He looked in his desk, produced a pamphlet bound in a vermillion folder, entitled “The Soviet Movement in Britain, by Marcus Barker.” Angela and Nigel sat side by side and began to read it.
Alleyn rang up Fox, who was at the Yard.
“Hullo, Brer Fox. Any news?”
“Hullo, sir. Well, I don’t know that I’ve got any thing much for you. Inspector Boys checked up on that heredity business. It seems to be quite O.K. Sir Derek’s father was what you might call a bit wanting, very queer old gentleman he seems to have been. There’s a great-uncle who fancied he was related to the Royal Family and did himself in a very peculiar manner with a hedger’s knife, and a great-aunt who started some religious affair and had to be shut up over it. She was always undressing herself, it seems.”
“Really? What about Ruth?”
“Well, as soon as you rang off, I called at Miss O’Callaghan’s house to inspect the hot-water cistern and I had a cup of tea with the cook and the housemaid. They were both rather talkative ladies and full of l’affaire O’Callaghan,” said Fox with one of his excursions into French. “They like Miss O’Callaghan all right, but they think she’s a bit eccentric. It seems she was very much attached to her brother and it seems she’s very thick with this chemist affair — Mr. Harold Sage. It seems he visits her a great deal. The housemaid gave it as her opinion that they were courting. Miss O’Callaghan takes a lot of his medicines.”
“Say it with soda-mints? Anything more?”
“One useful bit of information, sir. Mr. Sage is a Communist.”
“The devil he is! Bless me, Fox, that’s a plum. Sure?”
“Oh, yes — quite certain, I should say. He’s always leaving his literature about. Cook showed me a pamphlet. One of the Marcus Barker lot, it was.”,
Alleyn glanced through the study door at Nigel and Angela sitting very close together, their heads bent over the vermilion leaflet.
“Did you gather if Miss O’Callaghan sympathised with these views?” he asked.
At the other end of the telephone Fox blew his nose thoughtfully.
“Well, no; it seems not. Nina, that’s the housemaid, said she thought the lady was trying to influence him the other way. She gave it as her opinion that Sir Derek would have had a fit if he’d known what was going on.”
“Highly probable. You’ve done a good bit of work there, Fox. What a success you are with the ladies!”
“I’m more at home below-stairs,” said Fox simply, “and the cook was a very nice sort of woman. Is that all, sir?”
“Unless you’ve any more gossip. See you later.”
“That’s right, sir. Au revoir.”
“Bung-oh, you old devil.”
Alleyn returned to the study and repeated the gist of Fox’s information. “See if you can hear anything of this Sage who is Miss O’Callaghan’s soul-mate,” he said. “He may be there to-night. Bathgate, I’m just going to change. Won’t be five minutes. Ask Vassily to call a taxi and give yourself a drink.”
He vanished into his tiny dressing-room, where they heard him whistling very sweetly in a high key.
“Darling,” said Nigel, “this is like old times. You and I on the warpath.”
“I won’t have you getting into trouble,” said Angela. “You did last time, you know.”
“That was because I was so much in love I couldn’t think.”
“Indeed? And I suppose that no longer applies?”
“Do you? Do you?”
“Nigel — darling, this is no moment for dalliance.”
“Yes, it is.”
Alleyn’s whistling drifted into the silent room. “Hey, Robin, jolly Robin, tell me how thy lady does,” whistled the inspector. In a very short time he was back again, incredibly changed by a dirty chin, a very ill-cut shoddy suit, a cheap-smart overcoat, a cap, a dreadful scarf, and pointed shoes. His hair was combed forward under the cap.
“Oh!” exclaimed Angela, “I can’t bear it — you always look so frightfully well turned out and handsome.”
To Nigel’s amusement Inspector Alleyn turned red in the face, and for the first time in their acquaintance seemed at a loss for an answer.
“Has no one ever told you you are handsome, inspector?” pursued Angela innocently.
“Fox raves over me,” said Alleyn. “What are you standing there for Bathgate, with that silly grin on your face? Have you ordered the taxi? Have you had a drink?”
Nigel had done neither of these things. However, this was soon remedied and in a couple of minutes they were in a taxi, heading for the Embankment.
“We’ll walk the last part of the way,” said Alleyn. “Here are your tickets. We got these three with a good deal of difficulty. The brethren are becoming rather exclusive. Now do be careful. Remember The Times criticised me for employing Bright Young People in the Frantock case. Repeat your lesson.”
They did this, interrupting each other a good deal, but giving the gist of his instructions.
“Right. Now it’s only eleven-twenty. We’re early, but there will be plenty of people there already. With any luck I’ll spot Banks and you may get near her. If not, drift in her direction afterwards. I’ll be near the door. As you come out brush up against me, and if you’ve been shown the Sage, point him out to each other so that I can hear you. See? Good. Here’s where we get out, for fear of seeming proud.”
He stopped the taxi. They were still down by the river. The air felt chilly and dank, but exciting. The river, busy with its night traffic, had an air of being apart and profoundly absorbed. There were the wet black shadows, broken lights, and the dark, hurried flow of the Thames towards the sea. London’s water-world was about its nightly business. The roar of the streets became unimportant and remote down here, within sound of shipping sirens and the cold lap of deep water against stone.
Alleyn hurried them along the Embankment for a short way and then turned off somewhere near Blackfriars Underground Station. They went up a little dark street that resembled a perspective in a woodcut. A single street lamp, haloed in mist, gave accent to shadows as black as printer’s ink. Beyond the lamp a flight of stone steps led dramatically downwards. They followed these steps, came out in a narrow alley, took several more turns and fetched up at last by an iron stairway.
“Up you go,” said Alleyn. “We’ve arrived.”
The stairs ended in an iron landing which rang coldly under their feet. Here, by a closed door, stood a solitary man, who struck his hands together and blew on his fingers. Alleyn showed him his ticket, which he inspected by the light of an electric torch. Nigel and Angela followed. The man flashed his torch on their faces, a disconcerting business.
“New, aren’t you?” he said to Nigel.
“Yes,” said Angela quickly, “and terribly excited. Will it be a good meeting?”
“Should be,” he answered, and opened the door behind him. They went through and found themselves in a narrow passage lit by a solitary globe at the far end. Under this lamp stood another man, who watched them steadily as they came towards him. Angela took Nigel’s arm.
“ ‘Evening,” said Alleyn.
“ ‘Evening, comrade,” said the man self-consciously. “You’re early to-night.”
“That’s right. Many here?”
“Not many yet. Show your tickets, please.” He turned to the others. “You newcomers?”