The Malady in Maderia

by Ann Bridge

  “Do we not return here?” the Spaniard asked gloomily.

  “No, you do not.”

  In a few moments the two young men, now dressed, and each handcuffed to a plain-clothes man, were led downstairs and out to one of the waiting cars; inside it a switch was made, and the men were re-handcuffed to two uniformed policemen; the plainclothes men rejoined Marques and Major Fernandez in the hotel. The whole business had taken less than twenty minutes. Da Silva stood in the door of his office, looking on dismally; now he approached Colonel Marques.

  “Do the Spanish Senhores not return?” he asked.

  “No, Senhor; I am taking them to Lisbon.”

  “But their bill! Do they not pay their bill?”

  “If they have sufficient money with them, it shall certainly be paid” Marques said. “Make the bill out, Senhor, if you please.” He turned to Fernandez. “Major, will you go upstairs now and clear everything; bring it with you—if there is any money among their effects, pay the bill.” He turned back to the landlord.

  “Senhor, I regret this on your account,” he said. “Do not distress yourself; it was not your fault. These individuals were sailing under false colours. Just one more thing—their car.”

  “But the car is mine!—they hired it from me” Da Silva exclaimed.

  “Nevertheless I wish to see it” Marques said, smiling a little, but not unkindly. “Let us go to the garage now.”

  The landlord stepped back into his office and fetched a bunch of keys; then he went out, followed by Colin and the Colonel. Both police cars were still standing in the drive—Marques spoke to the driver of the one in which the Spaniards were, and it drove off.

  “They can wait at the police station” he said to Colin; “the car will come back for the Major and his men.”

  Out in the yard da Silva unlocked the door of one of the garages, revealing the car which Julia and Colin had searched to such purpose the previous day; the key was not in it.

  “They have taken the key!” the unhappy landlord exclaimed.

  “No matter—it will be returned to you; we shall find it” the Colonel said reassuringly. “Let us shove it out” he said to Colin; “we can see nothing in here.” The car was not locked, and they pushed it out into the sunshine; but there was nothing in it of any interest—only the blankets in the boot, and the map, which Marques took, in the locker. They went back to da Silva’s office, where Marques jotted down the dates of the Spaniards’ visit the year before, and the address in Madrid which they had given— “It’s probably false, and the names they are using too” he said to Colin; “but the times of their absences may help my Spanish colleagues to get a line on them.” He asked the landlord, as Julia had done, how his two clients had appeared to occupy themselves. “Yes, perfect cover for the job, of course,” Marques said to Colin, as they drove off in the second police car. “They would have all the locals eating out of their hand, with this filming caper.” The phrase startled Colin, who was not accustomed to the head of Portugal’s Security Police’s addiction to English slang.

  “Where do you want to go now?” Colin asked.

  “Back to the clinic; I must pick up Major Hamilton, and those reports on the blood that Dr. de Carvalho says he’s got.”

  “Do you wish to make any more enquiries here?”

  Marques was silent for a moment.

  “I’m not sure. This is all a bit tricky, Monro. You see I’ve just picked up two foreign nationals on what is mostly suspicion that they have been acting as agents of another foreign power; and I would rather keep the local police out of it as far as possible. On the other hand, I do need to find out whether any of the people here in Madeira were knowing accomplices, or innocent ones.”

  “What sort of people?”

  “Well, this fellow at the hotel, for a start; he seemed genuinely upset, but he may just be a very good actor.”

  “What others?”

  “All those men who carried the types who actually distributed the gas up onto this plateau place—and the harbour-master, if there is such a thing, at that port where they were allowed to land. I don’t mind the local Chief of Police getting reports on the trawler’s movements from our coastal officers—though they seem to have been much less observant than your cousin! But the other thing is more difficult.”

  “There is someone who I believe could help you about all that,” Colin said.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Terence Armitage, my wife’s cousin. He was born here, and has lived here all his life—he works in the Shipping Office, who of course knows everything there is to be known about all the hoteliers. He could certainly give you a line on da Silva, and I think on the people over at Seixial too.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “On the far side of the island, where the gas-merchants came ashore. He went over and made enquiries there about the trawler the very day after they first found the gassed sheep.”

  “Why did he do that?” Marques asked, suddenly very alert.

  “Because he’d seen the trawler about several times, and when my cousin told him that she’d established from the hammock-men that the supposed tourists had smoked Russian cigarettes, he decided to go and find out all he could.”

  “How can I get hold of him?” Marques asked briskly.

  “Ring him up from the clinic—his office is only five minutes’ walk away.”

  “Do that, there’s a good chap, as soon as we get there” Marques said. “He sounds just what I want. And what are your plans?” he asked then.

  “I shall have to go back to London and report—I’m not sure how soon. I’d rather not leave till my wife is better.”

  “Ah yes, of course—I’m so sorry she is ill. Is it serious?”

  “We don’t know yet” Colin said, truthfully. “Now that this business is finished I may get a chance to see her doctor—I haven’t so far.”

  “Hard luck” the Colonel said—but with genuine sympathy. “And what about your cousin? Do you know when she is thinking of coming to Lisbon?”

  “I don’t think she has any idea of going—she’s only just come from Gralheira.”

  “I presume she could come at a pinch, though” Marques said. “She is rather a key witness. You realise of course that this will all have to be discussed at the highest level, before it is decided what action to take.”

  “I ’spose so” Colin said dully.

  When Terence, on the heels of a telephone call, reached the clinic Marques and Major Hamilton were again sitting in the garden-house; to Colin’s surprise Terence greeted Hamilton with “Hullo, Henry! What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, the usual thing!—I came with the Colonel here. Marques, this is Terence Armitage.”

  Marques at once got down to business with some questions about the landlord of the Montefiore—Terence answered them fully, and with complete confidence. The hotel had been started some forty years ago by da Silva’s father; when he died the son had taken it over from him. It was an ultra-respectable, rather stodgy place, which the Shipping Office constantly recommended to clients, mostly English and Americans, who wanted to make a long stay in peace and quiet. Had the hotel a regular Spanish connection?—Marques wanted to know. Definitely not; “So far as I know your two thugs are the first Spanish clients da Silva has ever had” Terence said, with his slow grin.

  “He expressed great dismay at any of his guests falling under suspicion—should you think that was genuine?”

  “Oh, have a heart, Colonel!” Terence said, cheerfully. “No pub likes having the P.I.D.E. nosing about! But if you’re asking me whether da Silva is an honest, law-abiding citizen, and a good patriot, the answer is yes, every time, to all three questions.”

  “Thank you” Marques said, smiling himself. Then he asked about the harbour officials at Seixial, and the hammock-men. Terence was equally positive about the latter.

  “They’re just the simplest of peasants; I’ve known most of them all my life. All they care about is to e
arn a little extra money by doing a most exhausting job—they ask no questions, and they wouldn’t know what questions to ask! One toristo is just like another to them, so long as he pays.”

  “And the officials at the port?”

  “Actually I didn’t see any official; it was a Sunday, and they were probably at Mass—anyhow I didn’t want to make a thing about it, at that stage. I just spoke to some of the usual loungers on the quay, and established that ten men, with a huge lot of luggage, had come off a fishing-boat, and had gone up with a mule-train to the foot of the plateau.”

  “You didn’t ask who had hired the mules?”

  “No” Terence said, again with his calm grin—“And obviously it doesn’t matter, since now we know!”

  “We shall know very definitely in another forty-eight hours!” the Colonel said, rather grimly. He wrote down the name “Seixial” in a note-book, and got up. “Well, thank you very much, Mr. Armitage; you have been very helpful. I suppose you could pop over to Lisbon at any time if we need you?”

  “Ah, that might not be so easy” Terence said. “I’ve used up a lot of time already over your thugs, and we’re getting on to the busy season. Anyhow, what would you need me for?”

  “To give evidence—tell our people what you have just told me.”

  “Oh, I should think they’d take your word for it” Terence said easily. “Anyhow we can cross that bridge when we come to it. Goodbye, Colonel.”

  “ ‘Bye, Terence. Stay with me if you do come over—it’s time I repaid some of your hospitality here. Give Penelope my love” Major Hamilton said.

  “I will.” He went off down the garden.

  “Now, let us just get those reports on the sheep’s blood from the doctor, and then we’ll be on our way” Marques said.

  “Aren’t you going to see the boy?” Colin asked, as they too walked down towards the house. “The doctor will be a bit disappointed if you don’t.”

  “All right. Get hold of him, do, Monro.”

  Dr. de Carvalho was produced, the laboratory reports on the blood were handed over, and Marcusinho duly exhibited; he was still at work on his jigsaw but asked the doctor at once when the Senhora was going to bring his cofrezinho? “She promised—she was going to get it from my mother” the child said urgently.

  “What’s he talking about?” Marques asked.

  “Oh, some toy of his that a lady was going to bring him” de Carvalho said, with a glance at Colin. “I’ll remind her” he told the boy, and hustled his guests out. Marques thanked him for his help, adding, “The government will probably be sending an expert over in a day or two, to examine the sheep.”

  “He will not be able to tell them any more than they will find in those reports” the doctor said curtly. “But let him come, by all means. You will excuse me—I have not yet finished seeing my patients” he said, and hurried away.

  “Rather a brusque customer, isn’t he?” Marques observed to Colin. “I thought he could have arranged for the expert to see the sheep.”

  “Mr. Armitage can do that” Colin said, “or I can. He will have to get the hammock-men for him, anyhow.”

  “Where do I get hold of you?” Marques asked, pulling out his note-book again. “Here?”

  “I don’t know yet” Colin said, frowning. “No, not here, I shouldn’t think.”

  “But I must have a telephone number for you” Marques said peremptorily.

  “Give me your number in Lisbon, and I’ll let you know as soon as I know myself” Colin said—he wrote the number down.

  “What name are you using at present?” Marques asked them.

  “My own—it’s all been too much of a rush to fix up anything” Colin replied. “This wasn’t a pre-arranged job, on our part.”

  When Colonel Marques had gone Colin went up to his room, sat on the edge of the bed, and considered. Where was he to stay, if he did stay? Really the obvious place was the Montefiore, he thought,—both Julia’s and the Spaniards’ rooms were vacant! He giggled a little at the idea. But the first thing was to report to the Office; he put in a call, and then, to fill in that exasperating hour’s delay, he began to pack. Presently there was a knock at the door, and de Carvalho came in.

  “Has he gone?” he asked at once.

  “Yes—I expect they’re nearly at the airport by now” Colin said, glancing at his watch.

  “Well, he may be a very able man, but for myself, I find him peu sympathique to a degree” the doctor said with energy. “Did you manage to conceal all word of Sir Paircy from him?”

  “Yes, I think so. It was touch and go in the hotel, though, when the Spanish boys found that the films were missing.” Colin described the scene, and how he had put the Colonel on to looking for the aerial. Suddenly de Carvalho noticed the half-filled suitcase on the bed.

  “What do you do? You leave Madeira?”

  “I’ve just put in a call to London to ask for orders” Colin said. “ I’d much rather not go just yet, till I see how my wife gets on” he added.

  “She is ill? What is the matter with her?” the doctor asked. Colin told him briefly that she had had a rather severe bout of hysteria the previous day, and was now under sedation—the doctor’s professional interest was at once aroused. “Who gives her this?” he asked. Dr. Urquhart, Colin told him.

  “Ah, le vieil Ecossais! Yes, he knows what he is doing.” The doctor sat down and proceeded to ask a number of rather searching questions: Aglaia’s age, how long they had been married, any children?—and in his worry and isolation Colin found himself pouring out the whole situation, as he saw it—his long absences from home, the lost baby; Aglaia’s dangerous indiscretions, which so conflicted with her ambitions for him; and her passionate desire to play some sort of part in his actual work. “She was frightfully hurt because while I’ve been here, though it was her idea my coming, I wouldn’t stay at the Quinta, nor even let her know where I was; but I simply can’t be in the same house with her while I’m on a job—she’d ask questions, and want to do things. She can’t understand—” he broke off abruptly.

  “She shall also be jealous of Madame Jamieson, sans doute” de Carvalho said drily.

  “Yes, she is—though I didn’t realise that till yesterday. But I don’t think it’s—well, so much an emotional jealousy as being vexed that Julia can work with me, and she can’t. She doesn’t understand” he repeated, rather helplessly.

  “Madame Jamieson is of course a very exceptional woman, and, as I gather, with considerable experience of Intelligence work” de Carvalho said.

  “Yes—and she has tried to explain to my wife that even so, a lot of the time she had to sit back and let her husband get on with the job—and keep quiet about everything” Colin said, almost wistfully. “But it doesn’t seem to do any good.”

  De Carvalho was silent for a moment or two.

  “I think I begin to see” he said at last, rather slowly. “May I make a rather disagreeable point, which nevertheless might help?”

  “Anything to help—don’t mind me!”

  “Eh bien, it looks to me as if you had been rather self-indulgent about this. You have been afraid of your wife’s exigeances, and demands on your time and patience and nervous force, and so have run away from them, and from her, when you felt that your work demanded it. She has realised your fear, and that—naturally, though irrationally—has increased her exigeance, her clutching at you: and so of course she has used hysteria as a weapon, though probably subconsciously.”

  “What could I have done, then?” the young man asked.

  “Faced up to it, when you were in fact together; slapped her face if she made you a scene!” the doctor said vigorously.

  Colin looked startled.

  “That’s what Julia said!” he exclaimed.

  “Did she? She has much commonsense” de Carvalho remarked, again drily.

  “Well, she didn’t tell me to; she just asked if I had” Colin amended.

  “Enfin, I think you can do a good deal to
cure your wife, by conquering your own fear of her moods—which of course is itself nervous in origin” de Carvalho pronounced. “Much she must do herself; but you have your own part to play.” He got up. “Please stay here for as long as it suits you” he said then, putting a hand on Colin’s shoulder for a moment. “Your company is a pleasure. And we who run nursing-homes don’t like empty rooms!” he added, with a gold and white flash of teeth, as he left the room.

  When he had gone, Colin, with a certain relief, unpacked what he had already packed, went out onto the balcony, and sat down. At least he need not worry about where to stay, he thought; but Dr. de Carvalho’s words had given him plenty of other things to think about. The bottle of Sir Percy’s special Madeira, on the side-table, caught his eye; he glanced at his watch. Ten to twelve —quite a reasonable time for a drink; he got up, poured out a glass, and lit a cigarette. Had he been self-indulgent, he wondered—the idea that failure to slap one’s wife’s face was a form of self-indulgence made him grin rather wryly. But Dr. de Carvalho was certainly right about his fear of Aglaia, and her moods and demands, when he was on a job—probably he was right about everything.

  The telephone rang. He went into the bedroom, shutting the French window after him, and lifted the receiver. “Colin” he said.

  “Good. Well, our old boffin’s safely back—my word, what a haul! It’s a terrific show—I do congratulate you.”

  “I didn’t do much” Colin said.

  “No need to be modest!—and it won’t wash, either. We’ve heard different!” Major Hartley said. He was obviously in tremendous spirits. “What goes on at your end? Did the Great Man come himself? He threatened to.”

  “Oh Lord yes—he came, and he’s gone again—taking his sheaves with him” Colin said more cheerfully.

  “Did you say ’sheaves’ or ’thieves’?” Hartley asked.

  “Comes to much the same thing—two bad eggs, anyhow; and very fairly inefficient ones! But look—you won’t forget that the Great Man knows nothing about the King Boffin being here, nor what he took with him, will you?” Colin said, rather urgently.