Colonel Butler's Wolf

Audley sniffed. 'Load of nonsense! He talks about the younger generation as though it was a political party with lifelong membership. And I think he's frightened of it.'

'Whereas you aren't?' murmured Butler. There might be something in what Audley said, but it went against the grain to agree with him when he was laying down the law like this.

'They're too inexperienced to be dangerous at the moment. And by the time they've picked up the know-how, then life has moved them on, poor devils. As a rule they're no match for the terrible old men on the other side.'

'You're sympathetic to them, then?'

'Sympathetic? My dear Butler—the girls are delicious, with their little tight bottoms, and the boys are splendid when they're arrogant—and when they've washed their hair. But when they forget they're individuals and try to be the Youth of Today I find them extraordinarily tedious and self-defeating.'

'I was under the impression that they were giving the university authorities a run for their money.'

'Oh—quite often they do. That is, when the authorities make mistakes. And it's just like our business, my dear fellow: only the mistakes get the headlines. That's part of the reason why Stocker and Fred are sweating—what happens in the universities is news. The other part is that there's still a lot of influence in the universities as well as a lot of brains. And they know how to use it too. We're an example of that.'

'We are?'

'My dear Butler, we're here because the Master of King's knows which string to pull. Take my advice and forget about the younger generation. Think about the older one instead: think about the Master of King's.'

He gave a little admiring grunt. 'The Hobsons have been a power in Oxford for a century—you can see them planted in rows in St Cross churchyard. It'll be like a family reunion when the last trump sounds there. And our Sir Geoffrey's the second Hobson to be Master of King's. They say the first one had a niece who was Beerbohm's model for Zuleika. They also say old Hobson was the model for the Warden of Judas. There's also a story that Old Hob once made a guest at High Table take the college snuff, and when the poor chap fell dead of apoplexy (King's snuff being fearful stuff) all the old villain said was 'At dummy2.htm

least he took snuff once before he died!'.'

Audley chuckled, savouring the anecdote, and then checked himself as he caught Butler's disapproving look. 'Yes . . . well, Young Hob, as they call the present Master—he's nearly 70, actually—he's a man who likes to work indirectly. That's why he approached me through Theodore Freisler.'

'He intended to get through to you?'

'No shadow of doubt about it. To me through Theodore and then to Sir Frederick through me. I tell you, he prefers the indirect approach.'

And also the approach that protected him best from any awkward questions if things went wrong, thought Butler. Except that that meant the Master was a worried man as well as a careful one, a man who truly believed his own warnings of doom. And as Stocker and Sir Frederick were disposed to take him seriously it might be that this business could suddenly turn into a very hot potato indeed.

The conclusions presented themselves to Butler one after another in quick succession, last of all the most daunting one: hot potatoes were objects to pass on as smartly as possible.

'Why hasn't the Department handed over all this to the Special Branch?'

'The Special Branch is not involved,' Audley snapped. 'And we damn well want it to stay that way—

uninvolved.'

His prickliness took Butler aback. If there was one thing the Department prided itself on, it was those hard-won cooperative relations with the Branch.

But the reaction wasn't lost on Audley. 'I know it's not how we usually go about things. But the Branch has its sticky fingers in student politics, and we don't want any part of that. The young blighters can sit-in or sit down as much as they like. They can lie down for all we care, if that's what turns them on.

Provided it's all their own idea, not something somebody else wants them to do to further some other idea.'

'Somebody being the Russians.'

'Russians, Martians—it doesn't matter who. But in this case the Russians, yes.'

Butler scowled. 'What the hell do they hope to get out of it?'

Audley maintained a poker face. 'Perhaps the Master of King's will be able to tell you. But I can tell you what we stand to lose.'

dummy2.htm

'What?'

'Just suppose the Press got hold of Comrade Zoshchenko. It's bad enough the way the public feels about the students as it is. But what price the Council for Academic Freedom if someone came up with a genuine subversion story? Christ, man—it'd set higher education back years. And then we'd have a real student problem on our hands.'

Butler nodded slowly. There might or might not be a plot of some sort, though he found it hard to believe even now, after Eden Hall. But there was the makings of a spectacular scandal, that was certain.

And from such a scandal one might expect a fierce anti-student backlash.

If that was the aim it was clever, but not new. Indeed, it was no more than another version of the technique being used at the very moment by the IRA gunmen in Northern Ireland: Make your enemy repressive. And if he isn't so by nature, make him so by provocation.

'Then why haven't they blown the gaff on Zoshchenko already?' he asked suddenly, as the thought struck him.