Agatha Christie - Passenger to Frankfurt

'Well,' said Lord Altamount. 'Got anything new for us? Diagrams? Circles? Bubbles?'

He seemed faintly amused.

'Not exactly,' said Mr Robinson imperturbably, 'it's more like plotting the course of a river –'

'River?' said Lord Altamount. 'What sort of a river?'

'A river of money,' said Mr Robinson, in the slightly apologetic voice he was wont to use when referring to his speciality. 'It's really just like a river, money is — coming from somewhere and definitely going to somewhere. Really very interesting — that is, if you are interested in these things — It tells its own story, you see –'

James Kleek looked as though he didn't see, but Altamount said, 'I understand. Go on.'

'It's flowing from Scandinavia — from Bavaria — from the USA — from South-east Asia — fed by lesser tributaries on the way –'

'And going — where?'

'Mainly to South America — meeting the demands of the now securely established Headquarters of Militant Youth –'

'And representing four of the five intertwined Circles you showed us — Armaments, Drugs, Scientific and Chemical Warfare Missiles as well as Finance?'

'Yes — we think we know now fairly accurately who controls these various groups –'

'What about Circle J — Juanita?' asked James Kleek.

'As yet we cannot be sure.'

'James has certain ideas as to that,' said Lord Altamount. 'I hope he may be wrong — yes, I hope so. The initial J is interesting. What does it stand for — Justice? Judgment?'

'A dedicated killer,' said James Kleek. 'The female of the species is more deadly than the male.'

'There are historical precedents,' admitted Altamount. 'Jael setting butter in a lordly dish before Sisera — and afterwards driving the nail through his head. Judith executing Holofernes, and applauded for it by her countrymen. Yes, you may have something there.'

'So you think you know who Juanita is, do you?' said Mr Robinson. 'That's interesting.'

'Well, perhaps I'm wrong, sir, but there have been things that made me think –'

'Yes,' said Mr Robinson, 'We have all had to think, haven't we? Better say who you think it is, James.'

'The Countess Renata Zerkowski.'

'What makes you pitch upon her?'

'The places she's been, the people she's been in contact with. There's been too much coincidence about the way she has been turning up in different places, and all that. She's been in Bavaria . She's been visiting Big Charlotte there. What's more, she took Stafford Nye with her. I think that's significant –'

'You think they're in this together?' asked Altamount.

'I wouldn't like to say that. I don't know enough about him, but…' he paused.

'Yes,' said Lord Altamount, 'there have been doubts about him. He was suspected from the beginning.'

'By Henry Horsham?'

'Henry Horsham for one, perhaps. Colonel Pikeaway isn't sure, I imagine. He's been under observation. Probably knows it, too. He's not a fool.'

'Another of them,' said James Kleek savagely. 'Extraordinary, how we can breed them, how we trust them, tell 'em our secrets, let them know what we're doing, go on saying: "If there's one person I'm absolutely sure of, it's — oh, Mclean, or Burgess, or any of the lot." And now — Stafford Nye.'

'Stafford Nye, indoctrinated by Renata alias Juanita,' said Mr Robinson.

'There was that curious business at Frankfurt airport,' said Kleek, 'and there was the visit to Cahrlotte. Stafford Nye, I gather, has since been in South America with her. As for she herself — do we know where she is now?'

'I daresay Mr Robinson does,' said Lord Altamount. 'Do you, Mr Robinson?'

'She's in the United States . I've heard that after staying with friends in Washington or near it, she was in Chicago , then in California and that she went from Austin to visit a top-flight scientist. That's the last I've heard.'

'What's she doing there?'

'One would presume,' said Mr Robinson in his calm voice, 'that she is trying to obtain information.'

'What information?'

Mr Robinson sighed. 'That is what one wishes one knew. One presumes that it is the same information that we are anxious to obtain, and that she is doing it on our behalf. But one never knows — it may be for th other side.'

He turned to look at Lord Altamount.

'Tonight, I understand, you are travelling to Scotland . Is that right?'

'Quite right.'

'I don't think he ought to, sir,' said James Kleek. He turned an anxious face to his employer. 'You've not been so well lately, sir. It'll be a very tiring journey whichever way you go. Air or train. Can't you leave it to Munro and Horsham?'

'At my age it's a waste of time to take care,' said Lord Altamount. 'If I can be useful I would like to die in harness, as the saying goes.'

He smiled at Mr Robinson.

'You'd better come with us, Robinson.'

The Squadron Leader wondered a little what it was all about. He was accustomed to being left only partly in the picture. That was Security's doing, he supposed. Taking no chances. He'd done this sort of thing before more than once. Flying a plane of people out to an unlikely spot, with unlikely passengers, being careful to ask no questions except such as were of an entirely factual nature. He knew some of his passengers on this flight but not all of them. Lord Altamount he recognized. An ill man, a very sick man, he thought, a man who, he judged, kept himself alive by sheer willpower. The keen hawk-faced man with him was his special guard dog, presumably. Seeing not so much to his safety as to his welfare. A faithful dog who never left his side. He would have with him restoratives, stimulants, all the medical box of tricks. The Squadron Leader wondered why there wasn't a doctor also in attendance. It would have been an extra precaution. Like a death's head, the old man looked. A noble death's head. Something made of marble in a museum. Henry Horsham the Squadron Leader knew quite well. He knew several of the Security lot. And Colonel Munro, looking slightly less fierce than usual, rather more worried. Not very happy on the whole. There was also a large, yellow-faced man. Foreigner, he might be. Asiatic? What was he doing, flying in a plane to the North of Scotland? The Squadron Leader said deferentially to Colonel Munro:

'Everything laid on, sir? The car is here waiting.'

'How far exactly is the distance?'

'Seventeen miles, sir, roughish road but not too bad. There are extra rugs in the car.'

'You have your orders? Repeat, please, if you will, Squadron Leader Andrews.'

The pilot repeated them and the Colonel nodded his head in approval. When the car finally left, the pilot watched it vanish, thinking to himself why those strange people were travelling through a desert region to reach an old castle where an old man lived without friends or visitors. Horsham would know, he thought. Horsham knew about a lot of strange things. Oh, Horsham! — he wasn't the kind who told anything.

The car was driven with grat dilligence and care. It finally came to a gravel road and stopped at the gates. It was a building with lots of little stone turrets. There were lights on both sides. The door opened before they had time to ring the bell or ask for admittance.

An old Scotch woman of about sixty years with a dark and severe face was standing in the entrance. The driver helped the passengers out of the car.

James Kleek and Horsham helped Lord Altamount and supported him on the steps. The old Scotch drew back to one side and made a courteous bow. She said:

'Good evening, your excellency. The master is awaiting you. We have rooms ready with lighted fires for each one of you.'

Another person came into the room. A tall, slim woman in her fifties, but who was still attractive. Her black hair was parted in the middle, she had a high forehead, a delicate nose and tan skin.