to ourselves, Mr Devlin,’ Schellenberg said. ‘I will drink to you and you will drink to me,’ and they went back inside.
Munro sat at his desk in the Haston Place flat and listened intently as Carter gave him the gist of his conversation with Vargas.
He nodded. ‘Two pieces of the jigsaw, Jack. Schellenberg’s interested in rescuing Steiner and where is Schellenberg right now? In Lisbon hobnobbing with Liam Devlin. Now, what conclusion does that lead you to?’
‘That he wants to recruit Devlin to the cause, sir.’
‘Of course. The perfect man.’ Munro nodded. ‘This could lead to interesting possibilities.’
‘Such as?’
Munro shook his head. ‘Just thinking out loud. Time to think of moving Steiner anyway. What would you suggest?’
‘There’s the London Cage in Kensington,’ Carter said.
‘Come off it, Jack. That’s only used for processing transients, isn’t it? Prisoners of war such as Luftwaffe aircrews.’
‘There’s Cockfosters, sir, but that’s just a cage, too, and the school opposite Wandsworth Prison. A number of German agents have been held there.’ Munro wasn’t impressed and Carter tried again. ‘Of course there’s Mytchett Place in Hampshire. They’ve turned that into a miniature fortress for Hess.’
‘Who lives there in splendour so solitary that in June nineteen forty-one he jumped from a balcony and tried to kill himself. No, that’s no good.’ Munro went to the window and looked out. The rain had turned to sleet now. ‘Time I spoke with friend Steiner, I think. We’ll try and make it tomorrow.’
‘Fine, sir. I’ll arrange it.’
Munro turned. ‘Devlin – there is a photo on file?’
‘Passport photo, sir. When he was in Norfolk he had to fill in an alien’s registration form. That’s a must for Irish citizens and it requires a passport photo. Special Branch ran it down. It’s not very good.’
‘They never are, those things.’ Munro suddenly smiled. ‘I’ve got it, Jack. Where to hold Steiner. That place in Wapping. St Mary’s Priory.’
‘The Little Sisters of Pity, sir? But that’s a hospice for terminal cases.’
‘They also look after chaps who’ve had breakdowns, don’t they? Gallant RAF pilots who’ve cracked up?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And you’re forgetting that Abwehr agent Baum in February. The one who got shot in the chest when Special Branch and MI5 tried to pick him up in Bays-water. They nursed him at the Priory and interrogated him there. I’ve seen the reports. MI5 don’t use it regularly, I know that for a fact. It would be perfect. Built in the seventeenth century. They used to be an enclosed order so the whole place is walled. Built like a fortress.’
‘I’ve never been, sir.’
‘I have. Strange sort of place. Protestant for years when Roman Catholics were proscribed, then some Victorian industrialist who was a religious crank turned it into a hostel for people off the street. It stood empty for years and then in nineteen ten some benefactor purchased it. The place was reconsecrated Roman Catholic and the Little Sisters of Pity were in business.’ He nodded, full of enthusiasm. ‘Yes, I think the Priory will do nicely.’
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