Mrs. Baker. She stretched out her hand, rather like a hostess welcoming him to a party. Hilary said in a bewildered tone,
“But I don't understand. What is in that case? Why is it better not to look?”
Andy Peters looked down on her consideringly. He had a nice face, Hilary thought. Something square and dependable about it. He said,
“I know what it is. The pilot told me. It's not very pretty perhaps, but I guess it's necessary.” He added quietly, “There are bodies in there.”
“Bodies!” She stared at him.
“Oh, they haven't been murdered or anything,” he grinned reassuringly. “They were obtained in a perfectly legitimate way for research - medical research, you know.”
But Hilary still stared.
“I don't understand.”
“Ah. You see, Mrs. Betterton, this is where the journey ends. One journey, that is.”
“Ends?”
“Yes. They'll arrange the bodies in that plane and then the pilot will fix things and presently, as we're driving away from here, we shall see in the distance the flames going up in the air. Another plane that has crashed and come down in flames, and no survivors!”
“But why? How fantastic!”
“But surely -” It was Dr. Barron now who spoke to her. “But surely you know where we are going?”
Mrs. Baker, drawing near, said cheerfully,
“Of course she knows. But maybe she didn't expect it quite so soon.”
Hilary said, after a short bewildered pause,
“But you mean - all of us?” She looked round.
“We're fellow travellers,” said Peters gently.
The young Norwegian, nodding his head, said with an almost fanatical enthusiasm,
“Yes, we are all fellow travellers.”
Destination Unknown
Chapter 9
The pilot came up to them.
“You will start now, please,” he said. “As soon as possible. There is much to be done, and we are late on schedule.”
Hilary recoiled for a moment. She put her hand nervously to her throat. The pearl choker she was wearing broke under the strain of her fingers. She picked up the loose pearls and crammed them into her pocket.
They all got into the station wagon. Hilary was on a long bench crowded up with Peters on one side of her and Mrs. Baker the other. Turning her head towards the American woman, Hilary said,
“So you - so you - are what you might call the liaison officer, Mrs. Baker?”
“That hits it off exactly. And though I say it myself, I'm well qualified. Nobody is surprised to find an American woman getting around and travelling a lot.”
She was still plump and smiling, but Hilary sensed, or thought she sensed, a difference. The slight fatuity and surface conventionality had gone. This was an efficient, probably ruthless woman.
“It will make a fine sensation in the headlines,” said Mrs. Baker. She laughed with some enjoyment. “You, I mean, my dear. Persistently dogged by ill-luck, they'll say. First nearly losing your life in the crash at Casablanca, then being killed in this further disaster.”
Hilary realised suddenly the cleverness of the plan.
“These others?” she murmured. “Are they who they say they are?”
“Why yes. Dr. Barron is a bacteriologist, I believe. Mr. Ericsson a very brilliant young physicist, Mr. Peters is a research chemist, Miss Needheim, of course, isn't a nun, she's an endocrinologist. Me, as I say, I'm only the liaison officer. I don't belong in this scientific bunch.” She laughed again as she said, “That Hetherington woman never had a chance.”
“Miss Hetherington - was she - was she -”
Mrs. Baker nodded emphatically.
“If you ask me, she's been tailing you. Took over in Casablanca from whoever followed you out.”
“But she didn't come with us today although I urged her to?”
“That wouldn't have been in character,” said Mrs. Baker. “It would have looked a little too obvious to go back again to Marrakesh after having been there already. No, she'll have sent a telegram or a phone message through and there'll be someone waiting at Marrakesh to pick you up
“But I don't understand. What is in that case? Why is it better not to look?”
Andy Peters looked down on her consideringly. He had a nice face, Hilary thought. Something square and dependable about it. He said,
“I know what it is. The pilot told me. It's not very pretty perhaps, but I guess it's necessary.” He added quietly, “There are bodies in there.”
“Bodies!” She stared at him.
“Oh, they haven't been murdered or anything,” he grinned reassuringly. “They were obtained in a perfectly legitimate way for research - medical research, you know.”
But Hilary still stared.
“I don't understand.”
“Ah. You see, Mrs. Betterton, this is where the journey ends. One journey, that is.”
“Ends?”
“Yes. They'll arrange the bodies in that plane and then the pilot will fix things and presently, as we're driving away from here, we shall see in the distance the flames going up in the air. Another plane that has crashed and come down in flames, and no survivors!”
“But why? How fantastic!”
“But surely -” It was Dr. Barron now who spoke to her. “But surely you know where we are going?”
Mrs. Baker, drawing near, said cheerfully,
“Of course she knows. But maybe she didn't expect it quite so soon.”
Hilary said, after a short bewildered pause,
“But you mean - all of us?” She looked round.
“We're fellow travellers,” said Peters gently.
The young Norwegian, nodding his head, said with an almost fanatical enthusiasm,
“Yes, we are all fellow travellers.”
Destination Unknown
Chapter 9
The pilot came up to them.
“You will start now, please,” he said. “As soon as possible. There is much to be done, and we are late on schedule.”
Hilary recoiled for a moment. She put her hand nervously to her throat. The pearl choker she was wearing broke under the strain of her fingers. She picked up the loose pearls and crammed them into her pocket.
They all got into the station wagon. Hilary was on a long bench crowded up with Peters on one side of her and Mrs. Baker the other. Turning her head towards the American woman, Hilary said,
“So you - so you - are what you might call the liaison officer, Mrs. Baker?”
“That hits it off exactly. And though I say it myself, I'm well qualified. Nobody is surprised to find an American woman getting around and travelling a lot.”
She was still plump and smiling, but Hilary sensed, or thought she sensed, a difference. The slight fatuity and surface conventionality had gone. This was an efficient, probably ruthless woman.
“It will make a fine sensation in the headlines,” said Mrs. Baker. She laughed with some enjoyment. “You, I mean, my dear. Persistently dogged by ill-luck, they'll say. First nearly losing your life in the crash at Casablanca, then being killed in this further disaster.”
Hilary realised suddenly the cleverness of the plan.
“These others?” she murmured. “Are they who they say they are?”
“Why yes. Dr. Barron is a bacteriologist, I believe. Mr. Ericsson a very brilliant young physicist, Mr. Peters is a research chemist, Miss Needheim, of course, isn't a nun, she's an endocrinologist. Me, as I say, I'm only the liaison officer. I don't belong in this scientific bunch.” She laughed again as she said, “That Hetherington woman never had a chance.”
“Miss Hetherington - was she - was she -”
Mrs. Baker nodded emphatically.
“If you ask me, she's been tailing you. Took over in Casablanca from whoever followed you out.”
“But she didn't come with us today although I urged her to?”
“That wouldn't have been in character,” said Mrs. Baker. “It would have looked a little too obvious to go back again to Marrakesh after having been there already. No, she'll have sent a telegram or a phone message through and there'll be someone waiting at Marrakesh to pick you up
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