The Melting Man

'No.'

'Far more than ever were of émigré Poles, Russians and all the other run-of-the-mill Europeans. Every time you move you trip over them. Fifty per cent of them are as innocuous as a Band of Hope society. Of the rest, some are intelligence organizations for African states and some are exile organizations wanting to get back into the great wind-of-change game that's going on. Some of them are operated by idealists, but most of them by chisellers. Some of their activities would make you laugh and some would make you cry — and some would curdle your blood. Overall they're a nuisance, but we have to keep an eye on them. I was naturally curious about your interest in Joseph Bavana. He was one of the blood-curdlers, a paid killer.'

'Paid by whom?'

'I don't know. That's why I'm talking to you, old boy.' He stood up. 'Logically — and I've no doubt you've got there before me — if it were you he had wanted to kill, then it must have been because someone didn't want you to carry out O'Dowda's commission for the recovery of whatever it is.'

'O'Dowda says it was a mistake. They wanted him.'

'Could be, could be. And between ourselves, old boy, I wouldn't have shed a tear. But that's off the record.'

'So what,' I said, 'are you doing here?'

He looked genuinely surprised. 'Why, just having a chat. Haven't seen you for ages. Always enjoy talking to you.'

I stood up, too, as he moved to the door.

'It hasn't occurred to you, of course, that O'Dowda might have had Bavana bumped off?'

'I'm sure he did.' He gave me a charming, disarming smile. 'And just as we can never finger the big boys behind the gold-smuggling rackets through London, Beirut and Calcutta, say, though we know them — the same applies to O'Dowda. They give orders, but the chain of command downwards is as thin and elusive as a thread of the finest gossamer.'

'Poetic'

'Not at all, old chap. Gossamer comes from goose-summer, that's early November, when spiders' webs are most seen, and when geese are eaten. And it's always the foolish geese that get eaten. Nice parable there, somewhere.'

'In a minute you'll have me off pâte de foie gras for life.'

'Not you.'

I opened the door for him.

I said, 'Has O'Dowda got a record at the Yard or with Interpol?'

I saw the cat's eyes narrow, and I knew damned well that he had not come here for nothing, certainly not for a cosy chat.

'Not at all. He's a respectable millionaire. All we know about him, you could read in Who's Who — well, almost all.'

'And you want nothing from me?'

'You sound like a guilty bloke that's been called in for questioning and is surprised to find that he's being let go, old boy.'

'I am. You don't waste your time like this normally.'

'Wish I could oblige you. But we don't want anything from you. Of course, that's not to say that if in the run of your work you came across anything which you felt was a serious police matter, well you might let me know. Or, since you will be abroad chasing this car, give Commissaire Maziol a ring at Interpol.'

'How did you know it was a car?'

'My dear old chap, Miggs said so. Just let us know if you come across anything interesting.'

'Like what?'

'Anything that strikes you. We can always do with outside help from the public. Even if it's only an anonymous letter.'

'You've had one about O'Dowda?'

'A little while ago, yes. Can't reveal the contents, naturally.'

'What was the handwriting? Male or female?'

'Couldn't say old chap. It was typed. Unsigned. Well, keep your eyes open.' He went.

Sometimes I thought I went a bit too far in keeping things to myself. But I was a novice compared to them. I didn't like the look of this commission at all. Right from the start it had begun to breed complications. Bavana shooting at me, Julia wanting me to chuck it, and now Guffy going away up Northumberland Avenue, laughing his head off and already knowing that he had me where he wanted me but in no hurry to let me know exactly where that was. I should have been firm and have taken my holiday. But it was too late for that.

I went over to the reference bookcase and pulled out a three-year-old copy of Who's Who — well, who's going to renew it each year at six quid a time? For wrist exercise I carried it back one-handed, all five pounds of it.

O'Dowda was there. Just. And it was clear that he hadn't cared a damn whether he was there or not.

The entry read:

O'DOWDA, Cavan; Chairman of Athena Holdings Ltd; b. 24 Feb. 1903. Educ.: Dublin. Is also Director of number of public companies engaged in commercial and industrial enterprises. Address: Athena House, Park Street, Park Lane, W1. T.: Grosvenor 21835.

There was a lot to fill in between the brief lines. And, I was sure, a lot that could never be filled in, otherwise Guffy would never have been round to see me.

I pulled out the almost as brief account, which Durnford had given me, of Zelia's trip from the château near Evian to Cannes.

On Day One she had left the château at two in the afternoon, driving by herself in the red Mercedes. On her own account she had driven south, through Geneva, Frangy and Seyssel, to a hotel on the west side of Lac Le Bourget.

I took the Who's Who back and found a Michelin map, 'Routes de France'. It was clear at once that a more normal route would have been to have come down through Annecy, Aix-les-Bains and Chambery. But she had explained that. She had plenty of time and wanted to vary her route. She had stayed the night at a hotel called the Ombremont at Le Bour-get-du-Lac. From here, around nine at night, she had put in a call to her father at his Sussex country house. O'Dowda hadn't been there and Durnford had taken the call. She had told Durnford that the next day instead of going straight down to Cannes she might break her journey to stay a couple of days with some friends on the way. She hadn't said who the friends were, or where they lived, and Durnford, the perfect secretary, had not asked for information which had not been proffered.

On Day Two she had left the hotel in the morning, before nine-thirty. This had been established because Durnford, like a perfect secretary, had got in touch with O'Dowda who was in London (probably a do-not-disturb-after-eight night somewhere) and O'Dowda had instructed him to phone the hotel and tell Zelia she was to make the trip straight to Cannes without any delays. Durnford made the call at nine-thirty and Zelia had already left. From then on, through Day Two, Day Three, until the morning of Day Four (when Zelia, on her own account, had found herself at Gap, a town on the Route Napoleon, some 160-odd kilometres south from Le Bourget-du-Lac) her life was a blank. In Gap she had been minus the Mercedes, minus her luggage and minus any memory of what had happened to her since she had left the hotel. Life, since leaving the hotel, had become a void. She had the clothes she stood up in, and her handbag with money. She had hired a car and driven to Cannes and the yacht, where O'Dowda had been impatiently waiting for her. No details of the scene on her arrival, or what had happened after, had been given me — except that no one, including Zelia, could think of any friends of hers or the family who lived in the area between Le Bourget-du-Lac and Gap. Betting on probabilities: for my money, Zelia was a liar. For my money, if she wanted to she could give a blow by blow account of every minute of every missing hour. And with O'Dowda's money I'd been engaged to prove it and find the missing car.

I had trouble with Wilkins after lunch. She'd been to the dentist to have a filling renewed. It was a bit difficult to understand her when she spoke because one half of her jaw was still frozen with novocaine.

Following my usual practice, I dictated to her a simple, straightforward account of what had happened so far for my confidential files, and I could see that she was taking against the whole affair. She sat there as though I were dictating the operation order for the extermination of some mid-European ghetto.