‘Matthew’s not back,’ she said. `I’m ringing the hospitals.’
She consulted a list and began to dial again. After two or three more calls she came to the end of her list, and laid the receiver in its rest. I had got out the whisky.
‘Drink this. It’ll do you good,’ I told her.
She took it, gratefully.
‘You’ve tried the police?’
‘Yes. I called the school first. He left there at the usual time all right. So then I tried the police, and gave them particulars. They’ve promised to ring us if they have any news.’ She took a drink of whisky. `Oh, David. Thank goodness you’re Lack. I’d got to imagining all sorts of things… I hoped everything would be all right once that Chocky business was over … He doesn’t say anything – not to me … And then going off like he did on Monday … You didn’t think ..,?’
I sat down beside her, and took her hand.
‘Of course I don’t. And you mustn’t either.’
‘He’s kept everything so bottled up (*) …’
‘lt did come as a shock to him. Whatever Chocky w;as he’d got used to having her around. Suddenly losing her upset him – knocked the bottom out of things for him. It needed some adjustment – but he’s making it all right …’
‘You really thing that? You’re not just saying it …?’
‘Of course I do, darling. I’m perfectly certain that if he were going to do anything silly he’d have done it a fortnight ago, and he wasn’t near that even then – he was distressed and pretty wretched, poor boy. But nothing of that kind ever entered his head. I’m sure of it.’
Mary sighed.
‘I hope you’re right – yes, I’m sure you are. But that makes me all the more mysterious. He must know how we’ll feel. He’s not an insensitive boy …’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. `That’s what’s worrying me most…’
Neither of us slept much that night.
I rang the police the next morning. They were sympathetic, doing all they could, but had no news.
Time gloominess of the breakfast table subdued even Polly. We questioned her though without much hope. Matthew no longer confided in her, but there was just the chance that he might have told her something. Apparently he had not – at least nothing that Polly could remember. We relapsed into our gloomy silence. Pol]y, emerged from hers to say:
‘I expect Matthew’s been kidnapped. You’ll probably: get a note wanting an enormous ransom.’
‘Not very likely,’ 1 told her. `We don’t keep enormous ransom round here.’
‘What about the Sunday papers? They were anxious enough to interview him beFore,’ Mary suggested.
‘You know what that means. “Child Artist Vanishes.” “Guardian Angel Hero Missing”, et cetera.’
‘What’s that matter if it helps to find him?’
‘All right,’ 1 told her. `I’ll try.’
There was no news that day.
At ten o’clock on Sunday morning the phone rang, I grabbed it.
‘Mr Gore?’
‘Yes.’
‘My name is Bollot. You don’t know me, but my boy goes to the same school as yours. We’ve just been reading il] the paper about it. Shocking business. Very sorry to hear it. No news yet, 1 suppose?’
‘No.’
‘Well, look here, th point is my Lawrence says he saw your Matthew on Friday’. He noticed him talking to a man with a big car – a Mercedes, he thinks – a little way down the road from school. He has an idea they were arguing about something. Then your Matthew got into the car with the man, and it drove off.’
‘Thanks, Mr Bollot. Thanks very much. I’ll let the police know at once.’
‘Oh, is that really – ? Yes, I suppose it is. Well, I hope they find him quickly for you. ‘
But they did not.
The @onday papers took it up. (*) The BBC included it in their local news bulletin. Telephone seemed scarcely to stop ringing. But it brought no news of Matthew ,..
That was a dreadful week. What can one do in the face of utter blankness? There was no corroboration of the Bollot boy’s story, but he stuck to it with unshakeable conviction. An enquiry at the school failed to discover any other boy who had accented a lift that evening. So, apparently, it had been Matthew …
But why? What possible reason? Even threats, a demand for ransom would have been more bearable than this silent vanishing into utter nothingness. I could feel the tension in Mary growing tighter every day, and dreaded the moment when it should @reak …
The week seemed endless. The weekend that followed it’ longer still, but then:
At about half-past eight o’clock on the following Tuesday morning a small boy paused on the pavement edge of a busy crossing in Birmingham, and watched the policeman directing the traffic, When the cars ahead of him were held up he crossed to the middle of the road, stationed himself alongside the policeman, waiting patiently to be attended to. Presently, his traffic safely on course for the moment, the policeman bent down.
‘Hullo, Sonny, and what’s your trouble?’ he inquired.
‘Please, sir,’ said the boy, `I’m afraid I’m sort of lost. And it’s difficult because I haven’t any money to get home with.’
The policeman shook his head.
‘That’s bad,’ he said, sympathetically. ‘And where would home be?’
‘Hindmere,’ the boy told him.
The policeman stiffened, and looked at him with sudden interest.
‘And what’s your name?’ he asked, carefully.
‘Matthew,’ said Matthew. `Matthew Gore.’
‘Is it, by God!’ said the policeman. `Now you stand just where you are, Matthew. Don’t you move an inch.’
He took a microphone out of his breast-pocket, pressed a switch, and spoke into it.
A squad car drew up beside them a couple of minutes later.
‘That’s service for you. Come to take you home. Hop in now,’ thc policeman told him.
‘Thank you very much, sir,’ said Matthew, with his customary respect for the police.
They brought him home about six o’clock that evening. Mary had rung me up, and I was there to greet him, so, by request, was Dr Aycott.
Matthew seemed to be, on very good terms with his escort. He invited them in, but they spoke of duty. Matthew thanked them, we thanked them, and they drove off narrowly missing a car that was turning in. Its driver introduced himself as Dr Prost, police surgeon, and we all went inside.
We. had drinks, and after ten minutes or so Dr Prost spoke quietly to Mary. She took Matthew off in spite of his protests that the police had already given him a high tea. (*)
‘Well, first of all,’ said Dr Prost as the door closed behind them, `you can put your mind at rest. The boy come to no harm at all as far as we can tell. Furthermore, he has not even been frightened. It is quite the most considerate kidnapping that I have ever heard of. I see no reason at all for you to fear any ill-effects either physical, or dental. He seems to me to be in perfect condition.
‘But, having said that, there are one or two things I think [ ought to mention, which is why I wanted you, Dr Aycott, lo come along. In the first place, he has had a number of injections, A dozen or more, in both arms. We have no idea at all what was injected. Whatever it was, it appears to have had no after effects. He makes no complains of any abnormal condition. In fact he appears to be excellent spirits. Nevertheless, since there have been these injections we feel that it would be wise to keep a careful eye on him for any delayed reactions. We have no reason to expect them, but we thought it as well, Doctor, that you should be informed of the possibility.’
Dr Aycott nodded. Dr Prost went on:
‘The second thing is rather curious. Matthew is quite convinced that he has been in a car accident, and that his leg was fractured. He says that it was in plaster, and that the people “at the hospital” gave him a new treatment which made it mend very quickly. Naturally, we X-rayed. There was no sign of a break.’
He paused, frowned into his whisky. and tossed it off. He went on:
‘He seems to have been treated very well. Everybody at “the. hospital” was friendly and reassuring. The whole thing has the appearance of an elaborate hoax deliberately contrived to be as unalarming to him as possibly. In fact it seems never to have occurred to him that he had been kidnapped. The only two elements that puzzled him were, first, why you and his mother did not go to see him, or answer when he wrote to you, and, second, the way he was dumped in Birmingham.’
‘lt looks to us very much as if somebody wanted him out of the way for ten days, or so.’ He turned a penetrating look on me. `If you know, or suspect, anybody who could have an interest in doing that, I think you’d be well advised to tell the police.’