I WAS MONTY’S DOUBLE

by M. E. CLIFTON JAMES

  When he had gone back into his office five military policemen all stood and stared at me in amazement.

  “Did you hear what I heard, or am I dreaming?” asked the one who had got me in. “It’s been jolly nice meeting you! The very best of luck to you!’”

  Turning to me he added, “Well, sir, I reckon you must have the magic touch.”

  Picking up my parrcel I returned in triumph to the hotel, had lunchy which from its taste mutst have been monkey soup and goat stew. In the evening I rejoined my travelling companions in the canteen and stood them all drinks. I looked so jaunty that one of the Navy asked me what her name was.

  Presently our pilot and navigator appeared yawning and rubbing their eyes, and we tramped out to our ancient machine.

  We took off well enough and for many hours we chugged along without mishap. At length dawn broke and I saw that it was pouring with rain. To everyone’s dismay one of the engines began to splutter.

  Our pilot’s head appeared in the open doorway. “Very sorry, you chaps, I’ve tried to switch over to my spare tank but the juice won’t come through. Better get your Mae Wests on as quick as you can.”

  Most of us stood up and began wrestling with our safety belts, the naval men cursing the Air Force in horrible language. Having got mine on I glanced behind me and saw the D.L.I. sitting motionless.

  “Didn’t you hear what he said?” I asked them. “Aren’t you going to put on your Mae Wests?”

  “Noa,” said Tweedledee, “we doan’t believe in them affairs. If we’re going in t’water me and my pal’ll swim together, etc.” Apparently he held the Egyptian Sovereign responsible even for an air-lock in the petrol feed-pipe.

  I looked out and saw the rugged cliffs of Cornwall bouncing up and down like crazy stage scenery. This is the end of my adventure, I thought. I’ve been through all this only to finish up in Davy Jones’s Locker.

  It seemed to me that whole hours passed, though I suppose it was only a few minutes, while we bobbed about in our mad flight. Then suddenly to our immense relief the engines roared and we climbed steadily. Looking down I saw that we had passed over the cliffs and were making a steady course inland. At about half-past six in the morning we landed in pouring rain.

  It was a small, deserted R.A.F. aerodrome somewhere in the heart of Devonshire. As we got out not a soul was in sight, but presently an N.C.O. came up and put a sentry on the plane. Clutching our luggage we trotted through the downpour to the Control Building which was about half a mile away. The rain was so heavy that we were wet through long before we got there.

  I couldn’t help comparing this ignominious return with my magnificent departure from Northolt. A taggle of displaced persons fleeing from the wrath of Hitler could hardly have looked more woebegone.

  When we reached the Control Building a very young and sleepy officer of the R.A.F. appeared with an overcoat over his pyjamas, and then there followed a scene which for me personally was as trying as any that I had gone through.

  “Look here,” he began, “we only got your signal a few minutes ago and we have no clearance for you to land here.”

  Ignoring an uncomplimentary remark from one of the naval men, he went on: “I don’t know who the hell you are or where you’ve come from. The whole thing’s completely out of order. I’ve no authority for your landing. You’d better go on and land somewhere else.”

  Tired, hungry, soaked to the skin, none of us could think of what to say until the other naval officer let out a stream of oaths which would have done credit to an Oriental.

  Stung by this broadside, the Air Force officer lost his temper, and next moment we were all arguing, protesting and swearing, except for Tweedledum and Tweedledee who seemed to be incapable of grasping what was happening. At length our pilot and navigator appeared and drew the angry officer aside. I don’t know what passed between them, but after a lengthy wait, an orderly came to tell us that the Medical Officer was ready to see us. I followed the others and waited for my turn to go in. When it came I saw a grey-haired, portly Captain of the R.A.M.C. with a row of medal ribbons, probably a Regular officer, sitting at a table with furrowed brow. In from of him on the table was a list of our names.

  He glanced up. “Your papers, please.”

  I handed him my military identity card and the papers showing that I had been abroad on Special Pay Duties.

  Frowning, he said, “No, I mean your medical papers.”

  Not knowing what he was talking about I blurted out: “Medical papers? I haven’t any. These are the only papers I’ve got.”

  He sat up with a jerk. “I have a busy day in front of me. Please don’t waste my time.”

  Leaning forward he said slowly and emphatically, “I want to see your papers showing that you were inoculated against malaria, blackwater fever, dysentery, and so on before you left England.”

  In a flash I saw the jam I was in. I had no medical papers. Had Colonel Lester slipped up for once? On reflection I realized that everyone without exception had to be inoculated before going abroad. Even Royalty were not exempt. But I was the one man in ten million who had not been inoculated, and I could hardly explain why.

  What had happened, I imagine, was this. Originally they had meant to send me only to Gibraltar, but at the last moment it was decided to expand the whole plan of deception and send me farther afield. Also, they had pursued the plan of letting a bare minimum into the secret even if it entailed difficulties when the plan of deception was finished. If I had been medically examined and subjected to the usual programme of inoculations, my medical papers would have been referred to my unit, and various medical officers and orderlies who were not in the know might have suspected something unusual. Evidently it had been decided to break the medical regulations and leave me to deal as best I could with any ensuing difficulties.

  The M.O. was rapidly becoming exasperated. It was extremely awkward for me because obviously I had to give him some sort of answer.

  “Well, sir,” I said, “as a matter of fact I was not inoculated before I went abroad. I’ve been on a secret assignment.”

  He got up and began pacing up and down the room. Coming to a halt in from of me be said: “Then the position is, having come from Cairo and the Middle East without being inoculated, you are probably a carrier of a number of infectious diseases. This is a serious matter and I’m afraid you’ll have to go into quarantine.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “There’s something rather improbable about your story. To be frank with you, I don’t believe it. I shall have to get in touch with Pay Corps headquarters in Leicester and find out more about you.”

  It hardly seemed likely that he would learn anything reassuring from my Colonel in Leicester. I realized that I should have to take a risk with him.

  Looking him straight in the face I said sharply: “You are making a big mistake, sir. If you take my advice you will ring up the War Office and ask for Room 654. They will tell you all you need to know about me.”

  The success of this move depended upon his being a Regular. If he was, he would probably know what Room 654 meant.

  He sat down, shuffled his papers and then came to a decision.

  “I beg your pardon. You needn’t say any more.”

  We shook hands and I thankfully left him.

  Outside it was still pouring with rain and our poor old Dakota looked like a seedy goose which had taken its last emigrational flight. Some way down the road I saw a small car approaching, and as it drew near, one of the naval men said to the other, “I spy hostile craft to starboard.”

  Without a word, each of them grabbed his bulging case and vanished into the ‘Gents’.

  The car drew up and two Customs men got out. We lined up outside the stores and again we had our luggage examined. Of course none of us mentioned the Navy, and as our landing had been impromptu the Customs had no list of passengers. I suppose our pilot had one, but I never saw him and I believe he was fast asleep. When they got to me they went quickl
y through my hold-all and asked me what I had in my parcel.

  “Ah,” I said, “this parcel is Top Secret. I had instructions not to undo the outer wrapping until I reached England. I was then to post it—to the War Office, I suppose.”

  “Well, sir,” said one of the Customs men, “why not undo it now?”

  Under the curious gaze of two pairs of eyes I ripped off the outer covering and read the lettering underneath. To: Mrs. E. Matthews, 25 Dart Street Swansea South Wales. Contents: chocolates, soap, tinned fruit.

  Seeing my expression of disgust the Customs men roared with laughter, and when I told them the full story they thought it even funnier. Still laughing they drove away. I wondered if they would have laughed so much if they could have seen the two naval men emerge from the lavatory with their contraband intact.

  Some little time later we were driven to a little railway station about fifteen miles from Exeter where we made for the office of the Railway Transport Officer.

  The R.T.O., an elderly Captain, was sitting with his feet on the table picking winners for the day’s races. Seeing us troop in he looked up from his paper and grunted “Yes?”

  “We’re a party of ten,” I explained, “and we’ve just arrived by air from Egypt. May we have railway vouchers, please?”

  Putting his feet down he surveyed us disdainfully.

  “Certainly not. I know nothing about you. I have no orders to issue vouchers to a party of ten.”

  Replacing his feet and picking up his paper again, he added: “You’ll have to pay your own fares. Good morning.”

  After all we had gone through this was a little too much. I was quickly thrust aside by one of the naval men.

  “Listen, you old fool,” he began, “we’ve been pushed around long enough this last day or two. You’ll issue us with ten vouchers, do you hear?”

  “Don’t you talk to me like that,” said the R.T.O., stuttering with rage. “I’m in charge here. Clear out, the lot of you!”

  “Right, snapped the Navy, “you’ve asked for it. Come on, you chaps, let’s wreck this lousy dump and chuck the old fool on the line.”

  “Coom on lads, oop the Durhams!” shouted Tweedledum.

  The R.T.O. backed against the wall looking scared. “All right, all right, gentlemen, perhaps there’s been a mistake,” he quavered.

  The ten of us stood grimly while he made out our vouchers, and I’ve never seen a man look more relieved than he was when we trooped out of his office. Our train soon came in and we reached Waterloo at about half-past ten that night.

  Chapter XVIII

  I ESCAPE ARREST AS A DESERTER

  Next morning I reported to the War Office, and once again I walked down those familiar winding passages to room 654. Entering, I found the same grey-haired lady sitting tapping away at her typewriter. Although a whole life-time had passed since last I had seen her, she nodded and smiled at me as if she had seen me only the day before.

  In his room I saw Colonel Lester. He was wearing the same suit and looking exactly as he always looked.

  Somehow I had been expecting a dramatic climax to my adventures, though I don’t quite know what. Perhaps a crowd of people to congratulate me, or a severe ticking off for having failed in my duties. But I might have known that Colonel Lester would greet me as casually as if nothing had happened at all.

  “Well, James,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette. “So you got back safely?”

  I suppressed a desire to ask him a whole string of questions.

  “We thought of bringing you home aboard a destroyer,” he went on, “but flying is quicker, I suppose.”

  Although he must have known that I was itching with curiosity to hear the worst, this maddening man then took a pencil from his pocket and began doodling.

  At last he looked up and said quietly: “Thank you. You did a great job.”

  He grinned at me. “I sent a full report over to the P.M. I wrote it out like a film scenario. He was tickled to death with it, and also the way you carried it off.”

  Changing his tone he asked briskly: “What next? Would you like to transfer to a film unit, or have some leave?”

  I was still too anxious to know what effect the Impersonation had had on the war effort to take much interest in such trivial matters. When I asked him, he took a couple of turns up and down the room before replying.

  “From the reports which have come in the whole thing was a great success,” he said.

  This was a weight off my mind. Whatever happened now, I had not failed in the thing which really mattered. But for some reason making Army films which had seemed so thrilling only a short time ago had now lost all its attraction.

  “If you can arrange it,” I said, “I should like to return to my unit. I’ve had rather a nerve-racking time of it and I think my best plan is to get back to my job and try to forget it all.”

  He smiled a little grimly. “You may not realize it, but you have a pretty sticky time ahead of you. When you get hack to your unit everyone will want to know what you’ve been doing and why your skin is tanned. Tell them any story you like, so long as it isn’t the truth. You may think the need for secrecy is past. This is not so. You must still keep your mouth shut. Can I trust you to do that? On no account tell a soul what you’ve been doing.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good. There’s just one thing more. I think I should take you over to your G.O.C. Pay Corps and let you have a word with him. After that we must part.”

  As it turned out, I had good reason to be thankful to him for the chat I had with the General. Colonel Lester had warned me that a sticky time lay ahead of me but I doubt if he knew quite how sticky it was going to be.

  All this time, remember, I had not been allowed to send a single word to Eve, who I thought must have given me up for lost by now. But on reaching London the night before I had phoned her in Leicester. Hearing my voice she had almost sobbed with relief and she began to bombard me with questions which of course I could not answer. I had to tell her that I would not be able to see her for a day or two and that I must leave all news until then.

  Sitting in a train on my way to Leicester I trembled to think of the double barrage of questions which would be laid on me—the first by Eve and the second by my brother officers. Once again I began trying to formulate watertight fibs which I would stick to no matter what happened.

  Eve was waiting for me at the station. I doubt if a husband ever met his wife with such conflicting emotions.

  Holding me at arms’ length she began: “How brown your face is! Where have you been all this time? Please tell me.”

  “Not now, darling. Let’s get home, then I’ll tell you everything.”

  This gave me a little more time to put the finishing touches to the story I had concocted, and when we got there I told it with as great a show of conviction as I could muster.

  At the last moment, I said, the hush-hush filming had been called for after all. Until it was finished I had been forbidden to say a word about it and the Special Pay Duties was just a blind.

  The thing we had to film was the results of important tests carried out with certain new types of weapons. For greater secrecy these tests had been conducted in Africa. Professional actors had been needed for the job because in making the films we had had to give running commentaries on the technical details.

  I must have been fairly convincing because this time she seemed to believe my story, though she said she couldn’t understand why I had not written to her once all the time I had been away. I countered this by explaining that we had been forbidden to write to anyone at all for fear of our letters falling into enemy hands.

  But to jump ahead of my story—a few weeks later I had rather a shock. Returning home one evening I found Eve sitting sewing. Without looking up she said, “You know the tobacconist’s shop at the corner by the bus stop?”

  “Yes.”

  “A funny thing happened today when I went in there and asked them the time—”

/>   “How was it you didn’t know the time?”

  “Now you’ve made me forget what I was going to say. Oh yes—the man behind the counter said: ‘Half-past eleven. I know my clock’s right because I always check it when “Monty” passes to catch the 7.45 train when he goes to the Pay Office every morning.’”

  There was an awkward pause. “Well, dear,” I said, “what’s funny about that? I believe I’m supposed to be slightly like Monty.”

  “Yes, I know, but it’s more than that. You’ve changed in a queer sort of way. Sometimes your whole manner is different and you’ve said some extraordinary things in your sleep.”

  This time she didn’t ask me the usual question, but it was there just the same although unspoken. Was there always to be this mystery between us? I think I came nearer to telling her the truth that evening than ever before. Surely, I thought, there could be no harm in it now that the whole thing was over? And then I remembered Colonel Lester’s warning and I said nothing.

  Long afterwards Eve told me that she had half guessed the truth. She connected the photograph in the News Chronicle with my first interview in London and believed that I was ‘working with General Montgomery’, as she put it.

  The morning after I returned to Leicester I walked into the Pay Office headquarters and went straight to the Adjutant’s office where I found my old friend George Reid. Naturally I expected that he would be pleased to see me, but at once I was aware of a strained atmosphere.

  “Hullo,” he exclaimed, standing up. “So you’re back? You look as if you had been sun-bathing in the South of France.”

  I grinned at him and shook my head.

  “I’m not going to ask you where you’ve been,” he went on, “or why you did this crazy disappearing act. But I warn you, you’re for the high jump.”

  He looked at me as if expecting me to offer some explanation, but there was nothing I could say. Nor had I the despondent air of a deserter driven into returning and facing arrest. I think I must have been a profound puzzle to him.