Doctor Who_ The Sea-Devils - Malcolm Hulke [7]
‘We had difficulty getting a boat to bring us across,’ explained Jo.
‘Ah, that old problem,’ said Trenchard. ‘But I thought you might have sunk without trace.’
‘During a two-mile crossing from the mainland?’ said the Doctor, scathingly.
‘Two miles or two hundred miles,’ said Trenchard, ‘it has happened a lot recently.’
‘What has?’ The tone in the Doctor’s voice clearly hinted to Jo his distaste for Trenchard.
‘Ships vanishing,’ said Trenchard. ‘Still, that’s the modem world for you.’ Before the Doctor could ask him what on Earth he was talking about, Trenchard continued: ‘Got your passes?’
‘We’ve been through all that,’ said the Doctor. ‘That’s how we’re in this room.’
Trenchard grinned. ‘Don’t take any chances here, old man. Let’s see them.’
Jo produced the passes and Trenchard checked them carefully. He handed them back to her. ‘Seem to be in order. You’ll be wanting to see the prisoner, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘That,’ said the Doctor, with forced patience, ‘is the general idea.’
‘Jolly interesting fellow,’ remarked Trenchard. ‘His intelligence is a bit above the ordinary criminal type, you know. Pity, really, that a man of his ability should have got himself into this fix.’
‘What I’d like to know,’ said the Doctor, ‘is whether he’s tried to get himself out of this fix? Has he tried to hypnotise any of your guards?’
‘He couldn’t.’ Trenchard beamed at them both. ‘Every man here is completely immune to hypnotism. They’ve all been checked out by these trick-cyclist people.’
‘Trick-cyclists?’ said the Doctor, taking Trenchard quite literally.
‘Psycho-analysts,’ whispered Jo.
‘Like to see a demonstration?’ said Trenchard. ‘Just watch this.’ He turned to two huge oak cupboard doors and opened them. Inside was a panel that included a television monitor screen, loudspeaker and a flush microphone with controls. He pressed one of the controls and shouted at the top of his voice into the microphone, as though he did not really believe that electronics could carry sound. ‘Trenchard here. Send that new man, Wilson, in to see the prisoner.’ Then he pressed another button, and instantly there was a picture on the monitor screen. It showed the Master seated reading in a very pleasant room.
‘He’s putting on weight,’ commented the Doctor.
‘I know,’ said Trenchard. ‘Poor chap. Can’t get the exercise, you see. Now watch this.’
On the screen they saw a prison officer enter the Master’s room. The Master looked up. ‘Yes?’
‘Mr. Trenchard sent me, sir, to know if you wanted your book changed,’ said the prison officer.
‘That’s very kind of him,’ said the Master. ‘But I haven’t quite finished this one. You’re new here, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the prison officer. ‘The name’s Wilson.’
‘Well, Mr. Wilson,’ said the Master cordially, ‘I hope we shall be friends.’ Suddenly, the Master’s friendly expression changed, and his dark brown eyes stared straight into Wilson’s eyes. ‘I am the Master and you will obey me.’
‘I knew it,’ said Jo. ‘I knew he’d be up to his old tricks.’
‘Please, Miss Grant,’ said Trenchard, ‘just watch what happens.’
The Master and Prison Officer Wilson were now looking into each other’s eyes. ‘You will obey me,’ commanded the Master. ‘Do you understand?’
Wilson smiled. ‘You just let me know when you’ve finished your book, sir,’ he said, ‘and I’ll get you another.’ With that Wilson turned and left the room. For a few - seconds the Master stared at the now closed door, then sunk back in despair to where he had been sitting, and soon started to read his book again.
‘Most impressive,’ agreed the Doctor. ‘May we now see him in person?’
‘Certainly,’ said Trenchard. ‘I’ll lead the way.’ He picked up a rather old-fashioned pork-pie hat, popped it on to his greying head, and led the Doctor and Jo out of the office. They went down a brightly-lit stone staircase to the vast basement of the château, and then along a corridor. Finally, they came to a steel door set in the stone wall, where a prison officer—this one possessed of a gun—stood to attention as Trenchard arrived.
‘At ease,’ said Trenchard,