Traitor's Purse

by Margery Allingham

  ‘No,’ he said, struggling into a sitting position, while the whole top of his head seemed to slide backwards sickeningly. ‘No, that’s no good. I mean don’t do that. I’ll get up at once.’

  ‘All right,’ she agreed and he looked at her with deep affection. She was quite obviously worried about him and in her opinion he should have stayed where he was, but he was the boss and she was not arguing. She was so pretty, too, so young and vividly sensible. He liked her brown eyes and wished she would kiss him. The reflection that he had probably lost her for ever was such an incredible disaster that he put it away from him, unconsidered, and tightened his grip on her hand childishly.

  ‘How late am I?’

  ‘About an hour.’ She released herself gently. ‘You start the tour of inspection at ten. I’ll run you a bath and then go down and scrounge you some breakfast. You’ve got twenty minutes before you leave the house.’

  ‘Tour of inspection?’ he said dubiously. ‘What – er – what do I wear?’

  He had hoped for a clue but for once she was unobliging.

  ‘Oh, just the simple uniform of an Admiral of the Fleet, I should think, don’t you?’

  Her voice floating back from the other room was followed by the roar of his bath water.

  ‘Or you might stick to the old fireman’s outfit, of course. That’s bright and cheerful without being vulgar. I say,’ she added as she came in again, ‘what about those things? The servants here look as though they take a valet’s interest in one’s wardrobe. It’ll look so bad if you come in and find them neatly laid out on the bed. Shall I take them down and stuff them in the toolbox of the car?’

  ‘I wish you would. They’re in the cupboard,’ he said. ‘You’re very helpful, Amanda.’

  She did not answer for a moment, but when she emerged from the armoire with her arms full of oilskins her cheeks were bright.

  ‘I’m still the Lieut,’ she said, facing him squarely. ‘You get up and see to that bath or we’ll have a flood. Time’s very short.’

  Short! As the door closed behind him he realized how short time was and cursed himself for sleeping. He could only just remember the later events of the morning. Hutch had brought him home in a car and had put him to bed like a mother. Mercifully they had not given him alcohol at the Police Station. That might well have killed him with his head in its present condition. The Sergeant in charge had apologized, he remembered, and had substituted a stimulant fashionable in official circles at the moment, sweet weak tea. There had been gallons of it. The glucose had probably saved his life.

  He said ‘probably’ because getting out of bed proved to be a major operation. However, the sleep had done him good. Miraculously he had lost his terror of his disability. Now he was merely exasperated by it. He did not realize that this phenomenon was nothing less than a return of his original singleness of purpose and that it was a far more dangerous condition. He only saw that there was work to be done, and he was alone to do it, and that time was desperately short.

  By the time he staggered downstairs he was fairly clear about his immediate plan of campaign. The Masters were his best bet. They knew the secret of 15 if anyone did, since they were making it their main business of the evening. Lee Aubrey must be persuaded to tell him all there was to be known about the Masters. For the rest, since they had obviously arranged a programme for himself when he had been in full possession of his senses, that programme must be part of his original plan and the only thing to do was to go through with it.

  He found Aubrey waiting for him in a brown and yellow morning-room. He was standing by the window looking with tragedian’s eyes at Amanda, who sat behind the silver. His greeting was gravely commiserating, as though he knew that lesser men had weaknesses and he could be tolerant and even a little envious of them.

  Campion, watching him with his new child’s eyes, saw what Amanda liked in him and sized it up like a General inspecting enemy fortifications before the commencement of hostilities.

  He made a hurried breakfast and, only half-way through the meal, realized that it was Lee who was waiting for him.

  ‘It’s too bad we can’t take you with us.’ Aubrey spoke to the girl with a frankness of regret which was almost indecent. ‘But I’m afraid it’s impossible. We’re not exactly wedded to the Government, but we’re rather definitely under its protection, in the eighteenth-century sense, and my instructions only apply to Campion. It’s all quite, quite mad, of course. I sometimes wonder if the fellows who set out these restrictions aren’t using a little too broad a rule. There’s not enough brains to go round, you know. That’s the fundamental weakness in the Government and everywhere else.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ said Amanda cheerfully. ‘I don’t want to see your old Institute. The whole show sounds like a municipal school of conjuring to me.’

  Lee hesitated and it was only after a moment that his charming smile spread over his large curling features.

  ‘You shocked me,’ he said with disarming naïveté. ‘I get very parochial down here. One does. To hear the Masters called “municipal” gives me a sacrilegious thrill.’

  ‘They achieve almost international status, financially at any rate, don’t they?’ Campion’s thought was running on spice islands and he spoke unguardedly.

  Lee raised his head and gave him one of his surprisingly intelligent stares.

  ‘They’re very wealthy, of course,’ he said primly.

  ‘Yes, well, there you are. A penny here and a penny there, it all mounts up over a period of years.’ Campion had intended to sound ignorant, but even he was unprepared for the degree of fatuous idiocy he managed to present.

  Lee looked genuinely embarrassed and glanced at Amanda apologetically.

  ‘When you’re ready we’ll go,’ he said, and later, as he and Campion walked across the turf together, he took it upon himself to explain gently, choosing his words carefully as though talking to a child. ‘Historically the Masters are amazingly interesting,’ he began, reproval in his pleasant voice. ‘The family which was the leading spirit at their foundation never completely rotted away. The Letts have never produced any great men, but nor have they had any downright wrong ’uns, and there’s always been one moderately intelligent business man in every generation. The present fellow, Peter Lett, is just a good sound average brain like his uncle before him, and his grandfather and great-grandfathers before that. They’ve all been religious, respectable, and very parochial, while of course the curious hereditary and semi-secret structure of the society has been a tremendous safeguard. Financially the Masters have had their bad periods but they’ve never gone quite under. Their basic line is so good.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  Aubrey seemed astounded. ‘Patents, of course,’ he said.

  ‘Patents?’

  ‘Well,’ he was laughing a little, ‘it was monopolies to begin with, naturally. Queen Elizabeth gave them their first big break. One of the kids in the little charity school they started up turned out to be the great Ralph Godlee, who invented the Godlee loom. The Masters got a monopoly on the manufacture of the things from the Queen and it revolutionized the wool-weaving industry over here, speeding up the production by about five hundred per cent and making the town’s fortune. The word “abridged” comes from it. It shortened the process. But you know all this as well as I do.’

  Campion coughed. ‘At the moment there are gaps in my education,’ he admitted modestly. ‘Do go on. I find this fascinating. They’ve continued like this, have they? – first educating and then fleecing the investor?’

  Lee made a deprecatory grimace and quite openly thought for a moment or so. He was extraordinarily self-conscious in that one way. His thinking was obvious, almost pantomimic.

  ‘That’s not quite true,’ he said at last. ‘One must be fair. Let’s say that instead of patronizing the arts they’ve always gone in for science and have been lucky in having been able to produce a few valuable inventors who have always made their own fortu
nes as well as adding to the general fund. The Masters had their great successes in the Victorian industrial age, naturally. It’s only comparatively recently that they’ve become so very wealthy. They bought very sensibly at that time, always going for overseas property, tea plantations, and so on. At the moment I think the Institute gives more than value for money every time. Look at the facilities the chosen inventor gets here. Once his idea is approved, every mortal thing he needs is given to him gratis. His patents are acquired for him and he hands out a percentage. Just now things are more than booming, naturally. The Carter cheap process for extracting petrol from coal is going to be an enormous thing, and we’ve one or two pleasant little explosives on the carpet. The whisky bottle you can’t refill is another one of ours too; that’s a great money-maker.’

  Campion listened to him fascinated. He knew it, he had heard it all before, he was sure of that, and vaguely it was all coming back to him. It reminded him most of a rubbing of an old brass. Shadowy outlines of facts were coming up on the blank surfaces of his mind. If only he felt a little more sure of his legs, a little less as though he were ploughing through clouds of cotton-wool which gave beneath him!

  ‘I don’t approve of the Masters in principle,’ Lee was saying pedantically. ‘I don’t like pockets of wealth like that in the country. But, to do these fellows justice, their little constitution does good work. The Ceremony of the Bale of Straw is a nice archaic idea, for instance. All the mummery of the fraternity is connected with the Nag, you know, and they have a ruling that at every half-yearly meeting the Masters shall “put down a bale of straw in the Nag’s stable”; that is to say they shall do something to improve the amenities of the town of Bridge. That’s why the place is so luxuriously drained, watered, and lit. There’s not a scrap of slum property in the area. Fortunes are being spent on the place and the rates are negligible. Here we are. See the sentry? That’s what working for the War House does for you.’

  They had come up over the ridge of high ground which stretched up behind the poplar trees and had reached the private road leading to the Institute, a cluster of roofs surrounded by a high moss-grown wall. The original building was now no more than a museum, but all around it clustered other houses, workshops, and laboratories, representing every phase of British architecture. There was the usual preponderance of Victorian-Gothic and a generous sprinkling of modern pillbox.

  A soldier with fixed bayonet stood on guard before the ornamental iron gates. Lee Aubrey smiled at the man as they passed.

  ‘Gloriously mad, isn’t it?’ he murmured. ‘There’s something rather sweet and childlike about the modern world, don’t you think? “Halt. Give the countersign. Pass friend. Eena-deena-dina-do, you’re a spy.” It’s so monstrously young.’

  ‘Childish perhaps, but hardly sweet,’ said Campion absently. ‘Where do we go first?’

  ‘My dear fellow, that’s entirely up to you. My instructions are that I’m to show you anything that you care to see. Take your choice. On your left you have the bad-tempered but otherwise wholly delightful Carter working with his team of galley-slaves. They’ll be polite because I’m by way of being the Headmaster, but they won’t be hospitable.’

  Aubrey was enjoying himself. He was exaggeratedly proud of the place and its magnificent organization.

  ‘On your extreme right, in that depressing building which looks like a Methodist chapel, is poor old Burgess. He’ll talk all night. He’s having trouble with his reaper. The late trials were nothing less than a fiasco and he may have struck a serious snag. Before you is the library, the office, the filing department, and the drafting rooms. And right over there, as comfortably distant as space will permit, is the star turn of the moment, the War House’s little white-headed boy, our young Master Butcher, mucking about with Anderton’s latest variety of potted hell fire. I have to keep an eye on him and see he controls his quantities. It’s incredible stuff. Half a teaspoonful can make as much mess as a bucketful of T.N.T. Hence the sentry on the door.’

  He paused expectantly and Campion stood irresolute. This was a continuation of the frustration dream of the night before. As far as he could see, the whole thing was being handed to him on a plate and yet he could not put his finger on it.

  ‘It’s almost an embarrassment of riches,’ he said aloud, and added hastily: ‘What’s in the dovecote?’

  The building so unkindly described had caught his attention because of a certain amount of life going on before it. A lorry loading sacks was drawn up in front of the door.

  Lee frowned and the man at his side was aware of the wave of irritation which passed over him. It was a physical thing, as if his personal magnetism had been switched off and on again.

  ‘You’ve got a nose, haven’t you?’ he said, half laughing. ‘You’re one of those people who always move the chair which covers the hole in the carpet and go straight to the cupboard where the dirty washing-up has been hidden. I offer you the exciting drawing-room exhibits and you go direct to the one dull ugly scullery in the place. That’s our cross, the blot on our dignity. We’ve been compelled to shelter fifty beastly little amateur workers simply because we happen to have a lot of room. Think of it! In that sacred building Richardson perfected his adding machine, and now half a hundred little girls who can hardly write are addressing envelopes there for the Ministry of Health. As if there weren’t five million other places in England which would do quite as well. I tell you, I have them shepherded in and out by a police matron and a stalwart from the Corps of Commissioners. Like to come and look at them?’

  ‘Not very much,’ said Campion. They had reached the building by this time and through the long windows he could see rows of bent heads and piles of Government envelopes. It looked dull work, but in his present mood highly preferable to his own, and he envied them.

  As they skirted the lorry a woman with untidy white hair came out of the arched doorway. She was faintly familiar and he recognized her at last as one of Aubrey’s dinner guests of the night before. She was startled to see them and came up with that half-hesitant, half-eager humility which is more common in far younger women.

  ‘We’re getting on very nicely, Mr Aubrey,’ she said appealingly and blushed.

  Campion was surprised. Missing on four out of five cylinders though he was, he could still recognize those symptoms when he saw them, and she was not that kind of woman. A great many ladies who are old enough to know better frequently become hopelessly infatuated with brilliant middle-aged bachelors, but they are seldom of the experienced, intelligent type of gentlewoman which he saw before him. He recollected that she had been very interested in Amanda the last time he had seen her. He glanced at Aubrey, to find him frigid.

  ‘Splendid, Mrs Ericson,’ he said briefly and passed on, leaving a flavour of distaste in the air. ‘Patriotic voluntary work,’ he murmured under his breath to Campion as they turned the corner. ‘Intense stuff.’

  ‘She looked intelligent,’ said Campion and Lee considered the matter.

  ‘Oh, she is,’ he agreed brightly. ‘She’s a widow of the late holder of one of the Masters’ minor offices and quite a power in the town. Very well read, you know, nice, educated, but emotionally unstable, I fancy. Now this is Butcher’s domain, which I take it is your main interest. I say, I admire your magnificent reticence, Campion. It’s impressive.’

  The final observation was made impulsively and as if he meant it.

  Campion said nothing and hoped that his silence might pass for modest appreciation. There was a dull throbbing in the back of his head and he had begun to wonder if his vision was not a little deceptive. All the colours in the bright sunlight tended to blur together dangerously. He took hold of himself again. This was hopeless! There was something to be done and, as far as he could gather, only himself to do it. It was a fine thing if he was going to fall down on it through a god-damn silly bang on the head!

  It was a longish walk to the square concrete tower at the far end of the Institute grounds and when the
y reached it their inspection was not illuminating. Butcher himself turned out to be a cheerful youngster with the face of a ploughboy and thick pebbled glasses. He had a youthful respect for Aubrey, whom he clearly admired, and was pleased to show his laboratories and workshops.

  ‘These are the best of the bunch,’ he said, diving into a rough cupboard in a corner of the main room on the ground floor, which had been deserted and open to the path as they came up. ‘I keep them in their racks because they really are pretty sensational. We call ’em Phoenix Eggs. Don’t drop it, old man, will you? It’s quite safe unless you dig that pin out, of course, but it’s as well not to bounce it about because it’s only a specimen and you never know.’

  Campion looked down at the metal egg so suddenly thrust in his hand. It was a little larger than a hen’s and unexpectedly light. Butcher was fondling another, fitting it lovingly into the hollow under his thumb.

  ‘It’s important to be able to chuck it a decent distance,’ he explained. ‘It’s pretty powerful. The blast is colossal and they even make quite a crater. It’s wonderful really. You can make almost any building look silly with only one of these. It’s the Anderton variety of liquid air, but we’ve improved on it – or at least we’ve utilized every aspect of it. I could hit that old museum over there with this and after the balloon had gone up, oh boy, you wouldn’t know it! This is refined warfare, that’s what this is.’

  He retrieved Campion’s specimen, juggled with the two of them absently, and replaced them in their nests.

  ‘They’re putting up the machines for these now,’ he said. ‘I’ve got some nice little aero models coming along in the basement, but we’re still working on the detonators. Anything else in particular that you’d like to see?’

  ‘No, I won’t keep you from your work. You’ve given me more than fifteen minutes already.’