'If he isn't there, he's bound to be somewhere else. It stands to reason...What?'
'The secretary's gone to see if she can find out where he went to.'
But the strain of his holiday and his fury at the travel agency had been exacerbated by the gas bill. Mr Clyde-Browne seized the phone. 'Now listen to me,' he shouted, 'I demand to know...'
'It's no use bawling like that, dear,' said Mrs Clyde-Browne pacifically, 'There's no one there to hear you.'
'Then who the hell were you talking to?'
'The School Secretary. I told you she's gone to see if anyone knows where Peregrine '
'Damn,' said Mr Clyde-Browne, cursing both the school and the state of his bowels. 'Then call me back the moment...' He shot into the downstairs lavatory and it was left to his wife to learn that Peregrine had gone to stay with his uncle.
'His uncle?' she asked, 'You wouldn't happen to know which one?'
The secretary didn't. Mrs Clyde-Brown put the phone down, picked it up again and called her sister-in-law in Aylesbury, only to find that Peregrine wasn't there. It was the same with Uncle Martin and all the other uncles and aunts. Mrs Clyde-Browne broke down. 'They said he'd gone to stay with one of his uncles but he hasn't,' she moaned through the lavatory door. Inside, Mr Clyde-Brown was heard to mutter that he wasn't surprised and gave vent to his paternal feelings by flushing the pan.
'You don't seem to care,' she wept when he came out and headed for the medicine cupboard. 'Don't you have any normal feelings as a father?'
Mr Clyde-Brown took two tablespoonfuls of kaolin and morphine before replying. 'Considering I have just flown halfway across Europe wearing one of your sanitary napkins to contain myself, what feelings I have whether as a father or not can't by any stretch of the imagination be called normal. When I think what might have happened if the Customs officer you tried to bluff about that silk had given me a body search, my blood runs cold. As a matter of fact, it's running cold now.'
'In that case, if you're not prepared to do anything, I'm going to call the police,' said Mrs Clyde-Browne, realizing for the first time in her married life that she was in a strong position.
Mr Clyde-Browne, who had been heading for the stairs and bed, stopped in his tracks. 'Police? What on earth are you going to do that for?'
'Because Peregrine is a missing person.'
'He's certainly missing something, though I'd qualify the word 'person', but if you think for one moment the police are going to be involved...'
It was an acrimonious exchange and was only ended by Mr Clyde-Browne's inability to be in the lavatory and to stop his wife reaching the phone at the same time. 'All right,' he conceded frantically, 'I promise to do everything humanly possible to find him as soon as I'm physically able provided you don't call the police.'
'I can't see why not. It seems the sensible thing to do.'
'Because,' snarled her husband, 'if there's one thing a prospective employer and God know they're few and far between in Peregrine's case dislikes as a reference it is a police record.'
'But Peregrine wouldn't have a police record. He'd be...'
'Listed on the Missing Persons Computer at New Scotland Yard, and where the Army and banks are concerned that constitutes a police record. Oh, damnation.' He stumbled back into the lavatory and sat there thinking dark thoughts about dysentery and idiot sons. He emerged to find his wife standing by the front door.
'We're leaving now,' she said.
'Leaving? Leaving for where?'
