‘Then you may be down first thing to fetch him, and wanting breakfast?’
‘I doubt it. Most like he’ll do as he done when he brought Monty down here for the evening and sent me up with him. He’ll drive himself up in the little Morris.’
They kissed perfunctorily and Bert ran downstairs. I accompanied him round to the house in the car, then got out. Almost as soon as he had rung the bell the front door opened, Sir Charles gave the chauffeur his instructions, then stood aside for his friend, who turned to him before entering the car and said:
‘Thank you for this evening, Charles. It made a delightful break for me. I’ll study that paper carefully and arrange for a Cabinet to be called to discuss it next week. Thursday would be the best day, I think. We’ll get Dickie to come along to it, and hear what he has to say.’
I knew that Earl Mountbatten’s intimates always called him ‘Dickie’, so the reference was obviously to him. Although the part I had been designed to play in Sir Charles’s battle for the co-ordination of our defences had broken down, it looked as if he was making very satisfactory progress without me.
When the car had driven off I followed him back into the house. Collecting his brief-case he took it into the sitting-room, unlocked a secretaire there and settled down to work. Not very hopefully I gave a little time to trying to attract his attention, but it was no good; so I went again to the flat over the garage.
It had occurred to me that psychic powers are said to run in families, and that the seventh child of a seventh child is always fey. There was no reason to suppose that Gloria was a seventh child and even less to suppose that she had herself had six children before her little daughter; but as the child had supernatural vision there was anyhow a chance that she had inherited it from her mother.
When I arrived the lights of the living room were out, and in the bedroom the extraordinarily ill-named Gloria was undressing. The child, I noted with relief, had sobbed herself to sleep. As Gloria took off her underclothes. As soon as she was in bed I presented myself with all my consciousness and willed her to see me. She picked up a film magazine and began to flick through its pages. For ten minutes I kept it up, then she yawned, threw the paper aside and switched out the light. I remained at the foot of her bed, my gaze unwaveringly fixed upon her eyes, but after a moment she turned on to her side and drew the bed-clothes up. Five minutes later she was giving vent to a gentle snore.
Angrily as I was at my waste of effort I tried to consider my next step as calmly as I could. To seek for a medium in the nearest village was the obvious course; but every attempt on each individual would cost time and loss of energy. I must pick my subjects carefully. Not that there was likely to be any outward clue indicating that one was more probably psychic than another; but it would more than double my chances of getting a warning to Sir Charles if I could contact some upper class neighbour of his, rather than a cottager who would be scared of going to see him.
One thing was certain; Maria had the poison, and had been given a practical demonstration of how quick and effective it could be. She might not use it until next time Sir Charles came down to his cottage, as that would give her a whole night in which to make her get-away. But if Klinsky realised that a delay of a week might now render the crime almost useless he would have pressed her to seize the present opportunity. It was, therefore, quite on the cards that she might give Sir Charles the poison with his breakfast in the morning. If I failed to find a means of warning him that night, within nine hours he might be dead.
11
Friday 16th September
Never have I spent such a desperate and exhausting night. For tension, and a call upon my ultimate resources of endurance, nothing I had experienced in the war approached it. One blank session after another occasionally interspersed with wild hopes that made the disappointment with which they ended only the more bitter.
In one a small boy with a bandaged head, with whom his mother was sitting up, asked who the man was who had just come through the window, and kept pointing at me; but his mother lacked his supernatural sight, and assuming he was delirious told him that I was a good angel come to make him well.
Twice slightly older children screamed on my appearing to them, but one tiny tot laughed and held out her arms, inviting me to play. The sight of her was like a draught of water in a wilderness. In spite of the frightful urgency of my quest I could not forbear from spending a few minutes with her; passing my hands which were visible to her gently over her head I willed her to become drowsy, soon she snuggled down in her cot and, still smiling, fell asleep.
Her up in café … Barcelona. You ever go … Barcelona?’
There was lots more to it. Plenty of rambling reminiscences but no indication at all that he had grasped the story I was so anxious that he should tell over the telephone once he got into his house. My efforts to induce him to concentrate on letting himself in proved equally futile, and eventually he sat down on the door step. Time was flying and we were getting nowhere; so I reluctantly decided that I must leave him there.
It was about three hours later that I at last came upon a genuine psychic. I had spent the greater part of that time in the village and already done most of the more prosperous-looking houses in it when, at its far end, I came upon a small Georgian mansion set a little way back from the road. Advancing up the garden path I went in under the Adam fan-light.
Even in the dark I could see that the place had recently been redecorated. Up a few steps inside the door an arch-way supported by fluted pillars glistened with fresh white paint, as too did all the woodwork of the square hall and the charming semi-circular staircase at its far end.
Mounting to the first floor I entered a spacious bedroom, furnished in excellent taste and gay, to my eyes, with new hangings. In it were twin beds placed side by side. One was occupied by a youngish man who was fast asleep; the other by a woman who was wide awake. She looked to be in her middle twenties, was dark, striking looking in a slightly foreign way, and was lying on her back staring at the ceiling. As I hovered over her she saw me almost at once, and sitting up, said quite calmly:
‘What do you want with me?’
Elated almost beyond belief at having found someone to whom I could give my message, I told her.
She seemed to take it in; so having asked her to warn Sir Charles I went on to give her a second message for him about Johnny’s arrest, with the reason for it, and requesting him to intervene at once.
When I had done she stretched out a hand, shook her husband and said urgently:
‘Wake Harree, mio! Wake! Here is a ghost who talks with me.’
‘A what!’ the man muttered sleepily, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
‘A ghost,’ she repeated. ‘What you call spirit. Look, ‘e stands at the end of my bed.’
The young man stared straight at me, then shook his head. ‘I can’t see anything. You’re imagining things, darling.’
‘No, no! Crosses on my heart! I see ‘im clearly.’
He switched on the bed-side light, brushed back his tousled hair and exclaimed triumphantly: ‘There! You can see for yourself that you were mistaken.’
‘But I see ‘im still,’ she protested. ‘’E is a big man, tall, an’ wears a black bow-tie with a smoking jacket.’
‘Really, my sweet; you’re suffering from an hallucination.’
‘Not at all. I have tell you before, Harree, that as a young girl I often see things. I am what you call psychic. This ghost ‘e come here because ‘e is much worried.’
‘What about?’ enquired Harry with a smile, evidently now deciding to humour her.
It was only then I realised that in my anxiety to get my messages through to her I had made a stupid blunder. I had overrated her capacity to take in my thoughts as swiftly as I transmitted them. In consequence she had received them only as a jumble. She thought that I was worried about an R.A.F. officer who had turned spy and was attempting to poison someone. She mispronounced Sir Charles’s surname
and that, added to the probability that they were newcomers to the district, caused it to fail to ring a bell with Harry. When he had heard her out he said:
‘It doesn’t make sense, darling. How long is it since you have seen a spook?’
‘Seven years; eight per’aps,’ she admitted. ‘I was still at my convent. A poor servant girl there, she get put in the pood, as you say. She drown ‘erself an’ she come back to me.’
He shook his head. ‘That’s a long time ago, poppet. If there were anything here I’d see it too. Honestly, Lolla, you’ve been dreaming.’
‘But I see ‘im still, Harree. ‘E is trying again to make ‘iself understand. Now we talk though, I get less ‘is meaning.’
‘Your brain is overtired, darling, that’s what it is. You’ve built up a fantasy in your mind owing to this wretched insomnia you suffer from. Still, we found one cure for that on our honeymoon, didn’t we?’
With a smile he switched out the light, then scrambled from his bed into hers, took her in his arms and gave her a long passionate kiss on the mouth.
It was a bitter defeat, but I had to accept it.
By this time dawn had come. I tried another five houses in the village without success; then, not knowing how early Sir Charles would have his breakfast, and gnawed with anxiety about what might happen when he did, I decided to return to his cottage.
In my wanderings from house to house during the night I had come further from it than I thought, and as I could progress at no faster pace for any length of time than a quick walk, it was half past seven before I got there. Maria was in the kitchen and just about to take Sir Charles’s breakfast up on a tray. I had intended to learn the best or worst by watching her prepare it, but having lost that chance I could now only accompany her upstairs, still sick with apprehension.
After knocking at his bedroom door she went in, set the tray down beside his bed, then drew the curtains. He was already awake and wished her a cheerful ‘good morning’. As she returned his greeting, in her slightly guttural voice, I studied her face closely. It showed no sign of agitation and she left the room unhurriedly.
Quickly I switched my attention to Sir Charles and the breakfast tray. On it there was a pot of tea, some slices of toast, butter and a pear. I cursed myself for having delayed so long in the village. I had intended to return while he was still asleep, so as to be present at the moment of his waking as, if he was at all psychic, that would have given me a better chance than I had had the night before of getting through to him. But that forlorn hope was now gone. I could only wait on tenter-hooks to find out if he would be dead within the next few moments.
With what seemed to me maddening slowness he picked up a piece of toast, buttered it and took a bite. About the result of that I had no fears. A liquid poison could hardly have been inserted in either toast or butter. Neither could it in the pear. It was what might happen when he drank his tea that caused me to break out into a mental perspiration.
I could hear the clock ticking on the mantelpiece. As he slowly ate the toast another two age-long minutes went by. At last he picked up the tea-pot and poured himself a cup. It was pale golden in colour and looked very weak. He put two lumps of sugar in the cup and lifted it to his lips. Suddenly I realised that there was no milk on the tray, which would have been another vehicle for poison. Evidently the tea was fine China and he preferred not to destroy its bouquet by adding either milk or lemon.
He drank; but neither attempted to spit the liquid out, nor was taken with an immediate seizure. My relief was unconveyable. Yet I still had to wait for some minutes to be certain that he had escaped, as the poison might have been tasteless and needed longer to take effect than it had had on a small animal like the cat.
Gradually my agitation subsided and my confidence increased. Without showing any sign of illness he finished his breakfast, then he jumped out of bed and spent five minutes doing physical exercises. By then my mind was at rest—but only for the moment.
There were two good reasons why Maria should have refrained from attempting to poison him that morning. Firstly, he had had no cooked breakfast; so there had been nothing but the tea in which she could readily have put the poison, and, as no poison is entirely tasteless, the odds were that, detecting the unusual flavour, he would have spat it out before swallowing enough of it to kill him. Secondly, as a good part of his day was spent at meetings, at which he must usually be the most important person, if he did not arrive at his office when expected enquiries would be set on foot soon afterwards, and his death would probably be discovered by midday.
Evidently Maria meant to wait until he came down again for the night; she would be able to give him the poison in whatever she cooked for his dinner and have a clear twelve hours afterwards in which to make her get-away.
When, I wondered, would that be?
It was on the previous Sunday morning that I had seen him in his office, so it seemed probable that he had spent the Saturday night at some late conference or function. If so, that made it all the more likely that he would have kept the coming Saturday evening free so that he could come down here. If his daughters or a friend came with him that would be some protection; so, unless Maria was prepared to commit a double or triple murder, the presence of others in the house would both make it more difficult for her to administer the poison to him and, should she succeed, ensure the discovery of the crime much sooner. On the other hand, if he did come down alone Saturday was, for her, the most favourable night of all; with luck, up to nearly forty hours might elapse before the hue and cry started after her.
And today was Friday. Seeing the appalling handicap I was under in my efforts to get an intelligible warning to him, the time at my disposal was, once again, all too desperately short.
When he had bathed and dressed he went downstairs and collected his brief-case from the sitting-room. In the hall Maria was waiting to see him off. As he took his hat from her he confirmed my worst fears, by saying to her:
‘Unless I telephone to the contrary I shall be down on Saturday evening. Don’t get a lot of food in as there will be no one staying the week-end, and I shall be out to lunch on Sunday.’
Miserably, I wondered if he would still be alive for that meal.
Accompanying him round to the garage I got into the small Morris with him and we set off for London. For me the whole of the journey was a blank. My endeavours throughout the night had utterly exhausted me, and there was nothing further that I could attempt for the time being; so as soon as we were out of the drive, I closed my mental eyes and at once sank into oblivion.
I must have been roused by the slamming of the car door. On taking in my surroundings I saw that the Morris was drawn up in Storey’s Gate facing towards St. James’s Park, and that Sir Charles had already left it. A glance through its back windows showed his tall figure striding across the broad pavement towards the great bronze doors through which he had to pass to his office.
I followed at once, for I was still of the opinion that I stood a much better chance of getting a warning to him through somebody who could approach him without difficulty, than through some contact made at random.
Catching him up, I ascended with him in the lift to the second floor and, refreshed a little by my recent rest, set about making further endeavours to find someone who would react to my presence.
For over two hours I invaded room after room, presenting myself in turn to officers of the Joint Planning Staff, men clerks, girl typists and elderly messengers, willing them to see me.
In one case only did I meet with any response. A rather handsome man, with greying hair and a weatherbeaten face, whom I put down as probably a Captain R.N., suddenly sat back at his desk and said to his three companions who were also sitting at desks in the room:
‘You know, chaps, if I did not know that it was only eleven o’clock in the morning, and that I was stone-cold sober, I’d be inclined to believe that I was bloody tight. I’d damn near take my oath that I can see a man’s face s
tanding out from that map of Palestine on the wall, there.’
‘Eye strain, old boy; eye strain,’ replied one of his companions, who had an airman’s moustache. ‘As long as we are in this dump it is part of the sentence that we should have to read round about fifty thousand words a day of mostly roneoed stuff or typescript. And you’ve been here for eighteen months, so what can you expect?’
‘That’s about it,’ agreed the Naval type, taking off and wiping his spectacles. ‘I’ll have to get my oculist to ante up these; otherwise, when I do get to sea again, I’ll not be able to tell the difference between a corvette and a Thames coal barge.’
The third man, whom I took to be the soldier of the party, grunted: ‘You are darned lucky to be nearly through here, Jerry. I’ve had only three months of it, but I’d willingly drop a pip to get back into the open.’
‘Oh no you wouldn’t, Arthur,’ remarked the fourth man, who had ‘Foreign Office’ written all over him. ‘You’d just hate to be a major and back on the barrack square again. This is the forcing house for high command later on; and every bright little warrior who is posted here knows that he’s darn lucky to be in it.’
The sailor put his specs on again and once more gave his mind to the papers on his desk. And that was that.
By midday I gave up. I was so tired from the strain of willing one person after another to see me that my powers of concentration were giving out. Moreover, during the past two and a half hours I had had a crack at nearly everyone in this small, select Ministry, so its possibilities seemed exhausted. Going out into the Park, I drifted down to the edge of the lake with the idea of resting there for a while before considering what my next move should be.
But I did not rest for long. Within two minutes of my arriving at the water’s edge a pretty dark-haired girl leading a poodle walked briskly past me. Something about her bronzed good looks reminded me of Lolla, the foreign newly-wed wife, to whom I had succeeded in appearing early that morning. Instantly my brain again began to tick over.
The Ka of Gifford Hillary Page 34