The Daffodil Affair

by Michael Innes

  ‘But we are not scientists.’

  ‘No doubt. But you have Radbone’s confidence. And – well. I must tell you frankly that I have the possibility of some sort of merger in mind. I hope that when you have seen how far we have got that you will go – or that one of you will go – and see if it can be arranged. Go back to Radbone, I mean, with my proposals and your own account of the place.’

  ‘I see.’ As Radbone almost certainly had no concrete existence, this was scarcely true. Appleby was far from seeing. But it was to be hoped that he was merely anticipating a truth. If Wine was to be worsted in his own stronghold it was urgently necessary to solve the riddle of such an unexpected proposal as this. But perhaps it had little or no meaning; perhaps it was merely more patter until the two men who had come so inconveniently on his tracks could be most simply eliminated. ‘I see,’ said Appleby again, and in as considering tones as he could assume.

  ‘I may have spoken lightly of Radbone. But that is only an indiscretion of professional rivalry, after all. I do think that he possesses some final and serious intellectual weakness. But he is at least a magnificent deviser of experiments.’ Wine looked Appleby directly but unconsciously in the eye. ‘And, after all, a good experiment is everything.’

  ‘No doubt.’ Obscurely, Appleby felt disconcerted. And for a moment he had an impulse to be very frank. He would state baldly that he and Hudspith were police officers and that Wine’s game was up. Even in the throes of war the British Government would not let two men disappear into the blue. They would be traced; they would be traced thousands of miles up this river. And the Happy Islands, however remote and undisturbed, were certainly sovereign territory of some friendly state. So that, in fact, the game was already up and Wine had better come quietly… Appleby meditated this and decided: not yet. For it was a last and desperate card, and could be played at any time.

  ‘It will be nearly an hour before we can tie up’ – Wine was looking through binoculars as he spoke. ‘So do you go and find Hudspith, there’s a good fellow – and we will celebrate the end of this tedious journey in a glass of champagne. With Lucy to help us. Only there had better be ginger pop, too, in case it is the young ’un who is about. Lucy is rather charming, is she not? To tell you the truth, I was rather glad to be able to send those other ladies by the first boat. Eusapia, I fear, was better out of your friend’s way.’ And Wine, thus gay and mischievous and considerate at once, gave orders for a little feast. The champagne was excellent, and there were tiny biscuits and a pot of caviare into which one dug with a knife. Most of the time Wine talked of Radbone still. But not quite as he had recently fallen into talking. It was as if he were now aware that there was some danger of this mysterious rival’s being taken for a shade. And so he was building him up again as solid flesh and blood – establishing him as a real man to whom a real embassy might sensibly be sent. And there were no more jokes about plain-clothes policemen.

  America Island was about two miles long by half a mile wide. From each of its shores it was possible to see the corresponding bank of the river, as well as something of the smaller islands farther up. Some of these lay two or three abreast, so that from the air the whole group must have presented the appearance of a single large fish leading a family of varying size downstream. There were several groups of buildings, and the island had been substantially cleared – as had also, it would seem, the riverbanks beyond. Something of cultivation had been attempted, but this effort belonged to the past. From the little jetty where the steamer had drawn up there was a short, straight road to the first building. And here, sitting in the shade of a veranda, were Beaglehole and Mrs Nurse, drinking tea. For a few minutes there was an amiable and efficient bustle of welcome. The servants were greenish brown and must have been of some native tribe untouched by Spanish blood; the air was heavy with exotic scent; from the back of the house there came a species of throbbing howl conceivably intended as musical entertainment. Nevertheless, Appleby thought, it was all curiously like arriving on friends in Hampshire for the weekend.

  ‘We chose this house,’ said Beaglehole, ‘because it is in the Californian style. There’s something more commodious upstream, but it looks as if it were meant for Cape Cod. And one has to consider the climate. I hope you won’t feel cramped here for a few days. It’s been necessary to arrange it like that.’

  Wine was taking round a plate of sandwiches. ‘Beaglehole,’ he explained, ‘does all the running of things in a domestic way. We regard him as a steward or major-domo in that regard. Mrs Nurse, I believe these are gherkin. But here are tomato should you prefer.’

  ‘Chose this house?’ said Hudspith, who had formed the habit of regarding his hosts through a suspiciously narrowed eye. ‘Didn’t you build the place?’

  ‘Dear me, no.’ Beaglehole shook his head, amused. ‘That would have been very poor business indeed – and not at all the sort of thing scientists can afford. We bought up the whole place for a song. It belonged to a Teuton called Schlumpf. He was going to start one of those Utopias people think up from time to time, and he got a concession on the islands and did the building. He was practically king of the place. You see, we’re a long way from law and order here.’

  Wine frowned. ‘The Republic certainly doesn’t make itself felt in these parts. So we insist that the King’s law runs instead. And we have no trouble – no trouble at all, I assure you. There are some rather unruly remnants of tribal folk about, but they leave us alone. We are a very tranquil – ah – research station.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Hudspith – and added suddenly: ‘What if one of your guests – Daffodil, say – announced that he wanted to go home?’

  Beaglehole abruptly lowered a sandwich and raised his voice. ‘Schlumpf,’ he repeated. ‘His idea was that there should be an island to each country concerned and that people should follow their own mode of life there, living in their own sort of houses and so on. But on the riverbanks they should work co-operatively and get to know each other in that way. Of course it didn’t work. And we took over.’ Beaglehole grinned. ‘We do work.’

  ‘Schlumpf slumped.’ Wine smiled engagingly as he offered this witticism. ‘And we saw how usefully we could take over the structure of the place. But of course we had to give up the clearing and colonizing part of the scheme. It was quite impracticable, anyhow. For – to be quite candid – Schlumpf was a scoundrel.’

  ‘A scoundrel?’ said Hudspith. ‘Dear, dear.’

  ‘A scoundrel, I am sorry to say. The Utopia was chimerical; what his Utopians paid to be allowed in was real and substantial. So we drove a hard bargain with him without any compunction at all.’

  ‘It must be nice,’ said Appleby, ‘to feel that you have turned his shady schemes to good.’

  ‘Very nice,’ said Mrs Nurse, brightening at the sound of her favourite word.

  ‘Very nice indeed,’ said Wine evenly. ‘And now we must think about finding you quarters, though I have no doubt Beaglehole has it all arranged. Mrs Nurse, I expect you know your way about sufficiently well now to take charge of Miss Rideout?’ Wine paused as if to emphasize the propriety of his dispositions. ‘And where is Miss Mood? I am sure we are all looking forward to seeing her again.’ He beamed at Hudspith and then glanced at his watch. ‘But Beaglehole, my dear man, perhaps we can steal half an hour to see to a little unloading first. If you are all quite comfortable, that is.’ And Wine put on his panama and led his assistant away.

  Hudspith, who was holding a sandwich suspiciously between finger and thumb, looked after him frowning. ‘Well, I’m damned!’ he said.

  ‘Mr Hudspith!’ Mrs Nurse’s glance went warningly to Lucy, and her tone was severe. Then she was placid again. ‘What a nice man Mr Wine is! It was such a pleasant surprise meeting him again.’

  Appleby was strolling round the veranda – apparently idly enough, but actually to discover if the party could possibly be overheard. Now he halted. ‘Mrs Nurse, you had no idea that it was by Wine that you were being–’ He paused, s
earching for the right word.

  ‘Retained? I had no notion of it. But people do often arrange these things in strange ways. Particularly the sceptical – I suppose because they are a little ashamed of their inquiries. But I think this is going to be quite nice. Not that I like working for the researchers. Few mediums do.’ Mrs Nurse was perfectly matter of fact. ‘They make real communication so difficult with their conditions and their disbeliefs. You understand? Thwarting influences and all sorts of stupid little spirits break in. And that makes it so tiring.’ Her voice was dispirited for a moment. ‘Often I am so tired. The feeling just before and afterwards can be very dreadful, Mr Appleby. But still’ – she smiled cheerfully – ‘I think this is going to be very nice.’ She turned to Lucy. ‘And I think you will like it too, dear. Come along.’ And Appleby and Hudspith found themselves alone.

  ‘Well,’ said Hudspith, ‘I am damned. And do you believe all that about Schlumpf?’

  ‘I rather think I do. Wine and Beaglehole are like ourselves now, and being as economical in their fibs as may be. For instance, I don’t imagine they stole this house from California and another from Cape Cod. They’ve stolen only one house and stealing one house is a large order enough. But Schlumpf’s fantastic notion dovetails in with 37 Hawke Square neatly enough. Do you notice that Wine has never mentioned Hawke Square? He thinks we know nothing about it; perhaps that no one knows anything about it; that it just hasn’t been missed.’

  ‘But it was in the papers.’

  ‘For once his intelligence service must have tripped. He thinks we know nothing about it. And that is immensely important to him.’

  ‘I really don’t see–’

  ‘But I do. I think I do.’ Appleby was on his feet again and pacing restlessly about. ‘And it’s not at all comfortable. Still, it’s a line. And a line is what we want.’

  ‘Would you mind explaining what’s in your head?’

  ‘Not a bit; it’s just what I propose…’ Appleby paused, walked to the edge of the veranda and stared up the river. ‘Europe Island. Jungle and tree-fern and pampa and alligators and cobras. And a very substantial London mansion rearing itself in the midst of them. It’s grotesque. But not quite as grotesque as if Schlumpf hadn’t thought to dot the vicinity with Cape Cod bungalows and Highland crofts and Swiss chalets.’ He turned back. ‘Do you know what makes a first-class experimental scientist?’

  ‘I don’t know that I do.’

  ‘The ability to exploit existing conditions. And Wine intends to do that. Thanks to Schlumpf a Bloomsbury house perching itself here is not outstanding and inexplicable in itself. It takes a sort of protective colouring from the chalets and crofts. We shall be taken there and think it nothing out of the way.’

  ‘But–’

  ‘Listen to me.’

  And Hudspith listened. At the end he was staring at Appleby almost open-mouthed. ‘I can hardly believe it,’ he said. ‘It’s like a dream.’

  Appleby smiled. ‘I should put it stronger than that myself. Say a dream of dreams.’ His voice sank grimly. ‘And it just depends on the masons whether there will be a long, long time of waiting till my dreams all come true.’

  5

  Hudspith took a turn about the veranda. ‘But if what you say is true–’

  ‘Let me go over a bit of it again.’ Appleby held up an index finger. ‘He knows we are police.’ He held up a second finger. ‘But he doesn’t know we know he knows.’ He held up a third finger. ‘He thinks he has hoodwinked us into believing that he believes that we act for Radbone; he thinks we believe that Radbone exists; he thinks we believe in the fundamentally scientific character of the whole affair. That is how the position stands now.’

  ‘I suppose you wouldn’t be disposed to call it at all complicated?’

  ‘Only when reduced to these compressed verbal terms. The actual situation is fairly simple.’

  ‘And we must be fairly simple ourselves – or he must think we are – if we are really to believe that the whole thing is some vast scientific investigation. Scientists just don’t behave in such ways, except in strip fiction.’

  ‘Quite so.’ Appleby took a final dab at the caviare. ‘And I doubt if the disinterested-investigator stuff will hold for another twenty-four hours. These islands are a sort of vast, veiled concentration camp into which Wine is packing every atom of mumbo-jumbo he can collect. Later he will purvey mumbo-jumbo – the locally appropriate mumbo-jumbo – wherever it is called for. Thames and Congo will be all one to the vast organization he is building up. But such a plan cannot really be disguised for long as a sort of grandiose laboratory experiment. He has brought us here, and if we live we are bound to find out. Think of all the contradictory baits which must have been laid; think of all the different terms on which his mediums and conjurors and prodigies must be retained here: terms ranging from full complicity through deception to duress. Apparently we are to be shown over the works – and somebody is bound to give the show away. But it won’t matter to Wine.’

  ‘Unless–’

  ‘Unless we announce that we are police and so make it impossible for him to simulate ignorance. Then he would, in a way, be baffled. I mean in the particular little scheme on which he is at present engaged. But if we continue to appear to believe that he believes that we believe in Radbone–’

  ‘I think it would be better without what you call the compressed verbal terms.’

  ‘Very well. His plan – this particular little plan – requires simply this: that one of us should leave the islands while genuinely believing that there is a Radbone. We may know that the scientific business is bunkum; but we must believe in Radbone, even if in Radbone as another rascal merely.’

  ‘Put it like this.’ Hudspith frowned in ferocious concentration. ‘We have to appear to be saying to ourselves: What smart policemen we are: we have tricked him into thinking we are the agents of some other scoundrel called Radbone – and on the strength of this one of us is going to get away and bring both Wine and Radbone to book.’

  ‘Exactly. That will give him the conditions required for his experiment.’

  ‘For his scientific experiment.’

  Appleby laughed warily. ‘Yes. The paradox is there all right. And in it lies our chance.’

  ‘Ah. I don’t know that I’d call it a chance. But perhaps that’s another compressed verbal term. We’d have just as good a chance trying to chum up with the alligators.’ Hudspith walked away and stared down the road to the jetty. ‘No sign of them yet. What about chumming up with some of the material, or exhibits, or whatever he calls them?’

  ‘What indeed. We might manage to start a revolt. And perhaps you’ll begin with Miss Mood.’

  Hudspith scowled, ‘I think Mrs Nurse would be better. She strikes me as an honest woman.’

  ‘In her everyday character I expect she is. But she is also extremely simple and somewhat lethargic. I should prefer to seek an ally in Lucy Rideout.’

  ‘Which?’ Hudspith’s question was perfectly matter of fact. For long ago the minor oddities of the world of Mr Wine had ceased to surprise.

  ‘Real Lucy. I fear her moral character will not long be of the best–’

  ‘Ah,’ said Hudspith – the old Hudspith.

  ‘But she is lively and intelligent and would be a good pal.’

  ‘Um,’ said Hudspith suspiciously.

  ‘And if we could get rid of sick Lucy and the young ’un – perhaps without Wine knowing it – we might find ourselves with quite a strong card.’

  ‘My dear chap’ – Hudspith stared in astonishment – ‘don’t you know that the curing of such a case may occupy a skilled alienist for years?’

  ‘No doubt. But there is one fairly simple technique which might work. Lucy – real Lucy – has an inkling of it herself. You decide which personality you want to preserve and then you discourage the others whenever they appear.’

  ‘Capital.’ Hudspith was sarcastic. ‘Why not kill them outright?’

  ‘Even
that mightn’t be impossible. Sometimes hypnotism is used to put the undesirable personalities to sleep. But the thing might be done by making sure they always encountered an uncongenial environment. I gather that real Lucy set off on her travels with just some such plot in mind. Now, if we could cure Lucy and make her reliable – so that she would always be real Lucy, I mean – and at the same time conceal this from Wine–’

  ‘I don’t think I ever heard a more impracticable and irrelevant scheme in my life. You might just as well set about curing that Italian girl of playing tricks with a lazy-tongs.’

  Appleby sighed. ‘Perhaps you’re right. But it would be nice to cure Lucy, and I think I’d like to try. Of course it would take time – and materials!’

  ‘Materials?’

  ‘Yes. A Latin grammar for young Lucy. We know that’s available. And to sick Lucy I would insist on reading about Mopsie in the fifth. Sooner or later each would be disgusted and retire from the scene.’

  ‘And real Lucy, on the other hand, would have to be pampered – quite given her head?’

  Appleby nodded solemnly. ‘I consider that a certain amount of giving real Lucy her head would be the right therapeutic method. Do I hear our friends returning?’

  ‘Damn our friends.’ Hudspith had strode over to his colleague and stood looking down at him suspiciously. ‘And I don’t like your scheme at all. Real Lucy is an extremely flighty girl. Oversexed. You can’t say that I don’t know them.’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘The sort that men give dirty books to on the chance–’

  ‘In fact, you think she should have nothing but Mopsie too?’ Hudspith relaxed. ‘It’s sometimes difficult to remember that you must have your little joke. I suppose it takes the mind off the alligators.’