Eye of the Needle - Ken Follett [126]
“Detective-Inspector Bloggs?”
“That’s me.”
“Jolly good show. I’m your pilot, Charles Calder.”
“Fine.” Bloggs shook hands.
“The kite’s all ready, and the engine’s as sweet as a bird. She’s an amphibian, I suppose you know.”
“Yes.”
“Jolly good show. We’ll land on the sea, taxi in to about ten yards from the shore, and put you off in a dinghy.”
“Then you wait for me to come back.”
“Indeed. Well, all we need now is the weather.”
“Yes. Look, Charles, I’ve been chasing this fellow all over the country for six days and nights, so I’m catching up on my sleep while I’ve got the chance. You won’t mind.”
“Of course not!” The pilot sat down and produced a thick book from under his jacket. “Catching up on my education,” he said. “War and Peace.”
Bloggs said, “Jolly good show,” and closed his eyes.
PERCIVAL GODLIMAN and his uncle, Colonel Terry, sat side by side in the map room, drinking coffee and tapping the ash of their cigarettes into a fire bucket on the floor between them. Godliman was repeating himself.
“I can’t think of anything more we can do,” he said.
“So you said.”
“The corvette is already there, and the fighters are only a few minutes away, so the sub will come under fire as soon as she shows herself above the surface.”
“If she’s seen.”
“The corvette will land a party as soon as possible. Bloggs will be there soon after that, and the Coastguard will bring up the rear.”
“And none of them can be sure to get there in time.”
“I know,” Godliman said wearily. “We’ve done all we can, but is it enough?”
Terry lit another cigarette. “What about the inhabitants of the island?”
“Oh, yes. There are only two houses there. There’s a sheep farmer and his wife in one—they have a young child—and an old shepherd lives in the other. The shepherd’s got a radio—Royal Observer Corps—but we can’t raise him…he probably keeps the set switched to Transmit. He’s old.”
“The farmer sounds promising,” Terry said. “If he’s a bright fellow he might even stop your spy.”
Godliman shook his head. “The poor chap’s in a wheelchair.”
“Dear God, we don’t get much luck, do we?”
“No,” said Godliman. “Die Nadel seems to have cornered the market.”
33
LUCY WAS BECOMING QUITE CALM. THE FEELING CREPT over her gradually, like the icy spread of an anesthetic, deadening her emotions and sharpening her wits. The times when she was momentarily paralyzed by the thought that she was sharing a house with a murderer became fewer, and she was possessed by a cool-headed watchfulness that surprised her.
As she went about the household chores, sweeping around Henry as he sat in the living room reading a novel, she wondered how much he had noticed of the change in her feelings. He was very observant: he didn’t miss much and there had been a definite wariness, if not outright suspicion, in that confrontation over the jeep. He must have known she was shaken by something. On the other hand, she had been upset before he left over Jo discovering them in bed together…he might think that that was all that had been wrong.
Still, she had the strangest feeling that he knew exactly what was in her mind but preferred to pretend that everything was all right.
She hung her laundry to dry on a clothes-horse in the kitchen. “I’m sorry about this,” she said, “but I can’t wait forever for the rain to stop.”
He looked uninterestedly at the clothes. “That’s all right,” he said, and went back into the living room.
Scattered among the wet garments was a complete set of clean, dry clothes for Lucy.
For lunch she made a vegetable pie using an austerity recipe. She called Jo and Faber to the table and served up.
David’s gun was propped in a corner of the kitchen. “I don’t like having a loaded gun in the house,” she said.
“I’ll take it outside after lunch. The pie is good.”
“I don’t like it,” Jo said.
Lucy picked up the gun and put it on top of the Welsh dresser. “I suppose it’s all right as long as it’s out of Jo’s reach.”
Jo said, “When I grow up I’m going to shoot Germans.”
“This afternoon I want you to have a sleep,