Блейз Клемент - Cat Sitter Among The Pigeons

“I think there was something -” Edmundson spoke cautiously and with reluctance. “Something important that Bob might have wanted to tell me.”

“Ah,” said Colonel Pikeaway, with the air of a man who has at last pulled a cork out of a bottle. “Interesting. Let's have what you know.”

“It's very little, sir. Bob and I had a kind of simple code. We'd cottoned on to the fact that all the telephones in Ramat were being tapped. Bob was in the way of hearing things at the palace, and I sometimes had a bit of useful information to pass on to him. So if one of us rang the other up and mentioned a girl or girls, in a certain way, using the term 'out of this world' for her, it meant something was up!”

“Important information of some kind or other?”

“Yes. Bob rang me up using those terms the day the whole show started. I was to meet him at our usual rendezvous - outside one of the banks. But rioting broke out in that particular quarter and the police closed the road. I couldn't make contact with Bob or he with me. He flew Ali out that same afternoon.”

“I see,” said Pikeaway. “No idea where he was telephoning from?”

“No. It might have been anywhere.”

“Pity.” He paused and then threw out casually:

“Do you know Mrs. Sutcliffe?”

“You mean Bob Rawlinson's sister? I met her out there, of course. She was there with a schoolgirl daughter. I don't know her well.”

“Were she and Bob Rawlinson very close?”

Edmundson considered.

“No, I shouldn't say so. She was a good deal older than he was, and rather much of the elder sister. And he didn't much like his brother-in-law - always referred to him as a pompous ass.”

“So he is! One of our prominent industrialists - and how pompous can they get! So you don't think it likely that Bob Rawlinson would have confided an important secret to his sister?”

“It's difficult to say - but no, I shouldn't think so.”

“I shouldn't either,” said Colonel Pikeaway.

He sighed. “Well, there we are. Mrs. Sutcliffe and her daughter are on their way home by the long sea route. Dock at Tilbury on the 'Eastern Queen' tomorrow.”

He was silent for a moment or two, while his eyes made a thoughtful survey of the young man opposite him. Then, as though having come to a decision, he held out his hand and spoke briskly.

“Very good of you to come.”

“I'm only sorry I've been of such little use. You're sure that there's nothing I can do?”

“No. No. I'm afraid not.”

John Edmundson went out.

The discreet young man came back.

“Thought I might have sent him to Tilbury to break the news to the sister,” said Pikeaway. “Friend of her brother's - all that. But I decided against it. Inelastic type. That's the F.O. training. Not an opportunist. I'll send what's his name.”

“Derek?”

“That's right,” Colonel Pikeaway nodded approval. “Getting to know what I mean quite well, ain't you?”

“I try my best, sir.”

“Trying's not enough. You have to succeed. Send me along Ronnie first. I've got an assignment for him.”

Cat Among the Pigeons

II

Colonel Pikeaway was apparently just going off to sleep again when the young man called Ronnie entered the room. He was tall, dark, muscular, and had a gay and rather impertinent manner.

Colonel Pikeaway looked at him for a moment or two and then grinned.

“How'd you like to penetrate into a girls' school?” he asked.

“A girls' school?” The young man lifted his eyebrows. “That will be something new! What are they up to? Making bombs in the chemistry class?”

“Nothing of that kind. Very superior high-class school. Meadowbank.”

“Meadowbank!” the young man whistled. “I can't believe it!”

“Hold your impertinent tongue and listen to me. Princess Shaista, first cousin and only near relative of the late Prince Ali Yusuf of Ramat, goes there this next term. She's been at school in Switzerland up to now.”

“What do I do? Abduct her?”

“Certainly not. I think it possible she may become a focus of interest in the near future. I want you to keep an eye on developments. I'll have to leave it vague. I don't know what or who may turn up, but if any of our more unlikable friends seem to be interested, report it. A watching brief, that's what you've got.” The young man nodded.

“And how do I get in to watch? Shall I be the drawing master?”

“The visiting staff is all female.” Colonel Pikeaway looked at him in a considering manner. “I think I'll have to make you a gardener.”

“A gardener?”

“Yes. I'm right in thinking you know something about gardening?”

“Yes, indeed. I ran a column on 'Your Garden' in the Sunday Mail for a year in my younger days.”

“Tush!” said Colonel Pikeaway. “That's nothing! I could do a column on gardening myself without knowing a thing about it - just crib from a few luridly illustrated nurserymen's catalogues and a gardening encyclopedia. I know all the patter. 'Why not break away from tradition and sound a really tropical note in your border this year? Lovely Amabellis Gossiporia, and some of the wonderful new Chinese hybrids of Sinensis Maka foolia. Try the rich blushing beauty of a dump of Sinistra Hopaless, not very hardy but they should be all right against a west wall.'” He broke off and grinned. “Nothing to it! The fools buy the things and early frost sets in and kills them and they wish they'd stuck to wallflowers and forget-me-nots! No, my boy, I mean the real stuff. Spit on your hands and use the spade, be well acquainted with the compost heap, mulch diligently, use the Dutch hoe and every other kind of hoe, trench really deep for your sweet peas - and all the rest of the beastly business. Can you do it?”

“All these things I have done from my youth upward!”

“Of course you have. I know your mother. Well, that's settled.”

“Is there a job going as gardener at Meadowbank?”

“Sure to be,” said Colonel Pikeaway. “Every garden in England is short staffed. I'll write you some nice testimonials. You'll see, they'll simply jump at you. No time to waste, summer term begins on the 29th.”

“I garden and I keep my eyes open, is that right?”

“That's it, and if any oversexed teenagers make passes at you, Heaven help you if you respond. I don't want you thrown out on your ear too soon.”

He drew a sheet of paper toward him. “What do you fancy as a name?”

“Adam would seem appropriate.”

“Last name?”

“How about Eden?”

“I'm not sure I like the way your mind is running. Adam Goodman will do very nicely. Go and work out your past history with Jenson and then get cracking.” He looked at his watch. “I've no more time for you. I don't want to keep Robinson waiting. He ought to be here by now.”

Adam (to give him his new name) stopped as he was moving to the door.

“Robinson?” he asked curiously. “Is he coming?”

“I said so.” A buzzer went on the desk. “There he is now. Always punctual, Mr. Robinson.”

“Tell me,” said Adam curiously. “Who is he really? What's his real name?”

“His name,” said Colonel Pikeaway, “is Mr. Robinson. That's all I know, and that's all anybody knows.”

Cat Among the Pigeons

III

The man who came into the room did not look as though his name was, or could ever have been Robinson. It might have been Demetrius, or Isaacstein, or Perenna - though not one or the other in particular. He was not definitely Jewish, nor definitely Greek nor Portuguese nor Spanish, nor South American. What did seem highly unlikely was that he was an Englishman called Robinson. He was fat and well dressed, with a yellow face, melancholy dark eyes, a broad forehead, and a generous mouth that displayed rather overlarge very white teeth. His hands were well shaped and beautifully kept. His voice was English with no trace of accent.