“Kind of you, but I really don’t . . .” Ben began.
“Don’t be a martyr,” Guy said. “We don’t want you coming down with a chill and not being able to do your work, do we?”
“I’ll take off my raincoat first,” Ben said. He went into his own room, which felt cold, damp, and unwelcoming, hung the coat up on a peg behind the door, then went across the hall to Guy’s room. In contrast, this room felt comfy and lived in. Guy had hung bright curtains at the window. Some of his favourite modern-art prints decorated the walls. A plant stood on the windowsill, and there were cushions on the chair. Guy likes his creature comforts, Ben thought. He sat while Guy made tea, then poured cognac into it.
“Get that down you. You’ll feel better.”
Ben drank, gratefully. “I’ve been soaked all day,” he said.
“Where were you?” Guy asked.
“In Yorkshire yesterday and the Welsh border today.”
“Doing what, for God’s sake?”
“I don’t suppose it can hurt to tell you,” Ben said. “Checking the site of ancient battles.”
“Are you writing a thesis, or was this something to do with actual work?”
“The latter, but I can’t tell you what.”
“Of course not. Did it prove fruitful?”
“Absolute bloody waste of time.” Ben grinned.
“Most of the things we do are, aren’t they?” Guy said. “I was sent out again today to a report of a possible German spy. And, of course, it turned out to be another Jew who has lived here since before the Great War.”
Ben nodded. “But of course, the real fifth columnists must be damned clever,” he said. “They wouldn’t stand out in any way. I doubt if I’ve ever actually met one.”
“No?” Guy asked. He grinned. “I’m pretty sure I have.”
“Really—where?”
“At a meeting I was sent to. But I suppose I can’t tell you any more. Captain King would shoot me. Or Miss Miller would. She’s more formidable than Knight, isn’t she?”
“Absolutely,” Ben agreed. When he left Guy’s room, he felt comfort, and not just from the brandy working its way through his system. He and Guy were working for the same outfit, even if they couldn’t tell each other what they were actually doing. That made it easier somehow.
The next morning Ben returned to Dolphin Square to report in and was ushered into the inner sanctum.
“Ah, Cresswell. Come in.” Maxwell Knight looked up from his paperwork and held out his hand to Ben. “Successful trip? Any luck?”
“I’m afraid not, sir,” Ben replied. “I visited both the battle sites, and there was nothing in the terrain that resembled the photograph. So I was wondering—isn’t this something that aerial reconnaissance at the Air Ministry might be able to help us with?”
“Already sent them a copy of the photograph,” Maxwell Knight replied. “No word as yet. They’ve got bigger fish to fry these days. But you might pop over there yourself and chivvy them up a bit.”
“So you don’t want me to go back down to Kent?”
“Is there anything else you might hope to accomplish there?”
“Not really, sir.” As he said this, he swallowed back frustration. He had been given a plum assignment and not achieved a single bloody thing. “I suppose the question is whether that particular place was important. Whether there was a contact there who was vital to the Jerries. And if so, will they try to send another messenger or use another format to make contact?”
“Quite.” Max Knight nodded. “And if the time and place weren’t important, then they’ve already sent their message in another way—pigeon or radio.”
“If it weren’t important, why risk a parachutist?”
Max Knight nodded. Then he cleared his throat. “Cresswell, there is something you should know. This is strictly between ourselves, you understand. Never to leave this room.”
“Yes, sir.” Ben felt his pulse quicken.
“I mentioned to you before that we were only interested in the aristocrats in your part of the world. There’s a reason for this. You’ve probably heard that there are several pro-German groups working in Britain.”
“Well, yes. One hears of the Anglo-German Fellowship, and of course the British fascists can’t be counted out.”
“Both relatively harmless. They welcome friendship with Germany in principle. I don’t think either group would work actively to bring about a German takeover of Britain. However”—he paused, tipping his chair back so that it balanced precariously—“you may also have heard that there is an element of strong pro-German sentiment among the upper classes.”
“You mentioned before that there are those who would like to see the Duke of Windsor on the throne,” Ben said.
“And working to achieve this. We can’t be sure yet whether they would go as far as actual assassination of the current royal family. But we are taking precautions. Monitoring wherever possible. You see, Cresswell, there is a small, secret group we’ve only just learned about. They are made up almost exclusively of aristocrats. They call themselves the Ring. Some of them have the misguided belief that they can spare Britain from total destruction by aiding the German invasion. Some believe a Hitler-style government wouldn’t be so bad, that we have deep ties with Germany, including our royal family.”
“Absolute fools,” Ben blurted out. “Surely anyone can see that we’d be at best a puppet state with slave labour.”
“You and I can see that. There are those who can’t or won’t. And they are dangerous, Cresswell. There are those among them who will do what it takes.”
“So how do we root them out and stop them?” Ben asked.
“Good question. I have my people infiltrating their meetings whenever we get wind of them.”
Ben thought for an awful moment that Knight was about to suggest he infiltrate such meetings. This was followed by the thought that he should volunteer for such an assignment. “Is there any way that I can be helpful, sir?” he asked.
“Yes. Keep your eyes and ears open, and for God’s sake let’s find out about that bloody photograph,” Knight said. “Ask Miss Miller how you get to Aerial Reconnaissance. They are buried somewhere in the depths of the country. Top-secret hideout. I’ll let them know you are coming.”
As Ben went down in the elevator, he had an odd feeling. Why had Knight let him go off on a wild goose chase to Yorkshire and Herefordshire when the photograph was already being analysed by the Air Ministry? And why wait so long to tell him about the Ring? He toyed with the idea that he was being kept busy and out of the way for a reason. And he wondered whether the reason was that the dashing Max Knight was part of the secret ring himself.
As soon as Ben had left the office, Mr. Knight’s secretary, Joan Miller, came in and closed the door behind her.
“You’ve told him about the Ring?”
“Yes. He seemed to find it hard to believe that noble Britons could possibly behave like that. He’s a naïve chap, I’d say.”
“Or a good actor, sir.” Joan Miller held his gaze. “We can’t completely discount that he’s working with them. Why volunteer to rush up to Yorkshire when we know they just held a meeting up there?”
“My contacts and my gut tell me he’s all right, Joan. But then I have been wrong before. You might mention his name next time you’re with them. Suggest him as a possible recruit and see if you get a reaction.”