Читать книгу The Mind Readers - Margery Allingham - Страница 4

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The bedroom half of the converted Army hut had been done over at intervals all the time they had been there, which was almost eighteen months, but it still looked very like the bedroom end of a converted Army hut. Helena Ferris, who was sitting at her dressing table touching her newly tinted lips with a tissue, caught a fresh aspect of the irons in the roof through the looking glass.

“Martin. Suppose we hung a lot of cheap stage jewelry—pearls and gold chains and colored-glass diamonds—from those things. Do you think it would suggest a gold-rush-town bar in the movies?” she inquired.

“No,” said her husband, and added, not unreasonably, “why the hell should it?”

“I don’t know. I just thought it might.”

He sighed. “Who wants to sleep in a gold-rush-town bar in the movies, anyway? I just want to sleep with you, preferably anywhere else. I am several sorts of heel to make you stay on this Godforsaken island. But not all research stations are like this. This is only Godley’s and Lord Ludor’s version. You haven’t married a natural whelk.”

She laughed and turned back to the glass. “Poor old Martin! You’re not making me stay. I’m off for the whole half-term weekend with my beloved Sam and the rest of my family. Why don’t you play truant and come with me? Paggen Mayo can’t kill you or even sack you, can he?”

He had been lying on the bed and now sat up and looked at her appraisingly, ignoring her question.

“Whackey!” he said. “I’d almost forgotten you could look like that. Hell! That’s a dangerous remark to make! Love you in slacks, too.”

She was beautiful, two years younger than himself, and she looked now as he had always liked to see her—in a skirt and all dolled up for the city. She was very slender and naturally graceful, with deep-gold hair brushed very carefully into a long bob. Her eyes were a true gray, and she was clever and looked it without any of the arrogance or aloofness or, worse still, the overshrewdness which so often goes with brains. He loved best her gaiety and an inbred elegance, a most attractive mixture of serenity and distinction which made him feel good whenever he looked at her. She was his and he adored her and his conviction was growing that this was a darn dangerous place to keep her.

He watched her slip the chunky amber bracelets on her narrow wrists and appreciated the inspiration which had made her wear them with the short golden wool jacket of her suit. Martin was an elegant young man himself by nature. He was from New England and was tall and very neatly made with long bones, a pale skin and dark hair and eyes, but just now he was uncomfortably aware of being at a disadvantage in the abominable slacks and oiled jersey which were almost a must with Paggen Mayo’s team while working.

He moved over to the one window. All those in the front of the hut were shuttered against the ferocious north wind which roared over the saltings, but the back one had a “southern aspect,” as the Ferrises took a derisive delight in reminding each other. At the moment the scene outside was a somewhat overdrawn picture of utter desolation. A thin autumn mist spread over the whole expanse of the East Coast estuary. The tide had been out for hours and the sea was no more than a bright trickle in the gutter of a clay channel. There was no sign of life whatever. Not a sail, not a shellfish gatherer. It was a scene of despair in a desolate world and was so completely dreary that it made him laugh.

“I wish Paggen would hurry if he’s coming,” he said over his shoulder. “I did my best to stop him, but he’d made up his mind. You know what he’s like.”

Helena did not speak for a moment; then she said casually: “He thinks Professor Tabard has insulted him, doesn’t he?”

“Who told you that?” Martin was genuinely curious and rather surprised. “I shouldn’t have put it as fiercely as that. He was peeved because Tabard pretended not to understand him the other day; perhaps he couldn’t. They’re very different types of mind. It was nothing, though. Who told you?”

“His wife.”

“Oh.”

There was a long pause until she said, “How long will he be? My train goes at Tudwick at eleven-fifteen, and it’s the last until three-thirty this afternoon, so I mustn’t miss it. Albert and Amanda can’t get to London before lunch, so I said I’d meet the children. Why does Paggen Mayo want to see us together? Do you know?”

He turned back from the window and came toward her and she rose so that he put his arms round her.

“I don’t know,” he said awkwardly, his lips close to hers. “He’s got a sudden ‘thing’ about security. I rather suspect that he has decided it would be safer to raise his ban on wives’ knowing anything about the work done here than to have them speculate. It’s an idea he’s had some time, and my bet is that he wants to come and talk about it.”

“But he can’t!” She was staring at him in horror. “He can’t come out with all that now, not when I’m trying to catch a train!”

They both laughed, but afterward he stood looking at her helplessly. “That’s an attitude which isn’t going to help, is it?” he demanded. “Nor is it going to be a good idea to tell him that you’ve hardly been able to live here for eighteen months without getting a pretty clear idea of what your husband is up to. Nor that you can’t see that there is anything to be very secret about. If he gets here before you go and he’s in full flight, you’ll just have to let him talk, I’m afraid, sweetie.”

“Oh, Martin!”

She did not pull back from him but turned her head so that her face was held away from his own. He recognized her mood gloomily.

“Sam will be O.K.,” he said earnestly. “He’ll have Edward with him—who is over twelve. They’re not infants. They’ve got to St. Peter’s Gate Square on their own before.”

“Of course they have, dear; but I want to be there. Sam is going to be heartbroken when he finds you’re not going to get leave, and he’s sure to be worked up over this libel suit....”

“Worked up? He’ll be tickled to death. I thought the solicitor was taking his evidence at the rectory. He’ll only be making a preliminary statement. The examiner is being sued, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but they want Sam’s evidence for the defense. It’s against his own form master, whom he likes. They think he may have seen the young man open the old boy’s brief case and look at the exam papers. I don’t know what the school thinks it’s doing letting it happen at all! It’s very upsetting to a small boy.”

She drew back from him and he thought how lovely she was and could not resist taking a little stab at her.

“Who sent Sam away? Who moved heaven and earth to get him sent to boarding school at the earliest possible moment, despite the rules of this place against kids’ going back and forth?”

“I only did it because you and Paggen were experimenting with him.”

“Experimenting! For God’s sake ...!”

They were so near the old quarrel that its breath touched them, and they both fell silent. Martin spoke first, miserably aware that he could only repeat a protestation made too often before.

“We only tried him out with a couple of ESP tests, none as shattering as a game of ticktacktoe. He was very good at it, but because we couldn’t let you string along and play too, you suddenly rushed off to London and persuaded your influential relatives to get the security rule stretched so the kid could go to school—thereby causing a lot of jealousy, let me tell you.”

“I know,” she said at last. “I’m sorry. But I’m glad he went.”

There was another long pause until she said, “Melisande Mayo came and told me a long rigmarole about sending her girls to finishing school in the spring. Surely they’re too old for that sort of thing now? The elder must be eighteen. Is Melisande all right, Martin?”

“All right?” He was lighting a cigarette and did not look at her. “I’d say she’s just bored like every other woman here. She’s older than we are. I wouldn’t take much notice of anything she said if I were you.”

“You’re telling me! Paggen may be a genius, but he must be hell to live with. Did you realize his name wasn’t Paggen, by the way?”

“Isn’t it?”

“No. He found it in the list of the first subscribers to the Materia Medica and adopted it because it sounded exciting. I bet that woman wasn’t christened Melisande either! Mayo’s real name is Paul, or it was when he was working in Canada in fifty-nine.”

“So what?” Martin was irritated. “It’s probably true. He has that kind of romantic streak. Those intensely practical people sometimes have. It makes him very human. Where did you get hold of the tale?”

Helena had the grace to look ashamed of herself. “I ought not to have repeated it. I promised I wouldn’t. I was gossiping with the staff ... trying to ingratiate myself so that I was certain to get the car to the station this morning.” She caught her breath. “Don’t listen to me! I don’t mean to be this sort of stinker.”

Her husband met her eyes, and presently they both laughed, albeit a little regretfully.

“The whole setup is crazy and a little degrading. I hand you that,” he agreed. “Fred Arnold told you, I suppose? He knows most things. That’s a strange guy, yet he’s almost the only link this community has with normal everyday life. He’d be a good club factotum anywhere. He’s a first-class barman and he manages that canteen as if it belonged to the Ritz. We’re lucky to have him.”

“I don’t think we would if Lord Ludor didn’t use the place to entertain visiting firemen, do you? I don’t make a habit of discussing the resident scientists with him, but I just had to get that car reserved for me this morning. It’s fantastic being this far from a railway station without a car. How senior will you have to be before Paggen permits us to keep one? Oh blast! Forgive me! I don’t mean to start on that one again. Truly I don’t. I do know that if one person has one, everyone will want one—which isn’t practical, they say, although heaven knows why not; there’s plenty of room. It just popped out. Now I’m ready. Oh, Martin, yes—I nearly forgot. Where did you put Sam’s private bag?”

“The old brown Gladstone? I haven’t touched it.”

“Then it’s gone, and he particularly wanted it.”

“How can it have gone?” He got up and wandered into the only other room. Here there were more evidences of their forlorn efforts to make a home.

Each of the prefabricated dwellings which had sprung up at intervals on the driveways to the marsh island’s original mansion, now the headquarters of Godley’s research station, was provided with water, electricity and gas brought across the causeway from Tudwick. This estuary-side village had grown into a small town and possessed a railway station and a few shops, but the huts, although serviced, remained strictly utilitarian, with varnished matchboarded walls and the kind of linoleum which was designed to last forever and very dreadfully did. There were a few built-in lockers, and Martin was searching these when Helena came after him.

“It’s no good hunting anywhere there. I’ve turned out the entire place.”

“But I saw it the other day.”

“So did I. There was nothing in it but scribbles and cuttings and knives and the old cockyolly bird. I thought you might have thrown them out and used the bag for something.”

She regretted the words instantly. The face he turned to her was deeply hurt.

“I don’t know what sort of animal you think I am. I’ve only let the boy go to school. I haven’t taken a dislike to him! Where is his bag?”

“I can’t imagine. No one comes in here, you see.”

“But that’s crazy!” Surprise neutralized his anger like a chemical, and his arm slid round her as they stood looking about them. “The place is kept locked, isn’t it? I do lock up automatically now; don’t you? Whenever I go in or out.”

“Always. That Drummond business frightened me. I wish you didn’t have to use subnormal people in your experiments.”

He jerked her more tightly to him. “Don’t talk like a Sunday newspaper. ‘We do not experiment with anybody; we just try to find out who can help most’: I quote. To return to this elusive bag—I didn’t steal it and nor did you, and our palatial home has been locked up like a henhouse, so it can’t be anywhere else but here. Change your mind and go by the later train and I’ll guarantee to find it for you.”

“Darling, I can’t! I’ve dressed, I’ve crossed Fred Arnold’s palm with silver and got hold of a car, and I must go this morning. I want to be at Liverpool Street Station to surprise Sam. Don’t you see this is just Paggen playing up again? He’s succeeded in spoiling your weekend and now he wants to ruin mine. He’s only trying to show that he’s the big boss; he always does. Oh, why couldn’t he let us all be together just this one weekend?”

“Lay off him, will you?” Martin spoke mildly, but there was steel in his voice. “He’s a brilliant guy and my chief. You can say what you like about Godley’s, but old Paggen is a miracle worker.”

“You only say that because he’s an electronics wizard and can construct. You’re a physicist and a physician and fifty times as brilliant, so that he has to rely on you even to communicate with his leader, but you’re not an inventor.”

“Oh, shut up!” His lips found her mouth and suddenly they each felt afresh all the warmth and tenderness of their affection for each other.

“We’re all right,” he said, making a question of it; “aren’t we?”

“Of course we are. Listen. Is that the car?”

The tapping on the outside door was peculiar—a series of short jabs on the wood.

“That is Paggen.” Martin went over, unlocked the door and let in a blast of cold air followed by the visitor.

Paggen Mayo came in slowly, holding an umbrella like a sword on the point of which was a ball of red, yellow and blue feathers.

“This is no way to treat a child’s beloved toy,” he said with affected gravity. “The infant Samuel would be rightly outraged. I’ve just removed it from your ventilator. I saw the gleam of feathers as I came by. Are the drafts really as bad as that?”

He was in early middle age, but his wild hair was already gray and his thin red face deeply scored. He wore the oiled jersey and slacks which he had made the accepted dress of his department, but dignified his appearance with a pair of heavy chrome spectacles of original and rather eccentric design and certainly highly expensive workmanship. Anyone who gave the subject thought came to the conclusion that the aim was “university don,” but the strong element of neat-handed practical man belied that effect and the umbrella which he always carried looked like the affection it was. At the moment he was in his “social” mood, an exaggerated pseudo-eighteenth-century performance which he kept for “wives and VIPs.”

Martin took the toy from the spike and handed it to Helena. “This is perfectly insane,” he said. “We’ve been looking for this all over, haven’t we, Helena?”

She nodded and turned the touseled bundle about tenderly. It had never been an elegant fowl, but she had made it for Sam when he was little and first enchanted by the classic tale. Its success with him had been enormous, and through the years it had become one of those treasures which remain secretly important long after all other baby toys are outgrown.

“I’m so glad it’s come back,” she said.

“Well, there it was, sprouting out of the pantry ventilator. I came round that side because I walked along the sea wall. You haven’t been by there this morning, Martin?”

“I haven’t been round there for days. Was there anything else around? A very battered old doctor’s brown bag, for instance?” He was about to step out to see for himself when Mayo barred his way with the umbrella.

“Later, young sir, if you don’t mind,” he said. “I have grave matters to impart, especially to you, ma’am.... You look very beautiful this morning.”

Martin was frowning. “You see what it means, though,” he said, pointing to the bird. “Someone must have gotten a key to this place.”

“Oh come.” Mayo had very bright blue eyes. “That’s no diagnosis, Doctor. What is the margin of human error?” It was one of his typical asininities—a piece of jargon in unconvincing imitation of people who, because of the odd nature of their joint enterprise, happened to be working with him. He was like a bad mimic who yet insists on attempting impressions of people to their faces. Helena looked embarrassed and Martin laughed with indulgent exasperation.

“What can we do for you, Paggen?”

Mayo pulled a chair toward him and sat down. “May I?” he said to Helena. “My dear lady. Circumstances have arisen which make it necessary for me to take you into my confidence. Do I make myself clear?”

“Not particularly.” Martin was leaning forward. “As a matter of fact, I did tell Helena that you were thinking of lifting the ban on wives’ knowing anything at all about the work here. That’s it, isn’t it? She has to go to London this morning, by the way.”

“Too bad; you’ll have to postpone it.” Mayo glanced at Helena and spoke with complete finality. He had dropped his artificial manner and reverted to type. He hitched one arm over the back of his chair and stretched his legs, ignoring her rising color. “I’ve just had a long briefing from Lord Ludor’s office. The VIP luncheon today is to be more important than we’d thought. An American admiral is flying over; so is the man Martin knows of from Reykjavík. General Smythe-White will be there and so will someone from the Ministry. We shall need you, Helena, Martin and I, and that’s why I’m going to give you my lecture right away.”

“I’m so sorry, Paggen, we—”

“Be quiet, dear.” He was much more of a force now that he had given up presenting himself. “I shan’t tell you any more than I think is good for you, but if you’re going to be any use at all, you must understand enough to know what not to talk about. I’m only trusting you because I’ve got to. The first thing to remember is this: although every important country in the world is having a stab at what we’re trying to do, the whole subject is still considered pretty absurd by all but the initiated. That is how we want it.”

Helena looked at her watch openly and Martin shook his head at her, but Mayo went on as if he had not noticed.

“Extrasensory perception, thought reading, telepathy—they are all the same thing to the uninformed: mumbo jumbo. Splendid! Keep it that way as long as you can. Do you follow me?” She nodded politely, her ears strained for the sound of a car on the track outside.

“Well now,” he said. “As you know, modern communications in almost every form are all in our orbit here at Godley’s, and there aren’t many gaps; but a little while ago it became necessary to explore every other conceivable means of one man getting in touch with another. I shan’t be more specific than that, and don’t let it worry you; just take it from me that in America and the Soviet Union, in West Germany, Holland, Sweden, France and here in Britain some very intelligent people started thinking around merely because no one could afford not to, and no possibility, however wild and unlikely, was neglected.” He had a slightly nasal intonation and a very penetrating voice, but he knew what he was talking about and it was difficult not to be impressed. “From now on,” he said, pointing the umbrella at her, “I’m only interested in scientific actuality and so are our clients. Get that straight. If your lady mother in Suffolk started to worry in the night that you were in distress and suffocating and got on the telephone and woke you from a nightmare in which you were being strangled and you both came and told me about it, I might be entertained, but I shouldn’t be very interested. My subject is electronics. I’m an engineer. Before I’m convinced a message has passed, I want something which someone else, someone other than the two people originally concerned, can see, hear or taste. I want a light or a bell or I might conceivably accept a stink. I don’t know. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” she said. “But—”

“If you’re going to be a good girl and not a blasted nuisance to me and your brilliant young husband, you’ll have to listen and understand this,” he said. “The people who started us off on our particular line of inquiry were the Navy. That has surprised you, hasn’t it? I thought so. You imagined that we were mainly commercial. No. It was the Navy who discovered the Drummond brothers, and that discovery set the ball rolling.” His explosive laugh echoed round the boarded walls. “The Army’s only real contribution is General Smythe-White, but he’s an asset in his own right. He’s that rare type which knows exactly what it wants even if it happened to be the earth. The picture which he has in his mind’s eye is of some splendid young guardsman in uniform sitting in some place inaccessible to radio and utterly unconnected with the rest of the world by any known means of communication. The only equipment he is to possess are two bulbs—sticking out of his ears, I imagine—green in the left and red on the right, and a mirror. Meanwhile, sitting at attention in an Army lecture room miles away is his opposite number, working a buzzer or a flasher and connected by telephone to Command. One flash from number two at home intensifies the red bulb in the ear of number one. Two flashes and the green one glows. No flash and there’s no change. Three signals which an ordinary digital computer can translate into any message Smythe-White can imagine wanting to send. That’s all he’s asking for, and it was a pipe dream until along came the Navy with the Drummond brothers.”

Helena was looking at him, captured at last, and he risked a glance at Martin.

“I know you can give her much more about the Drummonds than I can, but I’d rather do it my way. I hope you don’t object. I’m taking the responsibility and I’m only telling as much as I think I need to. The Drummond brothers were nonidentical twins, Helena. They came from an industrial slum in the north where they were both considered gormless. That is ‘slow’ and ‘not very bright.’ Len was the stronger character and the better specimen and he wasn’t a fool, but Willie was definitely ‘sub,’ or I thought so. Martin here and Tabard had a name for him. Anyway, Willie only got into the service because Len saw that he did. The extraordinary link between these two men was first noticed on board ship. A medical officer who observed it had the sense to report it, and fortunately the two were passed on up the line until they finished where they ought to have been from their babyhood: in the hands of our Professor Tabard, who was then in Cambridge.” He paused and Martin ventured to intervene.

“They broke entirely new ground, Helena. No one had recorded anything quite like them before.”

“They provided the missing ingredient,” Mayo agreed. “In them, nature had taken the one vital step forward and had provided us with the concrete physical phenomenon which made their communication capable of test. Willie had two birthmarks. It sounds damn silly, but there they were. They were pale-pink patches, one inside his left wrist and one beside his left eye. In the normal way there was nothing unusual about them and they weren’t very noticeable, but when Len Drummond sent his brother a message of warning—when he released an unfriendly impulse toward him—the birthmarks changed color and became deep livid bruises. Anyone could see them and they could be recorded. So you see it did not matter what Willie thought, or received by way of thought transference, because we had something more definite to go on. Distance did not appear to have much effect on the phenomenon; nor did one or two other more important location factors. As long as Len was in good health and was permitted to think about his brother—to see his photograph or hear his recorded voice—that sort of thing—then the thought was transferred. One could prove it and see it.” He shook his head. “The positive signal was not so satisfactory. When Len sent an approving or affirmative impulse toward Willie—he used to send these messages on command, you understand—it was quite fantastic: Willie used to giggle in an idiot way, and his eyes watered. This could be made to happen whatever he was thinking or doing at the time. It was perfectly distinctive, and we never found anything else to make him behave in that particular fashion, but Smythe-White didn’t like it. I think he expects us to improve on it. But it was good enough for us. The Drummonds were the beginning of the whole thing. They responded to every test made, and Professor Tabard was cock-a-hoop because his theory, which he’d had for a very long time, looked like being proved. Naturally he wanted to get down to a full investigation of the two men, which would have taken quite a few years. However, fortunately for us, there were developments elsewhere and time was seen to be pretty damn short. So the Ministry became interested and took over. They came to Godley’s and offered Tabard, myself and Martin, plus a research grant. What they hope to get for their money is a fund of two-way, man-controlled, one-hundred-per-cent-efficient pairs of Drummonds, live or mechanical, whenever and wherever they may need them. It won’t work out quite like that, of course. But, because of those brothers and the work we did on them, it’s by no means the ridiculous assignment it may sound to the ignorant.”

Helena’s intelligent eyes met his own. “I thought it was someone called Drummond who broke into the huts here late last spring and went mad and committed suicide,” she said slowly.

“That was Willie.” Mayo was scowling. “It wasn’t suicide. The coroner was only trying to get a little notoriety. If petty officials get their noses into an outfit like this, they always look for drama. The drowning was a complete accident. Professor Tabard was trying to interrupt the link between the brothers. He thought Len was the active factor and he wanted to see if he could teach him to establish the same contact with a third person. He had some success using hypnotism, but meanwhile no one realized what was happening to Willie until he went berserk. He broke into nearly every building on the island looking for his brother and finished up in the mud just as the tide came in. That frightened everybody including you, I’m afraid. I’m sorry for that, but it left us all in a rather difficult position, as you can guess.”

“You couldn’t continue the work without him?”

“Good God, of course we could!” He was irritated with her for making him even consider such a disaster. “If there had been something phony about the Drummonds, we couldn’t have done it. If their communication had been some sort of trick or a fantastic series of coincidences, then we’d have been frustrated; but Tabard had been working on the men for over three years and he’d satisfied first himself and then all the rest of us that there really was a genuine impulse carried by some sort of wave. Identification of each of these proceeds just as fast as we can.”

He leaned back in the chair.

“Lecture ends. Now I tell you what you can do. You can see we’ve had progress held up for some months and it’s only now that we’re able to get a glimmer of a way to manufacture something faintly comparable. But meanwhile we’ve lost our party piece. That kept the clients happy. The general particularly, misses the performance. It used to give him a tremendous thrill and he thought out several little trick tests himself, some of them excellent. But now he’s getting restless. He wants to be sure that we’re coming up with something just as good, and at the moment we just haven’t got it. I have something up my sleeve which will be useful if it comes off, but I will not ruin the idea by attempting to talk about it too soon. So you, Helena, will attend this blessed luncheon today and you’ll sit by old Smythe-White and take his mind off any other form of entertainment. I’m certain that’s how he sees it. We don’t want him prodding Lord Ludor into demanding to ‘see something.’ It isn’t ready. They must go on hoping for a while yet, and then we’ll show them.”

“You sound as if there was a flap on.” Martin was eyeing him curiously. “What is it?”

“I don’t know.” Mayo gave him a deliberately blank stare. “The message I got was that his lordship would see me in the library or whatever that plush room is called, just as soon as it pleased him to get here. I translated that as a request for some sort of display which we cannot give, so I put forward my intention to take your wife into the hallowed circle for a few days. I’m sorry if your weekend is curtailed, Helena, but there are other considerations.”

Helena got up. She avoided looking at Martin but met the visitor squarely.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “But, you see, it’s all arranged. I’m meeting the child. I’ve only just got time to get to the station. The car must be waiting.”

Paggen let her get to the door before he spoke over his shoulder. “All transport was commandeered an hour ago. You won’t get to any station this morning, dear. This is a research establishment, not a crèche.”

Helena jerked the door open and looked up and down the track. It was completely deserted. The railway station was five miles away and the time was seven minutes past eleven.