I had plenty to occupy my mind during those long cold hours. Vayle’s attitude, after all, had not been unreasonable, and I was only too conscious of the fact that my suspicions, which had at one time seemed so certain, were founded on little more than conjecture. What had impressed me, I think, more than anything was the frank and easy way in which he had explained the photograph. After all, one does suddenly meet old acquaintances in strange places. There were Marion Sheldon and John Nightingale to prove that coincidences of that kind are not uncommon. Yet I refused to believe that I wasn’t on the right track. Vayle was a clever man with a hypnotic personality. And after all, he had not had me arrested. My own explanation of this was, I felt, as good as his — though I had to admit that his was reasonable enough.
It was lucky that I did have something to think about, for during our later period of duty I found myself alone on one side of the gun pit whilst the rest were congregated round Bombardier Hood on the other, talking in low tones. I did not notice this at first. When I did I wandered over to the group, thinking they were discussing something of general interest. As I came up to them I heard Hood saying, ‘Well, anyway, that’s what Langdon told me.’
‘I’d like to know — ‘ Chetwood began, and then he saw me and stopped. There was an awkward silence. The group gradually broke up. I was uncomfortably aware that I was the cause.
I lit a cigarette and went out of the pit and got a deck-chair. I remembered once being sent to Coventry at my prep, school. The sensation was much the same. But lying in my deck-chair with my eyes half closed, it seemed so transient and unimportant.
Time and again I went over my encounter with Vayle and all the papers I had been through in his rooms. But I got no further forward. I felt stale. And I had a sort of feeling that things were developing. Every now and again I noticed the little group near the telephone, which had reformed. I was conscious, too, of the fact that I was at any rate partly the subject of conversation, for occasionally they glanced over in my direction.
I wished Langdon were in charge. He would have stopped it. Instead Bombardier Hood and Chetwood were leading the discussion. Gradually the sense of being an outcast intruded on my thoughts. I began to feel uneasy, though common sense told me that it wasn’t important. It was getting on my nerves. I found myself glancing more and more often in their direction. And every time one of them seemed to be watching me with a stealthy, almost furtive glance. I had a sudden sense of being trapped — caged like a prisoner. My superiors were against me. And now, it seemed, I was becoming cut off from my own companions. Even Kan, whom I had got on with so well, was there, glancing surreptitiously in my direction when he thought I wasn’t looking.
At last I could stand it no longer. I rose to my feet and went across to them. They watched me in silence as I approached. There were Hood and Chetwood and Kan standing a little apart from the rest, Micky and a small man called Blah whose nose and dark, wavy hair betrayed his nationality. He had replaced Fuller who was billet orderly. The undercurrent of hostility was almost defiant.
Their antagonism was that of uneasy consciences. I sensed with pleasure that they were almost afraid of the fact that I was going to take the initiative.
The knowledge of this gave me confidence. ‘Don’t you think that you’ve discussed me amongst yourselves long enough without making any comments you wish to make about me to my face?’ I tried to appear off-hand, but the tremor in my voice betrayed my emotion.
‘I don’t follow you.’ This from Bombardier Hood, and there was the inevitable truculence in his tone.
‘I can’t put it very much plainer.’ I turned to Kan. ‘Perhaps you’d tell me exactly what the trouble is.’
He glanced uneasily at Hood. ‘It’s nothing, really, dear boy. I mean it’s not important, what.’
‘That’s right. Not important at all,’ Chetwood put in.
Then out of the blue Micky put in: ‘Not important! Cor, stone me. You blokes make me sick. You take a man’s bloody character away, crowing over it like a lot of old women, yet you daren’t say a word to ‘is face.’
‘Thanks, Micky,’ I said. I turned to the others. I felt suddenly angry with them. ‘Now then, let’s have this out. What was it that Langdon told you, Bombardier Hood?’ I asked.
He hesitated a second. Then, with a slight shrug of the shoulders, he said: ‘Well, if you want to know, Sergeant Langdon was told in the sergeants’ mess that the Jerry pilot we brought down mentioned something about a plan to capture British fighter stations when he was questioned by the Intelligence officer. What we’re wondering is just exactly what it was that you and the Jerry found to talk about.’
‘We noticed you pretty soon shut up when Winton and Vayle came along,’ put in Chetwood.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Here’s the whole conversation as I remember it.’ When I had told them all the German had said, I added: ‘Next time you want to accuse anyone of being a Nazi, have the guts to discuss the matter with him direct.’
As I turned away I felt that the little sermon might just as well be applied to myself and my suspicions of Vayle. When I next glanced round at the group it had broken up somewhat. Hood was standing by himself. Of one thing I was certain. I had made an enemy of Hood. He was not the man whom you could put in an ignominious position with impunity. He was too much on his dignity. But I didn’t care. It was too trivial to worry about.
Then somebody — Kan, I think it was — remembered that it was now Friday. For a time I was forgotten in an animated discussion of what, if anything, might be expected to happen. It produced a queer change in the mood of the pit. Micky began muttering to himself. He looked old and rather pinched. Any sort of strain seemed to cause the flesh to sag on his skull. I imagine he had had a hard life. I glanced round the pit. Dawn was beginning to break, and in that pale light it was incredible how white, almost ill, everyone looked. God! how tired we were at that time!
We got to bed again at six thirty — all except an air sentry. It was worth missing breakfast for the sake of that extra sleep. When I woke up again, it was half-past nine and the Tannoy was going. ‘Mussolini’s act in declaring war at that precise time was a dagger in the back of stricken France. This dictator has thoroughly played the part of a jackal to his — ‘ It was a Tannoy test with extracts from the previous day’s papers.
I ate some chocolate whilst getting into my clothes, and then went down to the barrack block to get a wash. I was just crossing the square when the Tannoy blared out, ‘Attention, please! Attention, please! Tiger Squadron to readiness immediately.’ Even though I was alone I could not help laughing. The announcer had a marked lisp, all his R’s were pronounced as W’s. The roar of aircraft engines being revved up awoke on the flying field. Almost immediately the Tannoy ordered: ‘Tiger Squadron scramble. Tiger Squadron scramble immediately. Scramble.’ The lisp was very marked in the word ‘scramble’, which became ‘scwamble’. Then: ‘Swallowtail Squadron stand by.’
I hesitated. Was there time for a shave? I was half-way across the square, within fifty yards of the wash-house. I might just manage it. But I did hate the idea of being caught by a flap with my face covered in lather. I decided to risk it. But I had not reached the edge of the square before the Tannoy called Swallowtail Squadron — that was the new one — to readiness immediately. That decided me to turn back. With both squadrons going up a flap must be imminent. As I recrossed the square, Tiger Squadron roared overhead in four flights of three.