Destination Unknown - Agatha Christie [67]
‘It’s because he’s so very tall and thin.’
‘Not so very tall. About my height–five-foot-eleven or six foot, not more.’
‘Height is deceptive.’
‘Yes, it’s like descriptions on passports. Take Ericsson. Height six foot, fair hair, blue eyes, face long, demean-our wooden, nose medium, mouth ordinary. Even add what a passport wouldn’t–speaks correctly but pedantically–you still wouldn’t have the first idea what Torquil really looked like. What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’
She was staring across the room at Ericsson. That description of Boris Glydr! Almost word for word as she had heard it from Jessop. Was that why she had always felt nervous of Torquil Ericsson? Could it possibly be that–
Turning abruptly to Peters she said:
‘I suppose he is Ericsson? He couldn’t be someone else?’
Peters looked at her in astonishment.
‘Someone else? Who?’
‘I mean–at least I think I mean–could he have come here pretending to be Ericsson?’
Peters considered.
‘I suppose–no, I don’t think that would be feasible. He’d have to be a scientist…and anyway, Ericsson is quite well known.’
‘But nobody here seems ever to have met him before–or I suppose he could be Ericsson, but be someone else as well.’
‘You mean Ericsson could have been leading some kind of double life? That’s possible, I suppose. But it’s not very likely.’
‘No,’ said Hilary. ‘No, of course it isn’t likely.’
Of course Ericsson was not Boris Glydr. But why should Olive Betterton have been so insistent on warning Tom against Boris? Could it have been because she knew that Boris was on his way to the Unit? Supposing the man who had come to London calling himself Boris Glydr was not Boris Glydr at all? Supposing that he was really Torquil Ericsson. The description fitted. Ever since he arrived at the Unit, he had focused his attention on Tom. Ericsson, she was sure, was a dangerous person–you didn’t know what went on behind those pale dreamy eyes…
She shivered.
‘Olive–what’s the matter? What is it?’
‘Nothing. Look. The Deputy Director is going to make an announcement.’
Dr Nielson was holding up his hand for silence. He spoke into the microphone on the platform of the Hall.
‘Friends and colleagues. Tomorrow you are asked to remain in the Emergency Wing. Please assemble at eleven a.m. when there will be a roll-call. Emergency orders are for twenty-four hours only. I much regret the inconvenience. A notice has been posted on the board.’
He retired smiling. Then music began again.
‘I must pursue the Jennson again,’ said Peters. ‘I see her looking earnest by a pillar. I want to hear just what these Emergency quarters consist of.’
He moved away. Hilary sat thinking. Was she an imaginative fool? Torquil Ericsson? Boris Glydr?
IV
Roll-call was in the big lecture room. Everyone was present and answered to his or her name. Then they were marshalled into a long column and marched off.
The route was, as usual, through a maze of winding corridors. Hilary, walking by Peters, knew that he had, concealed in his hand, a tiny compass. From this, unobtrusively, he was calculating their direction.
‘Not that it helps,’ he observed ruefully in a low tone. ‘Or at any rate it doesn’t help at the moment. But it may do–some time.’
At the end of the corridor they were following was a door and there was a momentary halt as the door was opened.
Peters took out his cigarette case–but immediately Van Heidem’s voice was raised peremptorily.
‘No smoking, please. That has already been told you.’
‘Sorry, sir.’
Peters paused with the cigarette case in his hand. Then they all went forward again.
‘Just like sheep,’ said Hilary disgustedly.
‘Cheer up,’ Peters murmured. ‘Baa, baa, black sheep is among the flock, thinking up devilry hard.’
She flashed him a grateful glance and smiled.
‘Women’s dormitory to the right,’ said Miss Jennson.
She shepherded the women off in the direction indicated.
The men were marched to the left.
The dormitory was a large room of hygienic appearance rather like a hospital ward. It had beds along the walls with curtains of plastic material