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N or M_ - Agatha Christie [14]

By Root 418 0
news. We’d better go in and listen to it.’

The news was meagre that day, little more in it than had been already in the morning papers. After commenting with approval on the latest exploits of the Air Force–first-rate chaps, brave as lions–the Commander went on to develop his own pet theory–that sooner or later the Germans would attempt a landing at Leahampton itself–his argument being that it was such an unimportant spot.

‘Not even an anti-aircraft gun in the place! Disgraceful!’

The argument was not developed, for Tommy and the Major had to hurry back to lunch at Sans Souci. Haydock extended a cordial invitation to Tommy to come and see his little place, ‘Smugglers’ Rest’. ‘Marvellous view–my own beach–every kind of handy gadget in the house. Bring him along, Bletchley.’

It was settled that Tommy and Major Bletchley should come in for drinks on the evening of the following day.

III

After lunch was a peaceful time at Sans Souci. Mr Cayley went to have his ‘rest’ with the devoted Mrs Cayley in attendance. Mrs Blenkensop was conducted by Miss Minton to a depot to pack and address parcels for the Front.

Mr Meadowes strolled gently out into Leahampton and along the front. He bought a few cigarettes, stopped at Smith’s to purchase the latest number of Punch, then after a few minutes of apparent irresolution, he entered a bus bearing the legend, ‘OLD PIER’.

The old pier was at the extreme end of the promenade. That part of Leahampton was known to house agents as the least desirable end. It was West Leahampton and poorly thought of. Tommy paid 2d, and strolled up the pier. It was a flimsy and weather-worn affair, with a few moribund penny-in-the-slot machines placed at far distant intervals. There was no one on it but some children running up and down and screaming in voices that matched quite accurately the screaming of the gulls, and one solitary man sitting on the end fishing.

Mr Meadowes strolled up to the end and gazed down into the water. Then he asked gently:

‘Caught anything?’

The fisherman shook his head.

‘Don’t often get a bite.’ Mr Grant reeled in his line a bit. He said without turning his head:

‘What about you, Meadowes?’

Tommy said:

‘Nothing much to report as yet, sir. I’m digging myself in.’

‘Good. Tell me.’

Tommy sat on an adjacent bollard, so placed that he commanded the length of the pier. Then he began:

‘I’ve gone down quite all right, I think. I gather you’ve already got a list of the people there?’ Grant nodded. ‘There’s nothing to report as yet. I’ve struck up a friendship with Major Bletchley. We played golf this morning. He seems the ordinary type of retired officer. If anything, a shade too typical. Cayley seems a genuine hypochondriacal invalid. That, again, would be an easy part to act. He has, by his own admission, been a good deal in Germany during the last few years.’

‘A point,’ said Grant laconically.

‘Then there’s von Deinim.’

‘Yes, I don’t need to tell you, Meadowes, that von Deinim’s the one I’m most interested in.’

‘You think he’s N?’

Grant shook his head.

‘No, I don’t. As I see it, N couldn’t afford to be a German.’

‘Not a refugee from Nazi persecution, even?’

‘Not even that. We watch, and they know we watch all the enemy aliens in this country. Moreover–this is in confidence, Beresford–very nearly all enemy aliens between 16 and 60 will be interned. Whether our adversaries are aware of that fact or not, they can at any rate anticipate that such a thing might happen. They would never risk the head of their organisation being interned. N therefore must be either a neutral–or else he is (apparently) an Englishman. The same, of course, applies to M. No, my meaning about von Deinim is this. He may be a link in the chain. N or M may not be at Sans Souci, it may be Carl von Deinim who is there and through him we may be led to our objective. That does seem to me highly possible. The more so as I cannot very well see that any of the other inmates of Sans Souci are likely to be the person we are seeking.’

‘You’ve had them more or less vetted, I suppose, sir?’

Grant sighed

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