N or M_ - Agatha Christie [26]
Major Bletchley’s words chimed in with his thoughts:
‘I saw, you know, that there was no time to lose. I got hold of Abdul, my syce–good fellow, Abdul–’
The story droned on.
Tommy was thinking:
‘Why Leahampton? Any reason? It’s out of the mainstream–bit of a backwater. Conservative, old-fashioned. All those points make it desirable. Is there anything else?’
There was a stretch of flat agricultural country behind it running inland. A lot of pasture. Suitable, therefore, for the landing of troop-carrying airplanes or of parachute troops. But that was true of many other places. There was also a big chemical works where, it might be noted, Carl von Deinim was employed.
Carl von Deinim. How did he fit in? Only too well. He was not, as Grant had pointed out, the real head. A cog, only, in the machine. Liable to suspicion and internment at any moment. But in the meantime he might have accomplished what had been his task. He had mentioned to Tuppence that he was working on decontamination problems and on the immunising of certain gases. There were probabilities there–probabilities unpleasant to contemplate.
Carl, Tommy decided (a little reluctantly), was in it. A pity, because he rather liked the fellow. Well, he was working for his country–taking his life in his hands. Tommy had respect for such an adversary–down him by all means–a firing-party was the end, but you knew that when you took on your job.
It was the people who betrayed their own land–from within–that really roused a slow vindictive passion in him. By God, he’d get them!
‘–And that’s how I got them!’ The Major wound up his story triumphantly. ‘Pretty smart bit of work, eh?’
Unblushingly Tommy said:
‘Most ingenious thing I’ve heard in my life, Major.’
II
Mrs Blenkensop was reading a letter on thin foreign paper stamped outside with the censor’s mark.
Incidentally the direct result of her conversation with ‘Mr Faraday’.
‘Dear Raymond,’ she murmured. ‘I was so happy about him out in Egypt, and now, it seems, there is a big change round. All very secret, of course, and he can’t say anything–just that there really is a marvellous plan and that I’m to be ready for some big surprise soon. I’m glad to know where he’s being sent, but I really don’t see why–’
Bletchley grunted.
‘Surely he’s not allowed to tell you that?’
Tuppence gave a deprecating laugh and looked round the breakfast table as she folded up her precious letter.
‘Oh! we have our methods,’ she said archly. ‘Dear Raymond knows that if only I know where he is or where he’s going I don’t worry quite so much. It’s quite a simple way, too. Just a certain word, you know, and after it the initial letters of the next words spell out the place. Of course it makes rather a funny sentence sometimes–but Raymond is really most ingenious. I’m sure nobody would notice.’
Little murmurs arose round the table. The moment was well chosen; everybody happened to be at the breakfast table together for once.
Bletchley, his face rather red, said:
‘You’ll excuse me, Mrs Blenkensop, but that’s a damned foolish thing to do. Movements of troops and air squadrons are just what the Germans want to know.’
‘Oh, but I never tell anyone,’ cried Tuppence. ‘I’m very, very careful.’
‘All the same it’s an unwise thing to do–and your boy will get into trouble over it some day.’
‘Oh, I do hope not. I’m his mother, you see. A mother ought to know.’
‘Indeed and I think you’re right,’ boomed out Mrs O’Rourke. ‘Wild horses wouldn’t drag the information from you–we know that.’
‘Letters can be read,’ said Bletchley.
‘I’m very careful never to leave letters lying about,’ said Tuppence with an air of outraged dignity. ‘I always keep them locked up.’
Bletchley shook his head doubtfully.
III
It was a grey morning with the wind blowing coldly from the sea. Tuppence was alone at the far end of the beach.
She took from her bag two letters that she had just called for at a small newsagent’s in the town.
They had taken some time in coming