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Authors: Geoffrey Household
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her youth, Mr. Prefacutu,’ he said. ‘Mixed up with all the revolutionaries of those days and ran guns for the Republicans in the Spanish Civil
War.’
‘Well, she’s a highly respectable Master of Hounds now.’
‘A pose! Engels rode to hounds. And her daughter is worse. Anarchist or communist. She was mixed up in the escape of Mornix, too.’
‘I didn’t know she had a daughter.’
‘You don’t seem to have talked to her much.’
‘Not about her family.’
‘But according to you, you were four days in the house!’
Instinctively I decided to say nothing of being mistaken for a Portuguese manservant and being compelled to keep up the part, which accounted for the lack of any intimate conversation.
‘Just waiting for her letter,’ I explained.
‘And silent all the time?’
His pleasant voice had not altered and the warning took a second to sink in. I began to suspect one of the reasons why he had asked me to go down with the Moscow address. There could be no
better way of inserting myself into Mrs. Hilliard’s life and any secrets she might have.
‘Does Mrs. Hilliard go down to the sea much?’
‘Not so far as I know.’
‘Or to the creeks of the Kingsbridge estuary?’
‘I don’t think so. Kingsbridge is all of ten miles away.’
‘Did you ever see in the house a chart of the estuary?’
‘Yes. There was one belonging to Alwyn Rory.’
‘Any marks on it?’
‘Plenty. He must have done a lot of sailing there at one time.’
‘Did you ever see a chart of the estuary when you were on the
Nadezhda Krupskaya
, Ionel Petrescu?’
So he had known all along who I was. It didn’t bother me, though I would have bolted straight out of the place if he had called me Gurney. I assumed of course that he was an agent of
British security and that I had been framed. It stood to reason that there would be Romanian agents to keep an eye on dubious Romanians. I knew something—or thought I did—of the dirty
tricks played by that sort of crook, bound to bring cases or be sacked. I decided to bluff it out.
‘I’m in the clear with police and immigration authorities, and you can’t send me back now,’ I said.
He must have picked up instantly what was in my mind.
‘Oh, can’t we?’ he replied. ‘Not for carrying letters between a traitor in Moscow and his aunt?’
‘I did it out of kindness, as you know. And Mrs. Hilliard will back me up.’
‘How did you hurt your thumb?’
‘Squashed it in a door.’
‘What are you living on?’
‘Savings.’
‘I think you had better have a steady job to keep you out of trouble.’
‘I’ll take anything where they don‘t mind my bad English. I was doing all right with translations.’
‘Well, no time like the present!’ he said, resuming his former cordiality. ‘I’ve got a publisher friend in Bloomsbury who might use you. He always works late and we can
go up and see him now if you like. Are you prepared to tell all the truth about yourself?’
I said I was and went with him, babbling about the beauties of Romania as if I had no suspicions and meanwhile trying to think. Something in all this did not fit. I had been too long in
England—let alone all that one unconsciously picks up in boyhood—to believe that British security would use so gross an
agent provocateur
. Any court would throw out the case
against me at once.
But a genuine refugee from an East European country would not know that. I remembered Mrs. Hilliard’s remark that the cat was on the mat and that delivery of her letter to her nephew would
help us to know why. I hadn’t time to puzzle over the why, but who was the cat? It sounded like MI5, suspecting that Rory, Mrs. Hilliard and her daughter had been up to something treasonable
in the Kingsbridge estuary. On the other hand, the blackmail smelt strongly of KGB, though it seemed highly improbable that the Russians believed I had really swum ashore from the fishing
fleet.
Getting rid of Mr. Marghiloman
War.’
‘Well, she’s a highly respectable Master of Hounds now.’
‘A pose! Engels rode to hounds. And her daughter is worse. Anarchist or communist. She was mixed up in the escape of Mornix, too.’
‘I didn’t know she had a daughter.’
‘You don’t seem to have talked to her much.’
‘Not about her family.’
‘But according to you, you were four days in the house!’
Instinctively I decided to say nothing of being mistaken for a Portuguese manservant and being compelled to keep up the part, which accounted for the lack of any intimate conversation.
‘Just waiting for her letter,’ I explained.
‘And silent all the time?’
His pleasant voice had not altered and the warning took a second to sink in. I began to suspect one of the reasons why he had asked me to go down with the Moscow address. There could be no
better way of inserting myself into Mrs. Hilliard’s life and any secrets she might have.
‘Does Mrs. Hilliard go down to the sea much?’
‘Not so far as I know.’
‘Or to the creeks of the Kingsbridge estuary?’
‘I don’t think so. Kingsbridge is all of ten miles away.’
‘Did you ever see in the house a chart of the estuary?’
‘Yes. There was one belonging to Alwyn Rory.’
‘Any marks on it?’
‘Plenty. He must have done a lot of sailing there at one time.’
‘Did you ever see a chart of the estuary when you were on the
Nadezhda Krupskaya
, Ionel Petrescu?’
So he had known all along who I was. It didn’t bother me, though I would have bolted straight out of the place if he had called me Gurney. I assumed of course that he was an agent of
British security and that I had been framed. It stood to reason that there would be Romanian agents to keep an eye on dubious Romanians. I knew something—or thought I did—of the dirty
tricks played by that sort of crook, bound to bring cases or be sacked. I decided to bluff it out.
‘I’m in the clear with police and immigration authorities, and you can’t send me back now,’ I said.
He must have picked up instantly what was in my mind.
‘Oh, can’t we?’ he replied. ‘Not for carrying letters between a traitor in Moscow and his aunt?’
‘I did it out of kindness, as you know. And Mrs. Hilliard will back me up.’
‘How did you hurt your thumb?’
‘Squashed it in a door.’
‘What are you living on?’
‘Savings.’
‘I think you had better have a steady job to keep you out of trouble.’
‘I’ll take anything where they don‘t mind my bad English. I was doing all right with translations.’
‘Well, no time like the present!’ he said, resuming his former cordiality. ‘I’ve got a publisher friend in Bloomsbury who might use you. He always works late and we can
go up and see him now if you like. Are you prepared to tell all the truth about yourself?’
I said I was and went with him, babbling about the beauties of Romania as if I had no suspicions and meanwhile trying to think. Something in all this did not fit. I had been too long in
England—let alone all that one unconsciously picks up in boyhood—to believe that British security would use so gross an
agent provocateur
. Any court would throw out the case
against me at once.
But a genuine refugee from an East European country would not know that. I remembered Mrs. Hilliard’s remark that the cat was on the mat and that delivery of her letter to her nephew would
help us to know why. I hadn’t time to puzzle over the why, but who was the cat? It sounded like MI5, suspecting that Rory, Mrs. Hilliard and her daughter had been up to something treasonable
in the Kingsbridge estuary. On the other hand, the blackmail smelt strongly of KGB, though it seemed highly improbable that the Russians believed I had really swum ashore from the fishing
fleet.
Getting rid of Mr. Marghiloman
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