The Secret Vanguard by Michael Innes Page B

Forth branch . In other words, Orchard has gone off on a walking tour by himself in Scotland and the tip is to be given to a foreign intelligence organization based somewhere between Stirling and North Berwick. And then this girl of yours disappears after some involvement with a poem on a garden between Edinburgh and Perth.’ The tall man strode over to the desk and picked up a telephone. ‘We can make sure about Orchard.’
    There was coming and going – rather a lot of it, Appleby thought, but efficient enough in its somewhat hierarchical way. And in the upshot it was found that Rodney Orchard had indeed disappeared. Ten days ago he had drawn fifty pounds from the bank, told his housekeeper that he would be away for a fortnight, and strolled out of the house with a briefcase and a rucksack. Nothing had been heard of him since.
    The tall man brusquely dismissed the last of the suave youths who had unearthed this information. ‘There,’ he said, ‘you see? A brief-case. He’s gone off with lord knows what.’
    ‘Quite so.’ Appleby, watching the tall man return to a window and drum softly on the glass, guessed that behind this vagueness there lay some specific apprehension. But what the briefcase might contain was at the moment no business of his. ‘Orchard’s household here in town?’ he asked.
    ‘Unmarried. A big house in Earls Court or somewhere like that. Mostly turned into labs. Housekeeper, servants, and assistants coming in. They’ll be carrying on, knowing nothing.’
    ‘There will be outside contacts to check: friends, club, a mistress or a mother in Scotland – all that.’
    ‘To be sure.’ The tall man, straddled on a large chair, received this professional readiness impatiently. ‘Well, it’s business for the Intelligence. They’ll contact you over your girl, no doubt.’ He frowned, nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said dismissively, ‘that’s it.’
    Appleby rose. As he did so a door opened at the far end of the room and a slight, silver-haired figure entered – entered with a gentle smile which seemed designed to admit a consciousness that he was doing quite the wrong thing. The tall man sprang hastily to his feet. The smile intensified itself. Muhammad, Appleby thought, coming to the mountain.
    ‘It’s about Orchard,’ said the newcomer. ‘I forgot to mention it. We shall want to have him in at the Council on Thursday. Would you arrange that?’
    ‘Orchard has – well, gone away on a holiday, sir. Scotland probably, but we don’t know where. And I have just learnt that he is being trailed by an espionage organization.’
    The smile vanished – as suddenly as if a battery of cameras had clicked and it was no longer necessary. ‘Does this gentleman’ – the silver-haired man’s glance turned sharply to Appleby – ‘work in the Ministry?’
    ‘No, sir. He–’
    But the silver-haired man had swung round, frowning in recognition. ‘Are not you the police officer who dealt with the affair of Auldearn at Scamnum Court?’
    ‘Yes, my lord.’
    ‘Inspector Appleby?’ The smile hovered fleetingly over this feat of memory.
    ‘Yes, my lord.’
    The newcomer turned again to the tall man. ‘I approve,’ he said, ‘of your bringing Mr Appleby in.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’ The tall man looked slightly blank.
    ‘He will find Orchard if anyone can.’ The silver-haired man turned to Appleby. ‘You will find him and invite him to get in touch with the Secretary to the Cabinet by noon on Thursday.’
    ‘Yes, my lord.’
    The silver-haired man retreated to the door by which he had entered. His hand went out to open it; he half turned and the little smile repeated itself; he was gone. The tall man took out a handkerchief and made a faintly humorous dab at his brow. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘we’d better get on.’
    ‘Yes, Sir George.’ Discreetly, the two men smiled at each other. Appleby sat down and produced his volume of Swinburne once more. ‘The first point is to find the men who were