i 16b0d473103b6aa5 (12 page)

“I was, but I was too late. Would you mind speaking in English, it is such a pleasure to

me to hear it—especially to-night.”

“Of course. May I ask who you are?”

“I cannot answer that. I wish I could, but you understand that it would not be safe for

anyone to know.”

“You are the man I was sent to find, are you not?”

“Yes. I think that stupid a little, you must all know that it would endanger me, and what

is worse, spoil my usefulness.”

“My instructions were not to seek you out but to place myself where you could find me if

I could be of service. I was to say that the Department is inconceivably grateful—”

“But devoured by curiosity, eh?” said Hambledon with a laugh. “I am afraid they must

eat themselves a little longer, but tell them that one of these days I will come back and report, if

Goering doesn’t scupper me first. My English is reviving. Tell me some news, will you?”

A little whisper of suspicion rose in the back of Denton’s mind. Set the victim’s mind at

rest and then question him.

“Certainly,” he said cheerfully. “What sort of news?”

“Is Jose Collins still alive?”

“She was last week, I saw some mention of her in the
Sphere
. And a photograph.”

“I daren’t be seen reading the English papers,” murmured Hambledon. “Do you know

Hampshire?”

“Parts of it.”

“Is Weatherley much changed?”

“No. They’ve turned the Corn Exchange into shops on the corner of the Market Square.

There’s a certain amount of building in the county, on the slopes of Portsdown Hill for example,

and all round Southampton and places like that, but the country is unchanged.”

“The country is unchanged,” repeated Hambledon dreamily. “You asked just now if you

could help me. There’s one man I should like to help me if the Department would send him out

—Bill Saunders.”

Denton bit his lip and said nothing.

“Perhaps you don’t know him.”

“Yes,” said Denton, slowly and distinctly, “I knew him very well indeed.”

There was a short pause, and Hambledon said sharply, “What happened and when?”

“He was found shot. That was in—er—in ’24. He ran a garage in a Hampshire village

after the war, and one morning the woman who looked after him went in and found him dead. It

was apparently accidental, he had been cleaning his automatic.”

“So you didn’t get anybody for it?” said Hambledon in a savage tone.

“No. There was no evidence to show that anyone had done it. Suicide or accident was

more probable. He was not a very happy man.”

“Not married? You said a woman went in—”

“Yes, a village woman to do the housework. Yes, he was married, but separated from his

wife.”

“Not Marie Bluehm?”

“Marie Bluehm?” cried Denton, starting up. “Who the devil are you -oh, of course, I

know now. You must be Hambledon. Marie Bluehm was killed in the rioting in Köln just before

the British marched in, I—I saw it done. I think it broke him. That’s why I think it may have

been suicide, he just didn’t care for anything much any more.”

“Suicide six years later? Don’t believe it. Who did he marry?”

“Some colonel’s daughter, don’t know who, never met her. Tiresome wench, I believe.”

“Were you with Bill, then, after I disappeared? What’s your name?”

“Denton, ‘sir. I was sent on to Köln from Mainz.”

“I remember. Bill mentioned that you were there. Well, I think I’ve heard enough news

for to-night. You can tell the Department that Tommy Hambledon is not dead, that is, unless they

call on me in the next few days. Goebbels loathes me, but Hitler still thinks I have my uses, so I

may survive. I dare not tell you who I am here, don’t try to find out.”

“Of course not, sir.”

“And don’t ‘sir’ me every second word, I am not in my dotage yet. Besides, it reminds

me of Bill. Denton, there’s something fishy about that business. I’m going to look into it. If it

was arranged and I find out who did it, God have mercy on the man, for I won’t.”

Denton said nothing.

“The most brilliant brain in the Service, shot like a dog. What were you all about to let it

happen? Wasn’t he guarded?”

“The police, I understand, had the usual—”

“Police!” exploded Hambledon. “The village constable, no doubt, had instructions to

keep a look out for suspicious characters, as though such men ever look suspicious! My God, if

I’d been there—”

He stopped and sighed deeply. “I suppose you think I’m making a fuss over nothing,

because it was an accident. Well, perhaps it was, but somehow I don’t believe it.”

“Perhaps you will be able to clear it up,” said Denton, just biting off the “sir” in time.

“I’ll have a damned good try. Now about you. I’m sorry I daren’t bring you out of that

foul coal-hole to-night or, probably, to-morrow, it’s the only place I know of which is even

approximately safe at the moment, but I’ll bring you some creature comforts and try to make it a

little more bearable. To-morrow night I’ll try and get you across the frontier. Wait a bit, I’ll go

and fetch some rugs and something to eat and drink. And you are not going to see my face,

either, I have no wish to be recognized as the Lord High Panjandrum of All the German Armies

or something equally spectacular. I don’t look very like Tommy Hambledon now, you know, so

it won’t be any use digging any of my late scholastic colleagues out of their retirement at Bath or

Bournemouth to come over and give the Nazi Party leaders a look over, because they won’t

recognize me if they do. I have a false nose grafted on, a thick bushy beard, and plucked

eyebrows. How my English inconceivably improved has, even during this short interlocutory or

what-have-you, ain’t it? Is old Williams still alive, I wonder?”

“Who?”

“Williams. At one time Headmaster of Chappell’s.”

“I could not possibly say, sir, I was at Winchester myself.”

“Never mind, these things can be lived down. I will go and fetch your ameliorations.”

There was a faint sound of departure, and silence sank again upon the cellar.

The cellar was not completely dark even at night when one’s eyes became accustomed to

it; by day light came in through the pavement grating and even a shaft of sunlight, and at night

there was a patch of light upon one wall from a street-lamp near by. Sounds also entered by the

grating, traffic noises, and voices talking. It was even possible, if people passed close enough, for

Denton to get a worm’s-eye view of part of them from the feet up. He noticed how men and

women alike made a little detour to avoid his grating, and this rather annoyed him. There was a

church clock somewhere in the neighbourhood which struck the hours; when sleep would not

come he found it companionable.

He slept, or drifted into unconsciousness, for most of the first night after Hambledon had

made him as comfortable as possible. The next day passed easily with the help of a basket of

provisions and fruit and a feeling of lassitude so intense that he was glad to be away from

everyone somewhere where there was not even need to speak. Towards evening he began to

recover a little and to wish for a break in the monotony of his imprisonment. He did not desire

the dark, either, there were too many spiders in that cellar, and in his weak state he had a morbid

horror of their crawling upon him.

Soon after nine o’clock, when it was still daylight, suddenly the traffic ceased and there

came a stillness which reminded him of one Armistice Day when he had been in London and the

Two Minutes’ Silence had caught him unawares. Denton rose on his elbow and listened.

From somewhere farther down the street there came a hoarse command, another, and

then a short crackle of rifle fire. Immediately, as though a spell had been broken, followed the

sound of running feet, irregularly running as if those who ran looked over their shoulders as they

fled. Some passed over his grating, several men and a woman or two, one was leading a child

who fell down wailing, and was snatched up and carried on. One woman came to a stop just

above him and leaned against the wall gasping for breath and sobbing, “Oh, Jakob, oh, Jakob, oh,

Jakob,” over and over again. Denton fumbled for his automatic, and felt naked to the storm when

he remembered it was not there.

Next came the sound of disciplined marching, coming nearer, and the weeping woman

ran away. A voice outside cried, “Here, you there! Halt!” and a man stopped just where the

woman had been. Charles Denton could see part of a grey tweed trouser-leg and one brown shoe,

a well-to-do man, evidently. He said, “Do you mean me?” in a quiet, steady voice.

“That’s the man,” someone said. There followed another command, again the sound of

shots, four in rapid succession. “Automatic,” said Denton to himself. The man above crumpled,

and suddenly the cellar was completely dark, for his body covered the grating.

Denton sat up shaking, and fumbled for the cigarettes and the matches Hambledon had

left him on his promise not to strike one in Hambledon’s presence, and on no account to allow a

light to be seen from outside. There was no need to worry about the light now, the aperture was

effectively blocked and shut out sounds as well, but Denton listened intently for a moment before

striking the match. All he could hear was a trickling noise like the sudden overflowing of a gutter

during a storm. “Rain,” he thought, “that’ll calm them down.” Then he remembered that a

moment earlier the sun had been shining ...

He scrambled back into the comer farthest away from the window regardless of spiders

and loose lumps of coal, and with eyes open only the merest slits, enough to see his own fingers

and nothing more, lit his cigarette. He had some difficulty in keeping both match and cigarette

steadily together long enough to light it.

The trickle slowed after a little and became a steady drip—drip—drip, irritating enough

to the nerves even if it had only been water. He desperately wanted a drink, but it took all his

courage to go forward in the dark and fetch it for fear there should be pools of wetness on the

floor and he should put his hand in one of them. More courage, after that, to subdue attacks of

panic prompting him to hammer on the door and yell to someone, anyone, to let him out, let him

out, let him out before the tide rose.

When Hambledon came an hour later, an interminable hour which seemed like days, he

found his prisoner perched on a box in the corner with his feet up, repeating the
Lays of Ancient

Rome
to himself aloud.

“ ‘
The harvests of Arretium
,
this year old men shall reap
,

This year
,
young boys in Umbro shall plunge the struggling sheep
,

And in the vats of Luna
,
this year the must shall foam

Round the white feet
—’

Damn! Can’t I think of anything that doesn’t suggest blood?”

“My dear fellow,” said Hambledon hastily, “I am most frightfully sorry—I had no idea

this had happened. Are you all right?”

“Oh, quite, thanks,” said Denton in a rather cracked voice. “Quite chirpy, thanks. I can’t

see to read so I was repeating poetry to myself, that’s all. Habit of mine, always done it since a

kid, when I couldn’t sleep, you know.” He laughed, and Hambledon did not like the sound of it.

“When’s the funeral going to be, d’you know?”

“You are coming out of this, whatever happens. Will you excuse me a moment while I

write a note? I will come back again at once.”

“Please don’t hurry,” said Denton airily. “Not that I am not delighted to see you—hear

you, I mean—at any time, but don’t let me be a nuisance. It’s quite all right down here—quite

homelike when you’re used to it.”

“
Du Gott allmachtig
,” said Hambledon, and left.

He came back a little while later and said, “Have you ever eloped with anyone, Denton?”

“Not exactly eloped,” said Denton cautiously. “Why?”

“Because in about an hour’s time you will be en route for Switzerland with a charming

lady whom you have persuaded to—er—fly with you is, I think, the correct phrase. You will

travel in haste, her enraged father is upon your trail.”

“You do think up some lovely parlour games, don’t you?” said Denton admiringly. “First

you slog me on the head and lock me in a cellar with a dripping corpse overhead, and then marry

me off to one of your girlfriends. Come to Germany and see life. What’s she like?”

“Quite a credit to be seen with, believe me. She will travel into Switzerland with you and

then she can go to her aunt’s for a holiday. She will be no trouble to you. You have seen her, by

the way, Fräulein Elisabeth Weber.”

“What, the tobacconist’s daughter? A sightly wench, I agree with you. More, I commend

your taste, sir.”

“I told her to come at once—shall we speak English now for a little if my lack of fluency

does not worry you? I expect she will an hour require her baggages—to make up her baggages.”

“Does the baggage make up?” murmured Denton. “Look a bit undressed, nowadays, if

they don’t, don’t they?”

“I shall be obliged to leave you before she comes. She knows me, I permit myself English

cigarettes sometimes which the good Weber stocks for me. Besides, I cannot be absent from

home too long to-night, they might think I had hidden myself, and that would not seem well, you