‘Where’s she gone?’
‘The devil knows. I’m not told anything in this house.’ Practice made the translation of that faster.
I went back down the lift, wondering if it were some other man, some laggard in love and a dastard in war. Frankly, I didn’t care over much. Gloriana was high-flying game, too high for me in my present off-peak condition.
I got in the Rolls and had the chauffeur drive me around for an hour. Then I went home, opened a tin of ox tongue, made myself some sandwiches and coffee and sat and contemplated a bunch of mimosa that Mrs Meld had arranged in a vase on the sideboard. I considered Freeman.
For my money he was too impulsive, too careless, too given to friends making anonymous phone calls about his welfare ever to last long in the big league. He might, with luck, get away with some small racket. But I didn’t read his character as closed, discreet and contained enough to engineer anything that would give the forces of law and order more than a temporary headache.
I was in the office the next morning at half past nine—early for me. In the outer office Wilkins said, ‘I’ve got a hair appointment at half past ten. Is that all right?’
I nodded, hoping it would be, though what anyone could do with Wilkin’s hair I couldn’t imagine.
She went on, ‘When I got in this morning I put a call through to the Libya Palace Hotel in Tripoli.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t see why Olaf and I should go there if a simple query could be settled by a telephone call.’
‘Freeman?’
‘Yes. They said there was no one staying there of that name.’
‘He could be at some other hotel. What about the Uaddan?’
‘I’ve got a call booked through to them. If it comes while I’m out you can take it.’
‘He might not be using his own name.’
I tossed the Freeman photograph on to her desk. She examined it and handed it back. She had a trained memory. If she ever saw Freeman now she would recognize him.
I said, ‘See if you can get me a booking on an afternoon plane to Paris.’
She nodded and then handed me a newspaper cutting. It was the paragraph about the dead man at Freeman’s cottage.
‘Why,’ she asked, ‘does everything you touch start getting involved and unpleasant?’
‘Which part don’t you like? The involvement or the unpleasantness?’
She didn’t answer, because at that moment the telephone began to ring. I went into my office. She came in ten minutes later and said, ‘That was the Uaddan Hotel. I got the same answer. No one called Freeman known to them. And Mrs Stankowski is outside, wanting to see you.’
‘Show her in. Don’t forget that Paris flight.’
Gloriana was wearing a beautifully cut black silk suit, a mink wrap round her shoulders, a tiny little black hat with a black veil that came just below her eyes, and a different scent. She sat down on the other side of my desk and I reached over and lit a cigarette for her. The pearls round her neck were as large as fat garden peas, all perfectly matched, and evidence of the handsome profit margins in the scrap-metal business. One day, I promised myself, when I got tired of the high excitement of the struggle for existence, I would find a young rich widow—beautiful, of course—and marry her.
I said, ‘You broke two things last night. My heart and a dinner engagement.’
‘Crap.’ All of old Scunthorpe was in the word. But she said it with a smile.
‘What happened?’
‘At half past six a car called for me. It was from the office of the Lord High Treasurer.’
‘Sounds like something out of Gilbert and Sullivan.’
‘In the car was a man I know.’
‘Young?’
‘Forty-odd. His name is Apsley and he’s a senior legal assistant in the Treasury Solicitor’s office.’
‘What did he want? To marry you or raise a loan to help pay back the war debt?’ As she spoke I went over to the bookcase and fished out Whitaker’s Almanac for 1965. Apsley was listed all right, commencing salary £2,391 rising to £3,135.
‘I’ve known him for a long time and I think he would like to marry me—but he’s not my type. He took me back to his office where there were two other Treasury officials. They wanted to know all about Martin. Did I know where he was and so on. Apparently they’ve an idea that he may be mixed up in some currency deal which isn’t exactly honest.’
‘Did they give you details?’
‘No. They’ve no positive evidence yet. They just wanted to know where he was. Since Dick Apsley knows me they thought an informal approach to me was the best thing. I told them I’d employed you to find him.’
‘You told them everything?’
‘Practically.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I didn’t mention about his marriage to that woman . . . what was her name?’
‘Jane Judd. Why not?’
‘Well, I didn’t see that involving her was going to help them.’
‘But you told them about the dead man at the cottage?’
‘Yes. I thought they took that very calmly.’
‘And what did they say about me?’
‘That I could tell you of their interest—though they have their own investigators—and if I wished I could go on employing you, but they’d be glad if I passed on to them anything you found out. What the hell is that brother of mine up to?’
‘I’d like to know. How long were you there?’
‘Two hours.’
‘And afterwards?’
‘Dick took me out to dinner. But we didn’t discuss Martin any more. Except that I made it clear that I wanted to go on employing you. Do you mind if I pass them any information you find?’
‘No.’
‘You look cross.’
‘I don’t like official departments on my tail. But I’ll learn to live with this one. Also, since they know about the dead man, I’m going to have the police around my neck at any minute.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. I hope I’m going to be in Paris before they get to me. But I’ll be back.’
‘And
