Free Vintage Stuff by Tom Sharpe Page A

Carmagnac as speedily as possible. It would depend on what message he found at the

left-luggage office, but if he took the Weymouth to Cherbourg ferry, he could drive through the

night and be there in twenty-four hours. He had his passport with him and had stopped at his bank

in Bridgnorth to withdraw two thousand pounds from his deposit account and change them into

travellers' cheques. It was the sum total of his savings but he still had his small inheritance

to fall back on. Not that money counted in his calculations. He was about to embark on the

expedition of his dreams. He was also going alone. It was at this point that a feeling of slight

disappointment crept over him. In his fantasies, he had always seen himself accompanied by one or

two devoted friends, a small band of companions whose motto would be that of The Three

Musketeers, 'All for one and one for all.' Of course when he was young it had been different, but

at fifty Glodstone felt the need for company. If only he could have taken young Clyde-Browne with

him but there was no time for that now. He must act with speed.
    But the message he found waiting for him at the left-luggage office changed his opinion. He

had been rather surprised to find that it was in fact a piece of luggage, a small brown suitcase.

'Are you sure this is the article?' he asked the attendant rather incautiously.
    'Listen, mate, it's yours isn't it? You gave me the ticket for it and that's the luggage,'

said the man and turned away to deal with another customer. Glodstone glanced at a label tied to

the handle and was satisfied. Neatly typed on it was his own name. He walked back to the car with

a new sense of caution and twice stopped at a corner to make sure he was not being followed. Then

with the case on the seat beside him he drove to the flat of an aged aunt in Highgate which he

was forced to use when he was in London. In keeping with his background, Glodstone would have

much preferred his club, The Ancient Automobile, but it didn't run to rooms.
    'Well I never, if it isn't Gerald,' said the old lady, rather gratuitously in Glodstone's

opinion, 'and you didn't even write to say you were coming.'
    'I didn't have time. Urgent business,' said Glodstone.
    'It's a good thing your room is still ready just as you left it, though I'll have to put a

hot-water bottle in to air the sheets. Now you just sit down and I'll make a nice pot of

tea.'
    But Glodstone was in no mood for these domestic details. They clashed too prosaically with his

excitement. All the same, his aunt disappeared into the kitchen while he went up to his room and

opened the suitcase. Inside it was stuffed with French newspapers and it was only when he had

taken them all out that he found the second envelope. He ripped it open and took out several

sheets of notepaper. They were all crested and the handwriting was unmistakably that of La

Comtesse.
    'Dear Mr Glodstone, Thank you for coming thus far,' he read. 'It was to be expected of you

but, though I would have you come to my aid, I fear extremely you do not appreciate the dangers

you will face and I would not put you at your peril without fair warning. Desperate as my

situation is, I cannot allow you to come unprepared. Those about me are wise in the ways of crime

whereas you are not. This is perhaps to your advantage but for your own sake and for mine, be on

your guard and come, if you can, armed, for this is a matter of life and death and murder has

already been done.'
    'Your tea is ready, dear,' the old lady called from her cluttered sitting-room.
    'All right, I'll be there in a minute,' said Glodstone irritably. Here he was about to engage

in a matter of life and death and with murder already done, and aged aunts who called him dear

and served tea were distinctly out of place. He read on. 'I enclose the route you must follow.

The ports are watched and on no account must you appear to be other than an