When Ann received the letter some nine hours later she was on the point of going to bed after a long and tiring day. Mr. Crumper lived at Teddington, and for some reason unexplained, although it was rumoured that there had been sabotage in one of the principal power stations of the line, the electric trains were only running at half service. He had taken the delay and discomfort of his morning journey out of Ann.
She read the letter through slowly, and then something impelled her to glance through the window.
'Nation shall fight against Nation Brother against Brother and the Strongest shall go down into the Pit.' The harsh words of the strange man in the train came back to her with renewed force, for there through the clear glass, low in the heavens and curiously misty, hung the slender curved sickle of the fateful August moon.
6
The Exodus from London
The following morning Kenyon received a summons to the headquarters of the United British Party, and there at twelve o'clock he interviewed certain prominent members of the House. Two Cabinet Ministers were among them.
They informed him of the Government's decision that the Mid Suffolk by election was to be called off at least for the time being. Kenyon naturally protested, as his recent tour of the constituency had convinced him of the certainty of his election; but they told him that the Government was determined to prevent meetings of any kind which might lead to riots and disturbances and an election without meetings was unthinkable.
Forced to accept their decision, Kenyon informed them that as he was now a free agent he would volunteer at once for the mounted branch of the Special Police, but they asked him to refrain. Owing to the enormous pressure of business his services would be much more valuable in some administrative capacity. So he agreed to hold himself at their disposal.
Other business was discussed by the Party Chiefs before he left the meeting, so he found himself in the privileged position of attending the deliberations of a little group of men who, if not the actual Cabinet, were perhaps the most political body after it. The information which he gathered was first hand and authoritative.
The King's death was baseless rumour. The banks would definitely reopen on Monday, and the Assignats which they proposed to issue would receive Government backing, thereby converting them into legal tender.
A serious split had occurred in the Cabinet over the question of Martial Law. A strong minority were for proclaiming it immediately throughout the Kingdom, but the Labour, Liberal and weaker Conservative elements were averse to placing such power in the hands of the military. They instanced the high handed action of the Scottish Commander and even suggested his recall. At that the Secretary of State for War had intimated grimly that if the old Tiger went, he would go too.
Glasgow had then been thrown on the television screen in the Cabinet Room, and except for the sentries and Special Police the principal streets were seen to be quiet and orderly. The Minister for War had pointed out that the General's action, together with a rigid enforcement of the curfew, had been solely responsible for the restoration of order; and urged a general proclamation of Martial Law in view of the desperate situation in South Wales.
Television had then been switched on to Cardiff, but the receiving screen remained blank, and it was evident that the transmitters there had been damaged, yet the Prime Minister would not give way and they had adjourned at eleven thirty without reaching any decision on the point.
The naval situation was also causing bitter controversy, and the Secretary for the Dominions had stigmatised the action of the First Sea Lord in recalling the disaffected ships to their home ports as a cowardly compromise calculated to do endless harm.' Nor was his truculence pacified by the specious reasoning’s of the lawyers and schoolmarms among his colleagues who assured him that the ships were under armed and that they feared a general mutiny in the Fleet.
The affair of Canvey Island made the Home Secretary irritable and nervy. The previous night he had ordered the Special Branch to round up three hundred and fifty of the leading Communists in London and intern them there, but the Reds had proved to be better organised than he knew. In the early morning the big convoy of police vans had been ambushed in the marshes when nearly at their destination. A horrible melee had ensued, and after a desperate fight against automatics, razors and sawn off shotguns, the police had only succeeded in getting about half their prisoners on to the island. The rest had got clean away, and the Home Secretary was acutely conscious that only his personal jealousy of the War Minister had prevented him applying for the proper escort of troops and armoured cars which would have prevented such a disaster.
The Prime Minister likewise had a special worry of his own, for, without consulting him, the Prince had paid a visit to the Air Ministry and arranged for the dispatch of about forty planes to unknown destinations. The Minister of Air refused all explanations and offered his resignation, but as he was one of the few really popular figures among the masses the Prime Minister felt that this was no time to accept it. His Royal Highness's action was in the highest degree unorthodox, and the Prime Minister resented it accordingly, but faced with the duty of reprimanding him he felt an exceedingly strong desire to postpone the interview.
His Royal Highness was proving difficult in other ways too, apparently. With tireless energy he motored or flew from place to place, and wherever he went they knew him to be in constant consultation with important people who represented every shade of feeling. The only potentates whom he resolutely refused to interview were the principal members of the Government. He declared that authority had not been delegated to him, and therefore he was not prepared to take the responsibility of lending his countenance to their decisions. On the other hand the Prime Minister, the Chancellor of the Exchequer and the Home Secretary knew that he was in constant touch with the Secretaries of War, Air and the Dominions. The situation rankled.
Another nebulous but potent figure outside the Cabinet hovered on the Prime Minister's horizon. Lord Llewellyn with his great private organisation of Greyshirts, formed it was said without political aims, but for the maintenance of law and order under established Government. The Prime Minister detested the autocratic Llewellyn, and had the gravest suspicions regarding his middle class volunteers though it was denied that they were in any way associated with the Fascists. However, Llewellyn having offered his legions as additional Special Police the Prime Minister had been compelled to accept them under pressure from his more belligerent colleagues, and official status was to be given to the Greyshirt army that evening.
The last and most disquieting piece of news which Kenyon learnt before he left the meeting was that the mutinous sailors from Portsmouth were now marching on London, not as a mob, but in well disciplined formation, determined to lay their grievances before the Government.
The information had come through just as the Cabinet were breaking up after a five hour session, and the Dominions Secretary had made the cynical but practical suggestion that the Prime Minister and First Lord should go to meet them.' 'Ave a word with 'em,' he had urged as he lit a fresh cigar. 'Talkin's your big line and the boys are only a bit excited, they don't mean no 'arm!'
The Prime Minister, however, preferred that troops should be ordered out from Aldershot to head the sailors off and there, for the moment, the situation rested.
As Kenyon drove back to Grosvenor Square he was struck by the strange, unusual aspect of the streets. It might have been Sunday or some queer little semi bank holiday.
Less than half the ordinary number of buses were running, and there was hardly a trade van to be seen. Many shops were closed, and in front of others little knots of assistants stood chatting on the pavement. Some people were hurrying to and fro with unusual energy, others occupied the street corners in small groups evidently swapping the latest rumours. There also seemed to be an unusually large proportion of a class alien to the West End in normal times. Gaunt, pale faced workers in threadbare clothes, slouching along in little batches. Blue coated police and Specials dotted about in couples every hundred yards or so.