‘That will do, Dean.’ The voice of the Assistant Commissioner behind him made the old man start. ‘You’re in a position of great confidence here, and you must learn to keep a shut mouth. In any case, Mr Verreker has not been arrested. He has merely consented to go back to the Superintendent’s office to answer a few questions. You may go.’
Dean withdrew, looking much abashed, and Lord Arthur followed the other back into the morning-room. Sir Hubert had not yet returned from his interview with the Prime Minister.
‘Do you really think Verreker’s implicated?’ Lord Arthur asked as soon as the door was shut behind himself and the Assistant Commissioner.
The latter shrugged his shoulders. He was a lawyer, with a distinguished career at the bar behind him, but he retained little of the legal manner.
‘Heaven knows,’ he said. ‘Someone in this house is implicated, that seems clear enough; and at present young Verreker looks the most likely candidate. I hope it’s not so, for the sake of his people.’ Tommy Verreker’s father came of a family of soldiers; his grandfather had commanded an army in the last European War, and still survived to enjoy the peerage and grant which his services had won him; his father would probably command an army in the next European war. His elder brother might even command an army in the European war after that.
‘How do you mean, he’s the most likely candidate?’
‘He’s broke.’ The Assistant Commissioner took a cigarette from the case Lord Arthur offered him and struck a match. ‘We’ve had the tabs on him, of course, since this business began, and everyone else too. He went to the Jews about a year ago and borrowed pretty heavily on his expectations. He’s been having difficulty in making the payments. He’s a spender. That’s all.’
Lord Arthur was shocked. ‘But you can’t think that one of the Prime Minister’s own Private Secretaries would…’
‘I’m prepared to think anything, my dear fellow. Aren’t you? Someone’s implicated all right. Let’s hope it’s no one worse than a Private Secretary. Good heavens, man, don’t you realise that when the full story of this comes out it’s going to make the biggest scandal in the history of this country? The Dreyfus affair will be nothing to it. There’s treason in high places all right. I’ve got to such a state now that I’m ready to suspect the Prime Minister himself if anyone gave me a ha’porth of evidence.’
‘It’s a pretty bad show,’ Lord Arthur muttered. The other’s words had upset him more than he cared to show. Treason is an ugly word.
‘Pretty bad show, chaps; pretty bad show,’ quoted the Assistant Commissioner with savage mockery. His nerves were obviously on edge.
Lord Arthur looked up. ‘Have you had tabs on me too?’
‘Of course we have. What do you think? You were the first.’
The entry of Sir Hubert cut short any reply Lord Arthur might have made. He nodded to Lord Arthur and spoke curtly to his assistant.
‘Come on, let’s get back. There’s nothing more we can do here. Keat’s staying here.’
Lord Arthur ventured a question. ‘The Prime Minister, Lesley…?’
‘He took it very well. But he’s a bit rattled, naturally. You might go up. He’s alone.’
Lord Arthur nodded, and rang for Dean.
He had a plan, which he wished to lay before the Prime Minister.
When Dean took him upstairs a few minutes later he found the Prime Minister, fully dressed now, but still by the doctor’s orders confined to the house, apparently quite composed. His greeting was as friendly as ever, but Lord Arthur’s delicate conscience suspected a question behind it. He answered it at once.
‘I can’t imagine how they knew, sir. Lesley, of course, won’t have mentioned it; not even his staff knew. You must be thinking that I let it out somehow.’
‘Of course I don’t think anything of the sort, Arthur,’ the Prime Minister assured him smoothly. ‘Lesley suggested that it was just a guess in the dark, and I quite agree.’ He waved the younger man into a chair.
‘Well, I did let it out in a way,’ Lord Arthur confessed, from the depths of a big leather armchair. He explained how Mansel had twitted him on the way in which his face had given him away.
‘And I’m afraid I haven’t learnt my lesson,’ he admitted, ruefully. ‘I gave it away to Isabel in just the same way. She guessed, and my denials weren’t convincing.’
‘Well, there you are, you see,’ said the Prime Minister. ‘Where two people can guess, two thousand can.’ He paused. ‘So Isabel knows, does she?’
‘I’m afraid she does, sir.’
‘And what did she say about it?’
‘She… was upset, naturally.’
The Prime Minister laughed. ‘Mansel was right, Arthur. You’ve still to learn how to dissemble successfully. Isabel was upset, but she approved. Isn’t that so?’
‘You must find that out from Isabel herself, sir,’ Lord Arthur smiled back. ‘I’m not saying anything that might weaken my entreaty that you’ll give up the idea and let me do the job.’
The Prime Minister shook his head. ‘Don’t waste your time, Arthur. My mind’s quite made up.’
‘Well, don’t be in too much of a hurry, sir,’ Lord Arthur urged. ‘If I may suggest it, there’s one course which I think you might follow without any loss of prestige to the Government. A most reasonable course, in fact.’
‘And what is that?’
Lord Arthur thought for a moment. ‘You probably know, sir, that Dickson is thinking of moving an adjournment on Monday, for the purpose of discussing the deaths of Lord Wellacombe and Middleton. It’s certainly a definite matter of urgent public importance, and I think there’s a good deal to be-said for the view that it would be right for the House to discuss it before the Bill is proceeded with. Well, sir, why not postpone your speech until after the discussion? I’m sure Dickson would like a division, and you could treat it as a vote of confidence. You’d get the opinion of the House, at any rate.’
The Prime Minister smiled more broadly. ‘Arthur, I have an idea you’re being rather subtle. Let’s see what might happen. First of all I don’t doubt that Dickson would get his quorum. The discussion would then be shelved till half-past seven, and would probably last the whole evening. That, of course, would mean postponing the Bill until Tuesday. Well, there’s no particular harm in that, but… what about the division? I’m really very doubtful as to how we should come off, in a vote of confidence on this particular issue. A great many of our own people would vote against us, of that I’m sure; some out of the highest motives, such as saving my valuable life (for which I hope I should be grateful), and some out of sheer cold feet.
‘And supposing the vote went against us? I should have to resign. But I’m quite certain that Dickson wouldn’t care about forming a Government at the present juncture. In fact I should say that he’d care about it so little that he’d be quite willing for a certain proportion of his own men to vote against him and for us, just to ensure that he didn’t carry his own motion. However, if a win was forced on him and he found himself compelled to form a Government, of course he’d drop this bill like a red-hot coal; and that, I imagine, is the last thing he’d want to take the responsibility for doing. He knows as well as I do that without this Bill it’s just a toss-up whether India remains in the Empire another fortnight. If she walked out, the responsibility would be his and his party’s. They wouldn’t live it down for a generation. It would be the biggest set-back the Labour Party has ever had: far worse than the General Strike. No, it’s one thing for Dickson and his friends to use their thunder against the Bill so long as we’re bringing it in, but quite another matter to live up to their own words when the responsibility’s their own. Their front bench know all this as well as we do; so I think we can safely say that if it came to a vote of confidence, we should get it, malgré our own discontents.
‘But what about the discussion itself? Do you really consider it advisable? I’m afraid I don’t agree. Some very unfortunate things would certainly be said. A still more unfortunate impression would be left, not only in India itself but on the Continent: that over a matter of being masters in our own house, we are divided amongst ourselves. In point of fact that is exactly the impression I am so anxious to avoid. We must at any rate present to the world the appearance of being firmly determined to stand no nonsense. Terroristic methods must not even seem to perturb us. If we let it be seen that we are rattled, then goodbye to everything that this country has ever stood for in the councils of the world.
‘And that, my dear Arthur,’ concluded the Prime Minister, with another smile, ‘is why I’ve already given Dickson quite plainly to understand that if he insists on moving the adjournment after questions on Monday, I shall do all I can to prevent it. And between ourselves, Arthur, I rather fancy that the adjournment will not be moved.’
‘Oh,’ said Lord Arthur, a little blankly. ‘I see.’
The Prime Minister continued to regard him for a few moments with benevolence. Then he said mildly:
‘Well, if that’s all you wanted to see me about, Arthur…?’
Lord Arthur took the hint.
As he closed the door of the library behind him he glanced at his watch. The time was twenty-five minutes past six. He had better get back to his flat and see about changing for dinner, early though it was. There was nothing more he could do here, and the idea of a Club, and the anxious questioning of men whom he either knew too well or did not want to know at all, was repugnant. Perhaps half an hour’s rest would not be amiss. Now he came to realise it, he felt all in. There was that seating-plan of the House yesterday afternoon to pore over too, and a few more blanks to fill in.
In the street, however, he remembered the cable he had promised to send off about Lacy. There did not seem quite so much point in it now, but it had better be done. Wearily Lord Arthur turned his steps in the direction of the India Office.
There were signs of activity about it, he was glad to see. For one thing the porter was on duty, which was unusual at that time on a Saturday in any Government office. Refusing the man’s offer of the lift, Lord Arthur walked up the stairs to his own office on the first floor. Scarcely had he sat down at his desk when the door burst open and a young man tumbled in.
‘Who the hell…?’ began the young man, and then blushed vividly. ‘Oh, it’s you, sir. I’m awfully sorry, sir. I’m on duty, you see, and hearing someone come into your room…’
Lord Arthur smiled. The young man’s face was vaguely familiar, and his youthful exuberance was refreshing. During his term at the India Office Lord Arthur had been brought into contact with few but the more elderly of the permanent officials; and an elderly Civil Servant is a dull stick. It seemed sad that this bouncing, tow-haired young man would one day be an elderly stick himself. But he would. Bureaucracy would get him down, as it got down all the rest.
‘That was very alert of you,’ Lord Arthur said. ‘No, come in. I want to learn what arrangements have been made. Let’s see… I’ve forgotten your name for the minute.’
‘Farly, sir,’ replied the young man, blushing again, but this time with pleasure. He went on to explain that orders had been given for one junior member of the First Division staff to be permanently on duty; a camp-bed had been set up in the Secretary of State’s own room for him to sleep on at night. He was to take all incoming telephone calls and deal with all matters as they arose; he was to keep in touch with Sir Everard Johns, and if possible with Lord Arthur himself.
‘Just as well you told me, because no one else has,’ Lord Arthur commented, dryly. It was, he thought, fairly typical that he, the nominally responsible head of the Office, should be the last person to be informed of the emergency arrangements. Sir Everard Johns, the Permanent Under-Secretary, had always made it plain that he considered any Secretary of State a bit of a nuisance and the Parliamentary Under-Secretary little more than a cypher.
Lord Arthur questioned the young man further. Farly told him that the police were not only guarding the place strongly outside, but had men posted throughout the building as well.
‘I had a talk with one of them just now. They’re expecting an attempt to blow us up,’ said the young man, hopefully. ‘Do you think there’s any chance of it, sir?’
‘I don’t know,’ Lord Arthur said. The idea seemed ridiculous. But why? The Terrorists had blown up plenty of buildings in India. It was quite right of the police to take precautions, but… ‘I shouldn’t think it was very likely,’ he added, with a smile.
‘Oh, don’t you think so, sir?’ Farly said, in a disappointed voice. He seemed to have welcomed the idea of being blown up.
There were one or two papers lying on the desk, and Lord Arthur took them up.
‘No, don’t go, Farly,’ he said, as the young man turned towards the door. ‘I’ve got a job of work for you in a minute, but I’ll just see whether there’s anything to deal with here first.’
He glanced rapidly through the papers. One contained statistics concerning the sterility of oxen in the province of Genkhan; the other was a report of the dismissal from his post of the ticket-clerk at Baipoul station for getting drunk and assaulting the station-master with an automatic machine.
‘No,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing here.’
‘Sir,’ burst out young Farly, ‘is it true that the Prime Minister is going to speak on the Bill on Monday?’
Lord Arthur looked at him sharply. ‘Where did you hear that?’
‘I don’t know, sir.’ Farly looked taken aback. ‘It’s all round the Office. Everyone was saying so this morning.’
‘I see. Well, there’s no truth in it. It isn’t decided yet who is to speak, or when. So you can put that all round the Office too.’
The young man mumbled something contrite and looked at Lord Arthur like a puppy that has been whipped for another puppy’s misdemeanour.
‘That’s all right, Farly,’ Lord Arthur said, more kindly. ‘I’m glad to have known. These silly rumours cause a lot of harm. You can make it your special duty to report any others you hear to me personally, at once.’
Farly brightened, and Lord Arthur went on to give him instructions concerning the cable.
As he was doing so, the telephone bell rang. Lord Arthur answered the call himself, and the voice of the porter informed him that a messenger from Scotland Yard was waiting with a document and instructions to put it in the hands of Lord Arthur himself.
‘Send him up.’ Lord Arthur turned to Farly. ‘There’s a man coming up with a report of some sort from Scotland Yard for me. You can sign for it. I want to go up to the registry. I suppose there’s someone on duty there?’
Young Farly thought that there would probably be a clerk on duty, and offered to go himself.
‘No,’ said Lord Arthur. ‘You get that cable off right away.’
They left the room together, Farly to turn into the Secretary’s room next door, Lord Arthur to walk a few steps down the corridor and push the button for the electric lift; for the registry containing the files of all the Office’s documents was on the top floor. As he stepped into the lift he heard the porter conducting Scotland Yard’s messenger up the stairs below and just caught a glimpse of two men in the blue and gilt of the State service. The lift shot up.
There was a clerk on duty in the registry, and he was very anxious to oblige Lord Arthur; but ten minutes’ search of the files could produce no such thing as a report on the journey of Mr Reginald Lacy to India during the previous summer. Leaving the clerk to investigate further, Lord Arthur made his way downstairs.
As he was walking along the corridor of the floor on which the registry was located, he heard what sounded like a faint pop far down the stairs. Instantly a man jumped out of a doorway just ahead and hurried down the stairs. Somewhat surprised, Lord Arthur hurried after him. It was, he surmised, one of Lesley’s men and the pop had obviously alarmed him.
There was the sound of other feet on the stairs, and Lord Arthur’s alarm grew. It was to be justified. Scarcely had he descended a couple of flights, with the broad back of the Scotland Yard man a flight ahead, when a dull boom sounded three or four floors below and the concrete step under Lord Arthur’s feet perceptibly trembled.
‘By Heaven!’ he thought. ‘They’ve done it.’
They had.
When at last Lord Arthur reached the floor that he had left only a bare twelve minutes earlier, it was to find his room a mass of splintered wreckage and half a dozen plain-clothes men already busy about the body of young Farly who lay, a bullet through his head, across the threshold of the door.