Destination Unknown - Agatha Christie [63]
When the Director had ended abruptly:
‘Courage and Victory! Good Night!’ Hilary left the Hall, half-stumbling in a kind of exalted dream, and recognized the same feeling in the faces around her. She saw Ericsson in particular, his pale eyes gleaming, his head tossed back in exultation.
Then she felt Andy Peters’s hand on her arm and his voice said in her ear:
‘Come up on the roof. We need some air.’
They went up in the lift without speaking and stepped out among the palm trees under the stars. Peters drew a deep breath.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘This is what we need. Air to blow away the clouds of glory.’
Hilary gave a deep sigh. She still felt unreal.
He gave her arm a friendly shake.
‘Snap out of it, Olive.’
‘Clouds of glory,’ said Hilary. ‘You know–it was like that!’
‘Snap out of it, I tell you. Be a woman! Down to earth and basic realities! When the effects of the Glory Gas poisoning pass off you’ll realize that you’ve been listening to the same old Mixture as Before.’
‘But it was fine–I mean a fine ideal.’
‘Nuts to ideals. Take the facts. Youth and Brains –glory glory Alleluia! And what are the youth and brains? Helga Needheim, a ruthless egoist. Torquil Ericsson, an impractical dreamer. Dr Barron, who’d sell his grandmother to the knacker’s yard to get equipment for his work. Take me, an ordinary guy, as you’ve said yourself, good with the test-tube and the microscope but with no talent whatever for efficient administration of an office, let alone a world! Take your own husband–yes, I’m going to say it–a man whose nerves are frayed to nothing and who can think of nothing but the fear that retribution will catch up with him. I’ve given you those people we know best–but they’re all the same here–or all that I’ve come across. Geniuses, some of them, damned good at their chosen jobs–but as Administrators of the Universe–hell, don’t make me laugh! Pernicious nonsense, that’s what we’ve been listening to.’
Hilary sat down on the concrete parapet. She passed a hand across her forehead.
‘You know,’ she said. ‘I believe you’re right…But the clouds of glory are still trailing. How does he do it? Does he believe it himself? He must.’
Peters said gloomily:
‘I suppose it always comes to the same thing in the end. A madman who believes he’s God.’
Hilary said slowly:
‘I suppose so. And yet–that seems curiously unsatisfactory.’
‘But it happens, my dear. Again and again throughout history it happens. And it gets one. It nearly got me, tonight. It did get you. If I hadn’t whisked you up here–’ His manner changed suddenly. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t have done that. What will Betterton say? He’ll think it odd.’
‘I don’t think so. I doubt if he’ll notice.’
He looked at her questioningly.
‘I’m sorry, Olive. It must be all pretty fair hell for you. Seeing him go down the hill.’
Hilary said passionately:
‘We must get out of here. We must. We must.’
‘We shall.’
‘You said that before–but we’ve made no progress.’
‘Oh yes we have. I’ve not been idle.’
She looked at him in surprise.
‘No precise plan, but I’ve initiated subversive activities. There’s a lot of dissatisfaction here, far more than our God-like Herr Director knows. Amongst the humbler members of the Unit, I mean. Food and money and luxury and women aren’t everything, you know. I’ll get you out of here yet, Olive.’
‘And Tom too?’
Peters’s face darkened.
‘Listen, Olive, and believe what I say. Tom will do best to stay on here. He’s’–he hesitated–‘safer here than he would be in the outside world.’
‘Safer? What a curious word.’
‘Safer,’ said Peters. ‘I use the word deliberately.’
Hilary frowned.
‘I don’t really see what you mean. Tom’s not–you don’t think he’s becoming mentally unhinged?’
‘Not in the least. He’s het up, but I’d say Tom Betterton’s as sane as you or I.’
‘Then why are you saying he’d be safer here?’
Peters said slowly:
‘A cage, you know, is a very safe place to be.’
‘Oh no,’ cried Hilary. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to believe that too. Don’t tell me that mass-hypnotism,