some sort of struggle seemed to be going on. But he couldn’t see clearly; it was too misty.
They drove into the city centre, full of big Victorian Gothic buildings dark with soot. There weren’t many people around but quite a few Auxiliaries were on patrol; Gunther noticed several outside the closed doors of a church, arguing with a little group of people, one in a white clerical collar.
‘I told you the churchy types would be a nuisance,’ Syme observed. ‘Not far now, Birmingham Special Branch HQ’s just round the corner, in Corporation Street.’
They turned into a wide commercial street and pulled up beside a door with a blue lamp above it. Several other cars were parked there. Gunther saw a queue of people straggling down the steps of the building and along the street. Two Auxiliaries stood by the door and two more walked up and down keeping an eye on the queue. As Gunther and Syme got out one of the Auxies in the doorway came over. He was very large, but young, a rash of pimples round his mouth. His expression was hostile until Syme showed his warrant card.
‘Is Inspector Blake in?’ he asked.
‘I think so, sir. He’s very busy, though, you know what’s been happening today?’
‘We heard.’
Gunther looked along the waiting queue. No-one seemed to be wearing the yellow badge, though many looked anxious and some angry. One young man had grabbed the arm of an Auxiliary and was pleading with him, almost in tears. ‘It’s my wife’s brother. I need to know where they’ve taken him.’
‘Just wait your turn, sir,’ the policeman replied, his voice bored. ‘They’ll tell you at the desk.’ An elderly couple, faces rigid with grief, came through the swing doors of the police station and walked down the steps, holding each other tightly.
‘These are friends of the Jews?’ Gunther asked the Auxiliary.
Catching his accent, the man looked at him with interest. ‘Are you from Germany, sir? An observer?’
‘Just a visitor. I am in the Gestapo, though.’ He nodded towards the young man in the queue who had asked about his wife’s brother. ‘You are exempting Jews who have married Gentiles?’
‘I’m not sure quite what the rules are, sir.’ The boy looked embarrassed. ‘We were just given the names and addresses of those to be picked up.’
Gunther looked at the sad queue, the rain pattering down on them. ‘We made some exemptions at the beginning. Too many: it just causes trouble for everyone later.’
The young man said uneasily, ‘I feel a bit sorry for them, to be honest.’
Gunther nodded. ‘Yes. It affects us, it’s hard on us. But it needs to be done nevertheless.’
The Auxiliary took them into the building. More people were standing at a counter, behind which policemen riffled through typed lists many pages long. ‘I’ll see if Inspector Blake is available,’ the young policeman said, opening a flap on the counter. Gunther heard snatches of conversation, familiar from police stations in Germany long ago.
‘They’ll be held outside the town for a while, till new accommodation is ready for them—’
‘Winter clothes will be provided. They’ll be quite comfortable—’
‘No, we can’t tell you where they are. National security—’
‘No visits—’
‘Well, can’t you take their dog into your own house—’
Gunther looked at Syme, who grimaced, a half-amused, half-contemptuous look. The young policeman came back. ‘The inspector is free now, sir, but only for a few minutes. You can see what it’s like here.’ He opened the flap for them and they went through, passing plain-clothes men working at desks, and down a dark little corridor to a small room with a half-glassed door.
Inside a plump, tired-looking middle-aged man in a rumpled suit was sitting at a desk working on papers, smoking a pipe. The air was blue with the smoke. He leaned forward and shook hands with them unsmilingly, introducing himself as Inspector Blake. Syme introduced himself and Gunther. ‘Nice to meet you, sir,’ Syme said smoothly. ‘We’ve spoken on the phone.’
Blake was looking at Gunther. ‘I didn’t know the Gestapo actually had a man over here on this case. That loony of mine must be important.’
Gunther responded politely. ‘We are concerned he may have certain political contacts in Germany.’
‘He’s British. We can handle him,’ Blake grunted. He gave Syme an unfriendly look. ‘Even we provincials.’
Syme spread his hands. ‘It’s what the commissioner wants. We’ve been up here today visiting Muncaster.’
‘Find anything?’ Blake looked curious now.
‘Nothing definite,’ Gunther answered. ‘But enough to make us want to investigate further.’
‘As we’re here,’ Syme explained, ‘we thought we’d like to take a look at his flat. We understood you might lend us a locksmith to get in.’
‘We would be very grateful,’ Gunther added.
Blake laughed. ‘You’ve picked the worst possible day. We’ve got locksmiths out all over the city securing the Jews’ houses. We’ve already had some trouble with looters trying to get in and take stuff, even some of our own people have been trying to lift things.’ He looked at Syme. ‘Can’t you just bash the door in?’
‘We don’t want to attract attention,’ Gunther said. ‘And we would like to leave the place secure.’
Blake frowned. ‘Just what is it you’re looking for?’
Syme said, ‘Evidence of foreign affiliations. I’m sorry we came today, I didn’t know about the Jews until this morning. The Gestapo would be very grateful if you could help us.’
Blake shook his head wearily, but picked up the telephone and asked someone if they could find him a locksmith. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘the work’s starting to wind down now, but it may be an hour or two before someone’s free. Can you wait?’
‘Of course,’ Gunther said.
‘How’s it gone today?’ Syme asked.
Blake leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over a large stomach. ‘Not too bad. Most came quietly, though there was a bit of a ruck with some students at the university, and one or two made a fuss elsewhere when they were picked up. From what I hear it’s much the same story all over the country.’ He smiled wearily. ‘Take everyone by surprise, that’s the way.’ He looked at Syme, his attitude more friendly now. ‘I know you’re an old Blackshirt like me. We should have done this years ago.’
‘You can say that again. Where are they all being taken?’
‘I can’t tell you.’ Blake shook his head. ‘That one’s embargoed. We don’t want people turning up and making trouble. We’re getting some stick from the church people; the Bishop’s threatening to hold a demonstration on the Town Hall steps tomorrow. We didn’t expect that, we thought he was with us. We’re going to have to get roadblocks ready in the town centre tonight.’
‘Arrest the bugger,’ Syme said.
Blake shrugged. ‘I agree. But the high-ups haven’t made up their minds yet. They’re still bloody soft about arresting bishops.’ He looked at Gunther. ‘Have you any idea why the Jews are being rounded up now? We’ve had contingency plans for years but the green light came through while Beaverbrook was in Germany.’
‘I don’t know,’ Gunther said.
Blake’s eyes narrowed. ‘Looks to me like it’s the price for closer alignment with Germany. Now Stevenson’s won the presidential elections we can expect a cooler relationship with America. Well, suits me, America’s run by Jewish capital.’
‘I suppose they make some good films,’ Syme said.
‘Propaganda. Hollywood’s run by the Jews, too.’
‘It is,’ Gunther agreed.
‘Well, I can give you an interview room to wait in, until the locksmith comes. Though we may have to turf you out if there are problems in the city and someone needs a going-over. I’m sure we could have handled your loony for you,’ Blake added, the resentful note back in his voice, ‘but the commissioner knows best.’
It was dark by the time they left the police station to drive to Muncaster’s house. The locksmith was to meet them there. The misty city was quiet. They drove out to the suburbs, parked outside the house and walked up the path. Gunther looked up at the boarded window. There was no sign of the locksmith. Then, to his surprise, the front door opened and a little old man in a cardigan came out. He looked at them with keen interest. ‘Inspector Syme?’ he asked.
