Black August

'You can't!' stormed Veronica, 'you can't.'

'My dear I'm sorry, terribly so if he's been decent to you, but you must realise that plain murder is nothing to what he has done.'

'But you don't really mean to shoot him, do you?' Kenyon asked in a shocked voice.

'Not personally.' Hay Symple beckoned to some of his men. 'But my orders are to take him back to London for court martial, and there's no doubt about the verdict or the penalty. He will undoubtedly be shot.'

As Hay Symple's soldiers surrounded him Gregory began to laugh, quietly at first, then louder, until he rocked where he stood, shaken by gargantuan bursts of laughter.

'I see nothing humorous about it,' said the guardsman acidly.

'Don't you? I do.' Gregory sighed as he wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes. 'First I'm to be shot by mutineers because they thought I was an officer; then by Communists because they thought I was a King; and now despite the fact that I've regained this town for the Government, by you, because I've got myself up in your stupid fancy dress. If that's not funny…"

Hay Symple's face turned a darker shade of red. 'You will refrain please from insulting His Majesty's uniform.'

'Go to hell, you brainless idiot,' cried Gregory with a sudden burst of fury.

Veronica flung herself between them. 'Don't take any notice of him, Alistair,' she pleaded, 'he's overwrought; we've all been through the most appalling time.'

'Then make him keep his tongue between his teeth.'

Gregory shrugged. 'I didn't mean that personally; it's just that I loathe your type.'

"There, my dear,' Veronica begged, 'do try and forget that you're a professional soldier for a moment. We're all alive, Alistair, and that's what really matters. How can we get back to London?'

The guardsman gave her half a smile. 'I've no desire to quarrel with this chap, only to hand him over to the proper authorities. As for London I've got to take him there, so

1 can take you too, if you like; that is if you don't mind going in the lorry?'

'Of course not! And you'll take the others as well?'

'Yes, I don't mind.' He glanced round quickly and his eye fell on Rudd. 'Who's this man?'

'Batman to the General, sir,' said Mr. Rudd.

'Oh, you're the minor crook, are you? Well, I'm glad we've roped you in,' he swung round on Gregory. 'You see, it happens that, quite apart from this business at Colchester, I heard all about your first exploit from the Colonel whose men you trundled off with. He's a particular friend of mine, and he'll be better pleased to see you shot than to get another bar to his D.S.O.'

'Will he?' sneered Gregory, 'he's a fool then, he'll never live this story down, you know. “The Colonel whose troops were marched off by a civilian, in a hired suit from Clarksons!” I'd hush the whole thing up if I were you.'

'And let you off Scot free? No thank you. In due course you're going to get it in the neck, my friend, so you'd better make up your mind to it. Are the subalterns from Colchester still here or have you sent them off to the War Office with another fake message?'

The ex king of Shingle Street laughed. His furious anger at being caught had given way to his habitual philosophy. This earnest soldier was more a matter for amusement than abuse. 'You'll find them in the Town Hall,' he said cheerfully, 'a nice pink faced youth, and a tall spotty one; Spotty is the senior, but the cherub's got more brains!'

'Thanks.' Hay Symple nodded to the escort. 'Put these two men in the back of the lorry while I go across and see that things are all right. You others had better make yourselves as comfortable for the journey as possible.' He turned and thrust his way into the crowd.

When he returned they were all settled among the half dozen privates on the sacking in the back of the vehicle with the exception of Veronica; despite Silas's protest she had elected to take the only place that would be vacant on the driver's seat. Hay Symple climbed up beside her.

Slowly the lorry turned and edged through the seething mass of people. The whole population of the town seemed to have congregated in the square and principal streets; they were singing, cheering, and carrying soldiers, Greyshirts and policemen shoulder high as they swayed and rocked before the Town Hall. From the windows men were making speeches which had no chance of reaching their enthusiastic audiences, others were waving Union Jacks dragged forth for the occasion.

At last the lorry crawled into Fore Street, likewise crammed with people and, passing along it at a snail's pace, reached the less congested end where it was able to put on speed and take the London Road.

When they were clear of the town Alistair Hay Symple turned to Veronica. 'The Prince makes his official entry tonight.'

'What? Of London? How positively thrilling; shall we see anything of it?'

'We might. I have to report to Wellington Barracks and that's only a stone's throw from Buck House as you know.'

'My dear, how too marvellous. But listen, Alistair, you've just got to let Gregory Sallust go. Arrange it so that it looks like an escape if you like. I'll never speak to you again if you do hand him over to the authorities.'

'Sorry, Veronica,' his voice was kind and sympathetic. 'I can understand in a way that you think he's a bit of a tiger but that doesn't alter the fact that he has twice got hold of troops, who might have been needed very urgently elsewhere, under false pretences. It was absolutely criminal and he's got to take his medicine.'

Veronica stood up in front of the lorry which was now rattling along at a good pace. 'All right,' she said firmly, 'if you feel that way you're no friend of mine. I prefer to travel with the troops.'

'Steady, steady,' he urged, catching her by the arm and pulling her down; 'I'm only doing my duty and that's got to be done.'

'I don't care a hoot in hell for your filthy little duty, and I'm going to travel in the back of this pantechnicon. Now, pull it up and let me get out.'

'Veronica, darling, don't you see that I can't help myself.'

'Help? You!' Veronica gave a sudden angry laugh. 'You wouldn't raise a finger to save your own mother from drowning if your Colonel said you were to march half a dozen men to the baths I'

'Veronica

'Yes, I mean it. You're weak and narrow; hidebound by this fossilised code which orders you to kill a man whose boots you are not fit to lick!'

'Damn it, be fair I don't want to kill him; if he's in a mess it's his own rotten fault.'

'But you admit that they'll shoot him if you hand him over?'

'Yes, they've got ample powers under the National Emergency Act, and this is a case for shooting if ever there was one.'

'Then I beg of you, Alistair, to let him go.'

'I can't,' exclaimed the unfortunate soldier, goaded beyond endurance; 'and it's rotten of you to ask me! I couldn't do it even if you promised to marry me and you know it!'

Veronica gave an angry snort. 'I wouldn't marry you in a thousand years! what's more I'm married already.'

'Good God! do you really mean that?'

'Yes, I do, and I haven't sunk to sitting beside the common hangman yet, so pull up at once, d'you hear?'

With a sullen nod Hay Symple ordered the lorry driver to slow down, but when they came to a halt he climbed out himself; 'Stay there,' he flung at Veronica, 'I'll send the other female along to keep you company.'

'Thanks, but I'd rather have my husband, he's the largest man in the back!'

The driver cast a glance of mingled fear and admiration at this wrathful lady, then smothered a grin as Hay Symple climbed in behind and Silas took the vacant seat.