of applied science-technology, if you like. All the things he's been doing with catalysts is derived from his earlier unpublished work; there's nothing fundamentally new there. Correct me if I'm wrong.' 'You're quite right, although it took a man with Ashton's brains to do it.
We've given our own top chemists photocopies of those notebooks and their attitude was that the stuff was all right from a theoretical point of view but it didn't seem to lead anywhere. Ashton made it lead somewhere and it's made him rich. But, in general, your point is good; it's all derivative of earlier work-even his later interest in enzymes.' I nodded. 'But Chelyuskin was a theoretician. The point is this-did he stop theorizing and, if not, what the hell has he been thinking about? I can understand why you want that bloody vault opened.' 'You're not too stupid,' said Ogilvie. 'You've hit the nail smack on the head. You're right; you can't stop a man thinking, but what he's been thinking about is difficult to figure. It won't be atomic theory.' 'Why not?' 'We know what he reads; the magazines he subscribes to, the books he buys. We know he's not been keeping up with the scientific literature in any field except catalytic chemistry, and no one thinks in a vacuum. Atomic theory has made great strides since Ashton came out of Russia. To do any original work a man would have to work hard to keep ahead of the pack-attend seminars and so on. Ashton hasn't been doing it.' He tasted his whisky. 'What would you have done in Ashton's position and with a mind like his?'
'Survival would come first,' I said. 'I'd find a niche in society and look for security. Once I'd got that perhaps I'd start thinking again-theorizing.' 'What about? In your struggle for survival the world of thought has passed you by; you've lost touch. And you daren't try to regain touch, either. So what would you think about?' 'I don't know,' I said slowly. 'Perhaps, with a mind like his, I'd think about things other people haven't been thinking about. A new field.' 'Yes,' said Ogilvie thoughtfully. 'It makes one wonder, doesn't it?' We sat for a few moments in silence. It was late- the light was ebbing from the summer sky over the City-and I was tired. I sipped the whisky appreciatively and thought about Ashton. Presently Ogilvie asked, 'Did you find anything in the file to give you a clue about where he's gone?' 'Nothing springs to mind. I'd like to sleep on it-let the unconscious have a go.' I finished the whisky. 'Where does Cregar fit into this?' 'It was his crowd Ashton approached when he wanted to leave Russia. Cregar went into Russia himself to get him out. He was a young man then, of course, and not yet Lord Cregar-he was the Honourable James Pallton. Now he heads his department.' I'd come across the name Pallton in reading the file, but I hadn't connected it with Cregar. I said, 'He mishandled Ashton right from the start. He approached him with all the sensitivity of a fifty-pence whore. First he threatened, then he tried to bribe. He didn't understand the type of man he'd come across, and he put Ashton's back up.' Ogilvie nodded.
'That's one element in the mixture of his resentment. He always thought he could retrieve Ashton; that's why he was so annoyed when the Ashton case was transferred to us. That's why he's sticking his oar in now.' 'What steps have already been taken to find Ashton?' 'The usual. The Special Branch are on the watch at sea ports and airports, and they're checking passenger lists for the past twenty-four hours.
You'd better liaise with Scotland Yard on that tomorrow.' 'I'll do that. And I'll have a go from the other end. There's one thing I'd like to know.' 'What's that?' 'Who threw such a scare into Ashton? Who threw that bloody acid?' I was overtired that night and couldn't get to sleep. As I tossed restlessly Penny was very much on my mind. It was evident from what she had said that she knew nothing of Ashton in the larval stage, before he changed from Chelyuskin. Her account of his early life fitted that of the REME soldier killed in Germany. I wondered how it would be with Penny and me. I had been damned insensitive that afternoon. Her room had to be searched, but if anyone had done it then it ought to have been me, preferably in her presence.
I didn't blame her for blowing her top and I wondered how I could retrieve the situation. I felt very bad about it. Most people, when they have had a burglary, are not so much concerned about the articles stolen as about the intrusion into the heart of their lives, the home which is so peculiarly their own. It is the thought that strange hands have been delving among their innermost secrets, rummaging in drawers, opening doors in the private parts of the house-all this is profoundly shocking. I knew all that and ought to have applied it to Penny. At last I sat up in bed, checked the time, then stretched for the telephone. Although it was late I was going to talk to her. Mary Cope answered my call. 'Malcolm Jaggard here; I'd like to talk to Miss Ashton.' 'Just a moment, sir,' she said. She wasn't away long. 'Miss Ashton isn't in, sir.' There was a hint of nervousness in her voice as though she thought I wouldn't believe her. I didn't, but there was nothing I could do about it. It was early morning when I finally slept. I spent most of the forenoon at Scotland Yard with a Special Branch officer. I had no great hope of success and neither had he but we went through the motions. His crowd had been busy but even so the reports were slow to come in. A lot of people leave from Heathrow in twenty-four hours and that is only one exit from the country. 'Ashton and Benson,' he said morosely, as he ticked off a name. 'Bloody near as bad as Smith and Robinson. Why the hell do people we're interested in never have names like Moneypenny or Gotobed?' Six Bensons and four Ashtons had left from Heathrow. Half could be eliminated because of sex and the Ashtons were a family of four. But two of the Bensons would have to be followed up; one had gone to Paris and the other to New York. I got busy on the telephone. Heathrow may be large but it is still only one place and there are other airports, more than the average person realizes. And there were the sea ports of which islanded Britain has a plentitude. It was going to be a long job with nothing but uncertainty guaranteed. The Special Branch man said philosophically, 'And, of course, they may have left under other names. Getting a spare passport is dead easy.' 'They may not have left at all,' I said. 'Tell your chaps to keep their eyes open.' I lunched in a commissary at the Yard and then went back prepared for a slogging afternoon. At three o'clock Ogilvie rang me. 'They'll be opening that vault later today. I want you there.' A drive to Marlow would be a lot more refreshing than checking passenger lists. 'All right.' 'Now, these are my exact instructions. When that door is opened you will be present, and the head of the safecracking team. No one else. Is that clear?' 'Perfectly clear.' 'Then you send him out of the room and check the contents. If they are removable you bring them here under guard. If not, you close and lock the door again, first making sure we can open it again more easily.' 'How long are you staying at the office?' 'All night, if necessary.' He hung up. So I drove to Marlow and to Ashton's place. I was wearing grooves in that road. Simpson was the gate man and he let me in and I drove up to the house. I met Gregory in the hall. 'Found anything useful?' He shrugged. 'Not a thing.' 'Where's Miss Ashton?' 'At the hospital. Jack Brent is with her.' 'Good enough.' I went up to Ashton's quarters and found the safecracking team at work. I don't know where the department kept its experts when not in use, but they were always available when needed.
The chief safecracker was a man I'd met before by the name of Frank Lillywhite. 'Afternoon, Frank,' I said. 'How much longer?' He grunted.
'An hour.' He paused. 'Or two.' There was a longer pause as he did something intricate with a tool he held. 'Or three.' I grinned. 'Or four. Is this a tricky one?' 'They're all tricky. This is a twenty-four hour safe, that's all.' I was curious. 'What do you mean?'
Lillywhite stepped away from the vault door and an underling moved in.
'Safe manufacturers don't sell security-they sell time. Any safe made can be cracked; all the manufacturer guarantees is the length of time needed to crack it. They reckon this is a twenty-four hour job; I'm going to do it in twenty-with a bit of luck. The tricky part comes in circumventing the booby traps.' 'What booby traps?' 'If I do the wrong thing here, twelve bloody big tungsten steel bars will shoot out all round the door. Then only the maker will be able to open it.' 'Then why didn't we get the maker on the job in the first place?' Lillywhite sighed, and said patiently, 'The whole vault would have to be ripped out and taken to the factory. They've got a bloody big tin-opener there that weighs a thousand tons. Of course the vault wouldn't be good for much after that.' I contemplated the awful possibility of taking the whole vault out. 'Neither would this house. I'll stop asking silly questions. Don't open the door unless I'm here.' 'Message received and understood.' I went down to the cellar where I found a couple of studious-looking types being baffled by Ashton's contraption. Their conversation, if you could call it that, was in English, but that's to use the word loosely; it was technical, jargon-ridden and way over my head, so I left them to it. Another man was packing tape cassettes into a box ready to take away. I said, 'What are those?' He indicated the little computer. 'Program and data tapes for this thing. We're taking them to the lab for analysis.'
'You're listing everything, I hope. You'll have to give a receipt to Miss Ashton.' He frowned at that, and I said acidly, 'We're not thieves or burglars, you know. It's only by courtesy of Miss Ashton that we're here at all.' As I left the cellar he was taking cassettes out of the box and stacking them on a table. An hour and a half later Gregory found me in Ashton's study. 'They'll be opening the vault in about fifteen minutes.' 'Let's go up.' We left the study and encountered Lord Cregar in the hall; with him was a big man with the build of a heavyweight boxer. Cregar looked brisk and cheerful but his cheerfulness, if not his briskness, evaporated when he saw me. 'Ah, Mr. Jaggard,' he said. 'A fine mess has been made of things, I must say.' I shrugged. 'Events moved faster than we anticipated.' 'No doubt. I understand there's a vault here which is being opened this afternoon. Has it been opened yet?' I
