The Malady in Maderia

by Ann Bridge

  “How did you learn that they were here last year?”

  “Asked the hotelier. He thinks the world of them, as delightful clients!” Julia said ironically.

  Sir Percy digested all this for some moments.

  “Yes, I see” he said at length, slowly. “And a radio transceiver with a range of two hundred miles or more would of course enable them to keep in touch with the trawler, while she remains in these waters, and report progress. That would seem to indicate that some, at least, of the senior scientific staff who are responsible for this experiment are on board. I hope Mr. Monro will explain that to Major Hartley immediately.”

  “I should think the Major would jump to that conclusion on his own” Julia responded cheerfully.

  “Yes, but my dear Mrs. Jamieson, it is essential to make certain that he does understand this.” Sir Percy spoke quite agitatedly. “The Navy ought to apprehend the trawler at once! Do you not see? They might still have some of the agent on board!—if they had, we could analyse it and discover the exact formula, far more quickly and accurately than from laboratory results from blood specimens. This could be of the greatest importance.”

  “Yes, I see that” Julia said, thinking at the same time that the scientist had rather a naively one-track mind: she imagined that the Royal Navy might take some persuading to board the vessel of a foreign power, on the high seas, in peace-time. However, you never knew! But his remark about the possibility of some of the scientists who were directing the whole experiment being on board the trawler brought the name of Polunsky back into her mind, and once again—as when she had told Terence about the nerve gas without referring to Colin—she decided to jump the gun.

  “Sir Percy, does the name Polunsky say anything to you?” she asked.

  Seated close together as they were in the front of the small car, she could feel the start her companion gave.

  “Certainly!” he exclaimed. “He is almost the top man in Russian chemical warfare research. Why? How did you hear of him? From London?”

  “No, from those two young Spaniards. He seems to be the person they show up to; anyhow it was he who wanted them to take films of the sheep on the tenth and the twenty-first days.”

  “You are sure of the name?”

  “Positive. They used it two or three times; and one of them said he—Polunsky—would be vexed if they made a film today, because it was three days too soon; and the other said it was better to get it three days early than not at all, if the weather broke.”

  “He was right, of course. But this is immensely important!” Sir Percy said. “Did they say if Polunsky was on the trawler?”

  “No, they were only talking about the weather, and how precise his instructions had been.”

  “Yes, they would be. Well, let us hurry all we can—London must be told of this at once.”

  Julia had not been exactly dawdling during this conversation; however, she now drove as fast as she dared along that twisting road, and through Funchal. When they reached the clinic the scientist asked her to come in with him—“I may need you” he said abruptly. Upstairs they found Colin, sitting at a table on the balcony, writing a letter. He got up as they came in.

  “Have you spoken to Major Hartley?” Sir Percy asked at once.

  “Yes, sir. I told him that we have tracked down the local accomplices, and that they have that transceiver, so that they are able to keep in close touch with the trawler; and about their making film recordings of the sheep. He is going to contact our people in Lisbon.”

  “Did you tell him that it was Professor Polunsky who had given them the instructions to make these recordings?”

  Colin stared at him.

  “No.” (How on earth had the old boy learnt about Polunsky?) “I didn’t care to use that name over the telephone—I’m just writing it to the Major now, to go by air mail.”

  “It is too urgent for a letter! I can make the Major understand who it is. You had better ring up London at once.” He began to explain to Colin how likely he thought it that Polunsky himself might be on board the trawler, or at least some fairly senior official who could conceivably have some of the actual substance which produced the gas with him; Colin, after asking the secretary downstairs to put the call in, and replacing the receiver by the bedside, tried to get the protesting scientist to understand about the inevitability of an hour’s delay on all calls between Funchal and London. Julia, laughing a little to herself, decided to take his bantam eggs to Marcusinho, and slipped out, leaving them to it.

  She went downstairs and spoke to the elderly male secretary, who took her up to the landing, in another part of the building, where she had gone to enquire for the child on the day of Colin’s arrival. The same grey-haired nurse, who had then shown such distress, now greeted her full of smiles, and took her in to a small bright room where the little boy was sitting up in bed doing a jigsaw puzzle; Julia gave him the basket of eggs and told him that his father had asked her to bring them. Marcusinho, who looked perfectly well, asked eagerly how many of the bantam hens were laying, and of the nurse, whether he could have two of the eggs cooked for his supper that evening?—as an afterthought, he enquired if his parents were well, and when he was going home? The Senhor Doutor would have to settle that, Julia and the nurse both told him. Then the child asked Julia, most earnestly, if she could bring him his cofrezinho from the Quinta? Julia looked enquiringly at the nurse.

  “Minha Senhora, it would be a real kindness if you could do this” the woman said. “He begs for it all the time.”

  Julia, sitting down by the bed, promised to try, and asked what the cofrezinho was like?—she was puzzled by the unfamiliar word. It was small, long and also round, Marcusinho explained —his little brown hands vividly shaped a small cylinder; it was of metal, and shining, he said eagerly. And then he added words which startled Julia—“I found it on the mountain where the sheep are.” Concealing her excitement, she asked where he had put it, so that she could be sure of finding it. The child’s small face crumpled with distress.

  “Ah, Minha Senhora, this I can’t remember. The pain in my head got so bad! But I am sure I brought it home. My mother would know.”

  Julia promised to try to find it the next time she went to the Quinta; she kissed the child, and left. As she went downstairs she heard the luncheon-bell ringing; she had sandwiches in her haversack, but thought she would see if she could get some soup along with Colin and Sir Percy—tempted as she was to go straight to the Quinta, she realised that the sensible thing would be to eat; she had had no food since 7 A.M. She was touched, when she reached their quarters, to find a place laid for her at the table on the balcony.

  “Ah, vairy good!—I hoped you would eat with us, and bespoke some food for you” Sir Percy said. “You have had a long morning.”

  Julia thanked him, and tucked gratefully into the excellent meal provided; the doctor had not overpraised his food, she thought, and on an impulse she asked if they had seen him that day.

  “Only for a moment—I’m rather holding off him at present, till London have made up their minds how much they want to tell the Ports” Colin said. He spoke rather worriedly. “Hartley says they’ll have to talk to the foreign Office about it all.” He crumbled his roll nervously. “I wish those Spaniards hadn’t seen the thermograph—it’s bound to make them suspect that something is going on.”

  “We don’t know for sure that they did see it” Julia said, “if they climbed up further along.”

  “They could hardly miss it, surely? And if it’s they who originally prospected and found the place, and have been up there several times, photographing and all that, they must know that there’s never anything there but sheep and mist! To find a scientific instrument, carefully fixed on a stand, and elaborately screened, can only make them suppose that someone besides themselves is taking an interest in the climate, and probably in the sheep too—and what is more, someone who knows what he’s about” Colin said gloomily. “I wouldn’t mind betting they’re
reporting it to the trawler at this moment.”

  “I don’t see what the trawler can do, even if they do report it” Julia said. “Madeira is part of a sovereign state; they’re not even supposed to enter its territorial waters, though obviously they often do.”

  “Why do you say that?” Colin asked quickly.

  “Well, for one thing, when Terence and I saw the trawler, the first evening I was down at the Quinta the week before last, she certainly wasn’t three miles off shore; I doubt if she was a mile out” Julia said calmly. “And when they put those ten men, with the gas and all the doings, ashore at Seixial, either she has a biggish launch, or she came in herself. Did you ever ask Terence about that?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Might they have been given permission, for what purported to be an innocent landing for a harmless recreational expedition?” Sir Percy asked.

  “I suppose it’s possible” Colin said, more worriedly than ever. “Our people in Lisbon could find out about that, I suppose. Look, sir, when you get that call to London, let me have a word with the Major too, will you? We ought to get that enquiry put in at once.”

  “Certainly—of course you must. Do calls from London to Lisbon also take an hour to make?” the scientist enquired, with a hint of sarcasm.

  “No, more like two minutes!” Julia said, laughing. “And from here to Portugal isn’t too bad. It’s just something about here, to and from London.”

  Sir Percy looked at his watch.

  “We should be getting the call in a quarter of an hour” he said.

  Julia decided not to wait for coffee, though Sir Percy pressed her to stay and have some; the sooner she could lay her hands on the cofrezinho the better for everyone, she felt. Colin asked where she was going?

  “Down to the Quinta, to get something Marcusinho wants” she said.

  “Well, just have a word with Ag if you can” he muttered in her ear. “She’s a bit upset, but I couldn’t wait to sort her.”

  “Will do” she replied, and went off.

  When she had gone and Colin returned to the table, Sir Percy addressed him rather solemnly.

  “Could not some other accommodation be arranged for Mrs. Jamieson, instead of that hotel?” he asked.

  “Oh, I suppose so” Colin said carelessly—he was trying to plan in his head exactly how to phrase his question to Major Hartley about whether the trawler had had permission to put in at Seixial. “But why? She says it’s quite comfortable.”

  “Did she not tell you that those two Spanish accomplices are staying there? If their suspicions are aroused, ought she to stay under the same roof with them, unguarded? I should have thought it extremely unwise.”

  Now at last Colin began to pay attention; he frowned, and his thumb began to jerk.

  “Perhaps you are right” he said. “It hadn’t occurred to me that they would be likely to tie her in with the thermograph; after all, you and Terence are the only people they have seen, and she wasn’t with you then.” He paused, and then gave a sudden exclamation—“Damn!”

  “Damn what?” Sir Percy asked.

  “Terence was having lunch with her at the hotel, the day they were trying out the ciné-camera—that’s how she knew they had one. No, that isn’t so good.”

  “I should, on the contrary, call it very bad indeed” Sir Percy said, in his precise manner. “In my opinion, she should go to another hotel—unless our good friend the doctor could give her a room here.”

  “No, I think that would be imposing on him too much” Colin said decidedly. “I’ll ring up and get her a room at Reid’s, if I can.” He went in to the bedroom; as he did so the telephone rang —it was, the operator said, the Senhor’s call to London. Sir Percy went over and took the receiver.

  Julia, spinning along the sunny coast road for the third time that day, but for once alone, was aware of a curious mixture of feelings. There was the familiar surge of excitement as one approached what might be the end of the trail, coupled with a determination to let nothing come between oneself and the goal; but in the past this excitement had usually had a gay, almost a gleeful tinge about it. This time there was no gaiety, no glee— only a cold, sad resolution. That she must be nearing the end of the trail she had little doubt. A metal cylinder, picked up on the Paul da Serra on the very day that the gas was distributed, could hardly be anything but one of the containers holding what Sir Percy so irrationally wished the Navy to snatch off the trawler— or could it be just an unopened soup-tin? A chill of doubt crept over her. Surely Polunsky’s men would have kept an exact tally of the number of their containers, and if one empty one was missing, would have laid on the two Spanish boys to seek diligently, like the woman in the New Testament, until they found it?— they would be in touch by wireless, with the efficient machine which she and Colin had seen in the boot of the car only that morning. Ah, but if Marcusinho had carried the thing off, however diligently the Spaniards searched, they could not have found it—and then what could the people on the trawler do? Really nothing.

  Oh well, she would soon know now, she thought, stepping on the accelerator as the road, swinging inland onto the open country, became less twisting and therefore faster. But soon she slowed down again. Just short of the turn-off to the Quinta, on the left, stood a grove of Terence’s banana-trees, which masked the turn itself till one was fairly close to; as it came in sight she saw the two young Spaniards bending intently over something on the bank just beyond it—the Nazaré shirt of the one was unmistakable, and as she decelerated she saw that the bundle of stakes which Terence had thrown out of the car onto the roadside had been undone, and the white pieces of wood scattered about. With her shortsighted eyes Julia peered desperately at the bank, to see what the two youths were examining with such interest—all she could see was two or three more pieces of the newly sawn wood. As she swung into the side-road and shot down it, thinking hard, it came to her—the battens with the screw-holes! If it was the two youths who had disarranged the basket screen, and so seen the thermograph, these might interest them as evidence. Well, she would tell Terence, of course—but the first thing was to find the cofrezinho.

  She drove straight into the farm-yard; the big car was back, so Aglaia must have returned. Julia went up the outside stairs and tapped on the open door of the farm-house; Carmen came at once, greeted her warmly, led her into the kitchen, and asked if Marcusinho had been pleased with his eggs? Delighted, Julia told her, and he was going to have two of them cooked for his supper. Then she put her own question. The child kept begging for something he said he had brought down from the mountain the day he was taken ill; he called it his cofrezinho. Had she, his mother, any idea what it was?

  But yes—here on the window-sill! And there sure enough it was, sitting demurely between a flower-pot and the coffee-tin— a small bright metal cylinder; Julia almost gasped as the woman handed it to her, and she saw the Russian lettering stamped on it. And it was curiously heavy, she noticed, as she stowed it in her hand-bag; and tightly sealed, so that it could only be opened with a stout instrument. She thanked Carmen, got into the car again, and drove round to the front door. This stood open, but Julia was rather a stickler for ringing other people’s front door bells; she did so now. Terence, in his shirt-sleeves, came wandering through the hall from the back of the house; a sound of voices came with him.

  “Oh hullo—back again! Come in and have some tea; Penel’s just come in with Pauline Shergold—earlier than she expected.”

  “Look, do you mind if I don’t?” Julia said, rather taken aback. “I’m in a bit of a hurry, but I promised Colin I’d see Aglaia for a minute.”

  “Come in here” Terence said, and led her into his study, which to Julia’s relief looked out over the drive; she didn’t want to be involved with Penelope, let alone with Pauline, at this precise juncture. “Sit a minute, and have a cigarette” he said comfortably—as he lit one for her—“I’m not sure about seeing Ag” he went on. “She came back from Funchal in a frightf
ul stew; she wouldn’t have any lunch, and slammed into her bedroom and locked the door.”

  “Oh dear!” Julia said. “I’m sorry about that, but I suppose it must wait. Anyhow I wanted to see you, too.”

  “Look away!” he said, with his calm grin. “Anything I can do?”

  “I’m not sure—but there’s something you ought to know, anyhow.” She told him about the two young Spaniards up on the main road, examining something from the loosened bundle of stakes. “I’m pretty sure they had noticed Sir Percy’s machine, and were checking for the screw-holes in the battens.”

  “Cheek!” Terence commented coolly. “How long ago was this?”

  “Five—ten minutes perhaps.” Then as the man got up— “No, don’t do anything!” she said urgently. “It’s much better they shouldn’t realise that we know what they’re up to, and what they know.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, it’s always better that way! I expect they’ve been reporting to their bosses on the trawler about someone using a thermograph up there, and being worried over it; but it’s much better not to underline it. It’s tiresome enough that they should connect you, and this house, with the thermograph anyhow” she added rather worriedly.

  “Why?” he asked again.

  “Oh, they might start hanging around, and snooping. Tell all your people not to talk to any strangers—especially Tomás, who was up there with you.”

  “Tomás is a perishing nuisance” Terence said, without heat. “If he’d gone up at once, as I told him to, and fetched those stakes down, the Spaniards wouldn’t have been able to examine them.”