Peverell Montague MP was a tall, thin man with a tallow-coloured face, an impressive white moustache and an expression that reminded Stratton of one of Jenny’s mother’s favourite sayings, about looking as if you were in the middle of a long chew on a dry prune. He also had a stoop that made it appear as if he had an invisible weight attached to the end of his long nose. The weight seemed to double in heaviness as Forbes-James explained about the raid on Wymark’s flat, until the man’s forehead was almost resting on his crossed arms. So inert did he seem that Stratton jumped in his hard prison chair when Montague jerked his head up and banged his fist on the table.
‘This is an outrage! When will I be able to see my solicitor?’
‘Tomorrow,’ said Forbes-James.
‘I shall say nothing until I have spoken to him.’
‘It may be,’ said Forbes-James, coolly, ‘that your solicitor will be unwilling to act for you.’
‘Nonsense. And I shall say nothing until I know what crime I am to be charged with.’
‘I’m afraid that’s not how it works,’ said Forbes-James, calmly. ‘Your case will be heard by an advisory committee, who will hear each prisoner held under Regulation 18B, and will advise the Home Secretary about the suitability of release.’
‘So one man’s whim is to be the law?’
‘Your case will—’
‘What case? If there is no charge, there is no case! If I cannot be properly charged with a crime, then I have committed no offence. The idea that an Englishman may be held indefinitely in prison, without any proper legal charge, is a monstrous perversion of justice. My cell is infested with lice. Keeping men in these conditions is not acceptable.’
‘We are acting for His Majesty’s Government, Mr Montague.’
‘Exactly! For people who chose not to fight in the Great War. They are the traitors and cowards, not I.’
‘Is Mr Churchill a coward and a traitor?’
‘Greenwood, Morrison. You know very well who I am talking about. Yours is the treachery, gentlemen. It may be respectable, but it is still treachery.’
‘We are acting in the interests of national security.’
‘You are acting in the interests of an unprincipled bunch of Jew-ridden politicians who want to demolish everything this country stands for. What happened to freedom of speech? Gone! Habeas Corpus? Gone! And with it—’
‘In a state of national emergency.’
‘Which would never have arisen if we had had – as we still could have – a negotiated peace! It is perfectly possible, gentlemen, to negotiate with Herr Hitler, and quite insane to allow this lunacy to go on for one single moment longer than it has to.’
‘Peace under what terms?’
‘Herr Hitler is a reasonable man.’
‘So reasonable, in fact, that he is currently raining down death and destruction on British women and children.’
‘As we are doing to German women and children. We declared war on Germany, we bombed Berlin. An aggressor should not be surprised by retaliation, and you cannot, surely, be labouring under the illusion that we can do anything to help Poland now.’
Stratton couldn’t see where any of this was getting them. Montague was a zealot. He talked and gestured as if he were addressing a rally, not sitting cooped up in a tiny, airless prison room, and he obviously wasn’t going to help them.
‘You don’t deny,’ said Forbes-James, ‘that your organisation, the Right Club, exists for the purposes of disseminating pro-Nazi and anti-Jewish propaganda?’
‘Our propaganda, as you call it, is wholly patriotic. Besides, I have very little to do with it.’
‘Your wife does.’
Montague looked as if he were about to say something, but Forbes-James carried on, ‘Would you be prepared to defend this country in the case of a German invasion?’
‘I consider that question an insult.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I would do my utmost to defend my country. Nothing would induce me to harm Great Britain, or her Empire.’
‘And yet you are acting in a manner which will harm them both.’
‘No!’ Montague thumped the table again. ‘I am a loyal British subject.’
‘I hardly think so.’
‘If you think that everyone whose views are at variance with the government is disloyal, then—’
‘A person is either loyal or disloyal, Mr Montague. Talking like a politician does not change that. Those are the rules of the game. You cannot begin to invent them.’
‘Unlike you people, who can change the law at a stroke.’
‘We are going round in circles, Mr Montague. Tell me, has your organisation received funds from Germany?’
‘That is an outrageous suggestion.’
‘Is it? You have, after all, met Signor Mussolini.’
‘I have never denied it.’
‘The British Union of Fascists is known to have received funds from Italy.’
‘That is untrue.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Sir Oswald has said so.’
‘He has said he had nothing to do with the finances of the movement. That’s not quite the same thing, is it?’
‘He has stated that no money should be accepted except from British subjects.’
‘But the origin of that money may be a different matter entirely. However, I am not here to talk about that.’
‘Then why are you here, other than to insult me?’
‘To ask for your help.’ Stratton shifted back in his chair and stared hard at his shoes. What the hell was Forbes-James playing at?
‘My help?’ echoed Montague.
‘We will, of course, be speaking to your wife, and we wanted to clarify a few matters first.’ Forbes-James paused and scrutinised Montague for a moment, before adding, in a casual voice, ‘Before we go to Holloway.’ The change in the atmosphere was as abrupt
and shocking as if an electric current had been passed through the small room.
‘What?’ Montague, his face now blue-white, cords standing out in his neck and jaw working, stared at them.
‘Of course,’ Forbes-James continued, as if he had absolutely no idea of the devastating effect of his deftly primed grenade, ‘if we don’t have the necessary information from you, then …’
‘Wait! Are you telling me that you have arrested my wife?’
‘Yes,’ said Forbes-James, blandly. ‘Last night. I assumed you were aware of the fact.’
‘I had no idea of it,’ he said. ‘You … you can’t.’
‘We can, Mr Montague. We have.’
‘But that’s … it’s preposterous, it’s … it’s …’
‘Surely you must have expected it?’ said Forbes-James, smoothly. ‘After all, Lady Mosley—’
‘I want to see my wife.’
‘I’m afraid that’s impossible. At least, for the moment.’
‘When will I be able to see her?’
‘That rather depends on you. There’s the issue of national security, but it may be possible for Mrs Montague to be removed from the confines of prison and kept under some form of house arrest … I don’t know how long it will take the Advisory Committee to look into your wife’s case, but I imagine it will be quite a while before they can prepare the necessary information. Treason is a serious business, Mr Montague.’
‘My wife has not acted in any—’
‘Mrs Montague and other members of the Right Club have been aiding the enemy by being party to the illegal transfer of confidential documents to people liable to be hostile to the interests of this country,’ said Forbes-James flatly. ‘That is treason.’
‘Nonsense! Everything we have done is in the interests of this country. Unlike yourselves.’
‘I hardly think that the people of this country will look kindly on an organisation which advocates any form of negotiation with a man who is trying to bomb us into submission. Anything less than the ultimate penalty would be an insult to them. Now,’ Forbes-James stood up, and Stratton, taking his cue, pushed back his chair, ‘if you have nothing else to say, we shall take our leave.’
‘Wait! What is to happen to my wife?’
‘I’m afraid I’m unable to say,’ said Forbes-James, calmly. ‘We have left a parcel of necessities for you at reception, and any other—’
‘Under what circumstances,’ interrupted Montague, ‘would my wife be placed under house arrest?’
‘I cannot make bargains, Mr Montague. I may, however, be able to make certain recommendations.’
‘I see.’ Montague stared down at his feet, then looked at Forbes-James. ‘You said you needed my help.’
‘It would be appreciated.’ Forbes-James sat down again. His eyes met Montague’s, and, for a long moment, neither man spoke. Once more, Stratton felt the sense of exclusion from a club, from the upper echelons – upbringing, public school, university – he could never be part of it. But Montague, treason or no treason, would always be a member. At least at Great Marlborough Street he, Stratton, was an inferior amongst equals. Here, despite the stale body odour and the faecal smells wafting from the corridor, he was a rank outsider.
Montague cleared his throat. ‘I believe you have some questions for me.’
‘We do,’ said Forbes-James. ‘The documents in Mr Wymark’s possession: Have you seen them?’
‘No.’
‘But you have an idea of the contents?’
‘Yes. I must reiterate that everything I have done has been in the interests of this country. For a power such as America to enter this war would cause death and destruction on a scale unparalleled in history.’
‘If the United States comes to our aid, Mr Montague,’ said Forbes-James, ‘we will win.’
‘At what cost?’
‘Peace,’ said Forbes-James. ‘Peace, as Mr Chamberlain said in a rather different context, with honour. These documents came to our attention through the involvement of Sir Neville Apse. He has given us certain information …’ Forbes-James stopped to light another cigarette, taking his time over it. ‘Blackmail, Mr Montague. That is what we are talking about.’
‘Blackmail would seem to be your speciality, Colonel, not mine.’
Forbes-James ignored this. ‘Sir Neville isn’t a member of the
Right Club, is he? His name does not appear on the list we found in Mr Wymark’s possession.’
‘I have no knowledge of any such list.’
‘I understand from Mr Wymark that you gave it to him for safekeeping. Or perhaps it came from your wife?’
‘My wife,’ Montague’s voice shook slightly, ‘has nothing to do with this.’
‘I’m afraid we are not convinced of that. Perhaps you can assist us.’
‘How?’
‘A few facts …’
‘I must say, gentlemen, that I consider your behaviour disgraceful. Shabby in the extreme.’
‘This is war, Mr Montague, not a garden party. When did you first learn of Sir Neville’s, ah … proclivities?’
Montague’s face turned from pale to a mottled red. ‘From a man named Chadwick.’
‘Chadwick?’ Stratton took out his notebook.
‘Bobby Chadwick.’ Montague pronounced the name with distaste. ‘A revolting little pansy.’
‘Is he a member of the Right Club?’ asked Forbes-James.
Montague shook his head. ‘Described himself as a friend to the cause. Ordinarily, of course one wouldn’t have any truck with such people, but …’ He paused.
‘It’s not a garden party,’ murmured Forbes-James. Montague flushed a deeper red. ‘Do go on.’
‘He came to me,’ Montague continued, ‘said he wanted to help. He told me that Sir Neville had had a … liaison with a friend of his. Said there was evidence to prove it.’
‘What sort of evidence?’
‘Some sort of film.’
‘Have you seen this film?’
‘No. I had no desire to see it. Chadwick said he’d made the film himself – operated the camera – and that he knew where it was.’
‘And the friend who was in the film with Sir Neville?’ asked Stratton. ‘What was his name?’
‘I have no idea. Chadwick referred to him only by a nickname.’
‘What was that?’
‘He called him Bunny,’ said Montague with a look of contempt.
Bunny, thought Stratton. The name in Mabel’s letters, but it wasn’t her. That, at least, explained the waspish tone and the comments about decor and orchids and so on. Did that mean that Sir Neville was the writer, Binkie? Perhaps, he thought, the next time they met, he ought to try calling Sir Neville a precious pinkle-wonk, just to see what happened.
‘No surname?’ asked Stratton.
Montague shook his head. ‘I didn’t ask. The thing made me sick – Chadwick was clearly an habitual sodomite, and utterly poisonous. I wanted as little to do with him as possible.’
‘But nevertheless you were prepared to believe him. You took the information to Sir Neville,’ said Forbes-James.
‘I made use of it, yes.’
‘And how did Sir Neville react?’
‘He agreed to give assistance.’
‘How?’
‘To receive certain documents from Mr Wymark, and have them sent out of the country. He had a contact at the Portuguese Embassy.’
‘This was in return for your silence?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Sir Neville didn’t ask for proof – to see the film?’
‘No.’
‘Did you tell him that the source of your information was Chadwick?’
Montague shook his head.
‘Do you know where Chadwick lives?’ asked Stratton.
‘No. He contacted me at my club.’
‘When was this?’
‘Sometime in February. I don’t remember the exact date.’
‘Did you offer him money?’
‘Yes. Much to my surprise, he refused.’
Stratton noted this down. ‘Can you describe him, sir?’
‘Pansy. Effeminate. Looked as if he painted himself. Dyed his hair, that sort of thing.’
‘What colour was it?’
‘Dark red. Ridiculous.’
Dr Byrne, Stratton thought, hadn’t mentioned anything about the corpse having dyed hair – just that it was brown. But there
might be traces of the dye, even if it had been washed out … And in any case, Montague was prejudiced. Chadwick’s hair colour might have been natural – assuming, of course, that he was the body in the church. ‘How old was he?’
‘About fifty, I suppose.’ Montague made a dismissive gesture. ‘It’s hard to say with these people.’
‘How tall?’ Stratton asked.
Montague looked him up and down in a way that made him think of an executioner calculating a prisoner’s height and weight for the drop. ‘Under six feet,’ he said. ‘Five feet nine or ten, I should say. Fleshy,’ he added, with an expression of distaste.
‘Did you see him after that?’
‘Never.’
‘You didn’t hear from him?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know a man called Abraham, or Abie, Marks?’
‘No.’
‘Have you heard of him?’
‘I don’t associate with Jews.’
Stratton, who had not really expected anything different, received this in silence, and, after a moment, Forbes-James said, ‘If you have no further questions, Inspector …?’
Stratton shook his head. Turning to Montague, Forbes-James said, ‘That will be all for the time being, Mr Montague. Thank you for your assistance.’
‘What will happen to my wife?’
‘That remains to be seen.’ Forbes-James rose. ‘However, you may rest assured that we shall inform the relevant authorities of your co-operation.’ As he held out his hand, Montague placed both of his firmly behind his back.
‘I would be sorry,’ said Forbes-James, ‘if we could not part like gentlemen.’
‘I do not consider you a gentleman, Colonel.’ Montague did not even bother to nod in Stratton’s direction. ‘Good day to you.’