7

Outside, darkness was falling; the room faced the south, and there was a pale light of the afterglow in one corner of the window. Crickets chirruped. Some birds were swooping on the insects which came out to welcome the night.

Woburn said slowly, almost painfully: “I— I simply don’t know what you’re driving at.”

“Davos, his daughters Eve and Naomi – the elder by several years – and some friends went on a world cruise in their steam yacht, the Horizon, some years ago,” Palfrey said.

“Davos is extremely wealthy, and the yacht is ocean-going, with a full complement. He visited these Pacific islands. He also visited the New England states, was anchored off the coast of Maine for some weeks, and spent a lot of time in the Adirondacks. He also steamed through the Western Isles, last summer. And you know that he owns Ronoch Castle.”

Woburn was on the point of saying: “It must be coincidence.” He checked it.

Palfrey went on: “Davos is a research chemist. Among the research he’s renowned for is a study of sea life.”

Yes, it was coming back. Davos was almost another Piccard, had descended farther into the sea than any other man. He had written a book which might have had the success of a best seller, but for its academic style. Once Palfrey had prompted him, Woburn remembered all that.

Palfrey was still speaking: “He has studied the possibility of making food for human consumption out of plankton. He probably knows more than any other human being about submarine life, in arctic as well as tropical waters. Among the problems he’s studied is how to make sea water fresh.”

Woburn said: “The things – the octi – contained fresh water. I know, I tested it when some spurted against my lips.”

“Yes,” agreed Palfrey, “and that suggests that they weren’t born out of the sea. We don’t know how they’re created, but—”

“Have you asked Davos about them?”

“He denies all knowledge.”

“What makes you think he’s a liar?”

“Woburn, take a good, hard look at the situation which could come about,” Palfrey said quietly. “If those creatures can drown a village, what’s to stop them from drowning a town? If they can destroy small islands, why not large islands? If they can invade a small schooner trading in the Pacific, what is to prevent them from invading big ships? Or – a nation?”

Woburn felt as if he were looking at the very face of horror.

“Sir Gabriel Davos is a possible common denominator,” Palfrey went on, “and since he refuses to admit that he knows anything about the octi, we have to find out whether he’s telling the truth. I had a man get a job with him, on his marine research. And I had another man join him, a man with a lot of experience with animals. He went as a veterinary surgeon at the zoo in Ronoch Castle.” There was a pause. Then: “ Both died.” Palfrey went on abruptly. “One was killed in a road accident. The other was scratched by a lemur, and died from acute blood poisoning. The evidence at the inquests was sifted as thoroughly as it could be. The verdicts were right, on the evidence. Accidental death, and death by misadventure. They were two good men, about your age, and they’d worked with me for years.”

Woburn brushed his hand across his damp forehead.

“Who are you? Intelligence?”

“That’ll serve for now,” Palfrey said, and went on almost abruptly: “May we have some light?”

“Some— oh, yes. Yes, sorry.” Woburn jumped up and hurried across the room. He switched on the light, from a battery plant outside in the stables. The dull thud of a machine sounded as if a long way off. The night outside was thrown into utter darkness, except where the lights of cars and of a man’s cigarette showed clearly.

The features of the Englishman and the Russian were shown up sharply.

“Another drink?” Woburn asked.

“Yes, please,” said Palfrey promptly, but the Russian said: “No, thank you,” in his precise way. Woburn poured out, and asked abruptly:

“Are you implying that Davos killed these men?”

“I’m implying that they were killed while trying to find out what was happening at the Castle,” Palfrey said. “So far, it hasn’t been possible to take any direct action. The death of his daughter Naomi would certainly make his complicity look even more unlikely. Short of positive evidence that he’s involved, we can’t do a thing. The evidence we have is that he knows when a man is sent to pry at the Castle. We’ve one more there, one who has been there for some time, but—” Palfrey spread his hands. “He hasn’t yet sent us any information, and we haven’t heard from him for a week. We don’t know that he’s still there and alive.”

Woburn said roughly: “It can’t be as bad as that.”

“I assure you, it is just as bad as that,” said Andromovitch quietly.

Somehow, that seemed to put the whole thing beyond question; to turn the horror into a kind of reality which made it more horrible still.

“There’s another pointer,” Palfrey went on, and this time he sounded almost diffident. He coiled a few strands of the silky hair about his forefinger, and pulled at it. “This attack on you. Miss Davos went back to the Castle and, of course, told them what you’d done – told them that you’d seen the octi. Within a few hours, you were attacked. I think it possible that someone was desperately anxious that you should not describe the octi to anyone in authority.”

Woburn didn’t speak.

“It wouldn’t be difficult for them to find out that you’d been kept away from the Press,” continued Palfrey. “The whole of the area was cordoned off. Davos, or whoever is working on the octi, certainly knows that I’m investigating them. He might reasonably assume that I’d come up here to see you. The attack was first made to look like an accident, but when that failed, the men risked shooting you, they were so anxious to kill. See it this way, Woburn. To prevent our meeting, they made an attack which had the merit of crude simplicity. A false invitation in Davos’s name, and a boulder in a deadly spot. It should have succeeded, and the men had cudgels to finish you off. Had it come off, there would have been another ‘accidental’ death, for the boulder could have been pushed off the road.”

Woburn burst out: “I don’t understand why you do nothing! Surely you could hold Davos on suspicion, you could find some way of making him talk.”

“We could, but we daren’t. We know he has agents – groups of people, scientists particularly, in many parts of the world. We believe he has some very great force at his disposal. If we act precipitately, he might use it; or his agents might. We need to find out just what his secret weapon is.” Palfrey released the strands of hair, and patted them sharply back on to his forehead in a little kiss curl. Childish. “You see? The octi may be all or part of this secret. Before we risk an open clash with Davos, we need to be sure. At least, we have to try to be sure. The disasters have been on a limited scale, as far as we know. So we have a little time left.” He paused, just for effect, sipped his drink, and went on: “Remember the East Coast floods, a few years ago? Remember Lynmouth? Remember the North Sea floods in Holland? Remember the floods in Italy and those in India, which drowned twenty thousand people?” He sipped his drink again, while Woburn just stared, hands clenched, teeth gritting. “We’ve been given certain natural explanations of all these disasters,” Palfrey went on. “Tidal waves, excessive rains, rivers overflowing, melting snows – but in every case the magnitude of the flooding puzzled experts. There was a much smaller incident round the coast of Devon, a few months ago, when a tidal wave, so called, swamped thousands of holiday-makers. There was no known explanation. But – add all these up, Woburn. Put the story into the hands of a good newspaperman, who’ll write it up for sensation. What do you think the people living near the coast would feel like? What would you feel like?”

Woburn answered, heavily: “All right, you can’t risk letting the news out, but – what are you going to do?”

“We’ve several things in hand,” Palfrey said, almost as if he was talking about some unexciting business project. “And we’re being forced to take chances we wouldn’t, in the normal course of events. For instance, in using men we know little about. Such as you.” Palfrey turned to glance at Andromovitch, and the Russian got up. Until that moment, Woburn had forgotten how enormous he was.

“For some time now I have a special job, Woburn,” the giant said. “I investigate the past of – shall we say agents, Sap?” Woburn didn’t know what ‘Sap’ implied. “The modern word is screen, isn’t it? This afternoon I was given a rush job. I had to screen you. Tell me how far I am wrong.” He didn’t smile, but his expression was placid, his eyes had a serene look. “Born, 1921, of an English mother and a Scottish doctor. Educated at Shrewsbury School. War service, varied – Fleet Air Arm, transferred to the Airborne Division. Service in Burma and in Malaya. You put your engineering knowledge to good use and received the George Medal for dismantling a two-thousand-pound bomb which fell but did not explode in a London suburb where you were staying, just before the end of the war. For some years after the war you worked in the Birmingham factory of Mordant’s Limited, refrigeration engineering specialists, and for some five years you have been the Chicago representative of the company. You are” – Andromovitch used the pause almost as effectively as Palfrey – “unmarried. Your parents are both dead. You have no close relation, and you are not engaged to be married.” There was another pause, then: “Is that about right, Woburn?”

“How the devil did you get all that in the time?”

The giant shrugged. “Telephone calls, my friend. To Chicago, Birmingham, the War Office, the Admiralty. You would, I think, be given a clean bill for any usual purpose. And as Sap says, we cannot afford the time to take the best security measures.”

Woburn said gruffly: “Oh, can’t you?”

“Do not take umbrage,” said the giant, placidly. “In times past, we have always believed in screening our men for two years before asking them to join us. Now – you understand that you are in a very special position.”

Woburn brushed his hand across his damp forehead, but didn’t speak.

Palfrey said: “We think that you might be able to get away with a lot of things our agents couldn’t. You know Eve Davos, and she would have good reason to be grateful to you. You could take advantage of that to go to the Castle. We would brief you, of course, and your main job would be to find out anything you can about the octi or about any secret work that Davos is carrying on. You might find nothing, and you might find a great deal. You might even,” went on Palfrey almost casually, “get out alive.”

Woburn looked from one man to another, as if he couldn’t make up his mind whether they were serious. In fact, Palfrey had summed it up concisely, even brutally. If he did what they asked, he ‘might’ get out alive.

It would mean using Eve as the excuse for spying on her father.

Woburn actually thought of that, without voicing the thought. He saw a mental picture of the girl – and of Jenny, and of all the village. He had known Eve Davos for little more than an hour. He owed her nothing. He owed his sister vengeance for a dead son. He had only to convince himself that he might be able to help, and he would do what these men asked.

Who were they?

Palfrey was playing with his hair again.

“During the war,” he said unexpectedly, “the Allies formed an Allied Intelligence. They gave me the job of co-ordinating it. Since the war, the balance of power has shifted. Small states, some groups of individuals, even single persons working with loyal staff, could threaten the peace. We know all about the international cold war, we don’t know about the other cold war – not against groups of nations, but against individuals. There was one man who found a gas that could kill off the world in a few hours. Another – but I needn’t go on. Individuals and syndicates with power lust or with a megalomaniac sense of personal greatness menace us all. Here at home, in the United States, in Russia, in the Far East. So, the Allied Intelligence was extended. We call it by a nonsense key word – Z.5. My job is to co-ordinate. All nations are represented, and all pay into a common pool. The constant need is to seek out and to stop the syndicates and the individuals who have too great a power.

“If the octi are made, or if they’re controlled by man, we need to know who it is. We don’t yet. We think it might be Sir Gabriel Davos. We could kill or imprison Davos and break up the Castle, and we could go after all his known employees; but we still wouldn’t know what the octi are, how they breed, how many parts of the world are infested.

You could help us to find out, Woburn. Of course—”

he gave a little shrug. “You might be killed, but you might also say ‘no’ and go for a walk in a London street and be run over by a bus. Or you may have coronary thrombosis.”

He stopped again.

Woburn said slowly, heavily: “If he’s behind this, won’t he guess you’ll be after me?”

“Oh, yes,” Palfrey said. “Didn’t I say so? He won’t know what’s passed between us, though. You’d have to learn off by heart a variant of what we’ve actually said. You’d tell Davos that we asked you questions by the hundred, but didn’t tell you anything. That wouldn’t surprise him. The essential thing is that you should decide quickly, so that you can get to work at once. You could learn a version of this interview tonight, for instance, for repeating later if necessary. Possibly for repeating under some form of torture. I don’t,” went on Palfrey with great precision, “want to minimise the danger.”

After a moment, Woburn said: “What exactly do you want me to do?”

“In general – just find out anything that might help. Will you?”

There was a long pause, but although he hesitated, Woburn knew that there was only one thing to say.

“I’ll try,” he said, gruffly, “but don’t get the idea that I’m so tough that I wouldn’t crack under pressure.”

“We know how tough you are,” Palfrey said, with deep satisfaction, “and we’ve good reason to believe that you’re reliable. At the moment, you’re very nearly our only hope,” he went on, with a cheerfully candid smile. “As for your job – well, some of it you know about. Find out everything you can at the Castle, find out if Davos can control the octi. And find out where the creatures are. I mean,” Palfrey added, and it seemed hardly possible that he meant exactly what he said, “if they can undermine a cliff in Scotland and an island off the Isle of Mull, they could undermine all of this island, couldn’t they? That’s the most frightening question: how many are there, how strong are they, where are they, what damage can they do next and – is there any way of controlling them?” He gave an odd little laugh. “Tall order, but you’ll get help of a kind. The first thing is to play your luck, by going to the Castle. We might wait until morning, to find out if anyone from the place contacts you. If they don’t, it’s reasonable enough for you to call and inquire after Miss Davos, isn’t it? Especially after the message you received.”

Woburn nodded.

“Good,” said Palfrey, more briskly. “How I wish we could give you a more precise and helpful briefing. We can’t. Your job is to pick up every piece of information that you can, and try to get it out. Our other agents have had to fall back on the oldest and safest method – carrier pigeons. There should be two pigeon houses, and all the pigeons are marked with red feathers at their necks. Dyed. Ever handled carrier pigeons?”

“No. But I know the theory,” Woburn said.

“They’re tame and easy to catch, you’ll find a ring on each bird. Just scribble a message, and put it inside the ring.” Palfrey slipped into a mood of authority, somehow became much more impressive. “Incidentally, we can tell you that you’re right about one thing – the force of the water ejected by one of the octi. That dog was found dead this evening. Its jaw was broken.”

Woburn felt cold.

“Another thing,” Palfrey said. “Our man at the Castle will contact you – as he will any newcomers. He’ll ask you if you’ve ever seen the Battle of Flowers at Nice, and when you say yes, he’ll ask if you’ve seen the Fete des Citrons, at Menton. You’ll say yes – but your photographs didn’t come out. Got that?”

“I’ve got it,” Woburn said. “When’s he likely to contact me?”

“He’s the only judge of the timing,” Palfrey said, “and he may keep quiet. It’s up to him.”

“Wouldn’t it help if I knew who he is?”

Palfrey spoke very slowly.

“Woburn, you don’t know these people; we know a little about them. Once you’re in the Castle, you’ll be in danger. They may decide that you’re from me. They may use torture, to make you tell them if anyone else from Z.5 is there. If you don’t know, you can’t tell. Our man there, if he’s still free, will wait until he feels sure it’s safe to let you know who he is. Is that all clear?”

Very slowly, Woburn said: “Yes.”

Then he heard the sound of a car engine, and looked at the window. In a way, the respite was welcome. Headlights were approaching, swaying up and down. One of Palfrey’s men stepped into the light, with his hands raised. The car slowed down. For a split second, Woburn felt the fear that he had when the two men had sprung at him in the lane.

Next moment, he saw Bill Robertson get out of the car, a hand against his eyes to shut out the light of a torch. Woburn’s thoughts were switched right away from Palfrey and his grim briefing.

Bill was here without Jenny!

“There’s my brother-in-law,” he said sharply, “let’s get out to him.” He was already moving towards the door. “He wouldn’t have left Jenny behind, unless—”

He didn’t finish.

He hurried along the drive towards Bill, who was coming at a steady pace, with Palfrey’s man just behind him. He saw Woburn and the other men; and although he must have seen the huge Russian, he didn’t seem to take any notice.

“Bill, what’s up?” asked Woburn; and then jeered at himself. Bill had come back for some forgotten trifle; if he rushed into panic over everything—

“I’ve come for my gun,” Bill Robertson said, and his harsh voice gave the lie to ‘trifle’. “Couldn’t get here before, I had to stay with Jenny.” His voice was jerky, like his manner “Driving into town I saw the sheep in Lairg Glen. They looked as if they were going mad. Jumping about, snapping, snarling. Sheep. As soon as I got the chance, I came back. A dozen of them are dead – broken legs, broken necks, some have actually been torn apart. The others are stampeding. Dreadful sight. Dreadful.”