"Yes, he was over in England on a visit and he came to look up Tom."
"And your husband's reactions?"
"Tom was surprised to see him, but very pleased. They'd known each other quite well in the States."
"What did this Griffiths seem like to you? Just describe him in your own way."
"But surely you know all about him?"
"Yes, we know all about him. But I want to hear what you thought of him."
She reflected for a moment.
"Well, he was solemn and rather long-winded. Very polite to me and seemed very fond of Tom and anxious to tell him about things that had happened after Tom had come to England. All local gossip I suppose. It wasn't very interesting to me because I didn't know any of the people. Anyway, I was getting dinner ready while they were reminiscing."
"No question of politics came up?"
"You're trying to hint that he was a communist." Olive Betterton's face flushed. "I'm sure he was nothing of the sort. He had some government job - in the District Attorney's office, I think. And anyway when Tom said something laughing about witch hunts in America, he said solemnly that we didn't understand over here. They were necessary. So that shows he wasn't a communist!"
"Please, please, Mrs. Betterton, now don't get upset."
"Tom wasn't a communist! I keep telling you so and you don't believe me."
"Yes, I do, but the point is bound to come up. Now for the second contact from abroad, Dr. Mark Lucas. You ran across him in London in the Dorset."
"Yes. We'd gone up to do a show and we were having supper at the Dorset afterwards. Suddenly this man, Luke or Lucas, came along and greeted Tom. He was a research chemist of some kind and the last time he had seen Tom was in the States. He was a German refugee who'd taken American nationality. But surely you..."
"But surely I know that? Yes, I do, Mrs. Betterton. Was your husband surprised to see him?"
"Yes, very surprised."
"Pleased?"
"Yes, yes - I think so -"
"But you're not sure?" He pressed her.
"Well, he was a man Tom didn't much care about, or so he told me afterwards, that's all."
"It was just a casual meeting? There was no arrangement made to meet at some future date?"
"No, it was just a casual encounter."
"I see. The third contact from abroad was a woman, Mrs. Carol Speeder, also from the States. How did that come about?"
"She was something to do with UNO, I believe. She'd known Tom in America, and she rang him up from London to say she was over here, and asked if we could come up and lunch one day."
"And did you?"
"No."
"You didn't, but your husband did!"
"What!" She stared.
"He didn't tell you?"
"No."
Olive Betterton looked bewildered and uneasy. The man questioning her felt a little sorry for her, but he did not relent. For the first time he thought he might be getting somewhere.
"I don't understand it," she said uncertainly. "It seems very odd he shouldn't have said anything about it to me."
"They lunched together at the Dorset where Mrs. Speeder was staying, on Wednesday August 12th."
"August 12th?"
"Yes."
"Yes, he did go to London about then... He never said anything -" she broke off again, and then shot out a question. "What is she like?"
He answered quickly and reassuringly.
"Not at all a glamorous type, Mrs. Betterton. A competent young career woman of thirty-odd, not particularly good-looking. There's absolutely no suggestion of her ever having been on intimate terms with your husband. That is just why it's odd that he didn't tell you about the meeting."
"Yes, yes, I see that."
"Now think carefully, Mrs. Betterton. Did you notice any change in your husband about that time? About the middle of August, shall we say? That would be about a week before the conference."
"No - No, I noticed nothing. There was nothing to notice."
Jessop sighed.
The instrument on his desk buzzed discreetly. He picked up the receiver. "Yes," he said.
The voice at the other end said,
"There's a man who's asking to see someone in authority about the Betterton case, sir."
"What's his name?"
The voice at the other end coughed discreetly.
"Well, I'm not exactly sure how you pronounce it, Mr. Jessop. Perhaps I'd better spell it."
"Right. Go ahead."
He jotted down on his blotter the letters as they came over the wire.
"Polish?" he said interrogatively, at the end.
"He didn't say, sir. He speaks English quite well, but with a bit of an accent"
"Ask him to wait."
"Very good, sir."
Jessop replaced the telephone. Then he looked across at Olive Betterton. She sat there quite quietly with a disarming, hopeless placidity. He tore off the leaf on his desk pad with the name he had just written on it, and shoved it across to her.
"Know anybody of that name?" he asked.
Her eyes widened as she looked at it. For a moment he thought she looked frightened.
"Yes," she said. "Yes, I do. He wrote to me."
"When?"
"Yesterday. He's a cousin of Tom's first wife. He's just arrived in this country. He was very concerned about Tom's disappearance. He wrote to ask if I had had any news and - and to give me his most profound sympathy."
"You'd never heard of him before that?"
She shook her head.
"Ever hear your husband speak of him?"
"No."
"So really he mightn't be your husband's cousin at all?"
"Well, no, I suppose not. I never thought of that." She looked startled. "But Tom's first wife was a foreigner. She was Professor Mannheim's daughter. This man seemed to know all about her and Tom in his letter. It was very correct and formal and - and foreign, you know. It seemed quite genuine. And anyway, what would be the point - if he weren't genuine, I mean?"
"Ah, that's what one always asks oneself." Jessop smiled faintly. "We do it so much here that we begin to see the smallest thing quite out of proportion!"
"Yes, I should think you might." She shivered suddenly. "It's like this room of yours, in the middle of a labyrinth of corridors, just like a dream when you think you will never get out..."
"Yes, yes, I can see it might have a claustrophobic effect," said Jessop pleasantly.
Olive Betterton put a hand up and pushed back her hair from her forehead.
"I can't stand it much longer, you know," she said. "Just sitting and waiting. I want to get away somewhere for a change. Abroad for choice. Somewhere where reporters won't ring me up all the time, and people stare at me. I'm always meeting friends and they keep asking if I have had any news?" She paused, then went on, "I think - I think I'm going to break down. I've tried to be brave, but it's too much for me. My doctor agrees. He says I ought to go right away somewhere for three or four weeks. He wrote me a letter. I'll show you."
She fumbled in her bag, took out an envelope and pushed it across the desk to Jessop.
"You'll see what he says."
Jessop took the letter out of the envelope and read it.
"Yes," he said. "Yes, I see."
He put the letter back in the envelope.
"So - so it would be all right for me to go?" Her eyes watched him nervously.
"But of course, Mrs. Betterton," he replied. He raised surprised eyebrows. "Why not?"
"I thought you might object."
"Object - why? It's entirely your own business. You'll arrange it so that I can get in touch with you while you're away in case any news should come through."
"Oh, of course."
"Where were you thinking of going?"
"Somewhere where there is sun and not too many English people. Spain or Morocco."
"Very nice. Do you a lot of good, I'm sure."
"Oh, thank you. Thank you
very much."
She rose, excited, elated - her nervousness still apparent.
Jessop rose, shook hands with her, pressed the buzzer for a messenger to see her out. He went back to his chair and sat down. For a few moments his face remained as expressionless as before, then very slowly he smiled. He lifted the phone.
"I'll see Major Glydr now," he said.
Chapter 2
"Major Glydr?" Jessop hesitated a little over the name.
"It is difficult, yes." The visitor spoke with humorous appreciation. "Your compatriots, they have called me Glider in the war. And now, in the States, I shall change my name to Glyn, which is more convenient for all."
"You come from the States now?"
"Yes, I arrived a week ago. You are - excuse me - Mr. Jessop?"
"I'm Jessop."
The other looked at him with interest.
"So," he said. "I have heard of you."
"Indeed? From whom?"
The other smiled.
"Perhaps we go too fast. Before you permit that I should ask you some questions, I present you first this letter from the U.S. Embassy."
He passed it with a bow. Jessop took it, read the few lines of polite introduction, put it down. He looked appraisingly at his visitor. A tall man, carrying himself rather stiffly, aged thirty or thereabouts. The fair hair was close cropped in the continental fashion. The stranger's speech was slow and careful with a very definite foreign intonation, though grammatically correct. He was, Jessop noticed, not at all nervous or unsure of himself. That in itself was unusual. Most of the people who came into this office were nervous or excited or apprehensive. Sometimes they were shifty, sometimes vehement.
This was a man who had complete command of himself, a man with a poker face who knew what he was doing and why, and who would not be easily tricked or betrayed into saying more than he meant to say. Jessop said pleasantly, "And what can we do for you?"
"I came to ask if you had any further news of Thomas Betterton, who disappeared recently in what seems a somewhat sensational manner. One cannot, I know, believe exactly what one reads in the press, so I ask where I can go for reliable information. They tell me - you."
"I'm sorry we've no definite information about Betterton."
"I thought perhaps he might have been sent abroad on some mission." He paused and added, rather quaintly, "You know, hush-hush."
"My dear sir." Jessop looked pained. "Betterton was a scientist, not a diplomat or a secret agent."
"I am rebuked. But labels are not always correct. You will want to inquire my interest in the matter. Thomas Betterton was a relation of mine by marriage."
"Yes. You are the nephew, I believe, of the late Professor Mannheim."
"Ah, that you knew already. You are well informed here."
"People come along and tell us things," murmured Jessop. "Betterton's wife was here. She told me. You had written to her."
"Yes, to express my condolences and to ask if she had had any further news."
"That was very correct."
"My mother was Professor Mannheim's only sister. They were much attached. In Warsaw when I was a child I was much at my uncle's house, and his daughter, Elsa, was to me like a sister. When my father and mother died my home was with my uncle and cousin. They were happy days. Then came the war, the tragedies, the horrors... Of all that we will not speak. My uncle and Elsa escaped to America. I myself remained in the underground Resistance, and after the war ended I had certain assignments. One visit I paid to America to see my uncle and cousin, that was all. But there came a time when my commitments in Europe are ended. I intend to reside in the States permanently. I shall be, I hope, near my uncle and my cousin and her husband. But alas -" he spread out his hands, "- I get there and my uncle, he is dead, my cousin, too, and her husband he has come to this country and has married again. So once more I have no family. And then I read of the disappearance of the well-known scientist Thomas Betterton, and I come over to see what can be done." He paused and looked enquiringly at Jessop.
Jessop looked expressionlessly back at him.
"Why did he disappear, Mr. Jessop?"
"That," said Jessop pleasantly, "is just what we'd like to know."
"Perhaps you do know?"
Jessop appreciated with some interest how easily their roles might become reversed. In this room he was accustomed to ask questions of people. This stranger was not the inquisitor. Still smiling pleasantly, Jessop replied,
"I assure you we do not."
"But you suspect?"
"It is possible," said Jessop cautiously, "that the thing follows a certain pattern... There have been occurrences of this kind before."
"I know." Rapidly the visitor cited a half dozen cases. "All scientists," he said, with significance.
"Yes."
"They have gone beyond the Iron Curtain?"
"It is a possibility, but we do not know."
"But they have gone of their own free will?"
"Even that," said Jessop, "is difficult to say."
"It is not my business you think?"
"Oh, please."
"But you are right. It is of interest to me only because of Betterton."
"You'll forgive me," said Jessop, "if I don't quite understand your interest. After all, Betterton is only a relation by marriage. You didn't even know him."
"That is true. But for us Poles, the family is very important. There are obligations." He stood up and bowed stiffly. "I regret that I have trespassed upon your time, and I thank you for your courtesy."
Jessop rose also.
"I'm sorry we cannot help you," he said, "but I assure you we are completely in the dark. If I do hear of anything can I reach you?"
"Care of the U.S. Embassy will find me. I thank you." Again he bowed formally.
Jessop touched the buzzer. Major Glydr went out. Jessop lifted the receiver.
"Ask Colonel Wharton to come to my room."
When Wharton entered the room Jessop said:
"Things are moving - at last."
"How?"
"Mrs. Betterton wants to go abroad."
Wharton whistled.
"Going to join hubby?"
"I'm hopeful. She came provided with a convenient letter from her medical adviser. Complete need of rest and change of scene."
"Looks good!"
"Though, of course, it may be true," Jessop warned him. "A simple statement of fact."
"We never take that view here," said Wharton.
"No. I must say she does her stuff very convincingly. Never slips up for a moment."
"You got nothing further from her, I suppose?"
"One faint lead. The Speeder woman with whom Betterton lunched at the Dorset."
"Yes?"
"He didn't tell his wife about the lunch."
"Oh." Wharton considered. "You think that's relevant?"
"It might be. Carol Speeder was had up before the Committee for the investigation of un-American Activities. She cleared herself, but all the same... yes, all the same she was, or they thought she was, tarred with that brush. It may be a possible contact. The only one we've found for Betterton so far."
"What about Mrs. Betterton's contacts - any possible contact lately who could have instigated the going abroad business?"
"No personal contact. She had a letter yesterday from a Pole. A cousin of Betterton's first wife. I had him here just now asking for details, etc."
"What's he like?"
"Not real," said Jessop. "All very foreign and correct, got all the 'gen,' curiously unreal as a personality."
"Think he's been the contact to tip her off?"
"It could be. I don't know. He puzzles me."
"Going to keep tabs on him?"
Jessop smiled.
"Yes. I pressed the buzzer twice."
"You old spider - with your tricks." Wharton became businesslike again. "Well, what's the form?"