'You were right, Michael,' Devlin said. 'She's a runner, this old van of yours.'
'Sure and I could race her at Brooklands if they were still racing at Brooklands,' Ryan grinned.
Mary was sitting in the back of the van reading a book as usual. 'Are you all right back there?' Devlin asked her.
'I'm fine.'
'We'll stop for a cup of tea in a while.'
In Maidstone, Ryan drove round the centre of the town until he found a cycle shop. Devlin went in and bought half a dozen standard bicycle lamps with fresh batteries.
'I've cleaned him out,' he said when he returned. 'Told him I wanted them for my church Scout troop. There's no doubt about it, this collar comes in useful on occasion.'
'And why would you want those?' Mary asked.
'An aeroplane coming in through the darkness at night is like a lost bird, girl dear. It needs a welcome. A little light on the situation, you might say.'
On the other side of Ashford they pulled in at the side of the road and Mary opened a Thermos flask and they had tea. There was a track leading to a little copse. It had stopped raining, but was still very damp. The sky was dark and threatening all the way to Romney Marsh and the sea in the distance. Mary and Devlin strolled along the track and stood under a tree, taking it all in.
He nodded at her book. 'What this time?'
'Poetry,' she said. 'Robert Browning. Do you like poetry?'
T had some published once. What's called in the trade a slim volume.' He laughed. T could make the stuff up at the drop of a hat and then I realized one day just how bad it was.'
T don't believe you. Make something up about me.'
He stuck a cigarette in his mouth. 'All right.' He thought for a moment then said: 'Mystery girl, who are you? Hurrying nowhere in your tight skirt and frizzled hair, legs heavy with promise.'
There was a look of mischief on his face and she struck him lightly with her clenched fist. 'That's terrible.'
'I warned you.' He lit his cigarette. 'Good poetry says it all for you in a few lines.'
'All right, what would sum me up?'
'Easy. "Now Voyager, sail thou forth to seek and find".'
'That's marvellous,' she said. 'Did you write that?'
'Not exactly. A Yankee fella called Walt Whitman thought of it first.' It started to rain and he put a hand on her elbow. 'But I wish I'd written it for you. Let's get moving,' and they hurried back to the van.
At the apartment over the Astoria Jack Carver was sitting at the table by the window having a late breakfast when Eric came in. His ear was heavily bandaged, tape running diagonally up across his forehead holding the dressing in place. He looked terrible.
'How do you feel?' Carver asked.
'Shocking, Jack, the pain's bloody awful. Aziz gave me some pills, but they don't seem to have much effect.'
'He tells me George is in a bad way. That bullet splintered the bone. He could be left with a permanently stiff arm, as well as the leg.'
Eric poured coffee, his hand shaking. 'That little sod, Jack. We've got to get our hands on him. We've got to.'
'We will, son,' Jack said. 'And then it'll be our turn. I've put his description out all over London. He'll turn up. Now drink you're coffee and have something to eat.'
Using the road map, Ryan found Charbury easily enough and an enquiry at the little village store led them to Shaw Place. The great rusting iron gates at the end of the drive stood open. The drive, stretching towards the old house, had grass growing through the gravel.
'This place has seen better days,' Ryan commented.
Devlin stepped out, opened the van doors and got the radio and the bag of cycle lamps out. 'You can leave me here,' he said. Til walk up to the house.'
'What time shall we call back?' Ryan asked.
'Give me four hours and if I'm not here, just wait. Go and have a look at Rye or one of those places.'
'Fine,' Ryan said. 'Take care, Liam,' and he drove away.
Devlin picked up the case and started up the long drive. The house showed every evidence of lack of money. The long shutters at the windows badly needed a coat of paint, as did the front door. There was a bell pull. He gave it a heave and waited, but there was no response. After a while he picked up the case and went round to the rear of the house where there was a cobbled courtyard. One of the stable doors stood open and there were sounds of activity. He put the case down and looked in.
Lavinia Shaw wore riding breeches and boots, her hair bound in a scarf as she curried a large black stallion. Devlin put a cigarette in his mouth and snapped open his lighter. The sound startled her and she looked round.
'Miss Lavinia Shaw?' he enquired.
'Yes.'
'Harry Conlon. I phoned your brother last night. He's expecting me.'
'Major Conlon.' There was a sudden eagerness about her. She put down the brush and comb she was using and ran her hands over her breeches. 'Of course. How wonderful to have you here.'
The well-bred upper-class voice, her whole attitude, was all quite incredible to Devlin, but he took the hand she offered and smiled. 'A pleasure, Miss Shaw.'
'Maxwell is out on the marsh somewhere with his gun. Goes every day. You know how it is? Food shortages. Anything's good for the pot.' She didn't seem to be able to stop talking. 'We'll go in to the kitchen, shall we?'
It was very large, the floor flagged with red tiles, an enormous pine table in the centre with chairs around it. There were unwashed dishes in the sink and the whole place was cluttered and untidy, the lack of servants very evident.
'Tea?' she said. 'Or would you like something stronger?'
'No, the tea would be fine.'
He put the case carefully on the table with the bag of cycle lamps and she boiled water and made the tea quickly, so excited and nervous that she poured it before it had brewed properly.
'Oh, dear, I've ruined it.'
'Not at all. It's wet, isn't it, and hot?' Devlin said.
He poured a little milk in and she sat on the other side of the table, arms folded under her full breasts, eyes glittering now, never leaving him. 'I can't tell you how absolutely thrilling all this is. I haven't been so excited for years.'
She was like a character in a bad play, the duke's daughter coming in through the French windows in her riding breeches and gushing at everyone in sight.
'You've been in Germany recently?' she asked.
'Oh, yes,' he told her. 'I was in Berlin only the other day.'
'How marvellous to be part of all that. People here are so complacent. They don't understand what the Fuhrer's done for Germany.'
'For all of Europe, you might say,' Devlin told her.
'Exactly. Strength, a sense of purpose, discipline. Whereas here...' She laughed contemptuously.
'That drunken fool Churchill has no idea what he's doing. Just lurches from one mistake to another.'
'Ah, yes, but he would, wouldn't he?' Devlin said drily. 'Do you think we could have a look round? The old barn you used for your Tiger Moth and the South Meadow?'
'Of course.' She jumped up so eagerly that she knocked over the chair. As she picked it up she said, Til just get a coat.'
The meadow was larger than he had expected and stretched to a line of trees in the distance. 'How long?' Devlin asked. 'Two-fifty or three hundred yards?'
'Oh, no,' she said. 'Getting on for three-fifty. The grass is so short because we leased it to a local farmer to graze sheep, but they've gone to market now.'
'You used to take off and land here a lot in the old days?'
'All the time. That's when I had my little Puss Moth. Great fun.'
'And you used the barn over there as a hangar?'
'That's right. I'll show you.'
The place was quite huge, but like everything else the massive doors had seen better days, dry rot very evident, planks missing. Devlin helped her open one of the doors slightly so they could go inside. There was a rusting tractor in one corner, some mouldering hay at the back. Otherwise it was empty, rain dripping through holes in the roof.
'You'd want to put a plane in here?' she asked.
'Only for a short while, to be out of sight. A Lysan-der. Not too large. It would fit in here and no trouble.'
'When exactly?'
'Tomorrow night.'
'My goodness, you are pushing things along.'
'Yes, well, time's important.'
They went out and he closed the door. Somewhere in the far distance a shotgun was fired. 'My brother,' she said. 'Let's go and find him, shall we?'
As they walked across the meadow she said, 'We had a German friend who used to come here in the old days, Werner Keitel. We used to fly all over the place together. Do you happen to know him?'
'He was killed in the Battle of Britain.'
She paused for a moment only, then carried on. 'Yes, I thought it would be something like that.'
'I'm sorry,' Devlin told her.
She shrugged. 'A long time ago, Major,' and she started to walk faster.
They followed a dyke through the small reeds and it was Nell who appeared first, splashing through water, gambolling around them before running away again. There was another shot and then Shaw emerged from the reeds in the distance and came towards them.
'Look at this, old girl.' He held up a couple of rabbits.
'See who's here,' she called.
He paused and came forward again. 'Conlon, my dear chap. Nice to see you. Won't shake hands. Blood on them.' He might have been welcoming Devlin to a weekend in the country. 'Better get home and find you a drink.'
They started back along the dyke. Devlin looked out across the expanse of reeds intersected by creeks. 'Desolate country, this.'
'Dead, old man. Everything about this damn place is dead. Rain, mist and the ghosts of things past. Of course it was different in my grandfather's day. Twenty-five servants in the house alone. God knows how many on the estate.' He didn't stop talking for a moment as he walked along. 'People don't want to work these days, that's the trouble. Damn Bolshies all over the place. That's what I admire about the Fuhrer. Gives people some order in their lives.'
'Makes them do as they're told, you mean?' Devlin said.
Shaw nodded enthusiastically. 'Exactly, old man, exactly.'
Devlin set up the radio in a small study behind the old library. Shaw had gone to have a bath and it was Lavinia who helped festoon the aerials around the room and watched intently as the Irishman explained the set to her.
'Is it much different from the one you had before?' he asked.
'A bit more sophisticated, that's all.'
'And your Morse code. Can you still remember it?'
'Good heavens, Major Conlon, you never forget something like that. I was a Girl Guide when I first learned it.'
'Right,' Devlin said. 'Let's see what you can do then.'
In the radio room at Prinz Albrechtstrasse, Schellenberg studied Devlin's first message then turned to Use and Asa Vaughan. 'Incredible. He intends to pull Steiner out tomorrow evening. He wants you at Shaw Place in time to leave no later than midnight.'
'Then we'll have to get moving,' Asa told him.
'Yes, well, the Lysander was delivered to Chernay yesterday,' Schellenberg said. 'It's only a matter of getting ourselves down there.' He said to the radio operator, 'Take this message to Falcon. "Will meet your requirements. Departure time will be confirmed to you tomorrow night." '
He started to walk out and the operator called, 'I have a reply, General.'
Schellenberg turned. 'What is it?' 'A pleasure to do business with you.' Schellenberg smiled and kept on going, Asa and Use Huber following him.
In the study, Lavinia turned from the radio set. 'Did I do all right?'
Her brother was sitting by the empty fireplace, a tumbler of whisky in his hand. 'Seemed fine to me.'
'You were excellent,' Devlin said. 'Now this set is different from the one you threw away in one respect. It has a direct voice capacity for short ranges only. Say twenty-five miles. That was why I gave them the frequency reading. I've adjusted it and all you do is switch on and you're in business. That means you can talk to the pilot when he's close.'
'Marvellous. Anything else?'
'Sometime after seven they'll contact you from the French base to confirm departure time so stand by. Afterwards, you place the cycle lamps in the meadow as I described to you.'
