Dominion

Hubbold swallowed. ‘Has the Permanent Secretary been informed?’

‘All in good time,’ Syme replied firmly. Gunther had to admire the way he took control. ‘For now, sir, you are to keep this matter entirely confidential. As the commissioner told you last night, under the Special Powers Act the security organizations have power to direct any citizen—’

‘Yes, I know,’ Hubbold said quietly. ‘I cannot believe one of my staff could be involved in – treachery.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘Who is it? Who are you investigating?’

‘His name is David Fitzgerald.’

Hubbold stared at them, eyes still with shock behind his glasses. ‘Mr Fitzgerald has an exemplary record,’ he spluttered.

‘How long has he worked for you, sir?’ Syme asked.

‘Three years. He has always been hard-working, diligent, quiet. A settled family man.’

‘Do I detect a “but” in there, sir?’ Syme asked, with a little smile.

Hubbold looked down at his hands, which were small and delicate. His jaw worked slightly, then he looked up. ‘There has been a question raised recently, a problem. Mr Fitzgerald is – well, potentially involved. But only potentially, it’s a problem in Registry, which isn’t under my control.’

Hubbold told them then about the memorandum that had unaccountably appeared in the secret file. He spoke to Syme but the eyes behind the thick glasses kept wandering to Gunther’s impassive face. ‘It’s been my duty to help make enquiries. But it’s a Registry issue as I said, the Head of Registry is speaking to the woman officer –’ a momentary distaste entered his voice – ‘in charge of the restricted files room. But the open file, from which the extraneous document came, has been through several hands.’

Gunther said, ‘And Mr Fitzgerald has clearance for that file, but not the confidential files in Registry.’

Hubbold turned and looked at him with his wide, blank gaze. ‘Correct.’

‘What was the secret file about?’

Hubbold sat up, clenching his slim-fingered hands together. ‘I can’t say. Not without clearance from the Permanent Secretary—’

‘Could we have the Head of Registry up here, and the woman officer, see what they have to say?’ Gunther spoke quietly and politely, playing soft policeman to Syme’s hard one. ‘Then perhaps we might talk to Mr Fitzgerald.’

‘Now?’ Hubbold asked.

‘Yes, please,’ Syme said. ‘And perhaps you could have Mr Fitzgerald’s personnel file brought up, too.’

Gunther added, ‘I take it, by the way, he is at work today?’

‘Yes. I came up in the lift with him this morning.’

Gunther turned to Syme, and said mildly, ‘Perhaps the janitor on the desk could be asked to detain Fitzgerald if he sees him going out.’

Syme nodded, and gave Hubbold his nasty smile. ‘Could you do that, sir? Make those phone calls, now?’

‘This is some mistake. Fitzgerald—’

‘The phone calls, sir.’ Syme spoke sharply; he was enjoying bullying the old civil servant. Hubbold picked up the telephone and spoke first to the porter’s desk, then the personnel office. Finally he asked Dabb to come up and bring Miss Bennett. A slight tremble had appeared in his deep, even voice.

They waited. Hubbold stared at his hands, clutched together now on his blotter. Faintly, from outside, came the sound of workaday voices. Hubbold reached into his pocket, took out a little silver case, and to Gunther’s surprise emptied two little pyramids of brown powder onto the back of one hand. Syme leaned forward. ‘What are you doing, sir?’

Hubbold stared back at him. ‘Taking some snuff. Do you object, officer?’

Syme shrugged, laughing. ‘I thought that went out with the ark.’

‘Not at all. Much better for you than cigarettes.’ Hubbold sniffed up the powder with a snort. He frowned for a moment, then said, ‘Dabb, the registrar, will tell you that Fitzgerald is rather friendly with this woman officer, Carol Bennett. Just friends, I’m sure, but – well, I should mention it.’

There was a knock at the door and a clerk appeared with the personnel file. Hubbold took it and, after a moment’s hesitation, passed it across the desk to Syme. He opened it. Gunther bent forward to read. Works well with colleagues but displays a certain reserve. Rather a lack of ambition. As well as the wife, Gunther saw, there had been a child, too, but he had died. Fitzgerald’s mother was also dead, and his father was in New Zealand. There was a photograph of a young man in military uniform, the same erect pose as in the university photograph. It was typical of the British not to have updated Fitzgerald’s photograph since 1940.

Gunther memorized Fitzgerald’s home address and looked up to see Hubbold staring at him. ‘All this is –’ Hubbold struggled for a word – ‘distasteful.’

‘Treachery is pretty distasteful, sir,’ Syme said. Hubbold winced.

There was another knock and two people came in, a thin-faced, intelligent-looking woman in her thirties and a stooped old man in an old-fashioned wing collar. Hubbold invited them to sit and they drew up chairs. He introduced Gunther and Syme as being from Special Branch. The old man’s mouth set in a firm line, and he gave the woman a quick, angry look. Her eyes widened with fear.

Hubbold spoke first. ‘This is about the – ah – extraneous paper in that secret file.’

Dabb looked aghast. He said, sharply, ‘How has this become a police matter? The internal investigation hasn’t finished yet.’

Hubbold shook his head wearily. ‘I can’t say. Only that full cooperation is required of us.’

All at once the fight went out of Dabb. He slumped in his chair, then said, with quiet, angry intensity, ‘All these years, nothing like this has ever happened in my Registry. People don’t follow procedures as they should, reprimands have to be issued. But a secret file under my control mishandled. Never!’ He shook his head in disbelief.

‘You’re in overall charge of the confidential files, then?’ Syme asked brusquely. ‘This separate room?’

‘I have supervision of the Registry,’ Dabb replied hesitantly. ‘But I have to trust my staff to be competent, not to make – gross errors.’ As he spoke he looked accusingly at the woman. She stared back at him, breathing hard. They’re trying to shift the blame onto her, Gunther thought.

‘Have you any comments, Miss Bennett?’ Syme asked.

‘I don’t know how the Kenya document came to be in the secret file. I’d never seen it before.’ She spoke clearly and levelly. She wasn’t a particularly attractive woman, Gunther thought, but she was striking, obviously bright.

‘So how do you think it got in there?’ Dabb asked wearily. ‘I suppose it decided to go for a little walk.’

‘I don’t know. I swear to that.’

Gunther thought, that’s true, but there’s more to it.

‘Can’t be many women doing your sort of work,’ Syme observed. ‘Wouldn’t have thought it was a woman’s job, not like teaching or nursing.’

He was trying to provoke her but she answered evenly. ‘I’ve worked in the service for thirteen years. I have full security clearance. I don’t think Mr Dabb has ever had cause to complain before.’ She flashed her superior a spirited look.

Dabb made a quick, angry pout. ‘You’re compromised,’ he said bitterly. ‘Compromised.’ He looked at Syme. ‘I can’t believe it’s just coincidence that the file this document came from was handled by an officer Miss Bennett is known to be very friendly with.’ He looked accusingly at Hubbold. ‘Your subordinate. Mr Fitzgerald.’

So Dabb had made that connection too, Gunther thought.

‘Several others had the file,’ Hubbold replied, suddenly tetchy.

Carol looked at Syme. ‘Mr Fitzgerald has been a friend of mine for years. But only a friend.’

‘Men and women can’t be just friends,’ Dabb snapped. ‘It’s not in the nature of things.’

‘Something in that,’ Syme agreed, raising an eyebrow at Carol. Her face was reddening now. He asked her bluntly, ‘Do you have an improper relationship with David Fitzgerald?’

She answered firmly. ‘No.’

‘They sometimes go to concerts,’ Dabb said. ‘It’s been department gossip for ages.’

Syme’s smile became a leer. ‘Where do you go, eh? Little hotel somewhere?’

‘We go to lunchtime concerts, that’s all we’ve ever done,’ Carol answered. Her voice was trembling. ‘Enquire