The Episode at Toledo

by Ann Bridge

  ‘The dwarf?’ Nick was puzzled for a moment.

  ‘Yes, this tiny little priest, who came into the Coro Baixo.’

  ‘I am not quite sure,’ Hetta replied. ‘What the Monsignor said was that if we needed him, he would send this Fr. Martinez instead, because he has no car himself at the Convent; the Father has a motor-bicycle, and could come at once.’

  ‘Well, I do not see why we need a priest to catch Communist agents,’ Luzia said airily. ‘However, no doubt Subercaseaux has some scheme in his head.’ She got up. ‘Well, I will go out and do a little gossiping, I think. No, Nick—you do not come too; they will only ask questions about you, and make congratulations. You can take Hetta for a walk!—and she can tell you all about the assassination, which I am sure you are longing to hear.’

  At dinner that evening the Duke, beaming with satisfaction, announced that he had had a telephone call from Richard, asking if it would be convenient for him and the Ambassador to come on Saturday and stay for a few days? ‘Of course I told him that we should be delighted. I look forward to meeting Sir Noël very much; from all you both say he sounds a most charming person,’ he said, looking benevolently at Hetta and his daughter.

  ‘But how can they come? They were preparing to see this important American politician,’ Luzia exclaimed.

  ‘The visit is postponed, so the Ambassador wished to come now. It suits very well; the vintage will be finished, so I shall be free. We can arrange a drive for Monday.’ He turned courteously to Hetta. ‘I am so glad about your husband too—now he will not miss the shooting,’ he said.

  Hetta with difficulty controlled a little shudder at the last words. Really, this was too ridiculous!—she must not let her nerves get the better of her in this way, she thought, as she expressed her pleasure, and mentioned how much the Ambassador wanted to see Gralheira. She began, nevertheless, to speculate rather anxiously as to whether when Richard came she should tell him about her immediate anxieties. Later she consulted Luzia.

  ‘Let us see what Gil thinks,’ that young person advised. ‘He will be here tomorrow by lunch-time.’

  But before Gil came there was news of yet another arrival. The morning post brought a letter to the Duke from Lord Heriot, acknowledging his invitation, and saying that he and Lady Heriot would be delighted to come and spend a few days at Gralheira, to meet Nick’s future Father-in-law, and see ‘our dear Luzia’ again. He apologised for not writing sooner, but his wife had been a little under the weather; now she was perfectly well, and if it suited, and the notice was not too short, they would like to come next week.

  ‘But this is perfect!’ Ericeira said. ‘Does your Father shoot, Nick?’

  ‘Oh yes, Sir—loves it, especially partridges. He’s rather a good shot, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Splendid. We must telegraph at once, and tell him to bring his guns.’ The old gentleman began counting. ‘You and I, and Atherley and the Ambassador make four, and with your Father five—we ought really to have one more.’

  ‘Perhaps Gil could stay on,’ Luzia suggested.

  ‘Yes—though he is not exactly a crack shot!’ her Father said. ‘I suppose it is too late to ring him up—he will have started. Never mind—I can lend him a gun.’ So another telegram was despatched to Pau, and the Duke took Nick off to the adega; the wine would be ‘resting’ now, he said, and Nick should be able to see the effect of the gas on a lighted flame. The old and the young man went off together, friendly and easy, Nick rattling a box of matches in his pocket; the two young women watched them go.

  ‘It is so nice that Papa and Nick are so happy together,’ Luzia said. ‘And I am very glad that his parents come. I think you will like them, Hetta. Now I will go and see about their rooms—you can look after Gil, can you not? Oh, how I wish we had another bath-room! Two is so few, when the house is full—and English people do not always like a sitz-bath in their room!’

  She had not been gone long when Hetta heard a car on the drive; she went out into the hall, greeted Gil, and took him into the morning-room.

  ‘Luzia is busy for a little while; she asks you to excuse her. I am sure you would like a drink’—but even as she spoke Elidio and a footman came in with a tray. ‘No, not for me, thank you; I have not been driving in the heat!’

  Gil helped himself, and sat down. ‘Do you know why Luzia is in such a hurry to see me?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. It is my fault, really.’ Then, as he looked surprised—‘It is rather a long story; I think I had better begin at the beginning.’

  ‘Do, by all means.’

  Hetta began with her suspicions of the Parrotts’ chauffeur in Madrid, then with what she had overheard at the cigarral, and the accident—‘so fortunate, this was’—on the drive back from Toledo. Gil, since he worked in the Ministry of External Affairs, of course instantly realised the Communists’ obvious desire to embroil Franco with the Americans by contriving some serious incident in Spain; he asked at once what had been done about the chauffeur, and almost groaned with dismay on hearing that he had been given American papers. He asked such sensible questions that Hetta was rather surprised; she liked Gil, but had looked on him as something of a light-weight. Had the rest of the ‘ring’ been rounded up? Only the Hungarians, she told him.

  ‘Ah, but they will certainly have Spanish accomplices. Were these rounded up?’

  ‘No, and now some strange Spaniards are here’—he frowned as she went on to tell him of the men who had peered at her so intently.

  ‘So this was why you asked me about Communist agents, last week?’

  ‘Yes’—and she recounted Subercaseaux’s insistence that he, Gil, should come up, and make some arrangements about having the local police alerted, to keep a watch on the three strangers.

  ‘It is really rather a pity that you did not “come clean”, as the Americans themselves would say, when you spoke to me,’ the young man said. ‘Of course the Monsignor is right—he usually is! The strictest precautions should be taken, but with very great discretion. This will have to be arranged with the help of the Security Police; if I had known the facts I could have seen them about it while I was down in Lisbon.’

  ‘Seen Colonel Marques?’

  He looked at her in surprise.

  ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘No—Luzia spoke of him. He has been here before, she said.’

  ‘Yes—and then also in connection with you, Madame Atherley! You have only to come to Gralheira, it seems, to turn the place into a nest of agents!’ Hetta thought Gil’s smile rather forced as he said this; he looked at his watch. ‘I begin to think I should go back at once. There is no time to lose, and it might be imprudent to telephone, since the Colonel knows nothing of the background. As you say, it is a long story.’

  ‘I am so sorry—’ Hetta was beginning, when Luzia came in.

  ‘Well, what do you think of our latest activities on the Communist front?’ she asked cheerfully. ‘Has she told you everything?’

  The young man did not respond to his cousin’s lively tone.

  ‘Yes—and I do not think it a laughing matter,’ he replied repressively. ‘I think I should go back to Lisbon.’

  ‘Not now?’

  At that moment the Atherley baby and her Nannie appeared outside the window; the nurse held Richenda up to tap on the pane with her little fat hand—Hetta, smiling, hastened out to them.

  ‘This is not at all amusing,’ Gil said then. ‘It can be exceedingly serious. They will certainly have a full dossier on Madame Atherley, dating back to the part she played in the escape of Dr. Horvath; since that chauffeur was deported they may well think she knows too much, and wish to eliminate her before the next American comes, so that their plans do not miscarry a second time.’

  ‘Eliminate her!’ Luzia exclaimed, her eyes wide. ‘You cannot mean kill her?’

  ‘Indeed I do. She is in great danger; these people stick at nothing. Do not alarm her; but until we know more, she should never be outside the house alone.�
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  ‘Then when Richard comes he should be told all about it?’

  ‘Of course. But he is not coming for some time, is he?’

  ‘Oh yes. He and the Ambassador are coming on Saturday—the American visit has been postponed.’

  ‘So. When was this settled?’

  ‘Richard telephoned last night. Papa will arrange a partridge-shoot for them next week.’

  ‘Well, I don’t suppose this will affect their plans,’ Gil said thoughtfully—‘the Communists’, I mean. Richard did not say when he does come?’

  ‘The American personage? No—just that they would come and shoot now, while they had the chance.’

  ‘Well, I had better go. Make my excuses to your Father, please.’

  ‘But you have had no lunch!’

  ‘I will get some in São Pedro do Sul.’ Gil was thinking that from the Policia there he would put through a call to Colonel Marques, ensuring that he could see him at once when he got to Lisbon.

  ‘And your luggage! By now it is all unpacked—I saw Antonio coming out of your room.’

  ‘My luggage does not matter—I have things at home. Does your Father know about these men?’ he asked suddenly, turning at the door.

  ‘Not that they may be agents—just that there are strangers helping at the vintage.’

  ‘Then do not tell him. I shall be back tomorrow. Say that I was telephoned for.’ He went out; a moment later Luzia heard his car rattling round on the gravel of the wide sweep before the door—the sound faded as it passed up the drive.

  The girl sat in great discomfort. Hetta had spoken so mini-misingly of her encounters that somehow her personal danger had bulked less large in Luzia’s mind than the congenial idea of once again outwitting Communists; now Gil’s words brought it sharply before her. Richard had sent Hetta here to be safe, and she was not safe. She sat pondering. What could they do to ensure her safety? She herself had made some vague enquiries about the three strangers yesterday, but had refrained from saying anything to arouse much suspicion; now she realised that she must lose no time in carrying out the Monsignor’s suggestion of putting the estate workers on the alert. But exactly how? She was thinking intently when the door opened, and Nick came in.

  ‘Ah, drinks!—good. What are you having?’

  ‘Nothing—I mean, not so far. I would like some sherry, please.’

  ‘Well, that is a most extraordinary show,’ the young man said, after also pouring himself out a long glass of soda and lime, and sitting down. ‘The match really does go out, the moment it gets to within about six inches of the manta.’

  ‘Oh, does it?’ She spoke abstractedly.

  ‘But of course it does! Surely you must have seen it yourself? Only what I don’t understand is why, when they start treading again and disturb it, it doesn’t affect the men. Your Father says it’s because it isn’t sufficiently concentrated.’

  ‘Oh, does he?’

  Nick looked at her, then went over and gave her shoulder a little shake.

  ‘Wake up, darling! What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘I was thinking—I am sorry.’

  ‘Where’s Gil?’ he asked, suddenly, looking round. ‘Hasn’t he come?’

  ‘Yes—but he has gone again. He comes back tomorrow.’

  ‘Where on earth has he gone?’

  ‘Back to Lisbon, to see Colonel Marques.’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘The Head of the Security Police—we spoke of him yesterday.’

  ‘Oh, he wants to consult him about Mrs. Atherley’s Spaniards, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes. Such matters must be arranged through him.’

  ‘Well they’d better hurry—the wine will be run off tomorrow, your Father thinks, and then the ranchos will have their famous dinner of roast peru, and all clear off. So if Gil and the police want to catch these types, tomorrow is about their last chance.’

  ‘I wish I had known this!’ the girl exclaimed, looking worried. ‘Gil should know it.’

  ‘Can’t you ring him up? I wonder he didn’t ring up this Colonel person, instead of dashing back to Lisbon. No, I suppose he was afraid of the line being bugged.’

  ‘What is this, bugged? Do you mean tapped?’

  ‘Yes—it’s the Yank word for it.’

  ‘Well, I shall telephone him tonight. But now, listen, Nick. Gil thinks Hetta is really in danger; he says she is never to be outside the house alone. You can help with this.’

  ‘Does she know?’

  ‘I do not think she fully realises, and it is better that she should not, because of the baby—another is coming. This afternoon, if she wants to walk, you go with her.’

  ‘What shall you do?’

  ‘I put our people on the alert. Yesterday I was only making enquiries, in a general sort of way; now I must tell them to keep an eye on all strangers, all the time.’

  ‘Who shall you tell?’ Nick was interested in this.

  ‘That is what I was thinking about, when you came in. The keepers, of course; they are everywhere—and the gardeners, and the men who mend the roads, and who work in the fields.’

  ‘What about Senhor Oliveira?’

  ‘I think not; he would probably speak of it to Papa, and Gil does not wish this.’

  ‘Why on earth not? I should have thought the Duque was almost the first person to be told.’

  ‘I imagine for fear he should take some action at once. If agents are left at large, and unsuspecting, one may learn more.’

  ‘That seems rather rough on Hetta, if what Gil thinks is true.’

  ‘Hetta understands,’ the girl said; ‘You heard her yesterday.’ All the same she looked troubled.

  ‘Well, I’ll keep an eye on her, darling. Give me a kiss—I haven’t had one since yesterday!’

  The Duke was rather surprised, at lunch, by Gil de Castelo Branco’s absence, but accepted Luzia’s explanation that he had been telephoned for. In fact he was so absorbed in his wine-making during these last crucial hours, that he had little attention to spare for anything else; he did however ask Luzia if she had told Gil to bring his gun with him when he came back?

  ‘Oh no, I forgot—I am sorry.’

  ‘Telephone to him, then.’

  Luzia promised, glad of the excuse for making the call. But she failed to get hold of Gil, either at the office or at his home; and though she left messages that he was to ring her back, he did not do so. (Colonel Marques’ special number was of course not listed in the directory.) She went to bed frustrated.

  Next morning the Duke dragged Nick down to the adega to see the running-off of the wine; a messenger had been sent up by Senhor Oliveira at 8 a.m. to say that in his opinion it was ready in two of the lagares at least: temperature, saccharinity—all correct. Neither Hetta nor Luzia accepted his urgent invitations to go too, sent to their rooms by maid-servants; Luzia professed that with guests coming tomorrow she must arrange the flowers; actually she wanted to see Gil at the first possible moment, or at least to be in if he did telephone—Hetta pleaded fatigue. But that young man did not arrive till after lunch was over—he said he had eaten on the way, but accepted coffee. Nick and his host had already gone off again, to Luzia’s relief, for Gil was able to explain his delay. Marques had been out all the afternoon and evening, so he had waited in the Bureau of the Security Police; by the time he had had his interview it was too late to telephone. But the Colonel had sent a rather senior officer up to São Pedro do Sul with him, who had alerted the Chief of Police there, with instructions that all the local policemen were to be on the look-out for any strangers, and to report their movements and whereabouts immediately; but not to act without instructions, and if possible to avoid arousing the suspicions of their quarry.

  ‘That will not be easy,’ Luzia observed. ‘Where is he now, this official?’

  ‘He stays at São Pedro—at the Policia, I imagine.’

  ‘He should come at once to the adega, and see these men for himself,’ the girl said.

/>   ‘What good would that do?’ Gil objected. ‘Plenty of people know their faces already—Senhor Oliveira, and Hetta, and these women who cook for the ranchos, and old Fernando; if it is thought wise to arrest them, they can easily be identified. I think we should let the Security Police deal with the matter in their own way; to bring a strange person to the adega might merely put them on their guard, or frighten them off.’

  ‘Well, now I shall go out and do my part, anyhow,’ Luzia said—she felt that the morning had been wasted, waiting for Gil and his telephone call. She went upstairs and fetched a hat, and looked in on Hetta, who was in the nursery with Richenda—it was the Swiss Nannie’s afternoon out.

  ‘No, I should not take her out,’ she said firmly to her guest—‘It is rather hot. When it gets cooler, after tea, we can take her into the knot-garden together—I shall be back by then.’ Easy in her mind on this score, she set out on her rounds.

  As things turned out, even if the official from Lisbon had been brought to the adega it would not have profited him. When Nick and his host came in for tea they reported that the running-off of the wine was practically completed; the famous perus were already being roasted, and they were going back to attend the ranchos’ feast—dinner was to be half an hour later, the Duke told Elidio. ‘If you will excuse us, for this once we will not dress,’ he said to Hetta and his daughter. Gil went with them when they returned to the adega, hoping to see the supposed agents himself, but in this he was disappointed. The ranchos were paid off before they had their grand meal; after it the Duke always took a formal farewell of them, shaking each one by the hand, thanking them for their help, and expressing the hope of seeing them again next year. But on this occasion there were 3 empty places at the long table; the Spaniards, Senhor Oliveira said, had taken their money and gone, saying that they had a long journey before them. The Duke was slightly vexed; Gil and Nick exchanged glances at this behaviour, which increased their suspicions. Gil asked Senhor Oliveira where the Spanish ranchos had gone?