'A good thing for you he did disobey orders, or they'd have had you in a strait-jacket by now. Where's Minshull?'
'Eh?'
'There was another doctor in here. He must have slipped out. Didn't you see him?'
'Bugger him for a start; there's plenty here to keep us busy. What was that about a strait-jacket, Hunter? Are you serious?'
Hunter had poured himself another large glass of Dr. Best's Hine Antique. He now retrieved the committal order and handed it over.
'They had something lined up for me as well. This chap was going to inject both of us. There's my dose on the sideboard.'
'Now do you believe he's mad?' asked Leonard, who was carefully going through what bottles remained unbroken. 'Ah.' He picked out a bottle of brown sherry, uncorked it, and drank from its neck.
'Mm.' Jagger nodded and sniffed. 'A bit wild, certainly. But is he a spy?'
'I can answer that question,' said Dr. Best from the floor behind the dining-table.
He got up without apparent difficulty and came over to them. His eyes looked a size larger without his glasses. When he spoke it was in a clipped, brisk tone that Hunter had never heard him use before.
'There must have been a leak,' he said. 'A big leak. Twelve of our key men had been pulled in. Nearly all the others blown. Throughout the country our spy network was in ruins. The chief was in despair. The biggest job of all time had come up and he had nobody to send. Nobody? There was Best. But would Best agree to go? Best's last exploit had saved the world from destruction by death-rays. Best had been decorated by fifty governments. Best had been given a hundred million in gold and everything he wanted and no questions asked. Best was dining in his villa. Best was being served incomparable food and wines by his staff of Greek boys. Best's eye ran lazily over their naked forms. Best was called to the telephone. Best was humbly begged to come to the chief's office. Best tried to refuse. ‘Best,' said the chief, ‘the world is in danger of destruction by death-rays.' Best said it was none of his affair. ‘Best, you're the only one who can save us.' Best let himself be talked into it. Best went to see the chief. ‘Best, meet your assistant.' Best was introduced to the most marvelous twenty-year-old. Best's eye ran lazily over his naked form. Best was called to the telephone. ‘Best,' said the chief, ‘the world is in danger of destruction by death-rays.' Best knew he was the only one who could save them. Best…'
By this time the nurse had joined Best's audience and Jagger had gone into the consulting-room next door, where he could be heard telephoning. When he came back, Best was still talking.
'They're all barmy here, you know,' said the nurse.
'He's no danger to us any more,' said Jagger. 'No use either.'
'That's the end of that,' said Leonard. 'Now we can go after the man in the camp.'
'It hasn't been as much fun as I thought it would be,' said Hunter.
Best went on talking while Mann arrived and, with the zealous assistance of the nurse, took him away.
'Very good,' said Ayscue, dropping his violin and bow on to his bed. 'Only a few minor points, Mr. Townsend. In bars 24 to 27…'
The curly-haired young man seated at the Bechstein flipped back to the place indicated. As the village church organist and choirmaster he had worked so hard preparing for the Roughead concert that Ayscue had not been able to avoid asking him to be the pianist in the trio-sonata. In this role he had proved musicianly enough, though inclined to overdo his interpretation of the figured bass.
'Yes, Major,' he said in his country voice.
'Where Andy and I are swapping those little phrases. I think unless you stick to a rigid four-in-a-bar there you may be in danger of…'
'Swamping you. Right, Major. Duly noted.'
'Fine.' Ayscue ran a handkerchief round his neck. 'Now, Andy. Just after that, in bar 28, that first note. It ought to have a good strong accent on it, I think, from both Mr. Townsend and you.'
Pearce put his flute to his lips and produced a note with a good strong accent on it.
'Yes. Not sudden, of course, just the natural top of the crescendo. Oh, I wanted to ask you both… Going back to bars 17 and 18: would it be a good idea if I did a rather different sort of staccato bowing for the middle two quavers in each of those bars? The trouble is, if you're hopping downstairs like that, you've got the volume but it's difficult to get the tone. Anyway…'
When Ayscue had tried over the two bars in question, Pearce said tentatively,
'I don't know, sir, it sounds a bit fancy that way, somehow.'
'Well, it's not right for the period, is it?' said Townsend.
Ayscue pretended to consider. He had merely wanted Townsend to feel paid back in kind for being criticized on the figured-bass detail.
'No, it isn't. I see that now you mention it. I'll leave it, then. Well. That's all I've got, I think. Is there anything else?'
'Just the ending, sir,' said Pearce. 'Those last few bars-are we still supposed to be staccato there?'
'No, very much not. Four long accents to the bar, and as tight together as you can get them without actually phrasing them over.'
