And all the while, as they talked and as their minds made intercourse by dint of every pause, each smile and half-smile, each exchange of glances that added something to what was being said, he could feel that she knew he had found something that perhaps he had never expected to find, because he had not even known it existed. And somehow, by the metaphysical means that only people in this kind of situation can understand, she managed to convey the message: ‘I know, and I like you and I think it’s going to be all right.’ The same message had to contain the additional sentence: ‘But don’t forget we have only just discovered one another, and since you’re the man, you’re going to know your feelings quicker than I will know mine, and at the moment you obviously feel more strongly about me than I do about you.’ But again, so as not to depress him too much: ‘All the same, I can’t help wanting with all my heart that you are going to be the one, and you have honest eyes and you didn’t try to pretend anything.’ And finally, as a kind of metaphysical afterthought: ‘I know you won’t think me big-headed for thinking these things.’
While both conversations were carried on simultaneously — the spoken one which touched on ordinary, everyday things, and the silent one which was the beginning of a mating — the fire flickered cheerfully and the smoke continued to rise from behind the newspaper, and the various kinds of grunts that were the general’s editorial comments maintained an atmosphere of warmth and friendliness that Dick Simmel would never forget.
CHAPTER NINE
‘You’re going over to Frank’s place tonight, aren’t you, Arlen?’ said Hargreaves. In the deft hands of his chauffeur the big car sped them down Whitehall. Gatt shifted his huge body in the seat in an effort to get comfortable.
‘He’s offered me a bite of dinner.’
‘Good. Do you mind having a quick one with me first? Then you could take the car on. I won’t keep you long.’
‘Of course.’
‘My wife’s down at Dorchester — just as well, really, poor dear. She never did like crises.’
‘What do you think, Robert?’
‘You mean, the way things have gone so far?’
Gatt didn’t answer him directly. He said: ‘Jack seems to be pretty sure of himself. And Manson’s blustering. He’s pretty anxious to incriminate Seff if he can. I got some broad hints from him at last night’s party.’
‘Project 3?’
‘Just that. In a way, what he said was quite interesting. He said that, as designed, the pile should have been inert. The implication being that Seff did something pretty drastic to get the thing working. And then when he did get it going, he couldn’t stop it.’
‘Do you believe that?’
‘I find it hard to be sympathetic towards anything that Manson says, but I am prepared to consider it as a possible theory. After all, we do know that Jack had been drinking that night.’
‘Has anybody mentioned that?’
‘Yes; the man who keeps the pub at Glennaverley. I interviewed him the next day. The day after the accident.’
The Director didn’t reply for a few moments. But when he lighted a cigarette the glow from the match showed the furrows of a deep frown. ‘Arlen, you aren’t going to like me for saying this, but I must all the same.’ He blew out the match and placed it in the ash-tray with a movement of precision. ‘There are those who think that you are fanatically opposed to Seff because he drinks.’ He anticipated the threatened interruption. ‘Wait a minute; let me finish. I’m not suggesting that you have got your knife into him, in the way Manson has. That’s quite different. But it is not everyone who checks on the recreational habits of senior scientists in the course of an enquiry. The fact that you took the trouble to go to the public-house the very next day shows how much weight you gave to this particular aspect of the case.’
Gatt’s fists were dangerously clenched as he gripped the armrest. ‘Are you questioning the way I conducted the investigation?’
Hargreaves was not going to rise to this bait. He deliberately delayed his answer by looking out of the window at the illuminated face of Big Ben and checking his watch by it. The car swung round towards Victoria. ‘Well, I suppose, if you put it like that, I am, yes. In that particular respect. In your efforts to discover a flaw in a human being, you could have missed one that existed in Project 3.’
‘You know damn well I tore the place apart to get at the facts, Sir Robert. You’re not suggesting, I trust, that it was my fault I happened to be at Calder when the accident happened? If so, please allow me to remind you that you sent me there.’
Hargreaves fought to keep his temper. He had been through this kind of thing so often with Gatt that it should not, he told himself, be allowed to get under his skin again. He said: ‘Don’t be absurd, Arlen. That has nothing whatever to do with it. I’m simply saying that when you reached Marsdowne one of the first things you did during the investigation was to check up on one man — Seff. You didn’t query the man on the spot — Peter Selgate — or Alanson, or Ed Springle. Yet they could have been equally guilty in other ways. For all you know Selgate might have had a girl hanging around; Ed might have been guilty of negligence; Alanson might have been so busy throwing his weight about with some lab assistant that he slipped up on the job. All right: all these things are highly unlikely; but if you are considering the human element, you can’t just limit your enquiries to one individual only. Yet can you tell me truthfully that you did not?’
The car drew up at Hargreaves’ house before Gatt could answer, and it wasn’t until they had settled into the very tasteful Regency drawing-room that the conversation could be resumed.
‘Drink?’
‘Whisky and splash.’ Gatt took the glass rather ungraciously and sat on the piano-stool. The Director mixed himself a drink and stood over by the fireplace. He knew there was going to be an outburst, and he just waited for it.
Arlen leafed through the second volume of the Beethoven sonatas. He was still flicking over the pages as he spoke. ‘Let’s take them in turn,’ he said. ‘Selgate. An efficient young man, very conscientious. Okay, we know he has a girl-friend up there — well, he’d go mad in that dump of a town if he didn’t. But is it likely he’d be playing around during the launching of anything as big as Project 3? In any case, we know he was working round the clock. And to take the thing ad absurdum, no girl could get past the guards, anyway. He doesn’t drink either; though I’ll check up as to whether he might have been chewing gum at the time. Next, Alanson. No attachments. Drinks beer at the pub and shoots his mouth off. He was ordered by Seff to empty the heat-exchanger system, and this we know he did, for the simple reason that when the system was inspected it was dry; and there was no steam escaping from the burst cylinder one hour after the pile became overheated even though the whole thing was still as hot as hell.’
‘Still,’ put in Hargreaves, quite unperturbed by Gatt’s caustic tongue, ‘since no one could enter the pumping-room the next day — due to the intense radiation — we don’t actually know that he turned the cock, do we?’
‘True; he could have done the whole thing with a bicycle pump. He might even have resorted to witchcraft. However, he was clearly told what to do, and as far as we know he did it. And don’t forget that the only thing he was responsible for — turning that cock — was after the event; it could not have contributed to the cause of the accident. Lastly, Ed Springle. Well, I admit he has a very lovely wife and that must be very distracting. After all, he hasn’t let her go to waste.’