鸽群中的猫05

Four

RETURN OF A TRAVELLER

I“Really!” said Mrs. Sutcliffe, in an annoyed voice, as she looked out of her hotel window, “I don’tsee why it always has to rain when one comes back to England. It makes it all seem sodepressing.”

“I think it’s lovely to be back,” said Jennifer. “Hearing everyone talk English in the streets! Andwe’ll be able to have a really good tea presently. Bread and butter and jam and proper cakes.”

“I wish you weren’t so insular¹, darling,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe. “What’s the good of my taking youabroad all the way to the Persian Gulf² if you’re going to say you’d rather have stayed at home?”

“I don’t mind going abroad for a month or two,” said Jennifer. “All I said was I’m glad to beback.”

“Now do get out of the way, dear, and let me make sure that they’ve brought up all the luggage.

Really, I do feel—I’ve felt ever since the war that people have got very dishonest nowadays. I’msure if I hadn’t kept an eye on things that man would have gone off with my green zip bag atTilbury. And there was another man hanging about near the luggage. I saw him afterwards on thetrain. I believe, you know, that these sneak³ thieves meet the boats and if the people are flustered⁴ orseasick they go off with some of the suitcases.”

“Oh, you’re always thinking things like that, Mother,” said Jennifer. “You think everybody youmeet is dishonest.”

“Most of them are,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe grimly.

“Not English people,” said the loyal Jennifer.

“That’s worse,” said her mother. “One doesn’t expect anything else from Arabs and foreigners,but in England one’s off guard and that makes it easier for dishonest people. Now do let me count.

That’s the big green suitcase and the black one, and the two small brown and the zip bag and thegolf clubs and the racquets and the holdall and the canvas suitcase—and where’s the green bag?

Oh, there it is. And that local tin we bought to put the extra things in—yes, one, two, three, four,five, six—yes, that’s all right. All fourteen things are here.”

“Can’t we have some tea now?” said Jennifer.

“Tea? It’s only three o’clock.”

“I’m awfully⁵ hungry.”

“All right, all right. Can you go down by yourself and order it? I really feel I must have a rest,and then I’ll just unpack⁶ the things we’ll need for tonight. It’s too bad your father couldn’t havemet us. Why he had to have an important directors’ meeting in Newcastle-on-Tyne today I simplycannot imagine. You’d think his wife and daughter would come first. Especially as he hasn’t seenus for three months. Are you sure you can manage by yourself?”

“Good gracious, Mummy,” said Jennifer, “what age do you think I am? Can I have somemoney, please? I haven’t got any English money.”

She accepted the ten shilling note her mother handed to her, and went out scornfully.

The telephone rang by the bed. Mrs. Sutcliffe went to it and picked up the receiver.

“Hallo … Yes … Yes, Mrs. Sutcliffe speaking….”

There was a knock at the door. Mrs. Sutcliffe said, “Just one moment” to the receiver, laid itdown and went over to the door. A young man in dark blue overalls⁷ was standing⁸ there with asmall kit⁹ of tools.

“Electrician,” he said briskly. “The lights in this suite¹⁰ aren’t satisfactory. I’ve been sent up tosee to them.”

“Oh—all right….”

She drew back. The electrician entered.

“Bathroom?”

“Through there—beyond the other bedroom.”

She went back to the telephone.

“I’m so sorry … What were you saying?”

“My name is Derek O’Connor. Perhaps I might come up to your suite, Mrs. Sutcliffe. It’s aboutyour brother.”

“Bob? Is there—news of him?”

“I’m afraid so—yes.”

“Oh … Oh, I see … Yes, come up. It’s on the third floor, 310.”

She sat down on the bed. She already knew what the news must be.

Presently there was a knock on the door and she opened it to admit a young man who shookhands in a suitably subdued¹¹ manner.

“Are you from the Foreign Office?”

“My name’s Derek O’Connor. My chief sent me round as there didn’t seem to be anybody elsewho could break it to you.”

“Please tell me,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe. “He’s been killed. Is that it?”

“Yes, that’s it, Mrs. Sutcliffe. He was flying Prince Ali Yusuf out from Ramat and they crashedin the mountains.”

“Why haven’t I heard—why didn’t someone wireless¹² it to the boat?”

“There was no definite news until a few days ago. It was known that the plane was missing, thatwas all. But under the circumstances there might still have been hope. But now the wreck¹³ of theplane has been found … I am sure you will be glad to know that death was instantaneous.”

“The Prince was killed as well?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not at all surprised,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe. Her voice shook a little but she was in fullcommand of herself. “I knew Bob would die young. He was always reckless, you know—alwaysflying new planes, trying new stunts¹⁴. I’ve hardly seen anything of him for the last four years. Ohwell, one can’t change people, can one?”

“No,” said her visitor, “I’m afraid not.”

“Henry always said he’d smash himself up sooner or later,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe. She seemed toderive a kind of melancholy¹⁵ satisfaction from the accuracy of her husband’s prophecy. A tearrolled down her cheek and she looked for her handkerchief. “It’s been a shock,” she said.

“I know—I’m awfully sorry.”

“Bob couldn’t run away, of course,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe. “I mean, he’d taken on the job of beingthe Prince’s pilot. I wouldn’t have wanted him to throw in his hand. And he was a good flier too.

I’m sure if he ran into a mountain it wasn’t his fault.”

“No,” said O’Connor, “it certainly wasn’t his fault. The only hope of getting the Prince out wasto fly in no matter what conditions. It was a dangerous flight to undertake and it went wrong.”

Mrs. Sutcliffe nodded.

“I quite understand,” she said. “Thank you for coming to tell me.”

“There’s something more,” said O’Connor, “something I’ve got to ask you. Did your brotherentrust anything to you to take back to England?”

“Entrust something to me?” said Mrs. Sutcliffe. “What do you mean?”

“Did he give you any—package—any small parcel to bring back and deliver to anyone inEngland?”

She shook her head wonderingly. “No. Why should you think he did?”

“There was a rather important package which we think your brother may have given to someoneto bring home. He called on you at your hotel that day—the day of the Revolution, I mean.”

“I know. He left a note. But there was nothing in that—just some silly thing about playingtennis or golf the next day. I suppose when he wrote that note, he couldn’t have known that he’dhave to fly the Prince out that very afternoon.”

“That was all it said?”

“The note? Yes.”

“Have you kept it, Mrs. Sutcliffe?”

“Kept the note he left? No, of course I haven’t. It was quite trivial. I tore it up and threw itaway. Why should I keep it?”

“No reason,” said O’Connor. “I just wondered.”

“Wondered what?” said Mrs. Sutcliffe crossly.

“Whether there might have been some—other message concealed¹⁶ in it. After all—” he smiled,“—There is such a thing as invisible ink, you know.”

“Invisible ink!” said Mrs. Sutcliffe, with a great deal of distaste, “do you mean the sort of thingthey use in spy stories?”

“Well, I’m afraid I do mean just that,” said O’Connor, rather apologetically.

“How idiotic,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe. “I’m sure Bob would never use anything like invisible ink.

Why should he? He was a dear matter-of-fact sensible person.” A tear dripped down her cheekagain. “Oh dear, where is my bag? I must have a handkerchief. Perhaps I left it in the other room.”

“I’ll get it for you,” said O’Connor.

He went through the communicating door and stopped as a young man in overalls who wasbending over a suitcase straightened up to face him, looking rather startled.

“Electrician,” said the young man hurriedly. “Something wrong with the lights here.”

O’Connor flicked¹⁷ a switch.

“They seem all right to me,” he said pleasantly.

“Must have given me the wrong room number,” said the electrician.

He gathered up his tool bag and slipped out quickly through the door to the corridor.

O’Connor frowned, picked up Mrs. Sutcliffe’s bag from the dressing¹⁸ table and took it back toher.

“Excuse me,” he said, and picked up the telephone receiver. “Room 310 here. Have you justsent up an electrician to see to the light in this suite? Yes … Yes, I’ll hang on.”

He waited.

“No? No, I thought you hadn’t. No, there’s nothing wrong.”

He replaced the receiver and turned to Mrs. Sutcliffe.

“There’s nothing wrong with any of the lights here,” he said. “And the office didn’t send up anelectrician.”

“Then what was that man doing? Was he a thief?”

“He may have been.”

Mrs. Sutcliffe looked hurriedly in her bag. “He hasn’t taken anything out of my bag. The moneyis all right.”

“Are you sure, Mrs. Sutcliffe, absolutely sure that your brother didn’t give you anything to takehome, to pack among your belongings¹⁹?”

“I’m absolutely sure,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe.

“Or your daughter—you have a daughter, haven’t you?”

“Yes. She’s downstairs having tea.”

“Could your brother have given anything to her?”

“No, I’m sure he couldn’t.”

“There’s another possibility,” said O’Connor. “He might have hidden something in yourbaggage among your belongings that day when he was waiting for you in your room.”

“But why should Bob do such a thing? It sounds absolutely absurd.”

“It’s not quite so absurd as it sounds. It seems possible that Prince Ali Yusuf gave your brothersomething to keep for him and that your brother thought it would be safer among your possessionsthan if he kept it himself.”

“Sounds very unlikely to me,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe.

“I wonder now, would you mind if we searched?”

“Searched through my luggage, do you mean? Unpack?” Mrs. Sutcliffe’s voice rose with a wailon that word.

“I know,” said O’Connor. “It’s a terrible thing to ask you. But it might be very important. Icould help you, you know,” he said persuasively²⁰. “I often used to pack for my mother. She said Iwas quite a good packer.”

He exerted all the charm which was one of his assets to Colonel Pikeaway.

“Oh well,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe, yielding, “I suppose—If you say so—if, I mean, it’s reallyimportant—”

“It might be very important,” said Derek O’Connor. “Well, now,” he smiled at her. “Supposewe begin.”

II

Three-quarters of an hour later Jennifer returned from her tea. She looked round the room andgave a gasp²¹ of surprise.

“Mummy, what have you been doing?”

“We’ve been unpacking²²,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe crossly. “Now we’re packing things up again. Thisis Mr. O’Connor. My daughter Jennifer.”

“But why are you packing and unpacking?”

“Don’t ask me why,” snapped her mother. “There seems to be some idea that your Uncle Bobput something in my luggage to bring home. He didn’t give you anything, I suppose, Jennifer?”

“Uncle Bob give me anything to bring back? No. Have you been unpacking my things too?”

“We’ve unpacked²³ everything,” said Derek O’Connor cheerfully, “and we haven’t found a thingand now we’re packing them up again. I think you ought to have a drink of tea or something, Mrs.

Sutcliffe. Can I order you something? A brandy and soda²⁴ perhaps?” He went to the telephone.

“I wouldn’t mind a good cup of tea,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe.

“I had a smashing tea,” said Jennifer. “Bread and butter and sandwiches and cake and then thewaiter brought me more sandwiches because I asked him if he’d mind and he said he didn’t. It waslovely.”

O’Connor ordered the tea, then he finished packing up Mrs. Sutcliffe’s belongings again with aneatness and a dexterity²⁵ which forced her unwilling²⁶ admiration²⁷.

“Your mother seems to have trained you to pack very well,” she said.

“Oh, I’ve all sorts of handy accomplishments,” said O’Connor smiling.

His mother was long since dead, and his skill in packing and unpacking had been acquiredsolely in the service of Colonel Pikeaway.

“There’s just one thing more, Mrs. Sutcliffe. I’d like you to be very careful of yourself.”

“Careful of myself? In what way?”

“Well,” O’Connor left it vague. “Revolutions are tricky²⁸ things. There are a lot of ramifications²⁹.

Are you staying in London long?”

“We’re going down to the country tomorrow. My husband will be driving us down.”

“That’s all right then. But—don’t take any chances. If anything in the least out of the ordinaryhappens, ring 999 straight away.”

“Ooh!” said Jennifer, in high delight. “Dial 999. I’ve always wanted to.”

“Don’t be silly, Jennifer,” said her mother.

III

Extract from account in a local paper.

A man appeared before the Magistrate’s court yesterday charged with breakinginto the residence of Mr. Henry Sutcliffe with intent to steal. Mrs. Sutcliffe’sbedroom was ransacked³⁰ and left in wild confusion whilst the members of thefamily were at Church on Sunday morning. The kitchen staff who were preparingthe midday meal, heard nothing. Police arrested the man as he was making hisescape from the house. Something had evidently alarmed him and he had fledwithout taking anything.

Giving his name as Andrew Ball of no fixed³¹ abode³², he pleaded guilty. He saidhe had been out of work and was looking for money. Mrs. Sutcliffe’s jewellery,apart from a few pieces which she was wearing, is kept at her bank.

“I told you to have the lock of that drawing room french window seen to,” had been thecomment of Mr. Sutcliffe in the family circle.

“My dear Henry,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe, “you don’t seem to realize that I have been abroad for thelast three months. And anyway, I’m sure I’ve read somewhere that if burglars want to get in theyalways can.”

She added wistfully, as she glanced again at the local paper:

“How beautifully grand ‘kitchen staff’ sounds. So different from what it really is, old Mrs. Elliswho is quite deaf and can hardly stand up and that half-witted daughter of the Bardwells whocomes in to help on Sunday mornings.”

“What I don’t see,” said Jennifer, “is how the police found out the house was being burgled andgot here in time to catch him?”

“It seems extraordinary that he didn’t take anything,” commented her mother.

“Are you quite sure about that, Joan?” demanded her husband. “You were a little doubtful atfirst.”

Mrs. Sutcliffe gave an exasperated³³ sigh.

“It’s impossible to tell about a thing like that straight away. The mess in my bedroom—thingsthrown about everywhere, drawers pulled out and overturned. I had to look through everythingbefore I could be sure—though now I come to think of it, I don’t remember seeing my bestJacqmar scarf.”

“I’m sorry, Mummy. That was me. It blew overboard in the Mediterranean³⁴. I’d borrowed it. Imeant to tell you but I forgot.”

“Really, Jennifer, how often have I asked you not to borrow things without telling me first?”

“Can I have some more pudding?” said Jennifer, creating a diversion.

“I suppose so. Really, Mrs. Ellis has a wonderfully light hand. It makes it worthwhile having toshout at her so much. I do hope, though, that they won’t think you too greedy at school.

Meadowbank isn’t quite an ordinary school, remember.”

“I don’t know that I really want to go to Meadowbank,” said Jennifer. “I knew a girl whosecousin had been there, and she said it was awful. They spent all their time telling you how to get inand out of Rolls-Royces, and how to behave if you went to lunch with the Queen.”

“That will do, Jennifer,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe. “You don’t appreciate how extremely fortunate youare in being admitted to Meadowbank. Miss Bulstrode doesn’t take every girl, I can tell you. It’sentirely owing to your father’s important position and the influence of your Aunt Rosamond. Youare exceedingly lucky. And if,” added Mrs. Sutcliffe, “you are ever asked to lunch with the Queen,it will be a good thing for you to know how to behave.”

“Oh well,” said Jennifer. “I expect the Queen often has to have people to lunch who don’t knowhow to behave—African chiefs and jockeys and sheikhs.”

“African chiefs have the most polished manners,” said her father, who had recently returnedfrom a short business trip to Ghana.

“So do Arab sheikhs,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe. “Really courtly.”

“D’you remember that sheikh’s feast we went to,” said Jennifer. “And how he picked out thesheep’s eye and gave it to you, and Uncle Bob nudged you not to make a fuss and to eat it? Imean, if a sheikh did that with roast lamb at Buckingham Palace, it would give the Queen a bit ofa jolt³⁵, wouldn’t it?”

“That will do, Jennifer,” said her mother and closed the subject.

IV

When Andrew Ball of no fixed abode had been sentenced to three months for breaking andentering, Derek O’Connor, who had been occupying a modest position at the back of theMagistrate’s Court, put through a call to a Museum number.

“Not a thing on the fellow when we picked him up,” he said. “We gave him plenty of time too.”

“Who was he? Anyone we know?”

“One of the Gecko lot, I think. Small time. They hire him out for this sort of thing. Not muchbrain but he’s said to be thorough.”

“And he took his sentence like a lamb?” At the other end of the line Colonel Pikeaway grinnedas he spoke³⁶.

“Yes. Perfect picture of a stupid fellow lapsed³⁷ from the straight and narrow path. You’d neverconnect him with any big time stuff. That’s his value, of course.”

“And he didn’t find anything,” mused³⁸ Colonel Pikeaway. “And you didn’t find anything. Itrather looks, doesn’t it, as though there isn’t anything to find? Our idea that Rawlinson plantedthese things on his sister seems to have been wrong.”

“Other people appear to have the same idea.”

“It’s a bit obvious really … Maybe we are meant to take the bait.”

“Could be. Any other possibilities?”

“Plenty of them. The stuff may still be in Ramat. Hidden somewhere in the Ritz Savoy Hotel,maybe. Or Rawlinson passed it to someone on his way to the airstrip. Or there may be somethingin that hint of Mr. Robinson’s. A woman may have got hold of it. Or it could be that Mrs. Sutcliffehad it all the time unbeknownst to herself, and flung it overboard in the Red Sea with somethingshe had no further use for.

“And that,” he added thoughtfully, “might be all for the best.”

“Oh, come now, it’s worth a lot of money, sir.”

“Human life is worth a lot, too,” said Colonel Pikeaway.

 

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