think he’s N?’
Grant shook his head.
‘No, I don’t. As I see it, N couldn’t afford to be a German.’
‘Not a refugee from Nazi persecution, even?’
‘Not even that. We watch, and they know we watch all the enemy aliens in this country. Moreover—this is in confidence, Beresford—very nearly all enemy aliens between 16 and 60 will be interned. Whether our adversaries are aware of that fact or not, they can at any rate anticipate that such a thing might happen. They would never risk the head of their organisation being interned. N therefore must be either a neutral—or else he is (apparently) an Englishman. The same, of course, applies to M. No, my meaning about von Deinim is this. He may be a link in the chain. N or M may not be at Sans Souci, it may be Carl von Deinim who is there and through him we may be led to our objective. That does seem to me highly possible. The more so as I cannot very well see that any of the other inmates of Sans Souci are likely to be the person we are seeking.’
‘You’ve had them more or less vetted, I suppose, sir?’
Grant sighed—a sharp, quick sigh of vexation.
‘No, that’s just what it’s impossible for me to do. I could have them looked up by the department easily enough—but I can’t risk it, Beresford. For, you see, the rot is in the department itself. One hint that I’ve got my eye on Sans Souci for any reason—and the organisation may be put wise. That’s where you come in, the outsider. That’s why you’ve got to work in the dark, without help from us. It’s our only chance—and I daren’t risk alarming them. There’s only one person I’ve been able to check up on.’
‘Who’s that, sir?’
‘Carl von Deinim himself. That’s easy enough. Routine. I can have him looked up—not from the Sans Souci angle, but from the enemy alien angle.’
Tommy asked curiously:
‘And the result?’
A curious smile came over the other’s face.
‘Master Carl is exactly what he says he is. His father was indiscreet, was arrested and died in a concentration camp. Carl’s elder brothers are in camps. His mother died in great distress of mind a year ago. He escaped to England a month before war broke out. Von Deinim has professed himself anxious to help this country. His work in a chemical research laboratory has been excellent and most helpful on the problem of immunising certain gases and in general decontamination experiments.’
Tommy said:
‘Then he’s all right?’
‘Not necessarily. Our German friends are notorious for their thoroughness. If von Deinim was sent as an agent to England, special care would be taken that his record should be consistent with his own account of himself. There are two possibilities. The whole von Deinim family may be parties to the arrangement—not improbable under the painstaking Nazi régime. Or else this is not really Carl von Deinim but a man playing the part of Carl von Deinim.’
Tommy said slowly: ‘I see.’ He added inconsequently:
‘He seems an awfully nice young fellow.’
Sighing, Grant said: ‘They are—they nearly always are. It’s an odd life this service of ours. We respect our adversaries and they respect us. You usually like your opposite number, you know—even when you’re doing your best to down him.’
There was silence as Tommy thought over the strange anomaly of war. Grant’s voice broke into his musings.
‘But there are those for whom we’ve neither respect nor liking—and those are the traitors within our own ranks—the men who are willing to betray their country and accept office and promotion from the foreigner who has conquered it.’
Tommy said with feeling:
‘My God, I’m with you, sir. That’s a skunk’s trick.’
‘And deserves a skunk’s end.’
Tommy said incredulously:
‘And there really are these—these swine?’
‘Everywhere. As I told you. In our service. In the fighting forces. On Parliamentary benches. High up in the Ministries. We’ve got to comb them out—we’ve got to! And we must do it quickly. It can’t be done from the bottom—the small fry, the people who speak in the parks, who sell their wretched little news-sheets, they don’t know who the big bugs are. It’s the big bugs we want, they’re the people who can do untold damage—and will do it unless we’re in time.’
Tommy said confidently:
‘We shall be in time, sir.’
Grant asked:
‘What makes you say that?’
Tommy said:
‘You’ve just said it—we’ve got to be!’
The man with the fishing line turned and looked full at his subordinate for a minute or two, taking in anew the quiet resolute line of the jaw. He had a new liking and appreciation of what he saw. He said quietly:
‘Good man.’
He went on:
‘What about the women in this place? Anything strike you as suspicious there?’
‘I think there’s something odd about the woman who runs it.’
‘Mrs Perenna?’
‘Yes. You don’t—know anything about her?’
Grant said slowly:
‘I might see what I could do about checking her antecedents, but as I told you, it’s risky.’
‘Yes, better not take any chances. She’s the only one who strikes me as suspicious in any way. There’s a young mother, a fussy spinster, the hypochondriac’s brainless wife, and a rather fearsome-looking old Irishwoman. All seem harmless enough on the face of it.’
‘That’s the lot, is it?’
‘No. There’s a Mrs Blenkensop—arrived three days ago.’
‘Well?’
Tommy said: ‘Mrs Blenkensop is my wife.’
‘What?’
In the surprise of the announcement Grant’s voice was raised. He spun round, sharp anger in his gaze. ‘I thought I told you, Beresford, not to breathe a word to your wife!’
‘Quite right, sir, and I didn’t. If you’ll just listen—’
Succinctly, Tommy narrated what had occurred. He did not dare look at the other. He carefully kept out of his voice the pride that he secretly felt.
There was a silence
