I shook my head.
‘I can’t think of any conceivable reason for anyone to want to do such a thing. There’s no sense in it,’ I said.
He shrugged.
‘Well, if you can think of any other explanation -‘ he said, and left it in the air, not looking entirely convinced.
He and Dr Aycott conferred briefly, and left together a few minutes later, Dr Aycott promising to look in the next day.
I found Matthew, Mary, and Polly in the kitchen. The police high tea had left him with some appetite still. I sat down and lit a cigarette.
‘Well, now: suppose you tell us all about it, Matthew,’ I suggested.
‘Oh dear. Again?’ said Matthew.
‘You haven’t told us yet,’ I pointed out.
Matthew took a deep breath.
‘Well, I was just coming home from school, and this car passed me and stopped a little way in front. And a man got out and looked up and down the road in a lost sort of way,’ he began.
The man looked at Matthew, appeared to he about to speak, but hesitated, then just as Matthew was passing him he said:
‘Excuse me, but I wonder if you could help us. We’re looking for Densham Road, but none of the roads here seem to have any names.’
‘Yes,’ said Matthew. `You turn right at the next corner, then the second on the left. That’s Old Lane, only when you get over the crossroads it’s called Densham Road.’
‘Thank you. That’s very clear,’ said the man, and turned to the car. Then, on an afterthought, he turned back.
‘1 suppose you couldn’t tell us which side of it lo look for a house Mr Gore lives in?’
Il was as easy as that. Of course Matthew accepted the offer of a lift home. He did not know anything else until he woke up in `the hospital’.
‘What made you think it was a hospital?’ Mary asked.
‘It looked like one – well, the way I think hospitals look,’ said Matthew. `I was in a while bed, and the room was all white and bare and terribly clean. And there was a nurse; she was frightfully clean, too.’
He had discovered that he couldn’t move his leg. The nurse told him not to try because it had been broken, and asked him if it hurt. He told her it didn’t a bit. She had said `good’, and that was because he had been injected with a new `anti-something’ drug that stopped the pain, and not to worry because they were using a wonderful new process which healed bones, particularly young ones, very quickly.
There had been two or three doctors – well, they wore white coats like doctors on television, anyway – and they were friendly and cheerful. There was rather a lot of injecting. He hadn’t liked that at first, but didn’t mind it much after the first two or three times, Anyway, it was worth it because the leg hadn’t hurt at all.
Sometimes it had been a bit boring, but they gave him some books. They hadn’t a radio to spare, they told him, but they had let him have a record-player with lots of records. The food was jolly good.
His chief disappointment was that we had not come to see him.
‘Of course we’d have come if we could, but we’d no idea w:here you were,’ Mary told him.
‘They said they’d told you. And I wrote you two letters with the address at thc top,’ (*) Matthew protested.
‘I’ll afraid nobody did tell us. And we never got your letters, either,’ I said. `What was the address?’
‘Aptford House, Wonersh, near Guildford,’ (*) he told me promptly.
‘You’ve told the police that?’
‘Yes.’
He went on. Apparently he’d seen nothing of the place except thc room he had @een kept in. The view from its window had been undistinguished, a meadow in the foreground, bounded by a hedge with tall trees in it. Sometime the day before yesterday they had taken off the cast, examined his leg, told him it had mended perfectly, and would be as good as ever, and that he’d be able to go home the next day.
Actually they had started ln the dark – he did not know the time because there was no clock in the room, He had said goodbye to the nurse. One of the doctors – not in a white coat this time — had taken him downstairs to where there was a big car waiting in front of the house. When they got in the back the doctor said they’d leave the light on, but had better have the blinds down so as not to dazzle the driver. After they’d started the doctor produced a pack of cards and did some tricks with them. Then the doctor brought out a couple of vacuum flasks, coffee in one for himself, cocoa in the. other for Matthew. Shortly after that Matthew had fallen asleep.
He had woken up feeling rather cold. The car hall stopped, and there was dayllght outside. When he sat up he discovered that not only was he all alone, but he was in a different car which was parked in an utterly unfamiliar street. It was very bewildering. He got out of the car. There were few people walking along the street, but they looked busily on their way somewhere, and took no notice of him. At the end of the street he saw its name on the wall of the building. He didn’t remember what it was, but above it he read `City of Birmingham’, which puzzled him greatly. He was now facing a bigger, busier street, with a small cafe just opposite. He became aware that he was hungry, but when he felt in his pocket he found he’d no money. After that, the only thing to do had seemed to be to find a policeman, and put his problems to him.
‘A very sensible thing to do, too,’ I told him.
‘Yes …’ said Matthew, doubtfully. `But they kept on asking so many questions.’
‘And they brought you all the way home in a squad car, free?’ Polly asked.
‘Well, three cars,’ Matthew told her. `There was one to the, Birmingham police station where they asked a lot of questions, then one to the Hindmere police station, where they gave me that high tea, and asked all the same questions over again. And then one here.’
‘Gosh, you are lucky,’ said Polly enviously. `I have never been kidnapped in my life.’
‘Kidnapped …’ Matthew repeated, `But …’ He broke off, and became very thoughtful. He turned to me. ‘Was I kidnapped, Daddy?’
‘It looks very much like it.’ I told him.
‘But – but … But they were kind people, nice people. They got me better. They weren’t a bit like kidnappers …’ He lapsed into thought again, and emerged from it to ask: ‘Do you mean it was all phoney – my leg wasn’t broken at all?’
I nodded.
‘I don’t believe it. It had plaster on – and everything,’ he protested. `Anyway, why? Why should anybody want to kidnap me?’ He checked, and then asked: `Did you have to pay a lot of money, Daddy?’
I shook my head again.
`No. Nothing at all,’ 1 assured him.
‘Then it can’t have been kidnapped,’ asserted Matthew’.
‘You must be tired out,’ Mary put in. `Give me a kiss. Then run along upstairs, both of you. Daddy and I will come up and see you when you’re in bed, Matthew.’
The door closed behind him. Mary looked at me, her eyes brimming. Then she laid her head on her arms on the table and – for the first time since Matthew had disappeared – she let herself cry …
11
That was Tuesday.
On Wednesday Dr Aycott looked in as he had promised. He gave Matthew a very thorough examination with so satisfactory a result that he saw no reason why Matthew should not go to school the following day.
On Wednesday, also, Mary felt it to be her duty to ring up her sister Janet and inform her that Matthew was now restored to us in perfect health, and then had to spend some time explaining that his health was not perhaps quite perfect enough to withstand a family invasion the next weekend.
On Thursday Matthew went to school and returned a bit above himself on discovering that he had been a figure of national interest while at the same time feeling somewhat inadequate in not having a more exciting tale to tell.
By Friday everything was back to normal.
That evening Mary, feeling tired, went upstairs to bed soon after ten. I stayed down. I had brought home some week, and thought I would clear it off to leave the weekend free.
About half-past eleven there was a tap on the door. Matthew’s head appeared, and looked cautiously round.