However, I do believe he could read, and had had a look at the script, to know what he should do. I never saw a dog drink hard liquor, and don't believe this one did. When, for a climax, a dog wanders into the dining room, laps the whisky Wormold spilled, dies, and thus gives warning of poison, things simply fall apart. Toward the end, as we go into a business luncheon at which Wormold is due to die, things begin to warm, and it seems we will get what we came for. Having little point: the Roman Catholic Church has no monopoly on extravagant girls. This vein, rich though it be in the author's mind, and well though it has served him previously, is her an irrelevancy, The mystery doesn't mystify, but mainly begets confusion, and the same can be said for the daughter's Catholicism. Smart when convenience requires, rarely showing initiative on their own. His characters lack bone, flesh and blood, and only occasionally seem lifelike. Instead, he has used tricks and achieved mostly unreality. The more so from his personal knowledge of its background. Had he taken a walk around the block, decided to believe his own tale, and told it with simple conviction, it might have been hair-raising, all Say what you will, this is a distinguished narrative idea, worthy of its distinguished author. Presently, he himself is on the spot, and his escape, transfer, and success with a pretty secretary, furnish the material for the finish. The subordinates, to him, are fictitious, but to give them some color of verisimilitude, he has coped them out of the phone book, so in real life they actually exist, and are marked by theĬuban police, when they crack his carelessly guarded code, for assassination.
Which he dreams up with the aid of brochures. Still pressed by Milly's spending habits, Wormold presently pads his accounts by inventing various subordinates, in whose name he draws expenses, and on whose "word" he concocts reports - lurid reports about missile installations, Knowing nothing of espionage, but needingĬash for the overdraft and considerable extra income, he accepts. Soon afterward, he is tapped by a Foreign Office man for work under cover, mainly because of the vacuum shop, which will do nicely as a front.
Who is stuck with the bill, overdraws to meet it. I wonder which saint is best for that?" But Wormold,
Have to pay our of your allowance toward the stabling." "Of course I will," Milly agrees, "and I'll begin another novena tomorrow to make business good. "Oh, Milly, Milly" he implores her, "You'll
When the story opens, she has prayed herself up a horse. Im Wormold, an Englishman of 45, manager of the Havana branch of an English vacuum-cleaner firm, has a daughter, Milly, who is 17 and a strict, devout Roman CatholicĬonvinced of the power of prayer - especially its power to get her coveted things which other people must pay for.
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