by Len Deighton
‘Outside on the pavement.’
Sir Robert knitted his bushy eyebrows and studied his sherry. Douglas noticed the way the liquid trembled in Sir Robert’s hand. Douglas turned his head away and looked at a group of men near the entrance. The effect of the light, coming through the glass roof so high above, made the men seem shadowless, as if in a dream.
‘He’s in a wheelchair,’ Douglas added. ‘One of my men is with him.’
‘How sick is he?’ He glanced round.
‘He’s virtually comatose, Sir Robert.’
They sat very still. From somewhere high above the fog there came the sound of an aeroplane. Its sound faded before he replied. ‘That explains a lot. The Germans have gone to a great deal of trouble to keep His Majesty incommunicado.’ Nervously the old man reached into the pocket of his black jacket and found his pipe. He toyed with it, reaming the bowl with his finger and tapping it against the back of his hand.
Douglas said, ‘I don’t know how we’ll get him to the house in Barnet. We’ve had to abandon the vehicle.’
Sir Robert looked at him and nodded, his mind already calculating every possible permutation of this new situation. ‘He’ll need medical attention,’ he said, and blew through the pipe. It made a sharp sound that was almost musical.
‘I think a doctor should look at him as soon as possible.’
‘A shrewd gambit,’ said Sir Robert. ‘They’ve given us what we most want, and yet dealt us a telling blow.’ Suddenly he felt in both pockets and found his tobacco pouch. He unclipped the fastening and fingered the contents. Douglas could smell the strong odour of it. With that dexterous precision that comes only with unconscious action, he filled the pipe, cut the tobacco strands with his thumbnail, struck a match, lit up and inhaled. Then he blew smoke. ‘Astute fellows, these Germans, eh Archer?’
‘It seems so, Sir Robert.’ It was cold in the club and Douglas shivered.
‘And what do you do with him now, eh?’ He took the pipe from his mouth and looked at the burning tobacco, as if seeing it for the first time. Douglas sipped his sherry and waited. He was frightened, damned frightened, but there was no way of hurrying the old man.
‘A few weeks after the boche arrived I managed at long last to get decent servants,’ said Sir Robert, thoughtfully. ‘A man and wife – not young – total abstainers, both of them. The wife’s able to cook plain English food, and the husband had been a butler for an obscure Liberal peer. Awfully lucky, don’t you know, getting such hardworking servants, at the sort of wages I can afford to pay them.’ He put the pipe in his mouth and drew on it meditatively, while fixing Douglas with a piercing stare.
Over Sir Robert Benson’s shoulder Douglas saw General Georg von Ruff coming into the club. He gave the porter his silk-lined overcoat, and stood polishing his gold-rimmed spectacles, misted by the warm air. Behind him was a uniformed German soldier who looked round before going back to talk to the porter. Douglas looked away. What a damnable coincidence that of only a couple of dozen men in London who might recognize the King, one of them had to come to the Reform Club at this moment. But was there any coincidence? Undoubtedly this was where General von Ruff and Sir Robert Benson had arranged the details of the King’s release from the Tower. Douglas looked at Sir Robert’s cold blue eyes – he seemed not to have noticed the General’s arrival – and wondered whether the King’s physical condition was really the surprise that Sir Robert implied that it was.
‘I’m not sure I understand,’ said Douglas. ‘About your servants; I’m not sure I understand.’ General von Ruff walked past Sir Robert without a glance and went upstairs. Of course it would be like that; discreet words in a private room.
‘No?’ said Sir Robert as if he found it difficult to believe, and studied Douglas with renewed interest. ‘Informers, of course. Reporting to the Germans everything I say, write or do. But I talked it over with my wife, and we decided that it was well worth the inconvenience…’ He worked his lips to remove a strand of tobacco from his teeth. ‘To tell you the truth, Archer, I am tempted to a few indiscretions from time to time, just to give the poor devil something to tell his masters. Don’t know how we’d manage without them now…and the wife irons my shirts better than any laundry.’
‘You mean we can’t take the King to your house,’ said Douglas.
Sir Robert Benson took the pipe from his mouth and used a pencil top to press the burning tobacco into the bowl. ‘It would be risky,’ he said, as if considering the idea for the first time. ‘Colonel Mayhew?’
‘Is waiting at Barnet, Sir Robert. I’ve no way of contacting him. And Bernard Staines is somewhere in South America.’
‘And His Majesty is outside in the street, sitting in a wheelchair you say?’
‘Yes, Sir Robert.’
He used the pipe to stroke the side of his nose. ‘It has an element of farce, Archer. Would you say that?’
‘No sir, I would not.’
He nodded mournfully. ‘Ummm, your position is devilish difficult, I see that.’
Now Douglas understood how Sir Robert Benson had risen to his high position in the civil service. He didn’t give orders and instructions; he simply put you in a situation where you had to do what he wanted. Sir Robert Benson wanted Douglas to wheel the King off into the fog, and solve the problem without involving Sir Robert, or any of his close friends and associates. And he was quite prepared to sit here drinking sherry and murmuring arid non sequiturs until Douglas got up and left. Douglas found this man’s cold indifference to his plight more frightening than the machinations of Huth and Kellerman. ‘Would it be all right if I used the phone?’ said Douglas.
‘You know where they are?’
‘But I wonder if you could let me have some pennies?’
‘Of course.’ Sir Robert found four pennies and gave them to Douglas. ‘By all means take him to my house, if you think it’s worth the risk,’ said Sir Robert.
Douglas nodded. The pennies were cold in his hand. Sir Robert would always come out smelling of roses. No one would be able to say Sir Robert Benson hadn’t offered his all, even at the risk of certain betrayal to the authorities. ‘I’ll make sure His Majesty learns of your offer, Sir Robert.’
As if reading Douglas’s mind, he smiled. ‘You know where the phones are,’ he said again. Douglas nodded, got to his feet and went to the phone.
‘Barbara, it’s Douglas.’
‘Darling.’ Her voice was no more than a whisper.
‘I must come and see you.’
‘Could you make it tomorrow, my love?’
‘I want to come now.’
‘Not now, darling. I’m just going out.’
‘Can you hear me, Barbara? Your voice is very faint.’
‘I’ve a car waiting and the fog is dreadful. Can you phone again tomorrow?’
Douglas tapped the earpiece of the phone in the hope that her voice would come louder. ‘Barbara. I must see you now.’
‘Don’t be a bully, darling. Stay where you are until the fog clears.’
‘Barbara, I –’
‘It’s my work,’ she said. Her voice was louder now. ‘I have my work to attend to, just as everyone else does. Now will you stop being a bore!’ The earpiece purred as she slammed down the phone.
Douglas stood for a moment with the phone in his hand. He was totally unprepared for this rejection and he felt desolate.
‘Everything all right?’ said Sir Robert as Douglas walked past them towards the entrance.
‘Yes, indeed, Sir Robert,’ said Douglas. He nodded to Webster. When he got to the entrance hall, the porter had his overcoat all ready for him. The porter knew he wouldn’t be staying to lunch with Sir Robert. Over the years he’d learned to recognize men whose overcoats should be kept ready for an early departure.
‘No chance of a cab, I suppose?’ Douglas asked the doorman.
‘I haven’t seen one all day, sir, and that must be something of a record here like this at the door of the club.’
‘Is that what they are doing?’
‘Ask yourself,’ said the doorman. ‘They’re discreet, of course, but I’ve already seen a bobby caution them, and move them on.’
‘What took you so long?’ said Harry when Douglas returned to them. ‘I’ve had a beat bobby reading me the Riot Act, and some bloody saucy kid shouting “penny for the guy”.’
‘Sorry, Harry. But no one wants us.’
‘What do we do then?’
‘I’ve got a key to Barbara Barga’s house. It’s not too far and she’s just going out. At least it will be somewhere to sit down and collect our wits.’
‘Are you all right?’ Harry asked the King, crouching beside the wheelchair and speaking into his ear. There was no response. ‘George,’ said Harry Woods, ‘we’re taking you somewhere you can warm your hands.’ Standing up again, Harry met Douglas’s glare of astonishment. ‘Well, what have I got to call him?’ said Harry defensively. ‘Even “sir” sounds bloody conspicuous when you are bending over a shabbily dressed old gentleman in a wheelchair.’
‘I’ll push him for a bit,’ said Douglas, taking the handles of the chair. Harry noticed the King lifting an arm weakly and he bent over to listen to him, his ear close to his mouth. Douglas halted the chair and waited while the King murmured something inaudible and Harry nodded and gripped his arm in reassurance. Douglas realized that the two men had already established some sort of relationship which he did not share. A social cripple, sometimes he felt desperate at the way in which he was unable to get close to anyone, man or woman.
‘I think he’s trying to tell us that the empty ambulance will be reported to the police.’
‘I know it will,’ said Douglas.
‘What will Kellerman do?’ said Harry. They began walking in the direction of Barbara’s mews house. They went across Green Park. It was virtually deserted and here under the trees the fog was so thick that they could see no more than ten yards ahead.
‘He’ll put out a number eighteen to all Divisions.’
‘Bring us in for questioning? That would be a bit drastic.’
‘He’ll say he was worried for our personal safety.’
‘Why bother until he’s sure we’re not just sick?’ said Harry.
‘Kellerman will guess that something important is happening. He might even guess that the King is no longer in custody. He has his Leibstandarte honour-guard at the Tower, and even if the army confined them to barracks this morning while we made our collection, they will soon discover that something has happened. The Abwehr people are party to the conspiracy but if they have to save themselves, they’ll throw Mayhew and us to the dogs, Harry.’
So this is what they were reduced to, thought Douglas. Two policemen and a crippled King, in a land that was no longer their own. They lost their way in the park and turned left until they saw the gas lamps of Constitution Hill. Beyond that were the ruins of Buckingham Palace. Douglas looked down to see whether there was any sign of recognition from the King but there was none. He was a pathetic figure, sitting with his shoulders hunched and head tilted forward over the thin clenched hands. Douglas remembered the last time he’d seen the King. It was a Royal visit to Scotland Yard soon after war began. He remembered the King in the fingerprint department, giving a sample of his fingerprints and leaving the card there as a souvenir of the visit. He was a handsome figure, with an easy smile and informal manner that had endeared him to all. It was difficult to reconcile that scene with their present predicament but Douglas vowed that he would die before relinquishing his King; whatever the logic of it.
‘There will be a checkpoint at the Arch,’ said Harry.
Inside Wellington Arch, Hyde Park Corner, there is a room for the Metropolitan Police. Lately army patrols had used it as a control post. If Kellerman had put out a number eighteen warning, his SS men might be there looking at identity papers.
‘We’ll detour,’ said Douglas. ‘We’ll take one of the backstreets, and cut up into Curzon Street and across Park Lane into Hyde Park.’
‘You’ll be all right,’ said Harry in the King’s ear. ‘Douglas knows what he’s doing.’
They could hear the phone ringing while Douglas was putting the key into the door of the mews house. Douglas went into the living-room and answered.
‘Miss Barga?’
‘She’s not at home,’ said Douglas.
‘Who is this?’
Douglas recognized the voice. ‘Is that you, Colonel Mayhew?’
‘Archer! I’ve been trying to find you. I hoped you’d contact Miss Barga.’
‘The ambulance –’
‘Enough said. I’ll be with you in a few minutes. Are you all together and quite safe?’
‘All three of us are here.’
‘I’ll give three short rings at the doorbell.’
‘It was Mayhew,’ Douglas told Harry after putting down the phone.
‘Thank the Lord for that,’ said Harry. He was lighting the gas fire. Douglas helped the King get closer to it. Then he went into the kitchen to make tea. He could not hide the pleasure he got from handling Barbara’s possessions, and from being here in her home. Harry saw this and was pleased too. ‘There’s nothing like a cup of tea.’ He went to ask the King, ‘Do you take sugar, Your Majesty?’ reverting to a more formal relationship now that there was no longer a danger of being overheard.
Mayhew had phoned from his house in Upper Brook Street. He had used the Underground railway to get back from Barnet. It was almost unaffected by the fog. It did not take him very long to get to Sloane Yard Mews. The three men went into the kitchen to talk out of the King’s hearing.
Mayhew made no comment about Douglas’s conversation with Sir Robert Benson. He leaned forward, holding his hands to the heat of the stove, and rubbing them together. He waited until Douglas had completed his story and then he said, ‘They must have found the ambulance a few minutes after you abandoned it. The Constable on the beat reported it, and the police station told Scotland Yard. General Kellerman put it on the teleprinters immediately. A stolen ambulance, it said, no explanation of why or where or when. But it meant that the London Feldgendarmerie had it in writing. That in turn meant that the GFP, and finally the Abwehr, had to cover their backsides.’
‘Which is what Kellerman wanted,’ said Douglas.
‘Yes, he must have guessed what was really happening. It was a brilliant piece of deduction.’
‘Or a well-placed informant,’ said Douglas. Harry poured tea.
‘Yes, we can’t rule that out,’ said Mayhew. ‘Is this my tea? Thank you, Harry. Is His Majesty still dozing?’
‘He’s been like that since we collected him,’ said Harry. ‘I think we should have a doctor look at him.’
Mayhew nodded, drank his tea and pushed the King to the back of his mind. ‘Yes, it forced the army’s hand. They had no choice but to respond to the Scotland Yard teleprinter messages.’
‘What happened?’
‘Grossfahndung,’ said Mayhew. ‘The whole works; the King escaped this morning, the vehicle has been found abandoned in Central London. Confidential to Divisions, for the time being, but they won’t be able to keep the lid on this one for very long.’
‘Names?’
‘No names so far.’
‘Grossfahndung,’ said Harry. ‘What is it?’
‘The highest category of search,’ said Douglas. ‘Alerts to all departments of the armed forces, police, security units, auxiliary police units, docks, airports and railways police, SS, training camps, DAF, RAD, Hitler Youth, Uncle Tom Cobley and all.’
‘Grossfahndung,’ said Harry.
‘Kriegsfahndung for one hour,’ said Mayhew. ‘It chan
ged status at one-thirty.’
‘I was in the Reform Club with Sir Robert.’
‘Well, something happened to make them change their mind.’ Mayhew finished the hot tea and got to his feet. ‘I think we must get you all out of here. Eventually they will check all aliens’ addresses, including Miss Barga’s. My car is outside.’
‘Do you think we could take one of Miss Barga’s blankets?’ Harry asked Douglas. ‘For the King.’
‘The spare bedroom is upstairs,’ said Douglas. ‘Take one.’
‘Kellerman is the unpredictable factor,’ said Mayhew. ‘At present he believes that you and Harry are totally loyal to him: you because the Resistance have tried to kill you, Harry because he’s frightened to death of being re-arrested. But how long that confidence will last no one can be sure. Sooner or later your absence will be noted and they will suspect you are not away working for Huth, but away working with us.’
Douglas nodded. From overhead there came the sound of Harry having trouble with the bedroom door. Douglas was about to tell him that door sometimes jammed but decided against revealing how knowledgeable he was about the bedrooms. There was the sound of Harry moving a heavy weight and Douglas wondered if he was taking extra blankets from a suitcase in the cupboard. Then Harry came down the stairs. It was a short flight of stairs and Harry came down them so fast that he almost fell into the sitting-room.
‘Easy there, Sergeant,’ said Mayhew, holding his arm to steady him.
‘What is it, Harry?’
‘Miss Barga,’ said Harry.
Douglas looked at him for a moment before he realized what he meant. He pushed past Harry to get to the stairs. But Harry was too quick for him. ‘Stay here, Doug…listen to me a minute.’ He clasped Douglas in a bear hug, and try as he did there was no escaping from this huge man. ‘Don’t…bloody…go up there, I say.’ Harry was panting with the exertion of holding him.
‘All right,’ said Douglas the breath almost squeezed out of him.
Harry released him. ‘She’s upstairs, Douglas. She’s dead; I’m sorry.’
Douglas felt giddy.
‘Sit down a minute, Archer,’ said Mayhew.