The Labyrinth Makers

trouble starts when there aren't any risks to be taken.'

' 'A daring pilot in extremity',' murmured Faith.

Maclean regarded her with interest.

'I see you know your Dryden, Miss Jones. Very apposite –it sums up Steerforth very well, that whole passage.'

He turned back to Audley. 'As I remember now there were a lot of questions about that last flight of ours at the time. They never found the plane, or Johnnie for that matter. I never understood why they made such a mystery of it; it was just pure bad luck.'

Maclean had evidently missed the newspaper reports of the Dakota's reappearance. And naturally he hadn't been privy to the ditching plan.

'We're not interested in that last flight, headmaster. We're only interested in the previous one from Berlin to Newton Chester.'

'The previous one?' Maclean frowned. 'But that was just—' His voice tailed off slightly, then rallied unconvincingly '—just routine.'

Maclean remembered well enough, or at least had just remembered well enough. But Audley judged that with him frankness might pay a bigger dividend.

'Headmaster, we know all about Steerforth's cargo. We know what it was, where it came from and how it was taken off the plane. We dummy4

also know that you had nothing to do with it. We're not trying to cause trouble for anyone. All we want to do is to find out where Steerforth put it.'

Maclean looked at him incredulously, and then on through him back into the past.

'Do you mean to say that Johnnie's precious boxes are still where he put them–after all this time?' he said at length.

'Do you know where he put them?'

'Good heavens–no! You'd do better to ask his second pilot — his name was Tierney. Or Morrison, the radio operator. I'm afraid I'm the person least likely to know.'

'But do you remember the boxes?'

'I remember the circumstances,' Maclean admitted ruefully. 'Now that you've reminded me I remember them all too well.'

He paused. 'I really didn't want to be involved. I wanted to finish my service with a clear conscience–I even used to congratulate myself with the thought that we hadn't actually killed anyone–

except accidentally, when we hit them with cannisters of supplies: Johnnie had the instincts of a bomber pilot, you know. It sounds rather naive, and quite false from a moral standpoint. But it kept me out of Johnnie's little rackets.'

'The boxes?' Audley tried to prod him gently.

'He was always offering to cut me in. To save me having to spend the rest of my life teaching Shakespeare to small boys! But I remember that on that penultimate flight he varied the offer: he said if I'd set my heart on teaching I could buy a school of my own dummy4

with my share.'

'And what did you say to that?'

'I don't remember what I said. But I recall that it scared me considerably. I thought that if one share in Johnnie's boxes was sufficient to buy a school–you don't make that scale of profit from American cigarettes and nylons! I was afraid desire might have outrun performance with Johnnie. And evidently I was right!'

The man's casualness had to be a sham, though not a guilty sham: no intelligent person could fail to be consumed with curiosity about the boxes' contents, least of all someone who had been involved with Steerforth, however innocently. Unless, of course, he already knew; but that didn't ring true of him, Audley judged.

'I'm sure I can rely on your discretion, headmaster, if I tell you that those boxes contained priceless objects from a German museum.

You were very wise to avoid the temptation.'

'Johnnie looted a museum?'

'Not quite. Say rather he looted the looters.'

Maclean smiled. 'That sounds more like him. In fact it would rather have appealed to him.'

He hadn't approved of Steerforth, or helped him, but he still had a soft spot for him–much as David Copperfield had for the other Steerforth. It vaguely irritated Audley that he had failed to see the Dickens analogy, even though it was as irrelevant as it now was obvious.

'The point is we suspect the boxes are still somewhere on or near the old airfield at Newton Chester, sir. Do you have any dummy4

suggestions as to where they might be, even if only in a general sense?'

Maclean pursed his lips thoughtfully, and then shook his head. 'I don't think I have, really. It's a very long time ago, after all–half a lifetime. My memories are rather fragmentary. I wouldn't know where to begin to look: Newton Chester wasn't a big station, as I recall it, but it covered quite a large area. There were — let me see

— about half a dozen boxes, and fair-sized boxes too–but it would still be like looking for a needle in a haystack. What makes you think they're still there?'