Thomas Betterton, and I come over to see what can be done.' He paused and looked enquiringly at Jessop.
Jessop looked expressionlessly back at him.
'Why did he disappear, Mr. Jessop?'
'That,' said Jessop pleasantly, 'is just what we'd like to know.'
'Perhaps you do know?'
Jessop appreciated with some interest how easily their roles might become reversed. In this room he was accustomed to ask questions of people. This stranger was not the inquisitor. Still smiling pleasantly, Jessop replied,
'I assure you we do not.'
'But you suspect?'
'It is possible,' said Jessop cautiously, 'that the thing follows a certain pattern… There have been occurrences of this kind before.'
'I know.' Rapidly the visitor cited a half dozen cases. 'All scientists,' he said, with significance.
'Yes.'
'They have gone beyond the Iron Curtain?'
'It is a possibility, but we do not know.'
'But they have gone of their own free will?'
'Even that,' said Jessop, 'is difficult to say.'
'It is not my business you think?'
'Oh, please.'
'But you are right. It is of interest to me only because of Betterton.'
'You'll forgive me,' said Jessop, 'if I don't quite understand your interest. After all, Betterton is only a relation by marriage. You didn't even know him.'
'That is true. But for us Poles, the family is very important. There are obligations.' He stood up and bowed stiffly. 'I regret that I have trespassed upon your time, and I thank you for your courtesy.'
Jessop rose also.
'I'm sorry we cannot help you,' he said, 'but I assure you we are completely in the dark. If I do hear of anything can I reach you?'
'Care of the U.S. Embassy will find me. I thank you.' Again he bowed formally.
Jessop touched the buzzer. Major Glydr went out. Jessop lifted the receiver.
'Ask Colonel Wharton to come to my room.'
When Wharton entered the room Jessop said:
'Things are moving – at last.'
'How?'
'Mrs. Betterton wants to go abroad.'
Wharton whistled.
'Going to join hubby?'
'I'm hopeful. She came provided with a convenient letter from her medical adviser. Complete need of rest and change of scene.'
'Looks good!'
'Though, of course, it may be true,' Jessop warned him. 'A simple statement of fact.'
'We never take that view here,' said Wharton.
'No. I must say she does her stuff very convincingly. Never slips up for a moment.'
'You got nothing further from her, I suppose?'
'One faint lead. The Speeder woman with whom Betterton lunched at the Dorset.'
'Yes?'
'He didn't tell his wife about the lunch.'
'Oh.' Wharton considered. 'You think that's relevant?'
'It might be. Carol Speeder was had up before the Committee for the investigation of un-American Activities. She cleared herself, but all the same… yes, all the same she was, or they thought she was, tarred with that brush. It may be a possible contact. The only one we've found for Betterton so far.'
'What about Mrs. Betterton's contacts – any possible contact lately who could have instigated the going abroad business?'
'No personal contact. She had a letter yesterday from a Pole. A cousin of Betterton's first wife. I had him here just now asking for details, etc.'
'What's he like?'
'Not real,' said Jessop. 'All very foreign and correct, got all the 'gen,' curiously unreal as a personality.'
'Think he's been the contact to tip her off?'
'It could be. I don't know. He puzzles me.'
'Going to keep tabs on him?'
Jessop smiled.
'Yes. I pressed the buzzer twice.'
'You old spider – with your tricks.' Wharton became businesslike again. 'Well, what's the form?'
'Janet, I think, and the usual. Spain, or Morocco.'
'Not Switzerland?'
'Not this time.'
'I should have thought Spain or Morocco would have been difficult for them.'
'We mustn't under-estimate our adversaries.'
Wharton flipped the security files disgustedly with his nail.
'About the only two countries where Betterton hasn't been seen,' he said with chagrin. 'Well, we'll lay it all on. My God, if we fall down on the job this time -'
Jessop leaned back in his chair.
'It's a long time since I've had a holiday,' he said. 'I'm rather sick of this office. I might take a little trip abroad…'
Chapter 3
I
'Flight 108 to Paris. Air France. This way please.'
The persons in the lounge at Heathrow Airport rose to their feet. Hilary Craven picked up her small, lizard skin travelling case and moved in the wake of the others, out on to the tarmac. The wind blew sharply cold after the heated air of the lounge.
Hilary shivered and drew her furs a little closer round her. She followed the other passengers across to where the aircraft was waiting. This was it! She was off – escaping! Out of the greyness, the coldness, the dead numb misery. Escaping to sunshine and blue skies and a new life. She would leave all this weight behind, this dead weight of misery and frustration. She went up the gangway of her plane, bending her head as she passed inside and was shown by the steward to her seat. For the first time in months she savoured relief from a pain that had been so sharply acute as almost to be physical. 'I shall get away,' she said to herself, hopefully. 'I shall get away.'
The roaring and the revolutions of the plane excited her. There seemed a kind of elemental savagery in it. Civilized misery, she thought, is the worst misery. Grey and hopeless. 'But now,' she thought, 'I shall escape.'
The plane taxied gently along the runway. The air hostess said:
'Fasten your belts, please.'
The plane made a half turn and stood waiting its signal to depart. Hilary thought, 'Perhaps the plane will crash… Perhaps it will never rise off the ground. Then that will be the end, that will be the solution to everything.'
