The Labyrinth Makers

'The crew—' she began. 'The two who pestered my mother—'

'Forget about the crew for the moment. These people weren't crew members. One of them was a Belgian and the others were Russians.'

'Russians?'

'Your father was flying regularly to Berlin, twice a week often.

That was when we were just setting up the four-power allied control commission there. His squadron was on a freight run. But there was also a great deal of what you might call private enterprise on that run too. You could get just about anything in Germany in those days if you had cigarettes to trade with, and there were a lot of valuable things about with temporary owners.

dummy4

Your father was very well-placed to transport the merchandise.'

'You mean he was in the–what did they call it?–the black market?'

She spoke coldly, almost contemptuously.

Audley sipped his coffee. 'You shouldn't think too badly of him for it, actually. It's a rather modern idea, not letting the winners plunder the losers blind. There were a lot of chaps doing it.'

'My step-father didn't do it.'

Jones was evidently on a pedestal.

'No, I don't believe he did. But your father was in it up to the neck, and one day he seems to have picked up something extra special.

Something hot.'

'But you don't know what it was?'

'We don't–not yet. And I don't think he really did either. Or at least he didn't understand its true value.'

Faith Steerforth broke in: 'But whatever it was–you must have it now. If it was on the plane.'

'There was nothing on the plane. That's the whole problem.

Nothing but seven boxes of broken bricks.'

'Somebody had taken it?'

'We don't think so.'

'Then he never had anything. Or maybe someone switched those boxes before he was given them.'

She was quick enough, certainly.

'It's possible. But we don't think it's likely. The Russians must have been satisfied about the Berlin end before they came over here.

dummy4

They're very thorough when they want to be–so thorough that they never forgot about the plane. In fact they already know there wasn't anything in it. But they are still interested!'

She shivered.

'That's what's so beastly. It's what frightened Mummy–people being interested again all these years afterwards. It must have been something terribly valuable.'

'Not valuable in terms of money, Miss Steerforth. The Russians don't have to worry about money.'

She stared at him. 'But he didn't have it, whatever it was. So what's all the bother about now?'

Audley was about to answer when the grandfather clock struck in the distance–eight, nine, ten.

'It's very late, Miss Steerforth. Isn't anyone expecting you?'

She glanced at her watch, but shook her head.

'I'll go to a hotel somewhere. But you must tell me why there's this trouble first. I promise I'll go then.'

Audley thought for a moment. There were no such things as conventions these days, after all.

'You can stay here if you like. There's a spare bed–and I'm a Cambridge man, I assure you.'

She looked at him in surprise. Patently–and rather humiliatingly–

she had not considered him in that light at all. He was still some sort of policeman, and consequently sexless.

Then she smiled. 'That's very kind of you, Dr Audley,' she said.

dummy4

'But please stop calling me "Miss Steerforth". I know it must be confusing for you, so just call me "Faith". He chose the name, anyway.'

'Steer–your father did?'

'Yes. It's silly really. Grandmother told me that long before I was even born he said he'd like to have three daughters, to look after him in his old age. And he'd call them Faith, Hope and Charity. It's silly, because he said he was naming them after three old aeroplanes.'

For the first time Steerforth came alive to Audley. No longer bones in a lake, but a man who had lived and made ordinary, everyday plans–plans for three daughters, anyway.

'Malta,' he said. 'That was where his old planes came from. At one time in the war they had just three to defend it, and they called them Faith, Hope and Charity.'

She looked at him. 'I'd like to stay if I may, Dr Audley.'

He couldn't help smiling at her. It was actually rather pleasant to have some female company again after so long.

'Very well, then–Faith. I'll tell you what all the fuss is about. It's really quite simple in outline: somehow your father picked up something valuable, and then everyone thought it was lost at sea with him. Only now we know he wasn't lost at sea and he wasn't carrying the thing when he crashed. Yet the Russians are still interested. Now doesn't that suggest anything to you?'

He waited for her to speak, but she wouldn't be drawn.

'Well to me–Faith–it suggests that whatever he'd got hold of was dummy4

already here. If the Russians are so sure it's the only possibility left.

And once you accept that, actually, the other awkward bits in the puzzle fit much better.'

'Other bits?'

'There were those seven boxes of bricks, which shouldn't have been on board. All four survivors saw them. Your stepfather and the navigator couldn't describe them very clearly. But the other two were very helpful.'

'The two who—'

'Those two, yes. Warrant Officer Tierney and Flight Sergt Morrison. They should have conveniently forgotten the boxes if they were valuable, but instead they remembered. And by remembering they put everyone off the scent. Which is exactly what they intended. Because what's lost at sea doesn't have to be accounted for, does it?'

'But that would mean—' she squared up to the implication '—that he meant to crash!'

'That's exactly what it means, yes.'

'You can't mean he crashed in that lake deliberately.'

'I don't mean that. That was a real crash–and it wasn't meant to happen. What was meant to happen was the story Tierney and Morrison actually told.'

'But my step-father wouldn't have stood for anything like that. He would have spoken up–I know he would!'

'He was just a passenger. He did as he was told, and he didn't really know what was happening. In fact it was just the same as the dummy4

boxes: two vague stories, and two detailed ones–much too detailed.'

She regarded him thoughtfully. 'All right, I take your point,' she said slowly. 'But I don't see how you make it fit what's happening now.'

'Where doesn't it fit?'

'Well, if the real boxes were already in,' she paused. 'And if my father was dead . . . then Tierney and the other one got everything long ago. You're twenty years too late, and so are the Russians–

you're just wasting your time.'

'Maybe I am–but the Russians aren't.'

Not Panin. Of all people, not Panin. That had to be an article of faith.

'So they're infallible, are they?'

'Not infallible, but not stupid. Besides, there is an alternative, you know. In fact you as good as suggested it yourself.'

She frowned at him. 'When did I?'

'You told me that Tierney and Morrison pestered your mother. The Belgian and the Russians were only interested in the plane. But those two were desperate to find your father. Even our people noticed that at the time.'

'They were his friends.'

'So they hounded his widow? No, Faith. He hid it and he didn't tell them where. And then he disappeared–and there wasn't a thing they could do about it.'

There was no point in adding that what had probably hit the dummy4

surviving conspirators hardest was the growing suspicion that they had been double-crossed by Steerforth, just as the Belgian had been double-crossed.

Faith Steerforth looked past him, into the darkness outside.

'Then it's still where he put it,' she said softly, half to herself.

'It's the only explanation that makes sense of what's happening now, Faith,' said Audley. 'The Russians must have come to the same conclusion, too. And they think it can be found.'