maybe someone switched those boxes before he was given them.'
She was quick enough, certainly.
'It's possible. But we don't think it's likely. The Russians must have been satisfied about the Berlin end before they came over here. They're very thorough when they want to be–so thorough that they never forgot about the plane. In fact they already know there wasn't anything in it. But they are still interested!'
She shivered.
'That's what's so beastly. It's what frightened Mummy–people being interested again all these years afterwards. It must have been something terribly valuable.'
'Not valuable in terms of money, Miss Steerforth. The Russians don't have to worry about money.'
She stared at him. 'But he didn't have it, whatever it was. So what's all the bother about now?'
Audley was about to answer when the grandfather clock struck in the distance–eight, nine, ten.
'It's very late, Miss Steerforth. Isn't anyone expecting you?'
She glanced at her watch, but shook her head.
'I'll go to a hotel somewhere. But you must tell me why there's this trouble first. I promise I'll go then.'
Audley thought for a moment. There were no such things as conventions these days, after all.
'You can stay here if you like. There's a spare bed–and I'm a Cambridge man, I assure you.'
She looked at him in surprise. Patently–and rather humiliatingly–she had not considered him in that light at all. He was still some sort of policeman, and consequently sexless.
Then she smiled. 'That's very kind of you, Dr Audley,' she said. 'But please stop calling me "Miss Steerforth". I know it must be confusing for you, so just call me "Faith". He chose the name, anyway.'
'Steer–your father did?'
'Yes. It's silly really. Grandmother told me that long before I was even born he said he'd like to have three daughters, to look after him in his old age. And he'd call them Faith, Hope and Charity. It's silly, because he said he was naming them after three old aeroplanes.'
For the first time Steerforth came alive to Audley. No longer bones in a lake, but a man who had lived and made ordinary, everyday plans–plans for three daughters, anyway.
'Malta,' he said. 'That was where his old planes came from. At one time in the war they had just three to defend it, and they called them Faith, Hope and Charity.'
She looked at him. 'I'd like to stay if I may, Dr Audley.'
He couldn't help smiling at her. It was actually rather pleasant to have some female company again after so long.
'Very well, then–Faith. I'll tell you what all the fuss is about. It's really quite simple in outline: somehow your father picked up something valuable, and then everyone thought it was lost at sea with him. Only now we know he wasn't lost at sea and he wasn't carrying the thing when he crashed. Yet the Russians are still interested. Now doesn't that suggest anything to you?'
He waited for her to speak, but she wouldn't be drawn.
'Well to me–Faith–it suggests that whatever he'd got hold of was already here. If the Russians are so sure it's the only possibility left. And once you accept that, actually, the other awkward bits in the puzzle fit much better.'
'Other bits?'
'There were those seven boxes of bricks, which shouldn't have been on board. All four survivors saw them. Your stepfather and the navigator couldn't describe them very clearly. But the other two were very helpful.'
'The two who—'
'Those two, yes. Warrant Officer Tierney and Flight Sergt Morrison. They should have conveniently forgotten the boxes if they were valuable, but instead they remembered. And by remembering they put everyone off the scent. Which is exactly what they intended. Because what's lost at sea doesn't have to be accounted for, does it?'
'But that would mean—' she squared up to the implication '—that he meant to crash!'
'That's exactly what it means, yes.'
'You can't mean he crashed in that lake deliberately.'
'I don't mean that. That was a real crash–and it wasn't
She was quick enough, certainly.
'It's possible. But we don't think it's likely. The Russians must have been satisfied about the Berlin end before they came over here. They're very thorough when they want to be–so thorough that they never forgot about the plane. In fact they already know there wasn't anything in it. But they are still interested!'
She shivered.
'That's what's so beastly. It's what frightened Mummy–people being interested again all these years afterwards. It must have been something terribly valuable.'
'Not valuable in terms of money, Miss Steerforth. The Russians don't have to worry about money.'
She stared at him. 'But he didn't have it, whatever it was. So what's all the bother about now?'
Audley was about to answer when the grandfather clock struck in the distance–eight, nine, ten.
'It's very late, Miss Steerforth. Isn't anyone expecting you?'
She glanced at her watch, but shook her head.
'I'll go to a hotel somewhere. But you must tell me why there's this trouble first. I promise I'll go then.'
Audley thought for a moment. There were no such things as conventions these days, after all.
'You can stay here if you like. There's a spare bed–and I'm a Cambridge man, I assure you.'
She looked at him in surprise. Patently–and rather humiliatingly–she had not considered him in that light at all. He was still some sort of policeman, and consequently sexless.
Then she smiled. 'That's very kind of you, Dr Audley,' she said. 'But please stop calling me "Miss Steerforth". I know it must be confusing for you, so just call me "Faith". He chose the name, anyway.'
'Steer–your father did?'
'Yes. It's silly really. Grandmother told me that long before I was even born he said he'd like to have three daughters, to look after him in his old age. And he'd call them Faith, Hope and Charity. It's silly, because he said he was naming them after three old aeroplanes.'
For the first time Steerforth came alive to Audley. No longer bones in a lake, but a man who had lived and made ordinary, everyday plans–plans for three daughters, anyway.
'Malta,' he said. 'That was where his old planes came from. At one time in the war they had just three to defend it, and they called them Faith, Hope and Charity.'
She looked at him. 'I'd like to stay if I may, Dr Audley.'
He couldn't help smiling at her. It was actually rather pleasant to have some female company again after so long.
'Very well, then–Faith. I'll tell you what all the fuss is about. It's really quite simple in outline: somehow your father picked up something valuable, and then everyone thought it was lost at sea with him. Only now we know he wasn't lost at sea and he wasn't carrying the thing when he crashed. Yet the Russians are still interested. Now doesn't that suggest anything to you?'
He waited for her to speak, but she wouldn't be drawn.
'Well to me–Faith–it suggests that whatever he'd got hold of was already here. If the Russians are so sure it's the only possibility left. And once you accept that, actually, the other awkward bits in the puzzle fit much better.'
'Other bits?'
'There were those seven boxes of bricks, which shouldn't have been on board. All four survivors saw them. Your stepfather and the navigator couldn't describe them very clearly. But the other two were very helpful.'
'The two who—'
'Those two, yes. Warrant Officer Tierney and Flight Sergt Morrison. They should have conveniently forgotten the boxes if they were valuable, but instead they remembered. And by remembering they put everyone off the scent. Which is exactly what they intended. Because what's lost at sea doesn't have to be accounted for, does it?'
'But that would mean—' she squared up to the implication '—that he meant to crash!'
'That's exactly what it means, yes.'
'You can't mean he crashed in that lake deliberately.'
'I don't mean that. That was a real crash–and it wasn't
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