Hardcastle's Traitors (12 page)

‘I'm a police officer, Mr Tindall, and I'm arresting you for being a deserter from His Majesty's Land Forces.'

‘I'm afraid you're making a serious mistake, Officer. I've come here to arrest Captain Villiers of the RFA, not the other way round.'

‘Have you indeed? Well, he's not here. Now then,' continued Carter, taking a step closer to the officer, ‘we don't want any trouble, so we'll take a cab and make our way to the police station.'

‘Who's your superior? I demand to be taken to him immediately.'

‘Don't you worry about that, Mr Tindall. It's Divisional Detective Inspector Hardcastle of the Whitehall Division at Cannon Row police station, and you'll be seeing him very soon.' But Carter did not realize just how soon that would be.

It was past ten o'clock by the time Carter and his prisoner arrived at the police station. The DDI had already gone home, but Marriott was tussling with a report for the DPP when Carter entered the office.

‘What are you doing back here, Carter?'

‘I've got Second Lieutenant George Tindall in the charge room downstairs, Skip, and he's screaming blue murder about wanting to see the guv'nor.'

‘Is he now? Well, he'll just have to wait until tomorrow morning, won't he? What were the circumstances? Did he just turn up at Battersea?'

‘Yes, Skip, and what's more he said he was there to arrest Captain Villiers.'

Marriott laughed. ‘A likely tale. Well, I'm not going to disturb Mr Hardcastle at this hour.' He shuffled together the papers on which he had been working and dropped them into a tray on his desk. ‘I'll come down and have a word with this young shaver, and see what this cock-and-bull story of his is all about.' Buttoning up his waistcoat and donning his jacket, he followed Carter downstairs.

The moment Marriott and Carter entered the charge room, Tindall leaped to his feet, only to be restrained by the uniformed constable who was guarding him.

‘Are you Inspector Hardcastle?' said Tindall, shaking off the constable's hand.

‘No, I'm Detective Sergeant Marriott.'

‘I demand to see this inspector,' said Tindall.

‘You're in no position to demand anything,' said Marriott. ‘You've been arrested by Detective Constable Carter for being a deserter, and you'll appear before the Bow Street magistrate tomorrow morning. Unless, of course, you admit to being a deserter, in which case you'll be handed over to the military police.'

‘Then I need to see the assistant provost marshal immediately, Sergeant. In the circumstances you leave me no alternative.'

‘You told Detective Constable Carter that you'd gone to Prince of Wales Drive to arrest Captain Villiers. Is that correct?' Marriott posed the question with an amused expression on his face.

‘Yes, that is correct.'

‘I think you'd better explain yourself.' Marriott was highly suspicious of Tindall's statement, certain that it was a device to avoid being handed over to the military, either before or after a court appearance. He dismissed Tindall's request to see the APM as mere bluster.

Tindall emitted a deep sigh and for a moment or two sunk into a mood of contemplation.

‘I can see we've reached an impasse, Sergeant,' he said eventually. ‘But you must understand that what I am about to tell you is in the strictest confidence. Much depends on the work I've been doing.' He withdrew a document from his breast pocket and handed it to Marriott. ‘I am Captain Hugh Wetherby of the Royal Garrison Artillery, seconded to the Military Foot Police.'

Marriott studied the document closely before returning it. ‘That seems to be genuine enough,' he said.

‘Oh, it is, Sergeant, I can assure you. And now I need to see the APM as a matter of urgency. It's of vital importance to the security of the state.'

‘That could be a problem, Captain Wetherby. We only ever talk to the APM at his office at Horse Guards. And he's only there during working hours. I've no idea how to contact him at this time of night.'

‘There's a detachment of the Military Mounted Police at Great Scotland Yard,' said Wetherby. ‘They should have a night duty NCO, and he'll know how to get in touch with the APM.' He took out a cigarette case and offered it to Marriott and Carter. ‘And I must again emphasize the urgency.'

‘I'll do what I can,' said Marriott, declining the offer of a cigarette. He turned to Carter. ‘Get down to Great Scotland Yard as fast as you can, and tell the duty NCO that it's necessary for me to get in touch with Colonel Frobisher as quickly as possible. I've no idea where he lives, but if he can telephone me at the nick it might save a lot of time. But do
not
tell the military police NCO you speak to what it's about.' That done, he slid open the glass panel between the charge room and the front office. ‘Send an urgent message to Kennington Road nick, Harry, and get an officer to call on the DDI. He's to tell Mr Hardcastle that Tindall has been arrested, but that there are complications that require his attendance here immediately.'

‘Right you are, Charlie, but I doubt that that'll make you his favourite skipper,' said the station officer, and began writing on a message pad.

‘Was I ever?' muttered Marriott.

‘I don't believe it.' Hardcastle was in the act of checking the blackout curtains before going to bed when there was a knock at the door. A policeman was standing on the step. ‘What the hell is it now, lad?'

‘An urgent message from Cannon Row, sir,' said the young constable, proffering a message form. ‘And it's bucketing down,' he added, risking a grin. The PC's helmet and cape were glistening with rain.

‘I can see that,' muttered Hardcastle, as he quickly scanned the brief missive. ‘God Almighty!' he exclaimed. ‘Can't they deal with a simple knock-off of a deserter without sending for me? All right, lad, find me a cab while I get my coat and hat.' He walked to the foot of the stairs. He knew that his wife would still be awake and reading one of the women's magazines to which she subscribed. ‘I've got to go back to the station, Alice.'

‘You take care, Ernie,' came Alice's voice from the bedroom.

Unbeknown to Marriott, Colonel Frobisher, the assistant provost marshal, had an apartment in Admiralty Arch at the other end of Whitehall, within walking distance of the police station. When a military police sergeant telephoned him, the NCO received a response similar to that made by Hardcastle when he had been called out.

Hardcastle and Frobisher arrived at the entrance to the police station at the same time.

‘What are you doing here at this hour, Colonel?'

‘I was about to ask you the same question, Inspector,' said Frobisher. ‘According to the message I got from your Sergeant Marriott, it's something to do with Second Lieutenant Tindall. Apparently your chaps have arrested him.'

‘So I understand,' muttered Hardcastle. ‘You'd better come up to my office, Colonel.' He opened the door to the front office. ‘Tell Sergeant Marriott to bring Tindall up to my office, Skipper.'

‘Yes, sir,' said the station officer, and walked through to the charge room.

It was fast approaching midnight by the time that Frobisher, Marriott, Carter and the officer claiming to be Captain Wetherby, were crowded into the DDI's office.

‘Get some more chairs in here, Carter,' said Hardcastle, ‘and then we'll find out what all the fuss is about.'

Once the group was settled, Frobisher studied the artillery officer closely. ‘I think you'd better explain why it's necessary for Inspector Hardcastle and me to be called out at this hour of the night, Tindall.'

‘This is a very delicate matter, sir. I think it would be better if I spoke to you in private.'

Frobisher, who was no less pleased at being called out than was Hardcastle, was in no mood to be dictated to by a junior officer. ‘Whatever you have to tell me, you can do so in front of Inspector Hardcastle. He's a senior police officer and I trust him implicitly.'

‘I am Captain Hugh Wetherby of the Royal Garrison Artillery, attached to the Military Foot Police, Colonel.' After a pause during which he decided that he was not going to get his own way, Wetherby had eventually yielded.

‘Are you indeed?' said Frobisher, as yet unconvinced by the officer's claim. ‘In that case, you'll have a warrant signed by the provost marshal.'

‘I have indeed, Colonel.' Wetherby produced the document he had previously shown Marriott. It bore the signature of Brigadier General Edward Fitzpatrick, Provost Marshal of the British Army, and testified to the holder being an officer of the Military Foot Police engaged on undefined ‘special duties'.

‘That seems to be in order,' said Frobisher, returning the warrant. ‘Now perhaps you'll tell me what's so damned important that you require my presence here.'

Once again, Wetherby glanced around at the assembled officers.

‘You can go, Carter,' said Hardcastle, sensing that Wetherby would be happier with less people in the office. ‘Think yourself lucky you've got the night off. Make sure you're here at eight o'clock tomorrow morning.'

‘Yes, sir, thank you, sir,' said Carter, thinking that to be back at the police station in less than eight hours' time was not as lucky as the DDI seemed to believe.

‘D'you mind if I smoke, Colonel?' asked Wetherby.

‘It's Mr Hardcastle's office, Captain Wetherby. Ask him, not me.' Frobisher was still irritated at being roused from his bed at the behest of a captain.

Hardcastle waved a hand of permission and lit his pipe.

‘As a matter of interest, Captain Wetherby, how did you get back to this country?' asked Frobisher, still doubtful about the officer's story. ‘You were posted as deserter from your brigade.' The APM, a non-smoker, waved away the smoke of both Hardcastle's pipe and Wetherby's cigarette.

‘Quite easily, Colonel. Surprising though it may seem, I just walked away from the brigade early on the morning of Christmas Day. I identified myself to the first military policeman I came across, and arrangements were made for me to travel by train to Boulogne and cross to Blighty from there on a troopship.'

‘When I interviewed Captain Villiers he said something about you being in debt all over the place, including gambling heavily,' said Hardcastle. ‘And that you threatened him.'

Wetherby laughed. ‘Villiers took a violent dislike to me the moment we met, Inspector. I wondered briefly whether he suspected I wasn't the George Tindall I claimed to be, which was a little disturbing. And I wondered if he had somehow discovered that I was a provost officer. But I can assure you that there was no conversation between us about any supposed debts, neither did I threaten him.'

‘Can we get back to why you intended to arrest Captain Villiers, Wetherby?' Frobisher was becoming impatient.

‘Some time ago, Colonel,' Wetherby began, ‘field intelligence officers …' He paused and glanced at Hardcastle. ‘As a matter of fact, they were Special Branch officers from the Metropolitan Police attached to army headquarters, Inspector.'

‘Were they indeed?' Hardcastle had jousted with the political department of the Metropolitan Police on more than one occasion, and had not enjoyed the experience. Little did he know then, though, that he was about to become involved with Special Branch more closely than before.

‘As I was saying,' continued Wetherby, ‘field intelligence officers, aided by their French opposite numbers, intercepted Morse code signals being sent from a house about two miles behind our lines at Neuve Chapelle. The signal was tracked and proved to be coming from a house occupied by a French Jew named Pierre Benoit, a farmer. But he turned out to be more than just a farmer. When the house was raided it was found that Benoit was in possession of both Morse code equipment and information regarding the disposition and strength of various British Army units. And more than those in the immediate Neuve Chapelle area. Under interrogation, he revealed that he was spying on behalf of the Germans. Enquiries are now in hand to discover the other sources of his information, although I doubt we will identify them, now that Benoit is in custody.'

‘But why?' asked Frobisher. ‘What motive could a French Jew possibly have for giving this sort of information to the Germans?'

‘After a little of what you might call gentle persuasion by his French interrogators,' continued Wetherby with a smile, ‘Benoit admitted that the Germans wanted to pass it on to the Ottomans. They had apparently promised the Zionist movement a Jewish homeland in Palestine under a Turkish or German mandate after the war was over. But this could only be achieved if the British and French were defeated.'

‘This here Benoit seems to know a lot for a farmer,' commented Hardcastle drily.

‘But hasn't our government also promised a homeland to the Jews, under a British mandate?' queried Frobisher.

‘So I believe, Colonel, but apparently the Zionists don't trust us. However, Benoit agreed to continue passing information to the enemy. But that information would in future be furnished by our people and would, of course, be misleading.'

‘Do we know who was at the receiving end of these Morse code messages that Benoit was sending?'

‘No, Colonel, although it's been suggested that it might be someone in London. I understand that MI5 is trying to identify the recipient.'

‘Good luck,' said Hardcastle, who dismissed MI5 as a bunch of amateurs trying to be detectives.

‘But what has any of this to do with Haydn Villiers, Captain Wetherby?' asked Frobisher, impatient to get to the nub of the matter.

‘Ah yes, Captain Villiers. Our enquiries have revealed that Villiers is of Jewish extraction, and makes no secret of his passion about this business of a homeland.'

‘But how did you know that Villiers was involved?' asked Frobisher. A tension had arisen in the office as the police officers, civil and military, waited to see what was coming next.