Passenger to Frankfurt - Agatha Christie [88]
‘Oh, yes, he can understand perfectly, but as he is semi-paralysed, he is unable to speak with much clarity, though that varies, and is unable to walk without help. His brain, in my opinion, is as good as ever it was. The only difference is that he tires very easily now. Now, would you like some refreshment first?’
‘No,’ said Lord Altamount. ‘No, I don’t want to wait. This is a rather urgent matter on which we have come, so if you will take us to him now–he expects us, I understand?’
‘He expects you, yes,’ said Lisa Neumann.
She led the way up some stairs, along a corridor and opened a room of medium size. It had tapestries on the wall, the heads of stags looked down on them, the place had been a one-time shooting-box. It had been little changed in its furnishing or arrangements. There was a big record-player on one side of the room.
The tall man sat in a chair by the fire. His head trembled a little, so did his left hand. The skin of his face was pulled down one side. Without beating about the bush, one could only describe him one way, as a wreck of a man. A man who had once been tall, sturdy, strong. He had a fine forehead, deep-set eyes, and a rugged, determined-looking chin. The eyes, below the heavy eyebrows, were intelligent. He said something. His voice was not weak, it made fairly clear sounds but not always recognizable ones. The faculty of speech had only partly gone from him, he was still understandable.
Lisa Neumann went to stand by him, watching his lips, so that she could interpret what he said if necessary.
‘Professor Shoreham welcomes you. He is very pleased to see you here, Lord Altamount, Colonel Munro, Sir James Kleek, Mr Robinson and Mr Horsham. He would like me to tell you that his hearing is reasonably good. Anything you say to him he will be able to hear. If there is any difficulty I can assist. What he wants to say to you he will be able to transmit through me. If he gets too tired to articulate, I can lip-read and we also converse in a perfected sign language if there is any difficulty.’
‘I shall try,’ said Colonel Munro, ‘not to waste your time and to tire you as little as possible, Professor Shoreham.’
The man in the chair bent his head in recognition of the words.
‘Some questions I can ask of Miss Neumann.’
Shoreham’s hand went out in a faint gesture towards the woman standing by his side. Sounds came from his lips, again not quite recognizable to them, but she translated quickly.
‘He says he can depend on me to transcribe anything you wish to say to him or I to you.’
‘You have, I think, already received a letter from me,’ said Colonel Munro.
‘That is so,’ said Miss Neumann. ‘Professor Shoreham received your letter and knows its contents.’
A hospital nurse opened the door just a crack–but she did not come in. She spoke in a low whisper:
‘Is there anything I can get or do, Miss Neumann? For any of the guests or for Professor Shoreham?’
‘I don’t think there is anything, thank you, Miss Ellis. I should be glad, though, if you could stay in your sitting-room just along the passage, in case we should need anything.’
‘Certainly–I quite understand.’ She went away, closing the door softly.
‘We don’t want to lose time,’ said Colonel Munro. ‘No doubt Professor Shoreham is in tune with current affairs.’
‘Entirely so,’ said Miss Neumann, ‘as far as he is interested.’
‘Does he keep in touch with scientific advancements and such things?’
Robert Shoreham’s head shook slightly from side to side. He himself answered.
‘I have finished with all that.’
‘But you know roughly the state the world is in? The success of what is called the Revolution of Youth. The seizing of power by youthful fully-equipped forces.’
Miss Neumann said, ‘He is in touch entirely with everything that is going on–in a political sense, that is.’
‘The world is now given over to violence, pain, revolutionary tenets, a strange and incredible philosophy of rule by an anarchic minority.’
A faint look of impatience went across