Chapter Sixteen

George did not go out with John to collect the remainder of the committee the next day. Molly wished that he had. He would not explain to her what was happening. The weather continued to be still and sultry and she felt tired and irritable. George had not slept. When she had gone to bed at midnight he was still in the common room, sat at the library table writing notes in his tiny, constricted hand. She had given him the jar, and he had seemed pleased. The police would be able to test the inside for chloroform, he had said. When she went to bed she had opened the window, but the room was still airless. She was too hot in her sleeping bag, not warm enough without it. Like the princess with the pea, she felt that she could sense the scratchy, institution blanket that covered the mattress, even through the down of her sleeping bag. She had wanted to get up and go down to him, to say: “Tell me all about it. Let me help you.” But he knew that she was willing to help him. She did not want him to ask for her help, simply to please her. He must organize the thing as he thought best. There would be a reason for his secrecy, and she must trust it. He had come to bed in the end, and undressed and climbed into his sleeping bag on the lower bunk. She could sense his tension, physically, as she had sensed the prickly blanket.

“George,” she had said, softly, once, just so that he should know that she was awake if he should want her.

But he was engrossed completely, going over and over the details of the case, reassuring himself that he was right. He had convinced Savage. That was easy. He was sure that the facts all pointed in one direction, but he could not leave the thing alone and go to sleep.

“Do you think that he’s reliable?” he had whispered. “ Can I trust him to do what I want?”

“Yes. He’s reliable. You can trust him.”

Sleep had settled on her, eventually, like suffocation, but when she woke, very early, she could feel that George was still awake. He had been lying still, afraid to move in case he woke her. When he heard her stirring he got up and went out. He was back to share breakfast with them in the kitchen, and then he went out again, with John, leaving Elizabeth and Molly to wash up, but John drove out in the Land Rover, alone.

“Do you know what it’s all about?” Elizabeth asked as she piled soapy plates on to the enamel draining board.

“No,” Molly said, and she realized suddenly why George had had to keep his discoveries and his plans to himself. She would have found it impossible to lie convincingly.

“If it stays calm I know that George is hoping to do some cannon netting. He’s never seen it done before.”