'Just so. And with a diabolic sense of irony. I have alluded to Parnell-Greene's sexual deviation. He was a pederast; specifically his tastes ran to the passive role. Ergo, a certain grisly flair involved in the choice of anal impalement as a method of execution, don't you think, Dr. Hemlock?'
Jonathan trudged on in heavy silence for several minutes until, breaking through a thorn hedge, they were once again in the Vicar's garden.
'You'll want some brisk hot tea to ward off the cold. Let's go into the den, and I'll have it brought.'
The rain swept in over the vicarage with full vigor. After the tea tray had been delivered by one of the young men with flared suit and broad bright tie, Jonathan said, 'Why don't you just tell me what you want me to do?'
'That must be obvious. We want the films. And we want them quickly, before they can do whatever they have in mind with them.' He winked twice.
'And what about this Maximilian Strange and his people?'
'I assume their number will be reduced by those who have the misfortune of standing between you and the films.'
'And that will be the end of The Cloisters?'
The Vicar pursed his lips. 'Not really. After consideration, I have decided that closing The Cloisters would have no effect on the appetites that maintain it. They would simply seek elsewhere. So, when all this is over, The Cloisters will continue its services. But under new management.'
'It will become a Loo operation?'
'I think that would be best, don't you? The possession of the films together with data we collect in the operation of the establishment will bring effective control of the government under an organization that has the best interests of the nation at heart, together with the background and education to know what those best interests are. More tea?'
'That would make Loo totally antonomous, wouldn't it?'
'Why yes.' The Vicar's eyes opened wide with ingenuous frankness. 'I believe it will. Just as the information your CII has collected concerning the fiscal and sexual irregularities of your political leaders has long rendered it independent. But I can assure you
'You'll understand if I find little real difference between the Loo and The Cloisters.'
'Ah, but so far as you are concerned, there is one most salient difference.
The Vicar shrugged. 'Well, if it comes to that... but really! Our chat has taken an unnecessarily nasty turn.' He winked.
'All right. For nuts and bolts, what kind of support can I expect in getting the films?'
'From the police, none. We cannot run the smallest risk of this affair becoming public. Loo will continue its researches, and you will be advised of any new developments through Yank, who will operate as your contact with us. We are also pursuing another line of entry into The Cloisters, partially in support of you, partially as a second line of defense, should some misfortune befall you. Do not be surprised should you meet Miss Coyne within the walls of that evil establishment. For the rest, you are on your own. You will, of course, have my earnest prayers to support you. And you must never underestimate the power of prayer, Dr. Hemlock.'
Rain rattled against the windows of the snug little den with its damp wood fire releasing bluish flames that lapped lambently at the wrought-iron grate. The rainwater had stopped dripping from Jonathan's hair down his collar, and the room was becoming close and steamy with the drying of their clothes. Jonathan cleared his throat. 'Listen. I want you to let Miss Coyne out of this. She's done her bit by ringing me in on it.'
'Oh? Do I hear the sound of affection? A romance perhaps? How charming!'
'Never mind the crap. Just let her out of it.'
'But, my dear man, where would she go? I have no doubt she told you her distressing story. Were it not for us, she would this moment be sitting in a Belfast prison. And were it not for our continuing protection, she might be picked up in the streets at any time. Where is she to go? Do you intend to become responsible for her?' He winked.
'No. I don't.'
'Well, there you have it. In point of fact, she came to me this morning and asked to be allowed to help you. Perhaps she's feeling a little guilty, eh? May I offer you one of these biscuits? They're digestives, and I can particularly recommend them.'
Jonathan shivered and drew his wet jacket around him. 'I'd better be getting back to the inn.'
'I do hope you haven't caught a cold. Nasty things at this time of year.' He rose and accompanied Jonathan to the door. 'You can work out particulars with Yank, who has been instructed to assist you in every way. This afternoon you will receive a little training from The Sergeant.'
'Training? From The Sergeant?'
'Yes. You are with Loo now. Drawing the Queen's shilling, as it were. And there are certain regulations to which you will have to conform. From your CII records it appears you are a bit short of formal training in hand-to- hand combat. And The Sergeant—an expert in such matters—has offered to brush you up. In fact, he leaped at the opportunity.'
'I'll bet.'
'I shall not have a chance to see you again before you go, so let me leave this with you: Be very careful in your dealings with Maximilian Strange. He is a clever man. And be particularly wary of the man called 'The Mute.' '
'Who is that?'
'He works for Strange, he undertakes such physical punishments as Strange considers necessary. We're quite sure he was the one who did for Parnell-Greene. Evidently he does such things for pleasure. So do be careful, there's a good fellow.'
'What on earth happened to you?' Maggie's surprise converted into laughter, which she suppressed as soon as Jonathan's eyes told her he had no intention of being a good sport about his condition. 'Do leave your shoes outside. I'll ask one of the boys to clean them.' The corners of her mouth curled. 'If he can find them, that is.'
Jonathan stopped cold in the act of prying his shoes off while trying to avoid the cakes of mud and grass. He drew a very deep sigh of self-control, then continued. His fingers slipped, and he came up with a handful of mud.
Maggie did not laugh. Pointedly. 'Come along up. I'll draw you a nice hot bath.'
He growled.
His eyes closed, his elbows floating loose, he soaked in the large old-fashioned tub, only his mouth and nose out of the steaming water. But it was some time before the heat penetrated to his frozen marrow. Maggie perched on the edge of the tub, attending to him with a blend of maternity and laughter in her gamin face.
'What shall we do with these trousers?' she asked, holding them at arm's length between thumb and forefinger before letting them drop to the floor with a squishing sound.
He heard the reverberating rumble of her speech from under the water, but he could not make out the words. 'What?' he asked, lifting his ears above surface.
'I was just asking... oh, never mind.'
'You seem to be taking my condition rather lightheartedly.'
'No. No.'
'People die of exposure, you know.'
'I'll fetch you a towel.'
'Exposure to the elements. Do you still think this is funny?'
She shook her head.
'Why have you turned your back to me? Can't you look me in the face and tell me you don't think this is funny?'
