House of Green Turf

‘I see,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘But what was I supposed to be able to tell? I never knew there was anything to be told against you.’

He leaned back to prop himself against the wall by one wide, lean shoulder, and grinned at her amiably through the smoke of his cigarette.

‘Do you remember the spring trip we made that year with the Circus?’

‘Well, well!’ she said. ‘You’ve still got the terms pat, after all this time.’

‘Dear Maggie, I have as near as damn it total recall. I remember the whole ramshackle set-up, and you so dedicated and earnest, and such an easy touch. You remember carrying some expensive cosmetics through Customs for me, that spring? A girl could get by with declaring those jars, when a man would automatically get charged on them. And it turned out that way, didn’t it? And a friend of mine met us at the boat-train, and I handed the whole works over as a present for his sister. Dear Maggie, you can’t have forgotten that kind deed? After all, what did you ever have to declare, except sheet-music and gramophone records?’

What money had she ever had, in those days, to buy any but the most vital necessities, all of which were comprehended in music? But all she said was: ‘I remember.’

‘Well, they picked up my anonymous friend later that year with rather a lot of heroin on him. Yes, that’s what was in the jars, sealed below about an eighth of an inch of cream and stuff. We were in Basel on the autumn tour when I got word, so I had to make up my mind quickly what to do. There was no knowing for sure that he’d keep his mouth shut about me, and even if he did, there might still be something they could hook up to me. And if ever they had found their way to the Circus, you’d soon have told them how those cosmetics came into England, wouldn’t you? It all boiled down to a choice between marrying you to close your mouth, and going home and chancing my luck, or staying here and turning professional. They’d been inviting me to do that for a year or more.’

‘They?’ said Maggie gently.

‘What good would it do you if I named names, my dear? The whole set-up has changed since then. Just one organisation among many, until I made it over to my taste. Call it what you like. Cosa mia…’

Yes, clearly anything into which he entered would soon have to become ‘his thing’; he wasn’t interested in being a subordinate. Perhaps that was why he’d never bothered to work at music, because even the disciplined approach necessary was only going to get him into the third, or at best the second, rank. ‘So you’d been smuggling for them for some time,’ she said, ‘under cover of Freddy’s respected name.’

‘Every trip. You’d helped me once before. Oh, not always hard drugs, in fact, very seldom. Anything light and profitable, precious stones, lenses, passports, medicines, even watches when other fields were dull. Once I went into England with two medieval manuscripts among my sheet music. We had a customer waiting for those, of course. Miniatures, rare coins, stamps, small art items—anything portable enough and expensive enough. We provide a world-wide service, moving the goods to where the demand is. Even before the crunch came I’d been thinking of throwing up the Circus before it threw me up, and going into the business full-time. It looked as if my career with Freddy was nearly up in any case. I let you make up my mind for me. You turned me down, they got me. You even provided me with a reason for suicide, if people got too nosy, though I admit the log was an afterthought. I remember taking off down the hillside, and there were these stacks of wood ready for carting, and it was too good to miss. You were so damned confident and secure, it seemed an appropriate gesture to give you something else to think about besides your great future.’

‘It must have been a disappointment to you,’ she said dryly, ‘when I didn’t tell anybody the story you’d so thoughtfully set up for me to tell.’

He leaned his head back against the wall and laughed aloud.

‘I was shocked to find you capable of such duplicity. You didn’t want any scandals or other little stumbling- blocks in the way of your career, did you? But after all, it worked out very well. Friedl kept me informed. If everyone had accepted Freddy’s dark hints, and come to the conclusion that I’d simply run out to avoid minor unpleasantness, that was fine with me. Just so long as nobody started a serious search for me alive.’

‘Friedl was your creature? One of the organisation?’

‘Hardly that. Let’s say Friedl became a useful camp follower. One of our ears on the world. One of our tongues, too, though,’ he added candidly, ‘I ought to have known better.’

‘Then it was you who put her up to telling all those lies to Francis and to me, to prove that you were dead?’

‘To Killian, yes. But to you? There she exceeded her orders, she had her own bone to pick with you. Friedl…’ He hoisted one shoulder in a smooth and eloquent gesture. ‘She always preferred to lie rather than tell truth, if not for policy, then for pleasure. Her facility has been useful on occasions, but when she was mad with jealousy—oh, yes, hadn’t you realised that?—she was a menace. She talked altogether too much. When she put you on to the grave, that was the end. She had to go. Probably the grave was a mistake from the beginning, I should have let well alone. But at the time it seemed a heaven-sent opportunity to have a second line of defence ready, in case of need. And then you had to get too interested in it, of all people, and of all people you would never have swallowed it. Anybody else she might have told, but you…’

‘I’ve seen the photographs,’ said Maggie. ‘How did you even manage that affair? Was it you who provided the body? Is there really a body there?’

‘Oh, yes, there’s a body, just as she told you. He came down with the snow water in the thaw. No, that wasn’t any master-stroke of mine, he was pure luck. I don’t suppose anyone will ever know who he really was. No, all I did was take the chance when it offered. Then there’d always be a grave to which I could misdirect enquiries if ever I needed to suggest my own death. It was a body, male, near enough my height and build and age, and past being identified. All I needed to do was make the anonymous offer to pay for his burial, as an act of piety, and make sure the death of an unknown young man was recorded and dated. Nothing so crude as a false identification or a name, of course. The portrait was an afterthought, a jeu d’esprit. Maybe too impudent, but it amused me.’

‘So you have a monumental mason in your pocket, too,’ said Maggie admiringly.

‘We have one of everything we need,’ he agreed calmly.

‘You must have risen rapidly in the organisation.’