Descendant

Tim looked at his watch. “I really think Keston is going to need a bit of a walk now, sir. He’s had his breakfast, he always has to stretch his legs afterward, if you know what I mean.”

“Do you think he’s going to be OK? I really need a dog right now.”

“To be honest with you, sir, he’s looking a bit dicky.”

“This thing I’m after — I think it’s trying to leave the country.”

“Sorry, sir. Thing?”

“The thing that killed those two people in there.”

Tim looked perplexed. “Whatever it is, sir, I don’t think that Keston will go after it. I’ve never seen him like this before. Well, only once. Out in Suez, somebody put him off the scent with lion manure.”

I rang the Cunard Line reservations number. After another lengthy wait, I was answered by a chippy young girl. “Somebody made a reservation on a Cunard ship at about ten after two this morning,” I told her. “This is an urgent security matter. I need to know who it was, and what ship they’re booked on.”

She wouldn’t tell me, of course, so in the end I had to talk to her supervisor, and her supervisor had to call MI6 to verify my credentials. This wasted another fifteen minutes, and meanwhile Duca was putting ever-increasing miles between it and me.

At last, the supervisor came back to tell me that Mr. Terence Mitchell had telephoned to book a cabin on the Queen Elizabeth bound for New York via Cherbourg, sailing at noon today.

In Pursuit

George Goodhew arrived just as I was leaving the house. His gray Rover was closely followed by three other cars and a plain navy-blue van. A dozen young men in suits climbed out of the cars, and two Home Office pathologists climbed out of the van.

“I think that Duca’s trying to get out of the country,” I said. “It forced Terence to make a booking for it on the Queen Elizabeth.”

“Yes, but hold on. Duca hasn’t got a passport, has he — or it, I mean. They won’t let it on board without a passport.”

“It won’t need a passport, George. It can move so fast they won’t even see it. It can slide through a gap that’s half an inch wide.”

“All the same, I can alert the police and customs at Southampton. And we can hold the sailing if necessary.”

“Well, OK. But tell the police, don’t try to detain it. It can rip them apart as soon as look at them, and we don’t want any more casualties. I have to get down there, with my Kit.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“That’s great, thanks.”

Tim came up, with Keston trotting behind him on his leash. “How is he?” I asked him. “That Queen Elizabeth’s a hell of a big boat. I could really use a good dog.”

“I’m sorry sir. I don’t think he’s going to be up to it.”

I looked down at Keston and I had to admit to myself that I had never seen a dog look so cowed. His head was lowered and he couldn’t stop trembling, as if he was suffering from hypothermia. “All right, Tim,” I told him. “I’ll just have to find another man-trailer, that’s all.”

I picked up my Kit and put it on the backseat of George’s Rover. We left Terence’s mother’s house just as the Home Office pathologists were walking in with their brown overalls and their cameras and their forensic equipment, and headed south through Croydon town center. George managed to change gear and smoke and talk on his radio- telephone all at the same time, blasting his horn impatiently at anybody who slowed him down.

“Cunard won’t postpone the sailing,” he said, as we came closer to Purley. “Charles Frith doesn’t want to postpone it, either. It’ll attract too much publicity. The Foreign Secretary’s on board, as well as Loretta Young, and some Russian bigwigs, too.”

“In that case, we’ll have to make sure we get to Southampton before she sails.”

I directed him to the Foxleys’ house. He parked in the driveway with the engine running while I went to the front door and rang the doorbell.

Mya Foxley answered, almost at once. Her hair was fraying and she looked as if she hadn’t slept.

“Mrs. Foxley, I know Jill isn’t feeling too good, but I really have to talk to her.”

“I’m sorry, she isn’t here.”

“she’s not here? She hasn’t had to go to hospital?”

“No, no. A man came round to call for her, about two hours ago. She said that he was something to do with the police, and she would have to go with him. She even packed an overnight bag.”

At that moment, Bullet appeared, his crimson tongue hanging out in the heat. He looked up at me and wuffed.

“Jill was on police business and she didn’t take Bullet? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I don’t know. She asked me to take care of him, that’s all.”

“This man who called for her. what did he look like?”

Mya Foxley frowned. “He was very tall, with his hair brushed back.”

“Did you notice the color of his eyes?”

She shook her head.

“Would you say that he was good-looking? Handsome?”

“Oh, yes. He would stand out in a crowd. And very well dressed, too. A dark suit, and a dark silk tie.”

“Mrs. Foxley — Mya — this man had nothing to do with the police. If he’s the man I think he is, he’s taken Jill against her will. He’s abducted her.”

“But I don’t understand. She seemed quite happy to go with him. He didn’t say anything to threaten her.”

“That’s what makes him so dangerous. Listen — do you think that Bullet might come with me, and help me find her?”

Mrs. Foxley looked down at Bullet dubiously. “I don’t know — you’ve seen for yourself that he is a dog who obeys only his owner. That was the way he had to be trained.”

I bent over and held my hand out. Bullet sniffed at my fingertips, and growled in the back of his throat.

“Bullet,” I said, “we have to go find Jill. Do you understand that, boy? We have to go find Jill.”

Bullet barked, and his tail slapped wildly from side to side.

“Mrs. Foxley, would you bring me Bullet’s leash, please? I think he realizes what I want him to do.”

Mya Foxley went inside, and while she did so I tugged Bullet’s ears and rubbed his throat and he didn’t seem to mind at all. At least he didn’t try to take another chunk of flesh out of my thumb.

“Let’s go find Jill, boy, yes? Let’s go find that mistress of yours!”

Bullet grew more and more excited, and when I clipped his leash on his collar, he immediately ran out across the driveway, dragging me after him. He was a hell of a lot stronger than I had anticipated, and he seemed to be even more determined to find Jill than I was.

“I’ll call you!” I shouted back to Mya Foxley.

As we turned on to the main London to Brighton road, I had a sudden thought.

“George — can you take me to Dr. Watkins’s house?”

“We’re going to be pretty pushed for time, old man.”

“How long will it take us to reach Southampton?”

“It’s about sixty-five miles. If I really step on it, we should make it in an hour.”

“OK. but I really need to go the Laurels first.”

I directed him to Pampisford Road, and he slewed to a halt on the grass verge outside the Laurels. The two bobbies on duty recognized me, and they saluted and said “Morning, sir!” and let me through without any trouble. Inside the house, I went directly to Dr. Watkins’s surgery and opened up his fridge.

Inside, there were dozens of bottles of various vaccines — smallpox, diphtheria, yellow fever. On the middle shelf, on the right-hand side, there were a dozen bottles of Salk anti-poliomyelitis vaccine, with their distinctive red