“Now, since Palgrave and Major Rice were old friends, it was natural for Rice to tidy Palgrave’s affairs after the battle. In short, it must’ve been the case that Palgrave hadn’t yet despatched his report of the raid to Battalion HQ. So, when Rice was sorting through, he made a report of the raid, but had no idea that I would’ve been ordered to accompany it. The despatch that he sent to Battalion Headquarters contained the names of those in Burton’s section, but not my own.”
“I don’t understand,” Frost said. “What has this to do with a death list?”
“That report was the death list. Every one of the men on that trench raid is now dead with the exception of Private Walter Kiffin who, as we’ve just heard, is now safe in police custody. And Major Rice was on the death list because it was he who sent the report. Wilhelm Klopfer and Arthur Boyd didn’t realise that, as Martha pointed out, I wasn’t on the death list, because my name hadn’t been included in the despatch regarding the raid. When they saw Burton talking to me, they had to find out who I was and what I knew. They reported it to their boss, Obersturmbannführer Hart of the Schutzstaffel and Gestapo. That’s when Hart approached Alwyn at his club and claimed to be interested in the Napoleonic war. Frost led Hart straight to me.”
“But why?” Frost said, ignoring the scold. “What was so important about a damned trench raid?”
Max was quiet for a moment. He glanced at Lindsey, whose face remained as passive and relaxed as if he were watching a game of cricket, even though, as Max knew, he was far from that state.
“That,” Max said, addressing Frost, “is the most important question of all. The reason is that, as Rice realised a few days ago, the official account of that raid is a lie. Remember that the official History recorded there were no significant results from the trench raids. But, on that night, we did have a success. We managed to hit a command post and take them by surprise. We gathered what intelligence we could and returned to our lines. I gave it to Palgrave myself, but I didn’t review it. The official history doesn’t record any intelligence, but there was some, and it was significant. So, why wasn’t that recorded? You see, it was the gathering of that intelligence that Burton was trying to get me to recall.”
“But how is that significant?” Longford said. “If the intelligence wasn’t sent before the attack, what use was it afterwards?”
“Because that attack was only one part of a push, a series of attacks over three days. As I said, we were trying to secure our gains from previous attacks, straighten the line. The first day was only part of it.”
Max dropped his cigarette and trod it out. Connor made a noise at the back of his throat. Max reached down for the butt and dropped it into the ashtray on the bar counter. He reached for the glass of water, his hand trembling as he put the glass to his lips.
Everyone was quiet for a moment. Only Lindsey seemed indifferent to the account Max was giving, which, as the tension in the pub attested, clearly hadn’t finished.
It was Mr Bacon who broke the silence, and asked the question that they were all holding in their minds. He said, “I don’t understand, Mr Dalton. What does it mean?”
Max lit another cigarette. “It means that Palgrave didn’t forward the intelligence to Battalion.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” General Monroe said. “Why would Palgrave not forward his report to me if it contained intelligence a few hours before a major offensive?”
“I’m glad you asked me that, sir. When Palgrave saw the intelligence, he concealed it because he knew what it meant. I found out why in that shell hole, twenty years ago, but I didn’t know until yesterday. The reason is in that word: traitor.”
“What does that mean?” Frost said coldly.
“It means that when Palgrave saw the intelligence, he knew it would identify a traitor in the British army.”
“A traitor?” Churchill said. “I can’t believe it.”
“There was a traitor, sir, and there still is. And he’s sitting on your right.”
The stunned silence that followed this announcement was such that it seemed to Max as if the whole world had suddenly stopped – sound disappeared, life halted, the air itself froze.
All eyes turned to General Monroe, who, in a dark voice, said, “What did you say?”
“I said you were a traitor. And Palgrave knew it, because of the intelligence he saw. And you were his friend, and he didn’t know what to do, so he concealed the intelligence. And then, dying in a filth-filled hole in the middle of a wreckage of bodies and blood and wire and mud, he sat opposite me, the man he hated more than any other in the world, and he knew he was dying, and he knew he had to tell the truth. And he told it to me.”
All the while Max had been talking, Monroe had been grinding his teeth; his face was blood red, his eyes wet with ferocity.
Martha watched the general coolly. Connor, his arms folded, stared at him as if he would be happy to commit murder. Frost didn’t know what to do, along with Pierce, Bacon and Longford. Lindsey surveyed his thumb nail. Mrs Rice was white with shock. Lilly Burton stared at Monroe, her mouth open, her hands clenched tightly into fists.
Churchill glowered at the floor in front of him, chewing his cigar. Even he was unable to utter a word.
Slowly, and with manifest difficulty, General Monroe composed himself. “That’s ridiculous,” he said.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“What proof do you have?”
“Well, there’s the Official History. The intelligence was sent to you at Battalion. Rice sent it, and I’m a witness to the fact that there was something to send. So, you were the only one in a position to destroy it, which you did. That’s why the Official History doesn’t record it, and why Major Rice knew it was a lie.”
“There are a hundred reasons why that intelligence didn’t reach me. You know how difficult communications were. It was chaos, man.”
Max pulled an envelope from his inside pocket. “These are the signed testimonies of Major Frederick Rice and Sergeant Daniel Burton, both formerly of the Grenadier Guards.”
“Forgeries.”
In answer to that, Max showed the handwritten and signed testimonies of Burton and Rice to their respective wives.
“That’s Dan’s writing, sir,” Lilly Burton said. “And his signature.”
Mrs Rice didn’t say anything, but nodded.
“According to the testimony of Major Rice, he personally handed the intelligence to you at Battalion. He remembers it distinctly, because it was the first opportunity he’d had to inform you of Palgrave’s death,” said Max.
“Maybe he did give it to me. I can’t remember. You can’t expect me to recall something like that after so long.”
“Hart was in the Intelligence Corps. I asked Lindsey yesterday to check up on Hart’s movements at the time of that October attack during the third Ypres offensive – otherwise called Passchendaele. Lindsey?”
“Hart was attached to GHQ in that sector. One of the intelligence officers.”
“He could easily have gone to Battalion HQ,” Max said. “That’s where you handed him the details of the next day’s attacks, and he handed it to his so-called agents, who were still working for the Germans.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have? Speculation?”
“It’s good enough for me,” Churchill growled around his cigar.
“Of course it is,” Monroe snapped. “You’re paranoid, Churchill. You seem to think everyone is a Nazi or a Nazi sympathiser.”
“Not everyone,” Churchill said. “Only those who are.”
“What was it?” Max said to Monroe. “What was in those papers? What did Palgrave find? Were they plans you’d leaked to the enemy? Did you tell them we were coming? Were they in your handwriting?”
Monroe didn’t utter a word. He merely stared at Max, his face fierce with cold burning
fire. Everyone in the pub then knew it was true.
Max continued speaking, all the time his gaze lancing Monroe, sticking him with words and relentless logic. “Hart was a German spy during the war. Once Hitler came to power, Hart offered his services, eventually becoming a Gestapo officer and Obersturmbannführer in the SS. I have no doubt that Hart secured that position because he knew the value of having the Chief of the Imperial General Staff as an agent. So they reactivated you and were determined to erase any possible threats, hence the death list.”
Monroe stood abruptly, slamming the chair backwards. His hand reached for the holstered pistol on his belt.
“Uh-uh,” Lindsey said, his pistol already in his hand and pointing at the general.
Monroe spluttered for a moment. “You’d never get a court verdict on that evidence,” he said.
Mr Bacon coughed politely. “I’m afraid he’s right, sir. It wouldn’t stand in court.”
“Would never go to court anyway,” Lindsey said.
“It’s absurd. You have nothing. Nothing.”
“Well, not unless we can one day get into the Gestapo records or break the German codes,” said Max.
Monroe glared at all present, and marched out. They heard his feet hammering the paving stones, then a car door slam shut. Then the sound of the car’s engine as it pulled away.
“Is that it?” Lilly Burton said. “Is that all that’s going to happen to him? Are you letting him go?”
“He killed my husband,” Mrs Rice said. “What are you going to do about it? What are you going to do about that… traitor?”
Max couldn’t offer an answer. Neither could Frost or Lindsey or Bacon or Longford or Pierce. Not because they refused to, but because they couldn’t. Monroe was Chief of the Imperial General Staff. Few had authority over such a figure.
Churchill stood slowly, and said, “Mrs Burton, Mrs Rice, you have my solemn word that one day, that man will pay for his treachery. He will pay for what he’s done to you.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Slowly, as if following a funeral, the people began to leave. Lindsey took Mrs Burton and Mrs Rice to a hotel, and stayed with them for some time. Mr Bacon quietly took his leave, enjoying the small but pleasant thought of buying a pork pie for supper.
Inspector Longford shook Max by the hand and apologised for the doubt he’d had. He then shook Martha by the hand and told her that his head would be fine, and there’d be no charges against her.
Max looked at Churchill, and said, “I haven’t thanked you for sending the police to protect me.”
“After you visited me, I thought it prudent that you should have some form of protection. I, uh, may not be in a position of power, but I have friends, and they are in positions of great power indeed.”
“Well, thank you, sir,” Max said. “You saved my life.”
“On the contrary, young man, thank you.”
Martha walked over to Churchill and planted a kiss on his round head, which ripened instantly and resembled a shining cherry. “That’s for what you promised to Mrs Rice and Lilly,” Martha said, “and for saving Max yesterday.”
“Charming woman,” Churchill was heard to mention to Frost as they wandered along the road.
Eric said he’d better get Flora home just in case anyone was hanging around. “They might wanna take her.”
Flora left with her arm in Eric’s.
Connor poured Max a pint of best and offered Martha a gin and tonic. He poured himself a pint and raised it up and said, “I never woulda thought. The First Lord of the Admiralty hisself, in my pub. Cheers.”
He swallowed the beer in about three seconds.
Then, allowing Max and Martha some time alone, Connor went out back.
“Do you remember why all this started, Max?” said Martha.
“Of course. The war.”
“I mean, with Burton. On Friday.”
“Ah. You mean because I was drunk.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. It’s the reason you were drunk. You were so sad, so angry. You felt like the world was going to hell and you should’ve been able to do something.”
“Yes.”
“Well, you did.”
“We did,” Max said.
“Yes. But the anger, Max, the sadness and bitterness, those things you felt… they… they were wrong. Hope is the future. It has to be. We must have hope, not doubt or despair, otherwise we’re all finished, and I just can’t believe that. I won’t believe it. There are too many good people to ever let that happen.”
Max smiled softly, and kissed his wife on the top of her head.
EPILOGUE
Leopold von Hoesch, German Ambassador to the Court of St James’s, died suddenly on 10 April, 1936, a little over two weeks after the events herein depicted. It was reported that Von Hoesch’s death was due to a heart attack. Tony Lindsey believed that the assassination order Von Hoesch uncovered at the Embassy was, in fact, his own.
Von Hoesch’s replacement as Ambassador to the Court of St James’s was Joachim von Ribbentrop.
Ralph Wigram died suddenly on 31 December 1936, approximately nine months after he first met Max Dalton. He continued to meet Max and Martha until his death. Many people, including Churchill, believed that Wigram committed suicide.
On 31 July, 1942, while fishing on his estate in Perthshire, General Sir Clifford Monroe apparently fell as he attempted to ascend the river bank, and was knocked unconscious. He drowned in the mud.
It was twenty-five years exactly since the start of the third Battle of Ypres, which would become known as Passchendaele.
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