Chief Inspector Andrew nodded. About half-way through the recital he had flicked one quick look at Colonel Butler, after the mention of Audley. “What did Audley say to you?”
“We discussed the antiquities of Duntisbury Royal . . . briefly.”
“Oh aye? You know something about antiquities, do you? Iron Age earthworks and Roman villas?”
“I know little about earthworks. I know a Roman fort when I see one. But more about Roman roads, as it happens.” Benedikt dummy1
understood that, while he was replying to the Special Branch man’s questions, he was actually speaking to the Colonel, and being assessed on his answers. “You warned me that Dr Audley was in Duntisbury Chase, Chief Inspector. You did not tell me why I might be there, however . . . and it is not a place to which strangers are likely to come by accident—or perhaps it is only by accident that they may come there, when they wish to be somewhere else, so that they would not wish to remain there, as I had to do. So I needed a reason.”
They waited for him to continue.
“The Press Attaché obtained for me photo-copies of newspaper cuttings in which Duntisbury Chase—or Duntisbury Royal—was mentioned.” He shrugged. “Mostly they concerned the death of General Herbert Maxwell ... or, so far as Duntisbury Royal was concerned, his funeral . . . But I could not think of any sufncient reason for Thomas Wiesehöfer to be interested in a victim of terrorism—nor did I judge it prudent to display such an interest, even if I had thought of a reason .... However, there was a report of an archaeological discovery there, and of excavations in progress . . . And, you see, Chief Inspector, my father was for many years a professor of Roman Archaeology in Germany. As a boy I used to accompany him on his journeys, during the holidays . . . Later on, when I was at university, I used to drive him
—he lost an arm during the war, in Africa. Tracing Roman roads was one of his hobbies, so I am not unacquainted with the terms used—with the metalling and the alignments, and so on .... Even, Chief Inspector, I believe I may have identified a terraced agger dummy1
this afternoon, on the slopes of the ridge near Caesar’s Camp, though on chalk downland it may be difficult to prove, since such terraces were often unmetalled, and it may be only a pre-Roman tribal trackway, you see—eh?”
The Special Branch man gave him a thin smile. “You mean . . .
you think you can bullshit David Audley, eh?”
“He’s not an archaeologist,” said Benedikt mildly. “I believe he is a medievalist. . . among other things. Is that not so?”
The smile compressed into an unsmiling line. “What you want to ask yourself, Captain—or, let’s say, what’s more important—is . . .
whatever he is ... did you bullshit him?”
Benedikt shook his head. “That is impossible to say, Chief Inspector. I am not aware of having made any mistakes . . . But . . .
it is true that he warned me off—”
“Warned you off?” That made the Special Branch man frown.
“How?”
Benedikt smiled. “He told me what happened—or what might have happened—to another German who strayed into Duntisbury Chase.”
“What German?” Chief Inspector Andrew obviously didn’t know about the Fighting Man. “What happened to him?”
“He died there.” Benedikt raised his hand. “It was a very long time ago, Chief Inspector—in the last days of the Romans.” He didn’t want to antagonise the man. “They dug up the bones of an Anglo-Saxon warrior—a Germanic soldier. . . . He told me about it in some detail. But it was gently done; for me, if it concerned me, in dummy1
whichever way it concerned something of interest to an archaeologist, but a warning to someone who wasn’t.”
Colonel Butler stirred. “Aye—that would be Audley!” He spoke with feeling. “That would be Audley to the life!”
Benedikt turned to him. “But he could hardly have known what I was doing there.” The curiosity which had been consuming him drove him on now. “Or, if he did, he knows more than I know, anyway.”
“Aye.” The candid expression on Colonel Butler’s face suggested depressingly that such might well be the case. “Happen he does, Captain . . . happen he does.”
The English construction ‘happen’ threw Benedikt for a moment, until he concluded it must be a dialect word, meaning ‘perhaps’.
“But not from me, sir.”
“No.” Butler’s harsh features softened. “You’ve done very well, Captain Schneider. I’m grateful to you.”
Now was the time, when the Colonel had spoken to him, but evidently thought that his brief and unimaginative report, plus the Fighting Man episode, was all that he had to telclass="underline" now the Colonel was ready for him.
“I don’t mean just from me—from what I said.” The final lesson of the seminar on de-briefing surfaced in his memory: and this, a de-briefing by a foreigner unwilling to press him too hard, was an exemplar of that lesson, that the correct delivery of information could be almost as important as the information itself, if it was to convince the listener!
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“Go on, Captain.” Colonel Butler knew there was more.
“Yes, sir.” He could feel the Colonel’s attention concentrate on him. “The brief which was given to me, with Major Herzner’s agreement, was that I should go down to Duntisbury Chase and have a look round it, to see what was there—to see who was there ... to see if there was anything to be seen—if there was anything out of place. A reconnaissance, in fact.”
“A reconnaissance—aye, Captain.”
“Yes. I was told only that Dr David Audley was there, which might otherwise have surprised me—taken me by surprise, I mean.”
Colonel Butler said nothing to that.
“From that I chose to assume that. . . first. . . you were using me on unofficial attachment because—”
“Official attachment, Captain Schneider,” snapped Butler. “Your transfer to London is to liaise with the appropriate British intelligence agencies.”
“Yes, sir. But not for another ten days—and because I’m not known over here—because I have no experience of British operations and I’m not known over here ... no more than Dr Wiesehöfer is known, as it happens—”
“All right, Captain. So you’re not known.” Butler lifted his chin belligerently. “Or ... let us say . . . what you did in Sonnenstrand, and what you’ve been doing in Yugoslavia since then, isn’t known
—to those who don’t need to know it—right?”
Benedikt swallowed. It was as Herzner had said: Don’t be deceived into thinking that his bite won’t be as bad as his bark just because dummy1
he looks like one of their sergeant-majors. . .
But he had to go on now, even though he didn’t fancy moving from first to second. “Yes, sir. So . . .”
“So I didn’t have anyone else to use at short notice, who wouldn’t be known to David Audley?” Butler brushed his hesitation aside.
“Very well—you can assume that, too—just so long as you also assume . . . no, not assume—so long as you also rely on the certainty that Dr Audley is a senior officer of unimpeachable reliability, on whose loyalty I would bet my life as well as yours—