The List of Adrian Messenger Page #6

-Where do you stay?

-At the Lion, very comfortable.

Poppycock!

Derek, sent someone to pack

his things. He'll stay at Gleneyre.

-You really mustn't bother.

-Rubbish, it's your home.

Gethryn, come over here.

George Brougham,

Anthony Gethryn.

-How do you do.

-How do you do.

You chaps should like each other.

Both thrusters.

-Got left standing still today.

-High Flyer gave me quite a ride.

-Fine animal. Where did you get him?

-Ireland, about three weeks ago.

A birthday present from me to me.

Plenty of foot. Big jumper.

Well, the sun's still high.

Time to draw another covert.

Come in.

Come in.

-l don't intrude?

-Not in the slightest. Do come in.

So, the masquerade is over.

No need for disguises now. That

ended when the last name was erased.

All he's got to do now is

be his own charming self.

What arrogance!

Making himself welcome at Gleneyre.

Makes it easier for himself to

get at the boy, from the inside.

l hate to admit it, but l confess

a sneaking admiration for him.

My admiration l can restrain.

What is the next move?

That is up to him, unfortunately.

l leave you gentlemen to your port.

What do you do for a living

out there, George?

-l ranch, sir.

-Are there cowboys?

It wouldn't be a ranch without them.

How much...

How much land do you have?

Just under 20,000 acres, sir.

But Im hoping to get another 8,

000 before next year.

20,000!

That's not so much,

if you figure 10 acres to a steer.

What kind of cattle do you raise?

Whiteface, sir.

Beef cattle,...

Im starting a Black Angus herd. l

hope to pick up a bull while Im here.

We'll ride over to the bull pens in

the morning. You can take your pick.

Thanks, but your breeding

might be too rich for my blood.

-What do you mean by that?

-Well,... No thank you.

It might be more than

l can afford to pay.

My cattle, ain't they. l can

sell them for whatever l please.

Damn government still

can't do anything about that.

By the way,

is my brother still alive?

No, sir.

My father died a long time ago.

Was that back in '37? February?

That's right. The 16th.

How did you know that?

-The foxes barked.

-l beg your pardon?

Didn't your father ever tell you

about the Bruttenholm foxes, boy?

Any member of the family dies,

they foregather on the lawn out there...

and bark. Been doing it

for 200 years. Damn eerie.

Im sorry about your father.

l liked Louie.

Well, if you want me

to fill you in on him,...

he lost the 60,000 you gave him on

a three day poker session...

on the train between Halifax

and Moose Jaw.

Moose Jaw?.

Yes, where he became a cowboy and

wed the boss's daughter, my mother.

-That's were l got the ranch.

-How did your father die?

On his way home from

Saskatoon he fell out of the wagon,...

-Wolves got at him.

-Bless my soul.

l spent the rest of that

winter trailing the pack,...

One by one l shot them

and skinned them up.

Traded their pelts to the

Indians for enough food to go on,...

until the last wolf

was accounted for.

Indians?

Red Indians?

Yes.

They later adopted me into the tribe.

So you can say that you are

a blood cousin to an Ojibwa.

Were you in the service?

Well nothing so

exorbitant as your father.

Sergeant was my top rank.

-Did you see action?

-Did l see action? l was killed.

-You can't be serious.

-Sounds like an interesting story.

Not really. l got separated from

my outfit in the Western Desert,...

Three years before l

got back to Canada.

When l went for my discharge, they

had me listed as 'believed dead'.

They hated having to

correct their records.

Red tape. Same all over the world.

-By the way, sir.

-Out with it, my boy.

About that bull.

Thanks for the fine offer. But if

l can't afford it, that ends it.

-l didn't arrive with my hand out.

-l know you didn't.

-Monsieur Le Borg.

-Please.

Now Ive got it.

l thought your name was familiar.

Aren't you the man who

survived that airplane crash?

l had great good fortune.

One chance in a million.

Another cousin of mine,

Adrian Messenger wasn't so lucky.

Yes, the writer.

Ive read everything he wrote.

In a sense,

he's responsible for my being here.

It was his ''Memoirs of a fox hunt''.

-Have you read it?

-Yes, sir.

It opened up

a whole new world for me.

According to the papers, there's a

possibility the crash was no accident.

There was a bomb. It had to

have been put there by a mad-man.

That's the excuse they

usually give for evil.

Hitler was mad they said.

So he may have been,

but not necessarily.

Evil does exist. Evil is.

Go ahead, Derek. You shoot first.

One diamond.

Heart.

Pass.

-Four of spades.

-Pass.

-Pass.

-Pass.

Spades.

-Brougham?

-Yes?

-Are you busy?

-Nothing important, going for a walk.

-Come in for a moment, would you?

-Sure.

-Sit down, please.

-Thank you.

Over here.

Something l want you to look at.

What are there?

Pages that Messenger was working

on from his manuscript when he died.

Wonderful. Just finished reading it.

''Memoirs of an Infantry Officer.''

-Id love to read it.

-You notice anything different?

This one is shorter,

a line or two less typing.

There's no reason for it. And it

isn't the end of a paragraph.

That's what struck me, too.

The typist

probably just made a mistake.

That isn't all. Look here.

On every other page, a semicolon is

followed, as it should, by one space.

But on this page there are none.

What difference can

that possibly make?

Perhaps none,

perhaps a great deal.

The typeface is the same so it

was done on the same typewriter.

But this means it was

typed by different hands.

Well Messenger himself probably

wanted to change something so he...

He didn't know how to type.

l don't mean to be dense, but what

does it matter if a page gets changed.

Wouldn't mean anything to me.

lf LeBorg hadn't insisted he

smelled cordite when the plane fell.

-Cordite.

-It would mean a bomb.

And a bomb would mean a target.

Im wondering if it

could be Messenger.

What the devil are you talking about?

Who'd want to kill a writer?

-Such a good writer.

-l don't know.

But the page and it's variations had

to do with his experiences in Burma.

He had a rough go there.

Prison camp. That sort of thing.

Im going to turn this over to the

Yard. See what they can make of it.

Shouldn't be difficult for them

to get a list of those with him.

One of them might shed some light.

-What's the matter?

-You've got more nerve than me.

-Why?

-l can't see myself going police...

with anything like that,

they'd laugh in my face.

Possibly. But Ill take a shot,

when l get out of town on Wednesday.

-Can't thank you enough for your help.

-l haven't done anything.

Yes you have. You've given me

a chance to put my ideas into words.

-Like a dress rehearsal.

-lf you want a listener, Im your man.

For once, he spoke the truth.

Evil does exist.

And he is evil.

As the Holy Word says, ''Born of evil.''

And now you have made yourself

the target.

He can't afford to have me go and

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