The Malady in Maderia

by Ann Bridge

  “You don’t say so!” The Major sounded genuinely startled. “The last thing I should have expected of our oldest ally!” he said.

  “Oh, it’s not them. They don’t know about it yet. That’s why there’s the hurry; it would probably produce results much faster if we could start our own investigations before the local authorities get onto it, with their red tape.”

  “What is involved—if you can reasonably safely give me an idea?”

  “A lot of animals; one human being—who is already reacting to the antidote.”

  “Did you give it him?”

  “No—one of the local doctors.”

  “And you say the authorities know nothing yet?”

  “Only about the epidemic, which is what they think it is— which stumps them completely.”

  “Then how on earth did poor Philip’s wife—no, don’t try to explain. She always was a wonder-girl!”

  “Yes. In fact she spotted a boat of the same nationality as the inventors, and made the tie-in herself. No one else has bothered about the boat till now.”

  “But did she know about her husband?—that side, I mean? We didn’t tell her. Did you?”

  “No.” Colin swallowed a little; he didn’t want to give Aglaia away if he could help it. “But she was told—very fortunately.”

  There was a slight pause. Colin waited rather anxiously. But he knew the Major took his time on the telephone if he was thinking something over, and didn’t interrupt him. At last “And this doctor man—what does he know, if he used the antidote?”

  “That was a clanger of mine. I brought some over to the girls, and stupidly let him see it. I think he’s probably guessed. I wanted to ask if you knew anything about him; we’re with him now, as a matter of fact, and I’m inclined to think he’ll play. But it would be useful to have anything you knew. He spent some time in France. Shall I give you his name?”

  “You’ll have to, I’m afraid. I haven’t got the files by me, of course—I’m at home.”

  “De Carvalho” Colin said, with the usual reluctance of any Intelligence man to pronounce a name. Again there was silence from the Major’s end of the line for a few moments.

  “Yes, I think I remember the name” Major Hartley said at length. “There certainly was a Portuguese medico working at some point at the place where the French tinker away at this sort of thing. Thin fellow, is he?”

  “Yes, noticeably so.”

  “Then I expect that’s the chap. If so he was pretty smart. I’ll ring Paris tonight—old Jean will know all about him. If it’s the bloke I’m thinking of I should imagine he’s quite reliable; I gathered the French employed him as being less likely to leak than one of their own compatriots. Do you think you can persuade him to put his professional conscience into neutral while we get going?”

  “Yes, I’m beginning to think so. And can you send someone out?”

  “Yes, I’ll get onto that right away, and lay on a plane. I think old Mossy is probably the best person—he’s senior enough to stand up to pretty well anyone.”

  “Is that his only name?” Colin asked. He heard the Major laugh.

  “No—a recondite botanical joke. His name is the same as the Travellers’ and the United Services, only with two B’s!”

  “Oh!” Colin was rather startled. Sir Percy Clubb was indeed senior, and an academic of great distinction.

  “Yes, I’m sure he’s the best person. And he likes a jaunt. I’ll let you know when to expect him—sometime tomorrow, I imagine. Where can I get you?”

  “Well, till ten thirty A.M. tomorrow, here—hold on, I must look out the number.” In the dimness of the box he could not read it—he flicked his cigarette-lighter, peered at the dial, and gave the number.

  “And after ten thirty?” Hartley asked.

  “I simply don’t know—I’m staying in a private house tonight, unbeknownst to the owner!” Colin said, with a small giggle.

  “Can’t the owner be persuaded to let you stay on?”

  “I shouldn’t think so—she’s over ninety and slightly dotty! I’m sorry, but I only got in at six thirty this evening, and Julia had all this laid on.”

  “Well, get her to lay on something for Mossy—I should think he’d be with you by lunch-time—and for yourself too; I’m sure she can manage anything.”

  “All right to go to an hotel?”

  “At a pinch, of course; a private house is always more convenient. See what you can do, and let me know tomorrow when I ring up. I’ll ring our people in Lisbon and get them to arrange everything for the plane, so there’s no trouble with the authorities about landing and so on. ’Night.” The Major rang off.

  Colin went back to the dining-room in a slightly worried frame of mind. A grandfather-clock in the hall rang a firm chime for a quarter to ten as he passed it. How, in little over twelve hours, Julia was to lay on hospitality for Sir Percy he didn’t quite see. However, the first thing was to deal with de Carvalho.

  The doctor and Julia were just finishing second helpings of melon rafraîchie, cubes of the pale-green flesh steeping in sugar and champagne in the darker-green bowl formed by the melon itself; Colin refused any, and asked for coffee, which was served almost at once on the verandah. As he sat down Julia watched him as he had watched her earlier; in seating himself he bent his whole body forward, and she could not be sure if he meant this as a nod or not. Porfirio hovered about offering brandy and liqueurs; de Carvalho, with friendly brusqueness, told him that they would serve themselves—“If we want anything, we will call you.” When the old man had gone—“Does Madame wish to speak alone with her cousin about the results of the coup de fil to London?” he asked, with an amused and rather sly glance at her.

  Colin answered.

  “No, we wish to tell you of them” he said, without a moment’s hesitation. “And we shall hope for your co-operation.”

  The Portuguese looked a little surprised. “A la bonne heure!” he said. “Of course I should wish to assist if it is in my power.”

  “I spoke with my superiors in London” Colin said. “They wish to send someone out here, at once, who is an expert in these matters.”

  “Someone from Porton? But this would be marvellous!” de Carvalho said, with such animation that Julia gave her slow warm laugh; the doctor looked at her now with pleasure.

  “Yes” Colin said. “But it would be preferable if, at least at first, he could conduct his investigations with the maximum of privacy. Would you feel able to help over this?—for a short period?”

  De Carvalho gave a brief laugh. “You mean, would I refrain from informing the authorities, here and in Lisbon, that quantities of sheep, and at least one human being, have been subjected to some form of nerve gas?”

  Colin nodded.

  “Yes, I think I could do that, for a short period, subject to one condition. You see, Monro, I am not a government employee at present; I have a private practice, and conduct my own clinic. But I must ask you one question first—is this gas ultimately lethal, unless treated with an antidote?”

  “So far as our information goes, no; the effect is only supposed to last for three or four weeks.”

  “Ah, c’est mieux, ça. And how soon may we expect this expert to arrive?”

  “Tomorrow—about lunch-time with any luck” Colin said calmly. This statement startled Julia as much as it did the doctor.

  “But how? The Lisbon plane tomorrow only gets in at about the same time as that of today” he exclaimed. “Foresee impossivel!”

  “Ah, but he won’t be coming via Lisbon” Colin said, still calmly; he was beginning to enjoy himself a little. “He will fly direct from England.”

  “But the landing permission! A plane cannot just come in to land without authorisation” de Carvalho objected.

  “Naturally not. Our people in Lisbon are arranging all that with the authorities.”

  The Portuguese eyed the pale young Englishman with a certain fresh respect.

  “Tiens!” he said.
Then he began to chuckle a little, showing his white and gold teeth. “I see, Monro, that your ‘status’, on which you did not wish to enlarge, is by no means negligible! But will our authorities not be informed of the purpose of this flight?”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t think so” Colin said cheerfully. “They’ll probably just be told to expect a plane, and asked to be nice to the occupants—all very politely, of course. But there is one other thing I should be glad of your help about, de Carvalho.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Could you recommend a nice, quiet pension where he could stay? I don’t know anything about the hotels here, because I always go to the Armitages—and in any case we want to make this visit as unobtrusive as possible.”

  “I too, unfortunately, seldom stay in the Funchal hotels or pensãos” the doctor said, looking rather sardonic—then suddenly he slapped his hand on his knee, and began to laugh.

  “What is it?” Colin asked.

  “Let him stay in my clinic! I have two or three rooms vacant, as it happens; and what can be more unobtrusive than a patient in a clinic?”

  “That’s a marvellous idea!” Colin exclaimed—Julia, who of course had not yet heard anything of the conversation with Major Hartley, looked a little doubtful; Colin noticed her expression, and now gave a slight nod.

  “Then he can see my other patient, if he wants to,” de Carvalho pursued. He was obviously quite exhilarated by this notion of his; Colin guessed, rightly, that he was delighted at the prospect of himself being able to see something of the expert. “And you—where do you stay? Do you remain here?” the doctor went on.

  “Only for tonight—I haven’t settled about tomorrow.”

  “Then why not come to the clinic too? Then you and ce monsieur are together, without any complicated arrangements or plans. I assure you the food is quite good—all my patients say so!”

  “Thank you very much—I accept that invitation” Colin said at once. “It will be most convenient.”

  “You will have transport for him, of course?”

  “Madame will arrange that” Colin said confidently, with a smile at Julia.

  Julia, still in the dark about both the expert, and the nature of Hartley’s views on the doctor, had been feeling rather as if she were being swept off her feet; irrationally, she had had a swift movement almost of irritation with Colin’s breezy assumptions —now, when he smiled at her so confidently, she suddenly smiled back, with a warm and happy glow which de Carvalho thought the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Her face was lit from within by a sudden interior happiness: Colin was growing up!—he was taking decisions on his own, without nervousness or petulance or caginess. How it had come about, what inner happenings had led up to it, she might learn later; but it had happened, and it was a wonderful thing.

  “Madame agrees with that?” de Carvalho asked, his eyes on her face.

  “Most certainly” she said; she was radiant.

  “That is settled, then” he said, still watching her, puzzled—there was something here he did not understand, but he let it go. “And now” he pursued, “there are certain matters which are still obscure to me, and on which I should much like enlightenment; as much as you feel it proper to vouchsafe, that is. But I am not sure to which of you I should address myself. You would appear to work as an équipe.”

  “Oh yes; we have been partners for years” Julia said readily. “But address your questions to my cousin—he is the serious partner! I am only a freelance; I have no ’status’ “ she ended gaily.

  Her cousin gave her an odd look, the doctor thought, at this utterance, but he said nothing.

  “Nevertheless, your cousin himself told me that it was Madame who had sent for him to come to Madeira. What I am principally interested in is why she should have supposed that the trouble here was caused”—he paused for a moment—“enfin, was caused by something of which he had special experience?” he ended rather awkwardly.

  “Oh, that was because of what you said to old Dr. Fonseca” Julia replied easily.

  The doctor was taken aback.

  “What did I say to Dr. Fonseca?”

  “You told him the only symptoms you had ever seen that were in the least like the little boy’s were those of some workmen at a factory in France who were careless about wearing their respirators.”

  “But—Madame was not present when I spoke with this old man!” de Carvalho objected.

  “No, but Madame Monro was; and she put two and two together, and came up to the Serra and told me about it.” The radiance had left Julia’s face now. “So we decided to send for Monsieur Monro,” she ended rather abruptly.

  “So you see, de Carvalho, you are the ultimate cause of my being here!” Colin put in lightly.

  “Yes, I see. One can never get ahead of the ladies!” the doctor replied, in the same tone; he was as quick at taking a hint as the next man. He glanced at his watch. “It is late” he said, getting up—“I ought to return to my patients.”

  “Shall I run you back?” Julia asked.

  “I thank you—but I will just telephone for my car, if I may.” He started towards the hall; Julia, to his surprise, went with him.

  “Excuse me, but I think I left something in the telephone box” she said; she slipped quickly in, and stooped down, as if searching on the floor. When she re-appeared—“No, it isn’t there” she said. “It doesn’t matter. Goodnight, Monsieur le Docteur. You are being very good to us.”

  He bent over her hand and kissed it.

  “Au revoir, I very much hope, Madame.”

  Julia went back to the verandah and waited while Colin and Porfirio saw the doctor off; Colin soon returned to her.

  “I suppose you ought to be getting back too” he said.

  “Oh, not for a little while. There are one or two things we ought to settle first. Is there any whisky on that tray?”

  “Yes, and soda too. Have one?”

  “Yes please.”

  “What did you dodge into that absurd box for?” Colin asked, as he poured out her drink.

  “For the pad. The old fellow had written Hartley’s name and the Office number on it.” She put her hand down the front of her dress, drew out the pad, and tore off five or six of the top sheets. “There—now it can go back. I don’t suppose it matters, since he’s going to put up the person from Porton in his clinic—it was just habit” she said, tearing the thin leaves into small pieces. “Now, do tell me what goes on. Is Hartley really sending a boffin out tomorrow?”

  “Well, rather a king boffin really” Colin said, grinning. He told her of the Major’s dispositions, ending with—“Only he said you would have to lay on a quiet place for him to stay.”

  “What cheek! Well anyhow, you’ve saved me the bother of doing that.”

  “I’m not so sure. I think your beaux yeux may have had a good deal to do with it, as usual! But what about a car for Sir Percy? Can you keep the little Austin?”

  “Not without asking Terence. Is it too late to ring him up now?”

  Colin looked at his watch.

  “Twenty to eleven—oh no, that’s all right. Let’s go and do it.” He got up.

  “No—half a minute. How much can I tell Terence of what I want it for? And what about Aglaia? He’s sure to ask if you’ve come, and when she may expect you at the quinta.”

  Colin sat down again.

  “Yes, we must plan something—I see that” he said slowly. “It’s a bit dicey. Let me think.”

  While he thought, Julia sat silent, drinking whisky and watching the light-caught sprays of bougainvillea round the edge of the verandah. At last—“Can one get up to see these sheep without going past the quinta, do you remember?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, without looking at a map—I think so.”

  “Yes, of course!” he said. “I remember now. Only the turning off the main road is pretty close to the house.”

  “Will he want to see the sheep?”

  “Yes indeed; and th
e place—and the whole lay-out. All that is frightfully important.”

  “Then Terence will have to be told, at once, that the King Boffin is coming.”

  “Why?”

  “To lay on the hammock-men—unless he’s a member of the Alpine Club! It’s a fearful climb. And that will take some time, too.”

  Colin was silent again—and again Julia left him alone. Here he was facing his private problem, his relationship with his wife, she felt sure; and strongly, in her spirit, she held him to his newly born courage, his fresh resolution. She saw, with thankfulness, when his thumb began to jerk, that he grasped it firmly with his other hand, and so kept it still. After a longish pause he spoke.

  “Yes, I think you’ll have to let Terence know that the Office is sending out a big shot—I’d forgotten about the hammock-men. When I went up we all climbed. Don’t say anything about Porton.”

  “Right.”

  “And ask if you can keep the small car, or get him to tell you where we can hire a bigger one.”

  “Right” Julia said again. “Do I tell him where you’ll both be staying?”

  She was reassured to hear his old boyish giggle.

  “Yes, tell him that too—it’ll amuse him!” He paused again. “As for Ag” he said then, “when you’ve fixed all that with Terence—and told him to keep quiet about it—I’ll speak to her myself.”

  “Good-so” Julia said, getting up.

  Of course Porfirio was lurking in the hall when they went out, and again volunteered to procure o numero; Julia asked him to get the Senhor Armitage at the quinta—“el Senhor mesmo.” After a moment or two the old man stepped out and ushered her into the box. “Terence?” she asked.

  “Yes indeed. And I’m in a room by myself! How are you doing?”

  “Marvellously—we had a wonderful dinner. I adore Porfirio! But look, Terence—more help wanted.”

  “Ask away” was all he said.

  “Well, can I keep the small car for another two or three days? If not, tell me a place where I can hire one.”

  “No, that’s all right—keep it. Colin turn up all right?”

  “Yes. He’ll want to speak to Aglaia in a minute, but there’s something else I want to fix with you first. Look, if it’s at all possible I want you to keep this entirely to yourself for the moment. O.K.?”