The Labyrinth Makers

'But don't worry,' Faith went on airily. 'She thinks quite highly of you. In not quite so many words she told me that you'd be a very good catch for any girl of sense. And she's been busy giving me angling hints all day.'

Audley floundered, trying desperately to find something to stop the conversation.

'She must think quite highly of you too, to confide in you after such a short acquaintance.'

'I took care to tell her that I was a farmer's daughter. But I think it was despair as much as anything. Once she'd made the mistake of taking me for your latest girl friend she clutched at me like a straw.

She thinks my predecessors have been too few–and all highly unsuitable!'

'You shouldn't have led her on, Miss–Faith.' Audley knew he was still floundering. 'You should have explained that we had a–a business relationship.'

He knew as soon as he had said it that he had made himself more ridiculous, and she made things worse by seeming to take him seriously.

'I don't think Mrs Clark would quite have understood such a dummy4

relationship–any more than I do, really.' And then suddenly she was serious. 'I couldn't very well tell her that you're out to prove that my father was a thief, and maybe worse.'

Audley put down his glass and stared out at the neat, well-cut lawn, with his back to her. Her banter was after all preferable to reality, but because it only concealed her misgivings the truth was better out.

'I've already proved that. I did it this afternoon. I bullied a little inoffensive shopkeeper who sold toy aeroplanes and who used to be your father's wireless operator. I made him admit it. And now he's dead.'

'He's–dead?'

'His name was Morrison. I think he died accidentally, falling down stairs. But one of my colleagues thinks he didn't.'

'Didn't fall downstairs?'

Audley turned round. 'Didn't die accidentally,' he said harshly.

Faith Jones was frowning at him.

'David–what are you?'

Audley opened another can of beer and offered it to her. She shook her head and he poured it for himself, carelessly, watching the froth well over the rim of the glass.

'What are you?' she repeated. 'What do you do? Are you really some sort of cloak-and-dagger person–the sort one reads about and never quite believes in?' She paused. 'But I suppose you wouldn't admit it if you were, so it's a silly question.'

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Not silly, but unanswerable, thought Audley. At present he was a sheep in ill-fitting wolf's clothing, but she'd never believe that.

Then his eye caught a slim blue and gold book lying with a browsing pile on the mantelpiece above the boiler.

'Do you believe in fairies, Faith?'

She looked at him blankly.

' Puck of Pook's Hill is on the shelf behind you. There's a bit in it at the beginning where Puck gets huffy at being called one. Give me the book and I'll show you.'

He riffled through the pages to find the passage he almost knew by heart. '. . . 'What you call them are made-up things the People of the Hills have never heard of' . . .

'Except of course that we have heard of them. But I know just how Puck felt now. You can't generalise about– the People of the Hills.'

He turned back a few pages. ' 'Giants, trolls, kelpies, brownies, goblins, imps; wood, tree, mound and water spirits; heath-people, hill-watchers, treasure-guards, good people, little people, pishogues, leprechauns, night riders . . .' I'm not a troll or a night rider, certainly. You might call me a hill-watcher.'

She shook her head in despair.

'Be serious, David.'

'But I am being serious. Your step-father wasn't really very close–

I'm not a policeman. I'm more like a meteorologist, a Middle East weather man. At least, I was until yesterday. I tried to forecast what certain countries were going to do. Does that answer your question?'

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Faith thought for a moment before answering.

'The Middle East–that's what all those Arabic papers and things in the sitting room are about.'

Audley nodded. He'd have to cancel Al Ahram and Al Kuwat al Muslaha and the rest now and wade through Molodaya Gvardia and Ogonyek just as painfully.

'But my father had nothing to do with the Middle East. He only flew in Europe.'

'That is true. I'm a little out of my territory.' And out of my depth, he nearly added. 'Which is why I just might need your help. After this afternoon I'm not sure I ought to involve you–or if you're willing to be involved. But you said last night that you'd give a lot to find out just what your father did.'

She looked at him in surprise.