The Shadow of Treason (6 page)

‘I don’t know,’ said Adam. ‘But I can tell you what’s happened to me, if you’ve got time. Is there somewhere we can have coffee?’

‘Solly’s Salt-Beef Bar,’ said Jane. ‘You must be starving.’

So, for the second day running, the two of them sat at a cafe table drinking coffee. But now the dainty biscuits had been replaced by huge hot salt-beef sandwiches, which Adam was wolfing down. Only thirty hours had elapsed since the red-
and-white
tablecloths of Tilfleet’s Crescent Tea Rooms. And now they were in a different world – a bare wooden table in a crowded little Soho nosh-bar, amid a haze of cigarette smoke, and the babble of London voices. And events had changed their lives for ever.

It took Adam ten minutes to tell Jane all he’d been through since they parted that morning: a tale punctuated by her
exclamations
of surprise and alarm. In turn, she was expecting to amaze him with the news of Cooper’s death, but it turned out he’d already read about it in the evening paper and vented his
astonishment and disbelief hours ago. And then, when they’d shared all the day’s astonishing stories, and expressed their mutual bewilderment, there was a pause. And Jane had to ask the inevitable question.

‘Adam, I know for a fact that you didn’t kill Maurice Cooper. And it’s not your fault these men attacked you. So you’d done nothing wrong.’

‘No. Nothing.’

‘And when you came off the pier, you didn’t know you were wanted for questioning.’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘So why didn’t you go straight to the police and tell them these men had tried to kidnap you?’

Adam munched his salt-beef for a moment. Then he said, ‘I bought an evening paper. The Stop Press column said the police were looking for Adam Webber. In connection with a murder in Tilfleet.’

Jane frowned. ‘No, Adam, that won’t do. You knew I could tell them you didn’t kill Cooper.’

‘Then your mum and everyone else would know we’d spent the night together.’

‘There might be ways round that. And, anyway, a little embarrassment’s not as bad as a murder charge. There’s
something
else, isn’t there?’

‘Something else?’

‘You thought you had two thugs chasing you … trying to kill you! You wouldn’t have stopped to buy a newspaper. You’d be looking for help.’ Jane’s eyes locked onto Adam’s. ‘Why didn’t you go to the police, Adam?’

Adam sighed. ‘All right, Jane, I suppose I’ll have to tell you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I reckoned that, once the police began questioning me about the trouble on the pier and the damage to my room, they’d start checking on my background. And then they’d find out I’m not Adam Webber.’

Jane spilled some coffee from her cup. Then she steadied herself, and put it carefully down on her saucer.

‘Excuse me, did you just say you’re not Adam Webber?’

‘I’m the Adam Webber who’s been working on the pier for the last six weeks. But no, I’m not the original Adam Webber.’

‘Perhaps you’d better explain.’

Adam thought for a moment. A juke-box was blaring, and the other customers were deep in their own conversations. He wouldn’t be overheard. So he said, ‘Yes, perhaps I should.’

‘This had better be good.’

‘I can’t say it’s good. But it’ll be the truth.’

‘I certainly hope so.’

‘All the stuff I told you, about Bristol and my parents in Canada and so on, that’s all true. Right up to my last day at London University. I was sharing digs in Bloomsbury with another student. Adam Webber.’

‘So there really is an Adam Webber.’

‘Was, unfortunately. We were friends, both studying marine biology. He was another loner, like me. Even more so, actually: his parents were killed in the Blitz.’

Adam stopped. Harry James’ ‘Carnival In Venice’ had finished, and the juke-box was silent.

‘Go on,’ said Jane.

‘Let’s wait for a little more background music, shall we?’

A coin dropped. Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters burst into song, and Adam resumed.

‘Webber was more clever than me. He passed his final exams and was grabbed for the research centre at Southend. I failed mine, so bang went my exemption from call-up. I was due to join the army. But Hitler had it in for the Webber family. On our last night in London a flying bomb hit our digs. I’d gone out to buy cigarettes. When I got back, the place was smashed in. Everyone killed.’

‘My God, that’s terrible!’

‘Part of the house was still standing, including the room we shared on the ground floor. I went in, to see if I could help. Adam was undoubtedly dead, no pulse, some falling masonry had crushed his head.’

Jane was horrified. ‘Oh dear. I think I know what you’re about to tell me. And I don’t think I’m going to like it.’

‘I’m not proud of it myself. It was an impulse, Jane. But, looking back, I can’t think it did anyone any harm. And I’m damn sure my friend Adam Webber would approve. He had a great sense of humour.’

‘You did a switch!’

‘Yes. It was only a matter of taking his identity card from his pocket and replacing it with mine.’

‘Just that?’

‘Well, there were a few other things to change over; neither of us had many possessions. Next day I reported for duty on Southend Pier. They didn’t know what Adam Webber was going to look like. And I honestly believe I’m doing a better job for Britain in Marine Research than I could do square-bashing in some army camp.’

‘I don’t know how you thought you’d get away with it.’

‘This is wartime, Jane. Hundreds of people get killed by bombs every day. Records get destroyed. People are busy, everyone’s on the move. So I have got away with it. And I still would, if the sky hadn’t fallen in today. Now I can’t face
questions
. So I realized I had to run.’

‘With the result that, instead of charges of false identity and so on, you’re wanted for three murders and assaulting the police!’

‘What?! What d’you mean, three murders?’

‘It was on the news this evening. Two men died in a struggle on Southend Pier. They’re linking your name with that.’

‘Jane, I didn’t kill anyone! All I did was run away, like I told you! Honestly!’

‘All right. I believe you, I’m not sure why. But will anyone else? And it seems the man you hit as you charged off the pier was a policeman.’

‘Oh. Well, I wasn’t to know that, was I? He was in plain clothes.’ Adam finished his coffee. ‘I suppose I’ve been a silly boy.’

‘Yes. And what did you do after you came off the pier?’

‘I caught the train to Tilfleet. I was going to collect my things from the Cavendish, and leave a note for you, to say I’d be in touch.’

‘Well, after last night, I’m glad to hear that bit.’

‘But when I approached the place it was swarming with coppers, so I didn’t go in. I bought the
Evening News
, to try and find out what was going on. The Tilfleet murder was in the Stop Press column, and it said police wanted to talk to Adam Webber. So I knew I had to disappear.’

‘How are you going to do that?’

‘I don’t know. Try and get out of the country, I suppose. Go to Canada or somewhere. I have to have time to think, Jane. That’s why I came to you. I need a friend.’

Jane hesitated no more than a moment. Then she moved her hand across the table and rested it on his. ‘You’ve got one. You’ve been a bloody fool, but I don’t believe you’d hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. I think I trust you, Adam.’

Adam grinned and said, ‘Now who’s being a bloody fool?’

‘Just a minute. You’re not Adam, are you? So what do I call you now?’

‘The same. My real name is Adam John Carr. With a C.’

‘Two Adams in the same digs! That’s extraordinary!’

‘And lucky. It made the transition much easier. I still answer to the name I grew up with.’

‘But what a coincidence!’

‘Well, there is a possible explanation. Webber and I used to laugh about it. We were both born in the twenties, when there was an early film star called Adam Finch. Very good-looking. What they used to call a “matinée idol”. We reckoned both our mothers fancied him.’

‘Anyway, that’s a relief. I’m glad I don’t have to learn a new name.’

‘And I’m sticking to “Adam Webber” for now. As Adam Webber I haven’t actually done anything wrong. It was Adam Carr who stole the ID card.’ Now Adam was holding her hand. ‘Jane, did last night mean as much to you as it did to me?’

‘Yes. I wouldn’t be sitting here if it didn’t. But I don’t think we’d better discuss that now. We’ve got to decide what to do with you.’

‘Look, I’ll work that out. When I said I needed a friend, I didn’t mean I was dumping myself on you. Mainly I need someone to talk to. Also, pretty soon I’ll have to borrow some money. All I’ve got are the clothes I’m wearing, and seven pounds in my wallet. Anything I borrow I’ll pay back, I swear it.’

‘Don’t worry about cash, I’ve got savings in the post office. There are more urgent problems than that. Like where are you going to sleep tonight?’

‘It’s a dry night. I’ll sleep on a park bench.’

‘Don’t be daft – pneumonia won’t help. Besides, if you start sleeping rough you could get nicked by a policeman. We’ll have to stay with my friend Maggie.’

‘We?’

‘You don’t think I’ll let you out of my sight again, do you? God knows what you’d get up to next time. I’ve lost one good man in the last month, I don’t want to lose another. Maggie’s got a little flat in Maida Vale, I’ve stayed there before. She just said that if I’m in trouble, she’ll help.’

‘You’re not in trouble, it’s me. You don’t have to do this.’

‘For God’s sake, think! Did the research centre have your picture?’

‘Yes. They took one for my security pass. And they’ll have kept a copy.’

‘Right. So tomorrow that picture will be in all the
newspapers
. You won’t be able to go out! You’re going to need someone to look after you!’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Maggie always goes for a drink after the last show. In the pub opposite. But they’ll be chucking out in five minutes. We need to be quick.’

N
OW IT WAS
the short man’s turn to take a tongue-lashing. The midnight voice on the phone was furious.

‘I suppose those clowns who got killed at Southend were your men?’

‘It looks like it, I’m afraid. They haven’t returned from the job.’

‘Bloody incompetence! I thought you were employing
professionals
!’

‘So did I. Of course, the police haven’t released names. They probably haven’t identified them yet.’

‘You’d better hope to God it takes them a long time. Because, when they do identify them, they’re going to wonder how two low-life thugs got passes to enter a high-security zone. Aren’t they? Aren’t they, you bungling bastard?’

The short man held the phone slightly away from his ear.

The voice stormed on. ‘They might be able to trace those passes. Right?’

‘Not necessarily to you. There are plenty of forgers around these days.’

‘But these had a lot that was official about them. The police may come sniffing round my office.’

‘Then you just deny everything.’

‘Don’t tell me my business! Listen, if this blunder wrecks everything, you’re going to suffer!’

‘I’m suffering already. I don’t like things going wrong any more than you do. But accidents happen.’

‘There’ll be a nasty accident coming your way, if you don’t sort out this mess! The notebook’s still missing, obviously.’

‘Yes. But we’re sure we know who’s got it. We’ll catch him before long.’

‘You’d better! Get your finger out and get this dealt with! Find out who’s trying to sabotage our operation! Ring me tomorrow with a progress report!’

The phone was slammed down at the other end. The short man sighed and replaced the receiver.

Then he began making phone calls himself.

‘This is great!’ Adam’s words were filtered through a mouthful of breakfast. ‘You do wonders with dried egg.’

Jane smiled. ‘For scrambling, I think it’s better than the real thing. Maggie’s aunt in Australia sends her packets of the stuff. And it piles up, as she doesn’t eat breakfast.’

‘Shouldn’t she at least be getting some toast? And a cup of tea in bed?’

‘You stay away from Maggie’s bed. She sleeps in till noon on days she isn’t working.’

‘Hm. It’s a great life for some. And Windmill money must be better than I thought. This flat must cost a few bob.’

‘It doesn’t cost Maggie anything. This place belongs to her gentleman friend. Maggie lives here free.’

‘Ah, a gentleman friend. So where is he today?’

‘He lives with his wife and family most of the time. He gets here when he can.’

‘I see. And he doesn’t mind Maggie having overnight guests?’

‘No, Maggie can do what she likes. The man’s crazy about her. I’ve stayed here before.’

‘He might feel different about blokes.’

‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Maggie says he gives her plenty of notice when he’s going to arrive. And she says he’s up north this week.’

‘Good. Well, that explains the razor and shaving soap in the bathroom.’

‘I hope you didn’t use them.’

‘No. I thought that might be stretching hospitality a bit too far.’

‘You were right. I’ll buy some stuff for you this morning.’

‘Thanks. Any chance of a new shirt and underwear?’

‘Sorry, not today, I’ve got no clothing coupons with me. I might borrow some clean things from one of the boys at the ’Mill tomorrow. More tea?’

‘Thanks. You know, I think I’d like to go on sharing breakfasts with you.’

‘That might be fun. If you could learn to stop talking with your mouth full.’

‘I’ll try. But I mean it, Jane, I think we could have a future together.’

‘We might. If things were different. But I can’t spend my life with someone on the run.’

Adam’s smile faded. ‘No, I suppose I couldn’t ask that. You’ve done enough for me already.’

‘And I’ll do a lot more. I shan’t desert you. But I’m not running away to Canada, hiding in the hold of a banana boat.’

‘Banana boats come the other way.’

‘Yes, but they have to go back, don’t they? Probably carrying exports and people fleeing the country. Is that still what you’re planning to do?’

‘Well, the police are after me, some people seem to want me dead, my cover’s blown – what else can I do?’

‘Give yourself up to the authorities.’

‘What?’

‘I can tell them you didn’t murder Maurice Cooper. I don’t care if people know we spent the night together. And now we know there are witnesses to say you didn’t kill those men on the pier. We didn’t know that last night.’

The morning paper Jane had fetched was full of war news, of course. But the Tilfleet death, and the drama on Southend Pier, were sensational enough to rate two columns on the front page. As expected, there was a picture of Adam, who linked the two
stories, and whom the police wanted to interview. But there were reports from the train driver and another passenger that the man who wielded the fire extinguisher had run away. And they’d seen another man do the killing on the walkway.

‘As far as I can see,’ continued Jane, ‘all you’re guilty of is turning up at the research centre pretending to be someone else. That can’t be too serious, especially if you’ve been doing a good job there.’

‘Well, I’ve certainly put in the hours.’

‘If they jail you, I’ll be waiting when you come out. Go to the police and get your life straight.’

Adam sighed. ‘It’s not as simple as that. Once the police know we’re lovers, they may not take your word on the Cooper alibi. Also, the two thugs who collared me yesterday talked about their boss wanting me dead or alive. There’s still someone out there who wants to get me.’

‘But you’d be safe with the police.’

‘Would I? How did those two get on the pier? There’s tight security; they must have had passes. If they could reach me in a naval base, they could reach me in a police station.’

‘That’s a nasty thought.’

‘But it’s true, isn’t it? I don’t want to show my face until I know who’s trying to kill me, and why.’

‘I’ve just remembered. After you hit Cooper, he threatened you, didn’t he? He said he’d got some friends who’d sort you out.’

‘That’s right, he did. So if they thought I’d bumped him off, they might well come after me. But the thugs were talking about their boss. Would that fit in?’

‘Yes. Cooper could have been part of a gang. Probably black marketeers.’

‘Right. Jane, you may be on to something. How can I find out more?’

‘You can’t; you’ve got to stay out of sight. I have to go down to Tilfleet this afternoon. I’ll have a word with George Fowler. He knows a bit about the local underworld. He might tell me who’s big in the Tilfleet black market.’

‘Thanks.’ Adam downed his third cup of tea. ‘You’re going to Tilfleet?’

‘I have to. I rang Mum last night, to tell her I was staying in town for a morning rehearsal. I said I’d be with a friend. I didn’t say who or where. Mum said the police want to talk to me. Just routine, she said.’

‘That’s tricky.’

‘Well, I think I’d better go down and see them, don’t you? Rather than wait for them to come to London, looking for me?’

‘I suppose so.’ Adam spread margarine on another slice of toast. Jane was thoughtful. ‘Adam, something’s been niggling me.’

‘Oh dear. My snoring?’

‘No, seriously. Your parents in Canada. They’ll have been told you’re dead. They’ll be grieving.’

‘Yes, I hate that. But it’s not as bad as you think. My mum died when I was eight. I scarcely know my stepmother. Or my father, come to that. He was always travelling. I was at boarding school or staying with aunts.’

‘Have you got brothers or sisters?’

‘No, but Dad has a second family with Diana. They’re with him in Canada.’

‘Oh well, that’s a relief.’

‘I’ll give Dad a nice surprise after the war. If he remembers who I am. Listen, is there anything useful I can do while you’re down in Tilfleet?’

‘You lie low. Try and recall anything you can about those men on the pier, any details that might help us. If anything occurs to you, write it down.’

‘Right. Good idea.’

‘Maggie will be up about twelve. If she offers to show you her birthmark, don’t let her. Wait and see it on stage.’

St James’s Park was bathed in gentle sunshine, as the two men walked beside the lake. Swans cruised serenely past, while ducks and geese competed for bits of bread, thrown from the
bridge by a boy and his mother. Not all the bread reached them. Seagulls from the Thames had invaded the park and swooped to catch the titbits in mid-air. A group of flamingos remained aloof, standing in elegant postures, waiting to be admired. The war seemed a long way off.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ said Hunter. ‘London at its best. I walk here after lunch every day. Unless it’s raining, of course.’

Hunter was feeling mellow. There had been little sign of wartime austerity at his club. They’d enjoyed a good meal, with an unusual amount of reminiscing. The two men were in the habit of lunching together occasionally but the talk was usually of a general nature, mainly topics of the day, plus the latest rude jokes circulating in Whitehall.

Today, though, they’d been remembering student years, prompted by Collis having recently run into a mutual friend from the old days. His report of that had led them back to Cambridge in the twenties, when they’d both been members of the Socialist Action Group. Today, over poached salmon with an agreeable wine, they’d recalled fiery debates in the Union, disruptive raids on Tory meetings, writing provocative pamphlets, and hurling eggs at a visiting Cabinet minister on the hustings. After university, they’d found themselves side by side on the picket lines in the General Strike. Then their paths had diverged, as Collis took his left-wing views noisily into politics, while Hunter took his quietly into the Civil Service.

Today’s conversation had been stimulating and amusing, full of anecdotes, some remembered triumphs, and a few regrets. Of course, Collis had been probing his old friend’s current views, to see if he retained his Socialist zeal. At Cambridge, Hunter had been the firebrand, organizing street protests against
capitalism
, and trying to galvanize college staff into striking for more pay. Later, he’d even talked of going to fight in the Spanish Civil War. Only a recent promotion had prevented him from doing so. On second thoughts, he felt that he could do more to promote social justice working within the system.
Throughout lunch, Collis had been pleased to find his companion’s militant idealism undiminished. Thus
encouraged
, the MP now made his first move, as the two men strolled beside the water.

‘Sad, isn’t it?’ he ventured. ‘All those years of struggle, all the writing and debating, all those cold hours on the picket lines, all the bruises, Jimmy Bent getting his arm broken by a policeman’s truncheon … all that, and nothing’s changed. The Establishment still rules, the bosses get fatter, the workers get thinner. Nothing’s really changed, has it?’

Hunter was surprised. ‘Yes it has. The Trade Unions are stronger now, there’s unemployment benefit, safety regulations, welfare provisions …’

‘All marginal,’ said Collis. ‘Nothing like the real Socialist equality we dreamed of. I still do.’

‘So do I,’ said Hunter. ‘And that’s just round the corner, surely. As soon as the war’s over, Churchill has to call an election. And then we’ll see a huge Labour majority, I’m certain of it.’

‘Oh yes, of course there’ll be a Labour government. Under Clement Attlee. But how much do you think that will alter things? Attlee’s another toff. Bevin and Morrison have been sucked into the Establishment. There’ll be a few changes, of course. But small, and cosmetic. Nothing like radical enough.’

‘But they’ve promised extensive nationalization! The mines, the railways, steel, fuel, big chunks of industry! That’s what we’ve always wanted!’

‘Nationalization, yes. But have you heard the latest madness? They’re going to pay compensation to shareholders! They haven’t the guts just to take everything over, and to hell with the capitalists! The nationalized industries will start with huge debts hanging round their necks! It’ll be milk-and-water socialism, not the real thing!’

‘Well, you’re a Labour MP, Gerald. You can demand more ruthless policies.’

‘Don’t think I haven’t tried. But it’s no use. A lot of the
leadership’s
gone soft. Working with the Tories in the coalition has
doused the fire in their bellies. They’re even prepared to keep the monarchy!’

Hunter was downcast. ‘My God! You really think so?’

‘I know so. I’ve seen it all in close-up at meetings of the party executive. Our official leaders are Churchill’s lap-dogs. They’ll get power and they’ll waste it. Five years on, the Tories will be back!’

‘Bloody hell! What’s to be done?’

It was the cue Collis had been waiting for. ‘Direct action, Martin. Direct action! There are a lot of us in the party who do still have fire in our bellies! We’re prepared to seize power and use it! Transform society! Create the democratic Britain you and I always yearned for!’

‘Direct action?’

‘It’s the only way. Take control of the state’s assets, and use them for the benefit of the people. Like Stalin did. And this is the year! There’ll never be a better opportunity! Are you
interested
?’

‘Obviously. I have to be.’

‘Good. Because you can help. You’d have a role to play, Martin. Do you really want a genuinely socialist Britain?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Even if it means breaking the law?’

‘We broke the law often enough in the old days.’

It was the endorsement that Collis needed. As the two men completed their walk round the lake, he told Hunter of an
audacious
scheme. Carefully omitting names, dates and vital details, he outlined the plans he and his friends had made to change the face of Britain. Hunter listened in amazement and, Collis felt, with growing enthusiasm. Before they parted, he swore Hunter to secrecy, and promised to be in touch in the next few days. Then Hunter would hear the details and be told of his role in the operation.