Free Fool Errant by Patricia Wentworth Page B

fellow who comes of a decent family and has been decently brought up. He finds himself in a position which he doesn’t quite like—a position in which a number of odd things keep happening one after another. He doesn’t know what to make of them, and he doesn’t understand their trend. But he doesn’t like them; he feels a vague sense of being threatened—of something ominous. But he is not sure that it is only he himself who is threatened. If he were sure, he could just clear out. But he’s not sure. I don’t like using high-falutin words; but he has some sort of an idea that something vastly more important than himself is being threatened, and that he has got a duty in the matter. I suppose one might put a case like that without getting out of touch with the facts?”
    â€œYes, sir,” said Hugo.
    Mr. Smith went over to the book-case, took from the lowest shelf a large volume marked “Maps,” and came back with it under his arm. He laid the book on the writing-table and stood looking down at it. Then quite suddenly the drawl went out of his voice. He asked,
    â€œWhat do you know of Minstrel’s work?”
    Hugo had turned to face him. He coloured a little in surprise.
    â€œI don’t know anything at all. There was a paragraph—‘The Submarine Outsubmarined.’”
    Mr. Smith nodded. “It went the round of the papers. Is that all you know?”
    â€œHe’s working at something now, but I don’t know what it is.”
    â€œHe’s always working at something. It’s the ‘submarine’ that’s in question; only—I’m trusting you, Hugo Ross—it’s not a submarine at all. It’s convenient sometimes, you know, to call a thing by another name—take ‘Tanks.’ That’s why that paragraph went round the papers.”
    He opened the atlas, turned a leaf or two, and pointed.
    â€œThey’re pretty far away—aren’t they?” With Minstrel’s ‘submarine,’ there won’t be any distance in that old, comfortable sense of the word. If they had Minstrel’s ‘submarine,’ we could never say again, ‘They’re mad, and they’re bad, and their idea of world politics is a nightmare; but after all, they’re so far away that it doesn’t really concern us.’ If they have Minstrel’s ‘submarine,’ sooner or later it’s going to concern us.”
    He closed the atlas gently and walked back to the hearth. There was a long pause. Ananias filled it with Slavonic syllables.
    â€œSsh, Ananias!”
    Hugo spoke quickly and eagerly.
    â€œHow could they have it, sir?”
    â€œWell,” said Mr. Smith in non-committal tones, “they might steal it or they might buy it. You see, there really isn’t anything to prevent any inventor from selling any invention to the highest bidder except—it is, of course, quite a big exception—patriotism and, alternatively, fear of public opinion. One or other of these considerations usually operates to prevent the sale of naval and military inventions to a foreign power. Of course, if a man’s own government turns his invention down, the case is a little different.”
    A vivid colour rose to Hugo’s cheeks. He dropped his voice.
    â€œHas the Government turned the ‘submarine’ down?”
    â€œNo,” said Mr. Smith. “No—not at all—in fact, quite the contrary. I believe they are negotiating.”
    â€œThen—”
    Mr. Smith took out his horn-rimmed glasses and began to polish them with a silk handkerchief.
    â€œPerhaps one might put another hypothetical case.” He breathed on the right-hand lens and held it up to the light. “Let me see—yes, a hypothetical case. Let us suppose that a man is known to have something very valuable to sell. Whilst he is negotiating for its disposal it—disappears. We will say that it