by Ann Bridge
‘Bother my supper! Miss Probyn, please!’
‘All right, come on,’ Julia said.
Down in the hall she summoned Elidio and told him to fetch the Senhor Comandante out to her. ‘But discreetly, you understand—-so as not to attract attention.’
Major Torrens did not really relish the long formal evenings in that huge, inadequately-lit room, and was relieved at the chance of escape.
‘What goes on?’ he asked Julia in the hall.
‘Come into the smoking-room and hear.’
When he had heard what Julia had to tell he considered for a little.
‘You haven’t seen him yourself?’ he asked. She shook her head. ‘So we don’t know for certain that it is the man we want.’
‘Oh, Hugh, would any other man with a club beard and a German back to his neck show up here in the kitchen, and ask about foreign priests? We know that the “principal” knows that Father Antal is here, and now we have this person arriving. If you won’t ring Marques, I shall.’
‘I was going to ring Marques anyhow,’ the Major said calmly. ‘Of course I shall tell him what’s happened. I suppose we can do it from the study this time? I hope to goodness he’s in now.’
Colonel Marques was in. Torrens told him first, very guardedly, what the Communists had found in Hetta’s handbag, and went on to relate how someone ‘corresponding to the description of the fourth man’ had been found in the house, making enquiries about ‘divines from other countries’.
‘Where is he now?’ the Colonel asked.
‘Under lock and key upstairs. He was promised an interview with one of the divines, and has paid a large bribe to secure it. Should we afford him any interview?’
‘Ah non, mon cher! That would be too great a risk. I will come up at once; this is certainly worth investigation. You have not seen him yourself? Nor your lady colleague?’
Neither, Torrens told him; only a very youthful member of the family, and an old member of the staff, a foreigner.
‘Bon! Now listen closely, mon ami. It would be highly desirable that this inquisitive individual should pass the time till I arrive in a deep and restful sleep; the old servant might perhaps offer him a glass of wine, or a cup of coffee. Can this be arranged? Have you what is necessary?’
‘Of course I have the stuff. But not coffee, here; it wouldn’t disguise the taste of barley-water!’ the Major exclaimed hastily, causing Miss Probyn to laugh. ‘Hold on,’ he added, and turned to his ribald lady colleague, his hand over the receiver.
‘Can Nanny administer a drug to the beard? I’ve got the dope.’
‘Yes, I’m sure she’d love to,’ Julia responded heartily.
‘That can be done,’ Torrens said into the telephone.
‘Excellent. And please arrange for us to be let in when we arrive: in about six hours from now. An awkward time, I am afraid.’
Torrens glanced at his watch—it was just after ten.
‘I’m sure that will be all right,’ he said, remembering his entry into the palace in Lisbon with the two priests in the small hours. ‘See you then.’ He rang off.
‘So Nanny is to drug him. Oh, what fun for her!’ Luzia exclaimed. ‘I wish I could do it!’
‘Let’s go up and see Nanny,’ Julia said, ignoring her. ‘You get your drug, Hugh, while I get something from Elidio to put it in. Vintage port, don’t you think? Oddly enough the Duke has some, and that should mask the taste of your stuff as well as anything, though mind you it isn’t really good. Port simply won’t hold in this climate— the summers are too hot.’
It is a curious fact that the Portuguese themselves have small taste for their country’s supreme product, vintage port; they greatly prefer lighter wines. The Duke of Ericeira, however, with his wide circle of English friends, kept a small stock of some of the more noted vintages; only, as Miss Probyn had truly remarked, owing to the very hot summers and the lack of adequate cellerage they were seldom at their best.
‘All right,’ Torrens said. ‘Only how I am to find Nanny? This house is like the maze at Hampton Court!’
‘I go with you, and bring you to Nanny,’ Luzia said eagerly.
‘Yes, you do that, Luzia,’ her ex-governess said. ‘Take Major Torrens up. I’ll meet you there.’
It gave the measure of Miss Probyn’s standing in the Ericeira household that she had little difficulty in causing Elidio to decant a bottle of Graham’s 1945 port; this, with a rather large glass, she took from the old servant.
‘Minha Menina, let me bring this to wherever you desire it,’ the butler said earnestly. Julia shook her head.
‘On this one occasion, Elidio, I will take it myself,’ she said, smiling; an answering smile, coupled with an expression of ineffable intelligence, overspread the rather monkeyfied visage of the Portuguese. ‘Muito bem, Minha Menina,’ he said, and let her depart. Elidio had not failed to draw his own conclusions from the arrival of two priests in Lisbon after 1 a.m. the previous Friday; nor from ‘Meess Brown’s’ escorting, tonight, a pessoa from the traveller’s table in the kitchen into the house.
Torrens, Luzia, and Nanny were waiting in the latter’s sitting-room when Julia arrived with her salver.
‘Well, Nanny, has the Major told you what he wants?’ she asked.
‘Yes, Miss Probyn. Quite an unusual request!’
‘Do you think he’ll take a glass of port?’
‘I’ll see that he does. I shall stay and talk about the foreign priests to him while he drinks it, and ask for more money. Asking for money always sort of carries conviction,’ Nanny stated, making Torrens laugh.
‘Let’s taste that wine, Julia,’ he said.
‘I did. It’s quite strong. I’d say it would mask most flavours.’
The Major took out the stopper of the decanter, and sniffed. ‘Wonderful! What is it?’
‘Graham’s ’45. I asked for that because it’s still fairly young. Are you going to put your dope into the whole decanter, or pour out a glass?’
‘I am certainly not going to ruin a whole bottle of Graham’s ‘45!’ the Major said emphatically. ‘I see you’ve brought a fairly large glass—good.’ He filled it; then before the fascinated gaze of the others he drew a small ampoule from his pocket, sawed off the neck, and emptied the contents into the glass of port. He stirred the fluid, carefully, with his little finger, then sucked the finger.
‘Perfect,’ he pronounced. ‘This particular thing has very little taste.’ He replaced the glass on the silver tray. ‘There you are, Nanny; go and do your stuff. I’ll come along behind you, just in case he smells a rat and tries something on.’ He picked up the poker from the grate and followed her as she took the tray and went out.
He reappeared in about five minutes. ‘It all seems to be going all right,’ he observed. ‘He’s drinking it, and talking to her, quite jolly. This acts very gently and gradually, you know.’ He looked at the table. ‘Pity we haven’t some port glasses! We could use some of this decanter.’
‘I shall get them!’ Luzia flew from the room before anyone could stop her.
‘This really is the most extraordinary set-up,’ Torrens said when she had gone.
‘Rather fun, don’t you think?’ Julia said contentedly, lighting a cigarette.
‘Put that out, Julia, if you’re going to drink port,’ Torrens said peremptorily. ‘It’s desecration to smoke before stuff like this.’
‘Oh, very well.’ Always good-natured, Julia flung her cigarette into the fireplace—the Major looked on her with love.
‘Darling, do you know that you really are an absolute darling?’ he said, getting up as he spoke.
‘Hugh dear, cut it out! Luzia will be back any minute, and you remember that we agreed to cut all this out till the Hetta-Antal business was finished, only the other day in the knot-garden, when the Duque and the holies interrupted us.’
‘It isn’t easy to cut it out when you’re so sweet,’ the Major was beginning, when Luzia flew in.
‘There
you are! Nanny loves port,’ the young girl said, banging four exquisite Marinha Grande port-glasses down on the table. Like port, the beautiful glass of Marinha Grande is a product which Portugal owes to English enterprise; as long ago as 1748 a factory was started there by John Beare, and carried on by the Stephens brothers, who prudently secured from the great Pombal the right to buy wood for their furnaces in the neighbouring forest of Leiria, the oldest man-controlled forest in the world; since the 13th century this has been felled, replanted, and thinned under human direction. Julia was telling the Major about this when Nanny came in.
‘Gone down?’ Torrens asked.
‘Yes, Major; he quite enjoyed it. I hinted about some more money, so he gave me another conto!—and he was half-asleep when I left.’
‘Splendid, Nanny!’
‘Hugh, hadn’t we better go and have a look at him presently, to see if he really is the man I saw on the road outside Cascais?’ Julia asked.
‘Give him another quarter of an hour,’ Torrens said, looking at his watch. ‘He’ll have passed clean out by then. And meanwhile, I think we might drink Nanny’s and Luzia’s health.’
After fifteen minutes pleasantly spent drinking admirable port they proceeded along the east corridor to the old night-nurseries, where Nanny unlocked the door. There, slackly sunk down in an old-fashioned nursery armchair, upholstered in faded cretonne patterned with turkey-cocks, lay Nanny’s captive, snoring gently, his mouth half-open. Major Torrens went over to him and lifted an eyelid; getting no response he briskly felt him all over, and from a pocket extracted a small revolver, which he pocketed himself. Then he turned to Julia.
‘Is that your man?’ he asked.
‘The beard’s all right. Let me see the back of his head.’
The Major heaved the inert figure upwards and forwards, out of the comfortable cup-shaped back of the old chair.
‘Yes, rolls of fat! I’m sure that’s him.’
The Major replaced the man in the chair and they all went out, Nanny locking the door.
‘Nanny, I’d better have that key,’ Torrens said. ‘The head of the Security Police will be here about 4 a.m. to collect this person, and I don’t want to dig you out of bed at that hour.’
‘Very well, Major. Does his Grace know? Elidio will have to wait up.’
‘No, I must see his Grace now.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We’d better get hold of him at once.’
‘Yes. And you’re for bed, Miss!’ Nanny said firmly to Luzia, and swept her off.
Chapter 17
The drawing-room party was just breaking up when Torrens and Julia got downstairs. The girl shepherded Hetta and Mrs. Hathaway to their rooms, while in the study Torrens, over a whisky, was about to inform his host of the events upstairs when Mgr Subercaseaux poked his head round the door. ‘Do I intrude?’ he asked; the Monsignor liked a nightcap. Torrens frowned, involuntarily.
‘Yes, I see that I do. Good night, my dear Duke.’
‘No, Monsignor—come in, come in!’ his host said. Then he, too, noticed Torrens’ face. ‘You did not wish to speak to me privately?’ he asked, recalling that the Major had rather formally requested a few minutes with him.
‘Well, as a matter of fact I did, Sir; but I don’t suppose it much matters the Monsignor hearing what I have to say.’
‘Then shut the door and come and sit down, Monsignor. Say when.’
Torrens told his tale. The Duke listened with half-incredulous delight. ‘Incredible!’ he ejaculated. ‘And you mean that man is in the house now?’
‘Yes, Sir; in some disused rooms upstairs.’
‘Do let us see him!’ Subercaseaux exclaimed. ‘A spy spotted by a jeune fille and drugged by a bonne is really something worth looking at!’
The Duke was also quite anxious to see his daughter’s prize.
‘I hope I can find the room,’ Torrens said, rather doubtfully, as they went upstairs; however, on the landing they encountered Miss Probyn, who had just said Good night to Mrs. Hathaway. ‘Ah good, Julia. You can conduct us to that creature. The Duke and the Monsignor want to see him.’
In the old night-nursery the Duke did not at first so much as look at the man lying slackly in Nanny Brown’s armchair by the fireplace; instead his glance strayed to a little cot in one corner, a tiny chair and a low table, miniatures for a child’s use. Julia knew why. He was thinking back to the little son who had not lived to carry on his name and care for his estates. When at last he did examine the drugged figure—‘He looks like a Baltic German,’ he observed. ‘How strange.’
Julia and Torrens exchanged glances. But Torrens wanted above all to get the business in hand organised.
‘Quite so, Sir,’ he said briskly. ‘Now, Colonel Marques and his men are coming to fetch him about 4 a.m. Can someone stay up to let them in? And do you agree to his staying here till then; locked in, of course?’
The Duke pondered—Julia saw him glance again at the cot in the corner, and guessed at his distaste.
‘Yes, of course,’ he said, then with a shrug, as if shaking off his private thoughts. ‘Elidio shall let these people in and bring them up by the back stairs, so that they will not be heard.’
‘Thank you, Sir. I shall wait up myself, of course.’
‘In that case you had better use my study. I will tell Elidio to keep the fire in. Now let us return to our drinks. Miss Probyn, will you not join us?’
In the study Mgr Subercaseaux suddenly put a question.
‘Major Torrens, I think you said that this creature upstairs is probably the principal in the organisation?‘ Torrens nodded. ’That being so,’ Subercaseaux proceeded, ‘and at least three of his associates being also laid by the heels, might not this be a good opportunity to get Dr. Horvath out of the country, before they have a chance to reorganise?’
‘That was my idea. Have you done with him?’
‘Substantially, yes; we could finish in a couple of hours. And since his Grace will be driving back to Lisbon on Friday for the wedding, it occurs to me that Dr. Horvath could travel down as he came up—if you agree, Duke?’
‘Of course. Strange how one keeps on forgetting this wedding!’ the Duke said. ‘It had quite passed from my mind again.’
Subercaseaux turned to Torrens.
‘You would, of course, have to make your transatlantic arrangements,’ he said. ‘How quickly could you do it?’
Torrens considered.
‘Do you know, Sir,’ he said, ‘I think I had better go down with Colonel Marques when he comes to collect the body—a corpus vile if ever there was one!’
‘Leave at four in the morning?’ The Duke looked horrified.
‘Yes, Sir. Of course I must hear whether Marques agrees with the Monsignor’s estimate of the situation; if he does, I think we should go ahead. Could Father Antal spend just the Friday night in your Lisbon house again? You have been so good already that I hesitate to ask it, but it would save a lot of complicated arrangements.’
‘I am vexed that you should hesitate to ask!’ the Duke said warmly. ‘I think you must know what a privilege it has been to have so great a man as Dr. Horvath under my roof.’
Major Torrens was rather crushed by this. He had never realised that Father Antal was in any sense a ‘great’ man in his own right; he regarded him as a little priest—a bit of a theologian, apparently, and as nice as you like, of course —whose special knowledge of conditions in Hungary made the Americans covet him for broadcasting on The Voice of America. As for the Vatican, God knew whom they attached importance to, or why: though one had to admit that the Roman Catholic Church was one of the few things that really seemed to worry the Kremlin, so good luck to it! He was relieved when the Monsignor put another question.
‘You think you can get the agent from America over by Saturday to take him back? That seems rather quick work.’
‘Oh, no. This is only Wednesday—well it will be Thursday in half an hour!’ he said, glancing at the clock. ‘But if Marques is on time we
should be in Lisbon by ten-thirty tomorrow morning, and I ought to get through to Washington in an hour at most.’
‘That is only seven-thirty there,’ the Monsignor observed.
‘Yes, but that office works round the clock. I don’t know how long they’ll take to lay on the special plane, but even their smaller jets do the trip in nine or ten hours.’
‘You will telephone to Washington?’ the Duke put in, much interested.
‘Radio-telephone, Sir. With a scrambler, of course: that is how Roosevelt and Churchill used to have those long heart-to-hearts during the war.’
‘They will come to Portela?’ Subercaseaux asked.
‘I shouldn’t think so—much more likely Montijo. But Marques will have to arrange all that. He can have the plane advised which airport to use when it stops at the Azores to refuel. Then they can take Father Antal off some time on Saturday.’
Julia spoke.
‘Is all this rush really necessary?’ she said coolly to Torrens. ‘It’s a little hard on Hetta, don’t you think? She’ll hardly have any time with Father A. at this rate; only tomorrow, and I gather the Monsignor proposes to mop up most of that. Considering what she’s been through for the sake of seeing him, I think it’s rather tough.’
Torrens looked annoyed and hurt; the Monsignor gave his barking laugh.
‘Dear Miss Probyn, you remind us of the human element, so rightly the woman’s role! But in this case perhaps there are over-riding considerations.’
The Duke did not laugh.
‘Miss Probyn, could not Countess Hetta come down with us to Lisbon on Friday? Then she could spend a quiet evening with Dr. Horvath, and possibly Saturday morning also. It is easy to take a third car if we need it.’
‘Duke dear, you’re an angel! Yes, that’s perfect. But I don’t think you’ll need to take a third car; Mr. Atherley has to get back to Lisbon on Friday, so he could drive Hetta down.’
Subercaseaux threw her an enquiring glance, but he said nothing.
‘Of course all this is subject to Colonel Marques approving of the plan,’ Torrens said. ‘Duke, if you will excuse me I think I’ll go and put my things together now, so that there will be no delay when he comes.’