‘How did you know I suspected you of being a Nazi agent?’ The question came pat from my lips almost before I knew I had spoken. ‘In my wire I only asked for information about you.’
‘My dear boy, the C.O. told me all about the whole wretched business.’ His voice sounded patient.
‘Then you know why I suspect you.’
‘I know what you told Wing-Commander Winton. I want you to tell me, so that we can discuss the points at issue. It seems to me,’ he added, ‘that it is much better to thrash this matter out. Having met you and knowing something of your background, I am not fool enough to doubt the integrity of your actions. It wouldn’t give me any satisfaction to have you arrested, knowing the reason you have broken into my rooms.’ He sank down into the armchair behind him and waved me to the one on the other side of the hearth. ‘Now,’ he said, as I sat down, ‘What exactly is the trouble?’
I hesitated. I couldn’t very well sit there dumb and say, ‘I won’t tell you.’ It would be too childish. Besides, the man had a right to know why I suspected him and I couldn’t see that it would do him any harm. So I told him about the way in which the Jerry pilot had dried up and about the plan to immobilise the fighter ‘dromes of which he had spoken. ‘If there is a plan,’ I said, ‘and it’s my belief the fellow spoke the truth, it could only succeed with inside help. That help would presumably have been planted some time back, and would have achieved a sufficiently strong position to be a decisive factor.’ I stopped. There seemed nothing more to say.
‘And you think I am at Thorby for that purpose?’ he said.
I nodded, uncomfortably aware of the persistence of his gaze.
He heaved himself up a little in his chair and threw his cigarette end into the fire. ‘The point for me to make is that you are suspecting me on what appear to be the most trivial grounds. I won’t press that point, however, because obviously you believe those grounds to be sufficient. No doubt your suspicions are supported in your own view by the fact that — and I presume you know this — I spent many years in Germany teaching at the Berlin University and that I came to this country in 1934.’
He paused, and since he seemed to expect it of me, I nodded.
‘I think the best thing for me to do is to give you a short resume of my life and leave you to think it over. Perhaps you don’t believe it at the moment, but we’re both aiming at the same thing. I, with my knowledge of tactics, am trying to help the staff here to carry out their duties in defending this country whilst at the same time doing what I can to help the men in their studies. My object is the same as yours in standing to your gun. And because we’re both working to one end, I’d prefer to settle this matter amicably. But, understand this,’ he added, ‘I think my work here, which is partly in the nature of research, is important. And I don’t intend to have it nullified because of the sudden panic-prejudice against anyone with any connections with Germany. If I had you arrested now, I don’t doubt you would press your accusations. You would probably be severely dealt with, but at the same time the authorities might consider it advisable at the present time to relieve me of my duties. I am too interested in my work not to fight like hell to prevent any risk of that happening.’ His gaze was fixed intently on me. Faintly in the quiet of the room I heard the sirens go. He took no notice. ‘As a newspaper man, I am presuming that you are intelligent,’ he said. ‘I hope you understand my position. Now for the background. I was born in this country. My father was a naturalised German, my mother was half Irish, half Scotch. I was educated at Repton and Cambridge, and when I left the university my father, who was a business man of many interests connected with the foreign fruit trade, sent me abroad to learn the business from his various branches. Oh, I should say that in the last war he continued his business. I was still at school then. I just missed it, though I tried to volunteer. In 1927 I settled in Germany. I had found I wasn’t interested in business as such, and when a job at the Berlin University came my way I took it. I remained there over the difficult period of the slump and the Nazi landslide. I stuck it for a time, but when the pogroms started, I decided it was time to get out.’ He shifted in his chair and lit another cigarette. As an afterthought, it seemed, he said, ‘Perhaps I should mention that my father was a Jew. Originally the name was Veilstein. But when he became naturalised he changed it to Vayle.’ He blew a cloud of spoke ceiling-wards. ‘Now, is there anything you would like to ask me? I think you’ll find little difficulty in checking-up on what I’ve just told you when you have the opportunity.’
‘There’s just one point,’ I said. ‘Did you know a girl called Elaine when you were in Berlin?’
He seemed a little surprised at my question. Then suddenly his brow cleared. ‘Ah, Elaine Stuart, you mean? She is a Waaf.’ I saw his eyes, in a quick glance, had taken in the wallet lying on the mantelpiece. ‘No doubt you saw a photograph of the two of us in that wallet. She was a student in Berlin in 1934. A lovely girl. I was very fond of her. Now she is here, and we were able to see something of each other again. It is one of those coincidences — ‘ He spread his hands in a gesture that was essentially foreign.
Then suddenly a look of concern showed on his face. ‘You haven’t taken that photograph, have you?’
I felt a guilty flush creep into my cheeks. I wanted to say ‘No.’ I wanted to keep that photograph, just in case. But instead I found myself saying, ‘I’m afraid I did. It looked as though it might be important at the time. I’m so sorry.’ And I handed it back to him.
‘Thank you very much.’ His politeness seemed so unnecessary when it was his own property. ‘Is there anything else you want to know?’ he asked.
At the moment my mind was a blank. I could think of nothing.
He rose to his feet. ‘Then perhaps you would think this matter over very carefully before doing anything further. And if you do think of any points after you’ve left here, do come and talk them over before you jump to conclusions — especially if it is likely to involve searching my rooms again in an attempt to find something that will help you.’ He smiled a little ruefully and for the moment he seemed very human. ‘I was hoping to get some work done before going to bed, but now I must clear up after you.’
I had risen to my feet also, and he led me out to the front door. ‘I think you will find this an easier way out,’ he said and, smiling, held out his hand.
I shook it, and the next second I found myself on the narrow stairs leading to the recreation rooms. And above me was the little green-painted front door, shut as I had seen it before. I went down and retrieved my washing things from the chair on which I had left them, and went out. It was very dark now, though searchlights illumined the sky to the southeast, and it was as though the whole fantastic escapade had never been. It seemed so unreal there in the reality of the dimly seen, familiar shapes of the aerodrome.
I looked at the luminous dial of my watch. I was surprised to find it was only just ten. So much seemed to have been crammed into that one hour. I broke into a run. Our detachment was due to take over at ten. I reached the gun-pit just in time. I expected to be questioned as to why I had been so long having a bath. But no-one seemed to realise I had been longer than usual. They were all busy discussing the news in orders that we were now officially allowed to fire up to 20,000 feet, a thing we had constantly been doing ever since the Blitz started.
Chapter Six
We got no sleep that night. They seemed to come over in an endless stream. Sometimes we could see them in the searchlights. But we got no chance to fire. No ‘planes went up from Thorby. It was unpleasantly cold with a chilly mist rising from the valley. We were able to sleep from one to four, whilst the other detachment was on duty. But when we came on again at four an occasional machine was still drifting home and the All Clear did not go until just before Stand-to.