“A trade? What do you mean?”
“Mrs. Hitchcock for Mr. Hitchcock. Don’t be so obtuse, Miss Adair. I know you’re a very clever schemer. You know from the opening paragraphs of the scenario that I’m on a trail that’s to lead me to a master spy, a spy ring, blood and thunder and all that.”
“Then this will be even more exciting than I expected.”
“And it will also be terribly dangerous, I should think. My life in jeopardy, and all that.”
“And now mine too!” chimed in Nancy Adair lustily, adding a hearty “Ha-ha!”
“What an odd target for levity.” said Hitchcock, “the prospect of a violent death. I should like to examine that further when I get the opportunity. You know this isn’t a lard devised by some of my writers, though God knows those ninnies would be hard put to come up with an adventure like this one. We’re in John Buchan territory now, and that’s a very tricky terrain. There have been two men murdered, and there’s definitely a link to the two murders in Munich back in ’25.”
“Ah? There were earlier murders?” Hitchcock told her. “Well, that’s another kettle of fish, isn’t it?”
“Not too late to back out, Miss Adair.”
“Are you mad?”
“No, but I think you are.”
Her grip tightened on the steering wheel and they drove in silence for a while. Then she said cheerfully, “I offered you a penny.”
“Well, since we’re attached to each other now and it will be necessary from time to time to share my thoughts with you, I’ve been thinking about the man who was with me yesterday on the drive from the studio to my cottage.”
“Oh, him. Who was he? From the brief glimpses I got of him, he seemed very attractive.”
“He’s an actor named Hans Meyer. A refugee from the Nazis. It was he I was expecting earlier this evening, and instead those thugs appeared, knocking me out and taking Alma. I was wondering what had become of him.”
“Perhaps he arrived when you were knocked out, panicked, and fled.”
“No, he rang our bell just a few minutes before we were attacked. We spoke on the intercom. I buzzed him in.”
“Then that is how the attackers got into your building. As he entered, they overpowered him, knocked him out, and then went about their business. They obviously knew what they were doing.”
“The Scotland Yard man on watch had to have seen them.”
“Weeelll,” she said, drawing out the word as an intimation of Hitchcock’s apparent naivete, “if I spotted him so easily this afternoon, then they certainly must have known he was there and knocked him out. An easy matter creeping up on him in this fog and coshing him.”
“Of course.” He smiled. “I said you were very clever. Well, then, after that he must have regained consciousness and come up to the flat to see what had happened…”
“And in a panic, you thinking he was one of the attackers returning to finish you off, you stabbed him in the back with the bread knife.”
“Oh, not at all.” Hitchcock was obviously annoyed. “Just because I complimented your prescience and your cleverness is no reason to jump to conclusions. I was knocked out by those men, and it still hurts, damn the eyes of whoever hit me. Yes, I had the knife, I’d run into the kitchen for it and I was still clutching it when I was hit, but I assure you, young woman, as I have assured my solicitor and Detective Superintendent Jennings of Scotland Yard, when I awakened with the blade of the knife all bloodied, it was quite obvious someone else had stabbed the detective and then placed the knife back in my hand. It’s a very old ploy; Edgar Wallace used to do it to death in his overheated thrillers.”
“You’ve spoken to your solicitor and to Jennings at Scotland Yard?”
“You saw me using the kiosk the first time. Did you think I was dialing for the correct time?”
“Your solicitor is quite understandable, but Scotland Yard? They could have traced the call and caught you.”
“But they didn’t, did they?” Hitchcock felt delightfully smug. “I know how the coppers operate; I direct thrillers. I knew they’d try to trace me. I just spoke at greater acceleration than usual, and bob’s your uncle, here I am, and where are we?”
“Hopefully on the road to Brighton. Keep your eyes peeled for a bed and breakfast. There are dozens along the route to Brighton.”
“They’ll be terribly suspicious our checking in at this hour of the night and without luggage.”
“No, they won’t. They’ll think we’re wise getting out of this fog and away from the lorries on the road. And anyway, I’m getting drowsy. There! Up ahead on the right! What does that sign say?”
Hitchcock strained to read it and finally managed. “It’s a funeral home. Perhaps we should stop and put them in touch with Scotland Yard.”
“That’s funny.” She didn’t laugh. “You’re not so tense anymore. You’re beginning to trust me.”
“You’re right. I’m not so tense anymore.” He settled into silence and dwelt on Hans Meyer. After a while, he began to link the actor to a line from Hamlet, about there being something rotten in Denmark.
After his frustrating chat with Hitchcock, Jennings cursed himself, Scotland Yard, and the damn fool of an engineer who finally located the kiosk from which Hitchcock had called but had long since abandoned. Jennings immediately set about orchestrating an invasion of the basement at the church in King’s Cross. He assigned Dowerty and three other men to masquerade as bums seeking food and shelter. He gave them Hitchcock’s description of Lemuel Peach, complete with polka-dot bow tie, and shortly before midnight, the four men arrived at the solid wooden door to the basement of the church. Dowerty tugged at the bellpull and waited impatiently.‘
“Try the doorknob,” one of his men whispered from behind him. Dowerty tried the doorknob and they went in.
‘There’s
