Catch the Saint Read Free

more respect than they had shown the kitchen utensils.
    One of them drew down the
corners of his mouth approv ingly. “I wouldn’t
mind being on that picnic.”
    “You can go to an art
museum on your day off,” the leader said
brusquely. “Let’s get on with it.”
    Julie felt her face flush,
and she avoided looking at the paint ing or the men. Their behaviour seemed
rudely undisciplined, and a surge of
indignation seemed to send some extra courage into her system. She found herself speaking out almost sharply:
    “I’d like to know
what you’re looking for. You can see that he’s
not a rich man. I mean, he’s hardly been leading a successful life of crime, and I’m sure you won’t find any stolen goods here.”
    “There are other
crimes than theft,” the officer said quietly. “More serious in the
long run, perhaps.”
    The group moved back to
the hall and into the single bedroom of the flat.
    “What, then?”
Julie insisted.
    The Special Branch
officer stood in the doorway with her as the
other men went through the wardrobe and drawers, which contained
neatly segregated allotments of Julie’s and Adrian’s clothes. Adrian had
been sleeping in the living-room, turning over
the bedroom to his sister, but his clothes were still kept there. The officer’s voice was like a knife
inserted slowly and qui etly into
this homely setting.
    “Your brother has
been arrested under provisions of the Official Secrets Act,” he said.
    “You mean, like
spying?”
    “The Official Secrets
Act deals with espionage.”
    “But that’s ridiculous,” Julie said.
“Adrian’s never had any thing to do
with the government or the services or anything! He’s got weak lungs and a bad back. How could he
possibly be in a position to steal
any secrets?”
    “There’s more than
one link in a chain,” the officer said mys teriously.
“But I’m not at liberty to discuss this—and neither are you, Miss
Norcombe.” He was looking at her very sternly. “I must emphasise this
most strongly. You must not tell anyone what
has happened. The situation is very touchy, with important things still hanging
in the balance, and it is absolutely necessary that you keep quiet about it. At least until tomorrow, after you’ve spoken to Mr Fawkes.”
    Julie was feeling
unsteady again.
    “Mr Fawkes?”
    “Mr Fawkes is in the
Home Office. You have an appointment with him
tomorrow—or I should say today, at one o’clock. I al ready
have the address and so forth written down here.” The man found a piece of paper in his jacket pocket and handed it
to her. “Mr Fawkes is the gentleman who can explain all of this to you. I’m sorry
that I have to be so close-mouthed about it. But after all, it’s only a few hours until your appointment. Just have a good sleep, but see you’re not late.”
    A good sleep! Julie thought despairingly. She felt she’d be lucky
if she ever slept again. Unwelcome though these men and their news had been, she did not want them to leave. The
thought of being alone now frightened her terribly. When they
filed out into the damp August night, she had to
struggle to keep her mouth from trembling. What
if Adrian really had been involved in something? She
could not believe it … but what if he had? Shouldn’t they offer her
something more helpful than their spokesman’s final
warning, before he turned to go down the steps:
    “Not a word to
anyone, remember.”
    She closed the door,
attached the chain, and threw the bolt. She
must try to sleep, somehow. Only one thing held her in the front room, and it seemed to call to her silently, like a living crea ture with some awful hypnotic power: the telephone. She had
to restrain her hand as she passed it.
    This would be the first
crisis in her life in which she would not be
able to call for Mother.
     
    CHAPTER 2
     
    She had slept about four
hours, and knew she looked it. She rubbed her cheeks
as if that might bring more life to her face. It was five minutes to one,