have you been? I’ve had scouts out all over Soho and the West End since eight o’clock last night.”
A cold finger of excitement moved inside him. “Something big turned up.”
She nodded. “You’re telling me. You’d better go in. The Chief’s been here since midnight hoping you’d turn up.”
“How about some coffee?”
“I’ll bring it in when it’s ready.” She wrinkled her nose. “You’ve been drinking again, haven’t you?”
“What a hell of a wife you’d make, sweetheart,” he told her with a tired grin, and went through into the living room.
Two men were sitting in wing-backed chairs by the fire, a chessboard on the coffee table between them. One was a stranger to Chavasse, an old white-haired man in his seventies who wore gold-rimmed spectacles and studied the chessboard intently.
The other, at first sight, might have been any high Civil Service official. The well-cut, dark grey suit, the old Etonian tie, even the greying hair, all seemed a part of the familiar brand image.
It was only when he turned his head sharply and looked up that the difference became apparent. This was the face of no ordinary man. Here was a supremely intelligent being, with the cold grey eyes of a man who would be, above all things, a realist.
“I hear you’ve been looking for me,” Chavasse said as he peeled off his wet trench coat.
The Chief smiled faintly. “That’s putting it mildly. You must have found somewhere new.”
Chavasse nodded. “The Caravel Club in Great Portland Street. They do a nice steak and there’s a gaming room, chemmy and roulette mostly.”
“Is it worth a visit?”
“Not really,” Chavasse grinned. “Rather boring and too damned expensive. It’s time I saw a little action of another kind.”
“I think we can oblige you, Paul,” the Chief said. “I’d like you to meet Professor Craig, by the way.”
The old man shook hands and smiled. “So you’re the language expert? I’ve heard a lot about you, young man.”
“All to the good, I hope?” Chavasse took a cigarette from a box on the coffee table and pulled forward a chair.
“Professor Craig is chairman of the Joint Space Research Programme recently set up by NATO,” the Chief said. “He’s brought us rather an interesting problem. To be perfectly frank, I think you’re the only available Bureau agent capable of handling it.”
“Well, that’s certainly a flattering beginning,” Chavasse said. “What’s the story?”
The Chief carefully inserted a Turkish cigarette into an elegent silver holder. “When were you last in Tibet, Paul?”
Chavasse frowned. “You know that as well as I do. Three years ago, when we brought out the Dalai Lama.”
“How would you feel about going in again?”
Chavasse shrugged. “My Tibetan is still pretty fair. Not fluent, but good enough. It’s the other problems specific to the area which would worry me most. Mainly the fact that I’m a European, I suppose.”
“But I understood you to say you’d helped out the Dalai Lama three years ago,” Professor Craig said.
Chavasse nodded. “But that was different. Straight in and out again within a few days. I don’t know how long I could get by if I was there for any period of time. I don’t know if you’re aware of this fact, Professor, but not a single Allied soldier escaped from a Chinese prison camp during the Korean War, and for obvious reasons. Drop me into Russia in suitable clothes and I could pass without question. In a street in Peking, I’d stick out like a sore thumb.”
“Fair enough,” the Chief said. “I appreciate your point, but what if we could get round it?”
“That would still leave the Chinese,” Chavasse told him. “They’ve really tightened up since I was last there. Especially after the Tibetan revolt. Although mind you, I think their control of large areas must be pretty nominal.” He hesitated and then went on, “This thing – is it important?”
The Chief nodded gravely. “Probably the biggest I’ve ever asked you to handle.”
“You’d better tell me about it.”
The Chief leaned back in his chair. “What would you say was the gravest international problem at the moment – the Bomb?”
Chavasse shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Not anymore, anyway. Probably the space race.”
The Chief nodded. “I agree, and the fact that John Glenn and those who have followed him have successfully emulated Gagarin and Titov has got our Russian friends worried. The gap is narrowing – and they know it.”
“Is there anything they can do about it?” Chavasse said.
The Chief nodded. “Indeed there is, and they’ve been working on it for too damned long already – but perhaps Professor Craig would like to tell you about it. He’s the expert.”
Professor Craig took off his spectacles and started to polish their lenses with the handkerchief from his breast pocket. “The great problem is propulsion, Mr. Chavasse. Bigger and better rockets just aren’t the answer, not when it comes to travelling to the moon, and anything farther involves immense distances.”
“And presumably the Russians have got something?” Chavasse said.
Craig shook his head. “Not yet, but I think they may be very near it. Since 1956, they’ve been experimenting with an ionic rocket drive using energy emitted by stars as the motive force.”
“It sounds rather like something out of a science-fiction story,” Chavasse said.
“I only wish it were, young man,” Professor Craig said gravely. “Unfortunately it’s hard fact, and if we don’t come up with another answer quickly we might as well throw in the towel.”
“And presumably, there
The professor adjusted his spectacles carefully and nodded. “In normal circumstances, I would have said no, but in view of certain information which has recently come into my hands, it would appear that there is still a chance for us.”
The Chief leaned forward. “Ten days ago, a young Tibetan nobleman arrived in Srinagar, the capital of Kashmir. Ferguson, our local man, took him in charge. Besides possessing valuable information about the state of things in western Tibet at the present time, he was also carrying a letter for Professor Craig. It was from Karl Hoffner.”
Chavasse frowned. “I’ve heard of him vaguely. Wasn’t he some kind of medical missionary in Tibet for years?”
The Chief nodded. “A very wonderful man whom most people have completely forgotten. Remarkably similar career to Albert Schweitzer. Doctor, musician, philosopher, mathematician. He’s given forty years of his life to Tibet.”
“And he’s still alive?” Chavasse said.
The Chief nodded. “Living in a small town called Changu about one hundred and fifty miles across the border from Kashmir. Under house arrest, as far as we can make out.”
“This letter,” Chavasse said, turning to Professor Craig. “Why was it addressed to you?”
“Karl Hoffner and I were fellow students and research workers for years.” Craig sighed heavily. “One of the great minds of the century, Mr. Chavasse. He could have had all the fame of an Einstein, but he chose to bury himself in a forgotten country.”
“But what was in the letter that was so interesting?” Chavasse asked.
“On the face of it, nothing very much. It was simply a letter from one old friend to another. He’d apparently heard that this young Tibetan was making a break for it and decided to take the opportunity of writing to me, probably for the last time. He’s in poor health.”
“How are they treating him?”
“Apparently quite well.” Craig shrugged. “He was always greatly loved by the people. Probably the Communists are using him as a sort of symbol. He said in his letter that he had been confined to his house for more than a year and to help pass the time had returned to his greatest love, mathematics.”
“Presumably this is important?”
“Karl Hoffner is probably one of the great mathematicians of all time,” Professor Craig said solemnly. “Do you mind if I get a little technical?”
“By all means,” Chavasse told him.
