He greeted Tommy with friendliness.
"So you're going to keep Bletchley countenance at Sans Souci? He'll be glad of another man. Rather swamped by female society, eh, Bletchley?"
"I'm not much of a ladies' man," said Major Bletchley.
"Nonsense," said Haydock. "Not your type of lady, my boy, that's it. Old boarding-house pussies. Nothing to do but gossip and knit."
"You're forgetting Miss Perenna," said Bletchley.
"Ah, Sheila - she's an attractive girl all right. Regular beauty if you ask me."
"I'm a bit worried about her," said Bletchley.
"What do you mean? Have a drink, Meadowes? What's yours, Major?"
The drinks ordered and the men settled on the verandah of the clubhouse, Haydock repeated his question.
Major Bletchley said with some violence:
"That German chap. She's seeing too much of him."
"Getting sweet on him, you mean? H'm, that's bad. Of course he's a good looking young chap in his way. But it won't do. It won't do, Bletchley. We can't have that sort of thing. Trading with the enemy, that's what it amounts to. These girls - where's their proper spirit? Plenty of decent young English fellows about."
Bletchley said:
"Sheila's a queer girl - she gets odd sullen fits when she will hardly speak to any one."
"Spanish blood," said the Commander. "Her father was half Spanish, wasn't he?"
"Don't know. It's a Spanish name, I should think."
The Commander glanced at his watch.
"About time for the news. We'd better go in and listen to it."
The news was meagre that day, little more in it than had been already in the morning papers. After commenting with approval on the latest exploits of the Air Force - first-rate chaps, brave as lions, the Commander went on to develop his own pet theory - that sooner or later the Germans would attempt a landing at Leahampton itself - his argument being that it was such an unimportant spot.
"Not even an anti-aircraft gun in the place! Disgraceful!"
The argument was not developed, for Tommy and the Major had to hurry back to lunch at Sans Souci. Haydock extended a cordial invitation to Tommy to come and see his little place, "Smugglers' Rest."
"Marvellous view - my own beach - every kind of handy gadget in the house. Bring him along, Bletchley."
It was settled that Tommy and Major Bletchley should come in for drinks on the evening of the following day.
III
After lunch was a peaceful time at Sans Souci. Mr Cayley went to have his "rest" with the devoted Mrs Cayley in attendance. Mrs Blenkensop was conducted by Miss Minton to a depot to pack and address parcels for the Front.
Mr Meadowes strolled gently out into Leahampton and along the front. He bought a few cigarettes, stopped at Smith's to purchase the latest number of Punch, then after a few minutes of apparent irresolution, he entered a bus bearing the legend, "Old Pier".
The old pier was at the extreme end of the promenade. That part of Leahampton was known to house agents as the least desirable end. It was West Leahampton and poorly thought of. Tommy paid 2d and strolled up the pier. It was a flimsy and weather-worn affair, with a few moribund penny-in-the-slot machines placed at far distant intervals. There was no one on it but some children running up and down and screaming in voices that matched quite accurately the screaming of the gulls, and one solitary man sitting on the end fishing.
Mr Meadowes strolled up to the end and gazed down into the water. Then he asked gently:
"Caught anything?"
The fisherman shook his head.
"Don't often get a bite." Mr Grant reeled in his line a bit. He said without turning his head:
"What about you, Meadowes?"
Tommy said:
"Nothing much to report as yet, sir. I'm digging myself in."
"Good. Tell me."
Tommy sat on an adjacent bollard, so placed that he commanded the length of the pier. Then he began:
"I've gone down quite all right, I think. I gather you've already got a list of the people there?" Grant nodded. "There's nothing to report as yet. I've struck up a friendship with Major Bletchley. We played golf this morning. He seems the ordinary type of retired officer. If anything, a shade too typical. Cayley seems a genuine hypochondriacal invalid. That, again, would be an easy part to act. He has, by his own admission, been a good deal in Germany during the last few years."
"A point," said Grant, laconically.
"Then there's von Deinim."
"Yes. I don't need to tell you, Meadowes, that von Deinim's the one I'm most interested in."
"You think he's N?"
Grant shook his head.
"No, I don't. As I see it, N couldn't afford to be a German."
"Not a refugee from Nazi persecution, even?"
"Not even that. We watch, and they know we watch, all the enemy aliens in this country. Moreover - this is in confidence, Beresford - very nearly all enemy aliens between 16 and 60 will be interned. Whether our adversaries are aware of that fact or not, they can at any rate anticipate that such a thing might happen. They would never risk the head of their organization being interned. N, therefore, must be either a neutral - or else he is (apparently) an Englishman. The same, of course, applies to M. No, my meaning about von Deinim is this. He may be a link in the chain. N or M may not be at Sans Souci, it may be Carl von Deinim who is there and through him we may be led to our object. That does seem to me highly possible. The more so as I cannot very well see that any of the other inmates of Sans Souci are likely to be the person we are seeking."
"You've had them more or less vetted, I suppose, sir?"
Grant sighed - a sharp quick sigh of vexation.
"No that's just what it's impossible for me to do. I could have them looked up by the department easily enough - but I can't risk it, Beresford. For, you see, the rot is in the department itself. One hint that I've got my eye on Sans Souci for any reason - and the organization may be put wise. That's where you come in, the outsider. That's why you got to work in the dark, without help from us. It's our only chance - and I daren't risk alarm them. There's only one person I've been able to check up on."
"Who's that, sir?"
Grant smiled.
"Carl von Deinim himself. That's easy enough. Routine. I can have him looked up - not from the Sans Souci angle but from the enemy alien angle."
Tommy asked curiously:
"And there's anything?"
A curious smile came over the other's face.
"Master Carl's exactly what he says he is. His father was indiscreet, was arrested and died in a concentration camp. Carl's elder brothers are in camps. His mother died in great distress of mind a year ago. He escaped to England a month before war broke out. Von Deinim has professed himself anxious to help this country. His work in a chemical research laboratory has been excellent and most helpful on the problem of immunizing certain gases and in general decontamination experiments."
Tommy said:
"Then he's all right?"
"Not necessarily. Our German friends are notorious for their thoroughness. If von Deinim was sent as an agent to England, special care would be taken that his record should be consistent with his own account of himself. There are two possibilities. The whole von Deinim family may be parties to the arrangement - not improbable under the painstaking Nazi regime. Or else this is not really Carl von Deinim but a man playing the part of Carl von Deinim."
Tommy said slowly: "I see." He added inconsequently:
"He seems an awfully nice young fellow."
Sighing, Grant said: "They are - they nearly always are. It's an odd life this service of ours. We respect our adversaries and they respect us. You usually like your opposite number, you know - even when you're doing your best to down him."
There was a silence as Tommy thought over the strange anomaly of war. Grant's voice broke into his musings.
"But there are those for whom we've neither respect nor liking - and those are the traitors within our own ranks - the men who are willing to betray their country and accept office and promotion from the foreigner who has conquered it."