The Melting Man

He fixed me now with his tiny, fat-set blue eyes, all comfortable in his chair, his tartan trews wrinkled up a little to show two inches of big, pale leg above his wrinkled black silk socks, and said, 'You don't seem to be in any hurry to talk business?'

I said, 'I haven't got any business with you. You have business with me. If it's urgent you'd have got it off your chest on the lake.'

He considered this to see whether he liked it then decided he had no feeling either way, and said, 'Miggs gave you a good write-up.'

I said, 'That's what friends are for. But sometimes they exaggerate.'

'How much do you make a year?'

It's funny. They can't keep away from it.

'Less than you spend on fishing and shooting — but if you're going to be a client I'm hoping this is going to be a big year.'

He considered that, too, fractionally, before he laughed. Then, rather surprisingly, he said in a friendly voice, 'You've got the usual conventional idea about millionaires, haven't you? And you've picked one of the two conventional responses. Truculent, to-hell-with-you. The other is an anxious subservience. I get tired of both. Why not just be natural?'

'You're asking for the impossible. But I apologize if I sound truculent. Why not just tell me what the job is and let me get on with it — if I take it.'

'You'll take it — otherwise you wouldn't be here. Anyway, the job is simple. I've lost a motor car. To be exact a Mercedes-Benz 250SL. The registration is 828 Z-9626. It's red, hard-top, 1966 model…'

As he was talking I was thinking that I wouldn't have minded one myself. They sold in England at around three thousand pounds… elegant, distinctive lines, a car designed for zestful driving, modern without being tied to short-lived fashion, bold design and technical perfection… I could hear Miggs giving that patter if he were trying to sell one.

'It was lost, somewhere between Evian and Cannes. My stepdaughter Zelia was driving it. This was two weeks ago.'

He paused and blew a cloud of cigar smoke.

'You notified the police?'

'Yes. But I have no faith in them. They have their hands full of other stuff. They'll be content to wait until it turns up — or if it doesn't, well…'

He shrugged his shoulders.

'If it doesn't, will it break your heart? You're insured against theft, I presume?'

'Yes.'

'Then why do you particularly want this car back?'

'Let's say I do. I don't like losing things. I want it back and I want to know who's had it and where it has been. Every detail.'

We faced one another across almost immobile layers of cigar smoke.

I said, 'You want more than that.'

He smiled at me, cradling the brandy-glass in his big palms. 'Could be.'

'You want something that was in it.'

'Obviously.'

'Hidden in it?'

'Yes. Miggs was right about you.'

'Forget Miggs. A child could read the message. Did your daughter know that something was hidden in it?'

'No.'

'Does she now?'

'No.'

'Or your other daughter?'

'No. And I don't wish it to be known to either of them. Not that it concerns them in any way.'

'And am I to know what is hidden in it?'

'Not unless it becomes absolutely essential for the recovery of the car. Now ask the other question, Mr Carver.'

'Which is?'

'Is whatever is in it something illegal, something prohibited by law, say, drugs, gold bullion, diamonds and so on.'

'Well?'

'It is nothing that would interest the police at all. Something purely private. Let's just say papers.'

'Did you inform the police of these hidden papers?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'Because, admirable though police organizations are, if they knew I wanted the car because of the hidden papers in it, then the fact might leak out in their inquiries — and I don't want it to be known that I don't care a damn about the car, but only what is in it. The fewer people who know, the better. More brandy?'

I shook my head. He refilled his glass.

'Where,' I asked, 'did all this happen?'

'Some place on the way down to Cannes. Durnford will give you what details he has. But to get the full facts you will have to see Zelia. I'm hoping that you will get more out of her than I have been able to.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Although I'm very fond of her, she is very unsympathetic towards me. But the fact is that she stayed at a hotel on the way to Cannes. Next day she drove off… Forty-eight hours later she turned up at Cannes without the car.'

'And what was her story?'

'She hasn't got one.'

'She's got a tongue. She's got to have a story.'

'Not Zelia. Her memory is a complete blank for those forty-eight hours.'

'You believe this?'

'I've had her examined by two of the best amnesia specialists in France. They confirm that she is suffering from loss of memory.'

'People sometimes forget because the truth is too unpleasant to remember.'

'Exactly.'

'And why would you think she'd open up for me?'

'I don't know that she will. In that case your job is so much harder. But if she hasn't lost her memory, then she might let something slip that will help. I want the car back. I want you to get it. I think you're the man to do it.'

'Because Miggs recommended me?'

'Originally, yes. Since then I've made other inquiries. They confirm Miggs entirely. You have weaknesses — some of which I share, I may say — but if you take a job you don't go back on it. Correct?'

'If the money is right.'

'You can write your own terms. See Durnford about that. You have carte blanche for all expenses while you work for me. Everything. That includes any temporary relaxation or pleasure calculated to keep you going in full trim on this job. Over and above all, I'll add a bonus of one thousand pounds if you find the car and the papers.'

'Even though they may not now be in the car?'

'Quite so. But I think they are. No one could find them accidentally.'

I said, 'Why travel important papers in a car driven by your daughter who knew nothing about them?'

He smiled. 'Because they were important.'

'You could have mailed them from Evian to Cannes, registered.'

His smile broadened. 'Come, Mr Carver. Don't tell me you've never heard of mail being lost in transit?'

'And a car can be stolen.'

'Life is full of uncertainties. Can you think of a foolproof way of moving a valuable object from one point to another?'