Closed Circle (28 page)

"As much as anyone, I suppose."

He looked at me sharply, as if uncertain whether I meant it or not. Then he grunted and walked on. "He convinced me. Or I convinced myself. It makes no difference now. I decided I had to do my bit for mankind. Charnwood held the key. And he was in England. So, I left Vienna next day and headed for home, hoping I could persuade my editor to back my judgement, hoping I could discover enough in a few short days to expose the conspiracy.

"I reached London on Thursday afternoon, with just a few hours to go before the ultimatum was delivered. I went straight to The Topical headquarters in Shoe Lane and got in to see the editor, Jack Glenister, at about four o'clock. He wanted to know why I'd left Vienna, so I told him. Everything. The whole story. The complete unprovable allegation. With the exception of Brosch's name. Well, I could see he didn't believe it. And sitting there, in his comfortable Fleet Street office, I couldn't blame him. I tried my damnedest to convince him. I pleaded. I cajoled. I crawled. The last seemed to make the biggest impression. He knew I was no boot-licker. So, he made me an offer. If my story about the ultimatum turned out to be true, he'd give me two juniors and a long week-end to run Charnwood to earth. It was as much as I

could reasonably expect. I accepted. We agreed to meet again at noon the next day, Friday the twenty-fourth of July.

"By then, news of the ultimatum had broken. It had been delivered at six o'clock. And its terms were so severe that rejection was inevitable. I went back to see Glenister. But there was a surprise waiting for me. The Chief was with him. Northcliffe. And he did all the talking.

' "You've been overdoing it, Duggan," he said. "You've been in Vienna too long. Here in London, it doesn't look the thing to start traducing patriotic Englishmen when we're on the brink of war. God knows, we'll have a hard enough job stopping the government ratting on its commitments without chasing after imaginary conspiracies."

"I told him it wasn't imaginary. I repeated the whole story. But it did no good. His other papers were bellowing for German blood and he didn't want The Topical stepping out of line. He grew impatient. Then downright angry.

' "Drop this, Duggan! Drop this now!" he roared. "Or I'll make sure you never work in Fleet Street again." I didn't back down. And I wasn't prepared to drop it. He left, growling darkly about my future. But everybody's future was at stake. For once, mine didn't seem so very important.

"After he'd gone, Glenister tried to placate me. "See reason, George," he said. "I had to consult the Chief. Just as well I did. For both of us. Now, he thinks and so do I that you're just the man to do a piece on the dispute in the Scottish coal field We need somebody to go up there and see whether the miners are likely to put King and country before the minimum wage."

"I was going to be got out of the way. Packed off to Scotland, about as far from Vienna as possible. The tactics were obvious. And so was the choice. Give up. Or go on. Regardless of the consequences."

We reached the car and climbed in. Duggan stared straight ahead through the wind-screen at the wide expanse of beach and sky, fumbling with a cigarette paper and breathing hard.

"What did you do?" I prompted gently.

"Mmm?" He jerked his head round, then grimaced. "I went on, of course. Bloody fool that I was. I told Glenister I'd forget the Charnwood story and go up to Scotland after the week-end. He was all smiles when I left. Well pleased with his day's work." Duggan opened his tobacco-tin and transferred some of the contents to the paper. "But fooling Glenister was easy. The question was: how to go on? Without the resources of The Topical, I was on my own. I knew next to nothing about the business world. And absolutely nothing about Fabian Charnwood. I spent most of the rest of that day walking round the City, wondering what to do. I went to a pub near St. Paul's where a bloke on the Financial Times I knew slightly used to drink. He was there. And happy to talk. He'd heard of Charnwood Investments and its enigmatic founder. But that was literally all. He couldn't tell me anything." Duggan administered a practised lick to the paper and rolled it round the tobacco, picking off the surplus flakes and letting them fall back into the tin. Then he took out his matches and lit the cigarette. The predictable explosion of coughs followed. But the smoke seemed to relax him. He leant back in the seat. "The forty-eight hours were already more than half gone. And what did I have to show for them? Sod all. That's what.

"Next morning, after tossing and turning most of the night in my hotel room, I took a train down to Dorking, determined to beard Charnwood in his lair. I'd got the address from Who's Who. I needn't tell you what Amber Court is like, need I? You know the place better than I do. My luck was in. In one sense, anyway. Charnwood was there. And he agreed to see me. Before I knew what was happening, I was in his study, looking at him across his desk. Such a mild, inoffensive, civilized man. I'd expected some sort of ... monster. But he wasn't that. At least, he didn't look it.

' "A matter of desperate urgency, Mr. Duggan?" he said. That was the phrase I'd used to get past the butler. "What can it be?"

"I didn't know what to say. If I was right, he wouldn't admit it. If I was wrong, he'd think I was mad. All I'd succeeded in doing was putting my head in a noose. I babbled about being a journalist who was investigating the possibility that international arms dealers might be responsible for the Sarajevo assassination. I asked him, as something of an expert, what his view of the possibility was. He said they'd have had neither means nor motive. He suggested I was over-wrought. And I might have believed him. But for the look in his eyes. He was watching me, calmly and curiously. He was almost amused by me. But there was nothing to laugh at. Unless

"Unless you were right and he knew you couldn't prove it?"

"Yes. That's what I thought afterwards. He should have refused to see me. Or had me thrown out. Instead, he just toyed with me.

Dangled me on a line for a few minutes. Then threw me back in the water. I left wishing I'd never gone there."

"What did you do next?"

"Played my last card. I wasn't going to achieve anything on my own. That was obvious. And The Topical wasn't going to help me. So, I decided to try the Foreign Office."

"Lord Grey, you mean?"

"Sir Edward Grey, as he was then. Foreign Secretary since Adam was a lad. A man of flexible mind but fixed habits. And those habits were well known in Fleet Street. The week-end wouldn't find him pacing his office in Whitehall. Oh no. He'd be at his cottage beside the Itchen in Hampshire, fishing for trout and savouring the bird-song. More to the point, he'd be on his own. I'd have a chance to put my case to him without being interrupted. And if I could convince him .. .

"The journey seemed to take for ever. Three slow trains across the Surrey and Hampshire countryside on a sweltering hot Saturday afternoon, with long waits in between at Guildford and Farnham. I finally reached Itchen Abbas at about half past four. The ticket collector at the station directed me to Grey's cottage, buried in clematis and honeysuckle down by the water-meadows, at the end of a long tree-lined lane. It really was like a picture post-card. I found him in the garden, dozing in a camp-chair as if he hadn't a care in the world. When I told him I was a journalist, he looked worried, but I assured him I wasn't there for an exclusive interview. I reckon my manner must have made that obvious. He asked me inside, made some tea and listened to everything I had to say. What he made of it I couldn't tell. He had the perfect diplomat's demeanour patient but impenetrable.

' "You realize what this means?" I asked.

' "I appreciate its potential significance, Mr. Duggan," he replied. "But you have nothing to worry about. I saw the German Ambassador, Prince Lichnowsky, before leaving London this morning and asked him to suggest to his government that Britain and Germany join in seeking an extension to the time-limit on Austria-Hungary's ultimatum so that suitable arrangements for international mediation of the dispute can be made."

' "They'll never agree."

' "Why should they not? It is a very reasonable proposal."

' "Because the Concentric Alliance has agents everywhere. They'll make sure it comes to nothing."

' "Oh dear me, Mr. Duggan. You really must not be so suspicious. Leave this to those trained in handling such matters. They will not let you down."

"I suppose I must have seemed deranged. At the very least, deluded. An organization he'd never heard of, with fingers in every pie. Well, it's the stuff of paranoia, isn't it? But he was kind and courteous to a fault. He suggested I stay at the village inn overnight and call on him again in the morning. He expected to have good news for me by then. He saw me off with a smile and a wave of his hat.

"I did as he'd suggested. There was damn all else I could do. My best chance seemed to lie in staying close to him. But even then it wasn't much of a chance. I realized that more and more during the evening as I stared into my beer at the Plough Inn, listening to the innocent country-folk gossiping and arguing and never once mentioning Sarajevo or the ultimatum Serbia had probably already rejected.

"Early next morning, I went back to the cottage. Sir Edward looked different. More sombre. More pessimistic. "It seems my proposal was not accepted, Mr. Duggan," he said. "Nor was Serbia's response to the ultimatum. Austria-Hungary has severed diplomatic relations and is believed to be mobilizing. But never fear. I have just been speaking to my permanent under-secretary on the telephone. He will be circulating a proposal to all the European powers for an ambassadors' conference in London to address the problem."

' "Another proposal?" I said, unable to conceal my bitterness.

' "It is the best we can do," he replied. "I shall be returning to London this afternoon in order to devote all my efforts to forging an agreement."

' "And the Concentric Alliance?"

' "Is not a concept I can afford to dwell upon. I am sorry, Mr. Duggan, but there it is."

"I left in a daze and caught the earliest train back to London. Sir Edward wasn't on it. He was sticking to a more leisurely pace. One I couldn't see leading us out of the web Charnwood had woven. I went straight from Waterloo to Shoe Lane. It seemed the best way of finding out the latest developments. But nobody at The Topical knew much beyond what Sir Edward had already told me. There was one thing, though. Somebody had telephoned several times, trying to speak to me. They hadn't left their name or any kind of message. Just a number. On the Mansion House exchange. That meant the City, which should have been dead as a dodo on a Sunday afternoon. But, when I rang, there was an answer. An anonymous male voice, speaking hardly above a murmur.

' "You've been asking about Fabian Charnwood, I understand," he said. "And not getting many answers. But I can give you some. At a price." I asked who he was. "No names. No pack-drill. But I have a lot of ... circular knowledge. Take my meaning?" I said I did and asked if we could meet. "The bandstand on Clapham Common. Eleven o'clcok tonight. If you're interested, be there."

"So, I went. And you can guess what happened, can't you? A shadowy figure, hat pulled well down over his eyes, was waiting at the bandstand. He told me to follow him to a quiet spot. We took a path that led into some bushes. Suddenly, I was grabbed from behind and held by two men. A third man pulled my trousers down. A grinning boy appeared in front of me, stripping off a naval uniform. When he was naked, he crouched down on all fours. I was pushed on top of him. Then there were flashing torches, whistles, shouts. And the police had hold of me. But the boy ran off. They let him go. They had what they wanted.

"By the time I was brought before the magistrates next morning, Grey's proposal for an ambassadors' conference had collapsed. Nobody on the bench was interested in my protestations of innocence. I was remanded in custody and bundled off to Wands-worth Prison. And I knew better than to try and make anybody listen to me there. My case was heard the following Tuesday: the fourth of August. By then, the dominoes had begun to fall. Germany and Austria-Hungary were at war with Russia and France. And that night Britain joined in. Anybody who spoke out then wasn't just mad, but guilty of treason. Or, in my case, something even worse. And far more sordid.

"They gave me five years, Mr. Horton. And I didn't get any time off for good behaviour. Probably because I didn't behave particularly well. Or perhaps because somebody had a word in a Home Office ear. Either way, I suppose I got off lightly compared with all those poor buggers mown down in Flanders. Don't you reckon?"

"I suppose you did," I said, thinking of Felix and his vacant blinking face.

"What do you say to a drink? There's a pub in the village with some quiet corners. Not that being overheard matters now. You've just about had the lot."

The parlour-bar of the Red Lion, Alnmouth, was a warm smoke-filled haven where none of the other customers seemed even slightly interested in the doleful pair we made. Duggan looked weary beyond reviving, even after two brisk rums. I began to regret pr ising so much from him, began to wish I had left old wounds to heal for my sake as well as for his. There was such a thing as too much knowledge. I understood that now. All the levity and egotism of my life had drained from my mind, leaving it clearer but bleaker than ever before. It was as if I might never laugh again.

"I came up here in the summer of 1919," said Duggan. "Straight after being released. Sir Edward had become Lord Grey and retired from politics to live out his remaining years at Fallodon. I wanted to ask him whether he believed I mightn't have been right after all. He didn't, of course. Or said he didn't. But he did tell me what I'd suspected at the time: that he'd thought I was out of my mind when I burst in on him at Itchen Abbas. He'd encouraged me to stay at the Plough only so he could telephone Lord Northcliffe and ask him what he should do. Northcliffe had said I was harmless but obsessed. He'd advised Grey to ignore me. And so he had. But on one point he couldn't deny I'd subsequently been vindicated. It had come out after the war that his mediation proposal hadn't been passed on by the German Foreign Ministry to Vienna until after the expiry of the dead-line. Somebody somewhere had been determined to ensure it came to nothing. It didn't convince Grey of the existence of the Concentric Alliance, of course. Nor did my imprisonment, which as a matter of fact he hadn't heard about. Nevertheless, there was something in it all he wasn't happy about. I think that's why he offered to help find me a job. To make amends in some way for not taking me seriously."