Mrs Cambridge attempted to conduct a last-ditch stand. ‘Has that man any right to be here?’
She meant Grogan.
‘The inspector has a duty to perform. I am the new commanding officer of this operation, and I order you all to cooperate. Inspector Grogan has some questions for my predecessor.’
Major Smedley’s eyes didn’t meet Jago’s, but Grogan’s did.
‘Information has come to us,’ Grogan said, ‘that you illegally purloined property belonging to the Hengar archive. Most of the letters have been recovered but the Earl of Dewsbury informs us that there is still one letter from his sister, Lady Duggan, missing. Where is it?’
‘I’m also required to hand over all information regarding an ongoing intelligence operation called Foxley,’ said Smedley.
Jago couldn’t speak; in the corner of his vision the envelope lay in plain view.
‘Well?’
Major Smedley suddenly rounded on Jago. ‘The Hengars have banished my brother. They blame Hugo for introducing you to their home. You’ve ruined years of his research.’
Jago, still a little bit the scholar, felt guilt. ‘I don’t have it. Yes, I was at Rollright Abbey; I conned my way in, convincing Professor Smedley I was involved in some academic research. Please tell the family he was not to blame. I took the letters that the police have now recovered. I can’t offer an explanation as to the missing one, only to repeat: it’s not in my possession. Either I lost it leaving in haste, or it’s still there amongst the piles of correspondence. The latter is more probable in my opinion.’
Mrs Cambridge spoke again. ‘Major Craze believed that in the pre-war letters of a member of the Hengar family there might be some indication of a threat to our operation on Obersalzberg. Protecting our people in the enemy heartland, and servicing their needs, is his job. Major Craze was doing his duty.’
Smedley, uncomfortable in this awkward interview, turned aside and Jago clearly saw him register the envelope in the basket. He stared at it.
‘It won’t wash, Craze,’ said Grogan.
Jago stiffened. ‘Major Craze to you, or sir. Acknowledge the rank, Grogan.’
The policeman’s face, empty of emotions, trailed a small smile at the corners of his lips that threatened to flower when the time was right. ‘Sir,’ he said quietly, ‘we searched your place in Pimlico. I have to say I found your domestic arrangements rum. So…’
The smile started to blossom. ‘Just how friendly are you with Commander Godwin?’
The smile fully bloomed.
‘Why wouldn’t I be a friend of Nicholas? He’s a comrade in arms, a fellow officer. He’s worthy of respect, having two gallantry awards. While you – what are you, Inspector Grogan? A stay-at-home copper whose methods resemble those of the Gestapo.’
The smile gone; winter was on the face of Grogan.
‘Well maybe there is something in that, Major Craze. Me and some of the lads think we could learn from Jerry on that score. They don’t pussyfoot around with their Vaseline men; it’s straight into a concentration camp with them. They put a pink triangle on ’em to show the world the wearer is a bum-boy. Should you be wearing a pink triangle, Major Craze, sir?’
Before Jago could answer, the door opened and Nightingale slid in, holding a tray of tea things. ‘Char,’ he announced gloomily.
Jago, still trying to outstare Grogan, registered several things happening simultaneously. He heard the tea tray smashing to the floor, and saw Major Smedley’s service cap fly across the room.
‘What the devil?’ Smedley shouted.
Jago, turning to the seat of the kerfuffle, saw the major’s wig land in the open fire and begin to burn. Smedley, now as bald as an egg and incandescent with rage, turned on Nightingale.
‘You madman! You lunatic! Why did you do that?’ He turned to them all. ‘He threw my hairpiece on the fire.’
Nightingale vehemently shook his head. ‘I didn’t, sir. He’s having a turn. He smashed my tray to the floor and threw his own wig on the blaze.’
‘Liar!’ Smedley stepped towards the flames, where the consumed wig could still be seen in a web of orange lines, like veins on an illustration of a dissected body.
‘Five guineas that cost!’ he shouted.
All eyes were on him and the fire. Jago was barely aware of Lavender stepping forward from the corner by the door, where in her silence she had almost been invisible.
‘I never done nothing!’ Nightingale wailed.
‘Be silent!’ Mrs Cambridge snapped.
Jago heard the door to the office close quietly.
‘I’m going to have you arrested,’ Smedley said.
‘Assaulting a superior officer is a serious crime,’ Jago tossed into the fracas.
‘It wasn’t me,’ bleated the unfortunate Nightingale.
It wasn’t, thought Jago. Horace Smedley, the shit-slicer, had come down from his ivory tower like his father before him, and done his bit. The out tray was empty. Smedley’s distraction had worked.
Grogan tried to restore order. ‘Alright, settle down. Never mind the perishing wig – hang on, where’s that FANY gone? The one in the corner?’
His question was answered when the door opened and Lavender returned, leading one of the military policemen who lurked in the corridors of SOE headquarters.
‘There he is,’ she said, pointing at the shell-shocked Nightingale, ‘Take him into custody.’
The MP looked around for advice and Smedley gave it to him. ‘Get him out of here, he’s having some sort of breakdown.’
Nightingale was led from the office, still shaking his head at the unfairness of events, his world sunk as surely as if it had been torpedoed. Grogan, using the rating’s exit as an opportunity, took command of the situation.
‘Right, here’s what’s going to happen. First, I’m going to search your person, Major Craze, for the missing materials. If you don’t have them about you, I shall summon help and we’ll take this office apart.’
‘Are you arresting me?’
‘Not until we find the evidence,’ Grogan told Jago.
‘In that case, after you’ve searched me, I shall take myself off for some lunch.’
Grogan wasn’t happy but there was nothing he could do. He searched Jago roughly and, when he found nothing, Jago left. Lavender was waiting for him on the stairs.
‘I wanted to get it out of the building but they had a man downstairs on the door.’
‘Where is it?’ Jago asked anxiously.
‘The post room sack was due to go, so I put it in there. It’ll be in the system by now. Central London to Central London, it should get to your place in Pimlico by second post today.’