Page 26 of N or M? (Tommy & Tuppence 3)

"What sort of mystery do you mean?" he asked.

Tommy shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh, it was just that nobody seemed to know much about him."

"He was in the Rugbyshires."

"Oh, you know that definitely?"

"Well, I - well, no, I don't know myself. I say, Meadowes, what's the idea? Nothing wrong about Bletchley, is there?"

"No, no, of course not." Tommy's disclaimer came hastily. He had started his hare. He could now sit back and watch the Commander's mind chasing after it.

"Always struck me as an almost absurdly typical sort of chap," said Haydock.

"Just so, just so."

"Ah, yes - see what you mean. Bit too much of a type, perhaps?"

"I'm leading the witness," thought Tommy. "Still perhaps something may crop up out of the old boy's mind."

"Yes, I do see what you mean," the Commander went on thoughtfully. "And now I come to think of it I've never actually come across anyone who knew Bletchley before he came down here. He doesn't have any old pals to stay - nothing of that kind."

"Ah!" said Tommy - and added, "Shall we play the bye? Might as well get a bit more exercise. It's a lovely evening."

They drove off, then separated to play their next shots. When they met again on the green, Haydock said abruptly:

"Tell me what you heard about him."

"Nothing - nothing at all."

"No need to be so cautious with me, Meadowes. I hear all sorts of rumours. You understand? Every one comes to me. I'm known to be pretty keen on the subject. What's the idea - that Bletchley isn't what he seems to be?"

"It was only the merest suggestion."

"What do they think he is? A Hun? Nonsense, the man's as English as you and I."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure he's quite all right."

"Why, he's always yelling for more foreigners to be interned. Look how violent he was against that young German chap - and quite right, too, it seems. I heard unofficially from the Chief Constable that they found enough to hang von Deinim a dozen times over. He'd got a scheme to poison the water supply off the whole country and he was actually working out a new gas - working on it in one of our factories. My God, the shortsightedness of our people!! Fancy letting the fellow inside the place to begin with. Believe anything, our Government would! A young fellow has only to come to this country just before war starts and whine a bit about persecution and they shut both eyes and let him into all our secrets. They were just as dense about that fellow Hahn -"

Tommy had no intention of letting the Commander run ahead on the well-grooved track. He deliberately missed a putt.

"Hard lines," cried Haydock. He played a careful shot. The ball rolled into the hole.

"My hole. A bit off your game today. What were we talking about?"

Tommy said firrmly:

"About Bletchley being perfectly all right."

"Of course. Of course. I wonder now - I did hear a rather funny story about him - didn't think anything of it at the time -"

Here, to Tommy's annoyance, they were hailed by two other men. The four returned to the clubhouse together and had drinks. After that, the Commander looked at his watch and remarked that he and Meadowes must be getting along. Tommy had accepted an invitation to supper with the Commander.

Smugglers' Rest was in its usual condition of apple-pie order. A tall middle-aged manservant waited on them with the professional deftness of a waiter. Such perfect service was somewhat unusual to find outside of a London restaurant.

When the man had left the room, Tommy commented on the fact.

"Yes, I was lucky to get Appledore."

"How did you get hold of him?"

"He answered an advertisement as a matter of fact. He had excellent references, was clearly far superior to any of the others who applied and asked remarkably low wages. I engaged him on the spot."

Tommy said with a laugh:

"The war has certainly robbed us of most of our good restaurant service. Practically all good waiters were foreigners. It doesn't seem to come naturally to the Englishman."

"Bit too servile, that's why. Bowing and scraping doesn't come kindly to the English bulldog."

Sitting outside, sipping coffee, Tommy gently asked:

"What was it you were going to say on the links? Something about a funny story - apropos of Bletchley."

"What was it now? Hullo, did you see that? Light being shown out at sea. Where's my telescope?"

Tommy sighed. The stars in their courses seemed to be fighting against him. The Commander fussed into the house and out again, swept the horizon with his glass, outlined a whole system of signalling by the enemy to likely spots on shore, most of the evidence for which seemed to be nonexistent, and proceeded to give a gloomy picture of a successful invasion in the near future.

"No organization, no proper coordination. You're a L.D.V. yourself, Meadowes - you know what it's like. With a man like old Andrews in charge -"

This was well-worn ground. It was Commander Haydock's pet grievance. He ought to be the man in command and he was quite determined to oust Col. Andrews if it could possibly be done.

The manservant brought out whisky and liqueurs while the Commander was still holding forth.

"- and we're still honeycombed with spies - riddled with 'em. It was the same in the last war - hairdressers, waiters -"

Tommy, leaning back, catching the profile of Appledore as the latter hovered deft-footed, thought - "Waiters? You could call that fellow Fritz easier than Appledore..."

Well, why not? The fellow spoke perfect English, true, but then many Germans did. They had perfected their English by years in English restaurants. And the racial type was not unlike. Fair-haired, blue-eyed - often betrayed by the shape of the head - yes, the head - where had he seen a head lately?

He spoke on an impulse. The words fitted in appropriately enough with what the Commander was just saying.

"All these damned forms to fill in. No good at all, Meadowes. Series of idiotic questions -"

Tommy said:

"I know. Such as - 'What is your name? Answer N or M."

There was a swerve - a crash. Appledore, the perfect servant, had blundered. A stream of creme de menthe soaked over Tommy's cuff and hand.

The man stammered, "Sorry, sir."

Haydock blazed out in fury.

"You damned clumsy fool! What the Hell do you think you're doing?"

His usually red face was quite purple with anger. Tommy thought: "Talk of an Army temper - Navy beats it hollow!" Haydock continued with a stream of abuse. Appledore was abject in apologies.

Tommy felt uncomfortable for the man, but suddenly, as though by magic, the Commander's wrath passed and he was his hearty self again.

"Come along and have a wash. Beastly stuff. It would be the creme de menthe."

Tommy followed him indoors and was soon in the sumptuous bathroom with the innumerable gadgets. He carefully washed off the sticky sweet stuff. The Commander talked from the bedroom next door. He sounded a little shamefaced.

"Afraid I let myself go a bit. Poor old Appledore - he knows I let go a bit more than I mean always."

Tommy turned from the wash-basin drying his hands. He did not notice that a cake of soap had slipped onto the floor. His foot stepped on it. The linoleum was highly polished.

A moment later Tommy was doing a wild ballet dancer step. He shot across the bathroom, arms outstretched. One came up heavily against the right hand tap of the bath, the other pushed heavily against the side of a small bathroom cabinet. It was an extravagant gesture never likely to be achieved except by some catastrophe such as had just occurred.

His foot skidded heavily against the end panel of the bath.

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