talking. He displayed keen interest and curiosity. He knew he mustn’t ask questions but—He supposed Commander Haydock’s work must be very dangerous? Had he ever been in Germany, working there?
Haydock replied genially enough. He was intensely the British sailor now—the Prussian officer had disappeared. But Tommy, watching him with a new vision, wondered how he could ever have been deceived. The shape of the head—the line of the jaw—nothing British about them.
Presently Mr. Meadowes rose. It was the supreme test. Would it go off all right?
“I really must be going now—getting quite late—feel terribly apologetic, but can assure you will not say a word to anybody.”
(“It’s now or never. Will he let me go or not? I must be ready—a straight to his jaw would be best—”)
Talking amiably and with pleasurable excitement, Mr. Meadowes edged towards the door.
He was in the hall . . . he had opened the front door. . . .
Through the door on the right he caught a glimpse of Appledore setting the breakfast things ready on a tray for the morning. (The damned fools were going to let him get away with it!)
The two men stood in the porch, chatting—fixing up another match for next Saturday.
Tommy thought grimly: “There’ll be no next Saturday for you, my boy.”
Voices came from the road outside. Two men returning from a tramp on the headland. They were men that both Tommy and the Commander knew slightly. Tommy hailed them. They stopped. Haydock and he exchanged a few words with them, all standing at the gate, then Tommy waved a genial farewell to his host and stepped off with the two men.
He had got away with it.
Haydock, damned fool, had been taken in!
He heard Haydock go back to his house, go in and shut the door. Tommy tramped carefully down the hill with his two new-found friends.
Weather looked likely to change.
Old Monroe was off his game again.
That fellow Ashby refused to join the LDV. Said it was no damned good. Pretty thick, that. Young Marsh, the assistant caddy master, was a conscientious objector. Didn’t Meadowes think that matter ought to be put up to the committee. There had been a pretty bad raid on Southampton the night before last—quite a lot of damage done. What did Meadowes think about Spain? Were they turning nasty? Of course, ever since the French collapse—
Tommy could have shouted aloud. Such good casual normal talk. A stroke of providence that these two men had turned up just at that moment.
He said goodbye to them at the gate of Sans Souci and turned in.
He walked up the drive whistling softly to himself.
He had just turned the dark corner by the rhododendrons when something heavy descended on his head. He crashed forward, pitching into blackness and oblivion.
Ten
“Did you say Three Spades, Mrs. Blenkensop?”
Yes, Mrs. Blenkensop had said Three Spades. Mrs. Sprot, returning breathless from the telephone: “And they’ve changed the time of the ARP exam, again, it’s too bad,” demanded to have the bidding again.
Miss Minton, as usual, delayed things by ceaseless reiterations.
“Was it Two Clubs I said? Are you sure? I rather thought, you know, that it might have been one No Trump—Oh yes, of course, I remember now. Mrs. Cayley said One Heart, didn’t she? I was going to say one No Trump although I hadn’t quite got the count, but I do think one should play a plucky game—and then Mrs. Cayley said One Heart and so I had to go Two Clubs. I always think it’s so difficult when one has two short suits—”
“Sometimes,” Tuppence thought to herself, “it would save time if Miss Minton just put her hand down on the table to show them all. She was quite incapable of not telling exactly what was in it.”
“So now we’ve got it right,” said Miss Minton triumphantly. “One Heart, Two Clubs.”
“Two Spades,” said Tuppence.
“I passed, didn’t I?” said Mrs. Sprot.
They looked at Mrs. Cayley, who was leaning forward listening. Miss Minton took up the tale.
“Then Mrs. Cayley said Two Hearts and I said Three Diamonds.”
“And I said Three Spades,” said Tuppence.
“Pass,” said Mrs. Sprot.
Mrs. Cayley sat in silence. At last she seemed to become aware that everyone was looking at her.
“Oh dear,” she flushed. “I’m so sorry. I thought perhaps Mr. Cayley needed me. I hope he’s all right out there on the terrace.”
She looked from one to the other of them.
“Perhaps, if you don’t mind, I’d better just go and see. I heard rather an odd noise. Perhaps he’s dropped his book.”
She fluttered out of the window. Tuppence gave an exasperated sigh.
“She ought to have a string tied to her wrist,” she said. “Then he could pull it when he wanted her.”
“Such a devoted wife,” said Miss Minton. “It’s very nice to see, isn’t it?”
“Is it?” said Tuppence, who was feeling far from good-tempered.
The three women sat in silence for a minute or two.
“Where’s Sheila tonight?” asked Miss Minton.
“She went to the pictures,” said Mrs. Sprot.
“Where’s Mrs. Perenna?” asked Tuppence.
“She said she was going to do accounts
in her room,” said Miss Minton. “Poor dear. So tiring, doing accounts.”
“She’s not been doing accounts all evening,” said Mrs. Sprot, “because she came in just now when I was telephoning in the hall.”
“I wonder where she’d been,” said Miss Minton, whose life was taken up with such small wonderments. “Not to the pictures, they wouldn’t be out yet.”
“She hadn’t got a hat on,” said Mrs. Sprot. “Nor a coat. Her hair was all anyhow and I think she’d been running or something. Quite out of breath. She ran upstairs without a word and she glared—positively glared at me—and I’m sure I hadn’t done anything.”
Mrs. Cayley reappeared at the window.
“Fancy,” she said. “Mr. Cayley has walked all round the garden by himself. He quite enjoyed it, he said. Such a mild night.”
She sat down again.
“Let me see—oh, do you think we could have the bidding over again?”
Tuppence suppressed a rebellious sigh. They had the bidding all over again and she was left to play Three Spades.
Mrs. Perenna came in just as they were cutting for the next deal.
“Did you enjoy your walk?” asked Miss Minton.
Mrs. Perenna stared at her. It was a fierce and unpleasant stare. She said:
“I’ve not been out.”
“Oh—oh—I thought Mrs. Sprot said you’d come in just now.”
Mrs. Perenna said:
“I just went outside to look at the weather.”
Her tone was disagreeable. She threw a hostile glance at the meek Mrs. Sprot, who flushed and looked frightened.
“Just fancy,” said Mrs. Cayley, contributing her item of news. “Mr. Cayley walked all round the garden.”
Mrs. Perenna said sharply:
“Why did he do that?”
Mrs. Cayley said:
“It is such a mild night. He hasn’t even put on his second muffler and he still doesn’t want to come in. I do hope he won’t get a chill.”
Mrs. Perenna said:
“There are worse things than chills. A bomb might come any minute and blow us all to bits!”
“Oh, dear, I hope it won’t.”
“Do you? I rather wish it would.”
Mrs. Perenna went out of the window. The four bridge players stared after her.
“She seems very odd tonight,” said Mrs. Sprot.
Miss Minton leaned forward.
“You don’t think, do you—” She looked from side to side. They all leaned nearer together. Miss Minton said in a sibilant whisper:
“You don’t suspect, do you, that she drinks?”
“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Cayley. “I wonder now? That would explain it. She really is so—so unaccountable sometimes. What do you think, Mrs. Blenkensop?”
“Oh, I don’t really think so. I think she’s worried about something. Er—it’s your call, Mrs. Sprot.”
“Dear me, what shall I say?” asked Mrs. Sprot, surveying her hand.
Nobody volunteered to tell her, though Miss Minton, who had been gazing with unabashed interest into her hand, might have been in a position to advise.
“That isn’t Betty, is it?” demanded Mrs. Sprot, her head upraised.
“No, it isn’t,” said Tuppence firmly.
“She felt that she might scream unless they could get on with the game.
Mrs. Sprot looked at her hand vaguely, her mind still apparently maternal. Then she said:
“Oh, One Diamond, I think.”
The call went round. Mrs. Cayley led.
“When in doubt lead a Trump, they say,” she twittered, and laid down the Nine of Diamonds.
A deep genial voice said:
“’Tis the curse of Scotland that you’ve played there!”
Mrs. O’Rourke stood in the window. She was breathing deeply—her eyes were sparkling. She looked sly and malicious. She advanced into the room.
“Just a nice quiet game of bridge, is it?”
“What’s that in your hand?” asked Mrs. Sprot, with interest.
“’Tis a hammer,” said Mrs. O’Rourke amiably. “I found it lying in the drive. No doubt someone left it there.”
“It’s a funny place to leave a hammer,” said Mrs. Sprot doubtfully.
“It is that,” agreed Mrs. O’Rourke.
She seemed in a particularly good humour. Swinging the hammer by its handle she went out into the hall.
“Let me see,” said Miss Minton. “What’s trumps?”
The game proceeded for five minutes without further interruption, and then Major Bletchley came in. He had been to the pictures and proceeded to tell them in detail the plot of Wandering Minstrel, laid in the reign of Richard the First. The Major, as a military man, criticised at some length the crusading battle scenes.
The rubber was not finished, for Mrs. Cayley, looking at her watch, discovered the lateness of the hour with shrill little cries of horror and rushed out to Mr. Cayley. The latter, as a neglected invalid, enjoyed himself a great deal, coughing in a sepulchral manner, shivering dramatically and saying several times:
“Quite all right, my dear. I hope you enjoyed your game. It doesn’t matter about me at all. Even if I have caught a severe chill, what does it really matter? There’s a war on!”
II
At breakfast the next morning, Tuppence was aware at once of a certain tension in the atmosphere.
Mrs. Perenna, her lips pursed very tightly together, was distinctly acrid in the few remarks she made. She left the room with what could only be described as a flounce.
Major Bletchley, spreading marmalade thickly on his toast, gave vent to a deep chuckle.
“Touch of frost in the air,” he remarked. “Well, well! Only to be expected, I suppose.”
“Why, what has happened?” demanded Miss Minton, leaning forward eagerly, her thin neck twitching with pleasurable anticipation.
“Don’t know that I ought to tell tales out of school,” replied the Major irritatingly.
“Oh! Major Bletchley!”
“Do tell us,” said Tuppence.
Major Bletchley looked thoughtfully at his audience: Miss Minton, Mrs. Blenkensop, Mrs. Cayley and Mrs. O’Rourke. Mrs. Sprot and Betty had just left. He decided to talk.
“It’s Meadowes,” he said. “Been out on the tiles all night. Hasn’t come home yet.”
“What?” exclaimed Tuppence.
Major Bletchley threw her a pleased and malicious glance. He enjoyed the discomfiture of the designing widow.
“Bit of a gay dog, Meadowes,” he chortled. “The Perenna’s annoyed. Naturally.”
“Oh dear,” said Miss Minton, flushing painfully. Mrs. Cayley looked shocked. Mrs. O’Rourke merely chuckled.
“Mrs. Perenna told me already,” she said. “Ah, well, the boys will be the boys.”
Miss Minton said eagerly:
“Oh, but surely—perhaps Mr. Meadowes has met with an accident. In the blackout, you know.”
“Good old blackout,” said Major Bletchley. “Responsible for a lot. I can tell you, it’s been an eye opener being on patrol in the LDV. Stopping cars and all that. The amount of wives ‘just seeing their husbands home.’ And different names on their identity cards! And the wife or the husband coming back the other way alone a few hours later. Ha ha!” He chuckled, then quickly composed his face as he received the full blast of Mrs. Blenkensop’s disapproving stare.
“Human nature—a bit humorous, eh?” he said appeasingly.
“Oh, but Mr. Meadowes,” bleated Miss Minton. “He may really have met with an accident. Been knocked down by a car.”
“That’ll be his story, I expect,” said the Major. “Car hit him and knocked him out and he came to in the morning.”
“He may have been taken to hospital.”
“They’d have let us know. After all, he’s carrying his identity card, isn’t he?”
“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Cayley, “I wonder what Mr. Cayley will say?”
This rhetorical question remain
ed unanswered. Tuppence, rising with an assumption of affronted dignity, got up and left the room.
Major Bletchley chuckled when the door closed behind her.
“Poor old Meadowes,” he said. “The fair widow’s annoyed about it. Thought she’d got her hooks into him.”
“Oh, Major Bletchley,” bleated Miss Minton.
Major Bletchley winked.
“Remember your Dickens? Beware of widders, Sammy.”
III
Tuppence was a little upset by Tommy’s unannounced absence, but she tried to reassure herself. He might possibly have struck some hot trail and gone off upon it. The difficulties of communication with each other under such circumstances had been foreseen by them both, and they had agreed that the other one was not to be unduly perturbed by unexplained absences. They had arranged certain contrivances between them for such emergencies.
Mrs. Perenna had, according to Mrs. Sprot, been out last night. The vehemence of her own denial of the fact only made that absence of hers more interesting to speculate upon.
It was possible that Tommy had trailed her on her secret errand and had found something worth following up.
Doubtless he would communicate with Tuppence in his special way, or else turn up, very shortly.
Nevertheless, Tuppence was unable to avoid a certain feeling of uneasiness. She decided that in her role of Mrs. Blenkensop it would be perfectly natural to display some curiosity and even anxiety. She went without more ado in search of Mrs. Perenna.
Mrs. Perenna was inclined to be short with her upon the subject. She made it clear that such conduct on the part of one of her lodgers was not to be condoned or glossed over. Tuppence exclaimed breathlessly:
“Oh, but he may have met with an accident. I’m sure he must have done. He’s not at all that sort of man—not at all loose in his ideas, or anything of that kind. He must have been run down by a car or something.”
“We shall probably soon hear one way or another,” said Mrs. Perenna.
But the day wore on and there was no sign of Mr. Meadowes.
In the evening, Mrs. Perenna, urged on by the pleas of her boarders, agreed extremely reluctantly to ring up the police.
A sergeant called at the house with a notebook and took particulars. Certain facts were then elicited. Mr. Meadowes had left Commander Haydock’s house at half-past ten. From there he had walked with a Mr. Walters and a Dr. Curtis as far as the gate of Sans Souci, where he had said goodbye to them and turned into the drive.