Agatha Christie - Destination Unknown

"Supposing I repeat all that you have told me to my husband?"

Aristides smiled indulgently.

"Ah yes, supposing you do? But will you?"

"I don't know. I – oh, I don't know."

"Ah!" said Mr. Aristides. "You are wise. There is some knowledge women should keep to themselves. But you are tired – and upset. From time to time, when I pay my visits here, you shall be brought to me, and we will discuss many things."

"Let me leave this place -" Hilary stretched her hands out to him. "Oh, let me go away. Let me leave with you when you go. Please! Please!"

He shook his head gently. His expression was indulgent, but there was a faint touch of contempt behind it.

"Now you are talking like a child," he said reprovingly. "How could I let you go? How could I let you spread the story round the world of what you have seen here?"

"Wouldn't you believe me if I swore I wouldn't say a word to anyone?"

"No indeed, I should not believe you," said Mr. Aristides. "I should be very foolish if I believed anything of the kind."

"I don't want to be here. I don't want to stay here in this prison. I want to get out."

"But you have your husband. You came here to join him, deliberately, of your own free will."

"But I didn't know what I was coming to. I'd no idea."

"No," said Mr. Aristides, "you had no idea. But I can assure you this particular world you have come to is a much pleasanter world than the life beyond the Iron Curtain. Here you have everything you need! Luxury, a beautiful climate, distractions…"

He got up and patted her gently on the shoulder.

"You will settle down," he said, confidently. "Ah yes, the red-headed bird in the cage will settle down. In a year, in two years certainly, you will be very happy! Though possibly," he added thoughtfully, "less interesting."

Hilary awoke the following night with a start. She raised herself on her elbow, listening.

"Tom, do you hear?"

"Yes. Aircraft – flying low. Nothing in that. They come over from time to time."

"I wondered -" She did not finish her sentence.

She lay awake thinking, going over and over that strange interview with Aristides.

The old man had got some kind of capricious liking for her.

Could she play upon that?

Could she in the end prevail upon him to take her with him, out into the world again?

Next time he came, if he sent for her, she would lead him on to talk of his dead red-haired wife. It was not the lure of the flesh that would captivate him. His blood ran too coldly now in his veins for that. Besides he had his "young girls." But the old like to remember, to be urged on to talk of times gone by…

Uncle George, who had lived at Cheltenham…

Hilary smiled in the darkness, remembering Uncle George.

Were Uncle George and Aristides, the man of millions, really very different under the skin? Uncle George had had a housekeeper – "such a nice safe woman, my dear, not flashy or sexy or anything like that. Nice and plain and safe." But Uncle George had upset his family by marrying that nice plain woman. She had been a very good listener…

What had Hilary said to Tom? "I'll find a way of getting out of here?" Odd, if the way should prove to be Aristides…

"A message," said Leblanc. "A message at last."

His orderly had just entered and, after saluting, had laid a folded paper before him. He unfolded it, then spoke excitedly.

"This is a report from one of our reconnaissance pilots. He has been operating over one of the selected squares of territory. When flying over a certain position in a mountainous region he observed a signal being flashed. It was in Morse and was twice repeated. Here it is."

He laid the enclosure before Jessop.

He separated off the last two letters with a pencil.

"SL – that is our code for 'Do not acknowledge.'"

"And COG with which the message starts," said Jessop, "is our recognition signal."

"Then the rest is the actual message." He underlined it. "LEPROSIE." He surveyed it dubiously.

"Leprosy?" said Jessop.

"And what does that mean?"

"Have you any important Leper Settlements? Or unimportant ones for that matter?"

Leblanc spread out a large map in front of him. He pointed with a stubby forefinger stained with nicotine.

"Here," he marked it off, "is the area over which our pilot was operating. Let me see now. I seem to recall…"

He left the room. Presently he returned.

"I have it," he said. "There is a very famous medical Research station, founded and endowed by well known philanthropists and operating in that area – a very deserted one, by the way. Valuable work has been done there in the study of Leprosy. There is a Leper Settlement there of about two hundred people. There is also a Cancer Research station, and a Tubercular Sanatorium. But understand this, it is all of the highest authenticity. Its reputation is of the highest. The President of the Republic himself is its Patron."

"Yes," said Jessop appreciatively. "Very nice work, in fact."

"But it is open to inspection at any time. Medical men who are interested in these subjects visit there."

"And see nothing they ought not to see! Why should they? There is no better camouflage for dubious business, than an atmosphere of the highest respectability."

"It could be," Leblanc said dubiously, "I suppose, a halting place, for parties of people bound on a journey. One or two of the mid-European doctors, perhaps, have managed to arrange something like that. A small party of people, like the one we are tracking, could lie perdu there for a few weeks before continuing their journey."

"I think it might be something more than that," said Jessop. "I think it might be – Journey's End."

"You think it is something – big?"

"A Leper Settlement seems to me very suggestive… I believe, under modern treatment, leprosy nowadays is treated at home."

"In civilised communities, perhaps. But one could not do that in this country."

"No. But the word Leprosy still has its association with the Middle Ages when the Leper carried his bell to warn away people from his path. Idle curiosity does not bring people to a Leper Settlement; the people who come are, as you say, the medical profession, interested only in the medical research done there, and possibly the social worker, anxious to report on the conditions under which the Lepers live – all of which are no doubt admirable. Behind that faзade of philanthropy and charity – anything might go on. Who, by the way, owns the place? Who are the philanthropists who endowed it and set it up?"

"That is easily ascertained. A little minute."

He turned shortly, an official reference book in his hand.

"It was established by private enterprise. By a group of philanthropists of whom the chief is Aristides. As you know, he is a man of fabulous wealth, and gives generously to charitable enterprises. He has founded hospitals in Paris and also in Seville. This is, to all intents and purposes, his show – the other benefactors are a group of his associates."

"So – it's an Aristides enterprise. And Aristides was in Fez when Olive Betterton was there."

"Aristides!" Leblanc savoured the full implication. "Mais – c'est colossal!"

"Yes."

"C'est fantastique!"

"Quite."

"Enfin – c'est formidable!"

"Definitely."

"But do you realise how formidable it is?" Leblanc shook an excited forefinger in the other's face. "This Aristides, he has a finger in every pie. He is behind nearly everything. The banks, the Government, the manufacturing industries, armaments, transport! One never sees him, one hardly hears of him! He sits in a warm room in his Spanish castle, smoking, and sometimes he scrawls a few words on a little piece of paper and throws it on the ground, and a secretary crawls forward and picks it up, and a few days later an important banker in Paris blows his brains out! It is like that!"