The Malady in Maderia Page 12

  “This was supposed to have special properties, for a special purpose” Colin said rather reluctantly.

  “Oh. What special purpose?”

  “For the invasion of Britain, actually; we did get onto that, from one of these scientific defectors, who came over to us, for a change. They’ve decided—quite sensibly, really—that the atom bomb is almost useless, because it destroys not only a hostile population, but the whole terrain as well; no form of life can carry on afterwards for ages. Conventional warfare is much better, because you only kill chaps; you leave the countryside and its potential, and even the factories and so on, more or less unharmed, with any luck.”

  “Go on” Julia said sombrely.

  “Well, if you had a nerve gas that was ultimately non-lethal, but would completely incapacitate at least the armed forces, and perhaps the civilian population too, for three or four weeks, of course you could take over a country lock, stock and barrel, with the minimum of loss of life, and no material damage. By the time the people came to, you would be controlling everything. That was the idea, according to this defector type.”

  “It is very odd how it always seems to be scientists who defect” Julia said thoughtfully. “Fuchs and Pontecorvo going over to them, and now this one coming to us.” She was trying to keep the conversation on a strictly practical note.

  “I wouldn’t know about that,” Colin said. “Anyhow, that was what we were looking for, and why we were supposed to wear respirators when we were getting pretty warm. Well, we didn’t get a sample—you know why” he added sadly. “But what I don’t understand is why the Russians should be trying it out here, on sheep; and still less why this doctor man should want to use my atropine. It’s stuff doctors always have by them.”

  “Why did you bring it for me and Aglaia? Is it an antidote?”

  “Oh yes, I didn’t tell you that. It is a complete antidote to most of the known forms of nerve gas, so of course we were all fitted out with these syrettes for the trip. And on what you told me on the telephone, I thought we might conceivably be the better of them here. But I still don’t see why he’s taken one of mine. As I say, he must have had plenty of it by him all the time.”

  “Mightn’t he have been suspicious—faintly—about nerve gas all along, in view of what he said about the ouvriers in France getting similar symptoms from failing to wear their respirators? And when you suddenly turn up from the mainland with a whole box of the antidote, put up today, the penny drops. How quickly does it work, by the way.”

  “Quite fast, we were told—of course we never tried it out,” Colin said hurriedly, his thumb beginning to jerk. “But look, Julia, supposing you’re right, and he has guessed, what are we going to do? Even if it’s only a guess, he’s sure to feel bound to alert the authorities here.”

  “I don’t see that there’s an awful lot we can do” Julia said, frowning a little. “If the atropine relieves the child’s symptoms, and the doctor really does know about nerve gases, he’ll know what’s the matter with the sheep, as well as with Marcusinho.”

  “But he’ll want to know how I know, and who I am” Colin said wretchedly.

  “Yes, it’s a bit tricky. Let me think. And do stop your thumb!” she added, with an unwonted burst of impatience.

  Colin sat in silence, holding one hand over the other, while she considered.

  “Look” she said at last. “I think the only thing we can do is to try to strike some sort of bargain with him. The important thing now is to let the Office know as fast as possible, so that they can send an expert out from that place on Salisbury Plain; presumably he would be able to tell from the sheep’s blood, or something, what the new features of this gas are. Or try to pounce on the trawler—at the Office they’ll have their own ideas! And if de Carvalho would agree to keep quiet for a day or two, you could come clean to him and tell him all you know, and why you know it. He might agree—and then you would get all the credit in London, which is what Ag wants,” she ended.

  “I don’t like it” said Colin glumly. “Anyhow, I don’t deserve the credit—you and Ag have done all the putting two and two together.”

  “Well, what do you suggest?” Julia asked flatly.

  “Nothing. I’m utterly stumped.”

  “Don’t you agree that the Office ought to be told, at least?”

  “Yes, of course. How do we set about informing them?”

  “Who handled the Asia thing? Major Hartley?”

  “Yes, it was, as a matter of fact.”

  “Oh good.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s so quick at the uptake on the telephone. Don’t you remember how sharp he was about Bonnecourt when you were in Pau? Some people seem to lose the use of their wits when they get a receiver in their hand” Julia said. “Well, if we can come to some sort of an understanding with the doctor, we can ring Major Hartley up from Aunt Sally’s.” She looked at her watch. “It’s after eight—I wish he’d hurry up. I’m getting hungry.”

  8

  When Dr. De Carvalho came back into the consulting-room a few minutes later there was an indefinable change in his manner.

  “Yes” he said in reply to Julia’s enquiry, “he is better; there is a marked degree of relief already, I am thankful to say. I think this was not wholly unexpected by Madame,” he added, but now unsmiling. Then he turned to Colin. “Monsieur will pardon me, but would he repeat his name? I am afraid I was not attending properly when Madame introduced us.”

  “Monro—Colin Monro” Colin said.

  “Merci.” Now the doctor looked Colin straight in the eye; he spoke with a new authority. “Monsieur is not, I think, himself a medical man; but should I be wrong in assuming that he has other, professional qualifications?” There was a certain stress on the word “professional”. “If I am right” de Carvalho went on, “it would not of course be so surprising that Monsieur should visit Madeira just now, since he has connections here.”

  Colin barely hesitated—it was obvious that in his absence from the room the doctor had learned, or guessed, enough to make further concealment impossible. But he began with his usual caution.

  “Monsieur le Docteur will of course comprehend that as regards my own status, I cannot enlarge on that. But it is the fact that the authorities in my own country, medical and otherwise, have been a good deal disturbed by recent reports of unexplained nervous affections. And when Madame my cousin informed me of these events here, it seemed to me to be my duty to come and verify the facts, in case they should have any connection with— enfin, with previous occurrences known to us.”

  The doctor nodded.

  “I see we are beginning to understand one another” he said, in a satisfied tone. “I should be infinitely obliged if Monsieur could help me by throwing any light on those occurrences, out of his previous knowledge, which seems almost certainly to be greater than mine.” He sat down at his desk, opened a box of cheroots, took one, and held the box out to Colin; he was evidently all set for a long, fruitful discussion. Julia, in desperation, intervened.

  “Does Monsieur le Docteur never eat?” she asked. “I am famished, I!” She looked at him with beautiful, lamentable eyes. “We were about to go and dine—could we not persuade you to join us? Then we could talk at leisure.”

  De Carvalho gave a brief laugh.

  “Cette pauvre Madame!” he said. “We must not starve her. Where were you proposing to dine?”

  “Quite close by—at the house of an old aunt of Monsieur Armitage. But she will already be in bed” Julia added hastily.

  “Ah, la vieille Tante Sally, at the Quinta dos Arvores! I know her. Yes, Madame—this would be a pleasure. If I may be excused for a few moments to arrange matters here, I shall be delighted to join you.” He got up and left the room.

  “That’s going to be all right, I think” Julia said.

  “Yes—for some reason I think he means to play, and that he’s trustworthy” Colin said. “All the same, I wish we could check with the Of
fice—they might know something about him, if he really was in on the gas racket in France.”

  “Why should he have been?” Julia asked, startled.

  “I thought you said Ag overheard him talking about workmen at a French factory getting gassed.”

  “Fumes was all she said to me. I don’t know what the factory was. Anyhow we can ask Hartley when we ring up.”

  “Ah, but that will be just too late—I’d sooner have known before we have this chat.” He looked about him, and noticed for the first time that there was no telephone in the room. “That’s funny—no telephone” he said.

  “No, and we shouldn’t have time here. I tell you what—when we get to the old lady’s I’ll say I must go and powder my nose, and try to get the Office then. If you don’t mind leaving it to me,” she added.

  “Of course not—Hartley and Torrens both know you—in fact they all know about you” Colin said—and then bit his lip. “Yes, you’d better try that. How shall you let me know?”

  “If they know anything for him, I shall nod as I sit down; if against, I shall just faintly shake my head.”

  “And if they know nothing?—which is more than likely?”

  “I shall just sit down” Julia said—causing her cousin to laugh.

  When the doctor came back they drove to the Quinta dos Arvores. It was now getting dark, and the street lamps were lit; but Julia remembered her way by the upper road, and went down on that awkward entrance from above; as they turned in at the gate she switched off her engine, and the car glided silently to a halt on the small nut-sized cobbles of the drive. The house was brightly lit, and as they drew up a small wizened figure in very smart livery—striped waist-coat, silver buttons—appeared at the open front door. Julia began to explain that they had brought an extra guest, but the little old man greeted the doctor with evident pleasure, and led them through a room which was a pure Victorian period piece, out onto a verandah festooned with bougainvillea, where a tray of drinks stood among wicker garden-chairs heaped with cushions and small tables with rose-shaded lamps; where the light caught a spray of bougainvillea here and there, the flowers were almost luminous against the shadowy darkness of the tulip-tree, a shapely mass of shapely leaves beyond a small lawn.

  “Oh, what a lovely place!” Julia said. Old Porfirio held out a chair for her, but she asked to be taken to wash her hands first; with a bow he begged the Senhores to serve themselves with as bebidas, and led her away. Colin asked de Carvalho what he would like?—“There seems to be plenty of everything,” he remarked, glancing at the huge and well-stocked tray.

  “Let us see what the old one has in the cocktail-shaker” de Carvalho said. “If it is one of his champagne cocktails, they are not to be missed.” He poured out, sipped, and nodded. “Yes— do try it.”

  Colin also poured himself out a glass. “Marvellous” he said, and sat down. But Colin had a use of his own to which he wished to put Julia’s absence.

  “Before we begin to talk, there is something I think Monsieur le Docteur should know about Madame” he began.

  “Please tell me, since we have the opportunity” de Carvalho said politely.

  “Madame is recently widowed” Colin said. “Her husband was a colleague of mine.” He paused—the doctor nodded; a certain intensity appeared in his expression. “Continuez” he said.

  “It was on an expedition connected with our researches into the cause of these nervous affections, of which I spoke before” Colin pursued, choosing his words carefully. “He—was affected, and in the event he was shot.”

  “Having of course temporarily lost the normal use of his faculties” the doctor said at once, nodding again. “But were you not supplied with respirators?”

  “Yes, of course—and why he went out without his that day we shall never know. But the result was fatal.”

  “What a disaster!” De Carvalho said sombrely. “He was shot by les indigènes?—or by guards?”

  “That also we do not know—he walked into some sort of ambush. We went out in strength, and recovered his body; whoever his assailants were, they made off. But the point is, I am not sure that Madame herself knows the preliminary cause of his death. I—we—we have not discussed it; until today I have hardly seen her since my return. She may have been told exactly what happened, by his superiors; from something she said just now at the clinic I suspect that she does know. But you see that the whole subject must be a painful one, to her.”

  “Evidemment. I am infinitely obliged to you for telling me this” de Carvalho said. He sat silent for a moment drumming with his fingers on a small bamboo table beside him. “Could we not talk about all this without Madame?” he asked. “No—I see that would not be so easy to arrange.”

  “No—and in fact she knows much more of the circumstances here, in Madeira, than I do. It was her discoveries and deductions which caused her to send for me” Colin said. “No”—he went on, “she will want to help you in any way that she can; she has great courage. But I wished you to be au fait with these circumstances.”

  “I am infinitely grateful to you” the doctor repeated.

  Meanwhile Julia had run into an unexpected snag over her call to the Office. Out in the hall she asked Porfirio if she could first use the telephone? He led her to a very old-fashioned sort of box near the front door, and then asked, politely, if he could not get o numero for the Senhora? Julia was rather relieved—it was a personal call she wanted, she said, and to Londres. Porfirio’s wizened face took on an expression of dismay. For Londres, he said, it would require at least urna hora to get a connection— “And then the Senhores will be at table, and the dinner will be interrupted! Already the cozinheira is troubled because of the delay to the repast.”

  Julia gently expressed her regret that they were so late, even while she was thinking what to do. She decided that she had better put the call in; the sooner they contacted the Office the better, though any information it might have about the doctor would probably come too late to be of much use in their conversation with him. She gave the number, and spelt out the name of the Senhor Chefe to the old man, asking him to make the call muito urgente; he wrote it all down on the pad in the box. While he was putting the call in she went and washed her hands at a downstairs lavatory, ran a comb through her golden tawny hair, and put a little powder on her face; then, still escorted by Porfirio, she went out onto the terrace again. Both men rose; Colin shifted his position a little as Porfirio drew forward a chair, so that he had a clear view of her; she sat down without making any movement of her head, and asked “What are you drinking?”

  “The most wonderful champagne cocktail you ever tasted” Colin said cheerfully, in English. “We’ve saved some for you— rather reluctantly!” As he poured her out a glass—“Have plenty more” the old servant said in Portuguese; he took the empty shaker and hurried away.

  “Donc, he understands English, does he?” Julia asked de Carvalho.

  “A little. The old Madame Armitage usually speaks with him in French.”

  “Tiens! In that case we must have our conversation without him” Colin muttered.

  “Then do let us have dinner first” Julia said, drinking her cocktail. “Yes, this is absolutely delicious, Colin.” And when the ancient manservant returned she praised it warmly, but refused a second glass. “We wish to jantar now; it is late.”

  The dining-room was every bit as much in period as the drawing-room; the food, in spite of the delay, as delicious as Terence Armitage had predicted. But Julia was chiefly struck, during the meal, by the total absence of constraint between her two companions; on the contrary there was now a sense of ease, almost of mutual pleasure, in their conversation. De Carvalho talked well; he was interesting about Madeira’s past, and amusing about its present—the sort of people who now came there, in contrast to the established families. He told wartime stories of the Americans in the Azores, and how amused the locals had been when the Germans, for the use of their distended Consulate-General during hos
tilities, had rented a large house called the Quinta Colonna! Julia was really happy, and enjoyed her meal; but her enjoyment was not only due to the perfect food, and the uncovenanted boon of all discussions being perforce postponed while Porfirio was waiting on them—she watched with increasing pleasure Colin’s naturalness and composure, in circumstances where formerly he might well have shown nervousness.

  Towards the end of dinner a faint distant tinkling came from the direction of the hall—Porfirio hurried out. When he returned—“The call of the Senhora to Londres” he announced.

  Julia got up, and with a murmured excuse followed the old man into the hall. A moment or so later she put her head in at the dining-room door again—“Colin, could you come a minute?” When he went out and joined her—“I think you’ll have to do the talking” she said. “Hartley isn’t there, and the man on duty doesn’t seem to want to get him.”

  “All right—I’ll see to it. You go back to the nice doctor. Where’s the telephone?” She showed him the box; he went into it and shut the door.

  “Monro here” he said abruptly.

  “Monro? I thought they said the call came from Funchal,” a surprised voice said.

  “It does. Is that Daly? Look, I’ve got to speak to Hartley— now. Hold onto this line like grim death, and then get him and have us connected; put the operators onto it. Where is he? You must have his number.”

  “Yes, of course; he’s at home. Only I didn’t quite. . . .”

  “Well, do now, quite” Colin interrupted him; “and do it fast. I’ll hold on.” And a few moments later he heard Major Hartley’s familiar voice saying “Colin? Can it be you, where they say you are?”

  “Yes; I fixed it up with Madrid before I came. Julia sent for me.”

  “Julia? You don’t mean Philip’s widow?”

  “Yes. Look, this may be quite important; someone ought to come out at once. She thinks—and I’m inclined to agree with her—that she’s stumbled here onto what we didn’t find on Philip’s last job.”