“Thank you,” was all Julie could say.
She found herself wanting to make a good impression, wanting to equal Mr Fawkes in poise. He was a facet of London that she had imagined admiringly in advance, and now found completely up to her ideal. For a moment she forgot why she was there... but only for a moment.
“I’m sorry about your brother, Miss Norcombe,” Fawkes said, sinking easily back into his chair. “I’m particularly sorry that the news had to be broken to you as it was, in the wee small hours of the morning. But that’s the way we have to operate sometimes.”
Julie glanced towards the secretary, who was now at her own desk on the other side of the room, absorbed in writing something down. Was she making a record of the conversation?
“It’s all right,” Julie said. “I just couldn’t believe it. Adrian is... He just isn’t...”
Fawkes looked coolly sympathetic.
“Appearances can be deceiving, as the cliché has it. In any case, we don’t want to rush to conclusions about your brother’s character. A man can be motivated by a great many things.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
Fawkes shrugged.
“Well, blackmail for example. Or financial problems. An artist may, for example, believe that he has such a great mission in life that he can rationalise almost any means of keeping himself going.”
Julie broke in: “I beg your pardon, but please tell me, exactly what did my brother do?”
“Your brother has been detained under Section 48C of the Defence Regulations. What that means is that he is allegedly involved in activities aiding potential enemies of His Majesty. Foreign powers, in other words.”
“How could he do that?” Julie asked cautiously. It suddenly occurred to her for the first time that if the police or whoever they were could mistakenly accuse her brother of crimes, they might suspect her too. “I really don’t understand,” she added, to emphasise her innocence.
“By transmitting information,” Fawkes said, touching his palms together lightly. “That’s just one possibility. A man can act as a courier without actually doing any spying in the sense of stealing or compiling information. He may have very little knowledge of what he’s doing, or why, for that matter.”
Julie studied the man’s face for some chink in the carefully controlled professional façade. She found none.
“But you must know what he was supposed to be doing,” she said.
“I know more than I’m permitted to tell you. That’s the whole point of this conversation, actually. We didn’t count on you, you see. Since your brother was under surveillance, we knew you were coming, but you’ll recall that you were a little uncertain until the last minute about exactly when you would arrive in London, and it happened that our own plans for your brother’s detention were delayed for about a week by circumstances. Otherwise the whole thing might have been over with before you got here.”
Julie felt momentarily hopeful.
“You mean Adrian might just be held for a few days and then let go?”
“That’s a possibility,” Fawkes replied. “Remember, his guilt hasn’t been proved in a court of law or anything like that. But what I was really getting at is the fact that a number of people are involved in this business, and we have only some of them under arrest. The investigation is continuing. No doubt more members of the ring will be rounded up over the next few days. Meanwhile we have to keep the whole situation completely quiet. We need a smoke-screen of silence. I’m talking to you not only to explain the situation. My primary purpose is to make absolutely certain that you don’t mention anything about this to anyone.”
“Well, yes, but with people being arrested, won’t the other...” She paused to grope for a word. “Won’t the other spies realise what’s happening anyway?”
“To some extent, of course. But if I explained the whole situation to you in detail I’d be violating my own orders. Just believe me: You mustn’t say anything.”
“What should I do, if somebody asks me about him?”
“In the first place, don’t mention to anyone that your brother is gone. In the second place, if someone questions you as to his whereabouts, be vague about it and pretend there’s nothing abnormal about the fact that you don’t know where he can be reached at the moment. Artists are eccentric fellows, after all. Perhaps he’s gone off to Cornwall to practice yoga.”
Julie did not smile, though Fawkes did, slightly.
“How long do I have to keep this up?” she asked him.
He looked completely serious again, and thought before speaking.
“Possibly for several weeks. We’ll let you know.”
“Several weeks?” It was the first time Julie had raised her voice. “That’s a long time.”
“All you have to do is say nothing,” Fawkes insisted. “You may feel it’s best to go back home. I think I’d agree with you on that. It might spare you problems here.”
“What would I tell my mother?”
“You can easily explain to her that your brother has gone on a trip.”
“But where is he really? Adrian? What’s happened to him?”
“I can’t divulge that information. But you can be sure he’s being treated well. When the undercover aspect of this affair is completed, he’ll be given every facility for his defence.”
“Couldn’t I see him, or at least speak to him on the telephone?” Julie pleaded.
“I’m afraid that’s quite impossible.”
As if he had suddenly been made aware of the time, by a silent signal, Fawkes stood up. Julie got to her feet also, but hesitated.
“Will you at least tell him for me that I’m worried about him, but I believe in him, and I’ll be thinking about him?”
He smiled.
“I think I can manage that.” He came round the desk and walked with her to the door. There he paused and touched her arm. His smoothly modulated voice was stern. “Miss Norcombe, I hope you realise that what I’ve said to you isn’t just a polite request for your co-operation. I have to warn you that if you say anything at all about this to anyone beyond this door, it will constitute a breach of the Official Secrets Act and make you liable to immediate arrest. Do you understand that? And don’t telephone me or come here again.”
Something about the words “beyond this door” and “liable to immediate arrest” seemed so dramatically weighty that she felt smothered by them.
“Yes,” she murmured. “I do understand.”
“Good day, then. And thank you very much for your co-operation. Don’t get in touch with us, remember.”
As the door to room 405 closed behind her, Julie felt sure that her legs would never carry her to the lift. She felt lost, bewildered, and on the verge of panic. The adventure of London, which was to have meant a whole new life, had turned into a nightmare.
But by the time she actually turned the key in the door of her brother’s flat again she was experiencing a new feeling, one that she had not known before in her life. Defiance would have been too strong a word for it. Determination had a role in it; so did curiosity, and courage. More than anything else it was simply a desire not to run away. She suddenly found, without actually having made a decision, that she was not packing her bags, but had bolted the door behind her and begun making a systematic search of every drawer, shelf, and cupboard in the place.
Long before that, “Mr Fawkes” and his secretary had departed Mr Fawkes’s office in what would have impressed an observer, had there been an observer, as unseemly haste for so dignified a bureaucrat. “Mr Fawkes’s” words, as he and his red-haired companion descended in the lift, would have seemed even stranger: