The Complete Tommy & Tuppence Collection (134 page)

‘It's a name,' said Tommy. ‘I don't remember anything personally.'

‘Well, he was said to be what was admired at one time–what came to be known later as a fascist. That was the time before we knew what Hitler was going to be like and all the rest of them. The time when we thought that something like fascism might be a splendid idea to reform the world with. This chap Jonathan Kane had followers. A lot of followers. Young followers, middle-aged followers, a lot of them. He had plans, he had sources of power, he knew the secrets of a lot of people. He had the kind of knowledge that gave him power. Plenty of blackmail about as always. We want to know what he knew, we want to know what he did, and I think it's possible that
he left both plans and followers behind him. Young people who were enmeshed and perhaps still are in favour of his ideas. There have been secrets, you know, there are always secrets that are worth money. I'm not telling you anything exact because I don't know anything exact. The trouble with me is that nobody really knows. We think we know everything because of what we've been through. Wars, turmoil, peace, new forms of government. We think we know it all, but do we? Do we know anything about germ warfare? Do we know everything about gases, about means of inducing pollution? The chemists have their secrets, the Navy, the Air Force–all sorts of things. And they're not all in the present, some of them were in the past. Some of them were on the point of being developed but the development didn't take place. There wasn't time for it. But it was written down, it was committed to paper or committed to certain people, and those people had children and their children had children and maybe some of the things came down. Left in wills, left in documents, left with solicitors to be delivered at a certain time.

‘Some people don't know what it is they've got hold of, some of them have just destroyed it as rubbish. But we've got to find out a little more than we do because things are happening all the time. In different countries, in different places, in wars, in Vietnam,
in guerrilla wars, in Jordan, in Israel, even in the uninvolved countries. In Sweden and Switzerland–anywhere. There are these things and we want clues to them. And there's some idea that some of the clues could be found in the past. Well, you can't go back into the past, you can't go to a doctor and say, “Hypnotize me and let me see what happened in 1914,” or in 1918 or earlier still perhaps. In 1890 perhaps. Something was being planned, something was never completely developed. Ideas. Just look far back. They were thinking of flying, you know, in the Middle Ages. They had some ideas about it. The ancient Egyptians, I believe, had certain ideas. They were never developed. But once the ideas passed on, once you come to the time when they get into the hands of someone who has the means and the kind of brain that can develop them, anything may happen–bad or good. We have a feeling lately that some of the things that have been invented–germ warfare, for example–are difficult to explain except through the process of some secret development, thought to be unimportant but it hasn't been unimportant. Somebody in whose hands it's got has made some adaptation of it which can produce very, very frightening results. Things that can change a character, can perhaps turn a good man into a fiend, and usually for the same reason. For money. Money and what money can buy, what money can get. The
power that money can develop. Well, young Beresford, what do you say to all that?'

‘I think it's a very frightening prospect,' said Tommy.

‘That, yes. But do you think I'm talking nonsense? Do you think this is just an old man's fantasies?'

‘No, sir,' said Tommy. ‘I think you're a man who knows things. You always have been a man who knew things.'

‘H'm. That's why they wanted me, wasn't it? They came here, complained about all the smoke, said it stifled them, but–well, you know there's a time–a time when there was that Frankfurt ring business–well, we managed to stop that. We managed to stop it by getting at who was behind it. There's a somebody, not just one somebody–several somebodies who are probably behind this. Perhaps we can know who they are, but even if not we can know perhaps what the things are.'

‘I see,' said Tommy. ‘I can almost understand.'

‘Can you? Don't you think this is all rather nonsense? Rather fantastic?'

‘I don't think anything's too fantastic to be true,' said Tommy. ‘I've learnt that, at least, through a pretty long life. The most amazing things are true, things you couldn't believe could be true. But what I have to make you understand is that
I
have no qualifications. I have
no scientific knowledge. I have been concerned always with security.'

‘But,' said Colonel Pikeaway, ‘you're a man who has always been able to find out things. You. You–and the other one. Your wife. I tell you, she's got a nose for things. She likes to find out things and you go about and take her about. These women are like that. They can get at secrets. If you're young and beautiful you do it like Delilah. When you're old–I can tell you, I had an old great-aunt once and there was no secret that she didn't nose into and find out the truth about. There's the money side. Robinson's on to that. He knows about money. He knows where the money goes, why it goes, where it goes to, and where it comes
from
and what it's
doing
. All the rest of it. He knows about money. It's like a doctor feeling your pulse. He can feel a financier's pulse. Where the headquarters of money are. Who's using it, what for and why. I'm putting you on to this because you're in the right place. You're in the right place by accident and you're not there for the reason anyone might suppose you were. For there you are, an ordinary couple, elderly, retired, seeking for a nice house to end your days in, poking about into the corners of it, interested in talking. Some sentence one day will tell you something. That's all I want you to do. Look about. Find out what legends or
stories are told about the good old days or the bad old days.'

‘A naval scandal, plans of a submarine or something, that's talked about still,' said Tommy. ‘Several people keep mentioning it. But nobody seems to know anything really about it.'

‘Yes, well, that's a good starting point. It was round about then Jonathan Kane lived in that part, you know. He had a cottage down near the sea and he ran his propaganda campaign round there. He had disciples who thought he was wonderful, Jonathan Kane. K-a-n-e. But I would rather spell it a different way. I'd spell it C-a-i-n. That would describe him better. He was set on destruction and methods of destruction. He left England. He went through Italy to countries rather far away, so it's said. How much is rumour I don't know. He went to Russia. He went to Iceland, he went to the American continent. Where he went and what he did and who went with him and listened to him, we don't know. But we think that he knew things, simple things; he was popular with his neighbours, he lunched with them and they with him. Now, one thing I've got to tell you. Look about you. Ferret out things, but for goodness' sake take care of yourselves, both of you. Take care of that–what's-her-name? Prudence?'

‘Nobody ever called her Prudence. Tuppence,' said Tommy.

‘That's right. Take care of Tuppence and tell Tuppence to take care of you. Take care of what you eat and what you drink and where you go and who is making up to you and being friendly and why should they? A little information comes along. Something odd or queer. Some story in the past that might mean something. Someone perhaps who's a descendant or a relative or someone who knew people in the past.'

‘I'll do what I can,' said Tommy. ‘We both will. But I don't feel that we'll be able to do it. We're too old. We don't know enough.'

‘You can have ideas.'

‘Yes. Tuppence has ideas. She thinks that something might be hidden in our house.'

‘So it might. Others have had the same idea. Nobody's ever found anything so far, but then they haven't really looked with any assurance at all. Various houses and various families, they change. They get sold and somebody else comes and then somebody else and so they go on. Lestranges and Mortimers and Parkinsons. Nothing much in the Parkinsons except for one of the boys.'

‘Alexander Parkinson?'

‘So you know about him. How did you manage that?'

‘He left a message for someone to find in one of Robert Louis Stevenson's books.
Mary Jordan did not die naturally
. We found it.'

‘The fate of every man we have bound about his neck–some saying like that, isn't there? Carry on, you two. Pass through the Postern of Fate.'

Mr Durrance's shop was half-way up the village. It was on a corner site, had a few photographs displayed in the window; a couple of marriage groups, a kicking baby in a nudist condition on a rug, one or two bearded young men taken with their girls. None of the photographs were very good, some of them already displayed signs of age. There were also postcards in large numbers; birthday cards and a few special shelves arranged in order of relationships. To my Husband. To my Wife. One or two bathing groups. There were a few pocket-books and wallets of rather poor quality and a certain amount of stationery and envelopes bearing floral designs. Boxes of small notepaper decorated with flowers and labelled For Notes.

Tuppence wandered about a little, picking up various specimens of the merchandise and waiting whilst a discussion about the results obtained from a certain
camera were criticized, and advice was asked.

An elderly woman with grey hair and rather lack-lustre eyes attended to a good deal of the more ordinary requests. A rather tall young man with long flaxen hair and a budding beard seemed to be the principal attendant. He came along the counter towards Tuppence, looking at her questioningly.

‘Can I help you in any way?'

‘Really,' said Tuppence, ‘I wanted to ask about albums. You know, photograph albums.'

‘Ah, things to stick your photos in, you mean? Well, we've got one or two of those but you don't get so much of them nowadays, I mean, people go very largely for transparencies, of course.'

‘Yes, I understand,' said Tuppence, ‘but I collect them, you know. I collect old albums. Ones like this.'

She produced, with the air of a conjurer, the album she'd been sent.

‘Ah, that goes back a long time, doesn't it?' said Mr Durrance. ‘Ah, well now, over fifty years old, I should say. Of course, they did do a lot of those things around then, didn't they? Everyone had an album.'

‘They had birthday books, too,' said Tuppence.

‘Birthday books–yes, I remember something about them. My grandmother had a birthday book, I remember. Lots of people had to write their name in it. We've got birthday cards here still, but people don't buy them
much nowadays. It's more Valentines, you know, and Happy Christmases, of course.'

‘I don't know whether you had any old albums. You know, the sort of things people don't want any more, but they interest me as a collector. I like having different specimens.'

‘Well, everyone collects something nowadays, that's true enough,' said Durrance. ‘You'd hardly believe it, the things people collect. I don't think I've got anything as old as this one of yours, though. However, I could look around.'

He went behind the counter and pulled open a drawer against the wall.

‘Lot of stuff in here,' he said. ‘I meant to turn it out some time but I didn't know as there'd really be any market for it. A lot of weddings here, of course. But then, I mean, weddings date. People want them just at the time of the wedding but nobody comes back to look for weddings in the past.'

‘You mean, nobody comes in and says “My grandmother was married here. I wonder if you've got any photographs of her wedding?”'

‘Don't think anyone's ever asked me that,' said Durrance. ‘Still, you never know. They do ask you for queer things sometimes. Sometimes, you know, someone comes in and wants to see whether you've kept a negative of a baby. You know what mothers
are. They want pictures of their babies when they were young. Awful pictures, most of them are, anyway. Now and then we've even had the police round. You know, they want to identify someone. Someone who was here as a boy, and they want to see what he looks like–or rather what he looked like then, and whether he's likely to be the same one as one they're looking for now and whom they're after because he's wanted for murder or for swindles. I must say that cheers things up sometimes,' said Durrance with a happy smile.

‘I see you're quite crime-minded,' said Tuppence.

‘Oh well, you know, you're reading about things like that every day, why this man is supposed to have killed his wife about six months ago, and all that. Well, I mean, that's interesting, isn't it? Because, I mean, some people say that she's still alive. Other people say that he buried her somewhere and nobody's found her. Things like that. Well, a photograph of him might come in useful.'

‘Yes,' said Tuppence.

‘She felt that though she was getting on good terms with Mr Durrance nothing was coming of it.

‘I don't suppose you'd have any photographs of someone called–I think her name was Mary Jordan. Some name like that. But it was a long time ago. About–oh, I suppose sixty years. I think she died here.'

‘Well, it'd be well before my time,' said Mr Durrance.
‘Father kept a good many things. You know, he was one of those–hoarders, they call them. Never wanted to throw anything away. Anyone he'd known he'd remember, especially if there was a history about it. Mary Jordan. I seem to remember something about her. Something to do with the Navy, wasn't it, and a submarine? And they said she was a spy, wasn't she? She was half foreign. Had a Russian mother or a German mother–might have been a Japanese mother or something like that.'

‘Yes. I just wondered if you had any pictures of her.'

‘Well, I don't think so. I'll have a look around some time when I've got a little time. I'll let you know if anything turns up. Perhaps you're a writer, are you?' he said hopefully.

‘Well,' said Tuppence, ‘I don't make a whole-time job of it, but I am thinking of bringing out a rather small book. You know, recalling the times of about anything from a hundred years ago down till today. You know, curious things that have happened including crimes and adventures. And, of course, old photographs are very interesting and would illustrate the book beautifully.'

‘Well, I'll do everything I can to help you, I'm sure. Must be quite interesting, what you're doing. Quite interesting to do, I mean.'

‘There were some people called Parkinson,' said
Tuppence. ‘I think they lived in our house once.'

‘Ah, you come from the house up on the hill, don't you? The Laurels or Katmandu–I can't remember what it was called last. Swallow's Nest it was called once, wasn't it? Can't think why.'

‘I suppose there were a lot of swallows nesting in the roof,' suggested Tuppence. ‘There still are.'

‘Well, may have been, I suppose. But it seems a funny name for a house.'

Tuppence, having felt that she'd opened relations satisfactorily, though not hoping very much that any result would come of it, bought a few postcards and some flowered notes in the way of stationery, and wished Mr Durrance goodbye, got back to the gate, walked up the drive, then checked herself on the way to the house and went up the side path round it to have one more look at KK. She got near the door. She stopped suddenly, then walked on. It looked as though something like a bundle of clothes was lying near the door. Something they'd pulled out of Mathilde and not thought to look at, Tuppence wondered.

She quickened her pace, almost running. When she got near the door she stopped suddenly. It was not a bundle of old clothes. The clothes were old enough, and so was the body that wore them. Tuppence bent over and then stood up again, steadied herself with a hand on the door.

‘Isaac!' she said. ‘Isaac. Poor old Isaac. I believe–oh, I do believe that he's dead.'

Somebody was coming towards her on the path from the house as she called out, taking a step or two.

‘Oh, Albert, Albert. Something awful's happened. Isaac, old Isaac. He's lying there and he's dead and I think–I think somebody has killed him.'