The Malady in Maderia

by Ann Bridge

  “Now, very slowly—we don’t want a lot of dust to fly out” Julia said. “Up she goes.” They raised the lid, and stood looking at the contents of the boot.

  At first sight there seemed to be nothing very out of the ordinary. A large squashy rush basket with two handles, such as one finds all over Portugal, lay on its side in the centre; the rest of the space was filled with the gaily striped blankets which peasants use there.

  “Their lunch, do you suppose?” Colin said.

  “Well, let’s see, anyhow.” As she spoke Julia took the basket by the two handles, and made to lift it. “Gosh! What a weight! No, I don’t think it’s lunch” she said. “Give me a hand.”

  With Colin’s help she raised the basket to an upright position, and they looked inside. An oblong metal box painted in battleship grey, some eighteen inches long and half as wide, met their eyes—on one long side they could just see a large dial and some smaller ones.

  “Good grief!” Colin exclaimed. “Let’s get it out—you pull at the basket—careful.”

  In a moment they had the object free of the basket; Colin set it down on the blankets.

  “So that’s what they use! The bastards!” he said.

  “What is it?” Julia asked. “Wireless?”

  “Yes, a transceiver; a transmitter and receiver. We use this sort of thing sometimes.” He examined the machine with some care. “Yes—I expect it operates on the eighty-meter band,” he said at length.

  “What range will it have?”

  “Two hundred miles minimum—possibly quite a bit more.”

  “Two hundred miles will be ample for the trawler, I should say; wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes. They must have an aerial, though” he said. “Let’s find that.”

  They soon came on it, rolled into a fold of the blankets; it was a collapsible one, but when Colin extended it fully it was some eight feet in length; there were also some metal clips which fitted the base.

  “Neat—mount it on the bumper” Colin remarked. “See?” He showed her. “I expect they dodge out of town to send their reports.”

  “And how would they get their instructions?—at fixed times?”

  “Could do—more likely take the thing in their room and fix the aerial to the shutter, on the window-sill.” He pushed the aerial together and replaced it in the fold of blanket.

  “Wait a minute” Julia said; she took it out again, and holding it in a piece of her skirt, wiped it carefully with the bottom of her petticoat.

  “Ah, that’s right. This is a pretty sophisticated outfit—they might well be able to deal with finger-prints. We’d better wipe the machine too.”

  Julia took her head-scarf a yard or two away and shook it thoroughly; then with it she wiped the machine all over before replacing it in the rush basket. When this was back in its old position, well wedged among the blankets, they lowered the lid of the boot.

  “Now, do you think you can make this infernal plaster stick again?” Colin asked rather anxiously.

  “I think so.” She knelt down on the dusty road behind the car, bent over the boot, and unrolling one strip of plaster she breathed on it hard, and holding it taut on the pencil, inch by inch pressed it down into place. It stuck, except at the very tip. “We’ll have to cut that off” she said. “Give me my little étui— it’s in my right-hand pocket.” Colin pulled the small case out from the pocket of her dress—“Now the scissors” she said. He found a small pair of nail-scissors in the case, and while she held the pencil, he cut along the stretched material; as he cut, she pressed the newly formed edge down. “There you are!” she said with satisfaction.

  “Perfect” Colin said. They treated the other three strips in the same way, and rubbed dust over the tiny marks left where the ends had been cut off; when they had finished, to all appearance the boot was just as they had found it.

  12

  Colin Was Very silent as they drove down towards the Quinta. Julia was a little surprised; she had expected him to be rather exhilarated by their discoveries of the past twenty-four hours—settling both the identity of the local accomplices, and their means of communication with the trawler, at least. Warily, she threw a fly over him.

  “I wonder if Polunsky’s name will say anything to Major Hartley?” she remarked casually.

  “We shan’t know that for a day or two” he said. “That will have to go by letter; I see now. No—it’s de Carvalho I’m worrying about.”

  “Oh—why him?”

  “I can’t see how much longer he can agree to keep quiet. Here we have what practically amounts to certainty that the Russians are using this place as a proving-ground, helped by Spanish thugs. You know how the Portuguese feel about Spanish Communists.”

  “And how! But must he be told yet?—about Polunsky, I mean?”

  “That’s what I can’t make up my mind about. He’s being such a help, I feel we ought to play reasonably fair with him!”

  Still earnestly discussing this, they found themselves at the Quinta. “Cripes! I meant to wait on the main road” Colin exclaimed.

  “Oh well, you wait in the car—I’ll go in and find Penelope” Julia said. But even as she got out of the car, the front door opened, and Aglaia came flying down the steps, her face alight.

  “Darling! You’ve come at last!” she cried, and ran to her husband with outstretched arms.

  “Well, not really” he said, though returning her eager kisses fondly.

  “What do you mean? Where’s your luggage?”

  “In Funchal—I’m still staying there. Where’s Penel?”

  Julia had gone up and rung the front door bell; she was vexed with herself for not having remembered to let Colin wait up on the road. Of the maid who answered it she asked if she could speak with the Senhora?—only to be told that the Senhora had gone out with friends, and would not return till the evening. No, she had not taken the large car; she had gone in the car of the friends. Reluctantly, Julia turned back to the other two— Aglaia, predictably, was already in tears.

  “ Why can’t you do it from here? I could drive you—there’s no need for Julia to drive all the time” she was saying.

  “Aglaia, can you drive the big car?” Julia asked, in her slowest tones.

  “Yes! Of course I can!” the little creature replied stormily, wheeling round on her.

  “Then get it out right away—Terence wants you to fetch him back from the Paul da Serra” Julia said. “Can you remember the way?”

  “I—I think so.” Aglaia faltered a little at being so suddenly taken up on her protestations of efficiency.

  “Are the keys in it?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, go and look—and check to see if it’s full up with petrol at the same time, because you’ll have to go all the way in to Funchal and back.”

  “Why on earth?” Aglaia asked, startled. “Isn’t Terence coming here?”

  “He has a friend with him who’s got to be taken back to Funchal—and they’re in rather a hurry.” As Aglaia went off— “I suppose they keep petrol here?” Julia asked of Colin.

  “Oh yes—but she won’t know where to find it. I’d better go and help her” the young man said, and followed his wife across the fore-court and into the vine tunnel leading to the farm-yard. Julia sat in the car and lit a cigarette. How tiresome that Penelope should be out, just when she was wanted. She looked in the door-pocket of the Austin, hoping to find a map; yes, there was one, and getting out of the car again she spread it on the bonnet and got out her biro to mark the route to the car-turn below the Paul da Serra. The biro was still faintly sticky from the Spaniards’ elastoplast. Bother!—had Colin remembered to clean it off their pencil? She thought not. But even more she was worrying over the prospect of Aglaia meeting Sir Percy. Even her feathery brain might have registered something about him, and the sort of work he did. And someone ought to warn Terence about the ownership of the other car, but that wasn’t a message that could be sent by poor Ag—whereas if
she went herself she could do both things. And suppose the Spaniards came down before Terence? Julia had lived enough in Europe to recognise the effect of dazzling fairness like Aglaia’s on Latins. No, it wasn’t a good idea; but she must talk to Colin about it.

  Folding up the map, she put it back, raised the bonnet of the car, and checked on the water and oil; then she leaned in and looked at the petrol-gauge. She would want some more, and she started the engine and drove into the yard. Manoel was filling up the big car from a jerrican; Colin and Aglaia were standing in the shade, talking—both wore rather unhappy expressions.

  “Colin, here a minute” she called. He came over to her—to her dismay Aglaia followed.

  “Colin, could I have some more petrol in this?”

  “Yes, I’m sure you can, if you need it.” He looked at the gauge. “That will take us back to Funchal all right” he said.

  “Yes, but I’ve had another idea.” She got out and stood between him and his wife. “I thought I might as well go and fetch Terence, and let Aglaia take you back to Funchal.”

  At this suggestion an absolutely agonised expression came over Colin’s face—it was gone in an instant, but it filled Julia with dismay.

  “The big car is faster” she said quickly, “and I know the way to the turn by heart.”

  “Come over here a moment” he said abruptly. As she went with him, Aglaia made to follow them.

  “No, you wait there, darling” he said, gently but firmly. “Julia and I have business to discuss. We’re on a job, you know.” And he walked on to the vine tunnel. There Julia briefly explained her second thoughts.

  “Yes, you’re perfectly right” he said. “Terence ought to be told about the car, and if they do come down before him, you’re pretty good at looking after yourself! Ag can drop me off at Terry’s office—that won’t give anything away.”

  “Shall you ring Major Hartley from Terry’s office?”

  “No, from the clinic. I shall see you when you drop Sir Percy. Take care of yourself.” He went back to the other car, in which Aglaia was already sitting, and they drove off.

  Julia told Manoel to fill up the small car with petrol; while he was doing this he asked her if she knew when Marcusinho would be coming home? Julia didn’t, but said she would enquire. It had already occurred to her that both de Carvalho and Sir Percy would wish to keep the boy under observation, to establish the duration of the effects of the gas as precisely as possible; though how this could be done unless they stopped the atropine injections she couldn’t see. Manoel next asked her if she would take the child some bantam eggs?—one of his bantam hens had started laying, and the eggs would give him pleasure. Julia of course agreed, the eggs were produced, carefully packed in hay in a small open basket, which she put in the glove compartment; thanking Manoel, she drove off.

  As she turned out into the main road the thought struck her that she might well encounter the Spaniards in their car; she pulled up, and put on her head-scarf and a pair of dark glasses— that ought to do, she thought, if they just flashed past one another on the road.

  In fact it didn’t really do, because they didn’t just flash past one another, owing to the presence of a herd of pigs. As Julia emerged from the last village onto the open stretch of road leading up to the ridge where they left the car she saw the Spaniards’ car proceeding rapidly downhill towards her, and in front of it a dark, squealing mass of animals; they too were moving very fast, in fact galloping, but in a number of different directions, so that their progress, as a mass, was very slow—the barefooted boys who herded them with long rods and loud cries seemed mainly concerned to keep them together, and on the road. The Spaniards slowed down, and hooted; Julia accelerated, and hooted too. She moved faster than the Spaniards—it is always easier to pass through animals one is meeting than through those one is overtaking; but a point came when both cars drew level and almost halted, engulfed in the swirling mass of noisy animals. The Spaniards looked almost desperate, and swore loudly in their own tongue. Julia was almost free of the pigs, and shot on, looking about her for Terence and Sir Percy. The car-turn was empty except for the motor-cycle and Tomás, the peasant, sitting on the bundle of stakes and battens. She turned the car and got out, now beginning to feel a little anxious; then she saw the two men coming up onto the ridge from the further side. When they reached her—“Did they see you?” she asked at once.

  “I expect so” Terence said. “We tried to melt into the landscape, but there isn’t cover for a baby rabbit on this lombo”. Indeed the brownish slopes of the ridge were completely bare.

  “I see you’ve brought the thermometer down” Julia said.

  “The thermograph” Sir Percy corrected her. “Yes. Someone had tampered with the screen—the string had been cut, and incompetently re-tied. It did not seem wise to leave it, and in any case I have got a perfectly good reading.”

  “Oh, good. Anyhow we now know pretty well everything, temperature or no temperature” Julia said thoughtlessly.

  “How?” Terence asked.

  “Colin gave their car the once-over when we came down, and they’ve got a wireless in the boot!”

  “A transmitter?” Terence asked, rather sharply.

  “And a receiver—a machine that does both. It has a collapsible aerial—we saw that too.”

  “Could Colin tell what range it had?” Terence asked.

  “Two hundred miles plus, he said—ample to reach that trawler. He says his people use the same sort of machines sometimes.”

  “Where’s Colin now?” Terence next enquired.

  “Aglaia took him in to Funchal in the other car; Penelope was out, so we thought I’d better come up for you.”

  “Yes—well, we’d better be getting along,” Terence said. He summoned Tomás, who placed the stakes and the other impedimenta in the back of the car; Terence got in along with them, and spoke to the man in Portuguese while Sir Percy and Julia seated themselves in front.

  “Goodness, can he ride that thing?” Julia asked, as the peasant went over and started the motor-cycle.

  “Lord yes—and it’s his chief delight.” Indeed Tomás now sprang onto the motor-bike and shot off down the road. As Julia started the car—“What did you do with the basket?” she asked Sir Percy.

  “What basket?”

  “What you put over the machine.”

  “Oh, the screen. Mr. Armitage, with great resource, put a large stone on it, and sank it in the pool.”

  “Did you see how those two Spanish boys came down? The same way as you did?” Julia asked of Terence over her shoulder.

  “No. They must have used one of the two couloirs farther along. The hammock-men hadn’t seen them.”

  To Julia’s relief the pigs had been driven off down a side-road, so their progress was unimpeded. When they neared the turn to the Quinta Terence leant forward and said to Sir Percy—“If you don’t need me any more today, sir, I think I’ll go home.”

  “By all means. You have been most good.”

  “Shall you want these stakes and battens any more?” he pursued, as Julia slowed down. “If not, I might as well take them back.”

  “ Vairy good.”

  Terence threw the bundle of wood out onto the roadside. As he got out—“Shall you have to carry that load yourself?” Sir Percy asked with concern. “I hope you have not far to go.”

  “Oh no, thank you—one of the men can come and get it later” Terence said easily. “No one will interfere with it.”

  As they drove on towards Funchal Sir Percy began one of his careful catechisings of Julia.

  “Who exactly are those two young men in the other car? Mr. Armitage expressed considerable anxiety that they should not see us from close to, but he did not explain why.”

  “Did he not tell you anything about them?” Julia asked, startled.

  “No—nothing definite. I think he suspected that it might have been they who had disturbed the screen of the thermograph, and he seemed quite anxious to have
it removed as quickly as possible; and, as I say, that they should not see us. But why should they use a wireless transmitter? And in any case, what were they doing up on the plateau? They were too far off for me to see. Do you know?”

  “Yes” said Julia crisply. “They were taking cinematic photographs of the sheep, with a very large machine that I think records sound as well.”

  “Dear me!” Sir Percy blinked a little at this information. “But such a record would be invaluable, if only we could get hold of it!”

  “Well, I hope we may” Julia said, beginning to laugh. “That’s what my cousin has hurried into Funchal to try to arrange with Major Hartley.”

  “But how does your cousin know that they are recording the movements of the sheep?”

  “He and I saw them this morning, through Mr. Armitage’s telescope. But they’re staying in my hotel, and I saw them trying the machine out down there two or three days ago. Then, yesterday, I happened—by the greatest luck!—to overhear them talking about getting pictures of the sheep. They were worried about the weather perhaps breaking, so they came up today instead of three days later, when they ought to have gone. They were to make one recording at ten days—which they did—and another at twenty-one days after the gassing” Julia said, with emphasis.

  “But that is exactly right! Did they actually mention the gas?” the scientist asked briskly.

  “Not the gas, no—only the dates; but as those fitted in so closely with the little boy’s being taken ill, I just assumed that someone wanted pictures of the sheep’s reaction to the gas.”

  “A very reasonable deduction. But I thought you referred to these—er—cinemetograph operators as Spaniards?”

  “Yes, they are Spanish right enough; that’s what they talk to one another. But there are plenty of Spanish Communists about since the Civil War” Julia said.

  “Who might be employed by the Russians, you mean?”

  “Yes, Sir Percy. I think these two young men, who pose as wealthy tourists with a mania for taking amateur films of the peasants here, are in fact the local accomplices who arranged all the—the infra-structure—for the whole performance” Julia said flatly. “Getting the hammock-men to take the distributors, and the gas, up to the plateau, and so on. Total strangers off a boat couldn’t do that; but these young men were here for a month last year—learning the lie of the land, and also establishing their cover-story, obviously.”