SS-GB (15 page)

There was only one light, an elegant brass angle-light with a green glass shade. It put a pool of yellow light on a card table, while making the rest of the room a mysterious jungle of verdant gloom out of which huge decapitated herbivores peered. Seated at the antique card table, his face awash with reflected light, was the unmistakable figure of Sir Robert Benson. Douglas knew him only by reputation; a powerful man in the corridors of Whitehall, shunning any sort of publicity, and winning every argument without raising his voice above a whisper. Recently Douglas had heard many people ask how the august Sir Robert could stomach his new position, where he was little more than a rubber stamp for the German Commissioner-General for Administration and Justice, which had absorbed the most vital departments of the Home Office. Perhaps, thought Douglas, this evening would provide an answer.

‘Bridge?’ said Colonel Mayhew, picking up the pack of cards. ‘Penny a point?’

‘Never thought I’d see the day when I’d have to
start an evening like this with a pack of used cards,’ said Sir Robert. Then he laughed and said, ‘Archer. There’s no man I’d rather have with us this evening.’ He shook Douglas’s hand with a firm but brief grip.

‘Thank you, Sir Robert,’ said Douglas. ‘I’m pleased to be here.’

There was a cautiousness in the reply that the others did not miss. To Colonel Mayhew, Douglas said, ‘I think my bridge playing might try beyond endurance even Sir Robert’s renowned diplomatic skills. Particularly if he had me as a partner.’ Sir Robert – sitting opposite him – smiled grimly.

‘Whist then,’ said Mayhew as if this was an important decision.

‘Wonderful,’ said Sir Robert without enthusiasm. ‘I haven’t played whist since I was in the trenches.’

Bernard Staines shuffled the cards, let Douglas cut them, and then began to deal them. He explained to Douglas, ‘We usually play for money. It makes it more…’ He shrugged and smiled.

‘More exciting,’ said Mayhew, from where he was standing.

‘And also…’ said Sir Robert.

‘The Superintendent understands,’ said Mayhew.

‘Of course he does,’ said Sir Robert. Douglas nodded. He understood that if you formed some Resistance cell, and held regular meetings round a card table with money piled in front of you, you could possibly fool someone that your only secret was illegal gambling.

Mayhew turned to the sideboard where, faintly discernible in the half-light, there was a tray with four glasses and a decanter of wine. The butler had left the empty wine bottle alongside the tray. Mayhew picked it up and read the label before replacing it. ‘Sydney has provided a couple of bottles of his Château
Lafite 1918.’ Mayhew took the decanter and poured the wine respectfully.

‘That’s remarkably civil of him,’ said Bernard. ‘I’d be grateful for a glass of claret. Champagne gives me indigestion, I’m afraid.’

‘Champagne is for youngsters,’ pronounced Sir Robert. ‘Claret is the only drink for a man of my age.’

Mayhew turned to face the light, so that he could see through the wine. As he poured he said, ‘Sydney Garin is a good fellow.’ Douglas knew the remark was addressed only to him but he did not respond, neither did Mayhew raise his eyes. Mayhew was typical of all the professional army officers Douglas had met. There was something about the way such men stood; necks stretched and their hands fidgeting. Even if Mayhew was fighting-drunk, Douglas suspected, he’d still have his chin tucked in and his thumbs trying to get in line with the seam of his trousers. Such men never relaxed.

Only Bernard looked out of place in this quartet; he was soft and inclined to plumpness, with white hands and a hesitant manner. He took off his hornrimmed spectacles and polished them on the silk handkerchief from his top pocket. Mayhew set a glass of wine before him. Bernard blinked and nodded his thanks.

Sir Robert tasted his wine. ‘Rather good,’ he said guardedly. It was not a vintage of which he expected very much, but he prided himself upon keeping an open mind on all things. He smiled. It was the sort of smile that men give when they have had very little experience of smiling. His face was hard and granitelike, except for the tiny veins in his cheeks and nose. His hair was grey, and long enough to curl at the ears and neck. His forehead was shallow; his bushy eyebrows near to his hair-line. And beneath the curly
eyebrows his eye sockets were deep and dark-rimmed so that his eyes sometimes disappeared into dark shadow.

Sir Robert Benson was sixty but his stamina was that of a much younger man. He could go without sleep with no apparent loss of efficiency for days on end, or so they said. But it was only his small blue eyes that revealed the quick brain, for his physical movements were slow and deliberate, like those of an invalid. He spoke with a voice that was gruff to the point of hoarseness.

‘George was at Harrow with my youngest brother,’ said Sir Robert, indicating Colonel Mayhew. ‘They were a couple of scallywags, from what I hear…organized a betting club, so I give you fair notice of what to expect.’

‘And Sir Robert’s other brother was there with Winston,’ said Mayhew.

‘Is it true, Sir Robert,’ said Bernard, ‘this rumour that Winston Churchill has been executed?’

Sir Robert nodded gravely. ‘Tried by secret military tribunal at the Luftwaffe’s 1st Air Fleet HQ in Berlin. We all told Winston not to wear that damned RAF uniform, but he wouldn’t listen.’ Sir Robert sighed. ‘That gave the Germans a legal pretext for the court-martial.’ He picked up the cards on the table in front of him and sorted through them without seeing them. ‘Certain high-ranking British politicians have been told, but the execution will not be officially announced for some time.’ He slapped the cards down on the table.

‘You mean Churchill is dead?’ said Bernard.

Sir Robert scratched his head and picked up Bernard’s cards and looked at those too. The other three men saw what he’d done but no one wished to tell him. ‘Shot! By a Luftwaffe firing squad, at the
Guards’ barracks at Berlin-Lichterfelde. Death by military execution was a special dispensation of the Führer,’ added Sir Robert dryly. ‘They say that Winston refused the blindfold, and held up his fingers in a V sign. I like to think that’s true.’ He sorted Bernard’s cards into suits. ‘Well, come along, what’s holding up play?’ He looked at the other three men and then at the cards on the table before he realized that he’d picked up the wrong cards. ‘Oh! What a fool I am!’

Colonel Mayhew reached out and gathered all the cards together, talking hurriedly to cover Sir Robert’s embarrassment. ‘And young Bernard here is married to my wife’s cousin. Lucky dog – she’s a beautiful girl.’

‘We grew up together,’ said Bernard. ‘Every summer my family went to Scotland; her people had a farm nearby.’

‘All gone now, alas,’ said Mayhew. ‘The farmhouses are derelict and the fields gone to rack and ruin.’

Bernard said, ‘And when Sir Robert took his Company into the front line, before the Battle of Amiens in 1918, my father was the Company Commander he was relieving.’

Army, family, school; tightly interwoven threads that bind upper-class Englishmen more tightly than do money or business. The totalitarians of right and left have constantly to describe the faith they have in common. But for these men, and thousands like them, the means was the end; playing in the team was more important than the game, provided that they played together with men like themselves.

‘And I was with Douglas at Oxford,’ said Bernard bringing his friend into the circle. ‘And how I envied you doing Greats, while I pegged away at my Civil Law.’

Sir Robert looked at Douglas for enough time to
make the Superintendent feel slightly uncomfortable. Then he said, ‘I knew your father, Archer.’

‘You did, sir?’ His father had died when Douglas was still a child. ‘When?’

‘We were close friends, from 1916 until the time he was killed. Your father was twenty-eight years old when I first met him; and that’s too old to be an infantry subaltern. I know, because I was also an infantry subaltern, and I was ten years older than him.’ Sir Robert gave a dry laugh. ‘We were the battalion’s two old fogies; the younger chaps were always having to come back and help disentangle us from the barbed wire and encourage us to sit down and rest when we should have been drilling. Your father was a civil engineer, wasn’t he?’

Douglas nodded.

Sir Robert said, ‘He should have been with the Engineers, but he felt he would be letting the battalion down. Deserved the Victoria Cross a dozen times over, your father, did you know that? All his men knew it, and his Company Sergeant Major worshipped him.’

‘My mother had a letter from the Sergeant Major,’ said Douglas. ‘She still keeps it.’

‘I should have told you all this long ago,’ said Sir Robert, ‘but it seemed rather a cheek to be so personal. And I wasn’t sure if you’d want to talk about your father.’

‘I’m grateful,’ said Douglas.

‘He would have been proud of you,’ said Sir Robert. ‘Archer of the Yard they call you, don’t they?’

‘I’m afraid they do, sir, yes.’

‘Well, that’s all part of the job nowadays. Solving a murder or two never did a police force any harm. Might as well let a few people read about it in the newspapers.’

‘I’m sure you’re right, sir,’ said Douglas.

Mayhew rippled the cards. ‘You want to play, Archer? You’re sure?’ There was more hanging on the reply than just a game of cards.

‘I’ll take a hand,’ said Douglas.

‘Cut for partner,’ said Mayhew putting the cards down in front of Douglas. He cut and found the deuce of spades. Sir Robert also cut a deuce, the other two court cards.

For a moment no one spoke, then Sir Robert said, ‘We’re partners,’ in the same tone he’d used to announce the death of Winston Churchill.

Mayhew led with the four of hearts, Douglas played the seven, Bernard the King and Sir Robert took the trick with the Ace.

‘I wish I’d studied law,’ said Sir Robert. ‘An honours degree in history is not much help when I’m trying to untangle all these German regulations. Do you know, one of my chaps was telling me today that all the Gestapo are immune from arrest. That can’t be true can it?’ No one answered. ‘You must know all this kind of thing, Archer. What do you say?’

‘No, Sir Robert. No one is immune from arrest under the German system. He was probably referring to the fact that members of the SS can be tried only by their own courts. But the Gestapo is not a part of the SS.’

‘Ha,’ said Sir Robert. Clubs were trumps, and he began to lead them, raising his eyebrows when Douglas’s Queen dropped on his Ace. With trumps cleared, he made four tricks in his long suit, diamonds. They won the hand ten-three. ‘Sorry about your Queen,’ he said. ‘Had to clear them out. Got to be ruthless.’

Mayhew continued talking while he dealt. ‘Really? The Gestapo is
not
a part of the SS?’

‘By no means,’ said Douglas. ‘The Gestapo is part
of the police service. Some Gestapo men are members of the SS, and some of them are members of the Nazi Party, some are neither.’

‘Let me get this straight,’ said Mayhew craning forward. ‘The SS is not a part of the Nazi Party either?’

‘Technically they are a part of it,’ said Douglas. ‘Every SS identity card is headed Schutzstaffel der NSDAP but there is no real connection. And the SA – the brownshirts – consider themselves even more distanced from the Party.’

‘That explains a lot,’ said Mayhew reflectively. ‘And the SD – that your chap Huth belongs to?’

‘They are the secret intelligence service of the Nazis. They’re a super-élite, the only people allowed to pry into everyone,’ said Douglas. ‘They do what they like.’

‘Except for the Wehrmacht,’ said Bernard.

‘Yes, the German armed forces have their own legal system. No one from the Gestapo, or even from the SD, can take direct action against a soldier.’ Douglas led a low trump.

‘Come along,’ Sir Robert said. ‘We’re playing cards.’ And he took the trick. ‘I’m glad that you confirm that. Some of the army chaps have been most helpful to us. With the Gestapo on their tail they might have to be more circumspect.’

Douglas nodded. He dearly wanted to know in what capacity Sir Robert had been helped by the German army but he didn’t ask.

‘And what about these fellows with honorary SS ranks, or SS officers employed by the civil administration?’ said Sir Robert. ‘We have several working with us. Are they too subject only to the SS legal system?’ He pushed his cigar case towards Douglas who took one and nodded his thanks.

‘Himmler is at the top of the police system, as well as the head of the SS,’ said Douglas. ‘In such cases
it’s his decision. In any case, part-time SS men are subject to the ordinary civil law.’ He lit the cigar and puffed at it before adding, ‘But Himmler uses those honorary SS ranks as a way of muzzling and bribing his opponents. Some of these men are Himmler’s most bitter enemies.’

‘My God, I’ve made a trick,’ Mayhew said. He continued without a pause. ‘What do you think of this fellow Rear-Admiral Conolly?’ His question was not directed at anyone in particular but Douglas knew that this must be something the others had discussed many times.

Douglas said, ‘A cool customer, from what I hear. Although I’ve not heard much. To walk off an aircraft carrier in Halifax, Nova Scotia, and declare yourself the leader of “Free Britain” shows a breathtaking audacity.’ Douglas paused. Everyone else seemed to be absorbed with their cards. Douglas added, ‘Especially when – as the German propaganda service said – Conolly is no more than a Commander in the Navy List.’

Sir Robert drew the last trump. ‘The rest are ours, I think.’ He put down his hand.

Douglas said, ‘I wonder if anyone remembers that French army officer – de Gaulle – who escaped here to England when France fell? Did more or less the same thing, as I remember; promoted himself to General, and declared that he was the voice of France. It never came to anything. As far as I know the Germans never bothered to include him on the Primary Arrest List.’

‘You’re wrong, you know,’ said Sir Robert gently. ‘Conolly was acting on the instructions of the War Cabinet. It was Winston’s idea, when he himself refused to go on one of the flying boats that left for Iceland, at the very end. And Conolly’s promotion to
Rear-Admiral was signed by the King’s own hand. I saw it myself. And although Goebbels’s press release said that Conolly addressed Congress and claimed to be the leader of “Free Britain,” the Congressional Record reports him as saying that he spoke as a representative of the British nation, and as Minister of Defence, appointed by the Cabinet and confirmed by the King. And at the end of his address he repeated that he was a loyal subject of King George and any legal successors.’