The Human Factor Part 20

'I'm confident I didn't,' he said.

'Muller doesn't share your confidence.'

'Oh, Muller! What does Muller know about it?' He knows nothing. But he has an intuition.'

'If that's all...'

'You've never been in Africa, Emmanuel. You get to trust an intuition in Africa.'

'Daintry will expect a great deal more than intuition. He wasn't even satisfied with the facts about Davis.'

'Facts?'

'That business of the Zoo and the dentist to take only one example. And Porton. Porton was decisive.

'What are you going to tell Daintry?'

'My secretary tried to get Castle on the phone first thing this morning. There was no reply at all.'

'He's probably gone away with his family for the weekend.'

'Yes. But I've had his safe opened-Muller's notes aren't there. I know what you'll say. Anyone can be care-less. But I thought if Daintry went down to Berkhamstedwell, if he found n.o.body there, it would be an opportunity to have the house looked over discreetly, and if he's in... he'll be surprised to see Daintry, and if he's guilty... he'd he a bit on edge...'

'Have you told 5?'

'Yes, I've spoken to Philips. He's having Castle's phone monitored again. I hope to G.o.d nothing comes of all this. It would mean Davis was innocent.'

'You shouldn't worry so much about Davis. He's no loss to the firm, John. He should never have been recruited. He was inefficient and careless and drank too much. He'd have been a problem sooner or later anyway. But if Muller should be right, Castle will be a serious headache. Aflatoxin can't be used. Everyone knows he's not a heavy drinker. It will have to be the law courts, John, unless we can think of something else. Counsel for the defence. Evidence in camera. How the journalists hate that. Sensational headlines. I suppose Daintry will be satisfied if no one else is. He's a great stickler for doing things the legal way.'

'And here he comes at last,' Sir John Hargreaves said.

Daintry came up the great staircase towards them, slowly. Perhaps he wished to test every tread in turn as though it were a circ.u.mstantial piece of evidence.

'I wish I knew how to begin.'

'Why not as you did with me a little brutally?'

'Ah, but he hasn't your thick skin, Emmanuel.'

3.

The hours seemed very long. Castle tried to read, but no book could relieve the tension. Between one paragraph and another he would be haunted by the thought that somewhere he had left in the house something which would incriminate him. He had looked at every book on every shelf-there was not one he had ever used for coding: War and Peace was safely destroyed. From his study he had taken every sheet of used carbon paper-however innocent-and burnt them: the list of telephone numbers on his desk contained nothing more secret than the butcher's and the doctor's, and yet he felt certain somewhere there must be a clue he had forgotten. He remembered the two men from Special Branch searching Davis's flat; he remembered the lines which Davis had marked with a 'c' in his father's Browning. There would be no traces of love in this house. He and Sarah had never exchanged love letters-love letters in South Africa would have been the proof of a crime.

He had never spent so long and solitary a day. He wasn't hungry, though only Sam had eaten any breakfast, but he told himself one could not tell what might happen before night or where he would eat his next meal. He sat down in the kitchen before a plate of cold ham, but he had only eaten one piece before he realised it was time to listen to the one o'clock news. He listened to the end-even to the last item of football news because one could never be sure-there might be an urgent postcript.

But, of course, there was nothing which in the least concerned him. Not even a reference to young Halliday. It was unlikely there would be; his life from now on was totally in camera. For a man who had dealt for many years with what was called secret information he felt oddly out of touch. He was tempted to make again his urgent SOS, but it had been imprudent to make it even the second time from home. He had no idea where his signal rang, but those who monitored his telephone might well be able to trace the calls. 'The conviction he had felt the evening before that the line had been cut, that he was abandoned, grew with every hour.

He gave what was left of the ham to Buller who rewarded him with a string of spittle on his trousers. He should long before this have taken him out, but he was unwilling to leave the four walls of the house, even to go into the garden. If the police came he wanted to be arrested in his home, and not in the open air with the neighbours' wives peering through their windows. He had a revolver upstairs in a drawer beside his bed, a revolver which he had never admitted to Davis he possessed, a quite legal revolver dating from his days in South Africa. Nearly every white man there possessed a gun. At the time he bought it he had loaded one chamber, the second chamber to prevent a rash shot, and the charge had remained undisturbed for seven years. He thought: I could use it on myself if the police broke in, but he knew very well that suicide for him was out of the question. He had promised Sarah that one day they would be together again.

He read, he put on the television, he read again. A crazy notion struck him to catch a train to London and go to Halliday's father and ask for news. But perhaps already they were watching his house and the station. At half-past four, between the dog and the wolf, as the grey evening gathered, the telephone rang a second time and this time illogically he answered the call. He half hoped to hear Boris's voice, though he knew well enough that Boris would never take the risk of calling him at home.

'The stern voice of his mother came out at him as though she were in the same room. 'Is that Maurice?'

'Yes.'

'I 'm glad you're there. Sarah seemed to think you might have gone away.'

'No, I'm still here.'

'What's all this nonsense between you?'

'It's not nonsense, Mother.'

'I told her she ought to leave Sam with me and go straight back.'

'She's not coming, is she?' he asked with fear. A second parting seemed an impossible thing to bear.

'She refuses to go. She says you wouldn't let her in. That's absurd, of course.'

'It's not absurd at all. If she came I should leave.'

'What on earth has happened between you?'

'You'll know one day.'

'Are you thinking of a divorce? It would be very bad for Sam.'

'At present it's only a question of a separation. Just let things rest for a while, Mother.'

'I don't understand. I hate things I don't understand. Sam wants to know whether you've fed Buller.'

'Tell him I have.'

She rang off. He wondered whether a recorder somewhere was playing over their conversation. He needed a whisky, but the bottle was empty. He went down to what had once been a coal cellar where he kept his wine and spirits. The chute for the delivery of coal had been turned into a sort of slanting window. He looked up and saw on the pavement the reflected light of a street lamp and the legs of someone who must he standing below it.

The legs were not in uniform, but of course they might belong to a plain clothes officer from Special Branch. Whoever it was had placed himself rather crudely opposite the door, but of course the object of the watcher might be to frighten him into some imprudent action. Buller had followed him down the stairs; he too noticed the legs above and began to bark. He looked dangerous, sitting back on his haunches with his muzzle raised, but if the legs had been near enough, he would not have bitten them, he would have dribbled on them. As the two of them watched, the legs moved out of sight, and Buller grunted with disappointment-he had lost an opportunity of making a new friend. Castle found a bottle of J. & B. (it occurred to him that the colour of the whisky no longer had any importance) and went upstairs with it. He thought: If I hadn't got rid of War and Peace I might now have the time to read some chapters for pleasure.

Again restlessness drove him to the bedroom to rummage among Sarah's things for old letters, though he couldn't imagine how any letters he had ever written her could be incriminating, but then in the hands of Special Branch perhaps the most innocent reference could be twisted to prove her guilty knowledge. He didn't trust them not to want that there is always in such cases the ugly desire for revenge. He found nothing when you love and you are together old letters are apt to lose their value. Someone rang the front door h.e.l.l. He stood and listened and heard it ring again and then a third time. He told himself that this visitor was not to be put off by silence and it was foolish not to open the door. If the line after all hadn't been cut there might be a message, an instruction... Without thinking why, he drew out of the drawer by his bed the revolver and put it with its single charge in his pocket.

In the hall he still hesitated. The stained gla.s.s above the door cast lozenges of yellow, green and blue upon the floor. It occurred to him that if he carried the revolver in his hand when he opened the door the police would have the right to shoot him down in self-defence-it would be an easy solution; nothing would ever be publicly proved against a dead man. Then he reproached himself with the thought that none of his actions must be dictated by despair any more than by hope. He left the gun in his pocket and opened the door.

'Daintry,' he exclaimed. He hadn't expected a face he knew.

'Can I come in?' Daintry asked in a tone of shyness. 'Of course.'

Buller suddenly emerged from his retirement. 'He's not dangerous,' Castle said as Daintry stepped back. He caught Buller by the collar, and Buller dropped his spittle between them like a fumbling bridegroom might drop the wedding ring. 'What are you doing here, Daintry?'

'I happened to be driving through and I thought I'd look you up.' The excuse was so palpably untrue that Castle felt sorry for Daintry. He wasn't like one of those smooth, friendly and fatal interrogators who were bred by MI5. He was a mere security officer who could be trusted to see that rules were not broken and to check briefcases.

'Will you have a drink?'

'I'd like one.' Daintry's voice was hoa.r.s.e. He said-it was as though he had to find an excuse for everything'

'It's a cold wet night.'

'I haven't been out all day.'

'You haven't?'

Castle thought: that's a bad slip if the telephone call this morning was from the office. He added, 'Except to take the dog into the garden.'

Daintry took the gla.s.s of whisky and looked long at it and then round the sitting-room, little quick snapshots like a press photographer. You could almost hear the eyelids click. He said, 'I do hope I'm not disturbing you. Your wife...'

'She's not here. I'm quite alone. Except of course for Buller.'

'Buller?'

'The dog.'

The deep silence of the house was emphasised by the two voices. They broke it alternately, uttering unimportant phrases.

'I hope I haven't drowned your whisky,' Castle said. 'Daintry still hadn't drunk. I wasn't thinking...'

'No, no. It's just as I like it.' Silence dropped again like the heavy safety curtain in a theatre.

Castle began with a confidence, As a matter of fact I'm in a bit of trouble. It seemed a useful moment to establish Sarah's innocence.

'Trouble?'

'My wife has left me. With my son. She's gone to my mother's.'

'You mean you've quarrelled?'

'Yes.'

'I'm very sorry,' Daintry said. 'It's awful when these things happen.' He seemed to be describing a situation which was as inevitable as death. He added, 'Do you know the last time we met-at my daughter's wedding? It was very kind of you to come with me to my wife's afterwards. I was very glad to have you with me. But then I broke one of her owls.'

'Yes. I remember.'

'I don't think I even thanked you properly for coming. It was a Sat.u.r.day too. Like today. She was terribly angry. My wife, I mean, about the owl.'

'We had to leave suddenly because of Davis.'

'Yes, poor devil.' Again the safety curtain dropped as though after an old-fas.h.i.+oned curtain line. The last act would soon begin. It was time to go to the bar. They both drank simultaneously.

'What do you think about his death?' Castle asked.

'I don't know what to think. To tell you the truth I try not to think.'

'They believe he was guilty of a leak in my section, don't they?'

'They don't confide much in a security officer. What makes you think that?'

'It's not a normal routine to have Special Branch men in to search when one of us dies.'

'No, I suppose not.'

'You found the death odd too?'

'Why do you say that?'

Have we reversed our roles, Castle thought, am I interrogating him?

'You said just now you tried not to think about his death.'

'Did I? I don't know what I meant. Perhaps it's your whisky. You didn't exactly drown it, you know.'

'Davis never leaked anything to anyone,' Castle said. He had the impression Daintry was looking at his pocket where it sagged on the cus.h.i.+on of the chair with the weight of the gun.

'You believe that?'

'I know it.'

He couldn't have said anything which d.a.m.ned himself more completely. Perhaps after all Daintry was not so bad an interrogator; and the shyness and confusion and self-revelations he had been displaying might really be part of a new method which would put his training as a technician in a higher cla.s.s than MI5's.

'You know it?'

'Yes.'

He wondered what Daintry would do now. He hadn't the power of arrest. He would have to find a telephone and consult the office. The nearest telephone was at the police station at the bottom of King's Road-he would surely not have the nerve to ask if he might use Castle's? And had he identified the weight in the pocket? Was he afraid? I would have time after he leaves to make a run for it, Castle thought, if there was anywhere to run to; but to run without a destination, simply to delay the moment of capture, was an act of panic. He preferred to wait where he was-that would have at least a certain dignity.

'I've always doubted it,' Daintry said, 'to tell you the truth.'

'So they did confide in you?'

'Only for the security checks. I had to arrange those.'

'It was a bad day for you, wasn't it, first to break that owl and then to see Davis dead on his bed?'

'I didn't like what Doctor Percival said.'

'What was that?'