'Hullo, Nye,' said Chetwynd, smiling all over his expressively handsome face. 'Glad to be back? How was Malaya?'
'Hot,' said Stafford Nye.
'Yes. Well, I suppose it always is. You meant atmospherically, I suppose, not politically?'
'Oh, purely atmospherically,' said Stafford Nye.
He accepted a cigarette and sat down.
'Get any results to speak of?'
'Oh, hardly. Not what you'd call results. I've sent in my report. All a lot of talky-talky as usual. How's Lazenby?'
'Oh, a nuisance as he always is. He'll never change,' said Chetwynd.
'No, that would seem too much to hope for. I haven't served on anything with Bascombe before. He can be quite fun when he likes.'
'Can he? I don't know him very well Yes. I suppose he can.'
'Well, well, well. No other news, I suppose?'
'No, nothing. Nothing I think that would interest you.'
'You didn't mention in your letter quite why you wanted to see me.'
'Oh, just to go over a few things, that's all. You know, in case you'd brought any special dope home with you. Anything we ought to be prepared for, you know. Questions in the House. Anything like that.'
'Yes, of course.'
'Came home by air, didn't you? Had a bit of trouble, I gather.'
Stafford Nye put on the face he had been determined to put on beforehand. It was slightly rueful, with a faint tinge of annoyance.
'Oh, so you heard about that, did you?' he said. 'Silly business.'
'Yes. Yes, must have been.'
'Extraordinary,' said Stafford Nye, 'how things always get into the press. There was a paragraph in the stop press this morning.'
'You'd rather they wouldn't have, I suppose?'
'Well, makes me look a bit of an ass, doesn't it?' said Stafford Nye. 'Got to admit it. At my age too!'
'What happened exactly? I wondered if the report in the paper had been exaggerating.'
'Well, I suppose they made the most of it, that's all. You know what these journeys are. Damn boring. There was fog at Geneva so they had to re-route the plane. Then there was two hours' delay at Frankfurt.'
'Is that when it happened?'
'Yes. One's bored stiff in these airports. Planes coming, planes going. Tannoy going full steam ahead. Flight 302 leaving for Hong Kong, Flight 109 going to Ireland. This, that and the other. People getting up, people leaving. And you just sit there yawning.'
'What happened exactly?' said Chetwynd.
'Well, I'd got a drink in front of me, Pilsner as a matter of fact, then I thought I'd got to get something else to read. I'd read everything I'd got with me so I went over to the counter and bought some wretched paperback or other. Detective story, I think it was, and I bought a woolly animal for one of my nieces. Then I came back, finished my drink, opened my paperback and then I went to sleep.'
'Yes, I see. You went to sleep.'
'Well, a very natural thing to do, isn't it? I suppose they called my flight but if they did I didn't hear it. I didn't hear it apparently for the best of reasons. I'm capable of going to sleep in an airport any time but I'm also capable of hearing an announcement that concerns me. This time I didn't. When I woke up, or came to, however you like to put it, I was having a bit of medical attention. Somebody apparently had dropped a Mickey Finn or something or other in my drink. Must have done it when I was away getting the paperback.'
'Rather an extraordinary thing to happen, wasn't it?' said Chetwynd.
'Well, it's never happened to me before,' said Stafford Nye. 'I hope it never will again. It makes you feel an awful fool, you know. Besides having a hangover. There was a doctor and some nurse creature, or something. Anyway, there was no great harm done apparently. My wallet had been pinched with some money in it and my passport. It was awkward of course. Fortunately, I hadn't got much money. My travellers' cheques were in an inner pocket. There always has to be a bit of red tape and all that if you lose your passport. Anyway, I had letters and things and identification was not difficult. And in due course things were squared up and I resumed my flight.'
'Still, very annoying for you,' said Chetwynd. 'A person of your status, I mean.' His tone was disapproving.
'Yes,' said Stafford Nye. 'It doesn't show me in a very good light, does it? I mean, not as bright as a fellow of my - er - status ought to be.' The idea seemed to amuse him.
'Does this often happen, did you find out?'
'I don't think it's a matter of general occurrence. It could be. I suppose any person with a pick-pocket trend could notice a fellow asleep and slip a hand into a pocket, and if he's accomplished in his profession, get hold of a wallet or a pocket-book or something like that, and hope for some luck.'
'Pretty awkward to lose a passport.'
'Yes, I shall have to put in for another one now. Make a lot of explanations, I suppose. As I say, the whole thing's a damn silly business. And let's face it, Chetwynd, it doesn't show me in a very favourable light, does it?'
'Oh, not your fault, my dear boy, not your fault. It could happen to anybody, anybody at all.'
'Very nice of you to say so,' said Stafford Nye, smiling at him agreeably. 'Teach me a sharp lesson, won't it?'
'You don't think anyone wanted your passport specially?'
'I shouldn't think so,' said Stafford Nye. 'Why should they want my passport? Unless it was a matter of someone who wished to annoy me and that hardly seems likely. Or somebody who took a fancy to my passport photo - and that seems even less likely!'
'Did you see anyone you knew at this - where did you say you were - Frankfurt?'
'No, no. Nobody at all.'
'Talk to anyone?'
'Not particularly. Said something to a nice fat woman who'd got a small child she was trying to amuse. Came from Wigan, I think. Going to Australia. Don't remember anybody else.'
'You're sure?'
'There was some woman or other who wanted to know what she did if she wanted to study archaeology in Egypt. Said I didn't know anything about that. I told her she'd better go and ask the British Museum. And I had a word or two with a man who, I think, was an anti-vivisectionist. Very passionate about it.'
'One always feels,' said Chetwynd, 'that there might be something behind things like this.'
'Things like what?'
'Well, things like what happened to you.'
'I don't see what can be behind this,' said Sir Stafford. 'I daresay journalists could make up some story, they're so clever at that sort of thing. Still, it's a silly business. For goodness' sake, let's forget it. I suppose now it's been mentioned in the press, all my friends will start asking me about it. How's old Leyland? What's he up to nowadays? I heard one or two things about him out there. Leyland always talks a bit too much,'
The two men talked amiable shop for ten minutes and then Sir Stafford got up and went out.
'I've got a lot of things to do this morning,' he said. 'Presents to buy for my relations. The trouble is that if one goes to Malaya, all one's relations expect you to bring exotic presents to them. I'll go round to Liberty's, I think. They have a nice stock of Eastern goods there.'
He went out cheerfully, nodding to a couple of men he knew in the corridor outside. After he had gone, Chetwynd spoke through the telephone to his secretary.
'Ask Colonel Munro if he can come to me.'
Colonel Munro came in, bringing another tall middle-aged man with him.
'Don't know whether you know Horsham,' he said, 'in Security.'
'Think I've met you,' said Chetwynd.
'Nye's just left you, hasn't he?' said Colonel Munro. 'Anything in this story about Frankfurt? Anything, I mean, that we ought to take any notice of?'
'Doesn't seem so,' said Chetwynd. 'He's a bit put out about it. Thinks it makes him look a silly ass. Which it does, of course.'
The man called Horsham nodded his head.
'That's the way he takes it, is it?'
'Well, he tried, to put a good face upon it,' said Chetwynd.
'All the same, you know,' said Horsham, 'he's not really a silly ass, is he?'
Chetwynd shrugged his shoulders. These things happen,' he said.
'I know,' said Colonel Munro, 'yes, yes, I know. All the same, well, I've always felt in some ways that Nye is a bit unpredictable. That in some ways, you know, he might not be really sound in his views.'
The man called Horsham spoke.
'Nothing against him,' he said. 'Nothing at all as far as we know.'
'Oh, I didn't mean there was. I didn't mean that at all,' said Chetwynd. 'It's just - how shall I put it? - he's not always very serious about things.'
Mr Horsham had a moustache. He found it useful to have a moustache. It concealed moments when he found difficult to avoid smiling.
'He's not a stupid man,' said Munro. 'Got brains, you know. You don't think that - well, I mean you don't think there could be anything at all doubtful about this?'
'On his part? It doesn't seem so.'
'You've been into it all, Horsham?'
'Well, we haven't had very much time yet. But as far as it goes it's all right. But his passport was used.'
'Used? In what way?'
'It passed through Heathrow.'
'You mean someone represented himself as Sir Stafford Nye?'
'No, no,' said Horsham, 'not in so many words. We could hardly hope for that. It went through with other passports. There was no alarm out, you know. He hadn't even woken up, I gather, at that time, from the dope or whatever it was he was given. He was still at Frankfurt.'
'But someone could have stolen that passport and come on the plane and so got into England?'
'Yes,' said Munro, 'that's the presumption. Either someone took a wallet which had money in it and a passport, or else someone wanted a passport and settled on Sir Stafford Nye as a convenient person to take it from. A drink was waiting on a table, put a pinch in that, wait till the man went off to sleep, take the passport and chance it.'
'But after all, they look at a passport. Must have seen it wasn't the right man,' said Chetwynd.
'Well, there must have been a certain resemblance, certainly,' said Horsham. 'But it isn't as though there was any notice of his being missing, any special attention drawn to that particular passport in any way. A large crowd comes through on a plane that's overdue. A man looks reasonably like the photograph in his passport. That's all. Brief glance, handed back, pass it on. Anyway what they're looking for usually is the foreigners that are coming in, not the British lot. Dark hair, dark blue eyes, clean shaven, five foot ten or whatever it is. That's about all you want to see. Not on a list of undesirable aliens or anything like that.'
'I know, I know. Still, you'd say if anybody wanted merely to pinch a wallet or some money or that, they wouldn't use the passport, would they. Too much risk.'
'Yes,' said Horsham. 'Yes, that is the interesting part of it. Of course,' he said, 'we're making investigations, asking a few questions here and there.'
'And what's your own opinion?'
'I wouldn't like to say yet,' said Horsham. 'It takes a little time, you know. One can't hurry things.'
'They're all the same,' said Colonel Munro, when Horsham had left the room. 'They never will tell you anything, those damned security people. If they think they're on the trail of anything, they won't admit it.'
'Well, that's natural,' said Chetwynd, 'because they might be wrong.'
It seemed a typically political view.
'Horsham's a pretty good man,' said Munro. They think very highly of him at headquarters. He's not likely to be wrong.'
Chapter 3
THE MAN FROM THE CLEANERS
Sir Stafford Nye returned to his flat. A large woman bounced out of the small kitchen with welcoming words.
'See you got back all right, sir. Those nasty planes. You never know, do you?'
'Quite true, Mrs Worrit,' said Sir Stafford Nye. Two hours late, the plane was.'
'Same as cars, aren't they,' said Mrs Worrit. 'I mean you never know, do you, what's going to go wrong with them. Only it's more worrying, so to speak, being up in the air, isn't it? Can't just draw up to the kerb, not the same way, can you? I mean, there you are. I wouldn't go by one myself, not if it was ever so.' She went on, 'I've ordered a few things. I hope that's all right. Eggs, butter, coffee, tea -' She ran off the words with the loquacity of a Near Eastern guide showing a Pharaoh's palace. There,' said Mrs Worrit, pausing to take breath, 'I think that's all as you're likely to want. I've ordered the French mustard.'
'Not Dijon, is it? They always try and give you Dijon.'
'I don't know who he was, but it's Esther Dragon, the one you like, isn't it?'
'Quite right,' said Sir Stafford, 'you're a wonder.'
Mrs Worrit looked pleased. She retired into the kitchen again, as Sir Stafford Nye put his hand on his bedroom door handle preparatory to going into the bedroom.
'All right to give your clothes to the gentleman who called for them, I suppose, sir? You hadn't said or left a note or anything like that.'
'What clothes?' said Sir Stafford Nye, pausing.
'Two suits, it was, the gentleman said as called for them. Twiss and Bonywork it was, think that's the same name as called before. We'd had a bit of a dispute with the White Swan Laundry if I remember rightly.'
