about.
They let him remain beside Preen until the doctor had made his examination and reported that there was little wrong, but an X-ray would be needed to check for bone injuries. Fleming noted with amusement that the doctor could not get his eyes off the tiny circles of young healthy flesh already growing around the bullet wounds.
'And this happened only last night?' he kept muttering.
They were taken down to a police launch where Preen was laid in the stern, comfortably wrapped in blankets. A constable was left behind to watch over the two bodies, which would be picked up later when the C.I.D. from Inverness had made their usual on-the-spot checks.
Fleming and Andre said goodbye to Preen when they disembarked on Skye. Their involuntary host seemed almost distraught at the parting. 'You must come again,' he said.
'If we ever get out of the Tower, we certainly will,' Fleming grinned.
Expressing soft Highland apologies, the station police sergeant said that he would have to put his prisoners in a cell when they got to Portree.
'It's forbye a murder case, ye'll be understanding,' he said.
'But it'll be the Inspector to decide on a charge, if there's to be one. I'm going to permit the young lady to be with you.
I'll have your word of no trouble, sir?'
'Of course,' said Fleming. 'We're grateful for your hospitality.'
They had to wait in the cells for a couple of hours. The sergeant's wife sent in two steaming plates of mutton stew.
Both ate ravenously. It was good to eat a proper meal after Preen's diet of soup and vegetables.
Then Quadrlng arrived. He was smiling. But not with any touch of triumph. He seemed relieved to see them both alive and well.
'You've given us one hell of a chase, Fleming,' he said.
'You are all right, my dear?' he added, looking hard at Andre. 'Well, as you may imagine, your bosses are very excited at the way you've both turned up, particularly Dr. Geers. I'm afraid I have instructions to take you to London right away. There'll be a Transport Command plane touching down presently.'
'I expected that,' Fleming replied. 'But I hope you'll get your sleuthing powers working on just who the gentlemen were who visited us last night.'
'Any ideas?' Quadring asked.
Fleming hesitated. 'Nothing definite,' he answered.
The failure of Intel's attempt to kidnap Fleming and Andre had caused consternation as much as anger in Kaufman's mind. He had learned to be completely unprincipled in the service of whoever paid him, but he had a distaste for personal violence. He had tried to explain this to a war crimes court back in 1947 when he sat in the dock along with the riff-raff from one of the minor camps. He had vehemently protested that he had never laid a hand on a single Jew or gipsy prisoner; his only connection with the extermination section had been to supply them with his carefully tabulated lists of outworked and over-age prisoners. The court had been obtuse; they had sentenced him to seven years, reduced by his perfect behaviour to five.
The charming man who had then offered him a confidential post with Intel had been the first person to appreciate the virtues of Herr Kaufman's life. 'We like to use men like you,' he had said.
And now he had badly let down these considerate and generous employers. Two men shot dead and a third getting out of the country as fast as he could. His frantic report over the phone to Salim had not been an experience he would like repeated. Unkind things had been said; even threats. Salim had appeared to be repeating the words of someone else in the room, judging from the way he constantly paused.
Finally Kaufman had been told to be at Oban airport and await a caller. A director of Intel coming from Vienna, Kaufman had never previously met any executive above district manager.
Nervously he hung around the airport building. An hour passed, then another. Beads of sweat glistened on his close-cropped head despite the coldness of the day. He wanted to run away. But he knew he dared not. For one thing it would be disobedience of orders; for another he was Intel's employee for life; there had been so many things he had done on their behalf which were in the crime dossiers of the police of a dozen countries ....
'So you are here ....'
It was a woman's voice. Kaufman spun around and saw Janine Gamboul. He grinned with relief. So they were going to use the old trick of feminine allure to get hold of Fleming.
But he had to be cautious. 'Excuse?' he said gutturally.
'You are... ?'
She ignored his question 'You are Kaufman. Where is Fleming?'
'But Colonel Salim said a director from Vienna .... '
Kaufman mumbled.
She cut him short. 'So naturally you imagined a man.'
'You are... ?' he stuttered. Then he was all deference and politeness. 'I am sorry, I did not realise.'
'I repeat, where is Dr Fleming? Or have you frightened him off?'
'He is at the same place. The little island. It was not my fault. Two men were killed. And I am not a gunman.'
She walked towards the airport cafe, not troubling to see whether he followed. He rushed ahead to open the door for her. When they were seated at a table in a quiet corner she lighted a cigarette and drew in a deep lungful of smoke.
'We shall arrange things better this time,' she murmured.
'We must have Fleming quickly. Nothing is more vital.'
'May I ask why?' he muttered.
She gazed at him with impatient contempt. 'To help us with some equipment. He has some special knowledge we need.' She gave him a cold smile. 'It's really the result of your commendable activities on behalf of the company.
Stupid you may be, but you are loyal and energetic. I think you should have been told before.'
She dropped her voice to a murmur. 'When we heard that a message had been received from space you recall that you were told to make contact with Dr Denis Bridger, Fleming's partner. You did well, Kaufman. From Bridger you got the specification for making a computer to interpret the message.'
'Nothing ever came of it,' said Kaufman mournfully.
'Bridger - er- got himself killed.'
'So you think nothing came of it?' she laughed. 'We have been building a copy of that computer; in Azaran. Only now we need a little expert advice. Salim has got Professor Dawnay, but she was only indirectly involved. She'll possibly be useful. But Fleming will be essential.'
Kaufman felt relieved. Even happy. He ventured to light a cigarello.
'So you see, Herr Kaufman,' Janine Gamboul finished, stubbing out her cigarette, 'this time there must be no mistake in enrolling Doctor Fleming on our staff.'
CHAPTER FOUR
SQUALL LINES
The attendants in the Palais des Nations at Geneva told one another that there had not been such a smoothly running international conference for years. Russians nodded cheerfully as their interpreters repeated the heart-felt views of an American delegate. Even the French were inviting ideas for co-operative effort. In fact, the whole thing was almost boring.
The reason was that the subject under discussion was the weather. Everyone could agree that it was undeniably bad.
As gales blew indiscriminately over East and West, and abnormally heavy rainfall was prevalent throughout
