by V M Knox
‘He could be a deserter,’ Reg added.
‘Did you see this man, Reg?’ Clement asked.
Reg shook his head. ‘The coat. Peter said it had epaulettes. And there is some sort of underground naval installation near Cuckmere Haven.’
Clement felt the frown crease his forehead. Johnny had not mentioned any Royal Navy bases within or near their sector. Besides Cuckmere Haven was specifically off-limits. He turned his attention from Reg to Peter. 'I thought you said you were on watch together, Peter?'
‘Reg did a solo patrol to the coast during our watch this morning,’ Peter told Clement.
‘That was never what we are about, Reg! We patrol in groups of no less than two. You could have got yourself and others here killed,’ Clement said, his anger evident.
‘In this moonlight a patrol is too obvious. We learned that the night before. Sitting ducks! Besides, Peter and I became separated. And I work better alone,’ Reg added.
Clement looked around the faces. He could see disapproval in the eyes of Clive and Ned. From the way the three men had seated themselves, Clement guessed there had been heated words. Living in the confined Operational Base was taking its toll and they had been there less than two days.
‘So where is this invasion, Clement? Because it is not here nor, apparently, is it at Cuckmere Haven,’ Peter asked.
‘I’m seeing Commander Winthorpe this morning at ten. I have been helping Chief Inspector Morris from Lewes.’ Clement leaned back in the chair. ‘It doesn’t look good for Stanley. The police have issued a warrant for his immediate arrest and sent a description of him and the girl up and down the country.’
‘How do you issue an arrest warrant for someone already in custody?’ Clive asked.
‘I’m sorry, of course, you don’t know. Stanley has escaped. And someone else has been murdered; the constable from Lewes who was at the police station at the time. It happened during the raid. Did any of you come into the village during the attack?’
‘Except for watch duty, none of us left the base during daylight hours. And during last night we patrolled to the south and east,’ Peter said. ‘Anyway, from what you have told us, it is just as well none of us were there, especially me.’
‘Of course. I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘You think we freed Stanley?’ George asked.
Clement stared at the boy. Something was different about the lad. For the first time since Clement had known George, the boy looked alive. The young face had transformed into that of a warrior and the pale visage of cardiac arrhythmia was nowhere to be seen.’
‘So, once you are back from London are you here to stay?’ Reg asked.
Clement heard the barb. ‘I’m sorry. It was my decision to include Stanley and I feel responsible. I also believe he is not guilty.’
‘You may want to revise that, Clement,’ Reg added, throwing Stanley’s pack onto the floor. It landed with a thud in front of him.
‘You mean the Sten isn’t there?’
‘That’s exactly what I mean,’ Reg said.
‘And a magazine of ammunition is missing, Clement,’ Peter added.
Clement allowed a long sigh to escape his lips. He felt tired. His legs and head ached. He wanted to believe Stanley innocent. And the girl.
‘People have been hanged for less,’ Reg said, breaking the silence.
‘If Stanley is guilty, I for one wouldn’t blame him,’ Clive added. ‘That father of his was a sadistic bastard. If anyone deserved to die it was David Russell. Pity there has to be any investigation. If he had been killed during the raid, no-one would be any the wiser.’
‘This Chief Inspector from Lewes, is he likely to cause us trouble?’ Reg asked.
Clement shook his head.
‘You haven’t told him anything, I hope, Clement,’ Peter said. ‘We are trusting you not to give us away.’
‘Of course your identity is safe. I would never tell anyone,’ he said, which he knew to be correct. But with the list gone, he could not speak for others.
‘What do you want us to do?’ Peter asked.
Clement thought for a moment. He glanced at the faces staring at him, waiting for him to make a decision. Even though the alert had been issued, he believed the greater danger was from Arthur Morris, especially as, according to Johnny and The Evening Argus, no invasion had yet taken place. The Chief Inspector would be asking questions, and if the town solicitor, the baker, the postman, a local farmer and a landowner could not be found, Clement would have to invent an excuse. ‘Other than the vagrant, you saw no enemy activity of any kind last night?’
‘None! And not a ship in sight,’ Reg answered.
‘Perhaps you should go home. Peter would you compile the report and George, will you drop it as usual? Make sure to include a description of the vagrant. Then go home. But please be careful. With Lewes Police in the village, it could be wise to conceal your packs. All of you would be suspects if Chief Inspector Morris discovers you have a weapon which uses nine-millimetre bullets and Fairbairn Sykes knives. I should only be in London today. We’ll meet at Peter’s place tomorrow night at eight, if that is alright with you, Peter?'
Clement left the Operational Base and walked back through the woodland towards the village. He wondered about his team. The level of tension in the underground base was unnerving and he was glad to be away from them. Had they divided because of Reg’s actions? It had been risky to patrol alone and specifically against General Headquarters’ orders. Reg should have been disciplined for his breach of procedure, but his actions had also confirmed that no enemy amphibious invasion had occurred in their sector. Regardless, dissension was always corrosive and spawned the bane of any team; mistrust. Standing them down, Clement hoped, would give them breathing space.
It was daylight now. He checked his watch. Ten minutes past six. Mary would be awake within the hour. He wanted to return home via the church, firstly to return his knife but also to fetch a book in case Mary was already awake. He was tired but he could sleep on the train.
He broke into a slow run. As his feet fell into a rhythmic pounding, he contemplated the person who had stolen the list. If it had been taken by a local, what would they do with the information? Perhaps it was thrown away as meaningless. Perhaps the theft had always been about money. ‘No,’ he muttered. Ordinary people do not know how to break into safes. Neither did they remove bullets from skirting boards. Besides, if it had been about money why would the thieves leave some?
His thoughts returned to the list. It contained only names. There was no indication of their mission. He quickened his pace, his eye on the brown mulching leaves beneath his feet. If the murderer had intended to get the list, then they had to have known its location and its content. Clement slowed and stopped. The morning birdsong had quietened. He had previously wondered whether the murder of David Russell had always been personal or was it a means to get the list, but perhaps that was not the right question. Who would want the list? The enemy, of course. But that would mean there had to be a local contact. Clement thought of the vagrant. An outsider would have been seen. Especially one shabbily dressed. Besides, everyone in the village had lived there for years. Except one. Elsie.
Clement was back on the platform at Lewes station at nine o’clock. Mary had been more than usually quiet during breakfast and he wondered if she had awoken through the night and found him missing from their bed. Secrets. Whether during a war or between husband and wife, secrets divided.
Two hours later the train slowed and entered the familiar railway terminus of London Victoria. A Dornier bomber had crashed onto the station the previous Sunday during heavy bombing. Twisted wreckage still lay in piles around the old building, but whilst the damage had rendered the railway station inoperable for a few days, people now hurried about as though nothing unusual had happened. He stared at the faces. What he saw made him oddly proud. It was as if the mighty city and its people were thumbing their collective noses at Hitler and his Luftwaffe.
> Clement turned, his eye scrutinizing the waiting crowd in the street, searching for the naval commander’s uniform. But Johnny was not there. Clement felt his heart sink. He didn’t like being a disappointment to anyone, especially Johnny who had shown such faith in him.
Looking along the street, he saw the car. It was parked outside the public house on the corner where he had seen it before. A few seconds later the car left the curb and joined the main stream of traffic. Turning, the vehicle pulled up beside him and the driver got out. Clement recognised the man who opened the door for him, but there was no conversation.
Johnny met him in the entrance foyer of Number Seven, Whitehall. They shook hands but Clement thought it was not the eager greeting he had previously been shown. Following Johnny up the familiar staircase, Clement smiled at the secretary before being shown straight into Gubbins’s office.
‘Winthorpe tells me, Wisdom, that you are having problems?’ Gubbins said. ‘I could do with some good news, especially now.’
Clement thought Gubbins looked exhausted. ‘I’m not sure I can provide that, Colonel.’
Gubbins remained silent while Clement told them about the strafing, the murder of Inspector Russell and Constable Newson, the subsequence disappearance of Stanley and Elsie and, of course, the list.
Gubbins’s face clouded. The man remained silent for a few minutes. Without, the clacking of the secretary’s typewriter was the only sound.
‘The vagrant is interesting. John will you have some of your people look into that.’
‘And Elsie Wainwright?’ Clement asked.
‘You say she answered an advertisement placed in The Times?’
Clement nodded. ‘She said her parents were from Eastbourne, although now deceased. I don’t know anything else about her. She did say she had come from London.’ He paused. ‘She had very little luggage.’
Clement looked at Gubbins who was scribbling notes in a file.
‘Many people don’t have much to show for their lives nowadays,’ Gubbins said. ‘But perhaps you are right to be suspicious.’ Gubbins pressed a button on a wooden box to the right of his desk. A woman’s voice responded. ‘Miss Bradwynn, would you look into an Elizabeth Wainwright? John will give you the details.’ Gubbins released the button. ‘We need to find your runaways, Clement.’
‘And the invasion, colonel?’
‘It appears that the war in the air is not abating. But there have been no sightings of any landing craft on our shores that would indicate an amphibious invasion. Hitler may well have planned his invasion to follow their control of the air. Fortunately, as yet, they have failed to achieve this.’ Gubbins stood and walked to his window. The man was staring at a barrage balloon framed in the centre of his cross-hatched window. ‘Where are your men at present, Clement?’
‘As we have not found any sign of the German invasion, I have stood them down, Colonel, pending your orders. What with the raid on the village and the murders and Stanley’s disappearance, emotions are running high and the Operational Base is a confined space for volatile spirits.’
‘I agree. Have your meeting with them tomorrow evening but it could be a good idea if they were to have a refresher course at Coleshill. Arrange it for this weekend would you, John?’
Clement saw Johnny’s surprised glance at Gubbins but did not question the Colonel’s request. Or was it an order? Either way it would be obeyed.
Clement frowned. Was Gubbins not including him in the exercise at Coleshill? He glanced at Johnny who seemed equally perplexed.
‘Well, I won’t keep you,’ Gubbins went on. ‘Clement, stay in touch with this Chief Inspector Morris. The runaways must be found. For now we must assume that Stanley Russell has confided in Miss Wainwright. We cannot have them talking.’
Gubbins sat down and picked up some papers. The interview was over. Johnny went to the door and held it open.
What Gubbins had said about Stanley worried Clement and he wondered if he would ever see the young man again. Whether hanged for murder or killed in secret, Clement felt sure Stanley Russell was a dead man. Stanley aside, why were his men returning to Coleshill? A shudder ran through Clement’s body. Johnny’s surprised reaction also worried him. Clement left Gubbins’s office more confused than when he had entered it.
Neither he nor Johnny spoke as they left the third floor. Clement wondered whether he should mention that Reg had been to Cuckmere Haven. In view of all that had happened with his cell, and that Johnny had told them to stay away from the place, Clement decided it would be best left for another time. ‘How will Miss Bradwynn find out about Elsie Wainwright?’
‘It’s quite an ask given that we know so little about her. But we'll see what Miss Bradwynn can unearth. By the time we've had lunch, I expect she'll have something for us.’
‘As tempting as that sounds, Johnny, what I really need is sleep.’
‘Food first. Then after we have read what Miss Bradwynn has for us, I will drop you at the station. You can sleep on the train.’
‘I should call my second-in-command and confirm the stand down.’
‘Food first,’ Johnny repeated and leaving Number Seven, they walked towards Trafalgar Square and entered St Martin-in-the-Fields.
An hour later they returned to Gubbins’s office. Miss Bradwynn handed an envelope to Johnny. Gubbins wasn’t there so they went up another two floors to the smallest office Clement had ever seen.
‘This is my cupboard,’ Johnny said, squeezing past the desk to sit in the chair. ‘Not for much longer, I’m happy to say.’
Clement looked at the tiny round window set high in the wall. Even if Johnny could stand behind his desk, it was impossible to see out. Not even the barrage balloon disturbed the visible whitish-grey sky.
Johnny gestured towards the phone on the desk. ‘You can use this phone to call your second-in-command, Clement.’
Clement dialled Peter’s number.
‘Is everything alright, Clement?’ Peter asked.
‘Yes. I’m a little tired that’s all. Not as young any more, you know how it is. I should be home late tonight but I will see you and the team tomorrow night at eight. And Gubbins has confirmed the stand-down.’
‘Any news of Stanley?’
‘None.’
Clement rang off. He glanced at Johnny.
Johnny opened the envelope and pulled out the papers and began to read aloud. “Eastbourne has a population of forty-five thousand, three hundred and fifty two at the last census of 1931. There are one hundred and two women with the name Elizabeth Wainwright living in the Eastbourne area. Of these, thirty-four would currently be aged between twenty and thirty. Removing the ten who have died in the intervening years since the census, there are twenty-four possible matches. Correlating these against the father's profession, there are six women whose fathers were medical practitioners in the Eastbourne area. The search would be further advanced if the Christian names of the parents were known.”
Johnny handed the paper to Clement. ‘Not bad for an hour's work. And Miss Bradwynn has included a copy of The Times advertisement,’ Johnny said handing him the newspaper cutting. ‘I'll ask Miss Bradwynn to keep digging.'
Clement sat alone in the tea room at Victoria Station. All he could see in his mind’s eye was Elsie Wainwright sitting on the counter in The Crown. He could hear her voice now. Gone was the genteel lilt he had heard in the bus shelter in Lewes. It had been replaced with the hard-edged sound of vulgarity. As far as Clement was concerned, she had the manners of a bar-room harlot. He suddenly felt sorry for the girl’s deceased parents. He had seen it before, older parents who indulged the child they had so long waited to have.
The police would find Stanley and Elsie, and when they did, they or Gubbins would deal with the pair.
Chapter 18
Clement opened the door to his home. He could hear Mary in the kitchen singing her little ditties. He smiled and put down his satchel. At that moment the telephone rang.
‘Hello?’
‘Reverend Wisdom?’
‘Speaking.’
‘Please be in the graveyard in ten minutes. You will be contacted.’
The line went dead.
‘Hello?’ Clement said again. Looking along the corridor, he could still hear Mary singing in the scullery. He stared at the geometric pattern on the hall runner in the corridor, wondering whether he should go or not. The caller had been insistent. Clement felt weary, but he couldn’t ignore the call. He searched his memory for anything in the caller’s voice that sounded familiar. He wondered if it were Stanley disguising his voice. For that reason alone Clement needed to go.
‘Clement?’ Mary called, appearing at the door to the kitchen.
He looked up and smiled and reached for the hat that he had only moments before placed on the stand.
‘Are you going out again?’ Mary asked, her head tilting in the direction of the telephone.
‘Wrong number,’ he lied. He bit his tongue. ‘I just remembered I wanted a book from the church office. I’ll fetch it before I get too settled.’
‘Don’t be too long. I’ll be serving supper in ten minutes. How was London?’
‘I’ll be right back,’ he called avoiding her question, at least for now.
Closing the door, he trudged in the semi-darkness towards All Saints. It was a path he had trodden so many times that he almost never thought about it. He stopped and listened. Had he complied too willingly? In the decreasing light his eyes scanned the path ahead. And behind. Perhaps he should have been carrying a pistol. He put his hands into the pockets of his coat searching for anything he could use as a weapon but he found nothing. The unarmed combat lessons at Coleshill flashed into his mind. Coleshill. Why did Gubbins want the men to go back there so soon? Clement recalled Johnny’s surprised expression. Was it Gubbins’s way of permanently removing a troublesome team? Did death await his men at Coleshill because they knew too much about Gubbins and the Auxiliary Units? Their bodies would never be found. A story would be concocted for the families. But he would know. Or would he? Perhaps the same fate awaited him. He began to recite The Lord’s Prayer.
