The young man put on an arch and knowing air. “If you ask me,” he said, “he was up to something else. However,” he went on, pursing his lips, “it is none of our business. It’s not our side of the work. We must mind our own business.” Methuen agreed gravely and let the matter rest.
The car rambled out towards the wooded residential area of the town and after exploring a number of leafy and ill-paved roads stopped before a villa on the balcony of which sat a young fair-headed man taking his breakfast. “That’s the Major,” said Methuen’s companion as the young man rose from the table and came out to the gate.
“I’m Judson,” said Methuen, shaking hands.
“I know,” said Carter with a twinkle in his eye as he led the way across the garden to the terrace where breakfast for two had been laid. “We’ve had a series of signals about your coming to inspect the accounts. Will you breakfast first or have a bath?”
Methuen chose to have a bath and a shave. While he was unpacking his suitcase Carter came and sat on a chair in his room. “Can one talk freely here?” asked Methuen. The young man nodded. “Servants ate at the other end of the house. There’s a microphone in the drawing-room down which I sometimes shout obscenities, but this place is not wired for sound.”
“I gather”, said Methuen, shaving, “that a distinctly chilly reception awaits me. I saw all the telegrams from the Ambassador.”
“Yes. He was dead against your coming. Afraid of creating further trouble. And frankly I myself wondered what the point was unless of course.… But you would be mad to try and explore the territory that Peter broke into. It’s probably alive with police. I wanted to go but was refused permission.”
“You see,” said Methuen, “SQq thought I might be of use as I know that stretch of mountains awfully well indeed; and I can speak the language quite well.”
“So did Peter.”
“I know.”
“Have they discovered that he was using the duty run to Skoplje as a ferry?”
“I don’t know. There’s a place in the road where the police car drops behind owing to the dust. Sometimes as much as a quarter of a mile. Plenty of time to slow down and drop somebody off. As a matter of fact Peter made a habit of dropping off duty cars on their consular runs. He explored the area around Nish — we have a consulate there too, in the same way.”
“He was lucky to get away with it.”
“It was risky certainly; but you see we were working to find out something about the Royalist underground. I suppose you’ve seen the detailed summaries of all the arrests, and the lists of equipment which they claim to have taken.”
“What can be behind it?”
“Come and have some breakfast. We can talk about it when you’ve made your number with the Ambassador.”
“If and when,” agreed Methuen.
They walked out on to the sunny terrace to take their breakfast.
CHAPTER FIVE. The Ambassador Doubts
“The Ambassador doubts very much — he very much doubts whether you will be of any use to the Mission,” said the portly first secretary, joining the tips of his fingers together and pouting. “Nevertheless he has asked to see you. I feel I must warn you, however, that he very much doubts.”
“Yes. Yes,” said Methuen mildly. “I understand.”
The first secretary pressed a bell and lifted his desk-telephone. “Marriot here, sir,” he said. The receiver cracked shrilly. “I would like to bring Mr. Judson up to you.”
In silence they walked across the large carpeted Chancery where the six young secretaries bent to their work in silence, across a dismal looking hall-way, to the lift. As they began the slow ascent the first secretary hummed a little tune under his breath. He led the way down a series of well-lit corridors lined with hunting scenes and into a magnificent room where the Ambassador stood in an attitude of deep dejection before a rippling log fire.
“Colonel Methuen, sir,” said the secretary, retreating and shutting the door on his charge.
“Come in,” said the Ambassador.
“Good morning,” said Methuen.
There was a long and chilly silence. Sir John was a tall and graceful figure of a man, in his early sixties, and with a fine head of silver hair which he wore closely cropped. He was dressed in a black coat and striped trousers with a collar of old-fashioned cut. He regarded Methuen for a while in silence with an absent-minded air before asking him to sit down and offering him a cigarette which he lit for him. “Colonel Methuen,” he said quietly, “I know the work of your people and admire it very much.” It was an unexpected compliment but none the less pleasing for a soldier. “I don’t doubt you’ve seen my telegrams,” went on Sir John in the same quiet tone, and Methuen admitted that he had. “I must say, sir,” he said, “I fully appreciate the delicacy and difficulty of your mission here; and I sincerely hope that you won’t find me any trouble to you.”
Sir John sat down and sighed, and Methuen could see his face become suddenly tired and old-looking. “Peter Anson is a great loss to us,” said the old man, joining his hands together. “I can’t disguise the fact. He was not only charming and intelligent. He was a first-class officer. But he had no business to exceed his brief by exploring the country illegally. The mere fact of a man attached to a diplomatic mission doing that brings discredit on us. It makes our work infinitely harder, it ruins confidence in us. You will understand that.”
“I do, sir,” said Methuen.
“I am anxious that you should not add to the burden by doing the same thing. You may think it a selfish view. You see our work is based on confidence. It is not done in a day but over a period of years. One incident like this can destroy confidence which has taken us a year or more to build up. Now Dombey seems to think—”
“As a matter of fact, sir,” said Methuen, “Dombey ordered me to stay here in Belgrade. It was my own idea to follow Anson to try and discover how he met his death. I know the area well. And as a matter of fact, quite apart from anything else, I was hoping to fish a river I knew many years ago.”
“Fishing?” the Ambassador pricked up his ears. “My dear chap, how on earth can you hope—?”
“I was proposing to go native for a week or so and explore the mountains where Anson went to fish. There are three or four small rivers there packed with trout. I know it sounds silly.”
A new and purposeful gleam lit the Ambassador’s tired eyes as he heard this. “Fishing,” he said, under his breath, and Methuen saw a smile beginning to dawn in his eyes. “You solemnly intend to go fishing?” He patted the blotter on his desk with a white hand and his eyes twinkled.
“After all, sir, I gather Anson managed a few illicit weekends. It should not be impossible. The mountains hereabouts used to be quite deserted. They can’t have changed so very much.”
“I must say,” said Sir John, and note of envy crept into his voice, “it is maddening to live here and be unable to fish. This limitation on our movements is galling. I fish myself, you know.”
“Splendid. Then perhaps you won’t think my idea quite mad. You see,” Methuen went on in a burst of confidence, “I think I could easily pass as a Serb at a pinch, and I wouldn’t really feel more out of place in this area than you would in your home county in England. The whole thing has been most carefully considered, sir — the mission, not the fishing — and it is nowhere near as foolhardy as it sounds.”
“I see,” said Sir John, and thought profoundly for a moment. Then he got up abruptly and walked over to the great wall-map hanging behind his desk. “Where exactly would you go if I gave you permission to?” Smiling, Methuen followed him and with a brown finger touched the mountain range in question. “Exactly,” said the Ambassador triumphantly. “So would I. These tributaries up here for example. They—”