‘Could you introduce him to me?’ I asked.
‘Why, of course, dear boy. Any time you like.’
‘Now?’
‘Now?’ Again that quick look. For a second questions were on the tip of his tongue. But all he said was, ‘Right-o. I want to go down to the square to wash. I’ll take you in on the way.’
I thanked him. ‘I’d be very glad if you didn’t mention this to any of the others,’ I said. ‘I’ll explain some time.’
‘All right,’ he said. ‘But if you’re free-lancing, be careful. Though God knows I shouldn’t have thought there was a story in poor little Vayle.’
‘Why “poor little Vayle”?’ I asked.
‘Oh, I don’t know. He’s rather precious, don’t you think? Oh, I don’t suppose you’ve met him. He once told me that what he really wanted to be was an actor.’ We went into the hut and he got his washing things out of his suitcase. As we set off past the dispersal point, he said: ‘I’ve often wondered why he became librarian at a place like this. He’s been here nearly four years, you know.
And he’s a clever man. I should think he would have done well in your own profession.’
Four years! That made it 1936. ‘Do you know what he did before he came here?’ I asked.
‘No, I don’t know, old boy. He didn’t come from another station, I’m certain of that. I should think he’d been a schoolmaster. He was very interesting when he was holding those trig, classes. Occasionally, when we had finished the routine work, he would talk about aerial tactics. I believe he’s writing a book about it. Perhaps that’s why you’re interested in him? I should think he’s travelled pretty extensively. At any rate, he’s studied internal continental politics. He told us a lot that I didn’t know about the Nazi rise to power and the behind-the-scenes activities in French politics. He didn’t exactly prophesy the collapse of France, but after what he had told us of the internal situation I wasn’t surprised when it happened.’
This was interesting. Vayle, with his pale face and grey hair, was beginning to take shape in my mind. Everything depended on what he had been before he came to Thorby — or, rather, where he had been.
Kan could tell me nothing more about him that was helpful. The impression I got from him, however, was that Vayle was no ordinary station librarian. He appeared to have a very wide knowledge of European affairs. And why, if he was such a brilliant student of contemporary affairs, had he been content to remain for four years at the station?
The library shared a block with the Y.M.C.A. just behind Station H.Q. It was, in reality, an educational centre. Kan took me in and introduced me to Davidson, a thin wisp of a man with reddish hair and freckles. I told him I had come to see what the chances were of another trigonometry course. But when Kan had left, I led the conversation round to Vayle. Davidson, however, could tell me little more than I had already learnt from Kan. Though he had been working with Vayle for more than eighteen months, he did not know where he had been before he became librarian at Thorby.
He admired Vayle greatly. He thought him a brilliant man. ‘His talents are wasted here,’ he said, his rather watery eyes fixed on my face. So it came back to the same thing — why had Vayle been content to stay at Thorby?
Then he began talking about the night’s action. ‘Mr Vayle told me all about it this morning,’ he said. ‘He talked to both the prisoners, you know.’ He was full of information. The younger one was only a boy — just turned seventeen. But the other was over thirty, with masses of decorations, including the Iron Cross, first and second class. It must be interesting to be in a position like Vayle now that there’s a war on,’ he added reflectively. ‘Being a civilian he’s not subject to the restraint of rank. He’s very highly thought of by the C.O. I think he often consults him about things. He knows everything that goes on here, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t have a say in the strategy we adopt. What he doesn’t know about aerial tactics isn’t worth knowing.’
‘Did he actually talk to the prisoners?’ I asked.
‘Oh, yes. He’s a great linguist. I think he knows five different languages. He’d be able to talk to them in German. And I bet he got more out of them than the Intelligence Officer.’
‘Did he tell you what they said?’
‘Oh, he said the older man was very truculent — a proper hard-boiled Nazi, I gather. The boy was still in a terrible state of fright.’
‘When did he see them?’ I asked.
‘As soon as they were brought in, I think. He said he and the C.O. were with them when the M.O. was dressing their wounds.’
This was incredible. Yet because it was incredible, I felt it must be true. The whole position was once again as clear as it had seemed when I had been talking to Ogilvie. One thing had been puzzling me. That was whether a man of the type I had judged the pilot to be was sufficiently astute to divert the Intelligence Officer’s attention from the plan for the projected raid. If Vayle were a secret agent, that was explained. He had told the airman what line to take. True, the C.O. and the M.O. had been present, but the probability was that neither of them understood German.
I left Davidson in a very thoughtful mood. A horrible feeling of responsibility was growing on me. I knew only too well how a journalist’s enthusiasm for sensation can run away with his discretion. Yet I felt there was something here that I could neither forget nor ignore. But I knew I must tread warily. If I went to the authorities, I should only get into trouble without achieving anything. Vayle was in a very strong position in the station. My suspicions, based solely on conjecture, would be laughed at. And it would be little consolation, when the place was in German hands, to be able to say, ‘I told you so.’
There was only one thing to do. I must find out Vayle’s background prior to 1936.
The square was hot and dusty in the glare of the sun. It was past twelve and the Naafi tent was open. I felt in need of a beer. It was stiflingly hot in the marquee, although there were few people there. I took my beer to a table near an open flap. The liquid was warm and gassy. I lit a cigarette.
Suppose I ‘phoned Bill Trent? He was the Globe’s crime reporter. Bill would know how to get hold of the information I wanted. But it would be folly to ‘phone from a call box in the camp. They went through an R.A.F. switchboard. I couldn’t be sure that the operator would not be listening in. I had no idea how strict the censorship was in the station. The nearest call box outside the camp was in Thorby village. To go down there would be breaking camp. This was too dangerous.
I suddenly remembered that we were on again at one. I ought to get my lunch. I was not very enthusiastic. One of the things I disliked about Thorby more than anything else was its messing arrangements. I suppose the airmen’s mess had originally been built to seat about four or five hundred. It now had to accommodate about two thousand.
It would be hot and smelly. The tables would be messy and there would be the inevitable queue. And there would be beans. There had been no other vegetable for weeks.
I had just finished my beer and was getting up to go when Marion Sheldon came in. She looked fresh and cool despite the heat of the day. She saw me and smiled. Before I knew what I was doing I had ordered beer and we were sitting down at my table together. Then suddenly I realised that here was the solution to my difficulties. The Waafs were billeted out and were allowed considerable freedom. Moreover, I felt she was the one person in the camp I could really trust.
‘Look, will you do something for me?’ I asked.
‘Of course. What is it?’
‘I want to get a message though to Bill Trent. It’s rather private and I don’t want to ‘phone from the ‘drome. I wondered if you’d put a call through, to him from the village. I can’t do it myself. We’re tied to the camp.’
‘I would with pleasure. But I don’t think it’s much use. Several girls have tried to get through to London this morning. But they’re only accepting priority calls. I think the lines must have been put out of action by that raid on Mitchet yesterday.’