‘I’m not sure,’ said Forbes-James, as the car bore them away, ‘how far you will be able to proceed with your enquiries. It may not be in the national interest to stir things up too much. I hope you understand that.’
Stratton sighed. ‘Yes, sir, I do.’
‘Interesting that Apse caved in so quickly to Montague’s demands.’
‘Fear, sir. Public disgrace.’
‘I realise that,’ said Forbes-James testily, ‘but it’s extraordinary that he should have done so without at least attempting to obtain a copy of the film. Especially if Montague didn’t mention Chadwick.’
‘Sir Neville knew it existed all right, though. Mr Montague said Chadwick had filmed them himself.’
‘I suppose so, although the film might have been destroyed, of course … Never a good idea to put one’s youthful indiscretions on the record, so to speak. Any idea who this man Bunny might be?’
‘Yes, sir. From the letters Miss Morgan had.’
‘Yes, I know about those, but I’ve not read them. We assumed they were unconnected.’
‘So did I, sir, but they’re addressed to someone called Bunny. I’d assumed it was Miss Morgan herself, but I suppose Bunny must be someone she knew. Otherwise, why would the letters be in her possession?’
‘Hmm. Well, I suppose we’d better go and see Mr Chadwick – if you can find him, that is.’
‘Yes, sir. And if he is the body in the church?’
Forbes-James sighed. ‘We’d better cross that particular bridge when – or if – we come to it.’
‘Yes, sir. What will happen to Mr Montague?’
‘Well, I doubt if he’ll be prosecuted – I shan’t recommend it. I imagine he’ll remain in detention for the duration. He’ll manage pretty well. Public school men always do. It’s the other chaps who have a rough time.’
‘I’m surprised Mr Montague didn’t realise that prison might be the outcome of his actions, sir.’
‘Yes …’ Forbes-James looked thoughtful. ‘I must say he struck me as a rather unworldly individual. Didn’t know him before, of course. A fantasist, perhaps, as well as a fanatic, and altogether cruder than Mosley, who has a fine mind, although there’s an element of naïvety there as well, of course …’
‘What about Wymark?’
‘I’d like to say that he will be first deported and then shot, but I don’t know. Even if they’d agree to it, a public trial in America at the moment would hurt Roosevelt’s chances of re-election, so I suppose we’ll have to hang on to him – for the time being, at least.’ Forbes-James fell silent. Stratton looked out of the window at men taking down railings beside a public air-raid shelter, its brick walls piled high with sandbags, and wondered if Abie Marks knew he’d been doing dirty work for a man in league (however unwillingly) with the Right Club. He couldn’t see it. Marks had always made much of his arrest at Cable Street in ’36, although, according to a friend of Stratton’s who’d been on duty at the time, it wasn’t, as he claimed, for beating up one of Mosley’s henchmen, but for assaulting a policeman. But even if his part in the fighting – which was mostly, Stratton knew, between the Communists and the police – was exaggerated, Marks was hardly likely to get into bed with a Jew-hater like Montague (‘Wouldn’t give ’em the sweat off my balls, Mr Stratton.’). Sir Neville, however, was another matter: whatever his connections, money and friends in high places would always count for something with a man like Abie Marks. If Sir Neville had prevailed upon Marks to find and destroy Mabel Morgan’s film, and he had managed it, what might he have expected in return? If that was what had happened, then Sir Neville had clearly known that the film was in Mabel’s possession, which meant that, in all likelihood, his erstwhile dancing partner was Mabel’s husband Cecil Duke. Otherwise, why should she have it at all?
‘We’ll drop you off at Great Marlborough Street,’ said Forbes-James.
‘See what you can do about locating Chadwick. I’ll make sure you have all the assistance you need … Report to me as soon as you’ve got something, and make it quick.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. I’ll arrange for a sample of Apse’s handwriting to be checked with one of those letters. What did he call himself, by the way?’
‘Binkie, sir.’
‘Dear God,’ murmured Forbes-James, and closed his eyes.