The Labyrinth Makers

'He's–dead?'

'His name was Morrison. I think he died accidentally, falling down stairs. But one of my colleagues thinks he didn't.'

'Didn't fall downstairs?'

Audley turned round. 'Didn't die accidentally,' he said harshly.

Faith Jones was frowning at him.

'David–what are you?'

Audley opened another can of beer and offered it to her. She shook her head and he poured it for himself, carelessly, watching the froth well over the rim of the glass.

'What are you?' she repeated. 'What do you do? Are you really some sort of cloak-and-dagger person–the sort one reads about and never quite believes in?' She paused. 'But I suppose you wouldn't admit it if you were, so it's a silly question.'

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Not silly, but unanswerable, thought Audley. At present he was a sheep in ill-fitting wolf's clothing, but she'd never believe that.

Then his eye caught a slim blue and gold book lying with a browsing pile on the mantelpiece above the boiler.

'Do you believe in fairies, Faith?'

She looked at him blankly.

' Puck of Pook's Hill is on the shelf behind you. There's a bit in it at the beginning where Puck gets huffy at being called one. Give me the book and I'll show you.'

He riffled through the pages to find the passage he almost knew by heart. '. . . "What you call them are made-up things the People of the Hills have never heard of" . . .

'Except of course that we have heard of them. But I know just how Puck felt now. You can't generalise about–the People of the Hills.'

He turned back a few pages. ' "Giants, trolls, kelpies, brownies, goblins, imps; wood, tree, mound and water spirits; heath-people, hill-watchers, treasure-guards, good people, little people, pishogues, leprechauns, night riders . . ." I'm not a troll or a night rider, certainly. You might call me a hill-watcher.'

She shook her head in despair.

'Be serious, David.'

'But I am being serious. Your step-father wasn't really very close–

I'm not a policeman. I'm more like a meteorologist, a Middle East weather man. At least, I was until yesterday. I tried to forecast what certain countries were going to do. Does that answer your question?'

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Faith thought for a moment before answering.

'The Middle East–that's what all those Arabic papers and things in the sitting room are about.'

Audley nodded. He'd have to cancel Al Ahram and Al Kuwat al Muslaha and the rest now and wade through Molodaya Gvardia and Ogonyek just as painfully.

'But my father had nothing to do with the Middle East. He only flew in Europe.'

'That is true. I'm a little out of my territory.' And out of my depth, he nearly added. 'Which is why I just might need your help. After this afternoon I'm not sure I ought to involve you–or if you're willing to be involved. But you said last night that you'd give a lot to find out just what your father did.'

She looked at him in surprise.

'Do you mean there's really something I can do? I wouldn't have thought you–you People of the Hills –would ever use outsiders.'

'They don't–but I do. I've got all sorts of odd characters digging already. You'd be surprised.'

She started guiltily, hand to mouth. 'One of them wouldn't be called Esau, would he?'

'He certainly would.' Esau was Jake's private nom de guerre - it was an ancient joke between them that he grew his own hair shirt, to belie his name.

'I'm sorry. He phoned just about teatime. But he left a number–it's on the pad by the phone, and it's good until 7.30.'

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Audley almost ran to his study. Jake wouldn't phone unless he had come up with something worthwhile.

The number was not one he recognised, and it turned out to be one of the fly-by-night Soho clubs where Jake seemed to spend much of his free time. But they were only too happy to summon Mr Esau.

'Esau?'

'My dear David! Your little girl friend–whom you so shamefully neglect–she remembered to give you my message!'

'She isn't my girl friend.'

'No, of course not. Your secretary-housekeeper with the county accent. How stupid of me to misplace her!'

'Come to the point, Esau.'

'The point? My friend, the point is that I value you so highly that instead of rushing to my morning assignation I put in a call to that other friend of mine.'

Jake's interest in Panin was evidently more than casual to have galvanised him so quickly. But of course Jake was ambitious.

'David, you know that your friend has returned to the scenes of his youthful conquest?'

'I do.' The Israeli Berlin end was good, evidently.

'I never doubted it, even though you carelessly omitted to tell me.

But no matter. My friend mentioned it in his acknowledgement. He promises to give the matter some of his valuable time. But in the meantime he did give us a snippet. Have you ever heard of G

Tower?'

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'No, I haven't.'

'Neither have I. But it seems that your friend spent quite a lot of his time there back in the old days. G Tower–you'd better look it up.

I'm sure you'll have lots of information on it, whatever it was.'

'I shall give it my earnest attention. And that was all?'

'All! At such short notice I think that's not at all bad. But, yes. It is all for the time being–except that there is a small matter that I'd like your advice on.'

The bill, or its first instalment, was about to be presented. With Jake there was always a bill.

'But I won't burden you with it now. My–secretary-housekeeper is waiting for me, as I've no doubt yours is, David. I'll have a word with you next week some time.'

'I shall be at your service.'

Even before he had replaced the phone Audley was weighing the advantages of getting through to the department to have G Tower located quickly against the disadvantages of handing his discovery to others. He rejected the disadvantages almost at once. There just wasn't enough time in the morning for him to do it before driving north. And he knew that secretiveness was another particular occupational vice which he had to watch. Some people tended to become submerged by facts. He always had to fight the urge simply to keep them to himself.

He nerved himself to override protests. The information service was there to be used, but hardly for apparently esoteric intelligence on a Saturday evening.

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But when he got through he was surprised at first by the helpful reception, until it dawned on him that the word really was out.

Stocker must have been as good as his promise. So of course they would establish the identity of G Tower, and with the utmost despatch. And then they would phone him back.

And then they would pass on the details to whomsoever else it also concerned . . .

He returned to the kitchen to find Faith laying supper, as domesticated as any of her predecessors.

'Ham and salad again–Mrs Clark says you live on it through the spring and summer . . . Did your Esau deliver the goods?'

'He may have done. I shall know later this evening.'

She stopped work and faced up to him.

'If I'm going to help you, you know, David, you're going to have to take me into your confidence. If that poor man really was killed this afternoon I've a right to know what I'm letting myself in for.

And I'd prefer to know what I'm doing.'

'That's reasonable enough. Providing, of course, that I can trust you.'

'You want me to tell you that I'd fight for Queen and Country no matter what?'

'Would you?'

'No, I wouldn't. Would you?'

Audley shook his head.

'The same question doesn't apply to me. I'm old-fashioned. But I dummy4