Gunther asked, ‘And Miss Bennett?’
Dabb lost control completely now, shouting out a string of obscenities: ‘Fucking traitorous whore! Eyeing Fitzgerald like a bitch in heat – don’t think I encouraged it, I didn’t, I was always watching them—’
‘It seems you did not watch carefully enough, if Fitzgerald got access to the room with the secret files.’
At that Dabb collapsed. ‘I did my best. All my life, I just tried to do my best at my job. Just my best, my best . . .’
Soon Gunther realized there was nothing more to be got out of the ridiculous old man; he had never even heard the name Muncaster. He was taken back to his cell and Archibald Hubbold was brought in. In contrast to his colleague, Hubbold stepped into the room quite coolly, took a seat and stared at Gunther and Syme with an air of injured innocence. Gunther thought, he’s got courage, the limited courage of the stupid. He didn’t realize what they could do to him if they wanted. Behind his thick glasses Hubbold’s eyes moved like slow, heavy fish.
‘Have you ever heard the name Francis Muncaster?’ Gunther asked, mildly.
Hubbold frowned, thought a minute, then shook his head. ‘He’s not Dominions Office Establishment.’ He set his lips. ‘Is he another traitor, in some other department?’
‘Fitzgerald never mentioned the name to you?’
Hubbold thought again. ‘Never.’
Syme said, with a grin, ‘Old Dabb told us Fitzgerald was one of your protégés.’
‘I liked Fitzgerald, yes,’ Hubbold said, his tone pompously sorrowful. ‘I brought him along, gave him more responsibility. He seemed conscientious, loyal. Clever, too. He lacked ambition, but clever people don’t always have that.’
‘It sounds like an almost filial relationship.’
Hubbold’s face darkened a little. ‘I thought it was, almost. I trusted him.’
‘Did you know about his friendship with Carol Bennett?’
‘There was some gossip within the office. I don’t take notice of petty gossip. I valued Fitzgerald’s work,’ he added heavily.
Syme said, ‘Took some of the load off you, did he?’
‘He was a hard worker.’
‘And you never had any inkling he might be a spy?’ Gunther asked.
‘No. Why should I?’ Hubbold set his lips hard, smoothed a hand over his white hair. He leaned forward, and then said in a voice trembling with anger, ‘A civil servant betraying his minister, it’s the worst treachery. I will help you any way I can.’
Hubbold told them everything about David’s work then, his routines, the occasional social meetings with the wives. It was all quite useless: Fitzgerald had taken Hubbold in completely. Gunther wondered, does he realize his career is over, early retirement’s his best hope now? We could make things much nastier for him than that, in here, right now; Gessler probably would have, just from frustration, but what was the point? When he was sure Hubbold had told them all he knew Gunther said, ‘I think that’s enough for now. Do you agree, William?’
Syme nodded wearily.
Hubbold frowned, turned to Gunther. ‘I wish to help you all I can.’
‘I know.’
‘Fitzgerald didn’t just betray his department, he betrayed me personally. That’s what hurts most,’ he added. ‘I’ll be frank. I don’t always approve of the things my government is doing. But they’re my government. What Fitzgerald did – his betrayal of a post of responsibility – I find it unspeakable.’ He clenched his hands in anger.
He wanted vengeance; Gunther wasn’t interested. ‘Thank you, Mr Hubbold. Good morning,’ he said, dismissively.
Hubbold rose, suddenly uncertain.
‘Do I – can I go to the office tomorrow?’
Syme gave him a wolfish grin. ‘No, mate. Doubt you’ll be going there any more. You stay at home. The Branch will be wanting to talk to you again.’
Hubbold looked stricken. He’d realized, at last.
The SS man who showed Hubbold out gave Syme a telephone message. He showed it to Gunther. A Special Branch man had driven up to Northampton to speak to Fitzgerald’s uncle. He turned out to be a crotchety old man in his eighties who couldn’t tell them anything about his great-nephew. The old man had said David Fitzgerald and his wife had airs and graces, David had forgotten his Irish roots. Then he had started insulting the English. The note ended with the words, ‘Reprimand issued.’ Syme laughed. ‘That means our man gave him a bit of a smack. It doesn’t matter, does it?’
‘We don’t want any unnecessary attention, so be careful in future, please. Now, let’s have Miss Bennett in.’
Carol Bennett came into the interview room looking dishevelled and frightened, her big eyes staring. Gunther had decided to be direct and sharp. He leaned back, folded his hands over his stomach and said, ‘Your foolishness has landed you in a mess, Miss Bennett. That is, if it was indeed just foolishness. If you’ve actually been helping the Resistance you’d be better off confessing everything now, and appealing to your government for mercy.’
‘I haven’t.’ She looked terrified. ‘Dear God, I haven’t.’ She took a deep breath, tried to collect herself. ‘Please, when I was arrested this morning I had to leave my mother. She’s ill, she might go wandering the streets. Can’t you at least let me arrange someone to look after her?’
‘Your mother will have to fend for herself for now. Your friend David Fitzgerald ran away from the Dominions Office on Friday. The question is, how did he know we were there? I’ve been thinking, you were the only one in a position to tell him.’
Syme joined in. ‘If you don’t tell us, there are people down here who’ll get it out of you. Afterwards your poor old mother won’t recognize you.’
It was brutal but it worked. Carol said, ‘It was me. I warned him.’
‘Why?’
She put her head down. ‘I love him.’
Gunther said, ‘Did you give him access to secret files? Look at me, please.’
She looked up, her large eyes full of tears. ‘No. I didn’t know anything about all this until you came to the office. I didn’t help David. I never gave him any access to my files, I wouldn’t have if he’d asked but he didn’t, ever.’
‘You never gave him your keys?’
‘No. I swear. I always used to keep my key in my handbag. And I had to hand it in whenever I went out.’
Gunther thought a minute, picked up a pencil and tapped it on the table. ‘Is the key numbered?’
She looked puzzled. ‘Yes, there’s a number on the tag.’
‘And who makes the keys?’
‘I’ve no idea. The Ministry of Works, I suppose.’
Gunther remembered a case his father had been involved with long ago, a locksmith who made keys for safety deposit boxes at a bank and who, given a number, could make a duplicate. ‘Could he have seen the number on the key?’
She looked stricken. That was it, Gunther thought, that was why Fitzgerald had befriended her, in the hope he could get a look at the key. He saw that she realized it, too. Syme looked puzzled, then very interested. ‘There’s someone who makes locks for the government involved in this?’
‘Possibly.’
‘He looked at the number somehow while she was looking between his legs?’ Carol flinched as though she had been hit.
‘Maybe.’ Gunther turned to Carol, who had flushed a deep red. ‘Did Mr Fitzgerald ever mention the name Muncaster?’
‘Who?’
‘A friend of his. Frank Muncaster.’
‘No. The only friend of his I knew of was a Mr Drax.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I swear. In God’s name.’
Gunther saw she was telling the truth. The disappointment must have shown in his face, because Syme said, ‘I want her when you’ve finished, I want to find out more about how Fitzgerald got hold of that key. We’ll take her to Special Branch HQ.’