“You might do worse you know. We all abuse the old M. of I., but there are a number of quite human people here already, and we are gradually pushing more in every day. You might do much worse.”
“I don’t want to do anything. I think this whole war’s crazy.”
“You might write a book for us then. I’m getting out a very nice little series on ‘What We Are Fighting For.’ I’ve signed up a retired admiral, a Church of England curate, an unemployed docker, a Negro solicitor from the Gold Coast, and a nose-and-throat specialist from Harley Street. The original idea was to have a symposium in one volume, but I’ve had to enlarge the idea a little. All our authors had such very different ideas it might have been a little confusing. We could fit you in very nicely. ‘I used to think war crazy.’ It’s a new line.”
“But I do think war crazy still.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Bentley, his momentary enthusiasm waning. “I know what you mean.”
The door opened and a drab precise little man entered. “I beg your pardon,” he said coldly. “I didn’t expect to find you working.”
“This is Ambrose Silk. I expect you know his work.”
“No.”
“No? He is considering doing a book in our ‘Why We Are at War’ Series. This is Sir Philip Hesketh-Smithers, our departmental Assistant Director.”
“If you’ll excuse me a minute, I came about memorandum RQ/1082/B4. The Director is very worried.”
“Was that Documents, Confidential, Destruction by fire of?”
“No. No. Marble, Decorative features.”
“Massive Marble and Mahogany?”
“Yes. Mahogany has no application to your sub-department. That has reference to a prie-dieu in the Religious Department. The Church of England advisor has been hearing confessions there and the Director is very concerned. No, it’s these effigies.”
“You refer to my Nolleykinses?”
“These great statues. They won’t do, Bentley, you know, they really won’t do.”
“Won’t do for what?” said.Mr. Bentley bellicosely.
“They won’t do for the departmental Director. He says, very properly, that portraits of sentimental association…”
“These are full of the tenderest association for me.”
“Of relatives…”
“These are family portraits.”
“Really, Bentley. Surely that is George III?”
“A distant kinsman,” said Mr. Bentley blandly, “on my mother’s side.”
“And Mrs. Siddons?”
“A slightly closer kinswoman, on my father’s side.”
“Oh,” said Sir Philip Hesketh-Smithers. “Ah. I didn’t realize…I?ll explain that to the Director. But I’m sure,” he said suspiciously, “that such a contingency was definitely excluded from the Director’s mind.”
“Flummoxed,” said Mr. Bentley, as the door closed behind Sir Philip. “Completely flummoxed. I’m glad you were there to see my little encounter. But you see what we have to contend with. And now to your affairs. I wonder where we can fit you into our little household.”
“I don’t want to be fitted in.”
“You would be a great asset. Perhaps the Religious Department. I don’t think atheism is properly represented there.”
The head of Sir Philip Hesketh-Smithers appeared round the door. “Could you tell me, please, how you are related to George III? Forgive my asking, but the Director is bound to want to know.”
“The Duke of Clarence’s natural daughter Henrietta married Gervase Wilbraham of Acton ? at that time, I need not remind you, a rural district. His daughter Gertrude married my maternal grandfather who was, not that it matters, three times Mayor of Chippenham. A man of substantial fortune ? all, alas, now dissipated…Flummoxed again, I think,” he added as the door closed.
“Was that true?”
“That my grandfather was Mayor of Chippenham? Profoundly true.”
“About Henrietta?”
“It has always been believed in the family,” said Mr. Bentley.
In another cell of that great hive, Basil was explaining a plan for the annexation of Liberia. “The German planters there outnumber the British by about fourteen to one. They’re organized as a Nazi unit; they’ve been importing arms through Japan and they are simply waiting for the signal from Berlin to take over the government of the state. With Monrovia in enemy hands, with submarines based there, our West Coast trade route is cut. Then all the Germans have to do is to shut the Suez Canal, which they can do from Massawa whenever they like, and the Mediterranean is lost. Liberia is our one weak spot in West Africa. We’ve got to get in first. Don’t you see?”
“Yes, yes, but I don’t know why you come to me about it.”
“You’ll have to handle all the preliminary propaganda there and the explanations in America afterwards.”
“But why me? This is the Near East Department. You ought to see Mr. Pauling.”
