Read Online Skyprobe by Philip McCutchan - Free Book Online Page A

When he was ready Horn prodded him out through the door again and along the passage, and halted him at another door leading off the hall.
    Moss walked round Shaw and opened the door.
    Shaw stopped short in the doorway of a room where two men and a girl were finishing breakfast; it was one of the most ordinary domestic scenes imaginable. Or it would have been if the characters had been different. One of the men was Rudolf Rencke. The girl, a dark piece who used much eye-shadow, was in her early twenties and looked as if she’d just come in from a night on the razzle. But the other man, seated negligently back from the head of the table with his knees crossed, reading the Times , was nearer Shaw’s mental image of the kind of master this house would have—yet he was possibly the most surprising person to find at this particular table. He was a tall, distinguished-looking man, handsome, with thick, neatly-oiled hair greying above the ears, perfectly groomed in an elegant, expensive and beautifully-cut suit and an Old Etonian tie. Shaw knew that if he had chosen to wear it, the man would have been equally entitled to the colours of the Brigade of Guards. For, on a kind of nodding acquaintanceship, Shaw knew him. His name was Hilary St George Thixey and he worked for a certain department of State as elegant as himself. On the security side.
NINE
    “Morning, old man! You’ll have some breakfast, of course?” Thixey was entirely at ease, the perfect host, welcoming, charming. Putting the Times down beside his plate he smiled across at Shaw. “Or are you not hungry, after the unfortunate occurrences during the last twenty-four hours? I’m awfully sorry about the way you had to be treated, by the way—but it really couldn’t be helped, old man.” He brushed a crumb off his cuff.
    Shaw asked, “What are you doing here, Thixey?”
    Thixey waved a hand, dismissingly. “Don’t worry about all that for now, old man. Don’t let’s discuss business before you’ve eaten. Breakfast discussions were all very well in the more spacious days when one had had a couple of hours’ crack-of-dawn sniping at the wild duck, what? In these days it’s uncivilized—not done! Do sit down, my dear chap.”
    Thixey gestured to Moss. Moss glanced at Shaw, moved past him into the room, and pulled out a chair. There being nothing else to do in this astonishing situation, Shaw walked forward and sat down at the table. Moss asked sardonically, “Bacon an’ eggs—fried? Or haddock, for the gentleman?”
    “Neither. Just a roll and marmalade.” He didn’t feel in the least like fried eggs or haddock for the time being, but the hot rolls smelt almost appetizing; so did the coffee. He wondered if this was some dream resulting from the blow he’d taken on his head, or from the hypodermic. It simply wasn’t making sense.
    Moss said, “Rolls are on the table, aren’t they? Help yourself. Tea or coffee?”
    “Coffee—hot, strong and very black.” The girl was watching him, Shaw noticed, with something like approval and desire in her eyes. She looked tough—she was big-built, rather like a layman’s idea of a prison wardress. Any man less tough would be eaten alive. Moss poured coffee and brought the cup to the table, setting it beside Shaw. While Shaw drank, Moss retreated to the window where he slouched against the wall and started picking his nose again. Thixey was watching Shaw, an enigmatic smile twisting his lips. Shaw stared back at him, wondering what the man was playing at, whose side he was on. Thixey had a first-class reputation for brains and initiative, and in his younger days had had his share of field work as an agent. It went without saying that his record was as clear as a bell, that his background and connections were quite beyond reproach ... it was inconceivable, surely, that he could be a traitor. Yet here he was, apparently totally accepted by these men, including Rudolf Rencke. Where, how and why—and when—had