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He began to hint, as tactfully as possible, that she might be in need of financial assistance and perhaps he could put her in touch—

“No,'' she told him. “That Polish gentleman that shot himself. You won't know this – it didn't come out in the papers – but he was the son of the old Count Sudenic that Sergei worked for as a lad. He told me that. This Mr. Sudenic went to the hospital to see him twice. Well, he must've been told about Sergei's illness, because he's left him quite a bit of money in his will.''

“Indeed?'' Carfax said. “I'm very glad to hear it.''

So, he thought, would not be the governments of England, Russia, Sweden, Denmark and perhaps others. But then none of them, except England, would ever know.

“Yes,'' Mrs. Voliniak went on. “The solicitor, a Mr. Phillimore, wrote and a Polish gentleman came to see me – elderly man. I couldn't pronounce his name. Very kind and considerate. He told me—''

She broke down again and Carfax took his leave of her. He wondered how much old Scziliekowicz really knew. He had attended the funeral of the supposed Boris Sudenic. Come to think of it he had told him he was winding up Boris's affairs. This was part of his mission, evidently. With the help of Ann's lawyer brother. Perjury on the part of the legal profession itself. All in a good cause – or was it? What were we all coming to?

Carfax went back to London. The Sudenic file was closed. One more case disposed of, perhaps permanently. He devoutly hoped so. A very troublesome alien.

In the Brentwood family circle the secret of Boris's escape leaked by degrees during the next few months, until every member knew exactly what had happened. In her growing contentment and happiness Margaret refused to keep anything back from Colin and he, who would never be able wholly to rely on the continuance of his present good fortune, was careful not to argue or criticize or even blame any of them for keeping him in ignorance for so long.

Together he and Margaret regretted Boris's lawlessness, his instability. His frightful experiences had ruined him, they concluded. He had lost his principles, his code of decent conduct, everything that meant civilized living. They thanked God that Britain had retained these things, at least in the circles that mattered.

As for the Ogdens, they had guessed the course of events quite accurately. Putting together the detail from hints and fragments of conversation they had heard was child's play to them. As servants who had lived in their employers' homes all their lives, they had acquired a special technique, not exactly of eavesdropping, but of becoming aware of most of the family secrets and all of the family goings-on.

Late that autumn Ogden came in from brushing leaves under the trees at the bottom of the garden. He had been reminded of the summer days when Mrs. Colin and Mr. Sudenic had sat there, talking, screened from the house and all prying eyes.

“Seems he was a spy,'' Ogden said, “but I reckon he never told her nowt.''

“That's why she was so mad at him, poor lad,'' Mrs. Ogden said, pityingly.

“I don't believe that other chap did himself in. They Russians got 'im. Silencer on the gun, it said int'papers. What for'd he use that to kill himself?''

“Happen you're right, Sam, but it don't do to go repeating it. Spy or no spy, that warn't the reason 'e come here.''

“Not reason?''

“Nay.''

“Then why?''

“Just wanted to live,'' said Mrs. Ogden, firmly. “Like 'e always had. Like any normal creature should and does. No one couldn't have gone through what 'e did without he clung to life itself. Just that. It's what he's doing now, I'll be bound. Take a lot, it would, to put that one under. 'E ' ad the will.''

“You make it overly simple, Martha. The lad were double spy, as they call it. Mr. Colin knows and that Mr. Carfax. Not straightforward at all, it weren't. You should listen to them. Hear what I've heard.''

“Oh, aye,
them
,'' said Mrs. Ogden, unconvinced. “They're the clever ones.''

THE END

Copyright

First published in 1964 by Geoffrey Bles

This edition published 2012 by Bello an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR Basingstoke and Oxford Associated companies throughout the world

www.panmacmillan.com/imprints/bello
www.curtisbrown.co.uk

ISBN 978-1-4472-2239-2 EPUB
ISBN 978-1-4472-2228-5 POD

Copyright © Josephine Bell, 1964

The right of Josephine Bell to be identified as the
author of this work has been asserted in accordance
with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Every effort has been made to contact the copyright holders of the material reproduced in this book. If any have been inadvertently overlooked, the publisher will be pleased to make restitution at the earliest opportunity.

You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

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The inclusion of author website addresses in this book does not constitute an endorsement by or association with us of such sites or the content, products, advertising or other materials presented on such sites.

This book remains true to the original in every way. Some aspects may appear out-of-date to modern-day readers. Bello makes no apology for this, as to retrospectively change any content would be anachronistic and undermine the authenticity of the original.

Bello has no responsibility for the content of the material in this book. The opinions expressed are those of the author and do not constitute an endorsement by, or association with, us of the characterization and content.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

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