“Camera? Car?”
“My dear sir, you don’t know the half of it. I still don’t know what they did to the car, but it certainly wouldn’t start. I just had to abandon it and set off for that benighted blasted cottage on foot.”
“You what!”
“I walked. It was about ten miles and singularly rough going.”
“It’s four, actually. But, heavens, there was no need, man. I’d never have expected you to walk.”
“I am not in the habit,” said Mr Hive with dignity, “of quitting a job just when it is becoming difficult.”
“All right. What happened?”
“My report follows.” Hive cleared his throat while he spread out before him a somewhat crumpled sheet of paper bearing pencilled notes. When he spoke again, his normally pleasantly modulated voice had become measured and impersonal. The transformation sounded a bit of a strain.
“At approximately twenty-one thirty hours I proceeded on foot to the premises at Hambourne Dyke where The Subject was understood to have arranged a rendezvous with Folkestone. I arrived at approximately twenty-two thirty hours and commenced observation. A car which I recognized as Folkestone’s was standing in a concealed position at the side of the cottage. Investigation revealed no other vehicle...”
“Look, old chap, don’t you think you could shorten all this a bit?”
Mr Hive looked offended. He kept one finger marking the place he had reached while he explained that in matters such as this one could not be too fastidious regarding the accuracy of evidence. He might add, with respect, that if anyone knew how an inquiry agent’s report ought to be framed, it was surely an experienced and conscientious inquiry agent...
“All right, all right. Get on, then. I’m sorry.”
“Very well.” Hive looked down again at his piece of paper.”...no other vehicle...ah, yes.” He straightened his shoulders. “I noticed signs that the premises were occupied. Lights were on in two of the rooms, one at the front and one at the rear of the house. The curtains of both rooms were drawn. This made observation difficult but in each case I was successful in obtaining a view of the interior through a gap in the aforementioned curtains.
“I established by this means that the room at the rear—which I confirmed as being a bedroom—had at that time no occupant. In the front room, however, I observed Folkestone. He was alone and appeared to be drinking. There was no sign of The Subject, Calais. I kept Folkestone under observation until three o’clock. He left the room twice for short periods. The Subject did not appear.
“At three o’clock I observed that Folkestone was asleep. I therefore took a short rest myself...”
“Where?”
There was a pause. Mr Hive was wondering whether a sound sleep in the parked car of a Subject’s lover came under the heading of reasonable expedients.
“I said, where?”
“I leaned against a tree. In this profession, one acquires a facility for going into a light doze on one’s feet. I had, of course, set what I call my mental alarm clock to arouse me at a reasonable time.”
“What time was that?”
“Half past six, actually. May I finish my report now?” Hive felt that some measure of his dignity was at stake. He would await an invitation to proceed. Several seconds went by. He remained obstinately silent.
“No,” he heard at last, “there really wouldn’t be any point. To be perfectly frank, the situation is not at all what it was.”
“I am not sure that I understand.”
“No, I’m sorry. The thing is...there has been a reconciliation.”
“I am grieved to hear it,” said Mr Hive.
“You should not be. The saving of a marriage is matter for rejoicing, surely.”
“I hope I have not failed to give satisfaction. I have taken a great deal of trouble...if you don’t mind my mentioning it.”
“Not at all. You have done splendidly.”
“That is most kind of you. I do hope you understand, though, that in this field of work a single setback must not be regarded too pessimistically. Folkestone is not necessarily a broken reed, you know. If I might presume to advise a little more patience...”
“No, you might not. I wish nothing further done in the matter.”
Mr Hive sighed. “Just as you like.” With his foot he eased the door of the booth open a couple of inches to freshen the hot, spent air.
“You may as well return to London at once. I think, in fact, that it would be advisable. Do you think you could prepare your account before you leave?”
Hive said he thought he might manage that.
“Good. Well, leave it in a sealed envelope with my name on it at that little shop near the station, the one I told you about. And whatever you do, don’t post it. Oh, incidentally...”
“Yes?”
“This isn’t important in the least, but I just wondered if you happened to learn our friend Folkestone’s real name.”
“Oh, I...” Papers, a letter or two, an addressed packet, idly glimpsed in pale morning light on the seat of the car at Hambourne Dyke...his nap in said car...better not say. “I never actually heard anybody call him anything.”
“Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter at all. I couldn’t care less now. Are you getting the car put right?”
“A garage is working on it.”
“That’s fine. Don’t forget to put it on the bill. And thanks a lot for everything.”
Hive thoughtfully replaced the receiver. So that was that. Odd bird. He came out of the booth and looked up at a blue sky dotted with harmless wisps of white. It was a perfect day for doing nothing in particular. Or—why not?—for paying a surprise call on an old friend. He smiled—and then remembered something and stopped smiling. His camera. He turned and stepped back into the telephone booth.
“Ah, Mr Hive...I am so glad you thought to get in touch.” What Mr Clay really meant was that he was relieved that Hive was only on the telephone and not physically present in the school. “We have come across something here which I believe belongs to you.”
“My purloined camera! Oh, joyful tidings!” Mr Hive felt entitled, in the circumstances, to a little skittishness.
“Purloined, I cannot say,” remarked the headmaster stiffly, “but camera it may well be. A large square leather case. I have recollection of your carrying something of the kind last night...”
“I shall come at once.”
“No, no,” Mr Clay said hastily, “I will not hear of it. It is now lunchtime and boys are roaming, replete and unoccupied. Tasks are good for them. Where may you be found, Mr Hive?”
“I can be at the Three Crowns in a very few minutes.”
“Ye-e-ess...Perhaps a rendezvous outside the building...”
“As you wish.”
“And, ah, if I might request that the boy be not given any opportunity to loiter...”
“Naturally.”
By the time Hive reached the Three Crowns, a very small boy with glasses and a rumpled grammar school cap was standing outside the entrance to the public bar. The camera case was on the ground beside him. Mr Hive hooked a penny from one of his waistcoat pockets and presented it to the boy with the air of conferring a golden guinea.