'Bejesus, you're right, Sir!' The touch of Irish slipped out owing to Barney's spontaneous agreement. 'Look at that B.O.A.C. strike. It must have cost the country millions; and largely because the men let themselves be carried away by the brilliant oratory of Sid Maitland - in spite of the fact that, according to the Press, he openly declared himself to be a Communist. They just wouldn't listen to Jim Matthews but howled him down, and when he tried to get them to accept the Union's ruling and rely on its negotiations they called him a traitor. It's a shocking state of things when they won't be guided by their own Union officials.'
'That's what is giving the responsible Labour leaders such a headache. For the past year or so they have been doing their utmost both to oust the Communists from key positions in the Unions and to get a firmer control over the shop stewards. But it is uphill work, because it lays them open to accusations of attempting to browbeat the workers and of being secretly in league with the Tory government; and it is difficult for them to convince the rank and file that they are not.'
'Yes, I see that. They're between the devil and the deep blue sea; and owing to the size of the Unions it is impossible for their top men to keep in personal touch with all their tens of thousands of members. That is where the shop stewards have such a pull.'
The Colonel nodded. 'True enough. But don't run away with the idea that all the shop stewards are bad hats. The great majority of them are good chaps doing a very valuable job of work maintaining good relations between the management and their mates. The trouble is that the bad ones are in a position to do an immense amount of damage by formenting these wildcat strikes. Those are the boys we want to get the low-down on; so that we can expose them and help the T.U.C. in its big campaign to purge the British Labour movement of Russian influence.'
'And where do I come in on this, Sir?' Barney asked.
Again C.B.'s voice sank to a conspiratorial low. 'Sinews of war, young fellow. That's our line of attack. Men who come out unofficially don't get strike pay. Yet some of these unofficial strikes go on for months. Meantime the strikers have got to live and feed their families. How do they do it? We know the answer to that one. At least we know it to apply in some cases, and have good reason to suppose that it applies in many more. They are given enough cash to keep going on the side from secret funds controlled by the Reds.'
'Don't some of the better types query where it comes from?'
'Those who do are told that it is from subscriptions raised among sympathizers.'
'But, in fact, it comes from Moscow.'
'For such considerable sums, that seems the only possible source of origin. One of Russia's prime objects is to disrupt our industry, in order to create the unemployment and discontent which always results in the spread of Communism; so they could hardly spend their money to better purpose. Yet the fact remains that we have failed to uncover any link between the leaders of these unofficial strikes and any of the Iron Curtain country Embassies, or any other Soviet-controlled set-up.'
'Quite a number of the top Reds go to Russia from time to time, Sir.'
'Yes, and although they give out that they go there only for a holiday, I don't doubt they return with plenty of ideas that don't do British industry much good; but they could not bring back any considerable sums of money with them - not without our knowing about it.'
'And you want me to try to find out the source of supply?'
'That's it; then we could think up some way of cutting it off.' C.B. pulled at his pipe for a moment, then said with a change of tone, 'Now, a word about yourself. What led you to join this outfit?'
Barney grinned. 'I was broke. My creditors in Dublin had made Ireland too hot to hold me. I decided that I'd got to take a steady job, but I knew that I'd never settle down to a humdrum office routine. It had to be something that would provide me with a bit of excitement now and then, and my uncle, General Sir Geoffrey Frobisher, got me in here.'
'So that was it, eh! Of course, I knew that old "Frosty" Frobisher had vouched for you, and looking up your file the other day reminded me that you are the Earl of Larne. How come that you have never used your title?'
'Well, it was this way, Sir. I've practically no family, only my mother's brother, the General. Both my parents died when I was quite young and he became my guardian. He did very little about it, though; but I can't really blame him for that. I lived in Ireland and he lived in England. During most of the time I was at school he was up to his eyes in the war. Then for the greater part of the next six years he was stationed abroad - doing tours of duty in the Middle East, then in Germany. No one else had any right to call me to account, so I'm afraid my high spirits led to my becoming rather a bad hat. I got sent down from Trinity for leading a pretty hectic rag, but I had quite a generous allowance and plenty of friends. The fathers of several of those with whom I used to stay in the holidays reared bloodstock, and I've always been good with horses; so I naturally gravitated to that as a means of earning a living. I won quite a few steeplechases and received handsome presents from the owners. But it was a case of easy come easy go, and most of what I made over the sticks I lost by backing losers on the flat.
'Thanks, Sir.' Barney took another of C.B.'s long cigarettes, lit it and went on. 'They were an expensive crowd to live with, too, so I was soon up to my eyes in debt. But I was in my last year at the University when I was sent down, and becoming twenty-one a year later saved me from disaster. My father didn't leave me a fortune, only a few thousands, and if I'd had any sense I should have pulled up then. As it was, like a young ass, I started to really hit up the town. What with the gee-gees, the girls, and throwing expensive parties, I got through the lot in a couple of years.'
'You would have been twenty-three by then. That's about the time you came into the title, isn't it?�
'Yes, Sir. But I had never expected to. When my father died there were seven people between myself and the Earldom, and we didn't even know that branch of the family. One was drowned in 1939, two more were killed in the war, and another met his death while climbing in Switzerland in 1951. That still left three; the late Lord Larne and his two sons. They had lived in Kenya since before the war, so I'd never met any of them and never gave them a thought until one day in 'fifty-four. I learned then that all three had crashed in their private plane and been killed.'
'Didn't you come into any money with the title?'
'No. The place in Ireland had been sold way back in the 'twenties, and all the money Lord Larne left went to his widow, who still lives in Kenya. All I came into were the heirlooms -some good family silver and a few pictures - but unfortunately they weren't worth much.'
'What happened then?'
'The General sent for me. I came clean with him about my debts in Dublin and he said some pretty caustic things to me; but, by and large, he behaved extremely well. He declared that as I came of an ancient and honourable family, I was under a definite obligation not to disgrace the title; that if I took it up, it would certainly lead to my continuing to mix with people whose style of life I could not afford, and that, in any ordinary job, it could only prove a handicap to me. Therefore, he argued, I ought not to use it until I had lived down my raffish past. By then I had realized that if I did not turn over a new leaf I was riding for a really nasty fall; so I agreed to forget the Earldom for the time being, leave Ireland, and make a fresh start. He said that if I'd do that and promise to go straight for five years before using my title, he would pay my debts and make me an allowance of �300 a year until I got on my feet.'