“I would mind very much.”
“I’m afraid you must, sir.”
“Perhaps you would be good enough to examine the seal on the lock. I take it you are capable of recognizing an Embassy Seal?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And perhaps you would also read this note from our Ambassador, requesting you to confer the customary exemption from search on this bag which, I might add, contains important diplomatic documents.”
The Customs Officer glanced at the letter, then handed it to the thick-set man in a raincoat who was standing beside the counter. This man said, “I’m afraid, sir, that I have an order here, signed by the Home Secretary, overriding the Ambassador’s request.”
“And who the hell are you?”
“My name’s Calder.”
“Then let me tell you, Mr. Calder—”
“I think we ought to finish this in private.”
Sir James started to say that he was damned if he would, realized that he was shouting and that people were starting to look at him, and resumed his public-relations manner.
“If you wish to continue this farce,” he said in a choked voice, “by all means let us do it in private.”
“But it wasn’t a farce,” said Mr. Calder. “There were three thousand pounds, in fivers, stowed away flat, at the bottom of his valise.”
“What explanation did he give?”
“He was past rational explanation. He screamed a bit and stamped and foamed at the mouth. Literally, I thought he was having some sort of fit.”
“But no explanation?”
“I gathered, in the end, that he said someone must have been tampering with his baggage. Frame up. Police State. Gestapo. That sort of line.”
“I see,” said Mr. Fortescue. He said it so flatly that it made Mr. Calder look up.
“Is something wrong, sir?”
“I gather,” said Fortescue, “that Sir James has managed to persuade our masters that we have made a very grave mistake.”
“But good God! I saw the notes. We all did. How does he suggest they got there?”
“He suggests,” said Mr. Fortescue sadly, “that Behrens put them there. I am seeing the Home Secretary in an hour’s time. I rather fear that we may be in for trouble.”
“Incredible though it may seem,” said the Home Secretary, “it really does appear that the one person who couldn’t have put the money there was Sir James himself — unless he bribed half the Ambassador’s private staff.”
“What exactly happened?”
“Our Ambassador had a highly confidential document — a memorandum in the General’s own hand — and Sir James offered to act as courier. The Head of Chancery put the document in Sir James’s valise — which was almost empty as it happens — saw the valise sealed, and handed it to the Ambassador’s Secretary, who took it back to the hotel and himself saw it locked up in Sir James’s bedroom. The Secretary didn’t leave the hotel. He stayed there, lunched with young Robin, and the two of them escorted the valise to the Airport.”
“And what was Sir James doing all this time?”
“Sir James was having lunch with our Ambassador, the French Minister of the Interior, and the wife of the French Minister of the Interior.”
“How precisely is it suggested that the notes got into the valise?”
“There’s no mystery about that. Microscopic examination of the seal — what was left of it — shows that it had been removed, whole, with a hot knife and refixed with adhesive. Probably during lunch hour.”
“And it’s suggested that Behrens did that?”
“He was at the hotel.”
“So were two hundred other people.”
“You don’t think, Fortescue, that he might — just conceivably — have thought he was being helpful.”
Mr. Fortescue said, “I have known Behrens for thirty years. Impossible.” After a pause he added, “What is Sir James going to do?”
“He’s been to the Prime Minister. He wants the people responsible discovered and dealt with.”
Mr. Fortescue smiled a wintry smile. He said, “I do not often find myself in agreement with Sir James, but that sentiment is one with which I heartily concur. I shall need to make an immediate telephone call to Paris.”
“I’m afraid you won’t catch Behrens. He’s on his way back.”
“Excellent,” said Mr. Fortescue. He seemed to have recovered his good humor. “Excellent. We may need him. The person I wished to speak to was the Ambassador’s Private Secretary. Perhaps your office could arrange it for me? Oh, and the manager of the Hotel Continental. Then we must have Behrens intercepted at the airport and brought straight round to Sir James’s house — to meet me there.”
“You’re going to see Sir James?”
“I have really no alternative,” said Mr. Fortescue genially. “In his present mood he would certainly not come to see us, would he?”
Sir James was at ease in front of his drawing-room fire, the bottom button of his waistcoat undone, a glass of port in one hand, an admiring audience of two, consisting of wife and son, hanging on every word.
“And it might have come off,” he said, “if I hadn’t been wide-awake and, I admit it, had a bit of luck. I could have been in a very awkward spot.”
“And now it’s them who are on the spot,” said Robin with a grin.
“In the old days,” said Lady Docherty, “they’d have had their heads cut off.”
“Even if they don’t lose their heads I think we can be sure that the people concerned will lose their jobs. I’m seeing the Prime Minister again tomorrow. I wonder who that can be?”
“I’ll go,” said Robin. “The girl’s out. What do I do if it’s a reporter?”
“Invite him in. The wider the publicity this deplorable matter receives the better for” — he was going to say “my chances at the next election,” but changed it to — “the country.”
Robin came back, followed by two men. “I don’t think it is the Press,” he said. “It’s a Mr. Fortescue and a Mr. Behrens.”
“I see,” said Sir James coldly. “Well, I’ve nothing much to say to you that can’t be said, in due course, in front of a Tribunal of Enquiry, but if you’ve come to apologize I’m quite willing to listen. No, stay where you are, my dear. And you too, Robin. The more witnesses we have, the better.”
“I agree,” said Mr. Behrens.
“Kind of you.”
“It would be appropriate if your son were to remain since most of what I have to say concerns him.” Mr. Fortescue swung round on the boy, ignoring Sir. James. “I’ve just spoken to the Ambassador’s Private Secretary in Paris. He tells me that you were away from the luncheon table for nearly half an hour. Making a long-distance call, you said. Why did you lie about it?”
“Don’t answer him,” said Sir James. But the boy appeared to have forgotten about his father. He said, in his pleasant, level voice, “What makes you think it was a lie, sir?”
“I know it was a lie because I’ve talked to the hotel manager. He tells me that no long-distance call in or out was recorded during that period. On the other hand, Behrens here saw you leave the dining room. He followed you up to the bedroom, saw you go in, and heard you lock the door.”
“And who do you suppose,” fumed Sir James, “is going to believe your agent provocateur?”
“Well, Robin,” Mr. Fortescue went on, “if you weren’t telephoning, what were you doing?”
Sir James jumped up and forced himself between them. “I’ll deal with this,” he said. “If you think you can shift the blame onto my son on manufactured evidence—”
“Don’t you think he might be allowed to speak for himself?”
“No, I don’t.”
“He’ll have to sooner or later.”