Being a regular to The Furrows, the corporal recognised the driver of the little convertible sports car instantly. ‘Good morning, Mr Swan, sir.’
‘Good morning, Corporal.’
Swan waited for the guard to lift the barrier, then continued along the long drive, up to the house. In front, was a gravel car park, where several vehicles were already parked. He swung his car into a space next to a silver Bentley, opening the boot to retrieve a fishing rod bag and a satchel. Carrying the items precariously in one hand, he closed the boot with the other and walked towards the main entrance into the mansion. As he climbed the wide limestone steps, he was met by a porter, wearing a white dress coat and immaculately pressed black trousers. ‘
‘Good morning, Mr Swan. May I take those from you?’
Good morning, Thomas. Yes, please. I still have my overnight case to fetch as well.’
‘That’s okay sir, if you leave me your keys, I will do that for you.’
‘Much obliged, Thomas, thank you.’ Swan smiled, throwing the keys to the porter, he gestured to the silver Bentley. ‘By the way, I see that Air Commodore Higgins, has already arrived.’
The porter looked back at the large obtrusive car. ‘Yes sir, you will find him in the lounge. The papers have just arrived, so I expect he’ll be reading them.’
‘Thank you again, Thomas.’
‘Not at all, sir.’
Swan turned on his heel and marched into the foyer, and after signing in at the reception desk, walked into the lounge bar, to find Air Commodore Higgins, sitting alone in a high-backed green armchair by a large bat window, perusing a broadsheet. On hearing the door open, he quickly flicked down one side of the newspaper, allowing him to see ahead rising from his seat to greet his friend.
‘Alex, my boy, I trust you had a good run down in your nippy little Triumph, this morning?’
The two men shook hands. Swan looked around with a bewildered look on his face. Having seen the cars outside, he expected to see the room full of people, and noticing the look, Higgins explained, that the shooting party had already headed out, but there was something else he felt that Swan should know.
‘Head’s up for later, Stratton’s loyal terrier, Dennis Martin is among them.’
Swan raised an eyebrow, instantly recognising the assistant head of A Section, MI5. ‘Oh really? That will be interesting. when he returns and sees a familiar face.’
Higgins smiled. ‘Anyway Alex, you up for a spot of breakfast, before we get stuck in the pond up to our waists? I can smell the kippers from here, my boy.’ Higgins rubbed his hands with glee at the thought and Swan was famished after the drive down from London. ‘Lead the way, old chap.’ The Air Commodore folded the newspaper and placed it on the table, then together, the two men walked out of the room and across the hall, into the restaurant.
Later, after their enjoyable breakfast, and with the split cane fishing rod in his hand, Higgins, wearing his waders, walked out into the lake. Spying a few ripples, he flicked the artificial Nymph fly over them, whipping it back again, and then repeating this action several times.
Swan was already in the water, and casting his fly back and forth into the shadow of an overhanging Birch tree.
Higgins glanced over at him. ‘Lots of activity this morning; should bag a nice Rainbow or a Brown for our lunch. What say you to that Alex?’
Swan nodded his head in agreement. ‘I think that we should get lucky sooner or later,’ he added.
The still water glistened with the rays of the morning sun, and the two men leisurely moved through it, whipping their rods in an arcing motion, eagerly eyeing the area for the tell-tale signs of a rising trout. In the distance, they heard the spasmodic cracking of gunfire, from the clay shooting party.
Higgins shouted over. ‘So, how’s it going with the Ruger case, Alex?’
Swan maintained his momentum with his rod, being careful not to ‘drag’ his fly through the water, an action that would detract the fish from taking a feed. ‘The murder squad at Scotland Yard, came to see me yesterday, as Ruger had my details on him.’
Higgins nodded. ‘Is that so? Any idea, how he managed to have them?’
Swan shook his head. ‘Haven’t the foggiest idea, old boy. My theory is, that he got them from someone else that knows of me. I suspect it was that German wartime fighter pilot chap, Otto Kappelman. Trouble is, I’ve tried to contact him, but his landlady said that he is out of the country. So, I just told the police that I did not know the victim, and submitted my theory to them which was that he may have been a friend of Kappelman. Until he turns up, there’s not much to go on. The police are as baffled as everyone else, at the moment.’
Higgins sighed. ‘Indeed? Well, what angle are you intending to pursue then Alex?’
Swan explained that he would look at Ruger’s work at Highdown, and maybe even go back further. ‘According to his record, he was involved with Operation Backfire, the secret British V2 rocket tests undertaken at Cuxhaven at the end of the war.’ Swan explained, that during the war, Ruger had mainly worked on the rocket engine for the Messerschmitt ME-163 Komet interceptor fighter, at the main Luftwaffe test base at Bad Zweischenahn.
Higgins nodded in recognition, appreciating the technology of the little rocket fighter. ‘Ah, now there’s an aircraft, years ahead of its time. We of course tried to copy the technology ourselves with the SR-51 project you know, but sadly with tragic results. What I can tell you from records, is that the ME-163B was first tested at Peenemunde.’
Swan raised an eyebrow then continued. ‘Anyway, Ruger then came to England and worked at the Gas and Propulsion Works at Ansty on the kerosene and peroxide fuel systems. For a while, he was also attached to our ill-fated Blue Streak ICBM programme, as well.’ He then went into further detail regarding Ruger’s move to Highdown, and how his work was first on the Black Knight, then two months ago, had moved onto the Black Arrow.
Higgins turned the handle on the side of his centre pin reel and watched the line back out to the rod. ‘So it sounds like this Ruger chap, was quite important to our rocket programme?’
‘Yes, quite so.’
Swan smacked his forehead. ‘God I’m blind! Could the connection be, Kappelman was a test pilot for the Komet, when Ruger was at Peenemunde, I wonder?’
Higgins was focussed on the water, and suddenly became excited. ‘You have a take, Alex.’
Swan was temporarily distracted by this sudden revelation, then realising the situation, gripped his rod tightly. ‘What? Good grief, so I have.’ Excited, Swan studied the trout as it strove to grapple with the fly at the end of his line.
‘Steady as she goes, Alex my boy,’ Higgins advised.
Checking that the fish had taken the fly, Swan started to reel it in, raising his rod and lowering it, to allow the trout not to give too much resistance. He smiled, as the fish was now only a few feet in front of him. ‘Looks like a nice Brown,’ he observed.
Higgins was mesmerised, as Swan stooped down and pulled the remainder of the line, and his catch out of the water, turning to Higgins and holding it up. ‘