N or M?

Mr Meadowes strolled up to the end and gazed down into the water. Then he asked gently:

‘Caught anything?’

The fisherman shook his head.

‘Don’t often get a bite.’ Mr Grant reeled in his line a bit. He said without turning his head:

‘What about you, Meadowes?’

Tommy said:

‘Nothing much to report as yet, sir. I’m digging myself in.’

‘Good. Tell me.’

Tommy sat on an adjacent bollard, so placed that he commanded the length of the pier. Then he began:

‘I’ve gone down quite all right, I think. I gather you’ve already got a list of the people there?’ Grant nodded. ‘There’s nothing to report as yet. I’ve struck up a friendship with Major Bletchley. We played golf this morning. He seems the ordinary type of retired officer. If anything, a shade too typical. Cayley seems a genuine hypochondriacal invalid. That, again, would be an easy part to act. He has, by his own admission, been a good deal in Germany during the last few years.’

‘A point,’ said Grant laconically.

‘Then there’s von Deinim.’

‘Yes, I don’t need to tell you, Meadowes, that von Deinim’s the one I’m most interested in.’

‘You think he’s N?’

Grant shook his head.

‘No, I don’t. As I see it, N couldn’t afford to be a German.’

‘Not a refugee from Nazi persecution, even?’

‘Not even that. We watch, and they know we watch all the enemy aliens in this country. Moreover—this is in confidence, Beresford—very nearly all enemy aliens between 16 and 60 will be interned. Whether our adversaries are aware of that fact or not, they can at any rate anticipate that such a thing might happen. They would never risk the head of their organisation being interned. N therefore must be either a neutral—or else he is (apparently) an Englishman. The same, of course, applies to M. No, my meaning about von Deinim is this. He may be a link in the chain. N or M may not be at Sans Souci, it may be Carl von Deinim who is there and through him we may be led to our objective. That does seem to me highly possible. The more so as I cannot very well see that any of the other inmates of Sans Souci are likely to be the person we are seeking.’

‘You’ve had them more or less vetted, I suppose, sir?’

Grant sighed—a sharp, quick sigh of vexation.

‘No, that’s just what it’s impossible for me to do. I could have them looked up by the department easily enough—but I can’t risk it, Beresford. For, you see, the rot is in the department itself. One hint that I’ve got my eye on Sans Souci for any reason—and the organisation may be put wise. That’s where you come in, the outsider. That’s why you’ve got to work in the dark, without help from us. It’s our only chance—and I daren’t risk alarming them. There’s only one person I’ve been able to check up on.’

‘Who’s that, sir?’

‘Carl von Deinim himself. That’s easy enough. Routine. I can have him looked up—not from the Sans Souci angle, but from the enemy alien angle.’

Tommy asked curiously:

‘And the result?’

A curious smile came over the other’s face.

‘Master Carl is exactly what he says he is. His father was indiscreet, was arrested and died in a concentration camp. Carl’s elder brothers are in camps. His mother died in great distress of mind a year ago. He escaped to England a month before war broke out. Von Deinim has professed himself anxious to help this country. His work in a chemical research laboratory has been excellent and most helpful on the problem of immunising certain gases and in general decontamination experiments.’

Tommy said:

‘Then he’s all right?’

‘Not necessarily. Our German friends are notorious for their thoroughness. If von Deinim was sent as an agent to England, special care would be taken that his record should be consistent with his own account of himself. There are two possibilities. The whole von Deinim family may be parties to the arrangement—not improbable under the painstaking Nazi régime. Or else this is not really Carl von Deinim but a man playing the part of Carl von Deinim.’

Tommy said slowly: ‘I see.’ He added inconsequently:

‘He seems an awfully nice young fellow.’

Sighing, Grant said: ‘They are—they nearly always are. It’s an odd life this service of ours. We respect our adversaries and they respect us. You usually like your opposite number, you know—even when you’re doing your best to down him.’

There was silence as Tommy thought over the strange anomaly of war. Grant’s voice broke into his musings.

‘But there are those for whom we’ve neither respect nor liking—and those are the traitors within our own ranks—the men who are willing to betray their country and accept office and promotion from the foreigner who has conquered it.’

Tommy said with feeling:

‘My God, I’m with you, sir. That’s a skunk’s trick.’

‘And deserves a skunk’s end.’

Tommy said incredulously:

‘And there really are these—these swine?’

‘Everywhere. As I told you. In our service. In the fighting forces. On Parliamentary benches. High up in the Ministries. We’ve got to comb them out—we’ve got to! And we must do it quickly. It can’t be done from the bottom—the small fry, the people who speak in the parks, who sell their wretched little news-sheets, they don’t know who the big bugs are. It’s the big bugs we want, they’re the people who can do untold damage—and will do it unless we’re in time.’

Tommy said confidently:

‘We shall be in time, sir.’

Grant asked:

‘What makes you say that?’

Tommy said:

‘You’ve just said it—we’ve got to be!’

The man with the fishing line turned and looked full at his subordinate for a minute or two, taking in anew the quiet resolute line of the jaw. He had a new liking and appreciation of what he saw. He said quietly:

‘Good man.’

He went on: