“I will,” said Cesar, his tone forlorn at the ruin of dinner. As soon as he had most of the dinner secure and the fire in the stove banked, he took off his apron and went to get his nephew.

  Chapter 4

  JOSHUA HEARD Fleming out with no alteration in his stance or expression. “You found this jacket on the rocks at the west end of the cove?” He was just entering the beginning of manhood, a gangly, loose-jointed boy whose cheeks were starting to show promise of a beard.

  “Yes,” said Fleming.

  “Nothing else?” The boy had a keen mind, as Fleming had discovered when he had started playing chess with the youngster a year ago at the urging of Bathsheba.

  “That is why we’re making another search,” said Fleming.

  “Before the tide turns,” said Joshua. “We had better hurry.”

  “My point precisely,” said Fleming, handing him a lit lantern. “You and your uncle can take the beach, where the trees come up to the sand.”

  “You think he might be in the trees?” Joshua asked.

  “I think we must try to find him,” said Fleming, and gave another lantern to Cesar. “If you find anything, no matter how trivial, summon me at once.”

  “Very well,” said Cesar, his face somber in the soft glow of the lanterns that turned his skin to a glossy shade of mahogany.

  They went out the main door and around the verandah to the path down to the beach. No one said anything, but all three swung their lanterns, watching the shadows retreat and swell, swell and retreat in an eerie dance. The smell of kerosene mixed with the odor of flowers and decay. As they reached the sand, Fleming pointed off to the left. “He went that way.”

  “Then I will stay at the edge of the forest, and you will follow the path he took,” said Joshua in his composed way.

  “Make sure you do not lose sight of us,” Fleming warned.

  “I’ll try not,” said Joshua, and took his first step along the edge of the trees.

  Satisfied that he had made acceptable arrangements, Fleming began to climb through the shifting sands, looking for the indentations he and Sir William had left there already. The lantern-light showed the sand in high relief, deep shadows and soft glowing light, making it unfamiliar. The dry sand gave way to damp, and the footprints were more easily read. Walking was easier, too, and Fleming made better time now, and Cesar lengthened his stride to keep up.

  “He was moving fast,” Cesar observed as he stopped to examine one of Sir William’s footprints.

  “The deep toe impression?” Fleming said. “I agree. I noticed it when I was searching for him.” He wished he had some devise that was a more reliable tracker than just the three of them and the light from their lanterns.

  “That, and the bit of sand cast up by the toe. It would appear, sah, that he knew where he was going and was in a hurry to get there. If there were other footprints, I might suppose someone were chasing him.” Cesar hurried along behind Fleming, taking care to disturb Sir William’s footprints as little as possible.

  Fleming looked at Cesar. “You may be right,” he allowed, and resumed walking. “But those are my footprints you see going along beside his. When I followed him, there was only the one set—Sir William’s. No one was behind him, or in front of him, unless he walked in the other’s footprints so perfectly that they could not be seen. In soft sand, that is nearly impossible, even when the pursuer is careful, which seems unlikely. In which case, I doubt he would be running, as it appears he was.” He glanced toward the edge of the trees, and saw Joshua’s lantern swinging, like a large firefly, against the deep shadows cast by the trees.

  “And if the leading man was running, what then?” Cesar asked.

  “Then we would have a real conundrum on our hands,” said Fleming.

  “What a strange thing, sah, however Sir William happened to come here,” said Cesar as they strove to walk in the footprints Fleming had left. “You say he had never been here before? He was unfamiliar with your estate? He had not seen your house until this afternoon?”

  “No, he had not. He said he had visited a friend on the island before he came to see me, but I don’t know who that was: he didn’t mention a name.” Fleming paused to listen and heard only the sough of the wind and the rocking of the surf. “I only met the man today, his telegram came yesterday, informing me of his impending visit. If he has other friends in the area, beyond the one, he did not mention them to me. You might learn more from the village gossip.”

  “And yet he came this way on an unfamiliar beach,” said Cesar, ignoring Fleming’s last remark. “It does not appear he walked without purpose.”

  “It is strange,” Fleming agreed, beginning to worry about what it might mean. He wished now that he knew more about Sir William, who, until this afternoon, was nothing more to Fleming than a name in Whitehall. Since his arrival, Sir William had been willing only to discuss this covert project of his, revealing nothing of himself. “Perhaps he is the sort of man who is purposeful even when he is wandering.”

  “Do you think he was looking for something, sah?” Cesar asked. “That might account for it.”

  “If he was, it would appear he knew where he might find it,” said Fleming, his perplexity increasing. What on earth was he going to tell Lord Broxton in the morning?

  “Do you think he went to meet someone?” Cesar asked. “Was he summoned here?”

  “I have no idea,” Fleming snapped. “Still, it may be. But I doubt he intended to vanish. He would have taken his things if he planned on leaving.”

  “Could he have gone into the sea, sah?”

  “I don’t know,” was Fleming’s acerbic answer. “All I know is he is gone and his suit-coat gives one to wonder. That slash doesn’t suggest a friendly meeting.”

  “No, sah,” said Cesar.

  They had almost reached the place where Fleming had found the jacket, and the stones under their feet were brackish and wet. Their lanterns made fretted patterns on the spent waves, both beautiful and eerie. Fleming began to search the rocks for anything he might have missed when he found the jacket, aware that the lantern was something of a hindrance, but he did not discover anything new, and after ten minutes, he abandoned his search.

  Suddenly Joshua shouted from the tree-line, now a quarter mile distant from where Fleming and Cesar stood. He raised his lantern high in the air. “I’ve found something, sah!”

  “What is it?” Fleming yelled back.

  “It’s … a revolver!” He swung his lantern back and forth at shoulder level to show where he stood.

  “A revolver?” Fleming repeated, baffled.

  “Yes. With two bullets fired,” Joshua called.

  “The coat was cut. With a blade of some kind,” said Cesar. “There was no sign of a bullet.”

  “So it was—cut, not shot,” said Fleming, his thoughts puzzled. He kicked at the rock and shrugged. “Perhaps it means nothing, and someone has lost a revolver that is in no way associated with Sir William.” He looked up into the night sky with its festooned stars. At another time, he might have found it a pretty sight, but now it was only a distraction. “Well, we haven’t found damn-all out here. We might as well have a look at this revolver.”

  “If you advise it, sah,” said Cesar, clearly keeping his opinion to himself.

  Fleming said nothing but started along the beach toward the line of trees. As the sand grew silky and dry underfoot it became harder to keep going, and he had to struggle to keep up his pace. Fleming could hear Cesar panting behind him and knew he sounded much the same, and that his shoes were quite ruined.

  Joshua raised his lantern in greeting as Fleming and his uncle approached. “Here it is, sah,” he said, pointing down to a Police Special .38, made by Smith & Wesson. “American.”

  “So it is,” said Fleming, squatting down but not touching the gun. “And recently dropped, by the look of it. The barrel still has a sheen of oil on it, and there is only a little dirt on it, on the one side.” He felt around for a stick and used it to pick up the revolver by the trigger-guard. “I doubt there is anything to learn from this, and it may have nothing to do with Sir William’s disappearance.”

  “Very true,” Joshua said. “But it is a strange thing to find such a weapon lying at the edge of the forest. One might think that there was a guard posted, who has now left his post. Perhaps unwillingly.”

  “Guarding what, or whom?” Fleming asked, keeping his own thoughts to himself.

  “Sir William,” said Joshua. “Or his abductors.”

  “Assuming he has been abducted,” Fleming put in.

  “Assuming that,” Joshua allowed with the fine arrogance of youth.

  “But abandoned his weapon,” said Fleming. “That’s the perplexing part.”

  “Perhaps it was Sir William’s guard, and he met with the same fate Sir William did.” Joshua let the suggestion hang in the air. “Whatever that fate might be.”

  Fleming shook his head. “I don’t like the sound of that, Joshua.”

  “Nor do I, sah,” said Joshua.

  “But is it possible?” Cesar asked, looking about with an air of apprehension.

  “I suppose it may be,” Fleming mused. “And if it is, it means that someone other than Sir William and I knows of his mission, someone on this island. Perhaps the man he visited earlier. Furthermore, it suggests that whoever was watching supposes I am involved in this—this whatever-it-is.” Fleming rose, bringing the pistol with him. “I’ll wrap this in a towel, for the authorities. They may be able to determine its owner, and how recently it’s been fired.”

  “It’s too dark to look much further, sah,” said Joshua, a bit reluctantly. “We can start again tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow I must go make my report. I’ll need you to keep on here, Cesar. I don’t want to leave the house empty if there is going to be trouble. Keep an eye out for anything out of the common, and report it to me. If you’re willing, Joshua, I’d appreciate your coming back to this spot and seeing what else you might turn up.” Fleming held up his hand. “See you don’t miss school on this account.”

  “I won’t, sah,” said Joshua.

  Fleming made a last perusal of the beach, then, dissatisfied, he said, “Well, let us go back to the house. There doesn’t seem to be anything more to do here.”

  Cesar did his best to smile approval, but his expression was uneasy. “Do you think we should post guards at the house?”

  “I don’t think so, not yet, in any case,” said Fleming, starting back on the flattened grasses that marked the edge of the beach. This was firmer footing than the sand provided, and he lengthened his stride, making Cesar and Joshua hurry to keep up with him. “If you’d feel better with a guard, then have a nip round to town while I’m making my report and hire a couple of your mates for tomorrow night. You may offer them a pound apiece for the job, with a half-crown more if they discover anyone lurking about the place. In the meantime, fetch Dominique’s two mongrels for tonight. She’ll let you have them for one night. They’ll bark at anything, and they’re not afraid to bite. Give her ten shillings for their use.” The pay was low, though not unreasonable, particularly since Fleming doubted there was any need for such precautions. However Sir William had vanished, those who had caused it were long gone, he was certain of it.

  Cesar did not speak at once. “I shall think about it, sah, and tell you what I have decided when dinner is over.”

  “Oh, God,” said Fleming. “I do apologize for any damage our traipsing about may have done dinner.”

  “It is all right, sah,” said Cesar, adding impishly, “you will have to eat it.”

  Chapter 5

  BY TEN that evening, Fleming had gone through most of the papers in Sir William’s briefcase and had started on the contents of the portfolio in his valise. With the papers spread out on the guest bed in loosely arranged stacks, Fleming had managed to piece together the basics of the case that Sir William had brought to him, and it troubled him: British atomic secrets had ended up in Soviet hands, and the source had to be an inside one, going back to the British members of the Manhattan Project, or those working closely with them. Three spy-catching cryptographers known as Moan, Groan, and Sigh had been in charge of the investigation, Moan doing the brunt of the work, given the tenor of the reports. In any event, thanks to the dogged efforts of those three men, the reckless disregard for world safety was very apparent in the files, and Fleming began to consider the ramifications of this security breach, becoming more troubled as he read on. According to Moan’s analysis, there was also a suggestion that these secrets had been sold to other powers, not nearly so well-identified as the Soviets: this was more disturbing than the first instance of betrayal, for it implied that there was a power somewhere in the world wealthy enough to afford such weapons and still remain virtually unknown. Moan was of the opinion that the culprits were closely associated with British Intelligence, if not actually part of it; Groan and Sigh didn’t concur, Groan going so far as to say that the accusation was ludicrous and potentially subversive, turning men assigned to intelligence work against one another, thus destroying their effectiveness under the pretense of insuring security.

  “Will you want a nightcap, sah?” Cesar asked from the doorway.

  Fleming looked up. “What? A nightcap? Oh, yes, please,” he said. “And ask Joshua to have the car ready first thing in the morning. I have to go in and report this incident. Lord Broxton will want to know that Sir William has gone missing.” He was not looking forward to providing this unwelcome information to so bellicose a man as Lord Broxton.

  “As you wish, sah. He will have it ready by six-thirty. Will the Napoleon do?” Cesar inquired.

  “What?” Fleming answered his own question. “Yes. Fine. In a snifter, if you would, Cesar.” Absentmindedly Fleming lit up a Players.

  “Yes, sah,” said Cesar, and went off to fetch the brandy.

  There was no doubt that there had been damage done: the files made that plain. But by the look of it, the culprit or culprits were not yet identified. One or two minor functionaries had been caught—Theodore Robertson and his American colleague, James Hendley, for example—but they were insignificant figures in the scheme outlined in the briefs and reports that filled Sir William’s files. That they were to be kept utterly secret was beyond question. Fleming took the largest stack—Moan’s reports—and began to read through it more closely, looking for information that might offer a clue to the principal players. Nothing came out at him. He slogged on, trying to find the illusive tidbits of information he sought.

  Cesar returned with the brandy. “Joshua has tied up Dominique’s dogs at either end of the house. She vouches for them, saying that if anything moves, they’ll bay loudly enough to wake the dead, and if any stranger tries to enter the house, they will attack.”

  “Just as well,” said Fleming. “Still, I hope it’s a quiet night. I need some shut-eye. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.” Just the thought of dealing with Lord Broxton made him uneasy. In previous encounters, he had found the fellow bombastic and pig-headed, not a man to trust with a secret, but he was the appropriate man to receive the report of Sir William’s disappearance, little as Fleming liked the notion. That realization grated, and he decided he would have to ration what he provided to Lord Broxton, for the man was notoriously garrulous in company and could not be counted upon to check his tongue. He would tell Lord Broxton no more than he had to. “Wake me at six, if you would. Two baked eggs and a broiled tomato for breakfast, I think. Coffee, not tea.” He smiled briefly.

  “Yes, sah,” said Cesar. “I will wake you at six.” Not quite bowing, he withdrew, leaving Fleming to his reading.

  “Is he going to be all right?” Joshua asked his uncle as they met in the kitchen under the hanging kerosene lamps.

  “I hope so,” said Cesar.

  “Why do you say that, Uncle?” Joshua asked, his head angled in such a way that the light caught the side of his face and made the rest of it its own shadow.

  “He is a good employer. So long as he is here, I have nothing to worry about,” said Cesar.

  Joshua laughed with the cynicism of youth. “You are used to his money.”

  “Of course,” Cesar agreed. “He is easy to work for. I would not like to have to change employers at this time of my life. Mister Fleming pays promptly and always the full sum. He doesn’t carp about the kitchen, and he lets me have time to myself every day.

  Joshua said nothing.

  “Don’t hate the English because of what they are,” said Cesar. “There are others who are much worse.”

  “Nazis and Communists, you mean?” Joshua scoffed. “It’s possible, if you believe all you hear.”

  “But you don’t believe it,” said Cesar. “You have followed the trials in Germany, and you know what those men did. The British held out against them. We should be grateful to them. The Nazis would have done to us what they did to the Jews.”

  “That’s Fleming talking,” said Joshua.

  “And I agree with him,” said Cesar.

  “I admire their courage under fire,” said Joshua, looking a decade older than his fourteen years. “But I dislike how they see us, how they treat us. They regard us as they regard clever children, or dogs.”

  “You play chess with Mister Fleming,” Cesar pointed out. “You have the run of his library.”

  “And I win some of the time, at chess,” Joshua added.

  “You don’t think he has done well by you?” Cesar asked.

  Joshua snorted. “I am a convenience, as you are. I provide him with entertainment that is reliable and inexpensive. So long as I don’t interfere with him, that I make myself useful, he will indulge me. But if I fail to do as he wants, then it will change in an instant.”

  Cesar was worried. “Joshua. I thought you liked Mister Fleming.”

  “Oh, I do—much the same way as he likes me,” said Joshua. He stood still in the yellow lamplight.

  “You are full of youth, Joshua,” said Cesar. “Remember your father was proud to be a British soldier.”