down, and becoming twenty-one a year later saved me from disaster. My father didn't leave me a fortune, only a few thousands, and if I'd had any sense I should have pulled up then. As it was, like a young ass, I started to really hit up the town. What with the gee-gees, the girls, and throwing expensive parties, I got through the lot in a couple of years.'
'You would have been twenty-three by then. That's about the time you came into the title, isn't it??
'Yes, Sir. But I had never expected to. When my father died there were seven people between myself and the Earldom, and we didn't even know that branch of the family. One was drowned in 1939, two more were killed in the war, and another met his death while climbing in Switzerland in 1951. That still left three; the late Lord Larne and his two sons. They had lived in Kenya since before the war, so I'd never met any of them and never gave them a thought until one day in 'fifty-four. I learned then that all three had crashed in their private plane and been killed.'
'Didn't you come into any money with the title?'
'No. The place in Ireland had been sold way back in the 'twenties, and all the money Lord Larne left went to his widow, who still lives in Kenya. All I came into were the heirlooms -some good family silver and a few pictures - but unfortunately they weren't worth much.'
'What happened then?'
'The General sent for me. I came clean with him about my debts in Dublin and he said some pretty caustic things to me; but, by and large, he behaved extremely well. He declared that as I came of an ancient and honourable family, I was under a definite obligation not to disgrace the title; that if I took it up, it would certainly lead to my continuing to mix with people whose style of life I could not afford, and that, in any ordinary job, it could only prove a handicap to me. Therefore, he argued, I ought not to use it until I had lived down my raffish past. By then I had realized that if I did not turn over a new leaf I was riding for a really nasty fall; so I agreed to forget the Earldom for the time being, leave Ireland, and make a fresh start. He said that if I'd do that and promise to go straight for five years before using my title, he would pay my debts and make me an allowance of ?300 a year until I got on my feet.'
'So that was the way of it.'
'Yes. Then we talked about all sorts of jobs and eventually he hit on the idea of getting me in here. That appealed to me more than going off to one of the Dominions or into industry. I went back to Dublin, hardened my heart about saying good-bye to any of my friends so as not to have to lie to them about my future plans, packed up my things and simply told my landlady that I was going to the United States. I imagine my sudden disappearance was no more than a nine days' wonder, and I've never been back there since. Naturally I missed the hectic parties, the racing, the girls and the champagne for a bit, but I soon became so intrigued by the work here that I didn't miss them any more; and I can never be sufficiently grateful to the General for what he did for me.'
C.B.'s long face broke into its most friendly smile. 'Yes, he certainly did the right and handsome thing by you; but you've yourself to thank even more for having the guts to snap out of the sort of life you had been living for so long. About this title of yours, though? The five years are nearly up, aren't they??
'Yes; only another three months to go.'
'Do you propose to use it then?'
'No, I don't think so. Having a title these days doesn't get one anywhere. It only costs money and I'm not all that well off. I might if I married though, as the girl would probably like it, so it wouldn't be fair to her not to.'
'Are you thinking of getting married?'
Barney grinned. 'No, Sir. I prefer to love them all a little bit.'
'Good. You're wrong, though, about a title never getting a man anywhere. There are times when it can be very useful, and that might well prove the case, in certain circumstances, during the course of this job I'm putting you on.'
'What! While I'm posing as a Red among manual workers and technicians?' Barney opened his brown eyes wide in surprise. 'Surely not?'
'That will be your role for most of the time, of course, but there may turn out to be another angle to the business. I'm not telling you about that at present, because it is only a theory of my own and I don't want to start you off with preconceived ideas that might both warp your judgment and be wrong. But if at any time you do feel that the use of your title might help to open a door to you, use it. I'll take the responsibility for your breaking your promise to the General and, if need be, square matters with him.'
'Very well. That's O.K. by me, Sir.'
C.B. pushed a thick file across the desk, and said: 'Here is all the dope we've got so far. Take it to your office and spend the next two or three days going through it very thoroughly. Naturally I have a dozen other members of the firm hard at it, ferreting out the pasts of various' fellow-travellers, attending meetings, checking figures, and generally gathering information, but you'll be the only one to be planted on the inside in London as a real red-hot Red. Your line will be that you've just come over from Ireland. We'll provide you with all the background stuff - a Party card, membership cards of half-a-dozen Unions, and a list of the most promising branches at which to use them. Don't start anything until you have mastered that file, and when you have, let me know. Can I take it that you are clear on what I want you to do?'
'Yes, Sir. I've to get you all I can on the methods used by Communists to become officials in the Unions, about rigged elections and where the money comes from to finance unofficial strikes.'
'You've got it, young feller. Good luck to you.'
'Thank you, Sir.' Barney Sullivan tucked the file under his arm and, with his cheerful face more serious than usual, left the room.
As Barney went out, Verney again picked up the photograph of Morden's body. With set mouth he stared at it while thinking of the points that had emerged from the second autopsy, for which he had asked.
Morden's ankles had been lashed together, but his wrists had not; they had been lashed separately to thick pieces of wood or iron. The marks of the cords that had bound his ankles did not make a straight line; they made a V pointing towards the feet, as though pressure had been exerted between them to drag the cords down where they met in the middle. Immediately below the point of the V there was severe bruising of both ankles, as though a thick stake, or peg, had been thrust between them. There had been no blood on the body when it was found, so obviously it had been washed after Morden's throat had been cut; but the second autopsy had revealed that while there was no trace of blood on Morden's body, there were still tiny particles of blood under his eyelids and in his
