The Satan Bug

CHAPTER FIVE

I drove out to Hailem Woods with Mary sitting strangely silent by my side. Over dinner I'd told her the whole story— the whole story. I'd never seen her scared before, but she was that now. Badly. Two frightened people in a car.

We reached Chessingham's house about a quarter to eight. It was an old-fashioned, flat-roofed, stone-built affair with long narrow windows and a flight of stone steps leading up to the front door over a moat-like trench that ran right round the house and gave light to the basement. High trees, sighing in the cold night wind, surrounded the house on four sides and it was beginning to rain heavily. It was a place and a night in keeping with our mood.

Chessingham had heard the car and met us at the top of the steps. He looked pale and strained but there was nothing in that, everyone who was in anyway connected with "E" block had every reason for looking pale and strained that day.

"Cavell," he said. He didn't offer his hand, but opened the door wide and stood sideways to let us in. "I heard you were in Mordon. Must say I didn't expect you out here though. I thought they asked me enough questions to-day as it was."

"This is a pretty unofficial visit," I assured him. "My wife, Chessingham. When I bring along my wife I leave the handcuffs at home."

It wasn't funny. He shook hands reluctantly with Mary and led us into an old-fashioned sitting-room with heavy Edwardian furniture, velvet drapes from ceiling to floor and a fire burning in a huge open fireplace. There were two people sitting in high-backed arm-chairs by the fire. One was a good-looking young girl of nineteen or twenty, slender, brown-haired and brown-eyed like Chessingham himself. His sister. The other, obviously, was his mother, but much older than I had expected his mother to be. A closer inspection showed that she wasn't really so old, she just looked old. Her hair was white, her eyes had that curious glaze you sometimes see on old people who are coming to the end of their road, and the hands resting on her lap were thin and wrinkled and criss-crossed with blue veins. Not an old woman: a sick woman, a very sick woman, prematurely aged. But she sat very erect and there was a welcoming smile on her thin, rather aristocratic features.

"Mr. and Mrs. Cavell," Chessingham said. "You've heard me speak of Mr. Cavell. My mother, my sister Stella."

"How do you do, both of you?" Mrs. Chessingham had that assured direct no-nonsense voice that would have gone well with a Victorkn drawing-room and a houseful of servants. She peered at Mary. "My eyes aren't what they used to be, I'm afraid — but, my goodness, you are a beautiful girl. Come and sit beside me. How on earth did you manage it, Mr. Cavell?"

"I think she must have mistaken me for someone else," I said.

"These things happen," Mrs. Chessingham said precisely. For all their age, her eyes could still twinkle. She went on,

"That was a dreadful thing that happened out at Mordon to-day, Mr. Cavell. Dreadful. I have been hearing all about it." A pause, again the half-smile. "I hope you haven't come to take Eric to jail already, Mr. Cavell. He hasn't even had dinner yet. All this excitement, you know."

"Your son's only connection with this affair, Mrs. Chessingham, is that he is unfortunate enough to work in number one laboratory. Our only interest in him is his complete and final elimination as a suspect. Every narrowing of the field is an advancement of a kind."

"He doesn't have to be eliminated," Mrs. Chessingham said with some asperity. "Eric has nothing to do with it. The idea is ridiculous."

"Of course. You know that, I know that, but Superintendent Hardanger, who is in charge of investigations, doesn't know that. All statements must be checked, no matter how unnecessary the checking. I had a great deal of difficulty in persuading the superintendent that I should come instead of one of his own officers." I saw Mary's eyes widen but she recovered herself quickly.

"And why did you do that, Mr. Cavell?" I was beginning to feel sorry for young Chessingham, he must have felt foolish and ineffectual with his mother taking command in this fashion.

"Because I know your son. The police don't. Saves seventy-five per cent of the questioning straight away. And Special Branch detectives can ask a great number of brutal and unnecessary questions in a case like this."

"I don't doubt it. Nor do I doubt that you could be as ruthless as any man I've ever known if the occasion arose. But I know you won't on this occasion." She sighed and shifted her hands to the arms of her chair. "I hope you will excuse me. I am an old woman and not very well and so I have some privileges — dinner in bed is one." She turned and smiled at Mary. "I'd like to talk to you, my child. I have so few callers — I make the most of them. Would you like to help me negotiate those dreadful stairs while Stella sees to the dinner?"

When we were alone Chessingham said: "Sorry about Mother. She does tend—"

"I think she's a wonderful woman. No need to apologise." His face lightened a little at that. "About your statement. You said you were at home all night. Mother and sister will of course vouch for that?"

"Of course." He smiled. "They'd vouch for it whether I was at home or not."

"I'd be surprised if they wouldn't, after seeing them," I nodded. "Your mother could say anything and she would be believed. Not your sister. She's young and inexperienced and any competent policeman could break her down inside five minutes. If you were in any way involved, you're too smart not to see that, so your story has to be true. Can they vouch for the entire night — up to eleven-fifteen, say?"

"No." He frowned. "Stella went to bed about ten-thirty. After that I spent a couple of hours on the roof."

"Chessingham's observatory? I've heard of it. No one can prove you were up there?"

"No." He frowned again, thinking. "Does it matter? I haven't even a bicycle and there's no public transport at that time of night. If I was here after ten-thirty I couldn't have made it to Mordon by eleven-fifteen anyway. Four and a half miles, you know."

"Do you know how the crime was carried out?" I asked. "I mean have you heard? By someone making a diversion to allow someone else to cut through the fences. The red herring got away in a Bedford van stolen from Alfringham."

"I'd heard something like that. The police weren't very communicative, but rumours get around."

"Did you know that the van was found abandoned only one hundred and fifty yards from your house?"

"A hundred and fifty yards!" He seemed genuinely startled, then stared moodily into the fire, "That's bad, isn't it?"

"Is it?"

He thought briefly, then grinned. "I'm not as smart as you think. It's not bad, it's good. If I were driving that van I'd have had to go to Alfringham first for it — after leaving here at ten-thirty. Also, if I were the driver, then I obviously couldn't have gone to Mordon — I'd have been making my supposed getaway. Thirdly, I wouldn't have been so damned stupid as to park it at my front door. Fourthly, I can't drive."

"That's, pretty conclusive," I admitted.

"I can make it even more conclusive," he said excitedly. "Lord, I'm not thinking at all to-night. Come up to the observatory."

We went up the stairs. We passed a door on the first floor and I could hear the subdued murmur of voices. Mrs. Chessingham and Mary talking. A Slingsby ladder led us up into a square hut affair built in the centre of the flat roof. One end of the hut was blanked off with plywood, an entrance covered by a hanging curtain. At the other end was a surprisingly large reflector telescope set in a perspex cupola.

"My only hobby," Ohessingham said. The strain had left his face to be replaced by the eager excitement of the enthusiast. "I'm a member of the British Astronomical Association, Jupiter Section, and a regular correspondent for a couple of astronomical journals — some of them depend almost exclusively on the work of amateurs like myself— and I can tell you that there's nothing less amateurish than an amateur astronomer who's been well and truly bitten by the bug. I wasn't in bed till almost two o'clock this morning — I was making a series of photographs for The Astronomical Monthly of the Red Spot in Jupiter and the satellite occulting its own shadow." He was smiling broadly in his relief now. "Here's the letter commissioning me to do them — they've been pleased with some other stuff I've sent in."

I glanced at the letter. It had to be genuine, of course.

"Got a set of six photographs. Beauties, too, although I say it myself. Here, I'll let you see them." He disappeared behind the curtain which I took to be the entrance of his darkroom and reappeared with a batch of obviously very new photographs. I took them. They looked terrible to me, just a bunch of greyish dots and streaks against a fuzzily dark background. "Not bad, eh?"

"Not bad." I paused and said suddenly, "Could anyone tell from those pictures when they were taken?"

"That's why I brought you up here. Take those to the Greenwich observatory, have them work out the precise latitude and longitude of this house and they could tell you within thirty seconds when each of these photographs were taken. Go on, take them with you."

"No thanks." I handed back the photographs and smiled at him. "I know when I've already wasted enough time— and I've wasted far too much. Send them to The Astronomical Monthly with my best wishes."

We found Mary and Stella talking by the fireside. A few civilities, a polite refusal of a drink and we were on our way. Once in the car I turned the heater switch up as far as it would go but it didn't seem to make any difference. The switch probably wasn't attached to any heater. It was bitterly cold and raining heavily. I hoped the rain would ease.

I said to Mary, "What did you find out?"

"I hate this business," she said intensely. "I hate it. This sneaking underhand approach to people. The lies — the lies to a lovely old person like Mrs. Chessingham. And to that nice girl. To think I worked all those years for the superintendent and never thought—"

"I know," I said. "But you have to fight fire with fire. Think of this double murderer. Think of this man with the Satan Bug in his pocket. Think of—"

"I'm sorry. I really am sorry. It's just that I'm afraid I was never cut out to be — well, never mind. I didn't find out much. They have a maid — that's why dinner was ready shortly after Stella rose. Stella lives at home — her brother insists on it, insists she spends all her time looking after her mother. Her mother is really pretty ill, I gathered from Stella. May go at any time — though she's been told by her doctor that a transfer to a warm climate, like Greece or Spain, might add ten years to her life. Some dangerous combination of asthma and a heart condition. But her mother doesn't want to go, says she'd rather die in Wiltshire than vegetate in Alicante. Something like that. That was all, I'm afraid."

It was enough. It was more than enough. I sat without speaking, thinking maybe the surgeons who wanted to give me a new foot had the right of it, when Mary said abruptly, "And you? Learn anything?"

I told her what had happened. At the end she said, "I heard you telling the superintendent that you really wanted to see Chessingham to find out what you could from him about Dr. Hartnell. What did you find out?"

"Nothing. Never asked him."

"You never — why on earth not?"

I told her why not.

Dr. Hartnell and his wife — they had no children — were at home. Both of them knew Mary — we'd met, socially, once, during the brief time Mary had been staying with me when I lived in Mordon — but they clearly didn't regard our visit as a social call. Everyone I was meeting was nervous, very much on the defensive. I didn't blame them. I'd have been nervous too if I thought someone was trying to hang a couple of murders round my neck.

I went through the spiel about how my visit was only a formality and the unpleasant experience I was sparing them by coming myself instead of letting one of Hardanger's men do the questioning. Their activities in the earlier part of the evening were of no interest to me. I asked them about the later part and they told me. At nine-thirty, they said, they had sat down to watch television — specifically, The Golden Cavaliers, a TV version of a successful stage play that had just finished a long run in London.

"Did you see that?" Mary broke in. "So did I. Pierre was out late last night with a business friend and I turned it on. I thought it was wonderful." For some minutes they discussed the play. I knew Mary had seen it and I knew she was finding out whether they also had really seen it and there was no question but that they had. After some time I said, "When did it finish?"

"About eleven."

"And then?"

"A quick bite of supper and bed," Hartnell said.

"By, say, eleven-thirty?"

"By that, at the latest."

"Well, that's perfectly satisfactory." I heard Mary clear her throat and looked across casually. Her steepled fingers were resting lightly in her lap. I knew what that meant— Hartnell was lying. This I couldn't understand — but I'd infinite faith in her judgement.

I glanced at the clock. I'd asked for a call at eight-thirty and now it was exactly that. Inspector Wylie was on time. The bell rang, Hartnell spoke into the phone then handed it to me. "For you, Cavell. The police, I think."

I spoke, holding the ear-piece fractionally away from my head. Wylie had a naturally carrying voice and I'd asked him to be good and loud. He was. He said, "Cavell? Ah, you told me you were going to be there so I took a chance. This is urgent. Nasty spot of bother at Hailem Junction. Close tie-up with Mordon, if I'm not mistaken. Very unpleasant indeed. Can you get down there immediately?"

"As soon as I can. Where's Hailem Junction?"

"Not half a mile from where you are. The bottom of the lane, turn right and pass The Green Man. Just there."

I hung up, rose and hesitated. "That was Inspector Wylie. Some trouble at Hailem Junction. I wonder if I could leave Mary here for a few minutes? The Inspector said it was something unpleasant—"

"Of course." With his alibi accepted Dr. Hartnell was almost jovial. "We'll look after her, old man."

I parked the car a couple of hundred yards down the lane, took my torch from the glove box and turned back towards Hartnell's house. A quick look through the lit window and I knew I had nothing to fear from that quarter. Hartnell was pouring drinks and all three seemed to be talking animatedly, the way people do when the strain is off. I knew I could rely on Mary keeping them talking there indefinitely. Mrs. Hartnell, I noticed, was still sitting in the chair she'd been occupying on our arrival, she hadn't even risen to greet us. Maybe her legs were troubling her — elastic stockings aren't as undetectable as some manufacturers would like to think.

The garage was locked by a heavy padlock but the master locksmith who had been responsible for a tiny part of the training of myself and a score of others in the now distant past would have laughed at it. I didn't laugh at it, I was no master locksmith, but even so I had it open in less than two minutes. I hardly cut myself at all.

Somewhere along the line Hartnell's ill-advised plunge into the stock market had compelled him to sell his car and now his sole means of transport was a Vespa scooter, although I knew he used a bus to and from Mordon. The scooter was in good condition and looked as if it had been cleaned recently, but I wasn't interested in the clean parts, only the dirty ones. I examined the machine closely and finally scraped off some of the dried mud under the front mudguard and put it in a polythene bag, which I sealed. I spent another two minutes looking around the garage, left and locked it.

Another quick check on the living-room showed the three of them sitting round the fire, drinking and talking. I made my way to the tool-shed behind the garage. Another padlock. From where I was I was now completely hidden from the house so I took the chance of having a good long look at the padlock. Then I picked it and went inside.

The shed was no bigger than seven by five and it took me no longer than ten seconds to find what I was after. There had been no attempt to conceal anything. I used another couple of polythene bags, closed and locked the door behind me and made my way back to the car. Soon afterwards I parked the car in Hartnell's driveway. Hartnell answered the doorbell.

"That didn't take you long, Cavell," he said cheerfully as he led me into the lounge. "What was—" His smile died away as he saw my face. "Was there — is there something wrong?"

"I'm afraid there is," I said coldly. "Something very far wrong. You're in trouble, Dr. Hartnell. I'm afraid it looks to me like pretty bad trouble. Would you care to tell me about it?"

"Trouble?" His face tightened, but there was the shadow of fear in his eyes. "What the devil are you talking about, Cavell?"

"Come off it," I said. "I put some value on my time if you don't on yours. And it's because I refuse to waste my time that I'm not going to hunt around for any fancy gentlemanly words to express myself. To be brief and blunt, Hartnell, you're a fluent liar."

"You've gone too far, damn you, Cavell!" His face was pale, his fists were clenched and you could see that he. was actively considering having a go at me which, as a medical man forty pounds lighter than I was, he should have recognised as an unpromising course of action. "I won't take that line of talk from any man."

"You'll have to take it from the prosecuting counsel in the Old Bailey, so you might as well have some practice in getting used to it. If you saw The Golden Cavaliers last night, as you claimed, you must have had the TV set balanced on the handle-bars of your scooter. The police constable who saw you passing through Hailem late last night made no mention of a TV set."

"I assure you, Cavell, I haven't the faintest idea—"

"You make me ill," I said disgustedly. "Lies I can forgive but stupidity, in a man of your calibre, no." I looked at Mary. "About this play, The Golden Cavaliers!"

She lifted her shoulders, in discomfort and distress. "All TV broadcasts in southern England were badly affected by electrical disturbances last night. There were three breakdowns in the play and it didn't finish until twenty minutes to twelve."

"You must have a very special TV set indeed," I said to Hartnell. I crossed to a magazine stand and picked up a copy of the Radio Times, but before I could open it Hartnell's wife spoke, a tremor in her voice.

"You needn't bother, Mr. Cavell. Last night's play was a repeat of Sunday afternoon's. We saw the play on Sunday." She turned to her husband. "Come on, Tom, you'll only make it worse for yourself."

Hartnell stared miserably at her, turned away, slumped down in a chair and drained his glass in a couple of gulps. He didn't offer me any but I didn't add lack of hospitality to his list of faults, maybe the time wasn't right. He said, "I was out last night. I left here just after ten-thirty. I had a phone call from a man asking me to meet him in Alfringham."

"Who was the man?"

"It doesn't matter. I didn't see him — he wasn't there when I arrived."

"It wouldn't have been our old pal Ten-per-cent Tuffnell of Tuffnell and Hanbury, Consultants-at-Law?"

He stared at me. "Tuffnell — do you know Tuffnell?"

"The ancient legal firm of Tuffnell and Hanbury is known to the police of a dozen counties. They style themselves 'Consultants-at-Law.' Anybody can call themselves 'Consultants-at-Law.' There's no such thing so the bona-fide legal eagles can't take any action against them. Tuffnell's only knowledge of law comes from the fairly frequent occasions on which he had been hauled before the Assize judges, usually on charges of bribery and corruption. They're one of the biggest money-lending firms in the country and by all odds the most ruthless."

"But how — how did you guess—?"

"No guess that it was Tuffnell. A certainty. Only a man with a powerful hold over you could have got you out at that time of night and Tuffnell has that hold. He not only holds the mortgage on your house but also your note of hand for another £500."

"Who told you that?" Hartnell whispered.

"No one. I found out for myself. You don't think you're employed in the laboratory with the highest security rating in Britain without our knowing everything about you. We know more about your own past than you know yourself. That's the literal truth. Tuffnell it was, eh?"

Hartnell nodded. "He told me he wanted to see me at eleven sharp. I protested, naturally, but he said that unless I did what I was told he'd not only foreclose on the mortgage but he'd have me in the bankruptcy court for that five hundred pounds."

I shook my head. "You scientists are all the same. Outside the four walls of your lab you ought to be locked up. A man who lends you money does so at his own risk and has no legal recourse. So he wasn't there?"

"No. I waited a quarter of an hour, then went to his house — a whacking great mansion with tennis courts, swimming pool and what have you," Hartnell said bitterly. "I thought he might have made a mistake about the meeting place. He wasn't there. There was nobody there. I went back to the Alfringham office and waited a little longer then came home. About midnight, it was."

"Anybody see you? You see anybody? Anybody who can vouch for your story."

"Nobody. Nobody at all. It was late at night and the roads were deserted — it was bitterly cold." He paused, then brightened. "That policeman — he saw me." His voice seemed to falter on the last words.

"If he saw you in Hailem you could equally well have turned off for Mordon after leaving it." I sighed. "Besides, there was no policeman. You're not the only one who tells lies. So you see the spot you're in, Hartnell? A phone call for which we have only your word — no trace of the man alleged to have made it. Sixteen miles on your scooter, including a wait in a normally busy little town — and not a living soul saw you. Finally, you're deeply and desperately in debt— so desperate that you would be willing to do anything. Even break into Mordon, if the financial inducements were high enough."

He was silent for a moment, then pushed himself wearily to his feet. "I'm completely innocent, Cavell. But I see how it is — and I'm not all that a fool. So I'm going to be — what do you call it — detained in custody?"

I said, "What do you think, Mrs. Hartnell?"

She gave me a troubled half-smile and said hesitantly, "I don't think so. I — well, I don't know how a police officer talks to a man he's about to arrest for murder, but you don't talk the way I should imagine they do."

I said dryly, "Maybe you should be working in number one lab instead of your husband. As an alibi, Hartnell, your story is too ridiculously feeble for words. Nobody in their right minds would believe it for an instant, which means maybe that I'm not in my right mind. I believe it."

Hartnell exhaled a long sigh of relief, but his wife said with a strange mixture of hesitancy and shrewdness, "It could be a trap. You could think Tom guilty and be lulling him into—"

"Mrs. Hartnell," I said. "With respects, you are abysmally ignorant of the facts of life as they appertain to the wilds of Wiltshire. Your husband may think no one saw him, but I can assure you that the way between here and Alfringham is alive with people between 10.30 and 11 p.m. — courting couples, gentlemen between pubs and homes upending their last bottles to prepare themselves for wifely wrath, old ladies and some not so old peering between not-quite-closed curtains. With a squad of detectives I could turn up a score of people by noon tomorrow — I'll wager a dozen Alfringham citizens saw Dr. Hartnell waiting outside Tuffnell's office last night. I'm not even going to bother finding out."

Mrs. Hartnell said softly, "He means it, Tom."

"I mean it. Somebody is trying to divert suspicion to you, Hartnell. I want you to remain at home for the next two days — I'll fix it at Mordon. You're to talk to no one — no one — during that time. Take to your bed if you have to, but talk to no one. Your absence from work, your indisposition will be thought peculiar in the circumstances and will make somebody think our suspicions are directed towards you. You understand?"

"Completely. I'm sorry I was such a fool, Cavell, but—"

"I wasn't very nice myself. Good night."

In my car Mary said wonderingly, "What on earth is happening to the legendary Cavell toughness?"

"I don't know. Tell me."

"You didn't have to tell him that he wasn't under suspicion. After he'd told his story you could just have said nothing and let him carry on to his work as usual. A man like that would be incapable of hiding the fact that he was worried to death and that would have suited your purpose of making the real murderer think we're on to Hartnell just as well. But you couldn't do it, could you?"

"I wasn't like this before I got married. I'm a ruined man. Besides, if Hartnell really knew the evidence against him he'd go off his rocker."

She was silent for some time. She was sitting on my left hand side and I can't see people who are sitting to my left but I knew she was staring at me. Finally, she said, "I don't understand."

"I have three polythene bags in the rear seat. In one of them is a sample of dried red mud. Hartnell invariably takes the bus to work — but I found that mud, a peculiar reddish loam, under the front mudguard of his scooter: and the only place for miles around with that type of soil is a couple of fields near the main gates of Mordon. In the second bag is a hammer I found in his toolshed — it looks clean, but I'm betting that a couple of grey hairs sticking to the haft came from our canine pal Rollo, who was so grievously clouted last night. The third bag contains a pair of heavy insulated pliers. They've been perfectly cleaned, but a comparison, by electronic microscope, of some scratches on it and the broken ends of the barbed wire in Mordon should give some very interesting results."

"You found all that?" she whispered.

"I found all that. Near-genius, I would say."

"You're worried to death, aren't you?" Mary asked. I made no reply and she went on, "Even with all that you still don't think he's guilty? I mean, that anyone should go to such lengths—"

"Hartnells' innocent. Of the killing, anyway. Someone picked the lock of his tool-shed last night. Unmistakable scratches, if you know what to look for."

"Then why did you remove—"

"Two reasons. Because there are some policemen in this island who have been so rigidly indoctrinated with the belief that two and two must inevitably make four that they wouldn't think twice of by-passing the Old Bailey and dragging Hartnell to the nearest old oak tree. The red mud, hammer and pliers together with Paul Revere's moonlight ride — it's pretty damning."

"But — but you said yourself that if he had been out last night there would have been witnesses—"

"Eyewash. I called Dr. Hartnell a fluent liar but he isn't in my class. At night all cats are grey. During the dark any motor-cyclist with heavy coat, crash helmet and goggles looks pretty much like any other motor-cyclist with heavy coat, crash helmet and goggles. But I didn't see that there was anything to be gained by worrying Hartnell and his wife to death: if there was I wouldn't have hesitated. Not with this madman running around with the Satan Bug. Besides, I want Hartnell not to be worried."

"What on earth do you mean?"

"I don't rightly know," I confessed. "Hartnell wouldn't kill a fly. But Hartnell is mixed up in something very fishy indeed."

"What makes you say that? You said he's clear."

"I told you I don't know," I said irritably. "Call it a hunch, call it something the subconscious mind cottoned on to and hasn't yet got around to transferring to some place where I'll recognise it. Anyway, my second reason for filching exhibits A, B and C is that whoever planted the goods on Hartnell and started him on his wild-goose chase is going to be more than a little worried himself now. If the police either cleared Hartnell or clapped him in the hoosegow, our friend would know where he stood. But with Hartnell mysteriously and suspiciously remaining at home and the police at the same time making no mention of having found exhibits A, B and C, the killer's going to be kept wondering just what the cops are up to. Indecision. Indecision hampers action and hampering action buys time. We need all the tone we can get."

"You have a low and devious mind, Pierre Cavell," Mary said at length, "but I think that if I were innocent of a crime and the evidence proved beyond any doubt that I was guilty, I'd rather have you investigating my case than anyone alive. By the same token, if I were guilty of a crime and there was no possibility of any evidence pointing to me, I'd rather have anyone else in the world except you investigating it. Or so my father says and he should know. I know you'll find this man, Pierre."

I wished I could even begin to share her conviction. But I couldn't even begin. I was sure of nothing, nothing at all, except that Hartnell wasn't the blue-eyed innocent he appeared, nor his good wife, and that my leg was aching pretty fiercely. I wasn't looking forward very much to the remainder of that night.

We were back in the Waggoner's Rest just before ten o'clock. Hardanger was waiting for us in a deserted corner of the lounge along with a dark-suited unknown man who turned out to be a police stenographer. The superintendent was studying some papers and scowling away into the middle distance from time to time, but the craggy face broke into a beam of pleasure when he looked up and saw us. Mary, rather. He was genuinely fond of her and found it difficult to understand why she had thrown herself away on me.

I let them talk for a minute or two, looking at Mary's face and listening to her voice and wishing vaguely for the hundredth time that I had tape and film to record the soft lilting cadences of the voice and the fascinating shift and play of expression in case the day should ever come when that would be all I would have left of her. Then I cleared my throat to remind them that I was still here. Hardanger looked at me, touched an internal switch and the smile vanished.

"Turn up anything startling?" he asked.

"In a way. The hammer that laid out the alsatian guard dog, the pliers that cut the wire and apparent proof that Dr. Hartnells moped was in the vicinty of Mordon last night."

He didn't bat an eyelid. He said, "Let's go up to your room." We went, and once there Hardanger said to a man accompanying him, "Johnson, your notebook," and to me, "From the beginning, Cavell."

I told him everything that had happened that night exactly as it had been, omitting only what Mary had learned from Chessingham's mother and sister. At the end, Hardanger said, "You are convinced that it's a frame-up on Hartnell?"

"Looks like it, doesn't it?"

"Hadn't it occurred to you that there might be a double twist to this? That Hartnell planted it on himself?"

"Yes. But it's hardly possible. I know Hartnell. Outside his work he's blundering, nervous, unstable and an ass— hardly the basic material for the ruthless calculating criminal. And he'd hardly go the length of picking his own padlock. Anyway, it doesn't matter. I've told him to stay at home meantime. Whoever stole the botulinus and the Satan Bug did so for a purpose. Inspector Wylie's pretty keen to get into the act. Let him have his men keep a round-the-clock watch on the house to see that Hartnell stays put. Hartnell, even if guilty, wouldn't be so mad as to keep the viruses in the house. If they're elsewhere and he can't get at them, that's one worry less. I also want a check made on his supposed moped trip of last night."

"There'll be a watch kept and check made," Hardanger promised. "Chessingham tip you off in any way about Hartnell?"

"Nothing useful. Just my own hunch. Hartnell was the only person I knew of in number one lab in a position to be blackmailed or coerced. The point is that someone else knows it too. He also knew that Tuffnell was from home. That other man is the man we want. How did he find out?"

"How did you find out," Hardanger demanded.

"Tuffnell himself told me. I was here for a fortnight some months ago helping Derry check on a bunch of newly arrived scientists. I asked him to give me the names of all Mordon employees who were coming to him for financial assistance. Hartnell is only one of a dozen."

"Did you ask or demand?"

"Demanded."

"You know that's illegal," Hardanger said heavily. "On what grounds?"

"On the grounds that if he didn't I'd enough information to put him behind bars for years to come."

"Had you that information?"

"No. But a shady character like Tuffnell has always a great deal to hide. He co-operated. Tuffnell may have talked about Hartnell. Or his partner, Hanbury."

"How about other members of his staff?"

"There are none. Not even a typist. In a business like that you can't trust your own mother. Apart from them, Cliveden, Weybridge — possibly — Clandon and myself knew. And Easton Derry of course. No one else had access to the security files in Mordon. Derry and Clandon are gone. How about Cliveden?"

"That's ridiculous. He was at a War Office meeting till after midnight last night. In London."

"What's ridiculous about Cliveden having this information and passing it on to someone else?" Hardanger was silent and I went on, "And Weybridge. What was he doing at zero hour last night?"

"Asleep."

"Who told you? Himself?" Hardanger nodded and I went on, "Corroboration?"

Hardanger looked uncomfortable. "He lives alone in the officers' block. He's a widower with an orderly to look after aim."

"That helps. How about the other check?"

"Seven others," Hardanger said. "One, as you said it would be, was a night guard. Been there only two days— and his transfer was a complete surprise to him. Sent from his regiment to take the place of a sick guard. Dr. Gregori was at home all last night — he lives in a kind of high-class boarding-house outside Alfringham and half a dozen people will swear he was there until at least midnight. That lets him out. Dr. MacDonald was at home with friends. Very respectable friends. Playing cards. Two of the technicians."

"Verity and Heath, were at the dance in Alfringham last night. They seem in the clear. The other two, Robinson and Marsh, were out on a double date with their girl friends, Cinema, cafe, then back to their homes."

"So you've turned up nothing at all?"

"Not a damn' thing."

"But how about the two technicians and their girl friends?" Mary asked. "Robinson and Marsh — they provide each other's alibis. And there was a girl used as a decoy."

"Nothing there," I said. "Whoever is responsible for this lot is far too smart to fall into the elementary error of self-supporting alibis. If either of the two girls was a stranger to those parts there might just be possibly something in it. But if Robinson and Marsh haven't changed their girl friends since the last time we checked on them then they're just a couple of harmless local girls. The superintendent here would have had the truth out of them in five minutes flat. Probably two."

"Two it was," Hardanger agreed. "Nothing there. We've sent all their footwear to the lab for a check — that fine red loam soil gets into the tiniest cracks and would be a dead giveaway — but it's purely routine. Nothing will come of it. You want a copy of all those statements and witnesses' reports?"

"Please. What's your next move?"

"What would yours be?" Hartnell countered.

"I'd have Tuffnell, Hanbury, Cliveden and Weybridge questioned to see if they've ever spoken to anyone about Hartnell's financial difficulties. Then I'd have Gregori, MacDonald, Hartnell, Chessingham, Cliveden, Weybridge and the four technicians questioned — separately of course — about the extent of their social life with the others. Whether they had ever been in each others' homes is a question that might be tossed in casually. And I'd have fingerprint squads move into all their houses at the same time to print as much of every house as possible. You'd have no trouble getting warrants for that little lot. If X maintains he's never been in Y's home and you find prints proving him a liar — well, someone is going to have some interesting explaining to do."

"Including General Cliveden's and Colonel Weybridge's homes?" Hardanger asked grimly.

"I don't care whose feelings are wounded. This is no time to consider anyone's hurt pride."

"It's a long long shot," Hardanger said. "Criminals with something to hide, particularly the connection between them, would never meet in each other's homes anyway."

"Can you afford to ignore even such a long shot?"

"Probably not," Hardanger said. "Probably not."

Twenty minutes after their departure with the polythene bags I climbed out of the window, clambered to the ground via the porch, picked up my car where I'd left it parked in a side street and set off for London.