James looked up and wagged his tail. 'I quite agree with you,' the wag seemed to say. 'You've got the point at last. Come on. Hampstead Heath it is.' And it usually had been.
Tommy wondered. He'd got the address of the place where he was going. The last time he had been to see Colonel Pikeaway it had been in Bloomsbury. A small poky room full of smoke. Here, when he reached the address, it was a small, nondescript house fronting on the heath not far from the birthplace of Keats. It did not look particularly artistic or interesting.
Tommy rang a bell. An old woman with a close resemblance to what Tommy imagined a witch might look like, with a sharp nose and a sharp chin which almost met each other, stood there, looking hostile.
'Can I see Colonel Pikeaway?'
'Don't know I'm sure.' said the witch. 'Who would you be now?'
'My name is Beresford.'
'Oh, I see. Yes. He did say something about that.'
'Can I leave the car outside?'
'Yes, it'll be all right for a bit. Don't get many of the wardens poking around this street. No yellow lines just along here. Better lock it up, sir. You never know.'
Tommy attended to these rules as laid down, and followed the old woman into the house.
'One flight up.' she said, 'not more.'
Already on the stairs there was the strong smell of tobacco. The witch-woman tapped at a door, poked her head in, said, 'This must be the gentleman you wanted to see. Says you're expecting him.' She stood aside and Tommy passed into what he remembered before, an aroma of smoke which forced him almost immediately to choke and gulp. He doubted he would have remembered Colonel Pikeaway apart from the smoke and the cloud and smell of nicotine. A very old man lay back in an armchair - a somewhat ragged armchair with holes on the arms of it. He looked up thoughtfully as Tommy entered.
'Shut the door, Mrs Copes,' he said, 'don't want to let the cold air in, do we?'
Tommy rather thought that they did, but obviously it was his not to reason why, his but to inhale and in due course die, he presumed.
'Thomas Beresford,' said Colonel Pikeaway thoughtfully. 'Well, well, how many years is it since I saw you?'
Tommy had not made a proper computation.
'Long time ago,' said Colonel Pikeaway, 'came here with what's-his-name, didn't you? Ah well, never mind, one name's as good as another. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Juliet said that, didn't she? Silly things sometimes Shakespeare made them say. Of course, he couldn't help it, he was a poet. Never cared much for Romeo and Juliet, myself. All those suicides for love's sake. Plenty of 'em about, mind you. Always happening, even nowadays. Sit down, my boy, sit down.'
Tommy was slightly startled at being called 'my boy' again, but he availed himself of the invitation.
'You don't mind, sir,' he said, dispossessing the only possible seeming chair of a large pile of books.
'No, no, shove 'em all on the floor. Just trying to look something up, I was. Well, well, I'm pleased to see you. You look a bit older than you did, but you look quite healthy. Ever had a coronary?'
'No,' said Tommy.
'Ah! Good. Too many people suffering from hearts, blood pressure - all those things. Doing too much. That's what it is. Running about all over the place, telling everyone how busy they are and the world can't get on without them, and how important they are and everything else. Do you feel the same? I expect you do.'
'No,' said Tommy, 'I don't feel very important. I feel - well, I feel that I really would enjoy relaxing nowadays.'
'Well, it's a splendid thought,' said Colonel Pikeaway. 'The trouble is there are so many people about who won't let you relax. What took you to this place of yours where you're living now? I've forgotten the name of it. Just tell me again, will you?'
Tommy obliged with his address.
'Ah yes, ah yes, I put the right thing on the envelope then.'
'Yes, I got your letter.'
'I understand you've been to see Robinson. He's still going. Just as fat as ever; just as yellow as ever, and just as rich or richer than ever, I expect. Knows all about it too. Knows about money, I mean. What took you there, boy?'
'Well, we had bought a new house, and a friend of mine advised me that Mr Robinson might be able to clear up a mystery that my wife and I found connected with it, relating to a long time back.'
'I remember now. I don't believe I ever met her but you've got a clever wife, haven't you? Did some sterling work in the - what is the thing? Sounded like the catechism. N or M, that was it, wasn't it?'
'Yes,' said Tommy.
'And now you're on to the same line again, are you? Looking into things. Had suspicions, had you?'
'No,' said Tommy, 'that's entirely wrong. We only went there because we were tired of the flat we were living in and they kept putting up the rent.'
'Nasty trick,' said Colonel Pikeaway. 'They do that to you nowadays, the landlords. Never satisfied. Talk about Daughters of the Horse Leech - sons of the horse leech are just as bad. All right, you went there to live. Il faut cultiver son jardin,' said Colonel Pikeaway, with a rather sudden onslaught on the French language. 'Trying to rub up my French again,' be explained. 'Got to keep in with the Common Market nowadays, haven't we? Funny stuff going on there, by the way. You know, behind things. Not what you see on the surface. So you went to live at Swallow's Nest. What took you to Swallow's Nest, I'd like to know?'
'The house we bought - well, it's called The Laurels now,' said Tommy.
'Silly name,' said Colonel Pikeaway. 'Very popular at one time, though. I remember when I was a boy, all the neighbours, you know, they had those great Victorian drives up to the house. Always getting in loads of gravel for putting down on it and laurels on each side. Sometimes they were glossy green ones and sometimes the speckled ones. Supposed to be very showy. I suppose some of the people who've lived there called it that and the name stuck. Is that right?'
'Yes, I think so,' said Tommy. 'Not the last people. I believe the last people called it Katmandu, or some name abroad because they lived in a certain place they liked.'
'Yes, yes. Swallow's Nest goes back a long time. Yes, but one's got to go back sometimes. In fact, that's what I was going to talk to you about. Going back.'
'Did you ever know it, sir?'