I not only got it. I could imagine how Sutcliffe was squirming. He had been outsmarted by Saraband Two. It was a rare discomfort for him—and I couldn’t shed a tear about it. Wilkins was the only person on my mind.
‘So what’s the score with me? Your hands are tied. And I’m back from the dead.’
‘With a new identity.’ Manston flipped a passport across to me. I opened it. There was the usual bad passport photograph of me, and I had become Duncan Hilton.
‘I don’t care for the Duncan,’ I said.
‘You’re on your own,’ said Manston. He handed me a sheet of paper. ‘Olaf traced the ship for you. There’s a list there of her ports of call and route over the last two weeks. At the moment she’s coaling in Algiers. My bet is that Dawson and company have already been shipped ashore somewhere. If we can arrange it, we’re going to get a customs or quarantine check on her in Algiers—but it won’t be easy because our hands are tied officially. Meanwhile, as I say, you’re on your own.’
‘And what the hell do you think I can do?’
‘You want Wilkins back—’
‘She must come back or I kill someone,’ said Olaf in an angry-bear tone. We both ignored him.
‘Think of something,’ said Manston. ‘There’s money waiting for you in Paris. Credit Lyonnais, Place de l’Opera. You’ve got a little under thirty days. Get to work. You’re an enquiry agent, aren’t you? And we’re employing you on this job—it took me a long time to get Sutcliffe to accept that. Find something, anything, any lead. The moment you can finger where Dawson is—then let us know. The moment you have anything get on to me, or the nearest British consulate, and give the code word “Python” and he’ll pass the message. That’s the most we can do for you.’
‘And if it comes to nothing?’
‘Then it comes to nothing.’
He looked uncomfortable, and I knew why, but I saw no reason to spare him. All right, in his way he liked me, even regarded me as a friend of a kind, but his true love was the damned service he worked for. That, first, second, third and always.
‘Let’s get it straight,’ I said. ‘I’m a big boy and used to hard facts. If I fail, the only person who’s going to come back and keep a shut mouth forever is Dawson. Right?’
‘I’m afraid so. It’s no good trying to make any deal about Wilkins. You know that.’
‘Come on, Manston. Spill it all. If I don’t find Dawson for you, then pretty soon after the thirty-day limit Olaf and I will go too—won’t we?’
He looked at me, tight-mouthed, but he said nothing. He didn’t have to. We would go, in a car accident, somehow, somewhere. And he was tight-mouthed because it wasn’t his decision—but Sutcliffe’s.
‘Remember one thing,’ he said. ‘It’s vital that the Saraband Two people get no idea you’re alive. You go to Paris this afternoon by yourself. Olaf can join you tomorrow. You’ve both got rooms at the Hotel Balzac. Know where that is?’
‘Yes. And blast you and Sutcliffe.’
I stood up and did a bit of angry pacing. Manston watched me. Olaf sat with his big head hanging down, staring at the pavings. A wagtail flirted along the edge of the pool and a few busy bees mined away at a row of tulips. A warm, late spring day, birds fidgeting on their eggs, water beetles skating on the swimming pool, church service just over, and a thousand Dads putting their two thousand feet up with the News of the World while Mum sweated over a hot stove . . . and Carver sweated over an impossible job. Oh, I knew how the minds of men like Sutcliffe worked. He didn’t think I had a ghost of a chance. But he was prepared, just prepared, to give me any kind of chance if by a long shot it would save his departmental pride. But if it didn’t come off—then he would want all record of that long chance expunged from the book. The last bell would ring for me. Hear it not, Duncan, I told myself, for it is a knell that summons thee to heaven or hell—and when that came there wouldn’t be any reassuring wink.
Olaf stood up. He glowered at the both of us and then said, ‘I think I go back to London and see the Swedish Embassy. Maybe they can do something. After all, Hilda is my fiancee.’
I went over to the cane drink table that had been wheeled out, poured him a stiff rum, and handed it to him.
‘Just drink that, Olaf. And do exactly as you’re told. Wilkins is coming back—and you’re going to help me get her.’
‘I suppose,’ said Manston, ‘that after all that treatment at Sutcliffe’s place, there isn’t anything you’re holding back. Anything vital?’
‘If there is,’ I said, ‘I can’t think of it. But there is one thing which hasn’t been settled.’
‘Oh?’
‘Sutcliffe is employing me. We haven’t discussed terms.’ Manston smiled. ‘You must be feeling better. Anyway, you know the usual rates. Plus expenses, of course.’
‘Stuff the usual rates. This is an unusual job. If I don’t pull it off. . . well, there won’t be any question of payment.’
‘And if you do?’
‘Five thousand pounds and an Order of the British Empire.’ Manston’s mouth gaped, which was unlike him, for he was a well-brought-up chap.
‘You mean that?’
‘I do—and you’re going to fix it. Five thousand pounds for me—and the O.B.E. for Wilkins. Right?’
He paused, tickled his chin with the tips of his well-manicured fingers, and then said, ‘Yes. My personal promise.’
CHAPTER 11
Sic Transit Gloriana
A hired car from a local garage took me to Lympne,
