Mysterious Aviator by Nevil Shute Page B

nerves had been running away with him. Three long night flights on end. They must have been.
    In any case, it didn’t seem to me that I could do anything about it. It was Lenden’s business. I’ve never been a man to go butting into another chap’s affairs, and it didn’t seem to me that I could go to him and talk about Our Dear Old Country, and what a sin and a shame it was to go and take photographs of it when it wasn’t looking. No, I could only leave it to him to do what he thought best, though I knew what that would be. He’d taken their money, and he’d do their work. Still, it was none of my business, and in that resolve I went to bed.
    I didn’t sleep very well. I was still worried about those photographs. And in the intervals of that I was thinking of the quiet time I had had at Under since the war. I kept sleepily conning over the details of that sale at Pithurst, and the way I’d been able to run up the auction on that stock to make the price. And then I got to thinking of all the other times that Arner had set me on to do that sort of thing, and the way we’d been running the estate since the war. And I thought that really, taking it by and large, we’d made a pretty good show of it. Mind, we’ve got good land and a good crowd of farmers, and that helps. But we’d made that part of Sussex pretty prosperous. We’d been stuffing back into the land pretty well all that we took out of it. And I knew that Ellersleigh, whose land marched with ours to the north and west, was doing the same.
    And then I got to worrying about those photographs again, and to thinking what a corking good county Sussex was. It was about three in the morning before I fell asleep.
    Next day was a day of accounts. I spent it entirely at the office with my clerk, deep in the usual Quarter Day rush. I saw Lenden in the morning before I went out. He was looking a bit the worse for wear, but his temperature was practically normal. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get away. I satand talked to him for a little after breakfast, but avoided any direct or indirect question as to what he was going to do. I didn’t think he knew himself. Till he had made up his mind there was very little to be done; I just encouraged him to stay in bed for another day, and left him to it.
    That was Saturday. Arner was in Town that week, living at the house in Curzon Street and oscillating between the Foreign Office and the Athenæum. In the middle of the afternoon I had a trunk call from him.
    “Is that Moran?”
    “Speaking, sir.”
    “Moran. I shall be coming down this afternoon by the four-fifty. You’d better send the car to Petersfield, I think.”
    “Right you are, sir. I’ll see to that.”
    “And, Moran. I am bringing Wing-Commander Dermott, of the Air Ministry, down with me. He will be staying with us over the week-end. Will you ring up the Hall and let them know? We will dine at eight o’clock tonight.”
    “Right,” I said. “I’ll ring up at once.”
    “And, Moran. I should be very glad if you would dine with us this evening. Is Sheila dining in to-night?”
    “I think so. I haven’t heard that she’ll be away.”
    “Oh. Then we shall be an odd number. Still, I should be very glad if you would dine with us. I want you to meet Dermott.”
    “I’d like to very much, sir.”
    “All right. Is there anything else?”
    I stirred in my chair, and settled to the more important business of my work. “That sale of Petersen’s yesterday, over at Pithurst. It went off very well.”
    I gave him a short summary of the business done and the prices the beasts went for. We had another three minutes over that, and then he rang off.
    I called up the house to give them their instructions, and settled to my accounts again. But my work was spoilt. Arner’s sudden introduction of this Wing-Commander worried me and took my mind completely off my business. In all the years I hadbeen at Under we had never entertained any officer of His