‘Surely you must have expected it?’ said Forbes-James, smoothly. ‘After all, Lady Mosley—’
‘I want to see my wife.’
‘I’m afraid that’s impossible. At least, for the moment.’
‘When will I be able to see her?’
‘That rather depends on you. There’s the issue of national security, but it may be possible for Mrs Montague to be removed from the confines of prison and kept under some form of house arrest . . . I don’t know how long it will take the Advisory Committee to look into your wife’s case, but I imagine it will be quite a while before they can prepare the necessary information. Treason is a serious business, Mr Montague.’
‘My wife has not acted in any—’
‘Mrs Montague and other members of the Right Club have been aiding the enemy by being party to the illegal transfer of confidential documents to people liable to be hostile to the interests of this country,’ said Forbes-James flatly. ‘That is treason.’
‘Nonsense! Everything we have done is in the interests of this country. Unlike yourselves.’
‘I hardly think that the people of this country will look kindly on an organisation which advocates any form of negotiation with a man who is trying to bomb us into submission. Anything less than the ultimate penalty would be an insult to them. Now,’ Forbes-James stood up, and Stratton, taking his cue, pushed back his chair, ‘if you have nothing else to say, we shall take our leave.’
‘Wait! What is to happen to my wife?’
‘I’m afraid I’m unable to say,’ said Forbes-James, calmly. ‘We have left a parcel of necessities for you at reception, and any other—’
‘Under what circumstances,’ interrupted Montague, ‘would my wife be placed under house arrest?’
‘I cannot make bargains, Mr Montague. I may, however, be able to make certain recommendations.’
‘I see.’ Montague stared down at his feet, then looked at Forbes-James. ‘You said you needed my help.’
‘It would be appreciated.’ Forbes-James sat down again. His eyes met Montague’s, and, for a long moment, neither man spoke. Once more, Stratton felt the sense of exclusion from a club, from the upper echelons - upbringing, public school, university - he could never be part of it. But Montague, treason or no treason, would always be a member. At least at Great Marlborough Street he, Stratton, was an inferior amongst equals. Here, despite the stale body odour and the faecal smells wafting from the corridor, he was a rank outsider.
Montague cleared his throat. ‘I believe you have some questions for me.’
‘We do,’ said Forbes-James. ‘The documents in Mr Wymark’s possession: Have you seen them?’
‘No.’
‘But you have an idea of the contents?’
‘Yes. I must reiterate that everything I have done has been in the interests of this country. For a power such as America to enter this war would cause death and destruction on a scale unparalleled in history.’
‘If the United States comes to our aid, Mr Montague,’ said Forbes-James, ‘we will win.’
‘At what cost?’
‘Peace,’ said Forbes-James. ‘Peace, as Mr Chamberlain said in a rather different context, with honour. These documents came to our attention through the involvement of Sir Neville Apse. He has given us certain information . . .’ Forbes-James stopped to light another cigarette, taking his time over it. ‘Blackmail, Mr Montague. That is what we are talking about.’
‘Blackmail would seem to be your speciality, Colonel, not mine.’
Forbes-James ignored this. ‘Sir Neville isn’t a member of the Right Club, is he? His name does not appear on the list we found in Mr Wymark’s possession.’
‘I have no knowledge of any such list.’
‘I understand from Mr Wymark that you gave it to him for safekeeping. Or perhaps it came from your wife?’
‘My wife,’ Montague’s voice shook slightly, ‘has nothing to do with this.’
‘I’m afraid we are not convinced of that. Perhaps you can assist us.’
‘How?’
‘A few facts . . .’
‘I must say, gentlemen, that I consider your behaviour disgraceful. Shabby in the extreme.’
‘This is war, Mr Montague, not a garden party. When did you first learn of Sir Neville’s, ah . . . proclivities?’
Montague’s face turned from pale to a mottled red. ‘From a man named Chadwick.’
‘Chadwick?’ Stratton took out his notebook.
‘Bobby Chadwick.’ Montague pronounced the name with distaste. ‘A revolting little pansy.’
‘Is he a member of the Right Club?’ asked Forbes-James.
Montague shook his head. ‘Described himself as a friend to the cause. Ordinarily, of course one wouldn’t have any truck with such people, but . . .’ He paused.
‘It’s not a garden party,’ murmured Forbes-James. Montague flushed a deeper red. ‘Do go on.’
‘He came to me,’ Montague continued, ‘said he wanted to help. He told me that Sir Neville had had a . . . liaison with a friend of his. Said there was evidence to prove it.’
‘What sort of evidence?’
‘Some sort of film.’
‘Have you seen this film?’
‘No. I had no desire to see it. Chadwick said he’d made the film himself - operated the camera - and that he knew where it was.’
‘And the friend who was in the film with Sir Neville?’ asked Stratton. ‘What was his name?’
‘I have no idea. Chadwick referred to him only by a nickname.’
‘What was that?’
‘He called him Bunny,’ said Montague with a look of contempt.
Bunny, thought Stratton. The name in Mabel’s letters, but it wasn’t her. That, at least, explained the waspish tone and the comments about décor and orchids and so on. Did that mean that Sir Neville was the writer, Binkie? Perhaps, he thought, the next time they met, he ought to try calling Sir Neville a precious pinkle-wonk, just to see what happened.
‘No surname?’ asked Stratton.
Montague shook his head. ‘I didn’t ask. The thing made me sick - Chadwick was clearly an habitual sodomite, and utterly poisonous. I wanted as little to do with him as possible.’
‘But nevertheless you were prepared to believe him. You took the information to Sir Neville,’ said Forbes-James.
‘I made use of it, yes.’
‘And how did Sir Neville react?’
‘He agreed to give assistance.’
‘How?’
‘To receive certain documents from Mr Wymark, and have them sent out of the country. He had a contact at the Portuguese Embassy.’
‘This was in return for your silence?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Sir Neville didn’t ask for proof - to see the film?’
‘No.’
‘Did you tell him that the source of your information was Chadwick?’
Montague shook his head.
‘Do you know where Chadwick lives?’ asked Stratton.
‘No. He contacted me at my club.’
‘When was this?’
‘Sometime in February. I don’t remember the exact date.’
‘Did you offer him money?’
‘Yes. Much to my surprise, he refused.’
Stratton noted this down. ‘Can you describe him, sir?’
‘Pansy. Effeminate. Looked as if he painted himself. Dyed his hair, that sort of thing.’
‘What colour was it?’
‘Dark red. Ridiculous.’
Dr Byrne, Stratton thought, hadn’t mentioned anything about the corpse having dyed hair - just that it was brown. But there might be traces of the dye, even if it had been washed out . . . And in any case, Montague was prejudiced. Chadwick’s hair colour might have been natural - assuming, of course, that he was the body in the church. ‘How old was he?’
‘About fifty, I suppose.’ Montague made a dismissive gesture. ‘It’s hard to say with these people.’
‘How tall?’ Stratton asked.
Montague looked him up and down in a way that made him think of an executioner calculating a prisoner’s height and weight for the drop. ‘Under six feet,’ he said. ‘Five feet nine or ten, I should say. Fleshy,’ he added, with an expression of distaste.
‘Did you see him after that?’
‘Never.’
‘You didn’t hear from him?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know a man called Abraham, or Abie, Marks?’
‘No.’
‘Have you heard of him?’
‘I don’t associate with Jews.’
Stratton, who had not really expected anything different, received this in silence, and, after a moment, Forbes-James said, ‘If you have no further questions, Inspector . . . ?’
Stratton shook his head. Turning to Montague, Forbes-James said, ‘That will be all for the time being, Mr Montague. Thank you for your assistance.’
‘What will happen to my wife?’
‘That remains to be seen.’ Forbes-James rose. ‘However, you may rest assured that we shall inform the relevant authorities of your co-operation.’ As he held out his hand, Montague placed both of his firmly behind his back.
‘I would be sorry,’ said Forbes-James, ‘if we could not part like gentlemen.’
‘I do not consider you a gentleman, Colonel.’ Montague did not even bother to nod in Stratton’s direction. ‘Good day to you.’
FIFTY-THREE
‘I’m not sure,’ said Forbes-James, as the car bore them away, ‘how far you will be able to proceed with your enquiries. It may not be in the national interest to stir things up too much. I hope you understand that.’
Stratton sighed. ‘Yes, sir, I do.’
‘Interesting that Apse caved in so quickly to Montague’s demands.’
‘Fear, sir. Public disgrace.’
‘I realise that,’ said Forbes-James testily, ‘but it’s extraordinary that he should have done so without at least attempting to obtain a copy of the film. Especially if Montague didn’t mention Chadwick.’
‘Sir Neville knew it existed all right, though. Mr Montague said Chadwick had filmed them himself.’
‘I suppose so, although the film might have been destroyed, of course . . . Never a good idea to put one’s youthful indiscretions on the record, so to speak. Any idea who this man Bunny might be?’
‘Yes, sir. From the letters Miss Morgan had.’
‘Yes, I know about those, but I’ve not read them. We assumed they were unconnected.’
‘So did I, sir, but they’re addressed to someone called Bunny. I’d assumed it was Miss Morgan herself, but I suppose Bunny must be someone she knew. Otherwise, why would the letters be in her possession?’
‘Hmm. Well, I suppose we’d better go and see Mr Chadwick - if you can find him, that is.’
‘Yes, sir. And if he is the body in the church?’
Forbes-James sighed. ‘We’d better cross that particular bridge when - or if - we come to it.’
‘Yes, sir. What will happen to Mr Montague?’
‘Well, I doubt if he’ll be prosecuted - I shan’t recommend it. I imagine he’ll remain in detention for the duration. He’ll manage pretty well. Public school men always do. It’s the other chaps who have a rough time.’
‘I’m surprised Mr Montague didn’t realise that prison might be the outcome of his actions, sir.’
‘Yes . . .’ Forbes-James looked thoughtful. ‘I must say he struck me as a rather unworldly individual. Didn’t know him before, of course. A fantasist, perhaps, as well as a fanatic, and altogether cruder than Mosley, who has a fine mind, although there’s an element of naïvety there as well, of course . . .’
‘What about Wymark?’
‘I’d like to say that he will be first deported and then shot, but I don’t know. Even if they’d agree to it, a public trial in America at the moment would hurt Roosevelt’s chances of re-election, so I suppose we’ll have to hang on to him - for the time being, at least.’ Forbes-James fell silent. Stratton looked out of the window at men taking down railings beside a public air-raid shelter, its brick walls piled high with sandbags, and wondered if Abie Marks knew he’d been doing dirty work for a man in league (however unwillingly) with the Right Club. He couldn’t see it. Marks had always made much of his arrest at Cable Street in ’36, although, according to a friend of Stratton’s who’d been on duty at the time, it wasn’t, as he claimed, for beating up one of Mosley’s henchmen, but for assaulting a policeman. But even if his part in the fighting - which was mostly, Stratton knew, between the Communists and the police - was exaggerated, Marks was hardly likely to get into bed with a Jew-hater like Montague (‘Wouldn’t give ’em the sweat off my balls, Mr Stratton.’). Sir Neville, however, was another matter: whatever his connections, money and friends in high places would always count for something with a man like Abie Marks. If Sir Neville had prevailed upon Marks to find and destroy Mabel Morgan’s film, and he had managed it, what might he have expected in return? If that was what had happened, then Sir Neville had clearly known that the film was in Mabel’s possession, which meant that, in all likelihood, his erstwhile dancing partner was Mabel’s husband Cecil Duke. Otherwise, why should she have it at all?