The Portuguese Escape (27 page)

‘Yes, I think it is. The diplomatic number-plate is a great safeguard,' the Secret Service man said, rather grudgingly.

‘Very well—that's settled. So shall we go and telephone?' Julia said to her host.

But when they repaired to the study and the eight telephones, and eventually got through to the Castelo-Imperial at Estoril, it was only to be told that the Countess Hetta Páloczy had left.

‘Left? When does she return?' Julia asked. The clerk said he would enquire.

‘Where
can
they have gone? I should have thought wild horses wouldn't have dragged Mama Páloczy away just now,' Julia speculated aloud, the receiver half at her ear. ‘The wedding's on Saturday. Unless she's flown to Paris to get a new frock.'

The Duke laughed—in his private and rather silent fashion he derived a good deal of pleasure from Miss Probyn's uninhibited speech.

‘Possibly that is the explanation,' he was beginning, when Julia said ‘
Sing?
' sharply into the telephone. (Improbable as it may seem, this syllable in Portuguese, spelt
sim
, means ‘Yes'.) ‘
Sing, sing
,' Julia pursued, and went on saying ‘Sing' at intervals for some moments—'
Muito obrigada
‘she said finally, and rang off.

‘That's rather odd,' she said. ‘Hetta left at ten o'clock this morning, with a suit-case, in a
diplomatico
car, with a Senhor; she told the porter, who of course asked her, that she might not return for two or three days. The receptionist rang up her mother's apartment and the maid said that
they
had no idea where she had gone, nor who the diplomatic Senhor was! I don't think it can be Atherley, because I've got his car here.'

‘Does she know any other diplomats?' the Duke asked.

‘Yes. That nice Townsend Waller, in the American Embassy. He's really her slave,' Julia said, looking calmly amused.

‘Then should we not ring up the American Chancery and ask, discreetly, if they know where this gentleman has gone? Or not?' The Duke looked a little bothered—running off in cars with diplomaticos rather upset his previous
impression of Hetta as a desirable acquaintance for his daughter.

‘Not,' said Julia. ‘I think we ought to talk to Major Torrens before we do any more telephoning.'

‘Very well—let us speak with him.'

The Major, who had been waiting with the two priests, flatly vetoed ringing up the American Embassy.

‘They aren't in on this at all,' he said, ‘except for my opposite number. They might start asking all sorts of questions.' He looked put out, and gnawed at his small red moustache; the loss of one of the characters in this ill-assorted cast worried him. ‘I'll ring up Atherley; I can talk to him so that no one else understands, and he's pretty sure to know all about young Hetta's movements—they seem pretty thick. May we do that at once, Sir?'

Richard Atherley was sitting at his desk in the Chancery, staring out over the green garden, trying to make up his mind whether to have another shot at ringing up Hetta, when his telephone buzzed. Three times the evening before he had been infuriated by the smugness of the hotel operator's voice saying ‘The Countess Hetta Páloczy is not available tonight'. What a remorseless little savage she was! He snatched off the receiver, hoping that she might have relented.

‘A call for you from São Pedro do Sul, Mr. Atherley,' Mrs. Tomlinson said. And then came Hugh's voice on the line.

‘That you?'

‘Of course.' Richard's voice was cold with disappointment. ‘What is it?'

‘I should be grateful if you could make some enquiries for me, unless you happen to know the answer yourself. Listen carefully, will you?—and don't use any names. Can you hear me?'

‘Perfectly. What's the question?'

‘You remember that you took a lady for a drive one day last week,' Torrens' voice went on, with maddening deliberation.

‘Well, what of it?' How the devil did Torrens know about Obidos, Richard thought, stiffening.

‘In a taxi,' Torrens pursued, ignoring the interruption—
‘and wearing a veil. Do you know who I mean?' Richard relaxed a little.

‘Yes, of course. Well?'

‘We want to establish her whereabouts today, but we think it simpler for you to do that. Will you?—and call me back? You know where I am; you can look up the number.'

Richard was embarrassed by this application in a way the Major could not of course have foreseen.

‘I presume she's at home—I mean, where she lives,' he said, rather coldly.

‘Ah, we don't want presumptions, we want facts,' Torrens rejoined, dispassionately. ‘Your presumption is a little out of date. She left the place where she lives this morning, in a C.D. car, driven by a man, taking a suitcase with her, and said she might not be back for two or three days.'

‘Good God!' Richard could not control the exclamation.

‘Quite so,' Torrens said calmly. ‘You can probably make as good a guess as we can as to the identity of the owner of that car—since it obviously isn't you! You remember we all dined together not so long ago, outside Lisbon. We thought you might ring up his place of business and learn anything that is known of his movements, and then report back.'

Every word Torrens said increased the fear, jealousy, anger and remorse that had begun to seethe in Richard, joined with a lively and positive hatred of Mme de Vermeil.

‘The editorial we including Julia, I suppose?' he asked waspishly.

‘Of course. But don't use names.' Torrens was quite untroubled. ‘How soon do you think you'll be able to ring back?'

‘Damn it, why should
I
make your enquiries for you?' the young man exploded. ‘Haven't you got your own machinery?'

‘Yes. Certainly I will do it through them, if you prefer it so. Can you have this call transferred to the little man we both despise?—I'll put him onto it at once. I have got to find out, you see.'

Richard had been trained to think fast; clouded as his
mind was by conflicting emotions, he instantly saw that anything was better than to have the ineffable Melplash prying into Hetta's movements.

‘No, I'll do it,' he said. ‘I shall get more out of them than your ghastly employee. I'll ring you up when I've got something—I can't say when.' He rang off.

Sitting back in his chair, he reflected, miserably, on his last conversation with Hetta. ‘I will make other arrangements—please do not concern yourself.' Yes, of course she would have turned to Townsend, her faithful and uncomplicated slave, to get her up to Gralheira. But what a thing to do, to drive off with a man in a car, from the very door of the hotel. She really was too innocent to live!

The person he decided to ring up was the Counsellor at the American Embassy, a kind shrewd man with a passion for music.

‘Townsend?' said this individual. ‘Oh yes, he called me last night to ask if he could take two or three days' leave. No, I didn't ask any questions—I thought maybe he just wanted to bury his grandmother! People do, you know, now and then. Why? Does it matter?'

‘Not very much. Could you give me the number of his car?'

‘Listen, Richard, do you mean you want to have him
traced?
'

‘Arthur, I just want to know where he
is
—there's nothing to panic about. Someone's with him,' Atherley said, unwillingly.

‘Well, so I supposed! All right—I'll get that number. But don't do anything embarrassing, will you? What in hell is all this about?'

‘I'll tell you that some other time. Just let me have that number, there's a good fellow.'

While he waited for the call from the American Chancery Richard relieved his feelings by ringing up Mme de Vermeil.

‘
C'est toi? Bonjour,
' the lady said blithely.

‘Good morning,' the young man said. ‘I find I shall not be able to dine with you tomorrow night. I must ask you to excuse me.' He spoke with an icy politeness which was not lost on the Frenchwoman.

‘
Quel dommage!
Your Ambassador makes difficulties, or
la petite?
'

‘It is out of my power to come,' Atherley repeated stiffly, ignoring both questions.

‘
Tiens!
So some other night? Which?' Mme de Vermeil still sounded blithe.

‘I cannot say. Possibly never.' He rang off before she could reply.

When the American Counsellor came through again he first gave Atherley the car number. ‘I happened to meet Perce while I was checking,' he went on—‘he's sort of a buddy of Townsend's, so I just asked casually if he knew what he was up to.'

‘And did he know?'

‘Nothing very definite. Townsend told him, all in a hurry, that he had to take someone who was in trouble up to the North, and might not be back for two or three days. So then I had a word with our telephone operator.'

‘Well?' Richard asked.

‘She says Townsend booked two rooms, on
different
floors, at one of the hotels at that spa place near São Pedro do Sul, the Bela Vista. It's the best hotel anywhere up there except that British place at Canas da Senhorim, so I imagine the trouble is in or near São Pedro do Sul.'

‘Oh bless you, Arthur! Thank you very much,' Richard said.

‘That tell you anything?' the American asked curiously.

‘Only what I wanted to know. Goodbye.'

When Mrs. Tomlinson got the Gralheira number the Duke of Ericeira himself answered. Richard recognised his voice, and instead of pronouncing the name ‘Atherley', as usual, said— ‘Oh, how do you do, Duke. Could I speak to your red-haired visitor?'

He heard Ericeira chuckle before he replied.

‘Certainly. He is here'—and then Torrens said, ‘Richard?'

‘Himself.
O Richard, o mon roi!
Here's the dope. Spending two or three nights at the Belle Vue at the spa near St. Peter of the Sun. Can you translate that? If not, you'd better get Julia.'

‘Julia's here. Perhaps you had better tell her—I'm not so hot on all these names. Hold on.'

Julia was much hotter.

‘Oh yes, I know,' she said, when Atherley repeated his Anglo-French version of the address. ‘Splendid—how clever you are! With the person we thought?'

‘Precisely. His car number is'—he gave it. ‘His employers charitably assume that he is busy burying his grandmother,' Richard said, rather sourly trying to conceal his own malaise under the borrowed crack.

Julia gurgled; then she said—

‘Oh nonsense! You know perfectly well she adores you. I expect she just wanted to see the little man we all love, only she more than any. But why didn't she ask
you
to bring her up this way?'

‘Damn you, Julia!—have you got second sight?'

‘Oh yes—Highland blood! I see—and for some protocol reason you couldn't make it, so she turned to the boyfriend from Massachusetts! Well, never mind—we'll get her all right now. ‘Bye.'

Julia was over-optimistic. After a consideration of time and mileage in the Duke's study—slightly hampered by the fact that none of them knew what make of car Mr. Townsend Waller drove—they decided that at the best Hetta and her escort were not likely to reach the Bela Vista before half-past four. It was now three-thirty.

‘So we telephone then?' the Duke said. As in Lisbon that Friday night, Julia realised that he was rather enjoying the whole business.

‘Oh, do we?' she asked, with a doubtful glance at Torrens. ‘I should have thought drive over and see them.'

‘Certainly,' Torrens said. ‘There has been a most unfortunate amount of telephoning already.'

‘But surely this can have done no harm? You have all been so clever—it has been an entertainment to listen to you!'

‘Unfortunately the people we are up against are quite clever too,' the Major said wryly. ‘No, we had certainly better drive over.'

‘And bring her here?—I see. And the American also? There is plenty of room, of course.'

‘
No
, dear Duke. Boundless as your hospitality is, I think poor Mr. Waller had better stay at the Bela Vista tonight and scoot back alone to Lisbon tomorrow. Miserable for him of course, but we don't want an
unceasing
stream of CD. cars up your by-road—don't you think, Hugh?'

‘I
do
think. So good of you,' he said to his host,' but Miss Probyn is right; it is much safer that Waller's car shouldn't come here.'

Ericeira, in spite of the novelty to him of these goings-on, was quite quick-witted.

‘I understand,' he said. ‘Then had you not better drive to São Pedro do Sul in one of my cars? They are a familiar sight there.'

‘That would be admirable, Sir. Thank you.' Torrens glanced at his watch. ‘How long does it take to get in?'

‘Twenty-six minutes to the town; to go on to the watering-place, another four and a half.' Times were one of the things about which the Duke was quite unfailing. He lifted the receiver of one of the eight telephones and ordered a car to come round to the house at once. ‘You will do it comfortably,' he said. ‘Who goes?'

‘I think we'll both go,' said Julia. ‘Better for Hetta if I'm there. I'll just get a coat.' She went out.

The post at Gralheira only arrived in the afternoon—on her way through the hall Julia took a look at the long walnut table on which letters were always laid out. The post was in, and there was a letter for her from her old and beloved friend, Mrs. Hathaway, forwarded from Lisbon on the very day she left; she read it hurriedly on her way to her room.

It announced Mrs. Hathaway's arrival in Lisbon that very day. ‘This will only give you very short notice of my advent,' the good lady wrote, ‘but it was a last-minute decision. Since you left England I have been somewhat tied to the bed-side of an old friend who was lingering with cancer; but in the end he died very suddenly—it has been rather a shock, and I feel like the change. I have managed to get a plane passage on Monday; if you aren't at the airport—and
don't
bother; I know how many claims there are on your time—I shall go straight to the Hotel Lucrezia in Lisbon, which your Treasury friend Geoffrey Consett says
is a very nice moderate hotel, near the main shopping street. I do apologise for this short notice, and you must not let me be a bother. But it will be blessed to see you.' There was a P.S. ‘I have bought a Portuguese phrase-book, with instructions for pronunciation. How very odd that O should be pronounced OO, and OU O! And S as SH! Why have an alphabet?'