The Malady in Maderia

by Ann Bridge

  Of course this curious feature of Madeira had to be explained to the newcomer—with recourse to the map—the two climates, and the two different vegetations. “That’s what’s so splendid about the Paúl da Serra” Julia said with enthusiasm; “it’s slap in the middle, so you can see both sides at once, where you first get up, the moist and the dry—two different worlds, really.”

  “H’m—yes. I hope Mr. Armitage will be able to tell us which climate prevails on the plateau itself” Sir Percy said, a little ruefully.

  “Could I ask you one more thing?” Julia said earnestly.

  “By all means.”

  “Why does the climate, or the temperature, matter so much?”

  “Well, on the assumption—which for the moment I think we must make—that we are concerned with a highly volatile gas, which powerfully affects the nervous system of both humans and animals, we already know, from tests with previous, similar agents, that meteorological conditions—moisture and temperature—have a great bearing on the effectiveness of the agent on the people—or the animals—subjected to it.”

  “Half a minute—I expect I’m being dumb—is the gas the agent?”

  “Yes” Sir Percy said smiling. “That is our normal jargon. I imagine you are more accustomed to think of agents in human terms?”

  “I’m afraid so” Julia said, laughing a little. “Do carry on.”

  “Well, that being so, there is the question of getting a sufficient dosage, which brings one on to the means of distribution. There is what we call the C.T. factor: concentration multiplied by time. It is a little complicated” he said, half apologetically. “The evening is usually considered the most favourable time, as the gas hangs about for longer then. That will not do in this case, because of the boy—if it is certain that he went up in the morning, the release cannot have taken place overnight.”

  “Why not?” Colin asked, surprised.

  “Because even with a really heavy concentration, and favourable climatic conditions, the gas will not normally continue to affect organisms after two hours, at the outside. The smell may remain much longer—it does with some of the agents commonly in use for riot control—but the activity is over by then.”

  “If this is a new agent, would the time factor necessarily be the same?” Colin enquired.

  “I think so; or something very near it. It may be possible to produce variations in the effects—what parts of the nervous system are affected, duration and so on—but the way in which all gases disperse must be practically the same; this is simply a question of meteorology. And Dr. de Carvalho is satisfied that it was in the morning that the boy went up.”

  “That is what his mother told Mrs. Monro, undoubtedly” Julia put in.

  “Yes, I am positive that this is the case” the doctor said. “Now that he has recovered, he talks quite lucidly.”

  “So the gas must have been distributed in the morning. The question is, how? A normal method, for destroying insects or vegetation, is to use an aeroplane. Is there any possibility of that having been done?” Sir Percy asked, looking at de Carvalho.

  “Quite out of the question, I should say” the Portuguese answered. “Where could it operate from? Not from Santa Cruz— the authorities there would have noticed the attachments, which are unmistakable.”

  “Could the vessel you saw have carried a small plane?” Sir Percy asked, turning to Julia.

  “No, not possibly, I shouldn’t have thought” she said. “And if a plane was to do the spraying, why should ten men go up and spend the night?”

  “An excellent question! Why indeed? No, I think they must have found some means of distributing it by hand.”

  “By aerosol sprays, such as one uses against insects?” Colin asked.

  “Well, hardly those; they would have needed hundreds, if not thousands—the weight would have been colossal! No, more likely large knapsack sprayers, such as are used for insecticides on vegetation; in those the stuff could be carried in a very concentrated form.”

  “And the sprayers could of course have been wrapped up so as to pass for camping equipment—you said the hammock-men mentioned masses of that” Colin said, turning to Julia.

  “Yes.”

  Sir Percy was using his little ruler again; then he did some sums on a small pad.

  “All the same” he said at length, “it is a problem how even ten men could have covered the whole area in the time, to get a simultaneous distribution.” He turned to Julia. “You say you only went half-way across—is it certain that all the sheep were affected?”

  “Yes, they were.” It was de Carvalho who replied. “The veterinary surgeon here, Pereira, went up last Tuesday, and walked to the extreme farther end of the plateau, and found the animals in the same condition all over it. Naturally he and I have been in touch.”

  “And he has presumably also taken blood samples from the sheep?”

  “Yes. He has sent his to the laboratory in Lisbon.”

  “So we may expect to hear their findings shortly.” Sir Percy drummed on the map with his fingers. “But even if both lots of blood show cholinesterase inhibition, it does not solve the problem of how the distribution can have been carried out.”

  “Might they conceivably have found some form of soluble container, which could have been placed in position during the night, and be dissolved by the action of sunlight?” the doctor asked, rather hesitantly.

  “I suppose it is just possible—though I cannot think of such a substance off-hand” the scientist said. “And could they count on sunlight next day?”—he turned to Julia.

  “The sun usually rises!” she said. “But I see what you mean— the mist. We shall have to ask Mr. Armitage about that— whether it often comes on first thing.”

  “Even so, is it the sort of ground one could plod over in the dark, methodically?” Sir Percy went on.

  “Oh, not too bad—anyhow wasn’t it full moon about a fortnight ago?” Colin said.

  At this point a bell rang loudly from the direction of the house. De Carvalho got up.

  “The almoço” he said. “Gentlemen, I am afraid I must ask you to go to your apartments and take your meal; I am very strict that all my patients should eat punctually!” he added, with his sardonic grin. “And I know that Madame easily gets hungry!”

  “Yes, I’m quite ready for some nourishment” Julia said gaily.

  “But you return this afternoon? And if possible bring Mr. Armitage?” Sir Percy said.

  “I’ll do my best. Thank you for the nice drinks” she said to de Carvalho.

  “Where shall you eat?” Colin asked, catching her arm.

  “Oh, Reid’s, I should think. There’s not time to get up to the Serra and back.” She moved away with her light graceful step— the three men watched her as they followed.

  10

  In Fact Julia did not immediately go in search of nourishment. Instead she went to the Shipping Office to write and leave a note for Terence—it had occurred to her that her guarded telephone message, asking him to ring up Dr. de Carvalho, might worry him on Marcusinho’s account. She sat in the big main hall at one of several tables which were furnished with writing-paper, writing away, when Terence himself suddenly stood over her. “Hullo! What are you doing here?”

  “Writing to you!” she said, getting up, and smiling at him. “I tried to telephone you, but they said you were out.”

  “So I was—now I’ve come in again! What can I do for you next?”

  “Oh dear dear Terence, what a pest you must find me! But this time it isn’t for me, it’s for the King Boffin.”

  “And what does he want next?”

  “To talk to you. Could you possibly go to the clinic to see him this afternoon?”

  “I might. What’s he doing now?”

  “Having lunch in his room—very strict, the clinic rules are!”

  “Have you had lunch?” Terence asked suddenly.

  “No.”

  “Well, come and have a bite with me;
then perhaps you can tell me what he thinks I can tell him.”

  “Oh good—I am hungry. What about the car?—or do we go in it?”

  “No, we go on foot. Where is the car?” he asked, as they emerged onto the steps.

  “Just up there.”

  “Oh, that’s all right.” He spoke to the commissionaire, and then led her along the hot street, and into a small hotel; they passed through the hall, through the restaurant, and out into another of Funchal’s amazingly flowery gardens, where tables stood under trees.

  “What a nice place” Julia said, looking about her with satisfaction. “I never saw such heavenly gardens. I do love Madeira!”

  “So do I. Let’s settle what to eat, and then you can come clean about your boffin.” They ordered a simple cold meal, and Terence, to save time, fetched drinks from the bar himself; over them—“Now, what does this type from Porton want to know?” he asked.

  “About the climate up on the Paúl da Serra—whether the mist comes up in the early morning, and what the temperature is at night, and early—all that sort of thing.”

  “What on earth does he want to know that for?”

  In the brief space of time since Terence had asked her to lunch, Julia had made up her mind that she would really have to “come clean” to him about Sir Percy’s mission; that gentleman would almost certainly do so himself, but anyhow she was not going to wait on his initiative. She leant across the table towards her companion.

  “Because the temperature and the moisture, and all that, make a difference as to how well nerve gas works” she said, with slow deliberation, in a low voice.

  “Nerve gas!” But Terence also kept his voice down, in spite of his astonishment; he glanced round him. The nearest occupied table was some yards away; the two swarthy young men at it were talking in Spanish through mouthfuls of food, and laughing. “Is that what’s wrong with the sheep?” he asked, in a low tone.

  “Yes—and with Marcusinho too.”

  “But you said Marcusinho was better.”

  “Yes—it’s him that makes it so certain” Julia said, ungrammatically but lucidly. “Colin brought over some of the antidote, in case any of us should get into it; de Carvalho happened to see the stuff, and tumbled to it at once; he gave Marcusinho a shot, and he was better in no time. Then he knew, of course.”

  “Did Colin bring enough for the sheep?” Terence asked. Julia gave her slow laugh.

  “No, but Colin says they’ll recover fairly soon.”

  “How on earth does he know that?”

  The laughter died in Julia’s face. She explained hastily about the defector’s information concerning this new gas, its temporary effect, and its purpose for use against England. “That was what Colin and my husband went to look for in Central Asia” she said, holding her voice steady. “Well, they didn’t manage to find out about it there, because Philip got killed; but it looks as if it was the same stuff that’s been tried out here, what with that trawler and all—and I should rather like it to be identified this time. It—it would make it seem less of a waste” she ended, slowly.

  The man looked at her with horrified pity—for a moment he said nothing.

  “Well, of course I will help in any way I can” he said at last. “But I don’t know about the temperature up there at night. The mist is rather apt to do what it did last week—come up in the middle of the day; one has a better chance of seeing the view if one goes up fairly early. I don’t know what your man is to do about night temperatures.”

  “He said he was going to take temperature readings.”

  “Ah, then he’s probably brought some form of recording thermometer. I wonder if he’ll want stakes to put it on, so that the sheep don’t trample it down?”

  “No idea” Julia said.

  “Well, I tell you what—I’ll flip round and see him this afternoon, but I won’t stay long; I think I’d better clear everything up at the office, and come up with you tomorrow. How would that be?”

  “Excellent—I hoped you might be able to. He’ll probably think of questions on the spot that mightn’t occur to him down here.” She paused. “What shall you say to Ag?” she asked then.

  “Nothing! Poor little one, she was fearfully upset last night after she’d spoken to Colin on the telephone—I can’t imagine what he said to her.”

  “He was trying to make her understand a little about being married to someone in Intelligence” Julia said in rather a chilly voice.

  “Well, that wanted doing” Terence agreed.

  They finished their lunch, still speculating about this curious mission; at one point Terence raised the same query as Julia had done—why Madeira?

  “Oh, Sir Percy explained that to me” she began. “Because—”

  “Hold on” Terence interrupted her. “Did you say Sir Percy? You don’t mean that Sir Percy Clubb is your boffin?”

  “Yes, he’s the one. Why?”

  “But he’s a frightfully big shot—a Nobel Prize-winner, and an O.M., and all sorts! I thought you meant some little type in pebble-lenses.”

  “I did say he was a King Boffin, didn’t I?” Julia said laughing.

  “Yes, you did. But him! Oh well, never mind. What did he say about the Commies doing this in Madeira?”

  Julia repeated the climatic explanation that Sir Percy had given her.

  “Yes, that makes sense” Terence observed. “What are you looking at?” he asked suddenly.

  “Those Spanish boys—they seem to be making a film.”

  Terence looked round. The two young men had propped a cine-camera on a tripod, and one of them was turning the handle, making a whirring noise, while the other played the fool with a waitress at the door leading from the restaurant—taking a tray from her, and trying to make her sing. “Mais forte” he kept telling her; the girl giggled too much for her song to be very audible.

  “They don’t seem to be taking it very seriously” Terence said, after watching for a few minutes, “I think they must just be amateurs. They’ve got rather a good machine, though.” He looked at his watch. “Goodness, it’s later than I thought. I must get back.”

  “When shall you come to the clinic?” Julia asked.

  “Do you know, I don’t think I will come this afternoon” he said. “If I’m coming up with you tomorrow there’s no point, really. Only find out from the great man whether he wants supports for his thermometer, and how many, and give me a ring before I go home, will you?”

  “Yes, of course. Where do we meet you, by the way?”

  “At the car-turn, I think. I’ll be there at nine fifteen; it only takes about an hour, but we don’t know how fast your éminence grise walks.”

  “The funny thing is, he isn’t gris at all” Julia said. “His hair’s jet black, practically, and yet he gives the impression of being quite elderly.”

  “Perhaps he dyes it” Terence said—Julia’s laughter at this suggestion made heads turn as they passed through the small restaurant. As they walked back towards the car—“Shall you be in all this afternoon?” she asked.

  “Bother—no, I shan’t. And I don’t know when I shall be in or out, because I must try and shift a couple of appointments I had for tomorrow.”

  “Oh well, I’ll find out about the stakes, and drop a note at the office. Number and height is all you want to know, isn’t it? I needn’t say anthing else. All right, I’ll go and settle that, and then go home.”

  “Up to the Serra?”

  “Yes. I’ve rather neglected Mrs. H. this last day or two.”

  “Don’t overdo it” he said. “Pity the doctor hasn’t a room for you too.”

  “Oh, I’m all right. Thank you for everything, and for the lunch.” She got into the car and drove off.

  Julia polished off her business at the clinic very quickly. She sent up a message asking for Colin, and waited for him in the car; when he came down she explained that Terence Armitage was coming with them tomorrow, and was therefore too busy to get to the clinic that aft
ernoon, and passed on his question about the stakes for the thermometer. Colin protested a little that Sir Percy was expecting him—Julia brushed that aside.

  “He hasn’t bought him!” she exclaimed. “Go and ask the old boy about those stakes, and let me get home. I want a shut-eye.”

  He looked at her with concern. “Are you tired? I wish you didn’t have all this driving.”

  “Well, none of us had too much sleep last night!” she said. “And it will be an early start tomorrow—do you think you can have him ready and fed by a quarter past seven? We ought to leave here by then at latest, to get to the car-turn by nine fifteen.”

  “I’m sure I can. All right, I’ll go and ask about the stakes.” He went upstairs, and was back in a very short time.

  “He wants a dozen, three feet six inches high, and stout, so that the sheep can’t push them over. And then he wants some battens, four twelve-inch, four eighteen-inch, and four ten inch. And a hammer and nails.”

  Julia wrote all this down. “O.K.—I’ll see to that,” she said. “Goodbye, my dear.” She started the car.

  “No, half a second. What’s Terry going to do about Ag?” Colin asked.

  “Oh, he’s not saying where he’s going.”

  “Good. ’Bye, darling.”

  Back at the Shipping Office Julia went in and wrote the bare words that Colin had used, omitting the reference to the sheep, put the sheet in an envelope, stuck it down and sealed it with a stamp from her hand-bag—as she went out she gave the note to the commissionaire; he had seen her with Terence, and she felt he would certainly see that it reached its destination. Then she drove up to the Serra. A babel of the children’s voices reached her from the garden as she parked the car—“Goodness, they are noisy!” she muttered. She went straight upstairs and tapped on the door of Mrs. Hathaway’s sitting-room; as before Mme. Bonnecourt opened it. Yes, Madame was awake, and was taking her tisane, the Frenchwoman said; “Entrez, Madame, s’il vous plaît.” Julia asked if she might have a cup of tisane too, and then went in to her old friend.

  “My dearest child, I am glad to see you! Pauline said you only got in terribly late last night.”