The Black Baroness (26 page)

‘Couldn’t the King turn down the outgoing Prime Minister’s nomination and send for somebody else who was in the same Party?’

‘He could, but it would be contrary to all precedent and liable to prejudice the detached position of the Throne, the very strength of which lies in its aloofness from the dirt and chicanery of Party politics. Therefore it is most unlikely that the Monarch would take such a step even in a major crisis.’

‘In that case Chamberlain may nominate Sir John Simon or Sam Hoare, and from what you say the King’s only alternative would be to send for Attlee.’

Sir Pellinore nodded his white head. ‘That’s the situation, and it’s a very worrying one indeed; because, short of a public upheaval that would split all three parties from top to bottom and force a General Election—which is the very last thing we want just now—there would be nothing at all that anybody could do about it. This will be the last and most momentous decision that Neville Chamberlain is called upon to take; but even hedged in as he is, I don’t think he can be in much doubt as to the nation’s wish. It now remains to be seen if he really has the greatness with which I credit him and nominates Churchill, who criticised the Government so long and so bitterly before he was taken into the Cabinet, rather than one of his old friends with whom he has seen eye to eye for so many years. Let’s go upstairs now, shall we?’

‘Hurrah! The fatted calf!’ cried Gregory, as on entering the library his eye was caught by a long-necked, cobwebby bottle which had been set ready on a salver with a corkscrew, duster and glasses beside it.

‘What’s that?’ Sir Pellinore cocked a bushy white eyebrow. ‘Oh, you mean the pre-1914 Mentzendorff’s Kümmel? Well, we said we’d knock a bottle off when you got home again—and by Jove you’ve earned it!’ Picking up the duster he carefully cleaned the top of the bottle, inserted the wide, spiral cork
screw and with a skilful twist extracted the cork. He had a theory that even the best of modern servants did not understand the handling of fine liquor so he always insisted on uncorking the greatest rarities from his cellar himself. Having carefully wiped the lip of the bottle he poured out two portions and handed one to Gregory.

For a full minute they savoured its wonderful bouquet, then lifting his glass Sir Pellinore said: ‘To Hell with Hitler!’

Following his example Gregory added: ‘And here’s Long Life to Churchill as Britain’s Victory Premier and later first Duke of Chartwell.’

They drank and were silent for another minute; then Sir Pellinore exclaimed: ‘Gad! What glorious tipple! They don’t make stuff like this in Russia these days; but there it is—the whole darned world’s gone to pot in this last half-century.’

‘By the by,’ said Gregory, ‘talking of Russians, did you meet my tame Bolshevik General when you were in Brussels?’

‘What, Kuporopoff? Yes. He’s a grand feller—man after my own heart.’

‘Kuporovitch,’ Gregory corrected him.

‘That’s it. Of course, he’s a child compared with me but he’s old enough to remember Paris as it was in its heyday. After we’d seen Erika home last night he and I had a rattling good yarn over some ‘96 Yquem that he had discovered in some pub or other, comparing notes about the high spots. Yes; I liked your friend, Kupothebitch—he’s definitely one of us, although he is a foreigner.’

As he was speaking Sir Pellinore strode across to his desk. Pulling open one of the drawers he produced an envelope which he handed to Gregory. ‘Little something for you, my boy; it’ll buy you a bottle or two of good liquor while there’s still something fit to drink left in this decadent world.’

Gregory glanced at the contents of the envelope and gave a gasp. It was a cheque for £10,000.

The elderly baronet was grinning with delight, obviously as pleased as a peacock with himself. ‘Surprised you, eh? That extra nought was one more than you bargained for—but you’ve earned it.’

‘It’s—it’s positively princely,’ Gregory stammered. ‘Even if I’d been working for money I shouldn’t have expected a tenth of this.’

‘Why not? You’ve killed more Germans so far in this war
than the entire Brigade of Guards, and I’ll bet that their keep has cost the nation more than 10,000 Jimmy-o’-goblins.’

‘I can’t see the Government setting such a high value on my services, though,’ Gregory smiled.

‘Oh—the Government; no, they never have understood that if you want real brains and ability you must be prepared to pay for them. That’s why there are so many duds among the Civil Servants. But this is my affair. You carried all that was left of my poor boy back out of the Hell of the Somme, Gregory, and I had only the one—that is, as far as I know—so I’ve always meant to see to it that you were decently provided for. You’ve been down in my Will for years for quite a tidy sum, but by the time we’ve finished with this damned house-painter feller none of us may have any money left to leave anyone. That’s why I added the extra nought—thought you might just as well have a bit on account for pocket-money, while the going’s good.’

‘I just don’t know how to thank you, sir; but I’m sure you know how I feel.’

‘That’s all right, my boy; that’s all right.’ Sir Pellinore gave Gregory’s shoulder a little jerky shake and turned away to refill the Kümmel glasses. ‘Now, what are your plans? It’s no good my asking you to take a holiday while there’s a war on; I know you too well for that, and naturally you’re anxious to get back to that pretty wench of yours on the other side.’

Gregory nodded. ‘You must give me her address and I shall want you to get me a new passport visaed for France, Belgium, Holland, Switzerland and Italy; one that Goering had faked for me is good only for the British Empire and Finland.’

‘Right. That shall be done through special channels so that you have it in time to leave on Monday morning’s plane. Have you any particular line that you mean to follow up?’

‘No. I was hoping that Erika would have started a hare in Holland or Belgium by the time I was able to join her. But I take it that if she’d got on to anything she would have let you know about it.’

‘She’s been doing good work—damn’ good work. That, of course, was really why I went on to Brussels after I’d finished in Paris. Her written reports made such interesting reading that I thought it worth the extra time to get further particulars from her by word of mouth. She and your friend—what’s-his-name?—Kuporopoff—have been putting the tabs on Hitler’s secret weapon right, left and centre during these past three weeks.
He’s got scores of attractive young women in Holland and Belgium, and these little pink rats are playing exactly the same game as they played in Norway.

‘I’ve been able to put such a dossier in front of the more energetic members of the Cabinet that I believe they’d force an issue on it if it weren’t for the fact that a Cabinet crisis on other grounds is blowing up already. Unfortunately Chamberlain can’t be persuaded that these neutrals are, all against their own will, neutrals no longer and that for their sakes as well as ours we should go into the Low Countries at once instead of leaving it to Hitler to choose his own date and forestall us.’

Gregory frowned. ‘Isn’t there a risk that if we went into them uninvited they might appeal to the Nazis for assistance? If they did, we’d be in a fine mess, you know; because not only would the quite useful Belgian and Dutch armies be added to our enemies but by such an act of unprovoked aggression we might
do
ourselves almost irreparable damage with the United States, and that would be playing Hitler’s game with a vengeance.’

‘Nonsense, boy, nonsense! These little countries are not frightened of
us
; they know perfectly well that even if we had to occupy them temporarily we should give them back their full independence the moment the war ended. What’s more, even during our occupation we should treat their populations with every consideration, see to it that they received adequate supplies of food and pay them handsomely for anything like rolling stock and so on that we had to commandeer for our military operations. But if Hitler once goes into these places hell never march out again of his own free will. They’d be given
Gauleiters
and made permanent vassal states of Germany. He would commandeer everything he wanted, and if he paid for it at all he’d only do so in useless marks. To feed his own people he’ll strip their larders as bare as Mother Hubbard’s cupboard and, naturally, in the event of a German occupation of the Low Countries we should extend our blockade to them; which means that if the war is not over by next winter five million Dutch and Belgians are going to starve to death. They know that, Gregory, as well as I know that you’ve got that old scar above your eyebrow.’

‘Then why the hell don’t they make a secret pact with us to go in on a certain date?’ Gregory asked in a puzzled voice. They could afford to risk a spot of bother if French and British troops were already landing in their ports.’

‘They daren’t,’ Sir Pellinore boomed. ‘They’re scared stiff that while the negotiations were going on their intentions would leak out. With our present Government in power six weeks at least would elapse before all our little cooks and bottle-washers had been consulted and completed their preparations. Long before that Hitler would have got wind of it that the Dutch and Belgians were plotting to come in against him. Then he’d have a perfect excuse for invading them first; and you can just imagine the manner in which he would take it out of the poor devils. That’s why they positively dare not
ask
us to lift a finger.

‘On the other hand there’s nothing to prevent us making our preparations in secret, then arriving at their ports one morning and simultaneously wheeling the left end of the main Allied Army over the Franco-Belgian frontier. There would be a formal protest and within six hours they would accept the situation. We should be able to establish ourselves on a line from Amsterdam to Antwerp and along the Albert Canal before Hitler could get there. That would secure to us the ports and the coast-line, which is all that really matters, and within another six hours it’s three to one that the Dutch and Belgian armies would be fighting with us.’

Sir Pellinore began to pace up and down as he went on angrily: ‘As it is, if we sit tight and wait until Hitler decides to march in on a date of his own choosing, we shall find ourselves in an even worse mess than we are over the Norwegian business. Holland and Belgium will almost certainly resist the aggression and call for our assistance. If we don’t go to their help the effect on world opinion will be deplorable and the whole of the coast-line from the Zuider Zee to Dunkirk will fall into Germany’s hands within a fortnight. Alternatively, if we
do
go to their assistance you may bet your bottom dollar that there will be no troopships ready to be flung into the Dutch ports to support the Netherlanders and our Army will have to leave the protection of the fortified line that it has been digging all through the winter, to wheel into Belgium at a moment’s notice; and I suppose you realise what
that
means?’

‘That they’ll have to fight in the open,’ said Gregory.

‘Exactly. Having lost the value of surprise they will no longer be able to pick the most advantageous position for giving battle; they’ll have to take the Germans on wherever they find them, which means tank for tank, gun for gun, man for man; and as
the Germans have at least four tanks, four guns and four men for every one of ours we shall stand a first-class chance of being scuppered. As long as we remain behind the extension of the Maginot Line the advantage lies with us, but once we move out of it we shall be risking a major defeat and the destruction of our first-line Army, which might set any prospect of victory back for years. In fact, I’ll go further. If the Germans annihilated the British in the open fields of Belgium through sheer weight of numbers, the way would be open for them to invade northern France and outflank the Maginot Line proper. Then the organ-grinder might get his courage up sufficiently to launch an invasion of France’s south-western provinces. If he did, the French would be caught between two fires and it might put them out of the war altogether.’

‘My hat!’ exclaimed Gregory. ‘That’s a pretty picture! But d’you think that Mussolini really means business? He’s been banging his little drum a lot again lately.’

Sir Pellinore shook his head. ‘No; he’s a cautious feller, and clever as a cartload of monkeys. He’s exploiting our reverses in Norway now to try to blackmail us into lifting our blockade so that he can get some more old iron through for Hitler; but the one good thing which has come out of this Norwegian show is that it has enabled the Navy to inflict enormous damage on the German fleet. It’s been so crippled that while maintaining the same ratio of safety-margin in the North Sea we’ve been able to despatch many units to strengthen our Mediterranean squadrons. As you’ll see in tomorrow morning’s papers, we have now massed a positive armada at Alexandria. That’s our reply to the ice-cream hawker.

‘Another thing; all the odds are in favour of the French down on their Italian frontier; not only are they better fighters than the Italians but the ground is to their advantage. The French have only one ridge of mountains to cross to get down into Italy, and in that ridge are situated the great hydro-electrical power stations which supply the whole industrial area of Turin and Milan. If the French captured or destroyed those generating plants Italy would be out of the war in a week. The Italians have a much harder row to hoe. They have three ridges of mountains to cross before they can get down into France proper, and even when they got there there’s nothing vital that they could destroy which might seriously cripple the French war effort. No. I’m still convinced that Mussolini is only bluffing
and hasn’t the least intention of risking his own neck to help his gangster friend. The only possible case in which he might be tempted to send his waiters over the top would be if the Allies had suffered a major defeat and France was practically down and out.
Then
he might screw his courage up to play the part of the jackal, but not before.’

‘I see. Well, let’s hope that if Hitler
does
go into the Low Countries the politicians will not overrule the Generals and insist on our going into Belgium. In any case, it’s obvious that we’re not strong enough to defeat the German Army yet. Our game is to wait and let the Blockade do its work this winter, while we triple the size of our Army and Air Force so that we can launch a decisive offensive in the spring.’