V

TELEPHONE CONVERSATIONS FROM FICTION

Half an hour later, when Richardson had read the file again, this time more thoroughly, he picked up one of the two telephones on his desk. It was a direct outgoing line and he dialled the Government exchange, then asked for the Department of Immigration. After another operator and two secretaries, he reached the minister.

Mr Warrender (the Minister): What can I do for you?

Mr Richardson: I’d like to see you, Mr Minister.

Mr Warrender: I’m free for an hour now, if you want to come round.

Mr Richardson: I’d rather not do that if you don’t mind. What I want to talk about is rather personal. Actually, I wondered if I could come to your house tonight. Say eight o’clock.

Mr Warrender: We can be plenty private in my Office.

Mr Richardson: I’d still prefer to come to your house.

Mr Warrender: Can’t say I like all the mysteries. What’s it all about?

Mr Richardson: As I said, it’s rather personal. I think you’ll agree tonight that we shouldn’t discuss it on the phone.

Mr Warrender: Look here, if it’s about that son-of-a-bitch stowaway[137]…

Mr Richardson: It isn’t about that.

Mr Warrender: Very well, then. If you must, come to my house. I’ll expect you at eight o’clock.

Denton: Jordache?[138] That you?

Rudolph[139]: Yes. Who’s this?

Denton: Denton, Professor Denton.

Rudolph: Oh, how are you, sir?

Denton: I hate to bother you. But can I see you sometime today?

Rudolph: Of course. I’m in the store all day.

Denton: I’d prefer it if we could meet somewhere besides the store. Are you free for lunch?

Rudolph: I just take forty-five minutes…

Denton: That’s all right. We’ll make it someplace near you. How about Ripley’s? That’s just around the corner from you, isn’t it?

Rudolph: Yes. Is twelve-fifteen all right?

Denton: I’ll be there, Jordache. Thank you, thank you. It’s most kind of you. Until twelve-fifteen, then. I can’t tell you how I appreciate…

(He seemed to hang up in the middle of his last sentence.)

The telephone went in the hall. “I expect that’s Sarah[140] now,” my mother said; and my father said: “If it’s anyone for me, say I’m out and ‘ll call them back in fifteen minutes.” “Deborah[141],” said the voice of my elder sister, when I lifted the receiver, “whatever time d’you get back these days?”

Deborah: Thursday is sometimes a bit hectic. Why?

Sarah: I’m giving a party tomorrow to celebrate — just a couple of dozen people — eight o’clock. Any hopes?

Deborah: Well… thanks. Did Erica suggest me?

Sarah: Of course not, you ape. D’you think I take notice of her suggestions anyhow?

Deborah: What is it, a dance?

Sarah: In a three-roomed flat? But of course. With the band of the Grenadier Guards.

Deborah: Seriously. Shall I know anybody?

Sarah: Well, there’s me and Arabella. Fruits of the same womb. You’ll recognise me by the red rose. Well?

Deborah: Thanks. Thank you, darling. I’d adore to come. What sort of clothes?

Sarah: Moderately smart. I’m sick of these sordid affairs where everyone comes looking as if they’ve washed up with the local sewage.

Deborah: Lovely. What time did you say?

Sarah: Eight or thereabouts. Don’t eat because we’ll eat.

Leigh[142]: Look, are you free this coming Saturday? I’m a member of the Seven Arts Club and we have a film show every Sunday evening. It’d be interesting this week -

Deborah: Sorry. I’m already booked up.

Leigh: Oh. Pity.

Deborah: Yes. Thanks all the same.

Leigh: That’s, a pity because it’s a Picasso film — it’s an old one, made ten years or more ago, but I’ve never seen it. People who’ve seen it rave about it,

Deborah: Oh… Yes, I have heard of it.

Leigh: We wouldn’t need to get there till nine. What hopes?

Deborah: No hopes… Sorry again. I must ring off now, as I left a kettle on.

Leigh: О. K… Deborah?

Deborah: Yes?

Leigh: When is your next free Sunday?

Deborah: Well… I’m not absolutely sure. Perhaps next month.

Leigh: As long as that? Anyway, I’ll ring again.

Deborah: Yes, all right. Goodbye.

Leigh: Bye.

Willie: Yes?

Jack: (from the reception desk): Captain Abbot?

Willie: Yes.

Jack: We believe there is a young lady in your room.

Willie: I believe there is. What of it?

Jack: You have a single room for the occupancy of one individual.

Willie: All right. Give me a double room. What’s the number?

Jack: I’m sorry, every room is occupied. We’re booked until November

Willie: Let’s you and I pretend this is a double room, Jack. Put it on my bill.

Jack: I’m afraid I can’t do that. Room 777 is definitely a single room for a single occupancy. I’m afraid the young lady will have to leave.

Willie: The young lady isn’t living here, Jack. She isn’t occupying anything. She’s visiting me. Anyway, she’s my wife.

Jack: Do you have a marriage certificate, Captain?

(After a pause.)

Willie: She left it home. We’ll show it to you tomorrow. I’ll have it sent down by special delivery.

Jack: Captain, young ladies are against the rules of the establishment.

Willie: Since when?

Jack: We are under new management now. We are creating a different image of a well-known respectable hotel. If the lady is not out of there in five minutes, Captain, I’m coming up.

Willie: All right, Jack.

Mr Hendricks: Amity Police, Patrolman Hendricks. Can I help you?

Mr Foote: This is Jack Foote, over on Old Mill Road. I want to report a missing person. Or at least I think she’s missing.

Mr Hendricks: Say again, sir?

Mr Foote: One of my house guests went for a swim at about one this morning. She hasn’t come back yet. Her date found her clothes on the beach.

Mr Hendricks: What was the person’s name?

Mr Foote: Christine Watkins.

Mr Hendricks: Age?

Mr Foote: I don’t know. Just a second. Say around twenty-five. Her date says that’s about right.

Mr Hendricks: Height and weight?

Mr Foote: Wait a minute. (There was a pause.) We think probably about five-seven[143], between one-twenty and one-thirty[144].

Mr Hendricks: Color of hair and eyes?

Mr Foote: Listen Officer, why do you need all this? If the woman is drowned, she’s probably going to be the only one you have — at least tonight, right? You don’t average more than one drowning around here each night, do you?

Mr Hendricks: Who said she drowned, Mr Foote? May be she went for a walk.

Mr Foote: Stark naked at one in the morning? Have you had any reports about a woman walking around naked?

Mr Hendricks: No, Mr Foote, not yet. But once the summer season starts, you never know what to expect. Color of hair and eyes?

Mr Foote: Her hair is… oh, dirty blond, I guess. Sandy, I don’t know what color her eyes are. I’ll have to ask her date. No, he says he doesn’t know either. Let’s say hazel.

Mr Hendricks: Okay, Mr Foote. We’ll get on it. As soon as we find out anything, we’ll contact you.

There was a heavy silence in the elegant, spacious room. It was broken abruptly by the jangle of the telephone. They faced each other, neither attempting to answer. The muscles of the Duke’s face jerked spasmodically. The bell sounded again, then stopped. Through intervening doors they heard the voice of the secretary indistinctly, answering on an extension. A moment later the secretary knocked and came in diffidently. He glanced towards the Duke. “Your Grace, it’s one of the local newspapers. They say that they have had” — he hesitated at an unfamiliar term — “a flash bulletin which appears to concern you.”

With an effort the Duchess recovered her pose. “I will take the call. Hang up the extension.” She picked up the telephone near her. Only a close observer would have noticed that her hands were trembling.

Duchess: The Duchess of Croydon speaking.

Correspondent: Ma’am, we’ve a flash from Associated Press and there’s just been a follow-up… Pardon me. (There was a rustle of paper, then the voice resuming.) Sorry, ma’am. I’ll read this to you. “ London (AP) — Parliamentary sources here to-day name the Duke of Croydon, noted British government trouble shooter[145], as Britain’s next ambassador to Washington. Initial reaction is favourable. An official announcement is expected soon.” There’s more, ma’am. I won’t bother you with it. Why we called was to see if your husband has a statement, then with your permission we’d like to send a photographer to the hotel. Ma’am, are you still there?

Duchess: Yes. At the moment my husband has no statement, nor will he have unless and until the appointment is officially confirmed. The same applies to photography.

Correspondent (the voice sounded disappointed): We’ll run what we have[146], of course, in the next edition.

Duchess: That is your privilege.

Correspondent: Meanwhile, if there’s an official announcement we’d like to be in touch.

Duchess: Should that occur, I’m sure my husband will be glad to meet the press.

Correspondent: Then we may telephone again?

Duchess: Please do.

After lunch, as Poirot was settling himself in his square-backed armchair with his coffee at his elbow, the telephone rang.

Mrs Oliver: Monsieur Poirot?

Mr Poirot: C’est moi[147].

Mrs Oliver: Well, what are you doing? What have you done?

Mr Poirot: I am sitting in this chair. Thinking.

Mrs Oliver: Is that all?

Mr Poirot: It is the important thing. Whether I shall have success in it or not I do not know.

Mrs Oliver: But you must find that girl. She’s probably been kidnapped.

Mr Poirot: It would certainly seem so. And I have a letter here which came by the midday post from her father, urging me to come and see him and tell him what progress I have made.

Mrs Oliver: Well, what progress have you made?

Mr Poirot: At the moment none.

Mrs Oliver: Really, Monsieur Poirot, you really must take a grip on yourself[148].

Mr Poirot: You, too!

Mrs Oliver: What do you mean, me, too?

Mr Poirot: Urging me on.

Mrs Oliver: Why don’t you go down to that place in Chelsea where I was hit on the head?

Mr Poirot: And get myself hit on the head also?

Mrs Oliver: I simply don’t understand you. I gave you a clue by finding the girl in the cafe. You said so.

Mr Poirot: I know, I know.

Mrs Oliver: And then you go and lose her!

Mr Poirot: I know, I know.

Mrs Oliver: What about that woman who threw herself out of a window? Haven’t you got anything out of that?

Mr Poirot: I have made inquiries, yes.

Mrs Oliver: Well?

Mr Poirot: Nothing. The woman is one of many. They are attractive when young, they have affairs, they are passionate, they have still more affairs, they get less attractive, they are unhappy and drink too much, they think they have cancer or some fatal disease and so at last in despair and loneliness they throw themselves out of a window!

Mrs Oliver: You said her death was important — that it meant something.

Mr Poirot: It ought to have done.

Mrs Oliver: Really! (At a loss for further comment, Mrs Oliver rang off.)

Mr Clark: Mrs Henderson?

Mrs Henderson: Yes.

Mr Clark: Ma’am, my name is Ray Clark. I’m a friend of Mutt’s and Jiggs Casey’s. Jiggs gave me your phone number and told me to call when I got to town. I just missed Mutt in Washington.

Mrs Henderson: Oh, that’s too bad. Mutt got in late Monday, but he had to go right out to the base. I’m afraid he’ll be there through the weekend, too.

Mr Clark: Any way I can reach him?

Mrs Henderson (laughing): If you find out, please tell me. I don’t even know where it is.

Mr Clark: You mean you’ve never seen it?

Mrs Henderson: Well, he did show me the general direction once when we were driving over to White Sands, so at least I know my husband’s not in Alaska.

Mr Clark: Service wives have it rough[149].

Mrs Henderson: You’re not in the service? (Mrs Henderson’s voice became guarded.)

Mr Clark: Oh, sure. (Clark lied.) That’s how I know how it is. Or, rather, my wife does. They keep me travelling all the time.

Mrs Henderson: Oh. (She sounded relieved.) Well, tell me where you are stopping, and if he does get home, I’ll have him call you.

Mr Clark: Sorry. (He lied again.) I’ve got to fly to L. A. this afternoon. Just tell him Ray called. And thanks anyway, Mrs Henderson.

Gretchen[150]: Rudy?

Rudolph: Yes.

Gretchen: I called Jean at your house and she told me where you are. I hope I’m not disturbing you.

Rudolph: No, no. I’m just dawdling idly[151] in that well-known holiday spot, Dallas les Bains. Where are you anyway?

Gretchen: Los Angeles. I wouldn’t have called you, but I’m out of my mind.

Rudolph: What is it?

Gretchen: It’s Billy. Did you know he dropped out of school a month ago?

Rudolph: No. He hardly ever whispered his secrets to me, you know.

Gretchen: He’s being drafted, now that he’s not a student any more.

Rudolph: Well, it might do him some good. A couple of years in the Army might make a man of him.

Gretchen: You have a baby daughter. You can talk like that. I have one son, I don’t think a bullet through his head is going to make a man of my son.

Rudolph: Now, Gretchen, don’t make it so automatic. Induct[152] the boy and two months later send the corpse home to mother. There are an awful lot of boys who serve their time and come home without a scratch.

Gretchen: That’s why I’m calling you. I want you to make sure that he comes home without a scratch.

Rudolph: What can I do?

Gretchen: You know a lot of people in Washington.

Rudolph: Nobody can keep a kid out of the draft if he’s goofed school[153] and he’s in good health, Gretchen.

Gretchen: I’m not so sure about that, either, from some of the things I’ve heard and read. But I’m not asking you to try to keep Billy out of the Army.

Rudolph: Then what are you trying to get me to do?

Gretchen: Use your connections to make sure that once Billy is in he doesn’t ever get sent to Viet Nam.

Rudolph: Gretchen, I wish you could figure out some other way…

Gretchen: The only other person I know who might be able to do something is Colin Burke’s brother. He’s a general in the Air Force. He’s in Viet Nam right now. I bet he’d just fall all over himself with eagerness[154] to keep Billy from hearing a shot fired.

Rudolph: Not so loud, Gretchen. I hear you perfectly well.

Gretchen: I’m going to tell you something: If you don’t help me, I’m coming to New York and I’m taking Billy with me to Canada or Sweden. And I’m going to make one hell of a loud noise about why I’m doing it.

Rudolph: Christ, Gretchen. What’s wrong with you? (He heard the phone slam at the other end. Some minutes later he went over to the phone and asked for the Gretchen’s number in California. When she answered, he said:) All right, Gretchen. I’ll stop over in Washington on the way north and see what I can do. I think you can stop worrying.

Gretchen: Thank you, Rudy. I knew you’d come through.

Mallinson: Mallinson.

Caron: Mr Anthony Mallinson?

Mallinson: Speaking.

Caron: My name is Inspector Lucien Caron, of the French Surete Nationale[155]. I am ringing on behalf of Commissaire Claude Lebel. (The voice, speaking good but strongly accented English, was coming over clearly. Obviously line trafic at that hour was light.)

Mallinson: Yes.

Caron: I believe you know Commissaire Lebel, perhaps, Mr Mallinson.

Mallinson: Yes, I know Commissaire Lebel. What’s it about?

Caron: There is a matter of very considerable emergency, which also requires a great degree of discretion, that has cropped up. I am assisting Commissaire Lebel on the case. It is a most unusual case. The Commissaire would like to place a person-to-person call to you this morning at nine o’clock. Could you please be present to take the call?

Mallinson: Is that a routine inquiry between co-operating police forces?

Caron: No, Mr Mallinson, it is not. It is a question of personal request by the Commissaire to you for a little discreet assistance. It may be there is nothing that affects Scotland Yard in the matter that has come up. Most probably, so. If that is the case, it would be better if there were no formal request placed.

(Mallinson thought it over. He was by nature a cautious man and had no wish to be involved in clandestine inquiries from a foreign police force. If a crime had been committed, or a criminal had fled to Britain, that was another matter. In that case why the secrecy? Then he remembered a case years ago where he had been sent out to find and bring back the daughter of a Cabinet Minister who had gone astray with a handsome young devil. The girl had been a minor so charges of removal the child from parental authority could have been brought. A bit marginal[156]. But the Minister wanted the whole thing done without a murmur reaching the Press. The Italian Police had been very helpful when the couple was found at Verona playing Romeo and Juliet. All right, so Lebel wanted a bit of help.)

Mallinson: All right, I’ll take the call. Nine o’clock.

Caron: Thank you so much, Mr Mallinson.

Mallinson: Good night.

Inspector Sims: Is that Mr Poirot? Inspector Sims here. Things are beginning to sit up and look pretty[157] in that little matter you and I know of.

Detective Poirot: Tell me, I pray of you.

Sims: Well, here’s item No. 1 — and a pretty big item. Miss B. left a small legacy to her niece and everything else to Katrina. In consideration of her great kindness and attention — that’s the way it was put. That alters the complexion of things. Item No. 2 — nobody but Katrina handled that cachet[158].

Poirot: You can be sure of that?

Sims: The girl herself doesn’t deny it. What do you think of that?

Poirot: Extremely interesting.

Sims: We only want one thing more — evidence of how the poison came into her possession. That oughtn’t to be difficult.

Poirot: But so far you haven’t been successful?

Sims: I’ve barely started. The inquest was only this morning.

Poirot: What happened at it?

Sims: Adjourned for a week.

Poirot: And the young lady — Katrina?

Sims: I’m detaining her on suspicion. Don’t want to run any risks. She might have some funny[159] friends in the country who’d try to get her out of it.

Poirot: No, I don’t think she has any friends.

Sims: Really? What makes you say that, Mr Poirot?

Poirot: It’s just an idea of mine. There were no other “items” as you call them?

Sims: Nothing that’s strictly relevant. Miss B. seems to have been monkeying a bit with her shares lately — must have dropped quite a tidy sum. It’s rather a funny business, one way and another, but I don’t see how it affects the main issue — not at present that is.

Poirot: No, perhaps you are right. Well, my best thanks to you. It was most amiable of you to ring me up.

Sims: Not at all. I’m a man of my word. I could see you were interested. Who knows you may be able to give me a helping hand before the end.

Poirot: That would give me a great pleasure. It might help you, for instance, if I could lay my hand on a friend of the girl Katrina.

Sims: I thought you said she hadn’t any friends?

Poirot: I was wrong. She has one. (Before the Inspector could ask a further question, Poirot had rung off.)

Washington. — Because medical costs are rising so fast, more and more people are diagnosing their own illnesses or, worse still, those of their friends. The government would do well to make a study of how these nonprofessional diagnoses are affecting the nation’s health picture.

The other day I had a cold. It was just like the ones you see on television. I was sneezing, coughing and looking mournfully at my wife. I called my secretary at the office and said I wouldn’t be in because I felt lousy.

“You must have one of those “eight-hour things” that’s going all around town,” she said. “You’ll feel perfectly well tomorrow.”

Eight hours seemed to be a reasonable time to have a cold, and I was looking forward to staying in bed, particularly since the Yankees and Red Sox were playing a crucial game to get into the American League playoffs.

My sister called, and I told her I had one of those “eight-hour things that’s been going all around.”

“Are you sure it’s only an “eight-hour thing”?” she asked. “It could be the “24-hour bug”[160] Harold had last week. Do you have any fever?”

“A little — maybe 100.”

“That’s the “24-hour bug” for sure. Drink lots of fluids and take aspirin, and you’ll be able to shake it off.”

I really hadn’t counted on staying in bed for 24 hours, but it’s stupid to fight a bug. My other sister called up 10 minutes later. “Edith says you’ve got a 24-hour bug.”

“I don’t know if it’s a bug or just a cold.”

“Is your nose red from blowing it?”

“Yah, sure it is. Why do you ask?”

“Then you don’t have a “24-hour bug.” You have a “48-hour virus”.”

“My secretary said all I had was an “eight-hour thing.” How come you moved it up to 48 hours?”

“The “eight-hour thing” is entirely different. You feel funny but your nose doesn’t get red when you blow it. The “24-hour bug” has all the symptoms of the “eight-hour” one, except that you cough a lot. The “48-hour virus” makes you sneeze, cough and perspire while you’re sleeping. You have to stay in bed for two days.”

“But I can’t stay in bed for two days.”

“Look,” my sister said. “If you don’t want medical advice, don’t ask me.”

I think I might have been all right except that my secretary told Healy I was home with the flu.

Примечания:

1

code: a system of figures used to represent telephone numbers of the cities and countries which have been changed to all-figure numbers. A London all-figure number is 01-2222870. 01 is the code to be dialed if you make a call from telephones outside the London Area. But if you make a call in London you must dial only the last seven figures those after the hyphen.

For numbers in New York City dial: 0-01 212 followed by the last 7 digits of the number of the customer you require.

13

I’m brimming over with joy and happiness. Я преисполнен радости и счастья.

14

the Development Programme Программа развития (экономики)

15

the U.N. technical assistance техническая помощь, оказываемая ООН

16

to hit the spot Am. попасть в точку, угодить

137

stowaway безбилетный пассажир, заяц

138

Jordache Джордак

139

Rudolph Рудольф

140

Sarah Capa

141

Deborah Дебора

142

Leigh Ли (мужское имя)

143

five-seven 5 футов и 7 дюймов (о росте) = 152 см

144

one-twenty and one-thirty 120 фунтов и 130 фунтов (о весе) = 54 кг и 58 кг

145

trouble shooter специальный уполномоченный по улаживанию конфликтов

146

We’ll run what we have. Мы опубликуем то, что у нас есть.

147

C’est moi Fr. Это я.

148

You really must take a grip on yourself. Вы действительно должны взять себя в руки.

149

Service wives have it rough. Таков удел жен военных.

150

Gretchen Гретхен

151

I’m just dawdling idly я просто бездельничаю

152

to induct призывать на военную службу

153

if he’s goofed school: if he’s not doing well at school

154

he’d just fall over himself with eagerness он бы из кожи вон вылез

155

the French Surete Nationale французская сыскная полиция.

156

a bit marginal: a bit risky

157

things are beginning to sit up and look pretty ситуация проясняется

158

cachet Fr. here: a box

159

funny colloq. подозрительный

160

bug sl: an infectious disease