Quayle said: "Well, my dear, I don't have to give myself a lot of time to think about what I'm going to say to you now, and because it's rather important you might listen to it carefully. I've always trusted you more than any other woman I've known. You know more about me and my work than any other person. You've done jobs for me—usually keeping an eye on operatives—seeing how they're shaping. And you came across Fells in that process. Well, I'll be quite candid with you. I'm jealous of Fells. I'm jealous of him because you're in love with him."

  Tangier said: "I never thought——"

  "Quite," said Quayle. "You never thought. You never thought that I might possibly be rather keen on you myself. Well, that's all right. Somehow I've the idea that I shall never have very much time to indulge in the softer sides of life. I've got an idea that I'll have my nose to the grindstone until I drop. But I wish to God you could have fallen for somebody else except Fells."

  Tangier's eyes were wide. She said: "Why? What is there strange in my falling in love with a man like Hubert Fells? He's a most attractive man. He's a first-class person. He just made a silly mistake once—a mistake which you, for your own ends, managed to turn into something that looked a great deal worse than it actually was." She put her hand on his.

  "Don't mistake me, Peter," she said. "You've been awfully kind to Hubert. Your action in handling things the way you did was a good one. It was the only possible thing to do. As a result of it, as you say, he's had a job. He's retained his self-respect. Even if he hasn't been able to follow his own profession as a soldier, he's been able to fight the enemy in a different way and to take lots of risks in doing it. I'm always going to be glad that you were able to give him a chance. But when this war's over there's no reason why he shouldn't live the life of an ordinary man."

  Quayle drew on his cigarette. He said: "The trouble with you women is you don't know anything about men. You only think you do. I suppose you've told Fells that you're keen on him?"

  Tangier nodded. She said: "Yes, I've told him."

  "All right," said Quayle. "Well, he's probably rather stunned with the shock. He was probably delighted, like an over-grown schoolboy who suddenly realises that something he thought was entirely out of his reach is not so very far away after all. That's all right. But he hasn't had a chance to think."

  "And what is going to happen when he has had a chance to think?" she asked.

  Quayle said: "Fells is an intelligent, sensible, man. He's going to realise that there are still quite a lot of people knocking about who know him, and anyway, even if there were only one or two people who knew him and knew his story, he's going to think it would be a pretty low-down trick to marry you. He knows people would talk. He knows it would come to your ears. He can guess what the results would be. It's all very well for Fells to be a person with no background and no friends, but even he will realise that it wouldn't be very nice for you as his wife. You'll find he's going to back out. In any event," said Quayle grimly, "he's got to back out."

  Tangier said: "I don't like the way you said that, Peter. Why has he got to back out?"

  Quayle said: "I think you forget, Tangier, that Fells is working for me."

  She said: "I don't forget that, Peter. I'm remembering it all the time. You don't think I'd come between Fells and his job, do you?"

  "No," said Quayle, "I don't think that—not wittingly. You wouldn't wittingly come between him and his job, but a woman in love does all sorts of stupid things and thinks about them afterwards."

  When Tangier spoke there was a little anger in her voice. She said: "You know, Peter, you haven't the power to control our lives."

  "Haven't I?" said Quayle. He smiled at her. "Don't be angry with me, Tangier," he said. "But you know what I mean. You know you're much too good an Englishwoman to upset my apple-cart at any time, and Fells happens to be an important passenger in my apple-cart. You wouldn't do that."

  She said: "Of course I wouldn't, Peter. Nobody's proposing to upset your old apple-cart. Haven't I always been loyal to you myself when I've worked for you, and I'd have gone on working for you if you hadn't laid me off. Incidentally, I've often wondered why you did."

  "Believe it or not," said Quayle, "I make the same laws for myself as I do for other people. I laid you off when I realised I was beginning to be a little too fond of you. But aren't we rather talking in circles?"

  She said: "No, we're not. We're not talking in circles at all. We're arriving at a decision."

  "I see," said Quayle. "The decision being?"

  "The decision being that I'm telling you that I'm going to marry Hubert Fells directly this war is over and directly he can legitimately stop working for you. Is there anything wrong with that?"

  Quayle said: "No, there's not a lot wrong with it, except that I'm afraid that it's not going to work."

  Tangier said: "I'm an awful nuisance to you, aren't I—with my ideas about love and marriage and odd things like that—flinging them at you at a time like this when you're probably harried and worried sick about all the things you've got to do and think about? And I'm very fond of you, Peter. I'd hate to be the person who throws the spanner in the works."

  Quayle laughed. He said: "That's good! You're not really throwing a spanner in the works, Tangier. This is merely a feather in the works. The biggest spanner that I've ever had thrown in the works was thrown last night." His voice was grim.

  Tangier asked: "Something really bad?"

  "Something really bad," said Quayle. "That sort of spanner."

  Tangier said: "I'm so sorry, Peter—so terribly sorry."

  Quayle signalled the waiter. He ordered more coffee.

  He said: "Tangier, I've always been pretty straight with you, haven't I?"

  She said: "You've always been absolutely straight with me, Peter."

  "All right," said Quayle. "I'm going to be straight with you now. If you'd come to me two days ago and told me all this, I'd probably have been rather pleased in an odd sort of way. I shouldn't have been pleased about myself, naturally." He smiled wryly. "I shouldn't have been pleased to find out that I wasn't the big thing in your life, but I should have been glad for you, and I should have been glad for Fells, because I'm rather fond of him. In his odd way he's really a very great fellow. In any event I should have been the first person—when this war was over, when Fells might have had a chance to pick up his life again—to say go ahead with it, and bless you, my children. But not now."

  Tangier's voice was low. She said: "I see... because something has happened?"

  "That's right," said Quayle, "because something has happened. Fells' future is very uncertain—much too uncertain to think in terms of love or marriage at any time—that is if he's able to think after the war."

  Tangier asked: "What do you mean by that?"

  "I'm not quite certain," said Quayle. "But I'm warning you, Tangier, that I don't think Fells is going to be with us for very long. I've got a job for him. There's no one else can do it. He's got to do it. He's going to be the star performer. You know"—he smiled sarcastically—"how the picture papers used to talk about somebody being groomed for stardom. Well, I've been grooming Fells for stardom for a long time, just in case the situation ever arose in which it became necessary for him to play a leading part. Well, the time has come."

  Tangier said: "And what am I supposed to say, Peter? That I accept that; that I'll forget all about him?"

  "There's no reason why you should forget about him," said Quayle. "But you've got to accept that because I say it—I mean it and it's a fact."

  Tangier said nothing. She looked across the restaurant. Quayle could see that her eyes were clouded. She asked miserably: "What's going to happen to him, Peter?"

  Quayle said: "I don't know. I wish to God I did. But I don't. But I know what you'll do if you're fond of him. I know what you'll do if you're in love with him. I know exactly what you'll do if you're the woman who wanted to marry Fells." His voice softened. He said: "You know, Tangier, I've never given you bad advice, have I?"

  She said: "No, you've never done that. I think more of your opinion—of your judgment—then any man I know." She smiled. "I've never known you to make a mistake," she said.

  Quayle said: "I'm not making one now. The thing for you to do is not to see Fells any more; to get out of London and stay out of London. If you're here he might think too much about you. His mind might not work in the way that it ought to work. In other words you'd be doing him a very bad turn by being here."

  "Do you mean that?" asked Tangier.

  "I mean just that," said Quayle.

  She said: "Very well, Peter. If you say that's the right thing for me to do, I'm going to do it. I'll leave London to-day."

  "Good girl," said Quayle. "And don't write any pathetic letters either. If you must say something to him, drop him a line saying that you're going off; that you hope to meet one day and that when you do meet you hope he'll have done his job. By the time he gets it," said Quayle grimly, "he'll probably guess what you mean."

  Tangier said: "You know, Peter, he doesn't know that I knew you. He doesn't know that I've worked for you. He doesn't know that you put me in originally to keep an eye on him."

  Quayle said: "Don't worry. I'll explain all that. I'll make things as easy as I can."

  Tangier began to put on her gloves. She said: "Do you think there's a chance for him? Do you think there's a fifty per cent chance?"

  "There's a chance for everybody," said Quayle. "But if he gets out of the job he's going into he'll be the luckiest man I've ever met in my life. That's how it is."

  Tangier nodded. "I see," she said. "That's how it is. A very bad spot, Peter?"

  "Right," said Quayle. "A very bad spot. And all you have to do is to keep your chin up and grin. For a woman of your capabilities that should be easy." His voice was almost casual.

  She said: "Well, I share one virtue with you, Peter."

  He grinned. For a moment he looked almost boyish.

  He said: "I didn't know I had any virtues."

  "You've got a lot of virtues," said Tangier, "but one particular one. You never give up. Neither do I. I still believe that what I'm dreaming of is possible."

  Quayle said: "Go on believing that. That's not going to hurt anybody. When you write your farewell note to Fells you might tell him he can go on believing it too. It won't hurt him." He laughed. "I'll promise the pair of you this much," he said. "I don't quite know what's going to happen, but I've got a pretty good idea, and if Fells gets out of this thing—the thing that I think's coming to him—I'll hand him to you on a plate—because he'll deserve it!"

  II.

  It was five minutes to four when Greeley turned into Lyle Street, He walked slowly along the right-hand side, looking up at the windows on the other side of the street. Soon he saw what he was looking for. On the opposite side of the street, printed on some first-floor windows were the words "Birmingham and District Hardware Company." Greeley grinned as he crossed the road. He wondered how many "branch offices" of this description Quayle employed and under what strange titles they operated.

  He went into the building. It was an old-fashioned house converted to offices. He went up the curving wooden stairs to the first floor, knocked at a door marked "Enquiries," and entered. Inside the doorway was a counter and on the other side of it at a desk, a middle-aged man was busily engaged in making entries in a ledger.

  Greeley said: "My name's Horace Greeley. I've an appointment here at four o'clock. Is this the right place?"

  The middle-aged man nodded. He said: "Mr. Quayle's waiting for you inside. Go right through, will you?"

  Greeley lifted the flap of the counter; walked across the office, pushed open the door on the other side. The room before him was small and well-furnished, and a fire was burning in the grate. Quayle was sitting behind a desk on the far side of the room smoking a cigarette.

  He said: "Hello, Greeley. Come in."

  Greeley said: "Good-afternoon. It's been a nice day, hasn't it?"

  Quayle said: "Quite a nice day. A little cold, that's all." He picked up an inter-communicating telephone off the desk; said to the man outside: "I don't want to be disturbed." He put back the transmitter. He turned to Greeley. He said: "This is a fine kettle of fish, isn't it?"

  Greeley said: "I suppose you mean about Zilla Stevenson?"

  Quayle nodded. He pushed a box of cigarettes towards Greeley. He said: "Have a cigarette and sit down."

  Greeley sat down in the leather armchair by the side of the fire. He was feeling rather pleased with himself. He felt he was being important. This was the first time that he'd ever been alone in an office with Quayle. A hundred times before he had encountered him only in the odd places selected for their meetings. Greeley felt that he was getting on.

  Quayle took a cigarette from the box and lit it. He smoked silently for a few minutes; then he said: "Have you any ideas about this business?"

  Greeley shrugged his shoulders. "Only what I've told you," he said. "I must say it stinks a bit. But she certainly looked as if she'd shot herself, didn't she?"

  Quayle said: "I doubt it." He got up, began to walk up and down the room. He went on: "This is a bad business about Zilla Stevenson. It makes things very inconvenient. It's put us in a bad spot."

  Greeley nodded. "I know," he said. "Somebody's thrown a spanner in the works."

  Quayle said: "You don't know how right you are." He thought it rather odd that Greeley should use the expression that Tangier had used earlier in the day. He smiled grimly. There was a difference in the size of the spanners—that was all!

  He said: "Someone certainly has thrown a spanner in the works." He stopped pacing, sat on the edge of the desk, looked quizzically at Greeley. He said: "You're an odd bird, Greeley, but you're a very reliable one. You've got a good nerve and you've never let me down." He smiled. "I sometimes think you enjoy working for me."

  Greeley grinned. He said: "Well, I always did like a bit of excitement."

  Quayle frowned. "Personally, I wish we had a little less excitement."

  Greeley said: "You wait till this bleedin' war's over, Mr. Quayle. It'll be so peaceful that a lot of us won't even know what we're doing. We shall feel lost."

  "I expect you're right," said Quayle. "We shall—those of us who are still here."

  Greeley said: "Yes, I forgot about that bit. Well, the others won't be able to mind, will they?"

  Quayle said: "The trouble from now on is that we've got to be opportunists. I mean by that that it's no longer possible to work along definite laid down lines as we were doing before. Zilla Stevenson's death upsets a whole lot of things. Now we've got to take chances."

  Greeley drew on his cigarette. He thought something's coming in a minute. I wonder what it's going to be.

  Quayle went on: "The first thing is Foden. I don't want Foden to feel alarmed or rattled too much about Zilla Stevenson being dead. I expect he's worrying about it a great deal—very naturally. He feels possibly that he'll be implicated in some way. It was clever of you to suggest that Zilla Stevenson's boss might have wanted the whole thing kept quiet; might be big enough to keep it quiet for reasons of policy. That was a good idea of yours."

  Greeley said: "It seemed common sense to me. I know this guy Foden is important to you. I didn't see any use in putting the wind up him. I know you want to get something out of him."

  "Right," said Quayle. "I do want to get something out of him. So the first thing is to reassure him. You'd better go and see him sometime this evening. The line you take is this—that nobody knows about Zilla Stevenson's death yet; that she's still locked up there in the flat; that she had no maid and that anyway that situation will be dealt with. Then you tell him that you've been able to see her boss; that you thought the best thing to do was to tell him the whole story as you knew it—the story being what?"

  Greeley said: "That's easy. That I met Foden down at the port; that I palled up with him; that I listened to him talk and I thought there might be a little money in it for me; that he was decent to me. He let me have a fiver on account of twenty-five quid."

  "Right," said Quayle.

  "That's the line," Greeley went on. "I put him next to Zilla because I knew she'd got five hundred for giving some information before and I got the idea in my head that she'd got herself a job working for somebody connected with one of the Service Intelligence Departments. All right. I fix up for him to meet her and then this thing happened; that I didn't know what to do about it, but I thought the best thing was to lie low until I'd seen her boss."

  "Right," said Quayle. "And you've seen her boss. You understand? You went round to the office where she worked—an office in Pall Mall. I'll give you the address before you leave. And you saw her boss. Her boss is a man who is working in connection with one of the Army Intelligence Departments. His name's Quayle."

  "I see," said Greeley. "You?"

  "Right," said Quayle. "Me. You saw this Quayle and he thought you'd handled the job very cleverly. He was specially pleased with you because you kept the thing away from the police. He told you that neither you nor Foden were to worry about the Zilla Stevenson thing; that he thought he had an idea about that; that there'd been somebody after Zilla for some time; that they'd caught up with her. Quayle is going to look after the removal of the body. No one will be making any inquiries about your sister's disappearance. But Quayle is very keen to meet Foden. You've got to make Foden understand that Quayle was very interested when he heard that Foden came from Morocco; that he'd been there for some time. Do you understand that?"

  "I've got it," said Greeley.

  Quayle went on: "You want to be careful to play this carefully. You want to give the idea to Foden that you think that there's quite some money in this and that as you've helped him right through this business you want to get your share. In other words come to some sort of financial arrangement with him. Don't tell him where he's going to meet this Quayle until he's agreed to pay you something. Play it as Horace Stevenson—a travelling munitions worker who's too fond of backing horses—would play it. Realise that this is terribly important."

 

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