He sounded urgent. I found I had my fork suspended half-way to my mouth. I put it down. ‘Oh, hell!’ I said. ‘What’s he want to see me about?’ But I knew already. And I felt like a cub reporter facing his first awkward interview with the editor.
‘I don’t know,’ said Mason. ‘But Wing-Commander Winton is with him. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’
I got to my feet. ‘Don’t be a fool — finish your supper first,’ said Kan. I hesitated. ‘I think you’d better come now,’ said Mason. ‘It seemed to be urgent and I’ve already been some time trying to find you.’
‘All right,’ I said. I put my cap on and followed him out of the canteen. I felt nervous. Something must have gone wrong over that wire. And if it had, I was in a proper mess. It was hardly likely that Ogilvie would understand my explanation. Thank God Vayle didn’t hold a King’s commission. His civilian status made a lot of difference.
Mason took me straight into the inner office. Wing-Commander Winton was seated in a chair beside Ogilvie’s desk. They looked up as I entered. I saluted. ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’ I was rigid at attention.
‘Did you give a Waaf named Sheldon a telegram to send for you today?’
So I was right. I nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Is that the telegram?’
He handed me an inland telegram form. The message I had scribbled on the back of an envelope in the Naafi that morning was written on it in a clear feminine hand. ‘Yes, sir, that is the telegram.’
‘It’s incredible, Gunner Hanson — quite incredible. You realise that by implication you are accusing Mr Vayle of something that you don’t dare to state? What are you accusing him of?’
‘I was not aware that I was accusing him of anything,’ I replied.
‘Then why do you write to your friend asking for full details about him? You must have had some reason for it.’
‘It was a purely private communication to a colleague on my newspaper, sir.’
‘Nothing is private once you are in the Army. You are fortunate at this station in that there is no censorship as such. But this telegram was so startling that the postmistress at Thorby thought it wise to ring up Station H.Q. to find out whether the Waaf in question had authority to send it.’ He paused and glanced across at the Wing-Commander. ‘Perhaps you would like to question the man, sir.’
The C.O. Thorby was a big heavy-jowled man with steady, alert eyes. He came straight to the point. ‘As Mr Ogilvie says, this telegram of yours accuses Mr Vayle by implication of something that you are evidently unwilling to put down on paper. You require from your friend details of Mr Vayle’s life prior to 1936. You say it may be of vital importance. Perhaps you would explain.’
I hesitated. Winton was easier to talk to than Ogilvie. Probably because he had had more experience of men. But I was uncertain what line to take. In the end I decided on frankness. ‘I sent that wire because my suspicions had been aroused, sir,’ I said. I then went on to explain how the German pilot had stopped talking the moment he saw Vayle, how I had learnt that Vayle had spoken to the pilot before he went before the Intelligence officer, and how I was doubtful whether the pilot would have taken the line he did without guidance. ‘I could find out nothing about him prior to 1936, sir,’ I finished. ‘So I decided to wire my colleague and see whether he could discover something of Mr Vayle’s background. I was bearing in mind the fact that a plan of the ground defences of the aerodrome had already found its way into enemy hands.
‘I see. In other words, you suspected Mr Vayle of being a Nazi agent?’
The C.O.‘s heavy brows were drawn downwards over his eyes and he spoke very quietly. I sensed a menace in his words. But I could do nothing to stave it off. I said, ‘Yes, sir.’
‘You realise that the proper course would have been to explain your suspicions to your commanding officer or alternatively to have asked him to arrange for you to see me? If you had done so I should have been able to tell you that Mr Vayle came to this station from a well-known public school, and that we have the most complete confidence in him. Instead, you start a little personal investigation without any authority to do so.’ He gave me a suddenly keen glance. ‘What were you before you joined up?’
‘Journalist, sir.’
He glanced at the address on the telegram. ‘The Globe?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And this man Trent — what is his position on the paper?’
‘Crime reporter, sir.’
‘I see. A sensation-seeking paper and a sensation-seeking man.’ I was conscious of a very unpleasant feeling of loneliness. ‘I regard this matter very seriously.’ His voice was cold, distant. ‘The reasons for your suspicions seem to me quite inadequate. Apart from that, however, your communication with your newshound friend might have had very unfortunate repercussions. Mr Vayle, though of British nationality, was for a number of years lecturer at a Berlin University. Being of Jewish extraction, he was forced to leave in 1934. As I have said, we think very highly of him at this station. Had your wire not been intercepted, I can well imagine what a stunt article your friend would have written.’
He got up abruptly. ‘I leave you to deal with this man, Mr Ogilvie. You know my wishes. I want no repetition of this at my station.’
Ogilvie got to his feet. ‘I’ll see that it does not occur again, sir.’
I hesitated.
But as the C.O. moved to the door, I said: ‘Excuse me, sir.’
He paused with his hand on the door. ‘What is it?’ he said, and his tone was not inviting.
‘In the first place,’ I said, Trent would never have used any information he obtained without my permission. Secondly, because I have joined the Army I have not forfeited my right as a citizen to take any steps I think proper in the interests of my country. My suspicions were flimsy. I knew that. It was out of the question at that stage to raise the matter with anyone in authority. I took the only course open to me to attempt to satisfy those suspicions one way or the other.’
The interests of your country would have been best served by your bringing your suspicions to me, not to a newspaper.’ He still spoke quietly, but there was a tremor of anger in his voice.
I suppose it was foolish of me to pursue the matter. But I said: ‘Had I done that, without first seeing whether there were any grounds for my suspicions, I could hardly expect the matter to be taken any more seriously than my views about the information of a plan for immobilising our fighter ‘dromes given me by the German pilot.’
‘The headquarters staff of the station is better able to judge the importance of information than you are. I think it would be wise if you forgot that you’d ever been a journalist and remembered only that you’re a gunner in the British Army.’ He turned to Ogilvie. ‘Whatever you decide, I look to you to see that this sort of thing does not occur again.’
‘Very good, sir.’ Ogilvie opened the door for him.
When he had left, Ogilvie went back to his desk and lit his pipe. ‘You haven’t made it any easier for me by taking the line you did, Hanson,’ he said. ‘Wing-Commander Winton expressed a desire that I should have you transferred to another troop or even another battery, so long as you did not remain at this camp any longer than necessary. However, I am not prepared to go as far as that.’ He took his pipe from his mouth. ‘You will be confined to your site for twenty-eight days, and you will only leave it to get your meals and to wash. All letters and other communications during that period will be delivered to this office for me to censor. I will instruct Sergeant Langdon accordingly. All right. Dismiss!’
Chapter Four
I think I was very near to tears as I came out of the office. The sense of frustration was strong in me. I felt lonely and dispirited. I was cut off from the outside world. I felt like a prisoner who wants to tell the world he didn’t do it, but can’t. Thorby was a prison and the barbed-wire bars had closed with a vengeance.