“I don’t see why not,” Jane replied. “Vanderdecker can swap the Vanderdecker Policy for the antidote to the smell and a cash lump sum, he can give the Professor his recipe back, the Professor can wind up his various businesses—he just wants to retire and keep bees when he’s finished his work, so perhaps he could put it all into some sort of gigantic trust fund for the Ethiopians or something like that. And perhaps we’ll insist that he finds a substitute for atomic power and a replacement for petrol and things—to judge by his track record, he shouldn’t have any trouble with that—and…”
“And everybody will live happily ever after?”
“Yes,” Jane said. “And why not?”
“So you fancy this Vanderdecker, do you?”
It was Jane’s turn to stare. “What did you say?”
“Well,” Danny said, “it’s obvious, isn’t it? You’re prepared to sell the whole of Western civilisation down the river for a man who’s old enough to be your great-great-great-great—…”
Jane got up and brushed crumbs of Viennese finger off her skirt. “Good morning, Mr Bennett,” she said.
“Where are you going?”
“To ask Harvey and Neville to tie you up and put you back in the cellar,” she said. “With the rat.”
“Mouse.”
“Rat,” Jane said firmly, and left.
Although she wouldn’t admit it to herself, Danny’s suggestion had made Jane very cross indeed, and she felt that she needed some fresh air. She walked out through the front door and round the back of the house, where there was a huge lawn, and sort of thing the early Edwardians used to play cricket on.
Suddenly she looked up. There was a clattering noise. A helicopter was coming down to land. Jane groaned from the soles of her feet upwards. Now what?
And then she was aware of something—very horrible and unfamiliar, but extremely faint and far away. It was a smell; a smell so pungent and horrible that even she could smell it.
The helicopter hovered for a moment over the immaculate turf and flopped down like a tired seagull. Out of it jumped a man in a gas mask. He was running for all he was worth, but another man—Sebastian, the suicidal maniac—was after him, caught up with him and brought him to the ground with a low tackle. The man in the gas mask seemed to give up and tried to bury his head under his body.
Then someone else jumped out of the helicopter; and Jane, who was able to ignore the smell, ran to meet him.
“Hello,” she said, “what on earth are you doing here?”
Vanderdecker was looking surprised. “Did you just kiss me?” he said, as if a nun had stopped him in the street and sprayed whipped cream in his ear from one of those aerosol cans.
“Yes,” Jane said. “You need a bath, mister.”
“This is very forward of you,” Vanderdecker said. “Usually I never kiss people I haven’t known for at least three hundred and fifty years.”
“We’ll go into all that later,” Jane said, feeling suddenly foolish. “Look, what
“There’s trouble,” Vanderdecker said.
“Yes,” Jane said, “but…”
“No,” said the Flying Dutchman, “a different sort of trouble. Where’s Montalban?”
“In there,” Jane said, pointing to the house. “Where did you get the helicopter from?”
“Well,” Vanderdecker said, “there was this destroyer, and when we sailed up alongside, all the crew ran to the side and jumped off into the water. Luckily we managed to fish out one of the helicopter pilots and intimidate him into bringing us here. Have you ever been in one of those things? They’re awful. Like being inside a Kenwood mixer.”
“What did you do to him?”
“Well,” Vanderdecker said, “Sebastian threatened him.”
“With a gun?”
“No,” said Vanderdecker, “with a sock.”
“A sock?”
“Yes,” said Vanderdecker. “One of the socks he was wearing. Threatened to take it off and put it inside the fellow’s gas mask. After that he was extremely co-operative. Look, I’ve got to see Montalban.”
“But how did you know where to come?” Jane demanded.
“Simple,” said Vanderdecker, “I phoned Directory Enquiries. Isn’t that what you did?”
“I think he’s in his study,” Jane said. “Follow me.”
∨ Flying Dutch ∧
THIRTEEN
Oh,” Montalban said. “Oh, that is most unfortunate. Would you care for some more tea?”
“Not just now, thanks,” said the Flying Dutchman. “Have you got official notice yet?”
“Let me see.” The Professor stood up and walked over to an elegant Jacobean chair in the corner of the room. He pressed a knob on the carved side, and a telex printer appeared through the seat.
“Ah yes,” said the Professor. “It’s just come through this minute. You were right. Dear me, this is most regrettable.”
“Regrettable!” Jane said. “Isn’t that putting it rather mildly? I mean, the Dounreay nuclear power station is about to blow up and take half of Northern Europe with it, and you say…”
“Extremely regrettable, yes,” said the Professor. “Unfortunately, the telex doesn’t give details. Perhaps I should telephone somebody.”
“Good idea,” said Vanderdecker. “You go and do that.” The Professor wandered away, and Jane turned to Vanderdecker. Her face was white.
