Attack Alarm

Chapter Five

‘Hallo, what have you found?’ A quick movement of my hand turned the paper face downwards. The action was automatic, secretive. I glanced up. I felt that my very movement betrayed me. It was furtive. Chetwood was standing over me. ‘Just a letter,’ I said hurriedly.

As I said it, I knew even my own voice betrayed me. It was too hurried.

‘Funny sort of letter,’ he said.

I opened my mouth to make some explanation about an old diagram. Then I shut it. Thank God I had that much sense. He could think what he liked. I gazed up at him, hot and tense. He seemed on the point of making some further remark. But Mason came up and asked for his old pass, and he forgot about it.

I handed in my old pass and was given my new one in exchange. I folded it and slipped it into the pocket of my Army pay-book. And all the time the crumpled paper in my hand seemed to burn my flesh. I felt every eye in the room must be watching me. Yet when I stole a quick glance round everyone seemed busy examining and putting away the new passes, and Chetwood was hanging up his battle dress.

I got up as nonchalantly as I could and went out to the lavatory at the back of the hut. I was conscious of each movement of my tensed limbs. I felt they must be watching me. In the seclusion of the lavatory I smoothed out that wretched piece of paper and examined it once again with the aid of a match.

There was the landing ground with the criss-cross of the runways — the hangars, mess, quarters, gun-sites, everything was marked. It was neatly drawn in common blue ink. Everything of interest to the enemy was indicated in fine hand print, even to the field telephone wiring and ammunition stores at gun sites and at the armoury. The information was precise and the drawing accurate. In view of the fact that such a document had recently been found in an agent’s hands, it would have meant that if I had been searched weeks of interrogation would have followed.

I felt sick at the thought of what I should have had to face if I had not discovered it in time. And it was with a sense of immense relief that I watched the flames consume it as I set a match to it.

But the sense of relief did not last long, and I sat there in a state of numbed fear at the thought of what it meant. For it meant, of course, that I was a marked man.

I had no longer any doubt about the reliability of the pilot’s information. I knew that I was right about Vayle. This was something big. There could be no other possible explanation of such elaborate steps being taken to dispose of a mere gunner. And I was horribly aware of the danger of my own position.

Press men, I know, are supposed to be tough. There is a firm belief that they are always adventurers capable of getting out of any situation. That is true of some, especially the freelance foreign correspondents. But nothing could be further from the truth in the case of most newspaper men. The majority of them have a job that involves mainly office work. That job is to collate facts and reproduce them in the form of readable matter. I was one of the majority. True, I had been in our Berlin office and had seen quite a bit of the world for my age. But I was no more than a spectator. Because a journalist writes about exciting things it does not mean he leads an exciting life. I suppose my life had been more interesting than it would have been in, say, my father’s insurance business. Nevertheless, though I had led the free and easy life of Central London with a flat of my own and no responsibilities, it had really been quiet and respectable. Certainly I had never been in any serious scrapes.

I was, therefore, no more equipped by my civilian life to get out of the fix I was in than the next man. And I certainly wasn’t any less scared. I sat there literally petrified. Behind the closed door of that lavatory I had the temporary illusion of security. Outside, I faced the uncertainties of a situation that was rapidly getting beyond me.

I tried to steady myself. Somehow I had got to go back into that hut as though nothing had happened. I settled down to consider how the document had got into my Army pay-book. The more I thought about it, the more I realised that it must have been placed there after my interview with Ogilvie the previous night. Obviously no such definite action would have been taken until it was known first that Ogilvie was not willing to have me transferred, and secondly, that I was continuing to make a nuisance of myself. My Army pay-book had been in the breast pocket of my battle top all the time. The paper could have been placed in it whilst I was asleep. But that meant there was one of Vayle’s agents actually in the detachment, and at the same time it would have been risky, to say the least of it, in a crowded hut. No, the most obvious time was during the morning’s short alarm. I had taken post in my shirt sleeves owing to the heat. I had left my battle blouse on my bed, and the hut had been empty.

It was then that I realised I had discovered something. The hut had not been completely empty. The whole detachment had been on the gun, but there were still the two workmen. And I remembered seeing the younger one pedal off on his bicycle. The older man had been alone in the hut. As soon as I remembered this I had no doubt as to how the paper had been planted on me. For no apparent reason the workmen had chosen that particular morning to turn up to do a job that we had never expected to get done at all. Now I knew why they had come. But what amazed me more than anything was that they were taking all this trouble over me. I could not believe that I was really dangerous to them. It could only mean one thing — that they felt themselves vulnerable if the attention of the authorities was persistently drawn to this idea of a plan.

And since they were evidently leaving nothing to chance, it meant that the scheme, whatever it was, was vitally important. It also meant that at any moment I should be faced with further developments in the plan to put me out of the way. Somehow they had to arrange for the document they had planted on me to be found. It was a nasty thought.

But at least I had the consolation of knowing that I was really on to something. It strengthened my resolve to go through with it — to break into Vayle’s rooms, to badger the authorities, to do anything to expose the plan.

I opened the door and went back into the hut. Hardly anyone looked up as I came in. Most of them were lying on their beds, smoking, or already asleep. I was glad. It gave me a chance to recover my confidence.

Kan, who was sitting at the table, smoking, suggested a game of chess. Anything to take my mind off my position. We settled down amongst a litter of unwashed crockery.

I had just driven his king into a corner and checked him with a knight, when the door opened.

‘Party, party, “shun!”’

It was Ogilvie with Wing-Commander Winton. They were accompanied by a man who looked like a workman.

‘Where’s Sergeant Langdon?’ Ogilvie asked. His voice sounded gruff and tense. I had a sudden premonition of trouble.

‘He’s in his room, sir,’ said Bombardier Hood. ‘I’ll fetch him.’

The sergeant had a separate room at the end of the hut. A moment later John Langdon appeared, looking very boyish with his hair all tousled and his eyes still full of sleep.

‘Identification parade, Sergeant Langdon,’ snapped Ogilvie. ‘I want everyone lined up down the centre of the hut.’

‘Very good, sir.’ He turned about. ‘Bombardier Hood, right marker!’ Hood took up his place at the far end of the room. ‘On Bombardier Hood in one rank fall in!’

Automatically we jostled into a line and stood at ease. ‘Detachment, detachment,‘shun!’

‘Thank you, Sergeant. Now’ — Ogilvie turned to the workman — ‘see if you can spot your man.’ And as the fellow walked slowly down the rank, he said to Langdon, ‘A man in the uniform of a gunner has been reported asking rather obviously leading questions of the post-office men laying the operations lines.’

I stood very stiff, my eyes fixed on the wall opposite and my muscles tensed. I knew what was going to happen. I sensed rather than saw the man pause opposite me. Then his slow face said, ‘I think this is the man.’

‘Who is it? Hanson? Ah!’ Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Ogilvie glance significantly at the C.O. ‘Well, Hanson, what have you got to say?’

My knee joints felt weak. The blood hammered in my head. ‘I think there’s some mistake, sir,’ I heard myself saying. ‘I have never seen this man before, and I have never spoken to any of the men laying the lines.’

‘But you know they’re being laid?’

‘Certainly, sir. Everyone in the camp must know that by now.’

‘What were you doing between seven-thirty and eight last night?’

‘In the Naafi, drinking, sir. Sergeant Langdon will bear me out. He was there too.’

‘Is that right, sergeant?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Do you still think this is the man?’ Ogilvie asked the workman.

‘I think so.’ His voice sounded sullen. ‘I can’t be sure. His face was in the shadow. Also I’m not certain about the exact time. I didn’t think of that until afterwards.’

‘Did you go to the civilian bar at all last night, Hanson?’ Ogilvie asked.

‘The supper canteen? Yes, sir. I went there shortly after eight with Chetwood and Fuller.’

‘I see. But you did not speak to this man?’

‘No, sir. I was with the others the whole time.’

This man says a gunner engaged him in conversation in the canteen and that later he saw him jotting down notes. He has now identified that gunner as you. And you admit that you were in the canteen at about the time he states.’ Ogilvie turned to Chetwood. ‘Do you agree that Hanson was in your company the whole time, Chetwood?’

‘As far as I can remember, sir.’ I experienced again that sense of undeveloped hostility about me. Chetwood could easily have committed himself to a direct ‘yes’. But he had hedged.

Ogilvie looked at me uncertainly. I could see that he did not know what to do. ‘You realise that this is a very serious charge, Hanson?’

I said, ‘Yes, sir. But it is quite untrue.’ My voice trembled despite all efforts at control. ‘This is the first time I have ever seen this man.’

Ogilvie turned to the workman. ‘I don’t feel justified in pursuing the matter unless you can say definitely that this is the man.’

There was a pause whilst the fellow thought this over. He looked searchingly at me once or twice as though trying to make up his mind. At last he said, ‘I can’t be absolutely certain. But he looks very like him.’ He hesitated, and then said, ‘Perhaps if he would submit to a search. As I told you, I saw him jotting something down on a piece of paper afterwards. If he is the right man he probably still has the paper on him.’

‘How do you know he was taking notes of his conversation with you?’ Ogilvie was annoyed and I think he was inclining to take my side.

‘I don’t. That’s why I suggest a search. That would satisfy me.’

Ogilvie glanced at the C.O. Winton gave an almost imperceptible nod. ‘All right.’ Ogilvie turned to me. ‘Do you object to a search?’ ‘

‘No, sir,’ I said. ‘But I strongly object to being suspected on such flimsy grounds.’

‘I understand. The whole thing is most distasteful to me.’ He turned to Langdon. ‘Will you go through Hanson’s kit, Sergeant? All papers to be examined thoroughly and take care that you leave no hiding-place unsearched. Now Hanson, come with me into the sergeant’s room and we’ll go through everything you have on you.’

It was a most degrading business. Ogilvie left nothing to chance. I understood his thoroughness. He was determined to prove definitely to his own satisfaction that I was all right.

When it was all over and they had found nothing incriminating, he merely said, That’s all, Sergeant Langdon,’ and marched out of the hut. He was furious at the ignominious position in which he had been placed. I had some satisfaction out of the episode, for I surprised a look of something like frustration in the eyes of the little workman.

I felt excited now that the ordeal was over. It had achieved something. I now knew two of Vayle’s satellites. There was the workman who had planted the diagram in my Army pay-book that morning. And there was this little man with his fresh round face and watery blue eyes that had a quick darting alertness.

As soon as the door closed behind him I became conscious of the unnatural silence in the room. I knew that everyone was just dying to discuss what had happened and that my presence embarrassed them. Rather than face the barrage of speculation and comment at my expense, I went outside. As I closed the door I heard Micky say, ‘Bloody sauce, coming in like that and holding an identification parade!’

I lit a pipe and went over to the pit to talk to the air sentry, a little Welshman called Thomas who was old enough to have been through two years of the last war. He asked me what Ogilvie had wanted. I told him what had happened. He thought it over for a moment. Then he said, ‘These civilians, they get panicky. They get so as they think everyone but themselves is a spy. Indeed and I remember a case in ‘eighteen. The poor devil was shot for something that he never did at all. And all because of a civilian who laid a charge before he had paused to consider.’ And he launched into a long story about a soldier who had been shot at Arras just before the big offensive.

It was very hot out there in the glare of the sun. I took my battle-dress top off and lay down on the top of the parapet. Thomas chattered on. He was a great talker. I closed my eyes. The light on my eyeballs was red as it shone through my closed lids. I felt a sense of satisfaction. Things were moving, though as yet I had taken no positive action. It seemed to augur well. And yet at the back of my mind I felt uneasy. I had so narrowly escaped an extremely awkward situation. It was only chance that I was not now under arrest pending a court-martial. The next time I might not be so lucky. And that there would be a next time I was quite certain. They had shown their hand too openly to me not to make sure that during the next few critical days I should be out of the way.

But uneasy though I was, it did not prevent me from falling fast asleep on top of the sandbags. Mental strain, in addition to the nervous and physical strain from which everyone was suffering, had made me incredibly tired.

I slept for nearly three-quarters of an hour. Yet when I went back into the hut some of them were still talking about what had happened.

‘Just because a bloke’s picked out in an identification parade, it don’t mean he’s a Nazi,’ Micky was saying. ‘Anyway,’ he added pointedly, ‘he ain’t going to ‘is grandmuvver’s funeral tomorrow.’

There was an awkward silence as I came, in. Instinctively I knew that it was Chetwood who had caused Micky’s quixotic outburst. But strange to say, I did not feel afraid of their hostility for the moment. I felt confident and at ease. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I hope you boys have made up your minds whether I’m a Nazi agent or not.’

I had caught them on the raw. Chetwood, Helson, Fuller and Bombardier Hood all seemed trying to appear unconcerned. But at the same time they were watchful. And I knew that Chetwood and Hood, at any rate, were suspicious. I should have to be careful. From now on everything I said and everything I did would be marked. I lay down on my bed, pulled a blanket over me and pretended to sleep.

The afternoon seemed to pass slowly, unaccustomed as we were to such a long period free of alarms. Some slept, others played chess or cards. The hut was quiet save for stampings and hammerings on the roof. Micky, with the aid of Fuller, was endeavouring to camouflage the hut with branches of hazel cut from the woods at the foot of the slope. I understood his frame of mind, and only wished that I could have found something to do that would have kept me occupied. In a way, I was as scared as he was, though, strangely enough, it wasn’t the prospect of being bombed that scared me. That was something tangible. I am a great believer in fate. If a bomb is going to get you, then it’s going to get you, and there’s damn-all you can do about it. It might just as well be the wheels of a bus in peace-time. But I was deliberately walking into danger. There was a difference.

The second Take Post of the day came at about five, just as tea had arrived. It did not develop and all that came of it was that the baked beans on toast were cold. Micky had practically finished the hut by the evening, so that it looked like Malcolm’s army before Dunsinane.

I spent the evening trying to read, of all things, Liddell-Hart’s Foch. I was in a deck-chair out in the open patch of grass between the hut and one of the newly constructed pill-boxes. It was quiet and still — a beautiful summer evening that made one think of the river. The peace of it was incredible. The sun sank slowly in a golden glow. An Anson and an old Harrow, cumbersome yet very light off the ground, came in and took off after a short stay. That was the only activity. There might have been no war on. God! how I wished there weren’t! I was too conscious of how changed the scene might be in the short space of twenty-four hours. And all the time I was progressing slowly through Liddell-Hart’s account of the follies of the last war, epitomised in the slaughter of Passchendaele.

I was sitting facing the roadway and shortly after seven-thirty my eyes strayed more and more from my book. Despite an assumption of calm, there was an unpleasant fluttering in my stomach. I found myself hoping that Marion would not come.

But she did, and my heart sank. I saw her when she was down near the hangars. Even at that distance I could see the fair straight hair beneath her cap catching the slanting sunlight. I watched to see whether she would turn in at Ops. But no, she came straight on, strolling leisurely towards the pit. When she was about fifty yards away I rose to my feet and went into the hut, to show her that I had seen her. I got my pipe, and by the time I came out again she had turned and was walking back towards Ops.

Well, the die was cast. I couldn’t turn back. I felt much easier now that everything was settled. I sat and read on until the light began to fail, shortly after nine. When I went into the hut I found it empty. The detachment on Stand-to were already in the pit. The others had all drifted off to the Naafi. I had a momentary sense of lostness. But it did not last, for I had too much on hand.

I made my bed and collected my washing things. Langdon was on Stand-to that night, having changed with Bombardier Hood because there was a party at the sergeants’ mess the following night. He raised no objection to my request for a bath. It was the only excuse I had for leaving the gun site at that time. The showers were in the big permanent blocks to the west of the hangars.

I made straight for the educational block. There was no moon yet and it was beginning to get really dark with clouds coming up from the west. It looked like rain.

The trouble was that I had not studied my terrain. I had found out roughly how to reach Vayle’s rooms. But I naturally presumed that if he was out he would have locked the door. Some alternative method or entry had to be found. At the most I had about forty minutes in which to carry out the whole scheme. A bath couldn’t possibly take longer and I did not want to upset Langdon. I decided to risk everything on a roof climb.

But first I had to make certain that Vayle hadn’t changed his plans and stayed in. I went straight into the educational block and up the stairs. The ground floor was composed of two big lecture rooms, one with desks and the other full of a litter of band instruments and sports kit. Upstairs were two large recreation rooms with a billiard table and table tennis. These rooms, like the two downstairs, were separated by sliding partitions. At the far end was the library, which was very well supplied with technical books. It was above the library that Vayle’s rooms were situated.

I tossed my washing things on to a chair in the farther recreation room, and then, making certain that the players were all engrossed in their snooker game, I crossed the passage and climbed the short flight of stairs that led to Vayle’s green-painted front door.

I rang the bell. It sounded faintly in the rooms beyond. Then I turned the handle of the door. As I had expected, it was locked. Worse still, it was a Yale lock. I had two Yale keys amongst my collection. I tried them, but they would not even fit into the keyway. To break in was out of the question. The door looked solid and any noise would bring the snooker players out. The roof was the only chance.

I went back down the stairs and out into the fast-gathering dark. A quick glance at the front of the building, still dimly visible, told me that there was no way up there. Anyway, I should have been seen. I went round to the back, through a narrow alleyway between the Educational and the bulk of Station Headquarters. It was quieter here and there was a screen of faded laurel bushes.

I gazed up at the side of the building. There was a drainpipe. But I was in no doubt about my ability to climb drainpipes. The Educational was not a tall building, compared with the big blocks of the living-quarters and Station Headquarters which surrounded it. Moreover, it had a sloping roof and gables. It had, I think, at one time been a house. The aerodrome had grown up round it, and it had been added to as the needs of education and recreation increased. It was in the older, gabled part that Vayle’s rooms were.

I had hoped to find a skylight. But as far as I could see there was none. My eyes drifted over the windows. They were casement type, and one was slightly open. It looked like a bathroom window, for it was smaller than the rest and appeared to be of frosted glass. Below it were pipes. And below them and a little to the right was what originally, I suppose, had been the kitchens, but they had been converted into a cloakroom.

It seemed the only chance. I was wearing canvas shoes. I might just be able to make it. I slipped through the archway of the laurel hedge and climbed on to the sill of the outhouse window. A press-up on the guttering, which fortunately held, and I had made the roof. From now on I was above the shelter of the hedge and risked being seen. I pressed forward as quickly as possible.

The roof was steep, but I made the ridge of it with an effort. By standing upright on it against the wall of the main building, the bathroom pipes were about level with my chin and the sill of the window I was making for was only just out of reach.

I glanced round. I could now see beyond the laurel hedge and the grass space behind it to the barrack blocks. A door opened and two figures emerged. I waited until they were out of sight round the angle of Station Headquarters. There was now no-one in sight that I could see. I turned back to the wall and measured the distance to the sill above my head. My muscles felt weak yet tensed. If I failed to grip it or if I had not the strength to pull myself up, I had only the sharp edge of the roof to land back on.

I hesitated. Twice I nerved myself for the spring, and twice my nerve failed me at the last moment. And then suddenly I had jumped, pressing up with my right hand to the wastepipe. My fingers grazed the edge of the sill and closed on it. I hung for a second, my muscles slack, taking the weight of my body on my left hand. Then with a wriggle I forced myself upwards, exerting all the energy of both arms and scrabbling against the brickwork with my feet.

I thought I should never make it. But a final effort and my knee was on the wastepipe beside my right hand. After that it was easy. I got both hands on the sill and pressed up until I was standing on the wastepipe. I pulled the window wide open and wriggled through. Before closing it again I looked out towards the barrack blocks. One man was just going in the door. But he showed no signs of having just witnessed anything unusual. Otherwise, there was not a soul in sight.

So far so good. I closed the window and lit a match, shielding the flame with my hand. It was a bathroom and lavatory combined. I opened the door and found myself in a narrow passage. The last flicker of my match showed me the front door at the other end — only this time I was looking at the inside of it. I went on tiptoe down the passage. There were two doors leading off to the right. I opened the first slightly. There was no sound and it was very dark, for the blackout curtains were drawn. I switched on the light. It was a bedroom. There was no-one there. It was a cold, bare-looking room with cream-distempered walls and an over-modern gas fire. The other room, which also proved to be empty, was more cheerful. There was a heavily banked-up fire in the grate — a clear indication that Vayle had gone out for the evening. The walls were covered with a pleasant biscuit-coloured paper which gave an illusion of sunlight, the curtains were a dark green, and there were one or two tasteful little water-colours on the walls. To the right of the fireplace was a bookcase, to the left a radiogram. But what interested me most was the big, old-fashioned roll-top desk under the window.

I decided to start on this, as the most likely repository for the clue for which I was seeking. My luck seemed definitely in — the desk was open. I pushed back the roll-top to find myself confronted by an untidy litter of papers, books, note-books and pocket-worn letters. I glanced at my watch. It was twenty to ten. I had thirty-five minutes in which to carry out my search and get back to the site. It didn’t seem long when I had no idea what it was that I was looking for. I began methodically to go through the litter. But as I proceeded I discarded caution in favour of speed. What did it matter if he found out that someone had searched his rooms. In fact, it might help. It might scare him into the open. In any case, it was quite clear that he had already decided to get me out of the camp one way or the other.

It took the better part of quarter of an hour to go through that desk with all its drawers and pigeon-holes. In the end I reached such a frantic state that I was just throwing the stuff on to the floor as soon as I had glanced at it. There were books on tactics and military history, books on dynamics and ballistics and higher mathematics, mixed up with red paper-covered books filled with notes in a clear, rather ornamental hand. There were bills, masses of them, demand notes, letters from friends. These last I paid particular attention to. But they seemed harmless enough. In fact, when I had been through the contents of the desk and emptied the last drawer on the carpet, I knew nothing more about Vayle’s activities than I had done before, except that he was a reluctant payer of bills, a first-class mathematician, something of an expert on military history and tactics, and a man who had a large circle of friends.

I turned in disgust from the desk and gazed anxiously round the room, softly lit by the standard lamp in the corner next to the radiogram. I was feeling nervous. Time was passing. The regular and inevitable tick of the clock on the mantelpiece filled the tiny room I had to find something. I had to. I felt desperate. My skin pricked with sweat. This was the only positive action I could take. If I found nothing, I should never be able to convince the authorities of the danger of the position. And if I couldn’t convince them of that, then -

My eyes searched the room and came to rest on a little tallboy standing behind the door. More drawers to search. I flung myself into the task of searching them. More papers, books full of notes, receipts, some pages of the MS. of a book on military tactics with innumerable illustrations of imaginary battles to amplify the arguments, a jumble of cigarettes, cards, old pipes, and the other odds and ends that inevitably sprinkle the drawers in a bachelor’s rooms.

At length I stood up. The floor about me was littered with papers and books, tossed on to it in my frenzy to do the impossible and examine everything in a few minutes. I gazed around, hot and frustrated. Where else might I find anything? The bookcase! One by one I pulled the books out and tossed them on to the floor, after first holding them up by their covers so that anything slipped between their pages would fall out. By this method I gleaned a few letters and odd pieces of paper with notes on them or the solution of mathematical problems.

When the bookcase was empty I straightened my aching back. Nothing! What about the bedroom? Perhaps the suits in the wardrobe would yield something. It was a forlorn hope. I had started across the room when I suddenly saw the wallet. It was lying on the mantelpiece, perfectly obvious, even at a casual glance. It seemed incredible that I could have spent nearly twenty minutes in that room and not have noticed it. I pounced on it eagerly. Two pound notes, stamps, several visiting-cards and a photograph. Idly I glanced at the last. It was faded and torn at the edges through constant friction against the leather of the wallet. It showed a short, well-built man with a long head, full lips and rather prominent nose. It was an intelligent face, the prominent jaw and alert-seeming eyes suggesting a powerful personality. It was not a face that was easy to forget. I felt a slight tremor inside me. This was Vayle. On his arm was a dark, vivacious-looking girl, her features and figure tending to plumpness. She seemed vaguely familiar. I turned the snap over. A faded rubber stamp on the back showed unmistakable German lettering. I made out the word ‘Berlin’.

I was just on the point of returning it to the wallet when something in my brain clicked. Quickly I turned it over and gazed once more at the photograph itself. And then I knew I was right. The girl was Elaine. She was a little thinner now, a little less round in the face. It was a younger, more naturally carefree Elaine — or else it was very like her. I turned it over again and looked at the stamp. The letters ‘1934’ were just visible above the Berlin. In 1934 Vayle was in Berlin with Elaine. It was an important link.

And at that moment I heard the jingle of a key in the front door. I looked wildly round. There was no possible place to hide. The door opened and shut and footsteps sounded in the passage whilst I stood there petrified. Then in frantic haste I slipped the photo into my trouser pocket. The next moment the door had opened and Vayle stood there gazing at me and at the wreckage of his sitting-room.

I must have looked a fool, standing there with my mouth agape in the midst of that litter. A sudden cloud of anger showed in his face, flushing his cheeks. But his eyes, grey eyes that matched his iron-grey hair, remained detached and alert. The storm of anger passed. He came forward into the room. ‘It appears I have a visitor,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you would introduce yourself.’ He went over to the mantelpiece and took a cigarette from a glass cigarette box. He lit it with a lighter.

My confusion subsided. But my fear mounted. His manner was so easy and pleasant, and his eyes, that watched me all the time, were so hard. I knew I was not equal to dealing with a man of this calibre. ‘I think you have heard of me,’ I said. ‘My name is Hanson.’ I tried desperately to match his ease of manner but I was conscious of the tremor in my voice as I spoke.

‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘I remember now. A gunner.’ But there was no flicker of interest or recognition in his eyes. They remained unchanged — cold and watchful. Instinctively I felt that he had known who I was the moment he had opened the door. He drew slowly at his cigarette. He said nothing, but he watched me closely. I couldn’t help it — I lowered my eyes before his gaze. And as soon as I had done so I shifted my feet and did not know where to look or what to do with my hands. I felt such a fool caught there in the act of burgling his flat. I was worried, too, about what action he was going to take. Here was his chance to get me away from the ‘drome. My only hope was that he would consider this too great a risk. If he had me arrested it would mean a court-martial. And at a court-martial I would be able to press home my reasons for entering his flat. They would have no grounds for disbelieving me, since I could show that I was not short of money, and my editor would back me. And there was that business of framing me with the diagram and arranging for me to be searched. That could be used too. Pity I had burned the diagram. But Vayle didn’t know that.

I plucked up courage at the realisation that the position was not entirely to my disadvantage. Moreover, it seemed to offer the last final proof — for there was still a little bug of doubt lurking in the far corner of my mind. If Vayle had me arrested, that doubt would be very gravely strengthened. But if he didn’t, I should know for certain. It would mean that he dared not take the risk.

I looked at him. He was still watching me, leaning on his elbow against the mantelpiece. ‘Well?’ I said.

‘Well?’ he countered. And then added: ‘Suppose you explain what this is all about?’ A slight movement of the eyes indicated the litter of books and papers that covered the floor.

I said: ‘I think you know the explanation.’

He appeared to hesitate. Then he nodded slowly. ‘Yes, perhaps I do. I heard about the telegram you tried to send to your newspaper. I wanted to talk it over with you there and then. But Wing-Commander Winton wouldn’t hear of it. He said the matter must be left to your own officer. I see I should have insisted. It would have saved this — ‘ he paused to choose his word — ‘this sacking of my rooms.’

‘You didn’t by any chance ask for me to be transferred immediately to another unit?’ I suggested,

‘No,’ he said, and he sounded sincere. He indicated one of the big easy-chairs by the fire. ‘Sit down and we’ll talk this thing over.’ His voice was quiet, yet there was a firmness about it. It was a voice to be obeyed.

But I stood my ground. ‘I prefer to stand,’ I said. I was desperately in need of all the confidence I could muster, and I knew how small it would make me feel to sit here with his standing and talking down to me.

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘As you please,’ he said. ‘First, perhaps, it would be as well for me to mention that it is in my power to have you arrested with very unpleasant results to yourself.’

‘I don’t think you will do that,’ I said. ‘You have too much at stake to take a risk of that sort.’

‘Oh!’ His thick eyebrows went up. For a second I sensed that I had him at a disadvantage. He wasn’t sure of something. ‘That brings us to the point I want to discuss with you. Perhaps you would explain just why you suspect me of being a Nazi agent?’

‘How did you know I suspected you of being a Nazi agent?’ The question came pat from my lips almost before I knew I had spoken. ‘In my wire I only asked for information about you.’

‘My dear boy, the C.O. told me all about the whole wretched business.’ His voice sounded patient.

‘Then you know why I suspect you.’

‘I know what you told Wing-Commander Winton. I want you to tell me, so that we can discuss the points at issue. It seems to me,’ he added, ‘that it is much better to thrash this matter out. Having met you and knowing something of your background, I am not fool enough to doubt the integrity of your actions. It wouldn’t give me any satisfaction to have you arrested, knowing the reason you have broken into my rooms.’ He sank down into the armchair behind him and waved me to the one on the other side of the hearth. ‘Now,’ he said, as I sat down, ‘What exactly is the trouble?’

I hesitated. I couldn’t very well sit there dumb and say, ‘I won’t tell you.’ It would be too childish. Besides, the man had a right to know why I suspected him and I couldn’t see that it would do him any harm. So I told him about the way in which the Jerry pilot had dried up and about the plan to immobilise the fighter ‘dromes of which he had spoken. ‘If there is a plan,’ I said, ‘and it’s my belief the fellow spoke the truth, it could only succeed with inside help. That help would presumably have been planted some time back, and would have achieved a sufficiently strong position to be a decisive factor.’ I stopped. There seemed nothing more to say.

‘And you think I am at Thorby for that purpose?’ he said.

I nodded, uncomfortably aware of the persistence of his gaze.

He heaved himself up a little in his chair and threw his cigarette end into the fire. ‘The point for me to make is that you are suspecting me on what appear to be the most trivial grounds. I won’t press that point, however, because obviously you believe those grounds to be sufficient. No doubt your suspicions are supported in your own view by the fact that — and I presume you know this — I spent many years in Germany teaching at the Berlin University and that I came to this country in 1934.’

He paused, and since he seemed to expect it of me, I nodded.

‘I think the best thing for me to do is to give you a short resume of my life and leave you to think it over. Perhaps you don’t believe it at the moment, but we’re both aiming at the same thing. I, with my knowledge of tactics, am trying to help the staff here to carry out their duties in defending this country whilst at the same time doing what I can to help the men in their studies. My object is the same as yours in standing to your gun. And because we’re both working to one end, I’d prefer to settle this matter amicably. But, understand this,’ he added, ‘I think my work here, which is partly in the nature of research, is important. And I don’t intend to have it nullified because of the sudden panic-prejudice against anyone with any connections with Germany. If I had you arrested now, I don’t doubt you would press your accusations. You would probably be severely dealt with, but at the same time the authorities might consider it advisable at the present time to relieve me of my duties. I am too interested in my work not to fight like hell to prevent any risk of that happening.’ His gaze was fixed intently on me. Faintly in the quiet of the room I heard the sirens go. He took no notice. ‘As a newspaper man, I am presuming that you are intelligent,’ he said. ‘I hope you understand my position. Now for the background. I was born in this country. My father was a naturalised German, my mother was half Irish, half Scotch. I was educated at Repton and Cambridge, and when I left the university my father, who was a business man of many interests connected with the foreign fruit trade, sent me abroad to learn the business from his various branches. Oh, I should say that in the last war he continued his business. I was still at school then. I just missed it, though I tried to volunteer. In 1927 I settled in Germany. I had found I wasn’t interested in business as such, and when a job at the Berlin University came my way I took it. I remained there over the difficult period of the slump and the Nazi landslide. I stuck it for a time, but when the pogroms started, I decided it was time to get out.’ He shifted in his chair and lit another cigarette. As an afterthought, it seemed, he said, ‘Perhaps I should mention that my father was a Jew. Originally the name was Veilstein. But when he became naturalised he changed it to Vayle.’ He blew a cloud of spoke ceiling-wards. ‘Now, is there anything you would like to ask me? I think you’ll find little difficulty in checking-up on what I’ve just told you when you have the opportunity.’

‘There’s just one point,’ I said. ‘Did you know a girl called Elaine when you were in Berlin?’

He seemed a little surprised at my question. Then suddenly his brow cleared. ‘Ah, Elaine Stuart, you mean? She is a Waaf.’ I saw his eyes, in a quick glance, had taken in the wallet lying on the mantelpiece. ‘No doubt you saw a photograph of the two of us in that wallet. She was a student in Berlin in 1934. A lovely girl. I was very fond of her. Now she is here, and we were able to see something of each other again. It is one of those coincidences — ‘ He spread his hands in a gesture that was essentially foreign.

Then suddenly a look of concern showed on his face. ‘You haven’t taken that photograph, have you?’

I felt a guilty flush creep into my cheeks. I wanted to say ‘No.’ I wanted to keep that photograph, just in case. But instead I found myself saying, ‘I’m afraid I did. It looked as though it might be important at the time. I’m so sorry.’ And I handed it back to him.

‘Thank you very much.’ His politeness seemed so unnecessary when it was his own property. ‘Is there anything else you want to know?’ he asked.

At the moment my mind was a blank. I could think of nothing.

He rose to his feet. ‘Then perhaps you would think this matter over very carefully before doing anything further. And if you do think of any points after you’ve left here, do come and talk them over before you jump to conclusions — especially if it is likely to involve searching my rooms again in an attempt to find something that will help you.’ He smiled a little ruefully and for the moment he seemed very human. ‘I was hoping to get some work done before going to bed, but now I must clear up after you.’

I had risen to my feet also, and he led me out to the front door. ‘I think you will find this an easier way out,’ he said and, smiling, held out his hand.

I shook it, and the next second I found myself on the narrow stairs leading to the recreation rooms. And above me was the little green-painted front door, shut as I had seen it before. I went down and retrieved my washing things from the chair on which I had left them, and went out. It was very dark now, though searchlights illumined the sky to the southeast, and it was as though the whole fantastic escapade had never been. It seemed so unreal there in the reality of the dimly seen, familiar shapes of the aerodrome.

I looked at the luminous dial of my watch. I was surprised to find it was only just ten. So much seemed to have been crammed into that one hour. I broke into a run. Our detachment was due to take over at ten. I reached the gun-pit just in time. I expected to be questioned as to why I had been so long having a bath. But no-one seemed to realise I had been longer than usual. They were all busy discussing the news in orders that we were now officially allowed to fire up to 20,000 feet, a thing we had constantly been doing ever since the Blitz started.