Missing Person

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘Very important, if my stepfather happened to be in the back of the car.’

  ‘Silly question of mine,’ said Captain Arnold. ‘Are you up against dirty work at the cross-roads, Mr Adams? If so, don’t you need to inform the police? There’s a station in Farnham, and your mother must be a desperately worried woman.’

  Boots said it looked as if the police might have to be called in. However, had Captain Arnold noticed which direction the car took? Yes, said the Captain, it was turning left to Guildford as it passed him.

  ‘And would you have noticed what kind of car it was?’

  ‘That’s an easy one, old chap,’ said Captain Arnold, ‘I’m a car enthusiast. It was a wine-coloured Austin Cambridge saloon.’

  That was something, thought Boots. Most cars, except the specialist kind, were black. Guildford, therefore, was worth a visit. It was a major Surrey city, and a likely place in which to hole up. Assuming Edwin had been in that car, then it was for the purpose of taking him somewhere and doing what to him? I’m going to settle, thought Boots, for an abduction relating to his years in Intelligence. And who would think of looking for him in Guildford? It’s a shot in the dark, but we’ll go there, and Polly can make use of her fascinating eyelashes. She can ask policemen on point duty if they can remember seeing a wine-coloured Austin Cambridge saloon in yesterday afternoon’s traffic. What’s a copper worth if his training hasn’t sharpened his powers of observation?

  ‘Well, thanks very much, Captain Arnold,’ he said. ‘Good of you to put up with my questions.’

  ‘Only too pleased, my dear fellow,’ said Captain Arnold, and smiled as he added, ‘I think you were good enough yourself to wait until I’d finished a very enjoyable breakfast. Damn civilized of you. My regards to your worried mother, and I’m at your service today if you need my help. I take a very poor view of buggers who make off with a lady’s husband, if that’s what’s happened.’

  ‘We’ll get to work on the possibility,’ said Boots, and returned to his table. Polly was at reception, using the phone there to call the school. Boots took Chinese Lady and Rosie out of the restaurant to the lobby, where they picked up Polly and then went up to his room. There he told them of the small amount of information given to him by Captain Arnold. Chinese Lady, under increasing strain, was dubious about the meaning of a woman being in the car. I can’t hardly think that a woman would be wicked enough to help take Edwin away, she said, and how could they have taken him, anyway? Edwin’s a strong man and a sensible one.

  ‘But it’s all we’ve got, Mrs Finch,’ said Polly, ‘the possibility that somehow or other he was persuaded to get into the car and was then driven away.’

  ‘Oh, help,’ said Rosie, ‘he’d have been furious. Daddy, what do we do now?’

  ‘Go to Guildford and try to find out if anyone noticed the car,’ said Boots.

  ‘And if someone says yes, they noticed it passing through yesterday, where will that get us, old sport?’ asked Polly.

  ‘It may not have gone all the way through the city,’ said Boots, ‘it may be parked somewhere.’

  ‘Daddy, we’re going to look at every street in Guildford?’ said Rosie.

  ‘It’s work for the police,’ said Polly.

  ‘Well, we’ll have a go first,’ said Boots, ‘but before we do I’d better ring Emily and Sammy.’

  He did so, from the lobby call-box. Emily was as dubious as Chinese Lady about Mr Finch having been taken away in some strangers’ car, and couldn’t think what good it would do to chase about Guildford. Still, she said, I’ve got to believe in you, Boots, and I know you’ll have the sense to go to the police if you feel you’re not getting anywhere. And she asked if Chinese Lady was bearing up. Well, you know Chinese Lady, Em, said Boots, she’s an old soldier. She’s biting her lip and giving me what for now and again, but she’s bearing up. Well, I hope so, said Emily, she must be going out of her mind with worry. And what’s Polly doing? Lending support, said Boots, and Rosie’s a godsend to all of us. That girl’s a dear, said Emily, so just find your stepdad and make her happy.

  Sammy’s response was to tell Boots to go ahead, to do what he thought best, and not to contact the coppers until there was no option. Keep it in the family, he said. My idea precisely, said Boots. What a palaver, said Sammy, our respected stepdad going missing in what looks like a serious way. Makes no sense to me. Get on with it, Boots, Susie sends you her best.

  Mr Finch had been given quite a decent breakfast. The woman brought it up to him, telling him to enjoy it while he was still alive. And she spoke in German. Afterwards, the two men addressed themselves to him as he lay on the bed, his legs chained and the handcuffs around his wrist. His mouth was free, however, but he understood the threat he was under. He’d had experience of men like these, with their steely eyes and their incorruptible dedication to whatever cause they were serving. They wouldn’t hesitate to cripple him for life or even strangle him.

  ‘You were born Paul Strasser, that is accepted?’

  ‘Yes,’

  The man who had struck the chopping blows did most of the talking, and in a calm, dispassionate way. No good would have come of you denying your German origins, he said, for we know all there is to know about you. Is there any need for questions, then? asked Mr Finch. There’s need for some, said the chopper. For instance, do you concede you betrayed your Fatherland by going over to the British and taking with you information entrusted to you? Do you concede, in fact, that you’re a disgusting traitor?

  Mr Finch replied that he would not concede that at all. German Intelligence made a mistake when they sent him to England many years ago, for he quickly found he identified more comfortably with the English than with Germans. To begin to feel more English than German was not a betrayal of Germany, it was an accident of nature. Further, he said, if my original file still exists, you will find I recorded my strong opposition to Germany going to war in support of Austria. There was no need for Austria to go to war herself. Serbia had accepted the Austrian ultimatum and its terms.

  ‘You put that forward as an excuse for playing the traitor?’ The question was a contemptuous denunciation.

  ‘I did not play the traitor, I remained faithful to my calling and to Germany right up to March, 1918, when I then decided I could no longer represent Germany. I changed sides, yes, but at a time when I could have contributed nothing that would have helped Germany avoid defeat.’ Mr Finch spoke with cool exactitude.

  ‘Your interpretation is not acceptable. However, modern Germany is prepared to forgive you. You are a man of great experience and accomplishments, and modern Germany is a State that has risen from the ashes of defeat and found itself with the potential to become the greatest in the world. Before very long we shall have a new Chancellor, a new leader. It will only be a matter of two or three years.’

  ‘You are speaking of Adolf Hitler,’ said Mr Finch, his German measured.

  ‘Our future Fuehrer. Your experience is needed, so is all the information you can give us concerning British Intelligence. You will go to Germany freely in three days time, stay there for a week, during which time you will be interrogated, and then return to become a double agent.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ said Mr Finch.

  ‘You will work for British Intelligence in your usual way while acting for Germany.’

  Mr Finch said that was impossible and absurd. British Intelligence would be highly suspicous of any agent who vanished for ten days. The second German said he must simply advise his superiors that in a dispirited mood he had left England to return to his native country with the intention of making amends by serving German Intelligence again. However, after only a week he realized he had planted his roots too deeply in England, and another change of heart brought him back again. At least, that was what he would tell his superiors.

  Mr Finch said he was inclined to laugh at that because of its absurdity. The senior German said to laugh would cause them intolerable offence. You will go to Germany, in any event,
he said. If not freely, then aboard a small German merchant ship at present in London Docks. But when you reach Berlin you will be tried and shot. However, Intelligence, knowing of you and your excellence, would rather you cooperated.

  Mr Finch pointed out that by now the British police would be looking for him, that Whitehall would be supervizing the hunt.

  They have only three days, said the senior German, the chopper, and that will not be long enough to find you. You were once involved with a lady called Elsie Chivers, a lady who worked for the British Admiralty and helped you with information concerning Lord Kitchener’s sea voyage to Russia. We sank the Hampshire, and Lord Kitchener was lost to the British war effort. That put you in high esteem with German Intelligence. Unfortunately, you had previously helped Fraulein Chivers to murder her mother.

  Mr Finch said absurdity was having a field day.

  ‘You think so?’ said the second man.

  ‘I am certain,’ said Mr Finch.

  ‘We have seen Fraulein Chivers and interviewed her.’

  ‘The lady is in a home for patients with mind disorders,’ said Mr Finch.

  ‘But she has very lucid moments, when truth pours from her lips.’

  ‘It’s a peculiar kind of truth if it points a finger at me,’ said Mr Finch. He was free to shout if he decided to disregard unspoken threats. But they would smother his mouth immediately, and since he knew where he was, in the heart of Walworth, what good would a single shout do, whoever heard it? Some Walworth people revelled in bawling and shouting, and others got into the habit of taking no notice.

  ‘I think it could be said you were an accessory after the fact.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Mr Finch.

  ‘Not at all,’ said the senior man. ‘Fraulein Chivers was acquitted of the murder, but we have enough information to give the police food for thought. Enough, I should say, for them to arrest you and get you committed for trial.’

  ‘More absurdity,’ said Mr Finch.

  ‘Not as we see it. Further, Herr Strasser, there’s your wife and her family. Would you like us to convey to them the information that you and Fraulein Chivers helped the Germans to drown Lord Kitchener, that you were a German spy throughout the war, and that you were implicated in the murder of Frau Chivers?’

  Mr Finch’s mouth tightened.

  ‘If I agree to work for you as a double agent,’ he said, ‘you have no guarantee I will do that. You can’t force me to give you the kind of information you want. It might very well be the wrong kind, without you realizing it.’

  ‘Our Intelligence is no more staffed by idiots than the British, Herr Strasser. It would pay you unpleasant dividends if we suspected you of fooling us or double-crossing us. The moment that happened, your wife would receive a detailed account of all that we know about you, and so would the police and your national newspapers.’

  Mr Finch sighed.

  ‘You’re making things very difficult for me,’ he said.

  ‘But of course. We need you, we need your experience and all that you know of British Intelligence, and if you refuse to cooperate, then regretfully we shall destroy your life here.’

  ‘It’s a singularly unpleasant form of blackmail,’ said Mr Finch.

  ‘Ah, well, you know yourself that Intelligence is not the profession of gentlemen.’

  ‘Do you know where you are?’ asked the second German.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Mr Finch. The room, so like the one that had been his when he lodged with the Adams family, had been used by Elsie Chivers as a place where she used her sewing-machine and kept herself out of the way of her spiteful and embittered mother. He had only been in it once, but that was enough for him to identify it. There was a crack in one of the door panels and another crack in the stone hearth. He knew why these men had brought him here. To remind him of the murder of Elsie’s mother, and to let that reminder weaken his resilience. If possible.

  ‘An appropriate choice of ours, would you say?’ said the senior man.

  ‘Childish,’ said Mr Finch, ‘and handcuffs and chains are equally so.’

  ‘Does he think that witty? asked the second man.

  ‘No, it’s consistent with his character. He’s not a mouse.’

  The door opened and the woman looked in.

  ‘Does he want some coffee?’ she asked in German.

  ‘Do you?’ asked the senior man.

  ‘Thank you, yes,’ said Mr Finch.

  ‘Coffee for all of us, fraulein, and prepare lunch for one o’clock.’

  ‘If you say so,’ said the woman, and disappeared.

  ‘Well, what is your answer, Herr Strasser?’

  ‘I’m expected to go to Germany to ostensibly redeem myself, and then to change my mind?’ said Mr Finch.

  ‘It’s expected of you to do what is good for your health.’

  ‘Then I need time to think,’ said Mr Finch.

  The senior man said they’d give him until tomorrow, and that it would be as well for him not to misjudge the situation. In the event of a failure to cooperate, information would be laid with his wife and her family to the effect that he was German by birth, that there was a birth certificate to prove it, that he had worked for German Intelligence, with documents and a photograph as further proof, been indirectly responsible for the sinking of the Hampshire, and an accessory to the murder of Frau Chivers. The police would also be given information concerning the latter, and that, of course, would make it very uncomfortable for him to remain in England.

  ‘You’re very thorough,’ said Mr Finch, ‘but thoroughness, of course, is a notable German characteristic. I repeat, I need time to think.’

  ‘What you mean, my friend,’ said the senior man, ‘is that the British authorities need time to find you. It won’t happen. There’s nothing for them to work on. As you say, we have been very thorough. However, there it is, you have until tomorrow to decide. Note that you will not be left alone, one of us will always be with you. My colleague will sleep this afternoon and keep an eye on you all through the night. We will be rough with you if you cause any trouble. Do you understand?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ said Mr Finch.

  ‘He’s a cool character,’ said the second man.

  ‘That is why the new Germany will need him,’ said the senior man.

  Tilly did some shopping in East Street Market, and while there she ran into Cassie and the girls. The girls were each munching an apple.

  ‘Apples, eh?’ said Tilly. ‘Bought or pinched, Cassie?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve smacked pinchin’ out of them,’ said Cassie, ‘and treated them. They’ve been real little angels this mornin’, except when they tried to open me parrot’s cage and give ’im to me cat. I might ’ave to sell me cat. D’you want to buy ’im for sixpence, Tilly?’

  ‘Not this week, Cassie,’ smiled Tilly. ‘You’re doin’ a good job lookin’ after Bubbles and Penny-Farvin’.’

  ‘I’m tryin’ me best,’ said Cassie, ‘even if I do feel a bit worn out by the end of a mornin’.’

  ‘They need a mother,’ said Tilly.

  ‘Don’t want our muvver,’ said Penny-Farving, ‘she frows fings.’

  ‘It’s a shame Mr Rogers is married to a difficult woman,’ said Cassie.

  ‘I think they’re divorced,’ said Tilly, feeling that was the best thing to say.

  ‘That’s not very nice for the girls,’ said Cassie, keeping an eye on them as they inspected a heap of cardboard boxes under a stall. ‘And Mr Rogers is such a nice man. I think ’e’d look nice on a horse.’

  ‘On a horse?’ said Tilly.

  ‘Yes, ’e’s got a sort of cowboy look,’ said Cassie. ‘Well, I’ll take Bubbles and Penny-Farvin’ back to their home, then see if Mrs ’Arper will let them meet ’er parrot again.’ She pulled the girls out of the cardboard boxes.

  ‘So long, Cassie,’ said Tilly, ‘and behave yerselves, you gels.’

  ‘Oh, you lookin’ after them this afternoon?’ asked Cassie.

  �
��Seems like it,’ said Tilly, keeping to herself her intention to break their father’s leg, whether he had a cowboy look or not.

  ‘’Ello, what’s all this?’ asked Mrs Harper, having answered Cassie’s knock to find the girl had those two noisy brats with her.

  ‘Oh, how’d you do, Mrs ’Arper,’ said Cassie, ‘I wondered if Bubbles and Penny-Farvin’ could come in and talk to Percy again.’

  ‘Well, dearie, I’d be pleasured to ’ave you all come in,’ said Mrs Harper, floridly expansive in her neighbourliness, ‘but I’ve got me old man Wally ill in bed, and ’is brother ’ome with ’im, ’aving just got the sack from ’is job. ’E’s talkin’ about us goin’ back to ’Oxton, which ain’t very agreeable, not when Wally and me is settlin’ down nice ’ere. Anyway, ducks, I ain’t able to entertain visitors just now. Some other time, p’raps.’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ said Cassie, ‘and we ’ope Mr ’Arper’ll soon be better. Oh, I was goin’ to ask if parrots fight when you put two in a cage together.’

  ‘Yes, course they would,’ said Mrs Harper, ‘there’s only room for one parrot in one cage.’

  ‘But suppose one was a lady parrot?’ said Cassie.

  ‘She’d soon kick ’er old man out,’ said Mrs Harper. ‘Well, I must get on, dearie. Toodle-oo for now.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ said Cassie, and the door closed on her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘MUST I?’ASKED Polly.

  ‘I’ll hold the fort,’ said Boots.

  ‘You mean you’ll just sit here in the car,’ said Polly. She had asked three traffic-duty policemen one after the other if they had noticed a wine-coloured Austin Cambridge saloon car yesterday afternoon. None of them could recollect seeing it. Now a fourth officer was visible at a junction. There was a fair amount of traffic in Guildford, including a good percentage of vehicles that were still horse-drawn. These included old-fashioned traps that probably belonged to people from the outlying countryside.