triangular public gardens. It was a fine evening, the red double-decker trams clanking along the Embankment, bearing the office workers home to Camberwell and Brixton. 'You know Gцring's been in London?' Jeff asked abruptly.
'I heard a rumour, but I didn't believe it.'
'He was here less than twenty-four hours. It was on May II, 1937, the day before your King George's Coronation. He just showed up at Croydon with a few other Nazis. Wanted to get into the Royal act, I guess, maybe wave to the crowds from the balcony of Buckingham Palace. Ribbentrop was mad. Hitler already had an official representative for the ceremony, General Blomberg. Gцring spent the night at the embassy in Carlton House Terrace, then they smuggled the
'What's this got to do with you stopping the war?'
'I told you about Gцring so you'd know a lot of things go on across the frontiers which never see newsprint. Have you heard of General Franz Halder?'
'There're too many German generals to keep count.'
'He's Hitler's Chief of Staff, and I guess busy this moment with his pencil and a map of the county of Kent, planning the best way up from Dover. Say, who's this?'
He had paused at a bust among the shrubs. 'Sullivan, of Gilbert and Sullivan.'
'Oh, sure-' Jeff whistled a phrase from _The Mikado._ 'Do you remember what I told you during that crazy show in Cologne? How the generals hated Hitler as a Johnnie-come-lately? They reckon he's more likely to lead Germany to ruin than to glory. Halder would be very, very pleased to see the end of the Fьhrer. So would Count von Moltke, great-grandnephew of the famous one. Also von Trott, von Schlabrendorff and Carl Gцrdeler, who was over here last year with his wife, ostensibly giving lectures but making contact with Horace Wilson at the Foreign Office. Do you know what's happening in London on July 18?'
'I haven't the faintest.'
'It's the International Whaling Conference.'
Jeff stopped to inspect the memorial to the Imperial Camel Corps. I had no idea where this strange conversation was leading. But he seemed to be handling important German names with assurance. I wondered how the International Whaling Conference came into it.
'The German delegation will be headed by a guy called Wohltat. He's a civil servant, from the Economics Ministry. He's close to Gцring. And he's interested in bigger fish than whales. He's coming to do a deal with Wilson. Colonies, cash for Germany-a thousand million pounds. A free hand to act as they like in eastern Europe. In return, Hitler will guarantee the British Empire. Halder could tear up his map of Kent.'
'Those are terms which Britain would never accept.'
'They are terms which Britain herself suggested. Through Horace Wilson.'
'I simply don't believe you,' I said forcefully.
'Have it your own way,' Jeff told me airily. 'But those terms could be a starting point. This is my plan. If your Foreign Office told Halder they'd stick to that sort of agreement once the generals had kicked out Hitler…that they'd support the generals against the Nazi machine right up to the hilt…that they'd support Gцrdeler as the new Chancellor, which seems the fashionable idea…then we'd be getting somewhere.'
'The Germans would murder the rebellious generals.'
'Not for one moment. Listen-the German people have been living for the glorious tomorrow since Hitler first walked into the Chancellery. Maybe the tomorrow's getting nearer, they feel they can almost touch it. But they absolutely hate the idea of another war. And so do the generals. For the same good reason. They're afraid they might lose again. I'm going on to Germany in two-three days. I've got a contact with Halder right there in Wuppertal. It's essential I meet someone from your Foreign Office. Maybe you can arrange it through Sir Edward Tiplady? In six months, we could have Hitler in Heaven or St Helena.'
Jeff paused, lighting another cigarette. I did not know what to make of it all. Jeff was not a vain man, he did not seek importance, he did not exaggerate. He was practical, a man who would set about making a million dollars or restoring peace in the world without fuss or self-delusions. And in the six years I had known him, everything he had foreseen in Germany had come sickeningly true.
'I suppose I could try Sir Edward, or Lord Meddish, who I share a flat with. But in the present temper of the country nobody wants to smell even faintly of appeasement.'
'It wouldn't be appeasement, if the end result was Hitler's head on a spike.'
'I'll see what I can do,' I promised.
'But hurry, old man. Time's short.'
Going up in the lift, Jeff talked about Wuppertal. 'Living's tough in Germany today. Everything
'Don't they object?'
'Under the Nazis? You must be crazy. There's some sickening things happening behind barbed wire which even the Nazis are ashamed of; because they keep quiet about it.' We reached his floor. 'You know Hitler has to wear reading glasses?' Jeff added. 'He's never allowed to be seen or photographed in them. It would spoil the superman image. He has his speeches typed in special extra-large
Jeff was a useful repository of information which, casually uttered, could silence a London dinner-table.
His secretary Donna was already in the suite. She was short, blonde and bubbling, twenty-two or three, with big eyes and big bosom. As she ordered Jeff to telephone about some theatre tickets, I politely asked about her volume of work. But it seemed she did not know how to type.
21
Within the hour, I was telling Archie of Jeff's scheme in the flat. To my surprise, he did not dismiss it as fantastic. 'There's quite a traffic in unofficial diplomatic activity behind the scenes. Swedes and Swiss and those sort of people. They remind me of the mice busy under the floorboards at some tremendous diplomatic reception. Well, sometimes the unexpected appearance of a mouse can make even an ambassador jump. There's somebody I know from Eton doing rather well in the FO. I'll give him a ring. Anything is worth trying in the country's present straits.'
But the Foreign Office seemed in no hurry to accept the services of the only man in Europe who could prevent the outbreak of war. The following evening, Jeff telephoned me at the flat. 'Can't you pep them up?' he complained.
'I don't think one can pep up the British Foreign Office. Anyway, on Friday nights it disperses to its country houses. That is why Hitler always makes his most violent moves on Saturday mornings.'
'I'd try calling the Embassy, but I guess Joe Kennedy's never heard of me.'
'He's probably away with the Astors, anyway. I hear his sons and daughters are well in with the Cliveden Set. It's at Cliveden and not in the Cabinet, of course, where British policies are formulated.' This was not entirely a newspaper columnist's joke. Jeff put down the telephone. He was not in the mood for kidding.
That Friday, Neville Chamberlain traversed the muzzle of British foreign policy so that it no longer aimed harmlessly at the sky, or perhaps at the British people themselves, but at Hitler's head. He had gone to Birmingham, where his family name shone like burnished brass. Instead of plaintively protesting again at Hitler's perfidy, he changed his mind and said Britain would resist Hitler's domination of the world to the uttermost of its power. Everyone cheered. The last time they cheered him he was waving his piece of paper on Heston Aerodrome. The following week, President Lebrun of France paid a State visit. The weather stayed cold and showery. On the Wednesday, Hitler subdued Lithuania by sailing in the pocket battleship
Jeff fumed expensively all that week in the Savoy. Archie finally told me that his friend from the Foreign Office would see 'my man' on the Friday afternoon. But not within official walls. We were invited to take tea at the Travellers' Club in Pall Mall at four o'clock.
