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.The morning rush hour was in full swing and despite the taxi driver’s best efforts it was some time before they reached Chelsea.By then Bethancourt was fast asleep and had to be wakened by the driver.“Oh, right,” he said, peering blearily at his home while he dug out his wallet.“Ta very much.”Upstairs, he let himself into his flat and was immediately struck by the silence and its air of disuse.Anyone, he thought to himself, would believe he had been gone months instead of just a few days.He kicked the suitcase into the hall, letting the front door close behind him, and realized that what he really missed was his dog.There was nothing so dismal as coming home and not being greeted by a joyful bark and a waving tail.He wandered into the bedroom and stripped off the clothes he had been wearing for the past twelve hours, leaving them in a heap on the floor.His dressing gown was in his suitcase, so he wrapped a towel around his waist and padded out to the kitchen for a drink of water.Thirst quenched, he returned to the bedroom and stood for several moments contemplating his bed in the silence.“It’s no good,” he muttered to himself at last.“I’ll never sleep like this.”His mind made up, he moved rapidly, taking a fresh set of clothes out of the armoire in the corner and dressing without bothering too much with details like a belt or socks.He shrugged into a jacket and transferred his wallet and keys from the discarded clothing on the floor into his pockets.Then he left the flat.Twenty minutes later found him in his own gray Jaguar with yet another takeaway coffee in his hand, wending his way down Kings Road.He crossed the Thames at Putney and in short order was speeding along the A3 toward Surrey and the house outside of Oxshott where the Spoiled Rotten Pets Agency had arranged for his dog to be boarded while his master was out of town.He was a day early and Mrs.Carter was understandably surprised to see him when she opened her door to his knock.“I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow afternoon,” she said.“I know,” answered Bethancourt apologetically.“There was a change of plans.”“Well, come on through,” she said, ushering him in.“Cerberus is in the back garden.I’m afraid,” she added, “I’ll still have to charge you for the Thursday.It’s the agency’s rules, you know.”“That’s all right,” said Bethancourt, following her through the house.There was a terrace at the back of the house, looking out on a wide expanse of lawn and trees.Cerberus had sensed his owner’s arrival and began to bark as they reached the back door.“He’ll be so glad to see you,” said Mrs.Carter, opening the door.With a great woof, the Borzoi surged in, leaping up to plant his paws on Bethancourt’s shoulders.Expecting this, Bethancourt had braced himself, but his weariness had apparently affected his balance and he only held himself upright for a moment before collapsing backward on the floor.“Oh, dear, Mr.Bethancourt, are you all right?” asked Mrs.Carter.“Yes,” said Bethancourt with a laugh, making a grab for his glasses, which Cerberus’s energetic licking had just dislodged from his face.“Yes, Mrs.Carter, I’m fine.In fact, it’s the best I’ve been all day.”3Rude AwakeningGibbons was having a bad day.He supposed that was only to be expected after having been shot, but it did not make it any less aggravating.He had at last come fully and horribly awake at a little after ten o’clock and found Bethancourt and Carmichael gone and his parents in their place.Gibbons was fond of his parents, and it was certainly nice to be coddled considering the way he felt, but they had no information at all.And although his brain still seemed appallingly muzzy, his thoughts had cleared enough to leave him impatient for an explanation as to what had happened to him.Try as he might, he could remember nothing after getting on the tube to go to work on Tuesday morning.According to his muchdistressed parents, he had not been shot until late Tuesday evening, so he could not understand why he did not remember the earlier part of the day.The nurse who came in to check on him shrugged when asked about this.“The brain does odd things sometimes,” she said sympathetically.“There’s really no telling why some people remember less than others.”“There,” said his father, “that’s just what I’ve been telling you.You must stop fretting about it.”“But what did I do all day?” demanded Gibbons.His mother spread her hands.“We don’t know, dear.I’m sure the chief inspector has some idea.”Gibbons muttered something unflattering about people who disappeared just when they were wanted.“Really, Jack,” said his mother reprovingly.“You must remember that the chief inspector was up all night investigating this incident.I’m sure he’ll be back as soon as he gets some rest.”Gibbons, however, was not in a mood to consider other people.Once, when he was about ten, he had come down with bronchitis that turned into pneumonia.He remembered it vividly as it stood in his mind as the worst he had ever felt, and he was accustomed to judge all other ills by this benchmark, in comparison with which they usually paled.It had not occurred to him that he could actually feel worse than he had then, and he very much resented the discovery that bronchitis was a walk in the park when contrasted with being shot.By lunchtime when Detective Inspector Davies arrived to visit, Gibbons was nearly overcome with frustration.It was lucky that he had not worked under Davies long and as a result felt a certain amount of deference was due his superior even under these circumstances or he might have exploded at the man.As it was, he brushed aside Davies’s inquiries as to how he was feeling, and demanded to know what he had spent Tuesday doing.Davies was an undemonstrative man, quiet in manner and slight in build with well-cut graying hair.He looked sympathetic at Gibbons’s plea for information.“Can’t remember?” he asked.“They warned us you might not.Where do you leave off?”“The morning,” answered Gibbons, feeling somehow embarrassed that he could not recollect more.“I remember getting on the tube to come to work.I got a seat and was reading the paper, and then everything goes blank.I’ve no memory of arriving at Victoria, or going into the Yard, or anything.”The frustration was clear to be heard in his voice, and Davies nodded.“It must be very unsettling,” he said kindly.“Well, I can tell you some of what you did, though we’re all still in the dark as to how you actually came to be attacked.Let’s see …” He shifted in the chair, smoothing his tie while he marshaled his thoughts.During their short acquaintance, Gibbons had already come to envy Davies’s ties, and he relieved some of his feelings now by glaring at the exquisite blue silk the inspector was currently sporting.In fact, Davies was far better turned out than anyone deserved to be after staying up all night and getting a bare four hours’ sleep.“You got to the Yard sometime before I did,” Davies continued.“We met up shortly after nine and went to find out about Miss Haverford’s will—quite the usual meeting with a family solicitor.Then I sent you off with Colin James to interview the Colemans.” He paused and looked anxious.“You remember Colin? And the Colemans?”Gibbons was indignant.“Yes, sir,” he said.“It’s not my whole brain that’s gone on holiday.”“Good, good.Well, you interviewed them—you wrote a report on that, I’ll bring it by later so you can look at it—and then presumably you stopped for lunch somewhere.Colin may know about that, but I couldn’t find him last night.In fact, I’m just on my way to see him now.”Gibbons considered this [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]