Grey stepped around Peter Marlowe and went inside once more.
“Er, close the door, Grey.”
“Yes, sir.”
When they were alone, Colonel Smedly-Taylor said, “I’ve seen Lieutenant Colonel Jones and Quartermaster Sergeant Blakely.”
“Yes, sir?” Now we’re getting somewhere!
“I have relieved them of their duties as from today,” the colonel said, playing with the weight.
Grey’s smile was broad. “Yes, sir.” Now, when would the court-martial be, and how would it be arranged, and would it be in camera and would they be reduced to the ranks? Soon everyone in camp would know that he, Grey, had caught them at their treachery; he, Grey, was a guardian angel, and my God, how wonderful it would be.
“And we’ll forget the matter,” the colonel said.
Grey’s smile vanished. “What?”
“Yes. I have decided to forget the matter. And so will you. In fact I repeat my order. You are not to mention this to anyone and you are to forget it.”
Grey was so astounded that he sank to the bed and stared at the colonel. “But we can’t do that, sir!” he burst out. “We caught them red-handed. Stealing the camp food. That’s your food and my food. And they tried to bribe me. To bribe me!” His voice became hysterical. “Holy Christ, I caught them, they’re thieves, they deserve to be hung and quartered.”
“True.” Colonel Smedly-Taylor nodded gravely. “But I think, under the circumstances, that this is the wisest decision.”
Grey leaped to his feet. “You can’t do that!” he shouted. “You can’t let them off scot-free! You can’t — ”
“Don’t tell me what I can or cannot do!”
“I’m sorry,” Grey said, fighting for control. “But, sir, those men are thieves. I caught them. You’ve got the weight.”
“I’ve decided that this is the end of the matter.” His voice was calm. “The matter is closed.”
Grey’s temper snapped. “By God, it’s not closed! I won’t let it be closed! Those bastards’ve been eating when we’ve been hungry! They deserve to get chopped! And I insist — ”
Smedly-Taylor’s voice overrode the hysteria. “Shut up, Grey! You can’t insist on anything. The matter is closed.”
Smedly-Taylor sighed heavily and picked up a piece of paper and said, “This is your official report. I’ve added something today. I’ll read it to you. ‘I strongly recommend Lieutenant Grey for his work as Provost Marshal of the Camp Police. His performance of duty is, beyond question, excellent. I would like to recommend that he be given the acting rank of Captain.’” He looked up from the paper. “I propose sending this to the Camp Commandant today and recommending that your promotion be effective from today’s date.” He smiled. “You know of course that he has the authority to promote you. Congratulations, Captain Grey. You deserve it.” He offered Grey his hand.
But Grey didn’t accept it. He merely looked at it and at the paper, and he knew. “Why, you rotten bastard! You’re buying me off. You’re as bad — maybe you’ve been eating the rice too. Why, you shit, you dirty rotten shit — ”
“You hold your tongue, you jumped-up subaltern! Stand to attention! I said stand to attention!”
“You’re in with them, and I’m not going to let any of you get away with it,” Grey shouted and snatched the weight off the table and backed away. “I can’t prove anything about you yet, but I’ve proof against them. This weight — ”
“What about the weight, Grey?”
It took Grey an age to look down at the weight. The bottom was un-marred.
“I said, ‘What about the weight?’” Stupid fool, Smedly-Taylor thought contemptuously as he watched Grey search for the hole. What a fool! I could eat him for breakfast and not notice it.
“It’s not the one I gave you,” Grey choked. “It’s not the same. It’s not the same.”
“You’re quite wrong. It’s the same one.” The colonel was quite calm.
He continued, his voice benign and solicitous. “Now, Grey, you’re a young man. I understand that you want to stay in the army when the war’s over. That’s good. We can use intelligent, hard-working officers. Regular Army’s a wonderful life. Certainly. And Colonel Samson was telling me how highly he thinks of you. As you know, he’s a friend of mine. I’m sure I could prevail upon him to add to my recommendation that you should be granted a permanent commission. You’re just overwrought, understandably so. These are terrible times. I think it’s wise to let this matter drop. It would be ill-advised to involve the camp in a scandal. Very ill-advised. I’m sure you understand the wisdom of this.”
He waited, despising Grey. At just the correct time — for he was an expert — he said, “Do you want me to send your recommendation for captaincy to the Camp Commandant?”
Grey slowly turned to the paper, eyeing it with horror. He knew that the colonel could give or withhold, and where he could give or withhold, he could also slaughter. Grey knew he was beaten. Beaten. He tried to speak, but so vast was his misery that he could not speak. He nodded and he heard Smedly-Taylor say, “Good, you can take it as read that your captaincy is confirmed. I feel sure my recommendation and Colonel Samson’s will add tremendous weight to your being granted a permanent commission after the war,” and he felt himself go out of the room and up to the jail hut and dismiss the MP and he didn’t care that the man looked at him as though he were mad. Then he was alone inside the jail hut. He shut the door and sat on the edge of the bed within the cell and his misery erupted and he wept.
Broken.
Ripped apart.
Tears wet his hands and face. His spirit whirled in terror, teetering on the brink of the unknown, then fell into eternity…
When Grey came to, he was lying on a stretcher being carried by two MP’s. Dr. Kennedy was clomping ahead. Grey knew that he was dying but he did not care. Then he saw the King standing beside the path, looking down at him.
Grey noticed the neat polished shoes, the trousers’ crease, the tailor-made Kooa, the well-fed countenance. And he remembered that he had a job to do. He could not die yet. Not yet, not while the King was well-creased and polished and well fed. Not with the diamond in the offing. By God, no!
“We’d better make this the last game,” Colonel Smedly-Taylor was saying. “Mustn’t miss the show.”
“Can’t wait to get an eyeful of Sean,” Jones said, sorting his cards. “Two diamonds.” He opened smugly.
“You’ve the luck of the devil,” Sellars said sharply. “Two spades.”
“Pass.”
“Not always the luck of the devil, partner,” Smedly-Taylor said with a thin smile. His granite eyes looked at Jones. “You were pretty stupid today.”
“It was just bad luck.”
“There’s no excuse for bad luck,” Smedly-Taylor said, studying his cards. “You should have checked. You were incompetent not to check.”
“I’ve said I’m sorry. You think I don’t realize that it was stupid? I’ll never do that again. Never. I never knew what it was like to be panicked.”
“Two no trumps.” Smedly-Taylor smiled at Sellars. “This’ll make it rubber, partner.” Then he turned to Jones again. “I’ve recommended that Samson take over from you — you need a ‘rest.’ That’ll take Grey off the scent — oh yes, and Sergeant Donovan’ll be Samson’s Quartermaster Sergeant.” He laughed shortly. “It’s a pity we have to change the system, but it doesn’t matter. We’ll just have to make sure that Grey’s busy on the days the false weights are used.” He looked back at Sellars. “That’ll be your job.”