The Saturday Evening Post May 14 1960 Page 30

continued on page 98

"Don't you know it's dog eat dog here, Ben?" 

Was he a fool to have been so trusting?

EASY VICTIM  

By LENORA MATTINGLY WEBER 

Illustrated by S. Andrea

On a late afternoon Peggy Weeden waited in the car and watched her husband go from house to house, selling-no, trying to sell-sets of world-literature books. 

A wolf-pack wind snarled through the street, and she tugged at her coat, which was scarcely ample enough to cover her bulky pregnancy. She couldn't bear to watch Ben-to see all those doors open only a crack to him and then close, to see his shoulders slumping more and more in defeat. So she kept her eyes on the old graystone mansion on the corner, sitting like a proud aristocrat in this seedy street of the city. 

Here was Ben approaching the last house in the block-the corner mansion. 

He stopped at the car, and his grin was worn and frayed. "It's no use, Peg. Wasn't I the dope to leave a nice little burg and think I could sell these books while I got a degree at the U?" 

With the wind whipping his dark hair that needed cutting, with his leather coat short in the sleeves and his chapped hands gripping his cheap briefcase, he seemed suddenly even younger than nineteen, and she, in a fierce maternal ache, felt older than eighteen-older than he. Her smile, too, was wobbly. 

He started toward the house, turned back to add, "This is it. One more banged door-and we might as well pack up and go back to my filling-station job in Markley. I'm just small-town stuff."

She watched his halting progress up the stone steps between the stone lions, and she hated the city for what it had done to him. She watched him lift the knocker on the wide door. She saw it open wide and admit him.

In a few minutes a glowing Ben was leaping down the steps and opening the car door. "He wants you to come in. He said you shouldn't be sitting out here in the cold. The swellest old guy-his name is Felix Brown. He says his father built this house, and he's lived here since he was ten. He knows all about books-and he's going to buy a set. Come on." 

Old Felix Brown matched the house. Though his hair was like white floss silk and he walked with a cane, he ushered the Ben Weedens into a high-ceilinged room off the hall as though they were honored guests. He bowed the unwieldy Peggy to a leather chair beside the grate fire. 

He listened to Ben's sales talk as though Ben were doing him a favor. His thin hands unfolded the dummy set and he scanned the titles with benign, twinkling eyes. "My doctor has sentenced me to confinement this winter, but it won't be 'solitary' with these old friends. Tolstoi, Saint Augustine and Dickens. Have you read them, son?" 

"Not all of them. I'm going to get a set for myself when-well, later on." 

Peggy, warm and relaxed, said, "Sometimes when Ben gets the books for a customer, he reads all night before he has to deliver them." 

"When you deliver my set, we'll share them and then talk them over." 

"I'd like that," Ben said. 

Felix Brown was not only a customer but a genial host. He pulled an old-fashioned bell cord, and when a bulky, aproned woman appeared, he said, "Miss Mary, these are my friends, Peggy and Ben Weeden. And they're chilled through by the wind. Isn't it about coffee time?" 

Peggy felt an uneasy stirring. Miss Mary's sharp eyes searched over Ben, and lingered on Ben's wife. . . . I know, I know how back alley I look in this old shirt of Ben's hanging loose. But it takes money to buy a pretty lady-in-waiting dress. . . . It was a relief when Miss Mary left. 

Upstairs someone was playing the organ. Peggy hummed under her breath to the theme song from Gigi. A man in a gray topcoat and carrying a bulging and beautiful briefcase came in the front door. Felix Brown called to him, "Eddie, I want you to meet Peggy and Ben Weeden, and look at the set of books I'm buying." 

Eddie shook hands with Ben and Peggy-and stayed on to have coffee when Miss Mary brought in a tray. . . . 

But why was Miss Mary so nosy, lingering on, watchful and listening? What business was it of hers if her employer bought a set of books from Ben Weeden? 

The organ music ceased. A pretty girl in a red dress came pelting down the stairs, wrapping a fur stole around her. She paused in the doorway to smile at them. "How'd you all like the concert?" No, she hadn't time for coffee. Her ride had come for her. 

Peggy planned, I've got a red dress. I'll bet I could let it out-or maybe set in a gathered panel. I shouldn't go around so sloppy. 

It was dark when the Ben Weedens left 600 Charter Street with an order for the de luxe edition. In all of Ben's spasmodic sales this was his first order for the limp-leather set. Ben had explained to Felix Brown that it cost twice as much as the regular one. 

Again that benign twinkle. "And is your commission twice as much?" 

Ben nodded and said, "And we have to ask for twice the ordinary deposit." 

"Of course . . . . Miss Mary, can you find my First National checkbook?" 

But the bossy Miss Mary turned to Ben. "Wouldn't it be all right if he paid in full when the books came?" 

Oh, sure, Ben had said. Fine. 

The Ben Weedens went down the stone steps between the stone lions refreshed and fortified. The bite was gone from the wolf-pack wind. The lighted houses seemed friendly now. In the car an exultant Ben pulled Peggy close to him. "Meeting a real old codger like that is just the shot in the arm I needed. You see, hon, people are the same here as they are back home." They sang the Gigi song driving home. 

Always before Ben had cringed when the owner of the bungalow descended the steps to their two rooms in the basement, and Ben asked for more time on the rent. But not tonight. Confidently he told about their visit with Felix Brown, owner of the old mansion at Sixth and Charter. His set of books would arrive in ten days, and then Ben could pay the rent.

"Didn't your Felix Brown make the usual down payment?"

"He'll pay in full on delivery. He's good for it." 

Peggy couldn't say when doubt first lodged under her ribs. Maybe it was that very evening when she watched Ben fold his own check in the order he sent air mail to Chicago. Their balance was $3.87. Only a package of lamb necks, a wisp of lettuce and a half tomato sat in lonely state in their icebox. Ben needed a slide rule for his math class. And she did want to buy a yard of new material to widen her red dress. If only it didn't say right on the order that the limp-leather edition was positively not returnable to the company because it took special binding. 

She left her doubts unvoiced. But she was the only one who did. Ben alternated weeks of driving his car to the university with Jonesy, a fellow student and book salesman. (Jonesy had never sold a de luxe edition either.) Ben had spilled over to him about his sale to Felix Brown and, pressing for details, Jonesy found out about the no down payment. 

"Holy Moses, man! You've been took to the tune of nearly three hundred smackers. " 

Ben only laughed. 'Tm not worried. Felix Brown is no fourflusher." 

That was the beginning of a veritable barrage of gibing at Ben. Besides Jonesy, three or four other book salesmen often stopped in the Weeden basement kitchen to swap stories and gripes. They gave Ben no peace about Felix Brown and the real-leather edition and the no deposit. 

"Ben, you pitiful, small-town innocent. Don't you know you're not back in your peach-growing valley?" 

"The people are the same here," Ben answered. 

"Oh, yeah! Here it's dog eat dog." 

Jonesy would nag on, "And just why, if the old boy had an account at the First National, didn't you pry the down payment out of him ?" 

"His word is good. He'll pay." 

"You'll pay through the nose, pet. Your Felix Brown has all the earmarks of a senile old coot with delusions of grandeur."

Peggy listened to the doubting Thomases, and her own doubts clawed at her. She ached protectingly over Ben. . . . But you're wrong, Ben, about people being the same in a big city. They aren't. They're out to get the best of you. And I'm so hungry for friends-and neighboring. 

Ben, bulwarked by Felix Brown's enthusiasm for the books, was doing better-oddly enough, better than his fellow salesmen. He quoted the old scholar when he called on customers. He had sold three sets; he had promises from others to buy after the first of the month. 

One evening the landlord knocked on their basement door and asked for Ben. Ben was out, following up a lead. The landlord, who worked at City Hall, said, "I went over to the tax department today and looked up that property at six hundred Charter. Felix Brown don't own it. The title is in Mary Grossman's name. It's a rooming house." He added dourly, "So you tell Ben. You tell him if there's any way to stop that fancy order the old fellow gave him, to do it. Looks to me like Ben is going to get stuck." 

Peggy was sewing on the red dress. She couldn't go on after the landlord left-her hands were too shaky. 

The title in Mary Grossman's name! So that watchful old, mastiff of a Miss Mary owned the big graystone mansion. And kept roomers. So Felix Brown was only a kindly, senile old roomer with ideas of grandeur, as Jonesy said. 

She couldn't tell Ben. Besides, there was no stopping the order. Chicago had already written that the books were being shipped to Ben L. Weeden for delivery to Felix Brown. Chicago would expect payment, or arrangements for same, promptly. . . . But Felix Brown had offered to write a check. Even a roomer could have an account at the First National Bank, couldn't he? 

Four days later, on a snowy afternoon, the books were delivered. Her heart roily within her, Peggy opened the carton. Yes, here were the beautiful, soft-bound, un-returnable books. She was holding one, sniffing its luxury smell of leather when the phone rang in the hall upstairs, and she ran to answer it. 

She didn't catch the name of the caller-only that he was an in-law of Jonesy. He was a teller at the First National, and Jonesy had told him to check on a Felix Brown and call the Weedens. "We've got Browns down here from hell to breakfast. But no Felix. No checking, no savings account, no nothing." 

"Well-thanks." 

She walked shakily back to the basement. One glance at the clock and she was startled into action. Ben would be here any minute-and Jonesy would be with him, because this was his week to drive. Ben's car was parked at the curb. 

She must deliver. the books herself, receive the blow herself-and somehow shield Ben. It was more than the money. More even than saving Ben face with the I-told-you-so deriders. It was saving Ben's faith. She had only to picture his going up those stone steps, slumped and beaten; and his descending them, sure that the city was full of friends and neighbors. 

It was all right for her to be soured and skeptical-but not Ben. Her thoughts scurried frantically. Maybe she could pawn her wrist watch-and pretend she had lost it. Maybe her sister would buy the piano Peggy had left at home. And that dab of money her mother had sent for "something for the baby." . . . 

The carton of books was too heavy for her to load into the car. She took out half the volumes and made many panting trips up the basement steps and through the snow. If it hadn't been for that - 

For just as she pulled out from the curb, a car horn honked peremptorily- and there was Ben in Jonesy's car. There was Ben, hurrying over and seeing the books piled in the seat beside her.

"They came! Felix Brown's books." 

She tried to put him off by telling him to stay home and study while she delivered them. "Like crazy you will. This is an occasion. Scoot in and put on your red dress. He'll want to have coffee and visit with us."

In her made-over red dress-Ben had even made her put on her lipstick-she sat beside him in the car, feeling trapped and sick. They walked up the steps of the graystone mansion, Ben balancing the carton of books on his shoulder, and Peggy reached for the door knocker. 

Before she could clang it, the door was opened by the formidable Miss Mary. Again her eyes raked over them, resting on Ben's burden. "Sh-h-h" she cautioned. "He's asleep, and I'd rather not wake him-yet. Set the books down here in the hall and come out in the kitchen." 

They tiptoed after her into the old-fashioned kitchen. She went to the back stairs and called in a hushed voice, "Lisa, they brought the books." 

The organ-playing girl hurriedly joined them. She was not in her red party dress, but in a housecoat with her hair in pin curls, and looking tense and anxious. This is it, Peggy thought. Miss Mary wants reinforcements when she tells Ben that the old fellow was just talking through his hat when he ordered the set. 

But the woman reached for a canister in the cupboard and took out a roll of bills. Lisa, in a swift movement, added to it. Miss Mary said rather formally to Ben, "I'll just pay you in cash, and then Mr. Brown can settle with me-" 

"There's no hurry," Ben said. "I trust him. I can come back -"

"No! No-no! He can give me his check-that will be better." She counted out the money to him. She said then, "Mr. Weeden, you take the books out of the carton. And pick out-was it Thomas Aquinas, Lisa, he wanted him to read first ?" 

Lisa nodded. "And Montaigne." 

The three women in the kitchen listened silently to the soft slap of leather books as Ben sorted them in the hall. Peggy looked wonderingly at Miss Mary and whispered, "Felix Brown will give you a check, but it won't be any good, will it?" 

Miss Mary stared back at her a long minute before her face softened into a sheepish smile. "No, he hasn't had money in the bank for almost a year. He would have if he hadn't been so generous. I've been his housekeeper for thirty years. Nothing would do but that he put this place in my name so there'd be no legal trouble after he died." 

The girl pushed confidingly close to Peggy. "We all chipped in on the books all ten of us in the house. Because he's done for us. He turned his piano in on an organ so I could practice and get this job at The Gardenia. And Eddie-he mightn't have passed the bar exams if he hadn't given him his law books and coached him. And so when Felix saw you two and wanted to help- I mean, buy the books from your husband-well, we all know what it is to need a boost." 

Peggy didn't know she was crying until she felt the salt on her lips. She cried out of wondrous kinship with a sharp-eyed woman in sensible shoes, and a pretty girl with a fur stole-even Eddie, with his law-office manner and exquisite brief- case. The generous, helpful neighbors. 

Miss Mary was saying softly, "Maybe it'd be better if your Ben didn't know. His' coming and going will mean a lot to the old gentleman. And you come with him-we'll want to see the baby."

No, Ben didn't need to know. Men protected their women, and women protected the men they loved. Besides, it was Peggy herself whose faith was restored by being part of this loving conspiracy. Plans tumbled through her. She would make her filled cookies and bring them when they came again. She would ask Miss Mary how many diapers you really needed- 

A bell tinkled in the kitchen, and Miss Mary said, "There! He's awake now. He'll be so glad the books have come. Take off your coat, Peggy, and we'll all have coffee." 

She was glad she had worn the red dress. 

THE END 

Woman's Own February 20 1960 Page 13

continued on page 65

Shelagh chattered excitedly but Annetta

scarcely heard her....

Outwardly Annetta remained calm. But she knew that at this very moment her life was in danger. The future of the island and the man she loved depended on her . . .

Our great serial by the author of ‘Island in the Sun’

FUEL FOR THE FLAME

BY ALEC WAUGH

ILLUSTRATED BY ANDY VIRGIL

THE STORY SO FAR:

ANTNETTA MARSH, a beautiful, young, English girl is on her way to Karak, a tropical island, to marry-

PRINCE RHYA, the playboy son of the King of Karak. COLONEL FORRESTER, the adviser to the C.I.D. in Karak, and-

KENNETH STUDHOLME, the British Political Agent, realize that there is grave danger of Communist infiltration via Indian employees.

GERALD FYREMAN is his young A.D.C., who lost a foot in action in Cyprus.

CHARLES KEABLE is the General Manager of the Pearl Oil Company, Karak's chief source of wealth. 

He has a gay and lovely second wife-

BARBARA, who is twenty-two.

SHELAGH KEABLE is on her way to stay with her father and stepmother.

BASIL HALLETT is a feckless young man in charge of Pearl's personnel, department. His vivacious wife-

JULIA is an old friend of Barbara's.

ANGUS MACARTNEY is the on of the owner of Karak’s chief rubber estate.

Shelagh and Annetta meet on the plane to Karak. Travelling with them as far as Singapore is FRANCIS REYNOLDS, who makes determined, but unsuccessful advances to Annetta although he knows she is bethrothed to Prince Rhya.

In Karak she is met by Prince Rhya and his AUNT LADDA. She learns that he has to spend a few weeks in a Buddhist monastery. She soon begins to realize what marriage between an English girl and an Eastern prince will mean and wonders if their love can survive the many difficulties.

Meanwhile Shelagh is befriended by LILA HARE, Studholme's stepdaughter. Lila is meeting Angus in secret and asks Shelagh to shield them by pretending to be in love with Angus herself.

Meanwhile Basil Hallett is persuaded by a mysterious Indian to bet heavily on a horse called Potiphar When it loses the Indian helps to cover his loss. But soon Basil realizes that the Indian demands a price, Basil must meet him on Friday at Ah Chong's. Although he has arranged to play golf with Julia he fears the ominous note in the Indian's voice and knows he has no choice but to keep the rendezvous.

Now read on:

JULIA was annoyed when Basil called off their game of golf.

"You don't need a haircut. It can run another week."

''I'm sorry, but I've arranged to have it done on Friday."

"You're being very tiresome."

He arrived at Ah Chong's punctually. While he was being served three other men came in.

At the exact moment that he rose from his chair the Indian came into the shop. He paused, looked round him. "Two waiting already? No, that is too many. I will call another day."

He left simultaneously with Basil.

"It is very kind of you to come. There is a little service that you can pay me. A friend of mine is applying for a post in Pearl next Wednesday. Ahmed Abrusak He has every qualification. He does not know that I am making this request on his behalf. It is very much better that he should not know. Ahmed Abrusak. I know you will not regret it, Mr. Hallett."

There were twenty applicants for the post of filing clerk. Ahmed Abrusak was the seventh to appear.

"Why do you want to work for us? "

"I want to leave Kuala Prang, sir. I think better my children live in the country, sir."

"Very reasonable. Now let's see what you know about filing. Suppose it's your job to open the mail in the morning before I arrive. This letter is in it. What would you do with it?"

It was a simple routine question. Ahmed seemed to know his work all right. There was no reason why he should not be employed.

"I’ll take Ahmed Abrusak, " he said  to his stenographer when the last applicant had left the room. "I liked his reason for wanting to come out here, for his children's health. The family man is what we need: the man with a stake in the country."

It was not, however, because of his children's health that Ahmed  Abrusak had applied for a job with Pearl. He had applied because his cousin Fadil had insisted.

Early next morning, Ahmed caught a bus to Kuala Prang.

It was just short of twelve when the bus reached town. He did not feel like going home.

Half an hour later, he was the happier for two rums. He leant on his elbow against the bar, his eyes half closed, a little drowsy. How good he felt. And the talk was his kind of talk, cricket and girls and football. Why couldn't he stay in Kuala Prang? This was where he belonged. He was angry and resentful. If only Fadil were here.

He looked round him, belligerently. Someone at the bar was arguing that Hutton had been a better bat than Bradman.

"Never heard such rubbish in my life," he shouted.

The man swung round surprised. "What the hell do you mean?" His eyes were ablaze.

Ahmed put out his left hand and took him below the collar. "Now listen you."

The man swung himself loose.

"Now boys, now boys," the barman shouted.

They were all against him; Fadil particularly. He'd get even with Fadil. He swung his fist into the crowd.

"Take him out," the barman shouted. Half a dozen men were pushing him, banging at him with their fists.

Then suddenly the assailants fell away. There was a cry, "Police! Get lively." A hand fell on his shoulder.

  COLONEL FORRESTER, adviser to the C.I.D. in Karak, usually studied the police reports first thing in the morning, but the report of Ahmed Adrusak’s arrest happened to reach his desk late that afternoon. Forrester walked over to his filing cabinet.

‘Agrusak Ahmed, born in Calcutta 1926, entered Karak 1936: was befriended by his cousin Fadil Banjee. Joined Progressive Party.'

Fadil Banjee. Forrester returned to the filing cabinet.

'Banjee, Fadil, born Karak 1921. Member Progressive Party. Believed to have Communistic affiliations.'

Well, thought Forrester. It would be worth having a look at Ahmed. He pressed the bell button on his desk.

Ahmed was in poor shape. His face was swollen, his forehead bandaged. 

"Come along," Forrester said. "Sit down. You've certainly got yourself into trouble this time." He looked at the prisoner benignly and then smiled. "What happened today? Tell me." 

It was a rambling recital. 

Forrester nodded encouragingly. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I see. Now why did you go to Kassaya in the first place?" 

Ahmed explained. It had been Fadil’s idea. Fadil had thought it would be good for the children to live in the country. 

"And it was at your cousin's suggestion that you applied for this post with Pearl? Yes, I see. Now tell me one thing. When you were at college you were a member of the Progressive Party?"

Ahmed nodded. "Yes, I was." 

"Did it mean much to you? Were you enthusiastic about it?"

Ahmed shrugged. All that talk about 'Imperialism,' ' Colonialism: 'Exploitation of the poor.' Did he care strongly? No, of course he didn't. 

"Now do you think," Forrester continued, "that it was only on account of the children that your cousin wanted you to move into the country? Don't you think that perhaps." He paused, on a note of interrogation. "Did he think, how shall I put it?, did he fancy that you could be of any help to him at Kassaya ? " 

"You're right, he did. That Progressive Party. I think," he hesitated, "they wanted me to find out which people thought the way that they did.  

   FORRESTER nodded encouragingly. "Yes, I see that. Now let me get this straight. You have no real loyalty to the Party, apart from the  fact that your cousin runs it." 

"No, sir, no."

"Now I'm wondering this. Has it not occurred to you that I might be interested in the same information, that I might like to know who belongs to the Progressive Party, and who declines to join? 

"I don't see why you shouldn't tell me what you tell your cousin, do you?" 

"No, sir, no:" 

"And there are a number of ways in which I can help you. I wouldn't expect you to work for me for nothing. I can make you a monthly allowance of eight pounds. And, of course, we can ignore this matter of your arrest." 

Forrester's smile could not have been more protective. Ahmed had the feeling that all his troubles had been taken off his shoulders. 

Three days later, Basil received in a plain envelope a cheque for twenty- five pounds. 

On the first day of the cricket match at Kassaya Colonel Forrester went to lunch with the Keables. 

"If you intend to justify your visit in terms of work, you'd better do it right away," Charles told Forrester. "Is there anything you particularly want to see?" 

"I'd like to see the kind of file you keep of the personnel you employ locally, what references they have, what check is kept on them." 

"I'll take you to the man in charge of that, I expect you know him. Basil Hallett."

The personnel branch was set above the refinery, on a slight incline. Through his window Basil Hallett could look on to the main drive before the swimming-pool. 

"Now please don't think I'm going to be a nuisance," Forrester began. "Questions get shot at me unexpectedly and I like to have the answers at my fingertips. 

"Let us suppose that his nibs said at one of our conferences, 'Whitehall is worried about the arrival of subversive elements. Forrester, suppose that such a person wanted to join the oil refinery. How difficult would he find it?' I'd like to have my answer ready. How do you check on new men/"

"Each applicant has to have two references," Basil said.

"Do you check those references?"- 

"If it seems necessary." 

  THE Colonel paused. "I see. You won't think, will you, that I' being tiresome? But how often does it seem necessary? " 

"As a matter of fact. " Basil hesitated. "I don't believe that I ever have felt that it was necessary." 

"I don't suppose you have; this is a family community, we trust each other. And I suppose that if you were to feel suspicious you would get in touch with my office. Yes, of course you would. By the way, do you keep those references?" 

"I imagine that I do." 

"I imagine that you do, too, but in case you don't, could you check up on that point,and if you find that you don't, could you do so in future?" 

The cricket match was not due to start till half-past three. The island eleven was flying out from Kuala Prang, with the exception of Angus, who had motored from his estate in the cool of the morning. 

The oil camp won the toss and went in to bat. Shelagh sat between Lila and Gerald Fyreman. 

Lila leant across. "Is there any reason, Gerald, why I should come back tonight? 

I'd rather like to see the whole of this match; there'll be a dance at the club that should be gay. 

There isn't anything, is there, that I have to do tomorrow? " 

"Not as far as I know." 

"You could put me up, Shelagh, couldn't you? " 

"Naturally. We'd love to." 

"That's settled then. I'll talk to my mother later." 

Lila sat back in her chair. Angus was bow ling now. He had a short, springing run, like a creature of the jungle. He bowled five overs, then was rested. 

 As he pulled on his sweater, Lila walked over to her mother. "I'd like to stay till tomorrow, and then bring Shelagh back with me. There's nothing against that, is there? Angus could drive us in," she added. 

"Nothing at all." 

Lila returned to her seat. "That's fine by my mother. She had quite a good idea, Shelagh, that you should come back with me. She suggested we should get Angus to drive us. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" She under lined the 'that,' giving it a special meaning. 

Shelagh flushed. She did not want Gerald to think she was in love with Angus.

On the following Tuesday Charles Keable received a letter from Forrester. 

'Dear Charles,

I am sorry to bother you with this, but there are a few of your employees about whom I'd like to have a fact or two. I enclose a list. I should be so grateful if you would ask that pleasant young man of yours, I’ve forgotten his name already, let me know who gave them references. Nothing for you to worry over; a few extra threads in that spider's web, that's all.' 

Charles lifted his telephone to call Basil Hallett; then he remembered that Harry Pawling had left a note on his desk, asking for an appointment. He could kill two birds with one stone. 

"Is that you, Harry? Come along as soon as you like." 

Pawling was round within ten minutes. ' 

"Ah" good, take a seat." 

He handed over Forrester's letter. "It's self-explanatory," he said. "Tell Basil to be as co-operative as possible. How's Basil doing, by the way?" 

"He's making out all right." 

"Not more than that?" 

"He gets on well with people." 

"I know that. Let's put it another way. Suppose London were to be looking for an assistant manager, they aren't, let me add, but suppose they were to be and they were to ask me whether I would recommend Basil for the post, would you advise me to? "

''I'd say he wasn't ready for it yet." 

"That's what I'd say. Do you think he ever will be?" 

"As long as there was someone to watch that he didn't make mistakes." 

"I see. Thank you. Now there's one other thing. How's Iris Sinclair making out?" 

  REX SINCLAIR was a young engineer, who had spent eighteen months in the Persian Gulf. On his return to England be had fallen for the first pretty girl he had met. 

Pawling shrugged. "We're trying to get her interested in something. Julia's got her on to theatricals." 

They were doing Clifford Bax’s The Rose without a Thorn and Pawling was to be Henry VIII. 

"You haven't fixed on Katheryn Howard, have you? " 

"Not yet, it's difficult. Iris might do. " 

They gossiped for a few more minutes, then Pawling took his leave. 

At twenty-five past eleven, when he was expecting to hear the lunch hooter, Basil's telephone bell rang: at the other end of the line was the Indian's voice. "Could you meet me on Monday at ten o'clock in the self-service store? " 

"I think so, yes." 

"It is most important that you should." 

   TEN o'clock on a Monday was the busiest hour at the store. The Indian could not have chosen a .tim when a conversation with Basil was less likely to cause comment. 

"Mr. Hallett, I must impress on you that it is most important that you should keep any appointment that I make with you." 

"But, my dear fellow, if...." 

"Please let me finish, Mr. Hallett. I am not being an alarmist when I warn you that it might even be dangerous for you not to follow my instructions. I have now little time to spare. There are one or two things I have to ask you. In the first place, do you play chess?" 

"I played at school." 

"That will be sufficient. There are some things that are better not put down in writing. I will send you from time to time what appears to be a chess problem. It will actually be a message. When you set out the pieces on the board, you will be able, by aid of the code that I shall give you, to read the message." 

"Now what's all this about?" 

"That's something that there is no need for you to know." 

"Isn't it? I'm not so sure. Why did you want me to find a place for that friend of yours?" 

"Because he is a friend of mine. What other reason could there be?" 

"That's what I'd like to know. The police are making enquiries about him. They want to see the references he brought with him." 

"They were good references." 

"I dare say they were, but why do the police want to see them?"

"Indeed, why should they? This is very interesting. Are the police making enquiries about other members of your staff? " 

"Yes." 

"You have a list?" 

"At the office." 

"Now this is an occasion when that code would come in useful. It would not be wise to send that list to me in a letter, but you could send it to me as a chess problem addressed to the Kuala Prang Chess Club." 

"But listen, I can't do that. It's a breach of confidence." 

"I do not think so. I am inquisitive about this man. It was on my recommendation that you employed him. I trust that my confidence was not misplaced. It is not wise for us to spend too long here talking. 

"I am going to that counter where the cheap editions are kept. After I have left, you will pick up the bottom copy from the pile of A Woman of Bangkok. It will contain a copy of the code. Good day to you, Mr. Hallett. I trust that your so charming wife is well." 

At lunchtime Basil returned with a set of chessmen. "I'm going to take up chess again he said. "It relaxes the mind, so everyone assures me." 

He also took a set to his office. 

Two days later the Indian found in his pigeonhole in the Chess Club a set of problems. He worked them out. None of the names meant anything to him. It was puzzling and interesting. Young Mr. Hallett was proving more useful than he had expected. He made out a cheque for twenty-five pounds. 

Basil looked at the cheque with doubt and with misgiving. Why should the Indian pay him this? A hundred pounds in all. That settled his account with Potiphar. 

Basil shrugged. He had betrayed no confidence. Forrester's enquiries had not come in a double envelope marked 'Top Secret'. He looked at the cheque. He'd get Julia something. 

  IT was the morning of the Queen's birthday, or rather in Karak it was the morning of the Queen's birthday; in England it was still the night before. Not many people would say that morning over their breakfast tables, 'I see Kenneth Studholme has got his Knighthood.' 

Kenneth Studholme got out of bed. There were papers now on his desk waiting to be studied and letters to be revised. He looked at them, hesitated, then tiptoed towards his wife's bed. She stirred, woke out of her sleep, blinked. "Good morning, Your Ladyship,"  he said. 

She laughed. "Oh, darling, thank you, congratulations." She turned to face him, snuggled into his arms. 

One o'clock: six o'clock in England. 

There was a tap upon the door. 

"Come in." 

The A.D.C. said, "Your lunch guests are ready. sir." 

It was a small intimate lunch party. Shelagh Keable was in town again, she and Lila were still inseparable or was it Angus's dark eyes that brought her here. Lila had suggested that. So Angus had been asked to lunch. He had also asked Annetta Marsh. 

His guests rose as he came into the room. 

"Congratulations, sir," said Angus. 

"I’m thinking of changing my name," said Lila. "What's the point of having a mother who is a ladyship if she has a different name? " 

"You'd better do what your mother did, marry someone who's going to be knighted," said her stepfather. 

"How can you be sure he will; it's safer to marry somebody who's already got a title." 

A little twinge flickered Angus's nerves. Her thoughts were already travelling towards a day when she would be part of his life no longer. He felt jealous, resentful, wounded in his pride. He had only been invited here because of his supposed interest in Shelagh. He had been placed next to Shelagh. 

On his left he was aware of a chatter of feminine gossip across the table. Shelagh and Annetta gabbling at one another. 

"There's so much I want to hear," Shelagh was saying. "I know so little of what's going on. I feel like a prisoner in that oil camp." 

"How do you think I feel under Royal scrutiny?" 

"Can you see the Crown Prince in that monastery?" 

"If 1 take his aunt with me. I'm going there this afternoon."

"That can't be any fun. Couldn't you come down to Kassaya?" She turned interrogatively to her host. A sudden idea had occurred to her. 

"Why couldn't Gerald bring her down, as an official escort." Barbara must have a chance of seeing more of Gerald. "Don't you think that's a good idea. Annetta would be under your protection then." 

"We might work that out."

   STUDHOLME listened With mixed feelings to the two girls. Had Annetta visualized the destiny she had accepted? Did she realize what she was giving up? He turned towards her. "You have had exceptional first impressions. It would be of value to me to know how it is striking you." 

Annetta hesitated. She had seen so much, had heard so much. She had encountered a new climate and a new way of living. But in the final analysis, did it not all come back to this, that none of it seemed real. 

"In what way not real?" he said. 

"An absolute monarchy. I didn't know that such a thing could exist today. I can't believe that it can go on like this. Something is bound to happen." 

"It's part of my job to guess at what is most likely to happen. I sometimes ask myself if I'm not sitting on a volcano. Karak is unique; anything might happen here." 

"That's what Francis Reynolds. . said."  

"Francis Reynolds?" Studholme looked at her quickly. "Where did you meet him?" 

"On the. plane coming out. Do you know him then? " 

"Oh, yes, I know him. How did he strike you?" 

"He made himself very agreeable. He was good-looking, a man of the world; I liked him." 

"In that case, when he comes here, I'll ask you to the party that I give for him." 

   ANNETTA was surprised. 

"He's coming here? " 

"In a month or so." 

"He must have changed his mind then. He didn't know he was coming when I saw him." 

"Didn't he? I've known for a long time he was coming. Somebody in Whitehall must have changed his plans for him after he'd set out." 

"I expect that's what it was." 

But she knew it wasn't. He had had a very special reason for preventing her from knowing that he was coming to Karak. 

He had wanted to take advantage of that one night in Singapore. He had lied to her. He had deliberately tried to trick her. He was a man you could not trust. 

She changed the subject. "Now what about this trip to the oil camp?" 

"I don't see why I shouldn't go out too. That would give you all the chaperonage that you need, and it is time I was going there again." He looked down the table and caught his wife's eye. 

"I don't think it would be a bad idea if I went to see the oily boys for a couple of days. You and Lila could look after yourselves, couldn't you?" 

"I think that would be very nice," said Lila. As she said it she let her glance rest on Angus. It was the first time that she had showed any recognition of his existence. He had the sense of a whole world being overturned.  

   ANNETTA drove straight from the Residency to Aunt Ladda’s house for her visit to Rhya in his monastery. Not only would it be the first time that she had seen him since he became a priest, but the first time that she had seen the temple where he was serving his novitiate. 

A narrow canal divided the temple from the dormitories and libraries. 

"There he is," Aunt Ladda said. 

A figure in a saffron robe came down the steps of the library. Annetta stared incredulously. Was this really he? He looked so small. The eyebrows that she had thought diabolique at the first meeting struck an incongruous contrast with his shaven head.

"It is good of you to come," he said. He seemed very far away. 

"I know that you have to do this," she said. "But apart from that do you feel that you are really getting something out of it? " 

"Oh, yes, I'm getting something." He smiled. His smile made him seem even farther away. 

"I nave had time to think," he said. "I never have before. I didn't realize how important it was. Meditation, that's what the world needs. That's what I've learnt here. The need of meditation." 

He did not speak excitedly. But he spoke with a sincerity that she had not heard before. Something had happened, was happening, to him here in this temple. He would not be the same person when he came out. . . . . 

 Angus Macartney reached the estate shortly before sundown the following day. His father had caught a cold. He looked weak and tired. 

He began to tell his father about the day's transactions, but soon saw that his account was making no impression. His father was only concerned with the larger political issues. 

"We are marking time during the King's lifetime. Nothing will be done while he is here. The people love him. It will be different when he is succeeded by Prince Rhya. . 

"The people do not know the Prince; they have no personal feeling for him. He was marrying an English woman. They will not readily forgive him that. It will be easy to stage a coup d’ etat once he is on the throne." 

The voice murmured on. It can't go on much longer, Angus thought. The next attack might be the last. 

"Our time will come, soon, very soon; the first step, then, the second step; warn the people, prepare the people, free the people. . . soon . . . very soon. " 

The old man had passed the frontier of delirium: his eyes were bright, his hands fluttered outside the sheet. 

"The first step . . . Royal visit . . . oil camp. . . warning. . . Union Jack ·  . nothing now . . . nothing. . . first step. . . oil camp. . . first step counts · . . nothing now. . . nothing." 

 Two days later, Studholme held his monthly gathering of notables. He was in a cordial mood. 

"I suppose it is natural to imagine that one's own good fortune coincides with that of those around one, but I cannot help feeling that the outlook here is a great deal brighter than it was six months ago. 

"The Crown Prince is certainly a more serious man than I had supposed and I am delighted with his future bride. I am accompanying her shortly on a visit to the oil fields. "

At the words 'oil fields,' Angus started. Did his father's rambling  conceal a secret? - 

When the meeting broke up, he touched Forrester's elbow. "Could I have a word with you? You'll think I'm being ridiculous but I believe that something may happen when the Crown Prince's fiancee makes that visit to the oil wells." 

"What makes you think that?" 

"One or two things I've heard." 

"Thanks for the warning." 

  BACK at his office Forrester rang for Mahmoud. "I want Ahmed asked immediately whether his cousin has shown any interest in Miss Marsh's visit to the oil camp." 

Four days later Ahmed's report came in. His cousin had shown considerable interest in Miss Marsh's visit; had asked for a detailed time-schedule of her programme. 

Forrester raised his eyebrows. 

He put a call through to Princess Ladda’s house. Annetta could see him the following morning. 

It was their first real meeting. 

"I don't want to alarm you but I have been warned that something may happen when you go to the oil camp?" 

"Are you suggesting that I should not go?" 

"You must decide yourself. But there is this point to be considered. If there is danger in the oil camp, then sooner or later there will be danger here. I want to know what the danger is. I am in the dark. 

"Personally I would like you to go out there. I would take every possible precaution. I would come out myself. If nothing happens, then all our minds will have been set at rest." 

"We go," she said. 

Annetta was conscious of excitement, a sense too of pride, that she was able to contribute to Rhya's safety. This might be an important thing for him. 

"Are you warning Sir Kenneth, too?" she asked. 

Forrester shook his head. "If I were to, he would forbid your visit or insist on such security precautions that I should stand no chance of finding out what's in the air." 

"I see." 

It occurred to her that she was being used as a decoy. "There's something I wanted to ask you," she said. "Do you know a man called Francis Reynolds?" 

"I know the name." 

"He is coming out here soon under most favourable auspices. He will make an excellent first impression. But he is a man who cannot be trusted. I advise you to keep a close check on all his movements here." 

"I will check his movements from this moment." 

  Basil was in charge of Annetta's tour of the refinery, but Shelagh insisted that she should be the guide. "I want to see how much I remember. Let me explain it all. Basil can correct me if I get it wrong." 

They drove in a closed car. Forrester sat beside the driver. Shelagh and Annetta were on the back seat; Basil on a folding front seat. 

  THEY started at nine o' clock before the heat of day had mounted. The men were in their offices, the women finishing chores. There was an air of prosperity and repose. 

"Now this is the cracking plant," Shelagh said. 

"How many people do you have working here?" Annetta asked.

"About fifteen thousand." 

As many as that; how easy it would be to slip two or three conspirators into that vast concourse. 

They went to a drilling rig. Basil had taken over now from. Shelagh. He showed her the storage tank farm and the barrels of bitumen. "Now for the repair shops," he said. "That is the last thing on our programme; then we'll see the village." 

And then I can relax, Annetta . thought. . 

The repair shops covered a large area; there was a group of workmen outside the main entrance. As they walked to it from the car, Annetta was aware of a disturbance. It happened so quickly that she did not realize what had happened. There seemed to her to have been a scuffle. She looked at Shelagh. She had not noticed anything; but Forrester had. 

"Will you excuse me? I won't be long. I'll join you inside," he said. 

HE was back within three minutes, smiling contentedly. Annetta joined him. 

"You can relax now. It's over." 

She had seldom seen anyone look more relieved. 

"The village next," said Basil. 

They drove by a wide macadamized road and Basil stopped the car on the crest of a hill.

She could see right round her. This was the centre of the oil camp. But there was no sound of any kind here.

So much surface calm; so much activity beneath the surface, and fifteen minutes ago on this ordinary routine day a man had tried to murder her. Had it really happened? And if it had how likely was it to happen again ? She looked enquiringly at Forrester.

He turned to Basil. "I don't know whether you had noticed it or not, but outside the repair shop one of the workmen pulled a gun out of his pocket. One of my men saw him. I don't know anything about the man. I will give you such facts as I find as soon as I possess them. As your branch is responsible for personnel, we shall need to know how he came to be employed; we must see who recommended him." 

Basil dropped Shelagh, Annetta and the Colonel at the Keables' bungalow. 

In the G.M.'s bungalow Forrester, alone with Annetta, said, "Sir Kenneth must be told. "The incident has to be reported in the Press. But I don't want to tell anyone the whole story yet. I want to see first what I can find out in interrogation. You've been very brave. By your bravery you may have saved more than you can ever guess." 

As long as the others were in the car with him Basil had maintained his insouciant manner; but the moment he was alone his whole body became taut. He sat motionless at the wheel, staring straight in front of him. What had happened? And how could it affect him anyway? He did not know: he did not want to know: he was desperately afraid. 

© Alec Waugh 1959 & 1960

It looks as if Basil is becoming more and more involved in this web of intrigue. In next week's instalment we learn what happens when he tries to defy the Indian's commands.