CHAPTER 11-3

　　Archdeacon Simmons paused for a few minutes‘consideration before the next call. He could ring up the air station inLondon. That would no doubt take some time. There might be a short cut. He rang up Dr.Weissgarten, a learned Hebrew scholar who was almost certain to have been at theconference.

　　Dr. Weissgarten was at his home. As soon as he heardwho was speaking to him he launched out into a torrent of verbiage consisting mostly ofdisparaging criticism of two papers that had been read at the conference in Lucerne.

　　"Most unsound, that fellow Hogarov," he said, "most unsound. How he gets away with itI don’t know! Fellow isn‘t ascholar at all. Do you know what he actually said?"

　　The Archdeacon sighed and had to be firm with him.Otherwise there was a good chance that the rest of the evening would be spent in listeningto criticism of fellow scholars at the Lucerne Conference. With some reluctance Dr.Weissgarten was pinned down to more personal matters.

　　"Pennyfather?" hesaid, "Pennyfather? He ought to have been there. Can’t think why he wasn‘t there. Said he was going.Told me so only a week before when I saw him in the Athenaeum."

　　"You mean he wasn’t atthe conference at all?"

　　"That‘s what I’ve just said. He ought to have been there."

　　"Do you know why he wasn‘t there? Did he send an excuse?"

　　"How should I know? He certainly talked aboutbeing there. Yes, now I remember. He was expected. Several people remarked on his absence.Thought he might have had a chill or something. Very treacherous weather." He was about to revert to his criticisms of his fellow scholars butArchdeacon Simmons rang off.

　　He had got a fact but it was a fact that for thefirst time awoke in him an uneasy feeling. Canon Pennyfather had not been at the LucerneConference. He had meant to go to that conference. It seemed very extraordinary to theArchdeacon that he had not been there. He might, of course, have taken the wrong plane,though on the whole B.E.A. were pretty careful of you and shepherded you away from suchpossibilities. Could Canon Pennyfather have forgotten the actual day that he was going tothe conference? It was always possible, he supposed. But if so where had he gone instead?

　　He addressed himself now to the air terminal. Itinvolved a great deal of patient waiting and being transferred from department todepartment. In the end he got a definite fact. Canon Pennyfather had booked as a passengeron the 21.40 plane to Lucerne on the 18th but he had not been on the plane.

　　"We’re getting on,"said Archdeacon Simmons to Mrs. McCrae, who was hovering in thebackground. "Now, let me see. Who shall I try next?"

　　"All this telephoning will cost a fearful lot ofmoney," said Mrs. McCrae.

　　"I‘m afraid so. I’m afraid so," said Archdeacon Simmons. "But we‘ve got to get on his track, you know. He’s not a very young man."

　　"Oh, sir, you don‘tthink there’s anything could really have happened to him?"

　　"Well I hope not… Idon‘t think so, because I think you’d have heard if so. He – er – always had his name and address on him, didn‘the?"

　　"Oh yes, sir, he had cards on him. He’d have letters too, and all sorts of things in his wallet."

　　"Well, I don‘t thinkhe’s in a hospital then," said theArchdeacon. "Let me see. When he left the hotel he took a taxito the Athenaeum. I‘ll ring them up next."

　　Here he got some definite information. CanonPennyfather, who was well known there, had dined there at seven thirty on the evening ofthe 19th. It was then that the Archdeacon was struck by something he hadoverlooked until then. The aeroplane ticket had been for the 18th but the Canonhad left Bertram’s Hotel by taxi to the Athenaeum, having mentioned he was going to theLucerne Conference, on the 19th. Light began to break. "Silly old ass," thought Archdeacon Simmons tohimself, but careful not to say it aloud in front of Mrs. McCrae. "Got his dates wrong. The conference was on the 19th. I‘m sure of it. He must have thought that he was leaving on the 18th.He was one day wrong."

　　He went over the next bit carefully. The Canon wouldhave gone to the Athenaeum, he would have dined, he would have gone on to Kensington AirStation. There, no doubt, it would have been pointed out to him that his ticket was forthe day before and he would then have realised that the conference he was going to attendwas now over.

　　"That’s what happened,"said Archdeacon Simmons, "depend upon it."He explained it to Mrs. McCrae, who agreed it was likely enough. "Then what would he do?"

　　"Go back to his hotel," said Mrs. McCrae.

　　"He wouldn‘t have comestraight down here – gone straight to the station, I mean."

　　"Not if his luggage was at the hotel. At any rate,he would have called there for his luggage."

"True enough," saidSimmons. "All right. We’ll thinkof it like this. He left the airport with his little bag and he went back to hotel, orstarted for the hotel at all events. He might have had dinner perhaps – no, he‘d dined at the Athenaeum. All right, hewent back to the hotel. But he never arrived there. He paused a moment or two and thensaid doubtfully, Or did he? Nobody seems to have seen him there. So what happened to himon the way?"

　　"He could have met someone," said Mrs. McCrae, doubtfully.

　　"Yes. Of course that’sperfectly possible. Some old friend he hadn‘t seen for a longtime…. He could have gone off with a friend to the friend’s hotel or the friend‘s house, but he wouldn’t have forgotten for three whole days that his luggage was at the hotel. He‘d have rung up about it, he’d have called for it,or in a supreme fit of absent-mindedness he might have come straight home. Three days‘silence. That’s what‘s so inexplicable."

　　"If he had an accident –”

　　"Yes, Mrs. McCrae, of course that’s possible. We can try the hospitals. You say he had plenty of papers on himto identify him? Hm – I think there‘s only one thing for it."

　　Mrs. McCrae looked at him apprehensively.

　　"I think, you know," saidthe Archdeacon gently, "that we’vegot to go to the police."