Destination Unknown - Agatha Christie [1]
The man behind the desk nodded.
‘Usual Left Wing tendencies at the period when everyone had them. Nothing of a lasting or permanent nature as far as can be found out. Did sound work before the war though nothing spectacular. When Mannheim escaped from Germany, Betterton was assigned as assistant to him, and ended by marrying Mannheim’s daughter. After Mannheim’s death he carried on, on his own, and did brilliant work. He leaped into fame with the startling discovery of ZE Fission. ZE Fission was a brilliant and absolutely revolutionary discovery. It put Betterton tops. He was all set for a brilliant career over there, but his wife had died soon after their marriage and he was all broken up over it. He came to England. He has been at Harwell for the last eighteen months. Just six months ago he married again.’
‘Anything there?’ asked Wharton sharply.
The other shook his head.
‘Not that we can find out. She’s the daughter of a local solicitor. Worked in an insurance office before her marriage. No violent political affinities so far as we’ve been able to discover.’
‘ZE Fission,’ said Colonel Wharton gloomily, with distaste. ‘What they mean by all these terms beats me. I’m old-fashioned. I never really even visualized a molecule, but here they are nowadays splitting up the universe! Atom bombs, nuclear fission, ZE fission, and all the rest of it. And Betterton was one of the splitters in chief! What do they say of him at Harwell?’
‘Quite a pleasant personality. As to his work, nothing outstanding or spectacular. Just variations on the practical applications of ZEF.’
Both men were silent for a moment. Their conversation had been desultory, almost automatic. The security reports lay in a pile on the desk and the security reports had had nothing of value to tell.
‘He was thoroughly screened on arrival here, of course,’ said Wharton.
‘Yes, everything was quite satisfactory.’
‘Eighteen months ago,’ said Wharton thoughtfully. ‘It gets ’em down, you know. Security precautions. The feeling of being perpetually under the microscope, the cloistered life. They get nervy, queer. I’ve seen it often enough. They begin to dream of an ideal world. Freedom and brotherhood, and pool-all-secrets and work for the good of humanity! That’s exactly the moment when someone, who’s more or less the dregs of humanity, sees their chance and takes it!’ He rubbed his nose. ‘Nobody’s so gullible as the scientist,’ he said. ‘All the phony mediums say so. Can’t quite see why.’
The other smiled, a very tired smile.
‘Oh, yes,’ he said, ‘it would be so. They think they know, you see. That’s always dangerous. Now, our kind are different. We’re humble-minded men. We don’t expect to save the world, only pick up one or two broken pieces and remove a spanner or two when it’s jamming up the works.’ He tapped thoughtfully on the table with his finger. ‘If I only knew a little more about Betterton,’ he said. ‘Not his life and his actions, but the revealing, everyday things. What sort of jokes he laughed at. What made him swear. Who were the people he admired and who made him mad.’
Wharton looked at him curiously.
‘What about the wife–you’ve tried her?’
‘Several times.’
‘Can’t she help?’
The other shrugged his shoulders.
‘She hasn’t so far.’
‘You think she knows something?’
‘She doesn’t admit, of course, that she knows anything. All the established reactions: worry, grief, desperate anxiety, no clue or suspicion beforehand, husband’s life perfectly normal, no stress of any kind–and so on and so on. Her own theory is that he’s been kidnapped.’
‘And you don’t believe her?’
‘I’m handicapped,’ said the man behind the desk bitterly. ‘I never believe anybody.’
‘Well,’ said Wharton slowly, ‘I suppose one has to keep an open mind. What’s she like?’
‘Ordinary sort of woman you’d meet any day playing bridge.’
Wharton nodded comprehendingly.
‘That makes it more difficult,’ he said.
‘She’s here to see me now. We shall go over all the same ground