No Highway (21 page)

“And so you feel inclined to maintain your attitude?”

“I do indeed,” I said. “I don’t think we should dream of letting any Reindeer fly more than 700 hours.”

He smiled again, “Well, I don’t mind a fight.” He glanced at me. “I think we must get Transport Command to fetch Honey back for us,” he said. “I’ll see to that this morning. Then there arises the problem of who to send to Labrador in place of him. When are you reading your paper before the Royal Aeronautical Society, Scott?”

“On Thursday,” I said.

He nodded. “I want to come to that. But afterwards I think you had better go to Labrador yourself and get this thing cleared up. If we have the formal meeting on Thursday morning at the Ministry and then you read your paper on
Thursday night, you should be able to get the night plane to Ottawa after that?”

“If C.A.T.O. will consent to carry me,” I said. “I think Honey is as sane as you or I, so they’ll probably look a bit old-fashioned at me.”

He laughed. “I want you to go yourself. It’s getting on to quite a high level, this thing is, and it’s obviously going to make some difficulties.”

“Well, I’d be very glad to go,” I said. “I’m beginning to feel a trip to Canada would do me good.”

I went out of his office; on my way back to my own place I had to cross the road outside the main administration block. A very large blue Daimler limousine was just drawing up to the door, driven by a chauffeur; everything about it shone in the sunlight, including the buttons on the man. I wondered sardonically which of the aircraft firms had thought fit to send their representative to us that way, until I saw that the only passenger in it was a woman. I passed on without thinking any more about it.

Five minutes later, in my office, Miss Learoyd came in and said, “There’s a lady downstairs wants to see you, Dr. Scott. Miss Teasdale.”

I stared at her. “Who the hell’s Miss Teasdale?”

“I don’t know. Shall I ring down and ask what her business is?”

I nodded. “Yes, do that. I’m very busy today.” I was, but I was rather intrigued; in my job it was quite unusual to have a stranger as a visitor, and especially a woman.

Miss Learoyd came back in a minute, round-eyed. “It’s Monica Teasdale, Dr. Scott. She says she’s come to see you about Mr. Honey.”

The name was vaguely familiar in some way, and anything about Honey now concerned me very much indeed. I wrinkled my brows. “Who is Monica Teasdale?” I asked.

Miss Learoyd gazed at me reproachfully. “Wouldn’t she be the film actress?”

I stared at her. “Well, I don’t know …” The thought offended me; I was too busy to be bothered by that sort of person. On the other hand, the Honey matter was now vitally important, and if a movie star had anything to say about him, I should see her. “You’d better tell them to send her up,” I said at last.

Miss Learoyd, pop-eyed, showed her in a few minutes later: I got up from my desk and met Monica Teasdale in the
flesh, whom I had seen upon the screen so many times. She was an older woman than I had thought; she still had the same beauty and appeal, still the same slight figure, the same unwrinkled face, but there was an indefinable sense of age about her; she was not the young girl that I knew upon the screen. Later, I learned to my surprise that she was over fifty.

She came forward with a dazzling smile, with hand outstretched. “Dr. Scott?” she said. “Dr. Scott, I heard so much about you from Mr. Honey that I thought, maybe, since there’s a mite of trouble going on, I’d come right down and see you and tell you all about it.”

I said, “Well, Miss Teasdale—that’s very good of you. Er—have you known Mr. Honey long?” And then I said, “Would you sit down?”

She said, “I only met him night before last, flying over to Gander in an airplane.”

I was amazed. “But … did you go to Gander?”

“Sure I did,” she said. “I was at Gander with him yesterday, up till around midnight when my plane took off for London.”

“Then you know about the accident to the Reindeer?”

“Surely,” she said. “I actually saw it happen. I could have died laughing.”

It was satisfactory, perhaps, to hear that somebody had got some fun out of this business. I leaned over and offered her a cigarette, which she refused, and said, “But how did you get back here, then?”

She said, “I flew right back last night. Out there, your Mr. Honey’s got himself in quite a spot, Doctor. I guess you know he pulled the landing wheels up, so ‘Redgauntlet’ couldn’t take off from Gander.” I nodded. “Well, after that there was some trouble, as you’d suppose, and folks were going around declaring that he’s mentally deranged—that’s what they’re saying out there.” I nodded. “Well, I don’t think he’s mentally deranged at all, but it’s got so that no airline will carry him away from Gander, and as there
is
no other way to get away from Gander, it looks like he’ll stay there for quite a while. And that worried him a lot, because he thought he ought to get back and report to you, and tell you what he did.”

“I see,” I said thoughtfully. “How do you come in on this, Miss Teasdale?”

“I got to kind of like the little man,” she said frankly.
“Seems like he’s getting a raw deal. I said that I’d come right back myself and tell you just what happened. At first I couldn’t get a passage—they said all the planes were full up, but I got a call long distance to New York—four hours it took to come through, would you believe it!—and I spoke to Solly Goldmann and I said, ‘Solly, this is Monica, I’ve just
got
to get a seat on that Trans World Airline plane this evening back to London. I’ve just
got
to, Solly. Don’t you ask me why, I’ll tell you when I see you on the lot, but just you go right round and see the President for me and say that Monica’s set down at Gander by the British and she’s just
got
to get back to London on that plane tonight.’ That’s what I said. Well, then I stuck around with Mr. Honey, and sure enough when that plane landed around nine o’clock they had a seat for me, and here I am.”

“Did anybody else come back with you from Gander?” I inquired. “Any of the crew?”

She shook her head. “They’re all sitting around grieving about their airplane, and trying to think of ways of getting it up on its wheels again. They say it weighs seventy tons, and that’s a mean load to handle at a place like Gander, seemingly, where all the tools they’ve got is one jack from the tool-box of a Ford. I expect they’ll be there some time with it.”

I asked her, “Would you tell me exactly what did happen, Miss Teasdale? I’d like to know it all, right from the start.”

“Surely,” she said. “I only came into the story half-way through, but we were barely clear of Ireland, only an hour or so out, when Mr. Honey first discovered that that airplane had flown twice the hours it should have done.” She settled down to tell me the whole tale. Honey had briefed her well; she had a little paper of notes in her handbag and she had a letter for me, half a dozen lines scrawled in his vile handwriting, telling me I could depend upon her story, and asking me to cable him instructions whether to go on by land or to come back. In half an hour I had the picture very clearly in my mind of what had happened.

“It’s been most kind of you to come back here and tell us all this,” I said at last. “It’s really very helpful.”

She said, “Well, it seemed kind of wrong to go on to the Coast and leave it so.” She glanced at me. “I like your Mr. Honey,” she said quietly. “I think he’s a nice person.”

“It’s good of you to say so,” I replied. “I’m afraid he’s interrupted your journey, though.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Guess I’d rather be sitting in this office than lying dead some place, even if I am back in England when I meant to be over on the Coast today.”

“You think that there was danger in going on?” I asked curiously. “Honey convinced you, did he?”

“I don’t know anything about these things,” she said. “Out there at Gander they’re all saying that he’s nuts. Well, I don’t think that—and I’ve met some crackpots in my time, believe me. I’m just as glad I didn’t have to fly on in that airplane, after hearing what he said.” She paused, and then she said, “I reckon Captain Samuelson, the pilot of the plane, he was kind of relieved, too, when it sat down on its belly, though he was as mad as hell.”

I nodded thoughtfully. “Miss Teasdale,” I said, “would you mind waiting here a minute, while I go and see my chief—the Director of this Establishment? I think he might like to meet you.”

“Sure,” she said. “Go right ahead.”

I went down to the Director; fortunately he was free. “About this Honey business, sir,” I said rather desperately. “I’ve got a film star here who knows a lot about it. Miss Monica Teasdale.” I had a feeling that my blazing row was getting altogether out of control.

He looked at me, smiling. “Do you want me to see her, Scott?”

“I think you ought to,” I said. “She travelled over with Honey and knows all about what happened on the crossing and at Gander. She came back specially to tell us all about it, and so far as I can make out she’s the only witness who has come back to this country.”

“Are you going to put this lady from Hollywood up against Sir David Moon and E. P. Prendergast?” he asked. But he was grinning, and I knew that he was pulling my leg.

“I think you ought to see her,” I said stubbornly. “I don’t suppose you’ll ever get another chance of moving in such high society.”

“By all means bring her down,” he said. “I’ve never met a film star in the flesh.”

She came into his office with a radiant smile and hand a little bit outstretched, a perfect gesture from a very lovely woman. “Say,” she said, “it’s just terribly nice of you to see me, and I’ll try not to waste any of your time. I just wanted to tell you what a marvellous front your Mr. Honey
put up out at Gander, and how grateful to him I feel as a passenger.”

She launched into the story, as she had with me, and talked for about ten minutes. At the end of that the Director thanked her, talked to her about a few casual matters, asked if she would like to see the less secret parts of the Establishment, and asked me to show her round. I took her out on to the tarmac where the aeroplanes were parked awaiting test, and walked her round a little, and introduced her to Flight-Lieutenant Wintringham, who was properly impressed. And while we were chatting in among the aircraft, he inquired, “How’s Elspeth this morning?”

“Better,” I said. “She’s got a headache and she was sick again during the night—Shirley was up with her a good bit. But she’s going on all right.”

“Honey know anything about it yet?”

“No,” I said. “He’s got enough on his plate out at Gander without bothering him with that.” It was common knowledge by that time what had happened.

He laughed boyishly. “I would like to have seen him do it.”

“Miss Teasdale did,” I said. “She saw the whole thing happen.”

He turned to her. “You did?” But she was already speaking to me.

“Who is this Elspeth anyway?” she asked. “Not Mr. Honey’s little girl?”

“That’s right,” I replied. “She fell downstairs the night he went away, the night that you flew over to Gander, Sunday night. She’s been rather bad.”

She stared at me. “How did that happen? Mr. Honey told me that he’d got the hired woman to come and stay in the house.”

“She didn’t turn up,” I explained. “Elspeth was alone in the house. She thought she heard a burglar in the middle of the night and got up to see, and fell downstairs and knocked her head. She was unconscious for over twelve hours; my wife found her about eleven o’clock on Monday morning, lying in a heap at the foot of the stairs. But she’s getting on all right now.”

She stared at me in horror. “The poor child! Where is she now?”

“As a matter of fact, she’s lying in my bed,” I said ruefully. “My wife’s looking after her. I slept round at Honey’s house last night, and I suppose I’ll do the same tonight.”

She said slowly, “I’m just terribly sorry to hear this, Dr. Scott. I know how anxious Mr. Honey’s going to be when he gets to hear of it—he just thinks the world of his little girl. Is there anything that I can do?”

I smiled. “It’s quite all right, thanks. We shan’t tell him about it till he gets back here, I don’t think. She’s getting on quite well, and it would only upset him.”

She said, “Your Mr. Honey was mighty nice to me, Doctor. Isn’t there any little thing that I can do at all?”

I thought for a minute, wondering how far this actress was sincere or putting on an act. It would thrill Shirley to meet her, in any case. “What are you doing for the rest of today, Miss Teasdale?” I inquired.

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m completely free.”

“There is just one thing you could do,” I said. “My wife’s tired out; she got practically no sleep last night, sitting up with Elspeth. If you could go and sit with Elspeth while Shirley takes a nap on the sofa, it really would be very kind indeed.”

She said, “Why, certainly.” She was more Miss Myra Tuppen than Miss Monica Teasdale at that moment; far from the honky-tonk, the simple past was opening before her. “I’d be real glad to do that. Tell me, where do I go? And will you call your wife and tell her that I’ll come right over?”

We went back to the offices and I rang up Shirley and told her simply that a friend of Honey’s, a Miss Teasdale, was coming over to sit with Elspeth while Shirley got some sleep. I didn’t feel equal to explaining to my tired wife upon the telephone that I was sending her a movie queen. Then we went down and she got into her enormous car, and I told the chauffeur where to find my little flat, and Wintringham and I were left as they moved off.

“The old devil!” he said with a note of admiration in his voice. “Fancy Honey collecting a Popsie like that!”

It did seem rather curious when you came to think of it.

I went up to my office, but Miss Learoyd said the Director wanted me, and I went down again. He said, “What have you done with our distinguished visitor, Scott?”

“I’ve sent her off to sit with Elspeth Honey while my wife gets some sleep,” I said. “She seemed to want to help, so I took her at her word.”

He raised his eyebrows, “And she went?”