The Man from the Sea

by Michael Innes

  “Sorry to make such a row.” He advanced, genial and confident, and swept the company with a rapid glance. “Good evening, Dick, my boy. No – don’t get up. A pretty pickle you’ve contrived, I must say. And we must sort it out, I suppose – we must sort it out.” Sir Alex drew off a pair of gloves, tossed them on a table, and briskly rubbed one against the other the palms of two perfectly manicured hands. “And John Day? Well, well – what a lot you must have to tell us. And what a change good Scotch whisky must be.” He turned to Sagasta. “Your Excellency has a reputation as a man of enterprise – but I hardly expected to find you here in person. These gentlemen – yes.” He waved a contemptuous hand at Sagasta’s assistants. “I happened to know they operate here. And I decided to drop in.”

  “I don’t understand you. There is, I think, some misapprehension.” Sagasta was plainly discomposed, and for the moment could only fall back on conventional phrases.

  “A misapprehension? I’d say there have been a good many. We believed, my dear Day, that you were interested in your wife. And your late friends – shall we call them the Hyperboreans? – appear to have been banking on that too. Marlow is swarming with them. But I had a shrewd idea you were really minded to other company. And here you are.”

  Sagasta had taken his little turn up and down the room. “You have brought your police with you?” he asked.

  “The police will appear when it is appropriate that they should do so.” Sir Alex’s manner had changed. He had become grave and weighty. “I admit that the matter has its complications, Sagasta. This young man has got himself most undesirably involved in an affair he has had no proper understanding of. You follow me?”

  Sagasta slightly inclined his head. “Possibilities open out,” he said smoothly.

  “And you follow me?” Sir Alex looked hard at Cranston.

  “I suppose so.” Cranston was confused. He was aware that he had to get new bearings.

  “Then I think you had better go.” Sir Alex was kindly but curt. “No purpose will be served by your remaining.”

  “But, Sir Alex – are you here alone? These people are–” Cranston paused, doubtful whether he was talking sense. “It’s decent of you to try to get me out. But I’d like to know–”

  “You must know already.” Sir Alex appeared to misinterpret the unfinished question. “Sally told me – almost at once. She’s a good girl, and you mustn’t blame her. It was the only reasonable thing to do.”

  Cranston was silent. Of course the man was right. He himself ought to say something at once – something to the effect that he indeed didn’t blame Sally. But he found it impossible. The silence became strained.

  “It’s true, you know, that you haven’t properly understood what you were about.” Sir Alex was still kindly. “It was no affair, believe me, for romantic scurrying over the heather. Your first duty was to the security of your country, my dear boy. Well, that aspect of the matter is all right now. You can leave it to me. Go straight home and forget it. Forget it entirely. Do you understand me?”

  Cranston nodded. Confusedly, he thought he did understand. Sir Alex was stretching a point – was stretching a point pretty far – in order to disentangle him from his follies. It was, as he had said, decent of Sir Alex. And over the face of this benevolent intention there lay a hideous and humiliating irony. The man who was thus taking risks with his own reputation – for it must amount to that – was Caryl’s husband. Treachery all round. That was what it came to. Himself treacherous to Sir Alex. Day treacherous to him… Yes, he had better clear out. Sir Alex’s standing by him in this way was the only decent spot in the affair. He had better do what he was told.

  And Cranston stood up and moved towards the door. Nobody else stirred or said a word. There was some sort of doubt in his mind, but he couldn’t place it. Something rather unexpected was happening. Or rather the unexpectedness was in the fact that something wasn’t happening. The South Americans, who had been preparing a few minutes before to cut his throat, were doing nothing. They were simply letting him go. They were letting Sir Alex have it all his own way. But the puzzle, if there was a puzzle, was no longer any business of his. He had been charitably dismissed from the horrible involvement, and he had better go.

  He had reached the door when behind him he heard a queer sound. It was a short high hysterical laugh.

  Cranston swung round and looked at Day. The face of the man from the sea was as it had been – frozen into stone. But it was from Day, he knew, that the sound had come. Day had cracked. He was in a state of tension that had suddenly become intolerable. And for a second he had lost control of himself and given that meaningless laugh. But it was meaningless only because Cranston couldn’t understand it. And he must understand. He walked back to the centre of the room. “It won’t do,” he said.

  They were almost random words – for his mind was merely groping. But they had the effect of bringing Sagasta into action again. Once more he motioned one of his assistants to the door. “No, indeed,” he said. “It won’t do. Blair, can’t you see – ?”

  “Leave us!” Sir Alex had swung round upon Cranston with a new uncontrolled vehemence. “Do as I say. If you remain–”

  “But he must remain.” Sagasta was suddenly vehement too. “Don’t you see that the risk’s too great?”

  “Be quiet, you fool!” Sir Alex had turned upon him in a fury.

  But it was too late. Cranston felt that he was now probably as pale as Day. But at least knowledge had come to him. He turned to Sagasta. “The idea,” he asked quietly, “is that you’re all going to talk business? Sir Alex, having tumbled to your game, is going to get in on some neat three-cornered deal?”

  Sagasta’s reply, if he proposed to give one, was forestalled by Day. Once more he gave his crazy laugh. But this time there was triumph in it. “You see?” he asked. “The boy has some sort of brain. He knows. It’s the end of him, I’m afraid. But at least he knows.” He stood up and tapped his waist. “Do you know, Cranston, what I have here? Enough–”

  “You’ll regret this.” Sir Alex had turned on him savagely.

  “Blair knows, my dear young man, that I must be carrying the records of enough new physics to give him what he has always wanted: a reputation. With this” – and again he tapped the hidden belt–“he could enter the field again and be no end of a swell. And he’s prepared to do a deal. I leave him the stuff, and am free to take myself off with my new friends here – to another hemisphere. Would you say the proposal was reasonable? Do you advise me to accept?”

  Cranston took one look at Sir Alex. A second wasn’t necessary. The thing was true. Here again was betrayal, treachery. Without even knowing that he was doing so, Sir Alex had paid him back.

  “But can I trust him?” With his enflamed eyes Day gave Sir Alex a glance that was ironically appraising. “Or can you trust him?” He had turned to Sagasta. “You see, now, where we stand? It’s not just a question of the young man. It’s a question of our venturesome friend Blair as well. A little time ago you mentioned the police. Well, as you see, you can put them out of your head. Blair is here on his own. It is really very rash of him.”

  “Do you think I’d be fool enough to come here without taking precautions?” Sir Alex’s tone was contemptuous. “You may as well know –” He broke off. “What’s that?”

  It was the electric bell once more. It rang once and then for seconds there was absolute silence. The small man with the frightened eyes hurried into the room and whispered to Sagasta. And Sagasta turned to Sir Alex. “At least it’s true that somebody knows you’re here. You’re being asked for now. Will it much advance matters to deny your presence? I think not.” He gave a brief order to the small man, who left the room.

  A moment later, Sally Dalrymple entered it.

  Cranston sprang towards her. The place was a trap. It had closed on him. It had closed on the treacherous Sir Alex. And now it was closing on Sally. Her stepfather had committed some horrible outrage in thus exposing her. F
or she could know nothing of the true state of affairs. She could have no other notion of it than he himself had had only a few minutes before: that Sir Alex’s concern was to bring the adventure to an honourable close and extricate the young man who had so rashly got involved in it.

  But it was Sally who must be extricated now. The only chance was to use his fists, a bottle, a chair – anything that came to hand – and fight a way out for her at once. As he took his spring to her side their eyes met. And in the same moment she cried out.

  “Alex, quick! He’s getting away!”

  She had queerly misinterpreted his movement. And he felt himself go numb. His eyes continued to hold hers, and in a blinding moment her features interpreted themselves. Mysteriously and utterly, she was committed – was all knowingly committed – to the other side. She was this against some smothered longing, some broken hope within herself. And this was why now, as before, she looked despair.

  “Pull yourself together.” Sir Alex had turned on her. “Why did you come up?”

  “Because they’re here.” Now she seemed almost dazed. “Because it’s all found out.”

  Sagasta gave a sharp exclamation. “Found out? It’s the police?”

  “Yes… I think so.” She was almost incoherent now. “A chauffeur – Lord Urquhart’s chauffeur–”

  “Quick!” Day had sprung to his feet, and his ghastly eyes were blazing. “I wondered – but I couldn’t remember. It was the way he looked at me when he handed me the glasses… He recognised me. He used to drive for the Ministry.” He whirled on Sagasta. “Is there a back way? If not, I’m trapped. And so are you.”

  One of Sagasta’s assistants was flinging open a door at the back of the room. There was a moment of complete confusion. Cranston’s mind seemed to swim in it and then rise clear. He knew what he must do. He must get Day. He took a step forward, and in the same moment was hit on the head from behind.

  He was down on the floor – in darkness, but aware of running feet, banging doors. The blow had been a glancing one, and he was up again. There was blood in his eyes. But he saw that only Sir Alex and Sally were left in the room. He threw himself at the door which he had seen flung open. It was firmly closed – bolted, it seemed, on the other side. He guessed that at the back of the building there would be either another staircase or a fire-escape. The South Americans would have got Day away down that. But now there was no way through. His only chance was to leave as he had come.

  Cranston ran from the room. He didn’t give a glance at the two people left there. He dashed from the flat and pounded down the staircase. If the police had really arrived – and Sally had seemed uncertain – he must contact them instantly. If not –

  Hurtling round a turn on the stairs, he pulled up just in time to avoid violent collision with somebody coming up nearly as fast.

  “Richard!”

  It was George.

  19

  The great moon had passed its zenith. Far below them on their right the soft contours of Dorset rose and fell beneath its pale diffused light like a sleeper breathing beneath an eiderdown. On their left the still Channel was all silvered. It might, Cranston thought, have been last night’s sea. But it was a different sea. And a different man was looking at it.

  “Won’t there be an awful row?” George had turned curiously to Lord Urquhart. “I mean, has he any business to have it out?”

  “Porp?” Lord Urquhart chuckled happily. “No business at all. And I’ve no doubt that a missing naval helicopter is a serious matter. Almost as serious as a missing nuclear physicist… Isn’t that what you said the fellow was?”

  “Yes. John Day.”

  “To be sure – John Day.” Lord Urquhart was not particularly impressed. It was the aeronautical aspect of the expedition that interested him. “But I wouldn’t worry about my nephew. Believe me, Porp Urquhart has taken on odder jobs than this. He did work with submarine – borne aircraft, you know. That’s how he came to be called Porp. Short for Porpoise, you see – short for Porpoise. And as for a row – well, I telephoned the First Lord. We were at school together. He’ll see Porp through, if necessary, with the salt-water chaps.”

  “And Porp can really find it?”

  “I’m sure he can. A wonderful navigator is Porp. I thought of him at once, as soon as you explained the job to me. We’ll be there, believe me, in under an hour.” Lord Urquhart yawned contentedly. “You young people mind if I take a nap? No doubt you’ve things to talk about.”

  Like the sea and land below, Lord Urquhart slumbered.

  “I hope you didn’t get that name wrong.” George looked anxiously at Cranston. “I can’t see that the circumstances can have been favourable for accurate reception.”

  “Porthkennack? I got it correctly, all right. And I don’t believe that Day noticed he gave it away – or that the other folk did either. They were all a bit strained, I’d say.”

  “And you know it?”

  “I’ve been there. I don’t say I’d recognise it. But that’s this Porp’s job. It’s an out-of-the way sort of cove, but I know that sea-going craft sometimes put in there.” Cranston paused. “I still don’t know how you did it. Or how you began to tumble to the sort of affair it was.”

  George made no immediate reply. A helicopter is noisy. One wants to talk only in bursts. But presently she said: “Shall I take the hard question first?”

  “The hard one?”

  “How I came to guess the sort of affair it was. Their talk – when I sat in front of them on the flight to London, I mean – was queer. It would have been hard to tell just why. But it wasn’t, somehow, the talk of two people who were acting quite simply in the interest of their country and of a rash young friend. But there was something else.” George stopped and looked out on the quiet land and the quiet sea. “We seem a long way from it all, here,” she said.

  “Go on.” Cranston too was looking far out over the dim landscape.

  “It wasn’t quite the talk of a man and his step-daughter either. And then I got up and took a look at them. They weren’t aware of it. And I saw.”

  There was a long silence. “I don’t know how it could have happened,” Cranston said. His voice was husky.

  “Things do happen.”

  “Yes.”

  “There is something powerful about Sir Alex. And he must have exploited some horrible underground current of feeling. You get that in families, sometimes.”

  “Yes.” Suddenly Cranston remembered. “She said that she knew how I felt…that at least she knew how I felt.” He shivered. “Lord Urquhart understood what he was talking about, I suppose, when he said something about Dinwiddie being all wrong. He told me to keep clear.”

  “So I felt I had a better idea how things stood.” George pushed on more briskly. “Sir Alex Blair just couldn’t be more – well, corrupt. And it might take him just as much one way as another. And then I began thinking about Day too. He had told you his wife lived in Kensington. But Sir Alex had got that telegram, saying she had lived for a year at Marlow. I was sure there was more to the discrepancy than just a mistake. Day was trying to reach some address in Kensington, but not to see his wife. He had told you a lie.”

  “Quite a lot of lies.” Cranston looked at her wryly. “Lies and lies and lies.”

  “I wondered what I ought to do. I could either try to hang on to – to those people, or I could go to the police. I had that address of your aunt’s, but I knew that – well, that all sorts of things might have happened before I contacted you that way. I decided I’d stick to the trail. It was an idiotic notion.”

  “Idiotic?”

  “Try it, and you’ll see. In books people jump into a taxi, yelling Follow that car. Well, there was a car – and it was another yellow car, which might have helped. It was waiting for them at Northolt, and of course they simply got in and drove off. They had vanished from the landscape before I found anything. All I could do was to have myself driven to Marlow, and hope for the best.”

  �
��And it was a wild-goose chase?”

  “Completely. I just didn’t see those people and their yellow car again. And no end of people called Day live in Marlow, as I discovered from the telephone book. I could hardly go round the lot, enquiring whether they were related to a disgraced scientist. There seemed nothing for it but the police.” George paused. “But then I felt that going to the police would be giving in.”

  “You felt that?” He was astonished.

  George smiled. “Isn’t it something that runs in our family? Anyway, I thought I’d make one more push in the name of private enterprise. And I thought of Lord Urquhart. He had a town house. Probably he had gone there.”

  “I think it was a wonderful idea.”

  “It was frightful cheek. I was very nervous about how he’d take it. And when I found him, he was interviewing his chauffeur. You know what the man was telling him – that he had driven yourself and the man called Knight to an address in Kensington, not to a hospital; and that he was sure Knight wasn’t Knight at all, but Day. He had driven Day about a lot during the war, and he was certain of him.”

  “And the old boy wasn’t furious?”

  “At first he wasn’t too pleased.” George glanced cautiously at Lord Urquhart, who continued in slumber. “But I talked to him. I said I didn’t want to let you down – because it isn’t a good thing to do in families. He agreed. And in the end he consented to my coming to explore the address to which his chauffeur had driven you. He insisted only on two things. One was that he should come too. And the other was that he should bring along some important old crony of his who could, if necessary, call out the whole British Army in thirty seconds. You know the rest. The real crisis was just after I’d found you – persuading him to make this one final bid of our own. The crony didn’t much approve. But then luckily Lord Urquhart thought of his nephew Porp, and the idea went to his head. So here we are.”

  “And I think we must be nearly there.” Cranston was scanning the coast below. “We mustn’t muck it. We just mustn’t let these South Americans get Day away on whatever ship they have waiting.”