Quiller Solitaire

'Whatever you say.' She took me into a large low-ceilinged room with beams and a brick fireplace and a small grand piano, framed photographs on a cabinet, copies of Connoisseur on a wicker stool, a glove lying on them, its pair on the floor just below, a man's – his? – and some road maps. The room was in perfect order, but as she went past the stool she didn't pick up the glove, though she saw it and I think hesitated before she went through into the kitchen. 'Sit down, won't you?' she said over her shoulder. 'What sort of tea do you like? I've got Earl Grey, Lapsang Souchong -'

'Whatever you're having. Can I use the phone?'

'But please. It's over there.'

I went across to it. There was an answering machine, switched off. I dialled a random number and heard the solenoid trip in and waited for the voice on the tape to tell me I'd dialled a number that wasn't in service, then I rang off. I could see Helen Maitland through the hatchway into the kitchen; she was putting some water into a kettle.

I I switched on the answering machine. 'I'm just going out to the car,' I told her. 'If the phone rings, do you mind not picking it up? Let the machine take it?'

In a moment, watching me through the hatchway, 'All right.'

I went out to the Jaguar and got on the phone to Signals and asked for Shatner. A car was going past the end of the driveway and I slid low in the seat until it had gone. Some starlings were lined up along the telephone wires, nagging and preening; there was no other sound; this was a peaceful part of the world, and I was sorry we were asking this young widow to go to Berlin and into possible danger; it seemed like gratuitous abuse. But some of the things she'd said on the lawn had been interesting. 'It was such a beastly thing to do to a man. Even to him… I never had anything to do with… whatever he was doing… I was just his… Wife? Chattle?' There was something subservient about her, unquestioning. I haven't any plans. I could go whenever you wanted me to… Whatever you say…

'Yes?'

Shatner. I said, 'I'm there now. The house is being watched and the phone's bugged. She's ready to go over there with me. How soon can you take care of things here?'

'Stand by.'

There was a voice calling, Billy's, I think, not calling to anyone in particular, chanting some rhyme or other; he was banging at something, keeping time.

'I can put some people in there in thirty minutes,' Shatner said, 'or not much more. What do you need?'

'I need to get her away from the house unseen, and then we should put a watch on the place round the clock. They may try to break in and make a search. And the phone needs clearing.'

He didn't answer right away. He might be making notes. I didn't know whether he was a man to make notes of things; I hoped not; I wanted a control with instant memory to run me in the field.

'You'll get a call,' he said. 'About half an hour.'

I went back into the house.

'Do you take milk?'

'No.' Pleasant smell of Lapsang, dry and smoky.

'Sugar?'

'No.' Silver tray, white linen, sugar tongs. No one had phoned: the machine wasn't blinking. 'Look, I don't want to rush you,' I said, 'but how long would it take you to pack?'

'Her head swung up.'

'How long for?'

'A day or two. I can't say exactly.'

She gave me my tea. 'If it's any more than that I can buy things.' She'd taken her coat and boots off while I'd gone to the car; she was slighter than she'd seemed. 'I've been trained to pack quickly. He never gave me any warning when he wanted me out there.' She conjured a faint smile to mean she hadn't minded. She had. 'Give me twenty minutes? All I need is makeup and some undies and things.' She was leaning forward over the tea-tray, small stockinged feet together, hands on the front of her thighs, a lock of fair hair hanging across her cheek. 'Would that be quick enough?' 'Just right. I'd like to leave here in about half an hour. Do you use a security service?'

'No.'

'Alarm system?'

'Yes, But I never switch it on.'

'Really. George never asked you to, when you left the place empty?'

'No. Or I would have.'

'Never mind. We don't need to set it today, either. My department's going to look after this house with a twenty-four-hour guard, so you don't have to worry about a thing.'

Her eyes widened a little. 'I see. All right.' She straightened up. 'I'll take mine up with me, shall I?' She was actually waiting for me, I thought, to approve.

'Of course. I'm sorry it's not quite the leisurely tea party you were thinking of.'

That isn't why you came.'

'No. Are there phones upstairs?'

'Yes. There's one in the bedroom.'

'Don't answer it if it rings.'

'All right.'

I looked round the room while she was upstairs.

There was just an ordinary lock on the door to the conservatory, no dead-bolt, and nothing on the windows, just the usual fastener. The alarm system wasn't wired; it went through a master control from sensors; there was only one of them here, and it was a big room. And Maitland never asked her to set the alarm system anyway, even though she was apparently away in Berlin with him fairly often – I've been trained to pack quickly. Perhaps his flat over there was the same, with no real security. I thought it was odd that anyone should have rifled his car and smashed their way into his flat and killed him so viciously, when he didn't seem to have expected any kind of trouble at all.

'Was I quick enough?

She stood with her feet together at the bottom of the stairs, looking very young in a cashmere sweater and slacks and soft flat shoes, holding a Lufthansa bag. She'd put more scent on, but it seemed almost precocious.

'Yes,' I said. 'And you look very nice.'

'I was hoping you might say that.'

'Have some more tea,' I said. 'We don't have to go just yet.'

'All right.' She never questioned anything, hadn't said, Then I needn't have hurried.' Her slight breasts moved under the cashmere as she leaned over the tea-tray. 'Would you like some more too?'

'Thank you, no.' I wondered for the first time whether I should have put my trust in Shatner, because in the next ten minutes or so we'd be in a red sector. Last night they'd killed McCane and it looked as if they'd killed him because he'd been coming here to see Maitiand's widow. I'd come farther than he had: I was here with her now.

'Will they -' she began, and then the telephone rang and she jumped slightly and looked at me and I shook my head. The answering-machine cut in.

This is George Maitland. I can't come to the telephone now, but if you'll leave your name, number and any message, I'll phone you back as soon as I can.

We were listening to a dead man's voice but she didn't react in any way. She was sitting on the floor with her legs to one side, cupping her tea in both hands. The beep sounded.