“Well, here’s how!” said Ramble, raising his glass to Mafferty who was standing treat.
“Here’s how!” echoed Mafferty, “and may the next shot be a hell of a sight straighter.”
Ramble nodded grimly.
“And if we should find that ruddy gun, I wouldn’t mind subscribing a quid for buying the bloke another.”
CHAPTER VIII
ZERO HOUR
On Travers’s mind when he awoke next morning was the same thought that had been there in those last minutes when he had waited for sleep—that at all costs he must see Lading. In spite of previous theories Travers had become convinced that Lading must somehow be concerned with that queer business of the extra prisoner, but even if he were not, these was something which he either knew already or could discover within a matter of hours.
When before her capture that German ship had slipped out of a neutral harbour, she had aboard her—in addition to some ten men only of the regular crew—a mixed collection of planters, Nazi agents and wandering Gestapo men, who were put down as crew but whom the British authorities had classed as passengers. Excluding Beckner, alias Lading, that made fifty-two so-called passengers in camp, and they were divided up into three rooms.
As to the principle that governed the placing of prisoners in rooms, each camp would doubtless have its own method, but at No. 54 Camp it had been thought best for smooth working that friends should be with friends. Winter would call out how many were to go to a room, whereupon that number would get together and make a kind of family party. If friends, or people of the same class, were in the same room, it made for companionship, which in turn made for easy discipline.
In Room 5, therefore, there were a body of prisoners who ostensibly had the same interests. Into their room the extra prisoner had come, and he had left that room with their knowledge and probable aid. Why not, then, put the whole room under arrest, isolate each man, interrogate and discipline with close confinement till someone squealed? To that the answer is this. The knowledge concerning Room 5 was at the moment shared only by Travers and Ramble, of whom Travers was the executive. And Travers knew it to be bad policy to let Room 5 guess what he knew, and worse policy to put the whole camp in a ferment by arresting a whole room. And again, the situation was an unusual one. Everything had to be proved beyond all doubt before an outside report could be made. Geneva, for once, had certainly given no rulings and laid down no procedure.
But Lading would have ways and means of finding out, and at all costs Travers had made up his mind to see him that morning. The only question was how.
Ramble reported that the early count had been correct, for he had accompanied Pewter and had conducted it on the principles which Travers had laid down. On the face of it, therefore, it looked as if that extra prisoner lay doggo somewhere during the day and for some inexplicable reason turned up for the count at night, and. try as he might, Travers could find no method in that particular form of madness. The risks run must be colossal, and if one could lie doggo at all, then why not do so all the time, and only mingle with the genuine prisoners when they were scattered in hall and rooms or at exercise, when it would have been impossible to detect an extra man.
“I’ll you what you’d better do,” he said to Ramble. “Get a squad of men from Captain Byron, say about a dozen. If you go to work quietly the prisoners won’t have the faintest idea what’s on. Open the trap-door to the attic and search there first. Then work your way down to the first floor, and then if everything’s all right, post double sentries out of sight at the head of the stairs. The main search at fifteen hours will then be only for the ground floor.”
He went in to breakfast to hear the extraordinary news that the Commandant was already going round the camp. Not only was that unusual, it was extremely disquieting, for one of the things of which Travers had been afraid was that a confirmed chatterer like Stirrop would fail to stand the strain of keeping things, as he had promised, most rigorously to himself. Still, it couldn’t be helped. Travers had a hasty meal and then went at once to the office. Before he had been there ten minutes the ’phone went. It was the more than unusually testy voice of the Commandant asking him to come at once to his room.
“I’ve virtually put Captain Byron under arrest,” was the sensational announcement. “The fellow was bloody rude to me, and I told him not to leave camp till I’d decided.”
Travers gave a sigh of weariness. Byron had been restive for a long while, and yet he was the last person to have lost control to the extent implied by Stirrop.
“Just how was he rude, sir?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Stirrop said impatiently. “He was rude, I tell you—bloody rude. When I was a Company Officer if I’d said half what he said, they’d have had the tunic off me.”
“Well, what do you propose to do, sir?”
What he was beginning to gather was that Stirrop had acted over-hastily, was aware of the fact, had a slight wind up, and was now wishing to bring his Adjutant in as condoning the fiction.
“I’m asking you what you’d do,” countered Stirrop.
“Well, sir,” said Travers after a moment’s reflection, “I think it would be as well if you looked up any necessary paras in K.R., and then wrote down, while you remember it, everything that was said and took place. Even if you decide to take no further action, it still might be useful.”
The fact that Stirrop, even ungraciously, agreed, was proof enough in Travers’s eyes that a situation had arisen from which he would be only too glad to escape. Travers escaped too—back to the office. The mail was hastily dealt with and Miss Dance got to work. Then the ’phone went again.
“Send Miss Dance in to me, will you? I’d like her to type down what I’ve written.”
Travers duly instructed Miss Dance, then rose to stretch his legs. His eye caught Miss Dance going by the window. Then she stopped. Squinting in the mirror of her bag she hastily added a touch here and there to lips and eyebrows, then took from the same bag a wristlet watch, fastened it, took a quick admiring look, and then hurried on towards the Commandant’s office. Travers raised his eyebrow. A present, probably, only to be worn in the donor’s company, and one that was to be kept well out of the sight of Captain Tester.
Before Travers could sit down again, the ’phone went once more. This time it was Byron.
“No, I won’t see you here,” Travers said. “I’ll meet you straightaway at your store if there’s nobody there. I can’t spare more than five minutes.”
A telephone orderly was called in and in three minutes Travers was with Byron, and listening to the authentic account of the morning’s flare-up.
“It was like this, sir,” Byron said. “The Commandant started questioning the sentry who was nearest to where that shot went off last night, and he was very rude to the man, because he couldn’t answer questions which I’d have found it hard to answer myself. Then he sent for the sergeant of the guard, and in front of two of the men started calling him God knows what. I know the sergeant didn’t know something he ought to have known, but that wasn’t it. I just couldn’t help myself. I said point-blank, ‘Excuse me, sir, hut I must protest about you speaking like that to an N.C.O. in front of men.’”
“And that’s all there was to it?”
“Absolutely, sir. He said he had a good mind to put me under arrest, and I wasn’t to leave the Camp. I’ve been thinking it over and decided to come to you.”
“Well, I’ve yet to hear both sides,” Travers told him. “My advice to you is to write down everything that happened, and be sure you can have it duly witnessed if needs be. And, of course, you must stay in camp.”
Byron made a gesture of helplessness.
“Whatever happens, sir, I’ve got to go to my Colonel. Sometimes I’ve been driven nearly mad. I simply can’t put up with it any longer. The situation’s become intolerable.”
“And what reception will you get from your Colonel?”
Byron shook his head. “I don’t know. Wh
at I do know is that I’m not one of his darlings. That’s why I was side-tracked here.”
Once more Travers argued and persuaded, but Byron was obdurate. If nothing was done he’d do something about it himself. Asked just what, he merely nodded forebodingly. But at last Travers induced him to promise to hold his hand till the morning.
“By that time,” he said, “I can promise you that something will have happened. You’re not the only person with a grievance, and as for that blether about bucking the War Office, it just can’t be done. Now go and do as l advised you, and for the love of heaven, do have a little confidence in me.”
Travers went back to the office with his mind made up. Something would have to be done, and that very day he himself would do it. It should be action through the proper channels, and if there were a fight he would go into it with tunic off and sleeves rolled up.
Winter was in his own office working at prisoners’ accounts. Miss Dunce was not yet back. Travers found a used foolscap envelope, smothered it with red sealing-wax, and then slipped across to the building. Captain Friedemann was in the hall and came straight across to him. He wanted an interview with the Commandant. That afternoon perhaps, Travers said. The Commandant was very busy. Then he made his own request.
“I want you to do something for me, Captain Friedemann. I’ve got a document here which has to be translated from French to German. It’s only a matter of ten minutes or so, and it’s urgent, and Captain Winter happens to be very busy. Can you find me someone who speaks and writes French really well?”
Captain Friedemann said he certainly could, and inside five minutes he was presenting Beckner.
“We’ll work on that table in the corner,” Travers said. “You might see that we’re not disturbed.”
The scheme had succeeded. Friedemann had imagined some secret document the contents of which Beckner would later divulge to himself. Also to work in full view of everybody in the hall was to bring no suspicion on Beckner.
A quarter of an hour later the ostensible translation was completed, and Travers had left a wonderfully surprised Lading, and had gained little information himself.
For Lading could throw no light whatever on the matter of the extra prisoner. At first he, too, had thought that Travers was pulling his leg, and somehow he had never been quite convinced. For all that he promised immediate action and the quick handing over of anything discovered. As for the shot, the prisoners had thought it was loosed off by some windy sentry.
“And yet I don’t know,” he said. “Friedemann’s got something up his sleeve. I can feel it but I can’t get near it. I’ve got a hunch I’m on the edge of something really big. Give me a couple of days and I think I’ll get it. That’s when I shall leave here for good, so don’t be surprised if I pop into your room one night when you’re asleep.”
As for what he’d already achieved, it was considerable. Two of the officers were not officers at all, but Nazi agents, and their natives were Scribbnitz and Stein.
“Get that through to M.I. for me,” he said to Travers. “Also tell litem to keep an eye on the Italian Consulate here.”
“But we’re not at war with Italy,” said the guileless Travers.
“And you’ve never heard of the Axis,” retorted Lading. “And one little thing you might keep an eye on, beginning to-morrow. There’s a project for a tunnel starting at Room 12 and coming out in the park not far beyond your office, just clear of the wire. If it’s really started, next time you see me I’ll have this roll collar turned up round my ears.”
And Lading ended with one strange remark which was to intrigue Travers very much.
“I’ll probably be seeing you at three o’clock.”
“Why?” asked Travers.
“Isn’t there a search on?”
“Good God!” said the startled Travers. “How on earth did you know that?”
“That’s one of the things I’m here to find out,” said Lading, clean across the question.
Travers had a quick suspicion.
“Heard any criticism of the doctor?”
“Dulling?” Lading shook his head. “Not a word. He seems a harmless sort of cuss.”
And that was the gist of the strange interview, which left Travers in most ways as much in the dark as ever. The matter of the search leakage having occurred through Dulling was, however, still in his mind, for the doctor had been informed before that morning’s sick parade.
It was no wonder that the search was a failure. No sign was found of a gun or of anything else that was liable to confiscation, though straw palliasses were emptied, and bolsters, and every prisoner’s small luggage gone through with a small-toothed comb. Nor was there anywhere a sign of the extra prisoner, and at the close of the proceedings Stirrop was in none too good a temper.
Travers left the building at the earliest moment and took refuge in his office. An hour later there was something which he wished to refer to Mafferty, and he rang through. Mafferty was not there, and the ration clerk said he had not come back since attending the search in the main building. Another half-hour and Ramble came in.
“Have you seen Quartermaster-Sergeant Mafferty, sir?”
“I haven’t,” Travers said. “As a matter of fact I wanted him myself.” Then he noticed the look of worry on Ramble’s face. “Anything wrong?”
I think there is, sir,” Ramble said. “He’s gone off.”
Travers looked puzzled.
“I think he’s out of camp, sir. Would you mind ringing Main Guard to ask if he went through?”
Travers rang. Mafferty had gone through, about an hour previously.
“Then it’s what I thought, sir,” Ramble said, and gave a sign for Travers to step outside, away from Miss Dance’s listening ears.
It was the old story he had to tell. Stirrop had vented his temper on Mafferty and Mafferty had answered back. Stirrop had ordered him out of the store and back to his office, and had said he would send him back to his unit. Mafferty had given him a look, then had turned his back and stalked out. What he’d do would be to stay out till heaven knew when, as he had done before when he had been upset by the Commandant.
“Oh, my hat!” said Travers, and inwardly groaned. “Nothing but these damnable squabbles and upsets.”
“You’re right, sir,” Ramble said. “Something’s got to be done about it, and it’s up to you, sir.”
Travers’s eye narrowed, then he nodded.
“Right away. As you say, it’s up to me. Let the Commandant know that I’ve had to go down town, and say I’ll be straight back.”
In various dealings with Garrison, Travers had run across a certain Colonel Caithby who had struck him as a real good sort and a man to have at one’s back. The Colonel happened to be in when Travers arrived.
“What can I do for you, Travers?” he asked genially.
“I’d like a confidential talk with you, sir, if you can spare the time.”
“Oh,” said Caithby thoughtfully. “Particularly private, is it?”
“Very private, sir.”
“I see. Well, perhaps we’d better go along to my room at the house.”
They had begun tea before he invited Travers to open the ball. The opening was sensational enough.
“I’ve really come to you, sir, to save my own sanity and that of my warrant-officers. If something isn’t done, we’re going to crack up, or else be under arrest.”
The Colonel never turned a hair. Travers went over the irregularities and gross injustices of the camp and it was a quarter of an hour before he had finished. Caithby had put in no more than a couple of questions but his comment at the end was very much to the point.
“You’ve surprised me,” he said. “I had no idea that things were as they are. But they’ve got to stop. I know Major Stirrop, but that doesn’t affect the situation. The kind of thing you’ve described mustn’t be allowed to go on. What you’d better do is make a formal request through me for an interview with the Brigadier, then necessary action
can be taken.”
“I’d rather not, sir,” Travers said. “It may prejudice my case, but all I wanted at this stage was to let someone like you, sir, know how things stood. What I’ll do now, sir, is tackle this business once more in my own way, and then if there’s no alteration, I’ll make the official complaint.”
“You’re the one to know best,” he said. “Still, I’m glad you came to me.”
“I’m more than glad, sir,” Travers said. ‘I’ve been hoarding things up for months, and now my mind’s easy. And I’m more than grateful to you, sir.”
“Not at all,” the Colonel told him. “But if I may suggest it, you wouldn’t like a transfer?”
Travers shook his head. “That would be running away, sir. And it might make things even worse for my successor.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “Let me know what happens, and I hope your news will be better.”
As he made his way back to the camp, life for Travers had completely changed with that easing of his mind, and he had never felt more kindly disposed towards the Army, and even its brass hats. But as he drew near the camp again, the elation gradually went, and there was much of the old depression as he made his way through the main gate.
Before he went to his office he hunted up Ramble and heard that nothing had been seen of Mafferty.
“I know what he’s like, sir,” Ramble said. “He’ll be wandering about like someone off his head.”
“Be a good fellow and slip along to the Green Man later on and see if he’s there.”
“I certainly will, sir,” Ramble said. “But it isn’t drink he takes to when he’s put out like this. He’s too blind mad even to drink.”
“It’s a bad business,” Travers said. “Still, I’ve some good news for you. There’s going to be an alteration in this camp. Keep it under your cap, but I shouldn’t be surprised if something even happens to-night. By the way, what happened when Mafferty checked stores? Thai’s one of the things I wanted to see him about.”
The Case of the Murdered Major: A Ludovic Travers Mystery Page 10