this genial, well-known figure could be in reality a dangerous criminal? His
life seemed so open and aboveboard. No hint of sinister doings. Suppose it was
all a gigantic mistake? Tommy felt a cold chill at the thought.
Then he remembered the private patients–“balmy ones.” He inquired
carefully if there was a young lady amongst them, describing Tuppence. But
nothing much seemed to be known about the patients–they were seldom seen
outside the grounds. A guarded description of Annette also failed to provoke
recognition.
Astley Priors was a pleasant red-brick edifice, surrounded by well-wooded
grounds which effectually shielded the house from observation from the road.
On the first evening Tommy, accompanied by Albert, explored the grounds.
Owing to Albert’s insistence they dragged themselves along painfully on their
stomachs, thereby producing a great deal more noise than if they had stood
upright. In any case, these precautions were totally unnecessary. The grounds,
like those of any other private house after nightfall, seemed untenanted. Tommy
had imagined a possible fierce watchdog. Albert’s fancy ran to a puma, or a tame
cobra. But they reached a shrubbery near the house quite unmolested.
The blinds of the dining-room window were up. There was a large company
assembled round the table. The port was passing from hand to hand. It seemed a
normal, pleasant company. Through the open window scraps of conversation
floated out disjointedly on the night air. It was a heated discussion on county
cricket!
Again Tommy felt that cold chill of uncertainty. It seemed impossible to
believe that these people were other than they seemed. Had he been fooled once
more? The fair-bearded, spectacled gentleman who sat at the head of the table
looked singularly honest and normal.
Tommy slept badly that night. The following morning the indefatigable
Albert, having cemented an alliance with the greengrocer’s boy, took the
latter’s place and ingratiated himself with the cook at Malthouse. He returned
with the information that she was undoubtedly “one of the crooks,” but Tommy
mistrusted the vividness of his imagination. Questioned, he could adduce
nothing in support of his statement except his own opinion that she wasn’t the
usual kind. You could see that at a glance.
The substitution being repeated (much to the pecuniary advantage of the
real greengrocer’s boy) on the following day, Albert brought back the first
piece of hopeful news. There WAS a French young lady staying in the house.
Tommy put his doubts aside. Here was confirmation of his theory. But time
pressed. To-day was the 27th. The 29th was the much-talked-of “Labour Day,”
about which all sorts of rumours were running riot. Newspapers were getting
agitated. Sensational hints of a Labour coup d’etat were freely reported. The
Government said nothing. It knew and was prepared. There were rumours of
dissension among the Labour leaders. They were not of one mind. The more
far-seeing among them realized that what they proposed might well be a
death-blow to the England that at heart they loved. They shrank from the
starvation and misery a general strike would entail, and were willing to meet
the Government half-way. But behind them were subtle, insistent forces at work,
urging the memories of old wrongs, deprecating the weakness of half-and-half
measures, fomenting misunderstandings.
Tommy felt that, thanks to Mr. Carter, he understood the position fairly
accurately. With the fatal document in the hands of Mr. Brown, public opinion
would swing to the side of the Labour extremists and revolutionists. Failing
that, the battle was an even chance. The Government with a loyal army and
police force behind them might win–but at a cost of great suffering. But Tommy
nourished another and a preposterous dream. With Mr. Brown unmasked and captured
he believed, rightly or wrongly, that the whole organization would crumble
ignominiously and instantaneously. The strange permeating influence of the
unseen chief held it together. Without him, Tommy believed an instant panic
would set in; and, the honest men left to themselves, an eleventh-hour
reconciliation would be possible.
“This is a one-man show,” said Tommy to himself. “The thing to do is to get
hold of the man.”
It was partly in furtherance of this ambitious design that he had requested
Mr. Carter not to open the sealed envelope. The draft treaty was Tommy’s bait.