It was just after midnight when Appleby got back to Scotland Yard. Cudworth appeared in his room almost at once. Between attending to reports, he had been pacing his own room restlessly for hours.
‘Grindrod,’ Cudworth said. He pronounced the name not quite impassively. It was, for him, a highly dramatic performance.
Nevertheless it was a moment before Appleby registered the name. He had been sunk in thought. ‘Grindrod?’ he repeated. ‘What about him?’
‘He’s in on this affair. In fact, he’s behind it.’
Appleby frowned impatiently. ‘I don’t know what affair you’re talking about, or why it should be keeping you here at midnight. And I don’t want to hear about it, Cudworth. The Juniper business is quite enough for me at the moment.’
Cudworth stared. ‘But I’m talking about the Juniper business. Karl Grindrod, certainly one of the greatest rascals outside gaol in this country at the present moment, is quite certainly involved.’
‘Rubbish! I don’t believe a word of it.’
Cudworth stopped staring and looked angry. ‘Do I understand, sir, that you wish me to take no further part in this particular case?’
Appleby sat down rather heavily. ‘I’m sorry, Cudworth. This rushing around in aeroplanes can’t agree with me. I know Grindrod is, in the abstract, a likely man. He’s strongly suspected of having had a hand in two or three quite tidy espionage jobs in the last couple of years. The sooner he’s locked up the better. All I ought to have said is that what you tell me appears very unlikely. Perhaps I oughtn’t even to say that. The fact is simply that the Juniper puzzle is at last beginning to arrange itself more or less coherently in my head. I’m prepared to say I’ve almost got the hang of it, although it’s quite unbelievably rum. And nobody like Grindrod has any place in the picture. But do please tell me what’s turned up.’
‘That’s all right, sir.’ Cudworth was quickly mollified. ‘When I got your instructions from that island I went down to the laboratories at once. It appeared that Mr Miles Juniper had walked out on his job – I suppose I ought to say his brother’s job – just after you had a telephone conversation with him yesterday evening.’
Appleby nodded. ‘That doesn’t surprise me at all. In fact, it fits in nicely with the fact that I surprised him. I told him something that astounded him. The whole picture I’m building up turns on that, I may say.’
‘May I know what your picture is, sir?’
‘Well, Cudworth, perhaps not quite yet. You might want to have me certified – which would be a shame, if I’m really beginning to get on top of this damned thing. I’ll just say that this bolt from the laboratories is quite satisfactory to me. Now, go on.’
‘I found Dr Clandon in a great state, and cursing somebody he called the usher. Old word for a schoolmaster, it seems. He meant Miles Juniper. He supposed that Miles’ nerve had simply failed, and that he’d dropped the imposture you’d set him to and bolted. His line – Dr Clandon’s, that is – was that your bright idea had done no good, would probably cost him his job, and ought to cost you your job, too.’
Perhaps for the first time since leaving Ardray, Appleby smiled. ‘Clandon let you have all this – and perfectly good-humouredly?’
‘Well, yes.’ Cudworth appeared surprised at this piece of knowledge on Appleby’s part. ‘Dr Clandon was very upset, but you might say that he was making the best of it. Then I gave him your message. I said that in these changed circumstances the disappearance of Professor Juniper would have to be made public without further delay, and that his senior colleagues should be given the full story at once. So he had in half a dozen of them, there and then, and explained the matter. They weren’t too pleased.’
‘They wouldn’t be, I’m afraid. But I’m sure you were, Cudworth. Here were half a dozen fresh people to put through your routine.’
‘Just that, sir.’ Cudworth spoke impassively. ‘And I got results. Of course I had my photographic files in the car – I seldom go about without them – and I had them in. So I started with the foreign agents and their principal contacts. And when Grindrod’s ugly mug turned up, I got two separate recognitions straight away. And – it seems to me – in an uncommonly significant relationship. One of these fellows said he had seen Grindrod present himself on the previous evening at Professor Juniper’s room. Of course I checked up at once with junior staff, and it seemed perfectly true. Grindrod had appeared, sent in a note to Professor Juniper – to the supposed Professor Juniper, that is to say – and got an interview straight away. It lasted about fifteen minutes.’
Appleby had got up and walked to his uncurtained window. For a moment he appeared absorbed in the lights of a police launch going down the river. ‘And this would be just before Juniper telephoned to me?’
‘Yes, sir. That gets the timing exactly.’
‘Telephoned to me in some agitation, saying he couldn’t carry on longer with what he called the damned charade, or some such phrase. It begins to make a picture, Cudworth, I agree. That it isn’t quite the picture I’ve been making myself is beside the point. Well, go on.’
‘Another of the fellows called in by Clandon had actually seen Professor Juniper – the supposed Professor Juniper – leave the laboratories. That was about half an hour later again. Juniper had simply hailed a taxi and gone off, taking nothing with him. So this fellow thought nothing of it. Nobody did, until Clandon discovered today that Juniper had vanished without explanation. But the immediate point is this. The chap who saw Miles Juniper – our Miles Juniper – go off in this way, saw a car draw out from the side of the road and follow the taxi. Again, he thought nothing of it. But he did recognize in Grindrod’s photograph the man at the wheel.’
‘I see.’ Appleby had turned back into the room. ‘It’s a very pretty sequence, certainly.’
‘Yes, sir. Professor Juniper has vanished, and his brother Miles is – as you might say – keeping up appearances. Grindrod – whose reputation we know – calls on Miles. Miles is upset, and rings you up in obscure agitation. Miles bolts. Grindrod proves to have been lurking around, and follows. Miles doesn’t turn up again.’ Cudworth paused, evidently pleased with this succinct statement. ‘And there’s one other significant fact.’
Appleby nodded. ‘I’m sure there is. You have, you know, in your subtle way, a fine sense of climax. Let’s have it.’
‘I don’t know about that.’ Cudworth looked rather suspiciously at Appleby. ‘But this further fact jumped out at me as soon as Grindrod swam into the picture and I had a more thorough look at his record. Of course there was a good deal of it that I had in my head. A dangerous chap. First turned up in an obscure affair just before the war. Shot a man called Shergold – and undoubtedly in self-defence. Pitched a yarn that it was straight jealousy stuff about a woman. But we suspected that Shergold was going after him with his own gun because Grindrod was blackmailing him.’
‘I remember all that. And didn’t Grindrod then disappear?’
‘He disappeared abroad, all right. It was the sensible thing to do. And his next adventure was probably treason. A nice quiet war in Germany, giving Goebbels a helping hand from time to time. But the end of it found him more or less innocently in Spain, and there was nothing definite enough to base a charge on. Since then, he’s just kept us wondering. But the significant fact I noticed in his record dates from farther back than all that.’
‘An association with one or other of the Junipers?’
‘With both of them, sir. And very early on. They were all three at the same public school and the same Cambridge college.’
‘That’s certainly something. You wouldn’t know whether your precious rascal was in the Cambridge boat?’
Cudworth found this question mildly surprising. ‘I’ve no record of it.’
‘Or played Rugger for England?’
‘I don’t know. But I could easily find out.’
‘Perhaps it isn’t important. At least we can say that he rubbed shoulders with our Howard and Miles quite a lot. And that he has shown a sudden revived interest in them.’
‘Well, sir, a revived interest in Howard. And, of course the significance of his early association with the brothers at school and college is obvious. He would know of their old amusement of exchanging identities. And he might well be especially able to distinguish between them. So consider the situation yesterday. Grindrod seeks out Howard – probably for no very honest purpose. He is shown in on the man purporting to be Howard. And – either instantly or after a few minutes – he sees that it isn’t Howard, but Miles. Miles realizes that his impersonation is discovered, and is upset. He is so upset that presently he bolts. But Grindrod, who realizes that he is on to a good thing, has lurked about, and now follows him. I’d put my money on all that. But I’m blessed if I can see where it leads us.’
‘To the missing brother, I hope.’
‘Well, I hope so too, sir. It seems a more promising trail than your trip to Ardray. I can’t think very much came of that.’
‘Not much ought to have come of it, I agree.’ Appleby saw that Cudworth’s cavalier reception at the beginning of the interview still slightly rankled with him. ‘But, as a matter of fact, something did. Sheer luck at the end of a hunch, you might call it. Of course I confirmed the fact that anybody’s making a secret trip out there is nonsense. But I could have done that without taking to the air. The luck was in something that I got, almost casually, from the top man there. And it slewed the whole case round for me. They call the damned thing they’re fooling about with on that island the Great Auk. And Howard Juniper knew that. So either Juniper was romancing to Lord Ailsworth or Lord Ailsworth has been romancing to me. The latter, I think. But now we’re going to find out. Get a car round. And ring up Clandon and have him out of his bed. We’ll collect him on the way, and be at Ailsworth for breakfast.’
‘Ailsworth?’ Clandon said, as the car ran rapidly through deserted streets. ‘I suppose I’ve met him. My father knew him pretty well, before he retired from the world and went dotty on birds. Harmlessly and deeply mad, I understand. I’m sceptical about his having much to do with our problem.’
‘So is Cudworth,’ Appleby said. ‘But put it this way. Chronologically, and so far as our record goes, the problem begins with Ailsworth and at Ailsworth. It begins more or less on solid ground there, and only sails into the blue thereafter. Howard Juniper – although to a lesser extent than his brother Miles – has an interest in birds. So he treats himself to a little holiday down at Ailsworth, where birds are to be observed in plenty. Nothing odd in that. It’s true that he practises a totally unnecessary petty deception, telling some story about an appointment in Edinburgh. But people on work like his do get irked by the sense of being on a string. Wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Great God, yes.’
‘Very well. Howard has a day or two down there, including what appears to be a chance encounter with Lord Ailsworth. And then he returns to work. There’s nothing odd in the episode except the yarn that Ailsworth himself spins about it: Howard Juniper’s divulging his intention of going to Ardray to hunt the Great Auk. We now know positively that he couldn’t genuinely have had any such plan, since he happened to know that the Great Auk is a missile and doesn’t lay eggs. So we come to our first question, which I was putting to Cudworth a little time ago. Who is telling a lie? The only motive I can find for Howard Juniper’s doing so seems quite fantastic: he was going out of his way to contact Ailsworth for the purpose of laying some sort of false trail. But why Ailsworth? The old man lives a more retired life than almost anybody in England, and his meeting with Juniper might never have come to light at all. So I accept, tentatively, the other interpretation. It was Ailsworth who was laying a false trail. He wanted to get rid of me. The old rumour about the Great Auk, or Garefowl, on Ardray came into his head, and he promptly spun me this yarn about his meeting with the man who subsequently disappeared. Of course it’s thoroughly queer – but, granted Ailsworth’s eccentricity, it’s not implausible.’
‘It’s not implausible, certainly.’ Cudworth spoke from the wheel of the car. ‘But it isn’t intelligible. It leads us nowhere.’
‘Sir John appears to think it does.’ Clandon, engaged in lighting a large curly pipe, rumbled contentedly. ‘Back to Ailsworth, it seems. At least it looks as if it may be a nice day for an outing. But go on.’
Appleby nodded. ‘Very well. But I agree that here is, for the moment, a dead end. Lord Ailsworth’s romancing doesn’t make sense in terms of any information we’ve reviewed so far. So go on to the next thing: the real start of the case. Somebody vanishes.’
‘Quite so. And surely–’ Clandon checked himself. ‘Would you say that again?’
‘Somebody vanishes.’
‘There’s nothing like caution.’ Cudworth, as he offered this reflection, somewhat inconsistently relieved his feelings by swinging the car hazardously round a bend. ‘Somebody vanishes. But we mustn’t say who. It may have been Professor Juniper. But it may have been Charley’s Aunt. Or the Abominable Snow Man. Or–’
‘Or Miles Juniper.’ This time, Clandon didn’t rumble. He snapped. ‘It’s an idea. Yes, it’s a point of departure, undeniably. But it certainly invites us to abandon solid ground and ascend into that blue like a rocket. In fact, I never heard anything so bizarre in my life. In heaven’s name, Appleby, what should put such an idea in your head?’
‘Something, as a matter of fact, that has been haunting my ear obstinately from the start of the affair. I’ll tell you in a minute. But answer me this question first. What has been your main impression of the chap you’ve been passing off during the last few days as Howard Juniper?’
‘I’ve told you already. That he’s been a damned bad actor. Trying to back up your crazy scheme, my heart’s been in my mouth a dozen times. The fellow couldn’t act his brother for toffee.’
‘And why not?’
‘Why not!’ Words seemed to fail Clandon. ‘Because as I say, he was a damned bad actor. We’re talking in a circle.’
Appleby chuckled. ‘You may be. I’m not. Think of the history of the Junipers. They made a hobby from boyhood of their peculiar brand of Box and Cox. And they were both experienced amateur actors. Why should Miles come so near to muffing the thing when he addressed himself to it in your blessed research establishment? I can see only one answer. Because he wasn’t Miles at all. He was Howard.’
‘My dear Appleby, I never heard such a preposterous piece of false logic. Surely–’ Clandon stopped abruptly, and stared at his companion. ‘Or did I?’
‘Exactly. There’s nothing wrong with the logic of the thing, whatever we may think of its common sense. Howard had to impersonate himself. More strictly, and so far as you were concerned, he had to play the part of Miles Juniper called upon to play the part of Howard Juniper. And he was Howard Juniper. It was a situation that would tax the most accomplished of professional actors, I imagine. And Howard – for we are talking about Howard, remember – overplayed the factor of error. I don’t know whether that’s the apt expression, but you see what I mean. Howard’s real difficulty was that you might see he was Howard. Shall we turn to another thing?’
‘Turn to anything you like.’ Clandon, although the chill of the early morning was yet in the air, produced a large silk handkerchief and mopped his brow.
‘Then consider this. What really staggered the man I saw at Miles Juniper’s prep school was the suggestion that his missing brother might have carried off with him some unspeakably lethal stuff from your laboratories. He was still, according to your own observation, in a state of great uneasiness during the first evening of his impersonation – if impersonation is the right word for it. On the following morning he was – as I think you expressed it – another man. Now, suppose Miles to have been, for some reason, playing the professor – while the professor, correspondingly, was playing the schoolmaster. Miles would naturally have access to whatever was about the place. If Howard had grave apprehensions about Miles’ nervous stability, and had at the same time allowed this whole prank or whatever it was to go forward, he would naturally be in acute anxiety in case Miles, in disappearing, actually had taken something quite appalling away with him. But this would be something that Howard could check up on as soon as he had the run of his own laboratory again in private. And – in the existing circumstances, and short of an actual confession of the whole extraordinary situation – he could get that run of his own laboratory only by falling in with my proposal that he should, for a few days, take on the rôle of his brother’ – Appleby smiled wryly – ‘or of the man I thought was his brother.’
Intent on a fast trip, Cudworth made one of his few interruptions. ‘A little loosely phrased, that one,’ he said. ‘But we follow you.’
‘Thank you. Well, the reason that Howard impersonating Miles impersonating Howard cheered up on the following day must have been because he had discovered that nothing particularly deadly was, in fact, missing.’ Appleby glanced at Clandon. ‘Would that fit?’
‘As well as anything else in this nightmare. But we don’t yet know why the brothers should change identities in the first place, or why Miles while impersonating Howard should disappear, or why Howard impersonating Miles impersonating Howard should also disappear, or why Lord Ailsworth should have anything to do with it, or where this fellow, What’s-his-name–’
‘Grindrod.’
‘Or where Grindrod comes into the story at all. And you haven’t told us, Appleby, what really set you on this extraordinary line of elucidation – if it is elucidation – in the first place.’
‘Consider this. The boys at Splaine Croft believe that their headmaster, although in various ways an admirable person, particularly with a cricket ball, is an ambitious man, disappointed and a bit messed up. Boys are commonly acute in discerning a matter of fact of that sort, although they may go quite astray in assigning reasons for it. Add the point that Miles Juniper is vain. It was my wife who got hold of that. He is an entirely obscure schoolmaster, and not particularly wealthy. But his house contains an oil portrait and a bronze bust of Miles Juniper which between them must have cost two or three thousand pounds. That’s not normal, surely. The man’s neurotic. And he has one quite freakish symptom which his famous and successful brother Howard occasionally allows him to indulge. Just that of being Howard.’
Clandon used his handkerchief again. ‘It’s devilishly plausible, I must say.’
‘And vice versa?’ Cudworth asked.
Appleby took a moment to consider the bearing of this Latinism. ‘Well, yes. It would be my guess that Howard is the stronger and more stable, as well as the more talented, brother. I felt a basic strength in him, at our first meeting.’
‘When supposing him to be Miles,’ Cudworth said, rather unnecessarily.
‘Quite so. And when he was supposing me to be somebody called Clwyd.’ Appleby suddenly laughed aloud. ‘It must have tickled him – wouldn’t you say? – finding himself visited by somebody pretending to be somebody else. But to get back to what I was saying. Howard is the stronger and more stable – but like many strong and stable people, he probably pushes himself well up to his nervous limit. The little comedy of retreating for a few days from time to time into the obscurely beneficent rôle of a prep-school master was no doubt a pleasure to him. So it is probably vice versa, as Cudworth says: there’s a mutual satisfaction in the manoeuvre. Of course in psychological terms there is no doubt a good deal more to it than that. A compulsive neurosis, established on the basis of nursery pranks. It’s a wonderful subject for investigation.’
Clandon gave his rumbling laugh. ‘Always supposing it isn’t moonshine, my dear chap. But you haven’t yet really told us what set you on all this.’
‘Something extremely simple. There was a point during my first interview with Howard impersonating Miles – at Splaine, that is to say – at which Howard nearly betrayed himself. He began to say “Is it about Miles?” And then he checked himself, and managed to make it “Is it about my brother?” instead. But the thing, as I’ve said, had been just perceptible to the ear – and it hung on my ear, so to speak, without finding the way into my mind. Much later, when the common noun “miles” turned up in Howard’s conversation on a telephone line, the perception just prickled at me again. And then, a good deal later again, it suddenly got through. The man I had unquestioningly taken to be Miles Juniper, and whom I had asked to be Howard Juniper, was Howard Juniper. Unless I was achieving a quite false recollection, there could be no other explanation.’
Clandon looked dubious. ‘What,’ he asked, ‘about that psychopathology of everyday life stuff? Ending a letter with “I hope you are still dead” when you ought to be writing “I hope you are still in your customary rude health”. Wouldn’t something of that sort cover Miles calling Howard Miles? Freud has a lot to say about such slips of the tongue. And, after all, you are hard at work putting the brothers Juniper into some sort of psychopathological category anyway. Twins nipping into each other’s jobs. Pity they’re not married. You can imagine all sorts of high jinks–’
Cudworth blew an unnecessary blast on his horn. He was a man, Appleby knew, who deprecated coarse pleasantries. ‘Supposing,’ Cudworth said, ‘that this extraordinary substitution really took place, and that the disappearances have been successively of Miles impersonating Howard and of Howard impersonating Miles impersonating Howard, how does Lord Ailsworth come in? And how does Grindrod come in? If your theory is correct, sir, Grindrod didn’t do what I was suggesting he did. He didn’t, that is, detect that Howard was really Miles. Because Howard wasn’t Miles. Howard was Howard, although we thought him Miles.’ Cudworth paused in exasperation. ‘It’s almost impossible to keep all this straight as one talks. But I’m asking about Lord Ailsworth and Grindrod. Who have they believed to be who?’
‘In short,’ Clandon demanded, ‘what the devil is it all about?’
Appleby glanced at his watch. ‘I hope,’ he said, ‘that we shall have all the answers by lunchtime.’