Landfall (26 page)

The Admiral said: “By all means.”

Commander Sutton found Mona sitting disconsolate
in the secretary’s office behind the glass screen. He beamed at her. “Lieutenant James has just told us a funny story,” he said cheerfully. “He said that there was a low joke about rubber in that newspaper cutting, and that that’s why he showed it to you.”

She said: “That’s right. I didn’t like to say in front of the Admiral, and all.”

He said merrily: “Well now, I think that’s rather funny. You know, we all thought you were hiding something terrible.”

“I wasn’t, honestly. Only that.”

He sat down on the arm of a chair. “Look, Miss Stevens—do you mind if I ask you rather a personal question? You needn’t answer it unless you want to.”

She said: “All right….”

“Are you engaged—or going about a lot with anybody in particular?”

She looked down. “Sort of,” she said at last.

He smiled down at her, full of quite a genuine sympathy. “He’s in the Air Force, isn’t he?”

She was silent. It was no good trying to deceive these officers: they were too clever for her.

“Is he a pilot?” he said gently.

She nodded without speaking. They knew everything.

“Is he the pilot who sank
Caranx?”

She raised her head. “He never did,” she said angrily. “You and your precious Court of Enquiry tried to make out he did, but that’s all wrong.”

He smiled at her. “We only want to get to the bottom of the thing,” he said. “We can’t do that if you hold out on the essential facts, because then we don’t know where we are at all. Look, tell me the whole of it. First of all, what’s his name?”

“Chambers,” she said. “Jerry Chambers. I don’t mean that—I mean Roderick Chambers.” He waited patiently
while she collected herself. “He’s a flying-officer.”

“And you’re engaged to him, are you?”

“Not properly. Sort of half and half.”

He thought for a minute. It was all becoming clear as crystal now. “I suppose when he was in trouble over
Caranx
he told you all about it.”

“He had to tell somebody,” she said. “Who else was there for him to talk to? You was all against him.”

“I’m not blaming him, or you, or anybody,” he said. “I’m trying to help. Tell me, did you ever hear anything about
Caranx
except from Mr. Chambers?”

She shook her head. “Only from Jerry. They was talking about it a little in the bar the night it happened, or the night after, but not so that anyone could hear.”

He smiled at her. “That clears up everything, Miss Stevens. Will you come in with me and tell this to the Admiral? I’ll help you.”

She got up reluctantly and followed him back into the study. It was awful: she didn’t know what Jerry would say. But she was powerless to contend against these men.

In the study Commander Sutton said easily: “I think we’ve cleared up where the leakage came from, sir.” He smiled. “Miss Stevens is engaged to Flying-Officer Chambers, the pilot who was responsible for sinking
Caranx
—or what we think was
Caranx.”

The Admiral stared at her with creases round his eyes that indicated the possibility of a smile. “So that is where the leakage came from?”

Mona was silent, confused. Commander Sutton said: “Yes, sir. Miss Stevens has assured me that she had no other source of information.”

Rutherford said: “Well, that seems to clear up all the difficulties.”

Captain Burnaby said nothing. One perfectly appalling difficulty was opening before him.

The Commander-in-Chief said: “I agree with that.
Now we can set to work and analyse the evidence.”

He turned to Mona. “I’m going to ask you to wait a little longer,” he said. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

She said shyly: “Yes, please.”

“Come along with me.”

He opened the door for her that led into the main hall of Admiralty House, white, and very high, and pillared. “I think they’re having tea in the drawing-room,” he said easily. “My wife will want to meet you.”

He opened the door. In the large, well-proportioned room a tea-table was drawn up before the fire; a solid, comfortable tea served in the old aristocratic style. A middle-aged lady with grey hair brushed back from her forehead was sitting on a sofa in the act of pouring out: another, possibly a sister, sat opposite to her upon the far side of the fireplace. Two children, a boy and a girl of school age, were digging into the bread and jam.

The grey-haired lady looked up as the Admiral came in. “Ring the bell for another cup, Jim dear,” she said. She saw Mona behind him. “Oh …”

The Commander-in-Chief said: “I haven’t come to stay. I want you to meet Miss Stevens, Muriel, and give her a cup of tea. Miss Stevens has just been very useful to us, so be nice to her. I’m going back to my conference.”

Lady Blackett smiled. “Do come and sit down,” she said to Mona. She made room beside her on the sofa. She had become accustomed to the unexpected in the way of visitors since she had become hostess at Admiralty House. She did not know in the very least who Mona was, but then she had not known a great deal about the young Siamese prince that she had had to entertain the day before, or the twenty-three American journalists the day before that.

The Admiral said: “I don’t suppose we shall be very long,” and went back to his study.

He noticed at once that Rutherford was missing. Burnaby said: “He’s telephoning from the next office, sir. He won’t be a minute.”

In a few minutes Rutherford returned, a little red in the face. “I just had an idea. I should have thought of it before. One of the caps that was picked up when
Caranx
went down was an ordinary rating’s cap with the initials A.C.P. inside the band.”

“Well?”

“It just struck me to ring up Blockhouse and find out if there was a rating on
Caranx
with the initials A.C.P.”

The Admiral nodded. “Was there?”

“No, there wasn’t, sir. There was a man called Porter, an engine-room artificer, but his names were Thomas Edward.”

There was a short silence. Captain Burnaby said at last: “So apparently that cap did not belong to anybody on board
Caranx.”

Rutherford said: “Apparently not. It was careless of me not to have thought of this before.”

Commander Sutton laughed. “Well, that’s another one.”

The Commander-in-Chief moved over to the table; they grouped themselves around him. “It’s interesting, but it’s a minor point. The first thing that we must establish is the position where this other submarine was said to have been sunk.”

They sat down at the table and went into conference.

Half an hour later the Admiral rose from the table. “That’s all then.” He turned to Rutherford. “I shall leave this in your hands, Commander. Make your arrangements direct with Commander Hobson for the divers.” He turned to the secretary. “See that Hobson is informed.”

The two commanders made as if to leave the room,
but Captain Burnaby hesitated. “There’s just one more thing, sir,” he said.

“What’s that?”

Captain Burnaby was not easily put out, but he had not felt himself in a position of such difficulty for many years. “It’s about the Air Force pilot who sank
Caranx
, or what we thought to be
Caranx,”
he said.

“What about him? You mean the one that is engaged to this girl here?”

“Yes, sir. He happened to be the pilot who was doing the trials upon the R.Q. apparatus yesterday. You remember, there was an accident.”

“That was the same pilot, was it?”

“Yes, sir.”

To the two commanders this was so much Greek; each guarded his own secrets and knew little of the secrets of the other departments.

The Commander-in-Chief said: “He’s in Haslar, isn’t he?”

“Yes, sir. He’s pretty bad.”

“Dying?”

“I wouldn’t like to say. He got through the night better than they thought he would.” The captain hesitated, and then he said: “He behaved very creditably. He insisted upon seeing Professor Legge in hospital last night to tell him what happened.”

The Admiral nodded. It was the sort of thing that one expected, but still good to see. “I don’t suppose that did him any good.”

“No, sir. The hospital were very cross about it.”

There was a short silence.

Commander Sutton said: “I don’t think the girl knows anything about that, sir.”

“No,” said the Admiral. “She’ll have to be told.”

The same thought had been in all their minds. Each of them had shied away from it, a desperately unpleasant
business that each hoped would fall to someone else.

Burnaby said: “It isn’t really necessary to tell her now, sir. It will get through to her in due course in the usual way.”

There was a little pause. Then the Commander-in-Chief said: “No. She’d better be told tonight. She’s deserved well of us, and so has the pilot.”

He turned to them. “Leave that with me, gentlemen,” he said firmly. They recognised their dismissal and left the study.

Outside the evening was closing in. A steward came in quietly and closed the shutters and drew the heavy curtains across the windows. The Admiral turned to his desk and picked up the telephone. “Get me Surgeon-Captain Dixon in Haslar Hospital.”

He looked up from the telephone and said to the steward: “Ask Her Ladyship if she would come and see me in here for a moment.”

Lady Blackett came into the room as he was putting down the telephone. “Did you want me, Jim?”

He got up to meet her. “I wanted a word with you alone. What’s that girl like that I landed on you?”

She opened her eyes a little. “She’s nice, Jim. Not quite from the top drawer, you know. But she’s got a very nice mind.”

“Pretty, isn’t she?”

“I think she’s very good-looking. Who is she?”

“She’s one of the barmaids at the Royal Clarence Hotel.”

She nodded; she was not surprised. “I thought it was something like that. We had quite a heart to heart. She’s half engaged to somebody in the Air Force—an officer.” She smiled quietly. “She was working up to ask me if she ought to marry him, but she didn’t get as far as that.”

He nodded. “Is she up to scratch?”

“I think she is. I wouldn’t mind receiving her. Things aren’t like they used to be when we were married.”

He turned back to the fire. “There’s a bit of trouble about that Air Force officer of hers,” he said. “Flying-Officer Chambers. He was on one of the experimental jobs that the people at Titchfield are doing for us. There was a crash yesterday and he got very badly hurt.”

She said quietly: “I’m very sorry.”

“Yes. Tve just been on to Haslar. He got through last night all right, but he’s still very ill. Multiple injuries, burns, and shock. I don’t quite know what to do about this girl.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t know anything about this.”

“No. Should we tell her, do you think? It’s not as if she was his wife.”

She said: “I think we ought to tell her.”

“That’s what I thought. Normally, I wouldn’t bother with it; I’d let her go away and find out in the usual course of things. But these two have deserved well of us, both of them.”

“You’ll give her a pass to go and see him in Haslar?”

“Of course.” There was a pause, and then he said: “Is she alone in the drawing-room?”

“Yes.”

He moved towards the door, a great massive figure in naval uniform, with heavy rings of gold braid on his arms, with three rows of medal ribbons on his shoulder.

She stopped him. “Let me do it, Jim,” she said. “I’ll bring her in to see you for a minute presently.” She smiled gently. “This is the sort of thing that I can do a great deal better than you.”

In the tall, spacious drawing-room Mona sat alone before the fire. From three of the four walls long portraits of bygone admirals in uniform looked down
at her, clothed in the fashions of an older day. Presently she got up and began looking round; over the mantelpiece she read the legend on a picture: “Admiral Earl Howe.” Each of the pictures had a title under it; some of them she could remember vaguely from her history-book at school.

Jerry, she knew, would get up to the top of his profession. A hundred years hence Jerry’s portrait might be hanging on a similar wall in some far-distant, similar drawing-room. She wondered what the wives of all these admirals had been. Had any of them been barmaids? If she married Jerry, would he ever have his picture on a wall like that?

The door opened, and she turned to meet the wife of the Commander-in-Chief.

Lady Blackett came forward to the fire. “Sit down, my dear,” she said a little nervously. They sat down together on the deep, brocaded sofa.

“I’m afraid I’ve got bad news for you,” she said.

A
LL
morning the Dutch ship plugged along up. Channel, driven at twelve knots with a rumbling mutter from her Diesel engines. They had passed the Lizard in the night: at dawn they had been inspected by a low-flying monoplane of the Coastal Command. The name
Heloise
and the Dutch colours painted on her side had satisfied the aeroplane; the pilot had waved cheerfully at them and had flown on his way.

They passed the Start at ten o’clock and went on keeping a sharp lock-out for submarines. Once three destroyers passed to the south of them, steering west and going at a great speed.

On the bridge Captain Jorgen stood scanning the waters. He had slept little during the night; it was unlikely that he would leave the bridge before his vessel docked at Rotterdam. He was nervous of submarines. Without respect for neutrality the Germans had been sinking Dutch ships at sight in recent weeks: a policy that was difficult to comprehend. In successive voyages since the war began the
Heloise
had brought from America a considerable quantity of goods that had been destined for Germany. Not all had passed the contraband control, but a good deal had slipped through.

His first officer called his attention to a ship ahead of them as they drew near to Portland. He inspected it through glasses; it had the unmistakable outline of a destroyer. Moreover, it was steaming to meet him. He swore softly to himself. For the last two voyages he had had a navicert issued in New York, but that did not prevent the British from stopping his ship for further inspections.