Denison dived for it and came up again quickly. The door banged closed and the recorder chattered insanely. He made for the door and opened it, to find himself in a narrow corridor with another door at the end. As he ran for it he heard Diana Hansen say, from behind him, …Lyn, if you take this attitude it will be the worse for you.’
He heard the words but they made little sense and he had no time to evaluate them. He burst through the door and found himself in the brightly lit hotel corridor. There was no one to be seen, so he ran to the corner where the corridor turned and came to the lifts, and skidded to a halt in front of an astonished couple in evening dress. One lift was going down.
He made for the stairs, hearing a startled scream from behind him, and ran down two flights of stairs, causing quite a commotion as he emerged into the lobby yelling for the police and wearing nothing but a pair of handcuffs and an automatic pistol.
SEVENTEEN
‘Incredible!’ said Carey. His voice was dead as though he, himself, did not believe what he was saying, and the single word made no echo in the quiet room.
‘That’s what happened,’ said Denison simply.
McCready stirred. ‘It would seem that more than water was thrown on to the hot stones in the sauna.’
‘Yes,’ said Carey. ‘I have heard that some Finns, in an experimental mood, have used koskenkorva as Iöylyä.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Denison.
‘A sort of Finnish vodka.’ Carey put down his dead pipe. ‘I dare say some smart chemist could come up with a vaporizing knock-out mixture. I accept that.’ He frowned and shook his head. ‘Could you repeat what you told this fellow about your bloody decoder?’
‘It’s engraved on my memory,’ said Denison bitterly. ‘I said, “It’s a stochastic process—a development of the Monte Carlo method. The Russian output is repeatedly sampled and put through a series of transformations at random. Each transformation is compared with a store held in a computer memory—if a match is made a tree branching takes place leading to a further set of transformations. There are a lot of dead ends and it needs a big, fast computer—very powerful.”’
‘It would,’ said Carey drily.
‘I don’t even know what stochastic means,’ said Denison helplessly.
Carey took a smoker’s compendium from his pocket and began to clean his pipe, making a dry scraping sound. ‘I know what it means. A stochastic process has an element of probability in it. The Monte Carlo method was first devised as a means of predicting the rate of diffusion of uranium hexafluoride through a porous barrier—it’s been put to other uses since.’
‘But I don’t know anything about that,’ expostulated Denison.
‘Apparently you do,’ said Carey. ‘If you thought you were talking gobbledegook you were wrong. It would make sense to a mathematician or a computer man. And you were right about something else; you’d need a bloody powerful computer to handle it—the transformations would run into millions for even a short message. In fact, I don’t think there is that kind of a computer, unless the programming method is equally powerful.’
Denison developed the shakes. ‘Was I a mathematician? Did I work on computers?’ he whispered.
‘No,’ said Carey levelly. ‘What did you think you were doing when you reeled off all that stuff?’
‘I was spinning a yarn—I couldn’t tell him why we were really here.’
McCready leaned forward. ‘What did you feel like when you were spouting like that?’
‘I was scared to death,’ confessed Denison.
‘Of the man?’
There was violence in Denison’s headshake. ‘Not of the man—of myself. What was in me.’ His hands began to quiver again.
Carey caught McCready’s eye and shook his head slightly; that line of questioning was too dangerous for Denison. He said, ‘We’ll leave that for a moment and move on. You say this chap accepted you as Meyrick?’
‘He didn’t question it.’
‘What made you go for him? That was a brave thing to do when he had a gun.’
‘He wasn’t holding the gun,’ said Denison. ‘He was holding the recorder. I suddenly tumbled to it that the recording was a fake. The threatening bit at the end had a different quality—a dead sound. All the other stuff was just ordinary conversation and could have happened quite naturally. It followed that this chap couldn’t have Lyn, and that left me free to act.’
‘Quite logical,’ said Carey. ‘And quite right.’ There was a bemused look on his face as he muttered to himself, ‘Competent!’
McCready said, ‘Lyn was in the hotel lounge yesterday afternoon and a chap sat at the table and began to pump her. Either the flower pot or the ashtray was bugged and the conversation recorded. Diana Hansen was around and caught on to what was happening and butted in, spoiling the game. Of course, she didn’t know about the bug at the time.’
A look of comprehension came over Denison’s face. ‘I heard Diana’s voice on the tape. She was threatening Lyn, too.’
McCready grinned. ‘When this character was foiled he went away, and Diana and Lyn had a row. The bug was still there so that, too, was picked up on the tape. It seems that your daughter is trying to protect her father against the wiles of a wicked woman of the world.’
‘Oh, no!’ moaned Denison.
‘You’ll have to come the heavy father,’ McCready advised.
‘Does Lyn know what happened?’
Carey grunted and glanced at his watch. ‘Six in the morning—she’ll still be asleep. When you went missing I had Mrs Hansen tell her that the two of you were going on the town and you’d be late back. I didn’t want her alarmed.’
‘She’s certain to find out,’ said McCready. ‘This is too good a story to suppress—the eminent Dr Meyrick capering in the lobby of the city’s best hotel as naked as the day he was born and waving a gun. Impossible to keep out of the papers.’
‘Why in hell did you do it?’ demanded Carey. ‘You were bawling for the police, too.’
‘I thought I could catch the chap,’ said Denison. ‘When I didn’t I thought of what Meyrick would have done—the real Meyrick. If an innocent man is threatened with a gun the first thing he does is to yell for the coppers. An innocent Meyrick would be bloody outraged—so I blew my top in the hotel lobby.’
‘Still logical,’ muttered Carey. He raised his voice. ‘All right; the man in the sauna. Description?’
‘He was hairy—he had a pelt like a bear.’
‘I don’t care if he was as hairy as Esau,’ said Carey caustically. ‘We can’t go stripping the clothes off suspects to find how hairy they are. His face, man!’
‘Brown eyes,’ said Denison tiredly. ‘Square face—a bit battered. Nose on one side. Dimple in chin.’
‘That’s the bloke who was quizzing Lyn Meyrick,’ said McCready.
‘The other man—the one with the gun.’
‘I never saw him,’ said Denison. ‘The room was darkened and when I got my hands on him I found he was wearing some kind of a mask. But I…’ He stopped on a doubtful note.
‘Carry on,’ said Carey encouragingly.
‘He spoke English but with an accent.’
‘What sort of accent?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Denison desperately. ‘Call it a generalized middle-European accent. The thing is that I think I’ve heard the voice before.’
At that, Carey proceeded to put Denison through the wringer. Fifteen minutes later Denison yelled, ‘I tell you I don’t know.’ He put his head in his hands. ‘I’m tired.’
Carey stood up. ‘All right; you can go to bed. We’ll let you sleep, but I can’t answer for the local cops—they’ll want to see you again. Got your story ready?’
‘Just the truth.’
‘I’d leave out that bit about the decoder you invented,’ advised Carey. ‘It’s a bit too much.’ He jerked his head at McCready. ‘Come on, George.’
They left Denison to his bed. In the lift Carey passed his hand
over his face. ‘I didn’t think this job would call for so many sleepless nights.’
‘Let’s find some coffee,’ proposed McCready. ‘There’s sure to be an early morning place open by now.’
They left the hotel in silence and walked along Mannerheimintie. The street was quiet with only the occasional taxi and the odd cyclist on his way to an early start at work. Carey said suddenly, ‘Denison worries me.’
‘You mean that stuff he came out with?’
‘What the hell else?’ The corners of Carey’s mouth turned down. ‘And more—but principally that. A man like Meyrick might design just such a contraption—but where did Denison get it from?’
‘I’ve been thinking about it,’ said McCready. His voice was careful. ‘Have you considered the possibility of a double shuffle?’
Carey broke stride. ‘Speak plainly.’
‘Well, here we have a man whom we think is Denison. His past is blocked out and every time he tries to probe it he breaks into a muck sweat. You saw that.’
‘Well?’
‘But supposing he really is Meyrick—also with the past blocked out—who only thinks he’s Denison. Harding said it was possible. Then anything brought out of the past in an emergency would be pure Meyrick.’
Carey groaned. ‘What a bloody roundabout to be on.’ He shook his head decisively. ‘That won’t wear. Iredale said he wasn’t Meyrick.’
‘No, he didn’t,’ said McCready softly. ‘I can quote his exact words. Iredale said, “He’s not Meyrick—not unless Meyrick has had plastic surgery recently.” ’
Carey thought that out. ‘Stop trying to confuse me. That would mean that the man we had in the hotel in Oslo for three weeks was not Meyrick—that the ringer was the other way round.’
He stopped dead on the pavement. ‘Look, George; let’s get one thing quite clear.’ He stabbed a finger back at the hotel. ‘That man there is not Meyrick. I know Meyrick—he fights with his tongue and uses sarcasm as a weapon, but if you put him in a real fight he’d collapse. Denison is a quietspoken, civil man who, in an emergency, seems to have the instincts of a born killer. He’s the antithesis of Meyrick. Ram that into your mind and hold on to it fast.’
McCready shrugged. ‘It leaves a lot to be explained.’
‘It will be explained. I want Giles Denison sorted out once and for all back in London. I want his life sifted day by day and minute by minute, if necessary, to find out how he knows that mathematical jargon. And I want Harding brought here tout de suite.’
‘He’ll like that,’ said McCready sardonically. ‘I’ll pass the word on.’
They walked for another hundred yards and McCready said, ‘Denison is quite a boy. Who else would think of handcuffs as a weapon?’ He chuckled. ‘I think he’s neither Meyrick nor Denison—I think he’s Clark Kent.’
Carey’s jaw dropped. ‘And who the blazes is that?’
‘Superman,’ said McCready blandly.
EIGHTEEN
Denison slept, was interviewed by the police, and slept again. He got up at four, bathed and dressed, and went downstairs. Crossing the lobby he saw the receptionist stare at him, then turn and say something to the porter with a smile. Dr H. F. Meyrick was evidently the hotel celebrity.
He looked into the lounge, saw no one he knew, and then investigated the bar where he found Diana Hansen sitting at a table and reading a paperback. She looked up as he stood over her. ‘I was wondering when you’d show.’
‘I had to get some sleep. Yesterday was a bit wearing.’ He sat down and picked up the ashtray to inspect its underside.
Diana laughed. ‘No bugs—I checked.’
He put it down. ‘Where’s Lyn?’
‘Out.’ At his raised eyebrows she elaborated slightly. ‘Sightseeing.’
A waiter came up. ‘Mittö otatte?’
‘A olutta, olkaa hyvä,’ said Denison. He looked at Diana. ‘And you?’
‘Nothing for me,’ she said. ‘Your Finnish is improving.’
‘Only enough to order the necessities of life. Has Carey come to any conclusions about yesterday?’
‘Carey isn’t here,’ she said. ‘I’m to tell you to sit tight until he comes back.’
‘Where is he?’
‘He’s gone to Sweden.’
‘Sweden!’ His eyes were blank. ‘Why has he gone there?’
‘He didn’t tell me.’ She stood up and picked up her book. ‘Now that I’ve passed on the word I’ll get about my business.’ Her lips quirked. ‘Don’t take any wooden saunas.’
‘Never again,’ he said fervently. He bit his lip. ‘But they might take another crack at me.’
‘Not to worry,’ she said. ‘You’re under Ian Armstrong’s eye, and he’s well named. He’s sitting at the bar now. Don’t acknowledge him—and don’t move so fast he can’t keep up with you.’
She went away as the waiter came up with his beer. He drank it moodily and ordered another bottle. Over at the bar Armstrong was making a single beer stretch a long way. Why Sweden? What could possibly have happened there to drag Carey away? No answer came.
He was half-way through the second bottle when Lyn entered the bar. She sat at his table and looked at his beer. ‘You look dissipated.’
He grinned at her. ‘I feel dissipated. I was up late.’
‘So I’m told,’ she said unsmilingly. ‘I heard a strange story this morning—about you.’
He regarded her warily and decided to riposte. ‘And I’ve heard something pretty odd about you. Why did you quarrel with Diana?’
Pink spots came into her cheeks. ‘So she told you.’
‘She didn’t say anything about it,’ said Denison truthfully. Lyn flared up. ‘Then who did if she didn’t? We were alone.’ She tugged viciously at the strap of her bag and looked down at the table. ‘It doesn’t feel nice to be ashamed of one’s own father. I never really believed anything Mother said about you, but now I can see she was telling the truth.’
‘Calm down,’ he said. ‘Have a drink. What will you have? A Coca-Cola?’
Her chin came up. ‘A dry Martini.’
He signalled to the waiter, suppressing a smile, and gave the order. When the waiter had gone, she said, ‘It was disgusting of you.’
‘What’s so disgusting about Diana Hansen?’
‘You know what I mean. I’ve heard the jet set gets up to some queer things but, my God, I didn’t expect it of you. Not my own father.’ Her eyes were unnaturally bright.
‘No, I don’t know what you mean. What am I supposed to have done?’ he asked plaintively.
A hurt look came into her eyes. ‘I know you went out with that woman last night because she told me so. And I know how you came back, too. You must have been disgustingly drunk to do that. Did she have any clothes on? No wonder they had to send for the police.’
‘Oh, my God!’ said Denison, appalled. ‘Lyn, it wasn’t like that.’
‘Then why is everyone talking about it? I heard it at breakfast this morning. There were some Americans at the next table—you ought to have heard them. It was…dirty!’ She broke into tears.
Denison hastily looked about the bar and then put his hand on Lyn’s. ‘It wasn’t like that; I’ll tell you.’
So he told her, leaving out everything important which would only complicate the issue. He was interrupted once by the waiter bringing the Martini, and then he bore in again to finish his story.
She dabbed at her eyes with a small handkerchief and sniffed. ‘A likely tale!’
‘If you don’t believe me, would you believe the police?’ he said exasperatedly. ‘They’ve been on my neck all morning.’
‘Then why did Diana tell me you were going out with her?’
‘It was the best thing she could have done,’ said Denison. ‘She didn’t want you worried. And about your quarrel—I heard a bit of it on the tape.’ He explained about that, and said, ‘The police have the tape now.’
Lyn was horrified. ‘You mean everyone is listening to that quarrel
?’
‘Everyone except me,’ said Denison drily. ‘Have your Martini.’
Something else occurred to her. ‘But you might have been hurt—he might have killed you!’
‘But he didn’t—and all’s well.’
‘Who could it have been?’
‘I suppose I’m a fairly important man in some respects,’ said Denison tiredly. ‘I told you yesterday that I don’t babble about my work. Someone wanted information and took direct action.’
She straightened her shoulders and looked at him with shining eyes. ‘And didn’t get it.’
He brutally chopped the props from under the hero worship. ‘As for Diana Hansen, there’s nothing in it—not the way you think. But even if there were it’s got nothing to do with you. You’re behaving more like an affronted wife than a daughter.’
The glow died. Lyn hunched her shoulders a little and looked down at the Martini glass. Suddenly she picked it up and drained the contents at a swallow. It took her breath away and she choked a little before putting down the empty glass. Denison grinned. ‘Does that make you feel better?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said miserably.
‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘No harm done. Let’s go for a walk.’ He signalled to the waiter and paid the bill and, as he got up from the table, he glanced over at the bar and saw Armstrong doing the same. It was comforting to have a bodyguard.
They left the bar and went into the lobby. As they approached the entrance a porter came in loaded with baggage, and a burly figure followed. ‘Hey, Lucy; look who’s here,’ boomed a voice. ‘It’s Harry Meyrick.’
‘Oh, hell!’ said Denison, but there was no escape.
‘Who is it?’ asked Lyn.
‘I’ll introduce you,’ said Denison grimly.
‘Hi, Harry!’ shouted Kidder, advancing across the lobby with outstretched hand. ‘It’s great to see you, it sure is.’
‘Hallo, Jack,’ said Denison without enthusiasm, and allowed his hand to be pulped.
The Tightrope Men / The Enemy Page 13