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Authors: Elspeth Huxley
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sometimes.”
“When was he last here?”
“Good Lord, I don’t know.” There was an edge of impatience in his voice. “I don’t keep count of these things. It was some time ago. Whatever has that got to do with my uncle’s death?”
“I’m asking the questions.” Vachell’s voice had hardened and his tone was brusque. “Can you remember the last occasion Wendtland was here?”
“No, I can’t.” Corcoran’s face was flushed and his eyes bright. “And I don’t see what it’s got to do with you. Can’t my uncle have his friends to dinner without having to notify the police?”
“So Wendtland was your uncle’s friend. That’s interesting, very. It’s a shame two such old friends should have to quarrel the night before your uncle died.”
The shot in the dark scored a bull. Corcoran’s 66
expression changed from anger to alarm. The hostility died out of his eyes and a look that Vachell could only regard as one of pleading took its place.
“They didn’t quarrel, really,” he said quickly. “It was only a disagreement over a business affair. It wasn’t serious at all. Uncle Karl used to be leader of the Bund and Wendtland only wanted him to …” Corcoran broke off abruptly and stepped back, suspicion in his eyes. “Who told you they quarrelled?
I don’t believe you … My God, if you’ve been trying to trap me, I’ll….”
He left the end of the sentence unsaid. A car rounded the corner of the livingroom suddenly and pulled up with a squeal of brakes. It had been coming too fast, and rocked when it was jerked to a halt. A man Vachell had never seen before was at the wheel. He was bulky and bareheaded with a fair skin and a round, heavy face. When he jumped out of the driver’s seat and came towards them Vachell’s first impression was that a pink seal was approaching, sleek and buoyant. The man’s knees and arms were burnt a brick red.
Vachell looked at Corcoran with raised eyebrows, and the young man glared back with an expression of mingled humour and chagrin.
“Hermann Wendtland,” he said.
67
CHAPTER
SIX
Wendtland was very polite. He clicked his heels Vachell wondered whether he wore knee-long, close-fitting boots in order to do this with an air
and bowed and shook hands very formally, smiling broadly at the same time. He had a florid open face, small eyes, and was smoking a small Dutch cigar.
“I am pleased,” he said. “But it is not good that I come now, no? Bad news is here.”
“You’ve heard already, then?”
“Yes, captain, the news I in Karuna heard. I go to the town, I take to the shop a part of my plough to make repaired, I am told: Today is bad news. An accident to Mr Munson has occurred, Mr Munson is perhaps already dead.’ So my car I take, quickly I come to bring Mrs Munson my sympathy. Mr and Mrs Munson, they are very old friends; I grieve with Mrs Munson, I come to offer my condolences, my help, all I can do.” He waved an arm, and his eyes were on Corcoran’s face. He had stressed the phrase, “very old friends” so much that Vachell knew they held a message.
68
“My aunt will be awfully grateful,” Corcoran began. “She’ll want to see you, I’m sure. May I take you….”
“Mrs Munson is sick and she’s not to be disturbed,” Vachell said shortly. “I’m sorry, Mr Wendtland, but you can’t see her today.”
Wendtland’s small eyes narrowed and the smile died on his face. “So! That she is sick is bad. But I think, captain, to see me she will wish. It is good for friends to come when there is grief. I will stay only a few moments, I do….”
“Doctor’s orders,” Vachell snapped. “You can’t see Mrs Munson today.”
Wendtland pitched his cigar to one side and stepped forward, fists clenched. Vachell was tall, but Wendtland had a two-inch advantage, a chest as thick as a barrel, and round muscular arms.
“You will tell me where is your authority….”
“Don’t be a fool,” Corcoran said. “I’ll tell
“When was he last here?”
“Good Lord, I don’t know.” There was an edge of impatience in his voice. “I don’t keep count of these things. It was some time ago. Whatever has that got to do with my uncle’s death?”
“I’m asking the questions.” Vachell’s voice had hardened and his tone was brusque. “Can you remember the last occasion Wendtland was here?”
“No, I can’t.” Corcoran’s face was flushed and his eyes bright. “And I don’t see what it’s got to do with you. Can’t my uncle have his friends to dinner without having to notify the police?”
“So Wendtland was your uncle’s friend. That’s interesting, very. It’s a shame two such old friends should have to quarrel the night before your uncle died.”
The shot in the dark scored a bull. Corcoran’s 66
expression changed from anger to alarm. The hostility died out of his eyes and a look that Vachell could only regard as one of pleading took its place.
“They didn’t quarrel, really,” he said quickly. “It was only a disagreement over a business affair. It wasn’t serious at all. Uncle Karl used to be leader of the Bund and Wendtland only wanted him to …” Corcoran broke off abruptly and stepped back, suspicion in his eyes. “Who told you they quarrelled?
I don’t believe you … My God, if you’ve been trying to trap me, I’ll….”
He left the end of the sentence unsaid. A car rounded the corner of the livingroom suddenly and pulled up with a squeal of brakes. It had been coming too fast, and rocked when it was jerked to a halt. A man Vachell had never seen before was at the wheel. He was bulky and bareheaded with a fair skin and a round, heavy face. When he jumped out of the driver’s seat and came towards them Vachell’s first impression was that a pink seal was approaching, sleek and buoyant. The man’s knees and arms were burnt a brick red.
Vachell looked at Corcoran with raised eyebrows, and the young man glared back with an expression of mingled humour and chagrin.
“Hermann Wendtland,” he said.
67
CHAPTER
SIX
Wendtland was very polite. He clicked his heels Vachell wondered whether he wore knee-long, close-fitting boots in order to do this with an air
and bowed and shook hands very formally, smiling broadly at the same time. He had a florid open face, small eyes, and was smoking a small Dutch cigar.
“I am pleased,” he said. “But it is not good that I come now, no? Bad news is here.”
“You’ve heard already, then?”
“Yes, captain, the news I in Karuna heard. I go to the town, I take to the shop a part of my plough to make repaired, I am told: Today is bad news. An accident to Mr Munson has occurred, Mr Munson is perhaps already dead.’ So my car I take, quickly I come to bring Mrs Munson my sympathy. Mr and Mrs Munson, they are very old friends; I grieve with Mrs Munson, I come to offer my condolences, my help, all I can do.” He waved an arm, and his eyes were on Corcoran’s face. He had stressed the phrase, “very old friends” so much that Vachell knew they held a message.
68
“My aunt will be awfully grateful,” Corcoran began. “She’ll want to see you, I’m sure. May I take you….”
“Mrs Munson is sick and she’s not to be disturbed,” Vachell said shortly. “I’m sorry, Mr Wendtland, but you can’t see her today.”
Wendtland’s small eyes narrowed and the smile died on his face. “So! That she is sick is bad. But I think, captain, to see me she will wish. It is good for friends to come when there is grief. I will stay only a few moments, I do….”
“Doctor’s orders,” Vachell snapped. “You can’t see Mrs Munson today.”
Wendtland pitched his cigar to one side and stepped forward, fists clenched. Vachell was tall, but Wendtland had a two-inch advantage, a chest as thick as a barrel, and round muscular arms.
“You will tell me where is your authority….”
“Don’t be a fool,” Corcoran said. “I’ll tell
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