Read The Complete Symphonies of Adolf Hitler for Free Online Page B

“little monkey”?’
    ‘Little Monkey,’ said Daphne fondly.
    ‘And good old Pigby stood godfather at the christening in Kampala Cathedral. Gave her a mug made out of rhino horn.’
    ‘What is her Christian name?’ asked Jane who felt that these reminiscences had got out of hand.
    ‘Molly. No! Magda,’ said the Major.
    ‘No, Molly,’ said Daphne.
    ‘Well, she’d answer to “hi!” or any loud cry, as they say,’ said the Major with an ugly catarrhal chuckle. After that, the Strellbriggs lapsed into silence and would only respond to Jane’s questionings with the briefest of monosyllables. So she gave up.

    **

    It was a sleepless night, but fortunately one undisturbed by mysterious noises. The following morning, as soon as she could, Jane began to ring the offices of OPEN, demanding to speak to Martha Wentworth-Farrow. Mrs Wentworth-Farrow heard her out and expressed the deepest sympathy.
    ‘What are you going to do about it?’ demanded Jane.
    ‘Well, of course, we’ll do all we can. We’ll make enquiries immediately.’
    ‘Don’t you think that the time for enquiries was before you put Mrs von Hohenheim on your books?’
    ‘We don’t use references, as you know,’ said Mrs Wentworth-Farrow. ‘We operate on the principle of trust.’
    ‘A principle which in this instance has served you very ill,’ said Jane who liked the occasional literary turn of phrase. Even in these appalling circumstances she derived some satisfaction from scoring over Mrs Wentworth-Farrow.
    ‘Please do not take that attitude, Jane. It is very unhelpful.’ This attempt to regain the high ground failed. Jane simply rang off.
    In the afternoon Jane rang the police. A pleasant policewoman came round to interview the Strellbriggs who were, as usual, genial but unhelpful. The policewoman recommended that Jane should ‘get on to the Social Services’. Jane did as she was told but was informed that a social worker was not available at the moment, and because this was not an emergency, she was not likely to receive a visit for another couple of days. Then Mrs Wentworth-Farrow rang to say that she had ‘done what she could’, which was to find out that the house in Wiltshire had been rented on a six month’s tenancy by a Mr Villach, that no references had been given as the rent had been paid in advance to the agent, and that no forwarding address had been given. Moreover, there seemed to be no records of anyone of the name of either Villach or von Hohenheim or Strellbrigg existing in this country. Jane asked Mrs Wentworth-Farrow what she was going to do about this mess, to which Mrs Wentworth-Farrow replied that while she was doing all she could, the responsibility of her organisation did not extend beyond the periods during which the exchange of old people took place. Jane once more put the phone down. It immediately rang again, the caller this time being her brother Tony making his regular monthly enquiry after his mother. Taken off guard, Jane told him about her difficulties to which Tony responded by saying that if only she had consulted him before embarking on the venture, he ‘personally’ (a favourite word of his) would have advised against it. He also recommended that she should ‘get on to a solicitor and sue Mrs Wentworth-Farrow’.
    Meanwhile the Strellbriggs were in her living room calmly consuming large quantities of tea and Bourbon biscuits. Their equanimity in Jane’s eyes amounted to a kind of madness, or pathological callousness at the very least.
    That night the house was once more full of noises until about three in the morning when it suddenly became quiet. In the silence that followed, Jane’s ears, attuned by rage and anxiety to an abnormally high degree of sensitivity, caught the faint creak of a window being opened in the sitting room which was below her bedroom. She went to her own window and looked out.
    In the yellow glare of street lamps she saw a large, crouched shape in striped pyjamas climb