Destination Unknown - Agatha Christie [74]
‘Yes,’ said Jessop appreciatively. ‘Very nice work, in fact.’
‘But it is open to inspection at any time. Medical men who are interested in these subjects visit there.’
‘And see nothing they ought not to see! Why should they? There is no better camouflage for dubious business than an atmosphere of the highest respectability.’
‘It could be,’ Leblanc said dubiously, ‘I suppose, a halting place for parties of people bound on a journey. One or two of the mid-European doctors, perhaps, have managed to arrange something like that. A small party of people, like the one we are tracking, could lie perdu there for a few weeks before continuing their journey.’
‘I think it might be something more than that,’ said Jessop. ‘I think it might be–Journey’s End.’
‘You think it is something–big?’
‘A leper settlement seems to me very suggestive…I believe, under modern treatment, leprosy nowadays is treated at home.’
‘In civilized communities, perhaps. But one could not do that in this country.’
‘No. But the word leprosy still has its association with the Middle Ages when the leper carried his bell to warn away people from his path. Idle curiosity does not bring people to a leper settlement; the people who come are, as you say, the medical profession, interested only in the medical research done there, and possibly the social worker, anxious to report on the conditions under which the lepers live–all of which are no doubt admirable. Behind that façade of philanthropy and charity–anything might go on. Who, by the way, owns the place? Who are the philanthropists who endowed it and set it up?’
‘That is easily ascertained. A little minute.’
He returned shortly, an official reference book in his hand.
‘It was established by private enterprise. By a group of philanthropists of whom the chief is Aristides. As you know, he is a man of fabulous wealth, and gives generously to charitable enterprises. He has founded hospitals in Paris and also in Seville. This is, to all intents and purposes, his show–the other benefactors are a group of his associates.’
‘So–it’s an Aristides enterprise. And Aristides was in Fez when Olive Betterton was there.’
‘Aristides!’ Leblanc savoured the full implication. ‘Mais–c’est colossal!’
‘Yes.’
‘C’est fantastique!’
‘Quite.’
‘Enfin–c’est formidable!’
‘Definitely.’
‘But do you realize how formidable it is?’ Leblanc shook an excited forefinger in the other’s face. ‘This Aristides, he has a finger in every pie. He is behind nearly everything. The banks, the Government, the manufacturing industries, armaments, transport! One never sees him, one hardly hears of him! He sits in a warm room in his Spanish castle, smoking, and sometimes he scrawls a few words on a little piece of paper and throws it on the ground, and a secretary crawls forward and picks it up, and a few days later an important banker in Paris blows his brains out! It is like that!’
‘How wonderfully dramatic you are, Leblanc. But it is really not very surprising. Presidents and Ministers make important pronouncements, bankers sit back behind their sumptuous desks and roll out opulent statements–but one is never surprised to find out that behind the importance and magnificence there is somewhere some scrubby little man who is the real motive power. It is really not at all surprising to find that Aristides is behind all this disappearing business–in fact if we’d had any sense we’d have thought of it before. The whole thing’s a vast commercial ramp. It’s not political at all. The question is,’ he added, ‘what are we going to do about it?’
Leblanc’s face grew gloomy.
‘It is not going