N or M tat-3

by Agatha Christie

  "And it just shows," declared Mrs Blenkensop, wagging her head sagely, "how little we really know of what is going on."

  After breakfast she went upstairs to her room, opened the japanned box and put the letter away. Between the folded pages were some unnoticeable grains of rice powder. She closed the box again, pressing her fingers firmly on its surface.

  As she left her room she coughed, and from opposite came the sound of a highly histrionic sneeze.

  Tuppence smiled and proceeded downstairs.

  She had already made known her intention of going up to London for the day - to see her lawyer on some business and to do a little shopping.

  Now she was given a good send-off by the assembled boarders and entrusted with various commissions - "only if you have time, of course."

  Major Bletchley held himself aloof from this female chatter. He was reading his paper and uttering appropriate comments aloud. "Damned swines of Germans. Machine gunning civilian refugees on the roads. Damned brutes. If I were our people -"

  Tuppence left him still outlining what he would do if he were in charge of operations.

  She made a detour through the garden to ask Betty Sprot what she would like as a present from London.

  Betty, ecstatically clasping a snail in two hot hands, gurgled appreciatively. In response to Tuppence's suggestions "A pussy? A picture book? Some coloured chalks to draw with?" - Betty decided, "Betty dwar." So the coloured chalks were noted down on Tuppence's list.

  As she passed on, meaning to rejoin the drive by the path at the end of the garden, she came unexpectedly upon Carl von Deinim. He was standing leaning on the wall. His hands were clenched, and as Tuppence approached he turned on her, his usually impassive face convulsed with emotion.

  Tuppence paused involuntarily and asked:

  "Is anything the matter?"

  "Ach, yes, everything is the matter." His voice was hoarse and unnatural. "You have a saying here that a thing is neither fish, flesh, fowl, nor good red herring, have you not?"

  Tuppence nodded.

  Carl went on bitterly:

  "That is what I am. It cannot go on, that is what I say. It cannot go on. It would be best, I think, to end everything."

  "What do you mean?"

  The young man said:

  "You have spoken kindly to me. You would, I think, understand. I fled from my own country because of injustice and cruelty. I came here to find freedom. I hated Nazi Germany. But, alas, I am still a German. Nothing can alter that."

  Tuppence murmured:

  "You must have difficulties, I know -"

  "It is not that. I am a German, I tell you. In my heart - in my feeling. Germany is still my country. When I read of German cities bombed, of German soldiers dying, of German aeroplanes brought down - they are my people who die. When that old fire-eating Major reads out from his paper, when he says 'those swine' - I am moved to fury - I cannot bear it."

  He added quietly:

  "And so I think it would be best, perhaps, to end it all. Yes, to end it."

  Tuppence took hold of him firmly by the arm.

  "Nonsense," she said robustly. "Of course you feel as you do. Anyone would. But you've got to stick it."

  "I wish they would intern me. It would be easier so."

  "Yes, probably it would. But in the meantime you're doing useful work - or so I've heard. Useful not only to England but to humanity. You're working on decontamination problems, aren't you?"

  His face lit up slightly.

  "Ah, yes, and I begin to have much success. A process very simple, easily made and not complicated to apply."

  "Well," said Tuppence, "that's worth doing. Anything that mitigates suffering is worth while - and anything that's constructive and not destructive. Naturally we've got to call the other side names. They're doing just the same in Germany. Hundreds of Major Bletchleys - foaming at the mouth. I hate the Germans myself. 'The Germans,' I say, and feel waves of loathing. But when I think of individual Germans, mothers sitting anxiously waiting for news of their sons, and boys leaving home to fight, and peasants getting in the harvests, and little shopkeepers and some of the nice kindly German people I know, I feel quite different. I know then they are just human beings and that we're all feeling alike. That's the real thing. The other is just the war mask that you put on. It's a part of war - probably a necessary part - but it's ephemeral."

  As she spoke she thought, as Tommy had done not long before, of Nurse Cavell's words: "Patriotism is not enough. I must have no hatred in my heart."

  That saying of a most truly patriotic woman had always seemed to them both the high water mark of sacrifice.

  Carl von Deinim took her hand and kissed it. He said:

  "I thank you. What you say is good and true. I will have more fortitude."

  "Oh, dear," thought Tuppence as she walked down the road into the town. "How very unfortunate that the person I like best in this place should be a German. It makes everything cock-eyed!"

  III

  Tuppence was nothing if not thorough. Although she had no wish to go to London, she judged it wise to do exactly as she had said she was going to do. If she merely made an excursion somewhere for the day, somebody might see her and the fact would get round to Sans Souci.

  No, Mrs Blenkensop had said she was going to London and to London she must go.

  She purchased a third return and was just leaving the booking office window when she ran into Sheila Perenna.

  "Hullo," said Sheila. "Where are you off to? I just came to see about a parcel which seems to have gone astray."

  Tuppence explained her plans.

  "Oh, yes, of course," said Sheila carelessly. "I do remember you saying something about it, but I hadn't realized it was today you were going. I'll come and see you into the train."

  Sheila was more animated than usual. She looked neither bad tempered nor sulky. She chatted quite amiably about small details of daily life at Sans Souci. She remained talking to Tuppence until the train left the station.

  After waving from the window and watching the girl's figure recede, Tuppence sat down in her corner seat again and gave herself up to serious meditation.

  Was it, she wondered, an accident that Sheila had happened to be at the station just at that time?

  Or was it a proof of enemy thoroughness? Did Mrs Perenna want to make quite sure that the garrulous Mrs Blenkensop really had gone to London?

  It looked very much like it.

  IV

  It was not until the next day that Tuppence was able to have a conference with Tommy. They had agreed never to attempt to communicate with each other under the roof of Sans Souci.

  Mrs Blenkensop met Mr Meadowes as the latter, his hay fever somewhat abated, was taking a gentle stroll on the front. They sat down on one of the promenade seats.

  "Well? "said Tuppence.

  Slowly, Tommy nodded his head. He looked rather unhappy.

  "Yes," he said. "I got something. But Lord, what a day. Perpetually with an eye to the crack of the door. I've got quite a stiff neck."

  "Never mind your neck," said Tuppence unfeelingly. "Tell me."

  "Well, the maids went in to do the bed and the room, of course. And Mrs Perenna went in - but that was when the maids were there and she was just blowing them up about something. And the kid ran in once and came out with a woolly dog."

  "Yes, yes. Anyone else?"

  "One person," said Tommy slowly.

  "Who?"

  "Carl von Deinim."

  "Oh!" Tuppence felt a swift pang. So, after all -

  "When?" she asked.

  "Lunch time. He came out from the dining room early, came up to his room, then sneaked across the passage and into yours. He was there for about a quarter of an hour."

  He paused.

  "That settles it, I think?"

  Tuppence nodded.

  Yes, it settled it all right. Carl von Deinim could have no reason for going into Mrs Blenkensop's bedroom and remaining there for a qua
rter of an hour save one. His complicity was proved. He must be, Tuppence thought, a marvellous actor...

  His words to her that morning had rung so very true. Well, perhaps they had been true in a way. To know when to use the truth was the essence of successful deception. Carl von Deinim was a patriot all right, he was an enemy agent working for his country. One could respect him for that. Yes - but destroy him too.

  "I'm sorry," she said slowly.

  "So am I," said Tommy. "He's a good chap."

  Tuppence said:

  "You and I might be doing the same thing in Germany."

  Tommy nodded. Tuppence went on.

  "Well, we know more or less where we are. Carl von Deinim working in with Sheila and her mother. Probably Mrs Perenna is the big noise. Then there is that foreign woman who was talking to Carl yesterday. She's in it somehow."

  "What do we do now?"

  "We must go through Mrs Perenna's room some time. There might be something there that would give us a hint. And we must tail her - see where she goes and whom she meets. Tommy, let's get Albert down here."

  Tommy considered the point.

  Some years ago, Albert, a page boy in a hotel, had joined forces with the young Beresfords and shared their adventures. Afterwards he had entered their service and been the sole domestic prop of the establishment. Some six years ago he had married and was now the proud proprietor of The Duck and Dog pub in South London.

  Tuppence continued rapidly:

  "Albert will be thrilled. We'll get him down here. He can stay at the pub near the station and he can shadow the Perennas for us - or any one else."

  "What about Mrs Albert?"

  "She was going to her mother in Wales with the children last Monday. Because of Air Raids. It all fits in perfectly."

  "Yes, that's a good idea. Tuppence. Either of us following the woman about would be rather conspicuous. Albert will be perfect. Now another thing - I think we ought to watch out for that so-called Polish woman who was talking to Carl and hanging about here. It seems to me that she probably represents the other end of the business - and that's what we're anxious to find."

  "Oh, yes, I do agree. She comes here for orders, or to take messages. Next time we see her, one of us must follow her and find out more about her."

  "What about looking through Mrs Perenna's room - and Carl's, too, I suppose?"

  "I don't suppose you'll find anything in his. After all, as a German, the police are liable to search it and so he'd be careful not to have anything suspicious. The Perenna is going to be difficult. When she's out of the house, Sheila is often here, and there's Betty and Mrs Sprot running about all over the landings, and Mrs O'Rourke spends a lot of time in her bedroom."

  She paused.

  "Lunch time is the best."

  "Master Carl's time?"

  "Exactly. I could have a headache and go to my room - No, someone might come up and want to minister to me. I know, I'll just come in quietly before lunch and go up to my room without telling anyone. Then, after lunch, I can say I had a headache."

  "Hadn't I better do it? My hay fever could recrudesce tomorrow."

  "I think it had better be me. If I'm caught I could always say I was looking for aspirin or something. One of the gentlemen boarders in Mrs Perenna's room would cause far more speculation."

  Tommy grinned.

  "Of a scandalous character."

  Then the smile died. He looked grave and anxious.

  "As soon as we can, old thing. The news is bad today. We must get on to something soon."

  V

  Tommy continued his walk and presently entered the post office, where he put through a call to Mr Grant, and reported "the recent operation was successful and our friend C is definitely involved."

  Then he wrote a letter and posted it. It was addressed to Mr Albert Batt, The Duck and Dog, Glamorgan St., Kensington.

  Then he bought himself a weekly paper which professed to inform the English world of what was really going to happen and strolled innocently back in the direction of Sans Souci.

  Presently he was hailed by the hearty voice of Commander Haydock leaning from his two seater car and shouting, "Hallo, Meadowes, want a lift?"

  Tommy accepted a lift gratefully and got in.

  "So you read that rag, do you?" demanded Haydock, glancing at the scarlet cover of the Inside Weekly News.

  Mr Meadowes displayed the slight confusion of all readers of the periodical in question when challenged.

  "Awful rag," he agreed. "But sometimes, you know, they really do seem to know what's going on behind the scenes."

  "And sometimes they're wrong."

  "Oh, quite so."

  "Truth of it is," said Commander Haydock, steering rather erratically round a one-way island and narrowly missing collision with a large van, "when the beggars are right, one remembers it, and when they're wrong you forget it."

  "Do you think there's any truth in this rumour about Stalin having approached us?"

  "Wishful thinking, my boy, wishful thinking," said Commander Haydock. "The Russkys are as crooked as Hell and have always been. Don't trust 'em, that's what I say. Hear you've been under the weather?"

  "Just a touch of hay fever. I get it about this time of year."

  "Yes, of course. Never suffered from it myself, but I had a pal who did. Used to lay him out regularly every June. Feeling fit enough for a game of golf?"

  Tommy said he'd like it very much.

  "Right. What about tomorrow? Tell you what, I've got to go to a meeting about this Parashot business, raising a corps of local volunteers - jolly good idea if you ask me. Time we were all made to pull our weight. So shall we have a round about six?"

  "Thanks very much. I'd like to."

  "Good. Then that's settled."

  The Commander drew up abruptly at the gate of Sans Souci.

  "How's the fair Sheila?" he asked.

  "Quite well, I think. I haven't seen much of her."

  Haydock gave his loud barking laugh.

  "Not as much as you'd like to, I bet! Good looking girl, that, but damned rude. She sees too much of that German fellow. Damned unpatriotic, I call it. Daresay she's got no use for old fogies like you or me, but there are plenty of nice lads going about in our own services. Why take up with a bloody German? That sort of thing riles me."

  Mr Meadowes said:

  "Be careful, he's just coming up the hill behind us."

  "Don't care if he does hear! Rather hope he does. I'd like to kick Master Carl's behind for him. Any decent German's fighting for his country - not slinking over here to get out of it!"

  "Well," said Tommy. "It's one less German to invade England at all events."

  "You mean he's here already? Ha, ha! rather good, Meadowes! Not that I believe this tommy rot about invasion. We never have been invaded and never will be. We've got a Navy, thank God!"

  With which patriotic announcement the Commander let in his clutch with a jerk and the car leaped forward up the hill to Smuggler's Rest.

  VI

  Tuppence arrived at the gate of Sans Souci at twenty minutes to two. She turned off from the drive and went through the garden and into the house through the open drawing room window. A smell of Irish stew and the clatter of plates and murmur of voices came from afar. Sans Souci was hard at work on its midday meal.

  Tuppence waited by the drawing-room door until Martha, the maid, had passed across the hall and into the dining-room, then she ran quickly up the stairs, shoeless.

  She went into the room, put on her soft felt bedroom slippers, and then went along the landing and into Mrs Perenna's room.

  Once inside she looked round her and felt a certain distaste sweep over her. Not a nice job, this. Quite unpardonable if Mrs Perenna was simply Mrs Perenna. Prying into people's private affairs -

  Tuppence shook herself, an impatient terrier shake that was a reminiscence of her girlhood. There was a war on!

  She went over to the dressing table.

  Quick an
d deft in her movements, she had soon gone through the contents of the drawers there. In the tall bureau, one of the drawers was locked That seamed more promising.

  Tommy had been entrusted with certain tools and had received some brief instruction on the manipulation of them. These indications he had passed on to Tuppence.

  A deft twist or two of the wrist and the drawer yielded.

  There was a cash box containing twenty pound in notes and some piles of silver - also a jewel case. And there was a heap of papers. These last were what interested Tuppence most. Rapidly she went through them; necessarily it was a cursory glance. She could not afford time for more.

  Papers relating to a mortgage on Sans Souci, a bank account, letters. Time flew past. Tuppence skimmed through the documents, concentrating furiously on anything that might bear a double meaning. Two letters from a friend in Italy, rambling discursive letters, seemingly quite harmless. But possibly not so harmless as they sounded. A letter from one Simon Mortimer, of London - a dry business-like letter containing so little of moment that Tuppence wondered why it had been kept. Was Mr Mortimer not so harmless as he seemed? At the bottom of the pile a letter in faded ink signed Pat and beginning "This will be the last letter I'll be writing you, Eileen my darling -"

  No, not that! Tuppence could not bring herself to read that! She refolded it, tidied the letters on top of it and then, suddenly alert, pushed the drawer to - no time to re-lock it - and when the door opened and Mrs Perenna came in, she was searching vaguely amongst the bottles on the washstand.

  Mrs. Blenkensop turned a flustered, but foolish face towards her hostess.

  "Oh, Mrs Perenna, do forgive me. I came in with such a blinding headache, and I thought I would lie down on my bed with a little aspirin, and I couldn't find mine, so I thought you wouldn't mind - I know you must have some because you offered it to Miss Minton the other day."

  Mrs Perenna swept into the room. There was a sharpness in her voice as she said:

  "Why, of course, Mrs Blenkensop, why ever didn't you come and ask me?"

  "Well, of course, yes, I should have done really. But I knew you were all at lunch, and I do hate, you know, making a fuss -"