by V M Knox
Hayward called after him. ‘Reverend! Don’t be late for Hall. Students must be seated by seven, the Fellows arrive after that and once they’re seated you won’t get in.’
‘Thank you, I’ll make sure I’m there on time,’ Clement said.
Leaving the main entry, he turned left and walked down Trinity Lane towards the river. At the rear of Gatehouse were three doorways, all shut. Two were the gates he’d seen from the other side but there was a third, a little distance away and closer to the river, set into the red brick wall. All were locked. Walking on, he crossed the bridge and walked for some way along a path then returned to The Backs and sat watching the passers-by and the river traffic. He checked his watch. Heeding Old Bill’s warning, he headed back to college.
Clement ate quickly. Not because he was hungry but he wanted to chat with Bill Hayward while most of the students were still in Hall. Making his excuses to the young man sitting beside him, Clement hurried to the porter’s lodge.
‘Mind if I come in?’ Clement asked, poking his head around the lodge door.
‘Reverend Wisdom? Everything alright for you? Had a nice afternoon?’
‘Yes. Thank you. While out, I saw some doors in the Gatehouse building. I think they lead out to the lane. Are they in use?’
Bill shook his head. ‘Haven’t been in years. And strictly off limits for students.’ Hayward stood. ‘I’m about to make myself a cup of tea. Would you like one?’
‘That’s most kind,’ Clement smiled.
Hayward filled a kettle and placed it on a single gas jet set into a bench under the window. The lodge telephone rang.
‘Trinity Hall, Hayward speaking.’
Clement waited.
‘He’s at supper currently,’ Bill said. ‘Do you want him to return your call? And the number?’ A minute late Bill replaced the telephone receiver and made an entry into a large book that was open on his desk.
By the time Hall had emptied, Clement had learned about Bill’s fellow porters: Paul Edwards and Ted McBryde. Both were of mature age, married and resided in Cambridge. The two assistant porters also lived off-site. Bill, although more advanced in years than any of the other porters was a bachelor and lived in college. Because of his years of faithful service to Trinity Hall, Hayward occupied a set of rooms on the first floor formerly reserved for visiting Fellows.
‘That’s quite a privilege, isn’t it?’
‘Indeed it is!’
‘Have you been there long?’
‘Not long. Just this year in fact,’ Bill said, standing. He returned the cups to a tray on a bench beside the gas burner.
‘You must have seen many things over the years?’ Clement asked.
‘Oh, yes, indeed. I know all the comings and goings. We’ve had our share of future leaders as well as misfits and delinquents. Most are from good families keen to see their sons advance and contribute to the nation in politics and...’ Bill suddenly stopped.
Clement looked up.
Hayward was standing at the window almost transfixed.
‘Are you alright?’ Clement asked.
Hayward stared through the window. Clement followed his gaze but he didn’t see anything.
‘What? Yes, I’m fine. I must get on Reverend Wisdom. Loose talk. Discouraged and all that.’
Clement stood, wondering why the elderly man had so suddenly stopped speaking. ‘Well, thank you for the tea. As it’s a lovely evening, I may explore Cambridge further before I retire.’
‘Yes. You do that, Reverend Wisdom,’ Hayward said, but Clement could see the man was distracted.
Clement walked out of the lodge as a group of raucous students were coming in. He smiled and stood aside as the young men streamed into the porter’s lodge. Old Bill’s attention would be on them. Clement stood at the main entry but, checking that Hayward was occupied, he returned to Front Court and began to stroll towards a bench on the path in the corner of the courtyard. Passing the porter’s lodge windows, he bent to tie his shoelace. He glanced up. Through an upper floor window of the building opposite, he saw two young men. They were completely stationary, like statues, with blank expressions staring out into the courtyard. Clement finished tying his shoelaces and stood. Without looking back at the two men in the window, he walked back to the front door and leaving the college, wandered into town.
Chapter 9
Tuesday 3rd June 1941
Clement locked his room and walked to the porter’s lodge. He’d spent the morning in the library and had requested some ancient books to be made available for further research. He hoped it would satisfy any interested person of his purpose in being at the college. Now he needed two things: to find out if the college priest conducted a daily service and to buy a pipe. Not that he’d taken up smoking but holding the pipe was the signal he and Morris had devised to make contact with each other.
‘Morning, Bill,’ Clement said on entering the lodge.
Bill looked up but Clement didn’t see any of the bonhomie he’d experienced earlier. ‘Can you tell me when the college priest conducts Evensong?’
‘Nine,’ Bill replied.
‘May I know his name?’
‘Father Rathbourne.’ Bill walked to the rear of the lodge and opened a drawer in the filing cabinet, his back to Clement.
‘Thank you,’ Clement said but Hayward didn’t respond.
Hayward’s behaviour perplexed Clement. He could see that the old porter was perturbed. Something had rattled the man. Clement had hoped that between the porters and the priest, he would be able to learn more about the inside life at Trinity Hall. But since Hayward’s odd reaction and the presence of the two young men in the upper floor window who appeared to be watching him, Bill’s manner had changed and Clement didn’t know why. Leaving the college, he strolled along Trinity Lane and joined the crowds of people on the Parade.
The day was sunny and bright. Finding a tobacconist on the Parade he purchased the pipe and some tobacco then placed it all into his coat pocket. He’d suggested to Morris that he would take a walk every afternoon at three past the police station, where it would be arranged that the duty sergeant Clement recognised, Sergeant Kendall, would be standing at the front of the building. If Morris wanted Clement to make contact, Kendall would be smoking a pipe. If Clement wanted to contact Morris, Clement would be smoking a pipe as he passed. They would then meet an hour later on the first floor of the old university bookshop at the corner of Trinity and St Mary’s Streets.
Purchasing the pipe, Clement returned to the college library. Bill Hayward was attending to the post when Clement passed the lodge. Collecting the ancient tomes from the librarian, he sat by a window in the library, reading. He’d hoped to see either of the two young men he’d seen in the upper floor window but neither had entered nor passed the library. Clement returned to his room. The cleaner had been in during the morning so Clement checked the fireplace. The Welrod was still on the ledge. Leaving it there, he left his room, replacing the thread over the lintel and went straight to the porter’s lodge. As he entered the porters domain, he glanced at the upper floor window but no one was there. Ted McBryde was on the desk.
‘I had a look around the college yesterday after I arrived. It’s lovely, isn’t it? Can you tell me what rooms surround this courtyard?’ he asked, pointing towards the building opposite.
‘Not for students,’ Ted said. ‘Fellows rooms and Father Rathbourne’s lodgings.’
Clement smiled. Gaining access to the upper floors had suddenly become easier. Thanking McBryde, he walked into town.
Just on three o’clock, Clement strolled along St Andrew’s Street towards the police station. Kendall was standing at the door, the smoke from his pipe rising on the breeze. Clement checked his watch. Four minutes past three. Taking the long way back into the centre of town, he made his way to the Parade, entering the bookshop just after four. Morris was sitting in a leather chair in a corner of the upper floor.
‘What happened with young Armstrong?’
Clement asked, taking a book on existentialism from the shelf.
‘Sergeant Kendall gave him a talking to he may never forget. Told Armstrong that numerous elderly ladies had complained about his fast driving around the streets of Cambridge. He was given a warning and told not to misbehave again.’
Clement smiled. ‘Where is Armstrong now?’
‘His parents own a farm just north of Cambridge on the Waterbeach Road called Hitcham Hall. But when in town, he is the guest of the Master of Caius.’
Clement raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you think he suspected anything?’
Morris shook his head. ‘Kendall confirmed young Hasluck’s description of him though. Tall, about six feet, with close-cropped blond hair, clean shaven, prominent teeth. And quite an attitude about him apparently. Kendall said that while young Armstrong was most apologetic for offending elderly ladies, Kendall thought it all bluff. Young upstart, I think were the words Kendall used. But I have something else that will interest you. The pathology report about the soil is in.’ Morris’s eyebrows raised, his lips pursed together. ‘Something neither of us expected, I’m sure.’
Morris handed Clement the report, open at the appropriate page.
Clement ran his gaze down the page until his eye settled on the pathologist’s findings. He read it silently. The predominant soil, the report stated, was alluvial, commonly found in floodplains and the fenland of Cambridgeshire. However the turn-ups had contained fragments of Old Red Sandstone, commonly used in construction and for monuments. This type of stone was not found in Cambridgeshire but was quarried in Scotland as well as parts of Orkney, Shetland and Norway. Clement closed the report.
An icy shiver coursed through him. Any reminder of his former mission to Caithness always had the same effect. He looked up at Morris unable to speak, his mind numb. There was a long silence. He felt his heart pounding in his chest. He swallowed, telling himself that a reference to Scotland didn’t make for a conclusive Caithness connection. But it didn’t change how he felt. There were unresolved issues from that mission and any reminder for Clement was like a cobweb shroud; the invisible tendrils still clinging to his skin.
Morris was staring at him. ‘Something you want to tell me, Clement?’
‘Sorry Arthur. I can’t talk about it.’
Morris frowned. ‘Something else you should know, Clement. I’ve had the Lagonda under surveillance. It’s garaged in Tenison Road, adjacent to the railway station. No one has been near it in days.’ Morris stood and placed his hat back on his head. ‘See you later then.’ He walked towards the stairs and without waiting for a reply, left the bookshop.
Clement gazed out of the adjacent window, the front door to Gonville and Caius College in the centre of his view. Below, he watched Morris exit the building, turning left into St Mary’s Street. Morris hadn’t looked back.
People hurried along the streets below: students, shoppers, business people. And murderers. Clement sat for some time in the leather chair in the corner, his mind on the report. Old Red Sandstone. Clement blinked several times, wondering if the deceased man was Scottish? If he were, and if he’d had any connection to the traitors in Caithness, why was he in Cambridgeshire? Small wonder no one had claimed the body. And what of Hugh Armstrong? Clement glanced at his watch. He needed to be elsewhere.
Leaving the bookshop he made his way through the evening crowds and down Trinity Lane, crossing the river to The Backs and the grassy meadow opposite King’s College he’d explored earlier. Sitting on a bench under a sprawling oak he checked his watch again; a few minutes before six o’clock. At exactly six, a man wearing a long overcoat and hat and carrying a pack over his shoulder approached, coming from the town end and walking slowly along the riverbank.
Clement beamed and stared into the face of a man he had known for years. ‘How are you, Reg? You’ve lost weight, I think.’
‘This is about the last place I expected to see you, Clement. What’s happening?’
Reg Naylor had lived in Fearnley Maughton and was the only person Clement currently knew from his pre-war life. He gestured to the bench and Reg sat down, pulling his overcoat around him.
‘It’s still a bit cool, but not as cold as some places,’ Clement said, thinking of Scotland and the last time he and Reg had worked together.
‘Unlike you, Clement, I never left there. Not until three days ago.’
Clement turned to face his old friend. ‘What? Why?’
‘After that business in Caithness, they sent me to another location in the north.’ Reg laughed. ‘I used to think you spoke in riddles about the ‘Cloak and Dagger Brigade’ but now…’
‘Reg?’
‘Can’t say where I was. They must have thought I was useful in a fight. Anyway, I’ve learned quite a bit more, courtesy of the Ministry of Dirty Tricks. I’ve met some brave lads. And lasses.’ Reg shook his head. ‘No job for a girl. But they are fearless. They’ll need to be.’
Clement frowned. He didn’t think much would unnerve Reg but he sensed a degree of reservation about his old friend that he’d never previously seen.
‘What’s the job, Clement?’
Clement smiled. Whilst he sensed some restraint in his former neighbour, the old pragmatic Reg wasn’t too far beneath the surface. ‘Look-out, at present. See if you can find a job in one of the pubs along the Parade. You should hear some local gossip there. Make up some cover story for being in Cambridge; looking for a former flame, that sort of thing should do. I need any information about the Armstrong family, especially the son, Hugh Armstrong. Morris tells me his parents own a place called Hitcham Hall on the Waterbeach Road but while in town he stays at Caius.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Any information about Armstrong’s car, a Lagonda. These vehicles are for the very wealthy so your source will most likely be well-heeled.’ Clement shot a glance around the area before continuing. ‘Also any reference to Scotland.’
Reg raised his eyebrows.
‘Just a theory at present, Reg, but keep your eyes and ears open.’
Reg nodded and Clement told Reg what he learned since he’d met Morris in Godstow.
‘So, some Abwehr man arrived in England, killed the unknown man in the mortuary and is still here.’
‘That’s about it,’ Clement said.
‘And the dead man came from somewhere in the north and was sent to meet Herr Abwehr. So all we need to do is take the young Mr Hugh Armstrong and find out who he met and where he took him. Easy!’
‘Unfortunately, it’s not quite that simple.’ Clement told Reg his theories on the Lagonda’s use. ‘If we brought young Armstrong in, any others in the network would be warned of our interest and they would most likely disappear.’
‘Network?’
‘Yes. I think so. One that extends from Cambridgeshire to Scotland. Possibly further.’
‘So you need to infiltrate the group?’
‘That could be the best.’
‘How?’
‘As young Armstrong lives in Caius when in Cambridge, I need to find someone who will introduce us. Perhaps the priest at Trinity Hall will know his counterpart at Caius. But while I do this, dig up anything you can find on the Armstrong family and, if possible, where young Armstrong goes and who he meets. You know the drill.’
‘Got it! Where do we meet?’
‘Until you find a job, come here every night at six o’clock. If you have nothing to tell me, walk straight past me, otherwise exactly as you are now.’
‘Bring any weapons with you, Clement?’
‘I’m wearing my knife. And I have a Welrod pistol with me. It’s secreted on a ledge in the fireplace of my room. You?’
‘Knife and Sten. And a few other small things,’ Reg said and standing, continued walking along the bank. Clement watched him take the bridge over the River Cam adjacent to Trinity Hall and head back into town.
Clement sat a further ten minutes, his eye on the swift flowing stream which wound its way north towards
King’s Lynn and The Wash many miles distant. Leaving The Backs he made his way back to Trinity Hall.
Returning to college he hurried to Hall and found a seat, his eye searching for the two young men. They were not there. Neither was the college priest, Father Rathbourne. When Clement enquired about the evening service, he was informed that Evensong had been cancelled. No reason was given.
Chapter 10
Wednesday 4th June 1941
Reg was sitting on the grassy bank when Clement approached at six o’clock.
‘I’ve got a job in a pub,’ Reg said, not moving from his reclining position by the river. ‘I wait tables and pull beers.’
Clement smiled. ‘Where?’
‘The Eagle. In Bene’t Street just off the Parade. Good view of who’s coming and going from Caius College. There’s a rear lane behind the pub, too.’
‘I’ll eat lunch at The Eagle every day.’
‘Got it,’ Reg rolled onto his side then stood slowly. He sauntered away.
Clement waited until Reg was some distance from him before walking back to the college. He climbed the stairs to his room and, letting himself in, slumped in the faded red chair, his mind sifting what he knew. He closed his eyes and rubbed his hand over his face. Why was a manual labourer sent to meet the Abwehr man and then killed? There was no answer and Clement felt the frustration. He glanced at his watch. It was just before seven. He hoped the priest would be at supper tonight.
As Clement walked into Hall, he saw a man wearing a clerical collar. He walked straight towards the priest and stood behind the next chair as the Fellows entered. Rathbourne was a tall man although now hunched. He had a long, serious visage and deep-set eyes. The Latin prayer was said and with a scraping of wooden chairs on ancient floors, they took their seats and supper commenced.