Overstrand was a great deal bigger and heavier than Rolf-Callender, and about three times as strong. As soon as he was on top the fight was over. He had Rolf-Callender’s throat in his hands and was banging his head on the floor.
‘This has got to stop,’ said Duncan. He was well aware that what was happening was one of the things which simply must not be allowed to happen – anyway not in a prisoner-of-war camp, where nerves were constantly frayed by proximity and boredom. It was the ultimate indecency.
He and Anderson got hold of Overstrand and dragged him off his opponent, and somebody helped Rolf-Callender into a sitting position, with his back against the passage wall.
‘Look here,’ said Duncan. ‘You’d both better apologise and call it a day. I think there were faults on both sides.’
‘All right,’ said Overstrand. He was still red and breathing hard; but it is easier for the victor in these affairs to be magnanimous. ‘Let’s forget it.’
‘I expect you hope so,’ said Rolf-Callender. His face was covered with blood and dirt, and his mouth looked like a mean little slit in a dishevelled mask. ‘I suppose if all these people hadn’t been here I should have been finished off the same way as Coutoules.’
Overstrand looked down at him for a moment. Then Duncan touched him on the arm and the two of them walked out of the hut, which had suddenly grown silent.
‘How on earth did it start?’ said Baierlein.
‘Why get angry with a little blot like that?’ said Grimsdale. ‘He’s not worth powder and shot.’
‘I suppose he wanted his roulette board back,’ said Long.
‘Yes, that’s what started it.’
‘How did he know we’d got it?’
‘I don’t know – I think it must have been something I said.’ Overstrand sounded uncomfortable. ‘Anyway, he went to the S.B.O. and complained. I gather he didn’t get much change out of him, though.’
‘Serve him right,’ said Long, ‘but in that case what was all the fuss about? Was it just his usual anti-escape moan?’
‘Yes, that sort of thing.’
‘Why-did-we-go-on-trying-when-no-one-had-ever-got-out-of-the-country?’
‘No – he didn’t get as far as that. He said that pinching property was one of the things that wasn’t done in the best regiments.’
‘What does he know about the best regiments?’
‘When I was in the 60th,’ said Grimsdale, ‘we hardly ever stopped pinching things—’
‘Doesn’t seem much to fight about,’ said Long.
‘He also as good as accused me of murdering Coutoules.’
‘Well, you didn’t, did you,’ said Baierlein, ‘so why worry?’
‘Have we got time to dress tonight?’ enquired Captain the McInstalker.
‘’Fraid not,’ said Captain Abercrowther. ‘I’ve got a rehearsal later on.’
‘Pity.’ The McInstalker looked at his watch. ‘Now that we’ve got our clean shirts we never have a chance to use them.’
‘We’re going to the Café Royal tomorrow night.’
‘Does one dress for the Café Royal?’
‘I should say that it was optional. Suppose we have a quick pub crawl tonight round the Covent Garden area – start at the Final in William IV Street and work our way along to the Pillars of Hercules?’
‘All right – if you’ve got enough time. It’s a great mistake to hurry a pub crawl. What are you doing in this play, by the way?’
‘I’m Barrett.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘A chap who bullied his children.’
‘Good idea, really,’ said the McInstalker. ‘I was always bullied when I was a child. Look at me now.’
‘I see what you mean.’
‘Talking of dress shirts, do you know, I always thought it was rather odd.’
‘What was odd?’
‘You remember that night what’s-his-name was killed – that Greek.’
‘The one they found in a tunnel?’
‘Yes. You remember we were waiting for our clean shirts then – we wanted them badly for Lady Pat’s party – when I saw the laundry van come in I reckoned we should get them.’
‘We didn’t though, did we?’
‘No. The van didn’t actually come to any of our huts at all. I didn’t see it delivering any laundry. I don’t believe it collected any either.’
‘Come to think of it, I believe you’re right. What do you think it was up to?’
‘I think you ought to tell Goyles about it.’
‘He’s in the cooler at the moment. I must remember to tell him when he comes out.’
‘I love you,’ said Rolf-Callender.
‘I should have refused to see you again after our first meeting,’ said Peter Perse. ‘For I loved you then, though I would have denied it – even to myself . . . Oh, Robert, I think Eve must have felt as I did when her first dawn broke over Paradise – the terror, the wonder, the glory of it—’
‘No, no,’ said Rolf-Callender. ‘You mustn’t look at me like that, Peter, really you mustn’t. The book says “with restrained
spiritual
passion”. “Spiritual”, please. You’re looking at me like a greedy little parlour-maid with her first date.’
‘It’s all very well,’ said Perse, stretching his legs as comfortably as he could on a couch made up of two packing cases, ‘but how can you expect me to be spiritual about someone with a big black eye and a plummy nose?’
‘If you were really concentrating on your part,’ said Rolf-Callender stiffly, ‘you wouldn’t notice my appearance.’
‘How can I help noticing it when you drip blood over me?’
‘Come, come,’ said Captain Abercrowther – he had on an excellent pair of side-whiskers and contrived to sound, despite a Scots accent, every inch the Victorian parent. ‘We’ll never get anywhere at this rate. I suggest we take the scene again from “Forgive me, I won’t be silent any longer”, and will you boys please remember that you’re in love?’
‘I told you I’d give you the word when we were ready,’ said Overstrand to Desmond Foster. ‘I think we can make it in about two days’ time.’
‘You and Hugo and Grim.’
‘Yes. We’ve been quite lucky with our kits. We haven’t lost anything in the last searches. Either the Italians are losing their touch or their minds are not on the job.’
‘All right. I’ll tell Tim. I hope he can cut the underground cable without killing himself.’
‘He’s a Sapper – he ought to know what he’s doing.’
‘Rather him than me. However, if you’re sure you want to try it. I think everything’s set.’
‘Certainly we want to try it,’ said Overstrand. ‘You’re not backing out are you?’
‘I’m not backing out,’ said Foster. ‘I just thought that as your tunnel was so far on—’
‘I don’t think,’ said Overstrand slowly, ‘that the tunnel is ever going to come to anything.’
‘What makes you so certain?’
The two of them were walking round the perimeter path, and they had gone almost a hundred yards before Overstrand replied.
Then he said, ‘You mustn’t repeat this to anyone, Desmond, because I can’t prove it – at least, not in a way that anyone would believe – but I think the Italians know all about the tunnel.’
‘Come in, Pat,’ said Colonel Lavery to his Adjutant. ‘Shut the door. Take a seat on the bed. It’s more comfortable than the chair. Have a fig?’
‘Thank you very much, sir.’
‘Now, what’s all this about Overstrand and Rolf-Callender?’
‘They had a scrap, sir, this afternoon, in Hut A.’
‘Not a very level fight, I should have thought.’
‘No, sir. More of a massacre.’
‘Any idea what it was about?’
I thought at first it was just an ordinary escaper versus non-escaper row. They’ve been spoiling for it for a long time—’
‘Yes. I had Rolf-Callender in here after lunch. He seemed to think that Overstrand had pinched some of his property. I suppose he went straight back to his hut and happened to run into Overstrand and—’
‘Yes, sir. I thought it was that at first. But I was having a word with Terence Bush, who didn’t see the fight but came out after it was over and heard what was being said, and he got the impression that Rolf-Callender had accused Overstrand of murdering Coutoules.’
‘He said that, did he?’ Colonel Lavery looked more interested than surprised. ‘Any reasons given?’
‘No. Just a general accusation.’
‘I wonder,’ said Colonel Lavery. ‘He couldn’t have done it alone – I think that’s pretty well established. It takes four people to open the trap,’
‘I’m not so sure about that either,’ said the Adjutant. ‘I’ve been talking to one or two people about it myself, and Grimsdale apparently told someone that
if
you understood the trap, and if you were strong enough, two of you could manage it. He said that he and Overstrand had done it once or twice when the regular team wasn’t available.’
‘Did he now?’ said Colonel Lavery. He sat for a few moments, picking the fig seeds out of his teeth and considering the possibilities opened up by this new information. ‘I take it that it’s not just
any
two people who could do it. You’ve got to have the knack of the thing, and you’ve both got to be hefty sort of chaps.’
‘Yes, sir. And I don’t imagine that one person could do it, however strong he was. To start with, it would be impossible for one man to pull his weight on all four ropes at the same time.’
‘Yes. Even so I don’t quite see – I suppose the idea is that Overstrand and – well – let’s say one other person in Hut C – might have come to the conclusion that Coutoules was overdue for dispatch, might have taken him apart somewhere, finished him off, and hidden him – then dropped him down the tunnel later that night.’
‘Yes, sir. But, of course—’
‘There are a million difficulties,’ said Colonel Lavery. ‘Where did they kill him? Where did they hide him? How could two people do all that without being seen a dozen times over?’
‘Quite so, sir.’
‘I’ve come to the regretful conclusion that there’s only one body of men in this camp with the means and the space and the organisation to pull off a job like that—’
‘Who’s that, sir?’
‘The Escape Committee,’ said Colonel Lavery.
Evening had been drawing in as they were talking and in the uncertain light Captain Armstrong found it very difficult to decide whether Colonel Lavery was smiling or not.
There was one thing to be said for solitary confinement: it gave you plenty of time to think. Goyles, who had never been so fond of the company of his fellows that he felt lost without it, lay in his favourite position on his bunk with the pillow under his shoulders. It was three hours since the orderly had brought him his breakfast. In another hour he would doubtless bring in his lunch. He let his thoughts drift.
First he considered the disappointment of the night before last. He could find no explanation for it at all. Or rather, the obvious explanation did not seem to lead anywhere.
Clearly the unfortunate Biancelli had been indiscreet. He must have revealed to one of his fellow guards that he had a secret to sell; he might even have been rash enough to explain the arrangements he had made with Goyles. The person to whom he had spoken had reported him to Benucci. That was the sort of rotten thing that people did in Fascist countries. Whether Biancelli had actually been shot seemed doubtful. Such a step would have been drastic, even for Benucci. No doubt, however, he had been removed to another camp.
That Benucci should have taken the trouble to come along himself that night, at exactly the time when Biancelli was due to come on guard, was, thought Goyles, entirely in character.
There was no doubt about it: Captain Benucci was a four letter man.
So far his real, inner, beastliness had been cloaked to a certain extent by the necessary minimum civilities of an officers’ prisoner-of-war camp, regulated technically by the General Protocol and watched over by the Protecting Power. Goyles wondered how long all that was going to last. When the pinch came, which of the two Benuccis was going to take charge? The suave, capable, formal Latin, or the German-trained sadist? Goyles had met many Italians, both of the old and of the new regime; but he had never met anyone quite like Benucci. He hardly seemed of the native stock at all, or if of native origin, warped from it by alien forces.
The strange thing was that out of these rambling thoughts an idea began to grow.
It had no definite beginning and no very logical thesis, but it centred around an expression which he had heard Hugo Baierlein use some weeks before.
‘War Criminals.’
At the time the idea had been quite new to him. If he had considered the matter at all he had thought of war as a sort of football match. When the final whistle blew you went back into the pavilion and changed into your ordinary clothes and became friends again.
Now it seemed that this was not the invariable rule; that there were people whose crimes were so full-blown that they would be tried for them after the war; tried in a court of law, and duly punished with death or lesser penalties.
If there were going to be any war criminals in Italy, thought Goyles, Benucci must be well up on the short list. Consider the cases which he knew about himself. There had been Lieutenant Colley. Goyles had not been in the camp at the time but he had heard all about it. Colley, who was an excellent linguist and a professional actor, had disguised himself as an Italian officer, and with two friends dressed as Italian soldiers had bluffed his way out of the main gate. The security precautions in those early days had not been so strict. The trio was actually passing through the outer of the two gates when Benucci had happened to come out of the office building. He had recognised them as impostors at once. What happened next was not entirely clear, but all eyewitnesses were agreed that Colley and his friends had from that moment no chance of escaping. There were groups of Italian soldiers in the road itself and in the square at the end of the road. Benucci had, without hesitation, ordered the sentries to shoot. All three escapers had been shot down at point-blank range.
The case of Major McFadden had been a good deal worse. There had been a faint cloak of military necessity about the killing of Colley and his friends. The McFadden case, if what was suspected was true, was unvarnished murder.