The Unbegotten by John Creasey Page B

voice and then a picture came.
    â€˜ “—the future of the human race”, goes on the statement, “is at stake. In fact the human race could be dying out”.’
    There was a pause and then in the background a picture of Palfrey. Only Keys glanced round at him: Keys was as antagonistic as Simister had been.
    â€˜According to this statement—and I quote again—secret investigations by Z5, the international organisation led by Dr. Stanislaus Alexander Palfrey have failed to result in any explanation. Dr. Palfrey himself has been the victim of murderous assaults since his investigations began.’
    The picture of Palfrey faded.
    The announcer, youthful and rugged-looking, braced his shoulders.
    â€˜And now for the weather report, by—’
    The Prime Minister switched off and the screen went dark. Someone had closed the door and only the secretary, Keys, Palfrey and the Prime Minister were in the room. Keys was muttering to himself, ‘They should never have done it. It will cause alarm and despondency throughout the country.’ In a louder voice he went on, ‘You were wrong. Now perhaps you’ll realise it.’ He drew a deep breath, faced Hartwall and said with great precision and clarity, ‘Douglas, I can no longer serve in your Government. I shall send my formal letter of resignation in the morning.’
    Hartwall contemplated him for several seconds before responding, ‘I hope you won’t, Maddison. But if you do, of course, I shall accept with regret. I hope you’ll sleep on it. Palfrey—’ he turned to face Palfrey squarely’—the newspapers will be after you in earnest, now. Do you need any help? Or any further protection?’
    â€˜I think I can cope,’ Palfrey assured him. ‘As for danger, presumably now that the story has been released, I’ll be left alone for a while.’
    He smiled. The Prime Minister held out a hand, gripped his firmly, and said, ‘Good night. Keep me in closest touch.’
    Palfrey went out, leaving the two politicians together. A footman opened the front door for him. Policemen stood like a barricade across the front of No. 10, and a big crowd gathered in the narrow street and a larger one in Whitehall. Immediately Palfrey appeared flash bulbs lit up the scene and half-blinded him, television cameras whirred, men and women began to hurl questions. Palfrey realised it would be impossible to get through without making a statement and answering some questions, and he might as well get the interrogation over.
    So he stood with his back to the door of No. 10 and began to talk.
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    Nearly two hundred miles away, almost at that same instant, the girl whom Maddern knew as Susan or Sue, also began to talk. She had been unconscious or asleep until an hour ago. Mrs. Witherspoon had taken her to the bathroom and then prepared a light meal, a plain omelette, fruit salad and cream with cheese and cracker biscuits. Now, Maddern sat opposite the girl as they drank coffee. He had not sent for Congleton the psychiatrist because he thought that two strange men might make her nervous and even more difficult to cope with.
    It was hard to believe she had been so violent, so vicious.
    She was rested and looked unbelievably lovely – doll-like. Her features were so perfect and her skin so free from blemish that it was virtually impossible to believe that she was real. Her eyes, violet in colour, were fringed by sweeping dark lashes; the outline of her lips, her nose, her eyebrows was like the work of a master, achieving perfection.
    Her shoulders, so square; her bosom, young and provocative; her waist, tiny and merging into hips that were much more than boyish. And her dress was like a skin, even where it fitted loosely. He had never seen such delicate material. She sat in a big armchair – or rather, a chair which was made to look big by her tiny, elfin figure – —the fragility of her head