or you could go up Shadhanger Lane to the main London – Bournemouth road two miles away.
By the following day at lunchtime, I had sampled both the Garsington and the Long Cottenham roads. Shadhanger Lane was the next prospect.
I started off, and on my way was struck by an idea. The entrance to Priors Court opened off Shadhanger Lane. Why should I not go and call on Mr Venables?
The more I considered the idea, the more I liked it. There would be nothing suspicious about my doing so. When I had been staying down here before, Rhoda had taken me over there. It would be easy and natural to call and ask if I might be shown again some particular object that I had not had time really to look at and enjoy on that occasion.
The recognition of Venables by this chemist – what was his name – Ogden? – Osborne? – was interesting, to say the least of it. Granted that, according to Lejeune, it would have been quite impossible for the man in question to have been Venables owing to the latter's disability, yet it was intriguing that a mistake should have been made about a man living in this particular neighbourhood – and a man, one had to admit, who fitted in so well in character.
There was something mysterious about Venables. I had felt it from the first. He had, I was sure, first-class brains. And there was something about him – what word could I use? – the word vulpine came to me. Predatory – destructive. A man, perhaps, too clever to be a killer himself – but a man who could organize killing very well if he wanted to.
As far as all that went, I could fit Venables into the part perfectly. The mastermind behind the scenes. But this chemist, Osborne, had claimed that he had seen Venables walking along a London street. Since that was impossible, then the identification was worthless, and the fact that Venables lived in the vicinity of the Pale Horse meant nothing.
All the same, I thought, I would like to have another look at Mr Venables. So in due course I turned in at the gates of Priors Court and walked up the quarter mile of winding drive.
The same manservant answered the door, and said that Mr Venables was at home. Excusing himself for leaving me in the hall, 'Mr Venables is not always well enough to see visitors,' he went away, returning a few moments later with the information that Mr Venables would be delighted to see me.
Venables gave me a most cordial welcome, wheeling his chair forward and greeting me quite as an old friend.
'Very nice of you to look me up, my dear fellow. I heard you were down here again, and was going to ring up our dear Rhoda this evening and suggest you all come over for lunch or dinner.'
I apologized for dropping in as I had, but said that it was a sudden impulse. I had gone for a walk, found that I was passing his gate, and decided to gate-crash.
'As a matter of fact,' I said, 'I'd love to have another look at your Mogul miniatures. I hadn't nearly enough time to see them properly the other day.'
'Of course you hadn't. I'm glad you appreciate them. Such exquisite detail.'
Our talk was entirely technical after this. I must admit that I enjoyed enormously having a closer look at some of the really wonderful things he had in his possession.
Tea was brought in and he insisted that I partake of it.
Tea is not one of my favourite meals but I appreciated the smoky China tea, and the delicate cups in which it was served. There was hot buttered anchovy toast, and a plum cake of the luscious old-fashioned kind that took me back to teatime at my grandmother's house when I was a little boy.
'Homemade,' I said approvingly.
'Naturally! A bought cake never comes into this house.'
'You have a wonderful cook, I know. Don't you find it difficult to keep a staff in the country, as far away from things as you are here?'
Venables shrugged his shoulders. 'I must have the best. I insist upon it. Naturally – one has to pay! I pay.'
All the natural arrogance of the man showed here. I said dryly: 'If one is fortunate enough to be able to do that, it certainly solves many problems.'
'It all depends, you know, on what one wants out of life. If one's desires are strong enough – that is what matters. So many people make money without a notion of what they want it to do for them! As a result they get entangled in what one might call the money-making machine. They are slaves. They go to their offices early and leave late; they never stop to enjoy. And what do they get for it? Larger cars, bigger houses, more expensive mistresses or wives – and, let me say, bigger headaches.'
He leaned forward.
'Just the getting of money – that is really the be-all and end-all for most rich men. Plough it back into bigger enterprises, make more money still. But why? Do they ever stop to ask themselves why? They don't know.'
'And you?' I asked.
'I -' He smiled. 'I knew what I wanted. Infinite leisure in which to contemplate the beautiful things of this world, natural and artificial. Since to go and see them in their natural surroundings has of late years been denied me, I have them brought from all over the world to me.'
'But money still has to be got before that can happen.'
'Yes, one must plan one's coups – and that involves quite a lot of planning – but there is no need, really no need nowadays, to serve any sordid apprenticeship.'
'I don't know if I quite understand you.'
'It's a changing world, Easterbrook. It always has been, but now the changes come more rapidly. The tempo has quickened – one must take advantage of that.'
'A changing world,' I said thoughtfully.
'It opens up new vistas.'
I said apologetically:
'I'm afraid, you know, that you're talking to a man who's face is set in the opposite direction – towards the past – not towards the future.'
Venables shrugged his shoulders.
'The future? Who can foresee that? I speak of today – now – the immediate moment! I take no account of anything else. The new techniques are here to use. Already we have machines that can supply us with the answer to questions in seconds – compared to hours or days of human labour.'
'Computers? The electronic brain?'
'Things of that kind.'
'Will machines take the place of men eventually?'
'Of men, yes. Men who are only units of manpower – that is. But Man, no. There has to be Man the Controller, Man the Thinker, who works out the questions to ask the machines.'
I shook my head doubtfully.
'Man, the Superman?' I put a faint inflection of ridicule into my voice.
'Why not, Easterbrook? Why not? Remember, we know – or are beginning to know – something about Man the human animal. The practice of what is, sometimes incorrectly, called brainwashing has opened up enormously interesting possibilities in that direction. Not only the body, but the mind of man, responds to certain stimuli.'
'A dangerous doctrine,' I said.
'Dangerous?'
'Dangerous to the doctored man.'
Venables shrugged his shoulders.
'All life is dangerous. We forget that, we who have been reared in one of the small pockets of civilization. For that is all that civilization really is. Easterbrook. Small pockets of men here and there who have gathered together for mutual protection and who thereby are able to outwit and control Nature. They have beaten the jungle – but that victory is only temporary. At any moment, the jungle will once more take command. Proud cities that were, are now mere mounds of earth, overgrown with rank vegetation, and the poor hovels of men who just manage to keep alive, no more. Life is always dangerous – never forget that. In the end, perhaps, not only great natural forces, but the work of our own hands may destroy it. We are very near to that happening at this moment.'
'No one can deny that, certainly. But I'm interested in your theory of power – power over mind.'
