Half an hour later Glodstone entered a clinic near Portland Place. On the door a brass plaque seemed to suggest its main business lay in abortions, but Glodstone no longer cared. It was enough to know he was going to be married. It was infinitely preferable to spending the rest of his life in Brazil.
'My hero,' said the Countess, kissing him lightly on the cheek, 'Now don't forget to sign your name as Mr Smith.'
'Slymne's where?' said the Headmaster when Major Fetherington returned a week later, in the company of two Special Branch officers.
'Rampton,' said the Major.
'Rampton? But that's that ghastly hospital for the criminally insane, isn't it? And what on earth have you been doing to your face?'
'Dog-turd in Shrewsbury,' said the Major, who hadn't fully recovered from the effects of the truth drug and his hours of interrogation.
'But that was your backside. Now you come back here with a face looking like a...'
'Dog-turd in Shrewsbury,' said the Major.
'Christ,' said the Headmaster. If Slymne was sufficiently off his rocker to be in Rampton, the Major could do with some treatment himself. 'And what about Glodstone?'
'That's what we've come to see you about,' said one of the men and produced his identification. The Headmaster examined it cautiously.
'Special Branch?' he asked weakly.
The man nodded. 'Now about Mr Glodstone, sir,' he said, 'we're going to require access to his rooms and we'd be glad if you answered a few questions. For instance, were you aware that he had any Communist inclinations?'
'Communist inc...I thought the sod belonged to the Monday Club. He certainly read the Daily Telegraph.'
'That could have been cover. Homosexual tendencies? Excessive drinking? Chip on his social shoulder? Anything of that sort?'
'All of it,' said the Headmaster fervently and glanced out of the window. A number of soldiers had driven up in a lorry and were debussing on the drive. 'What the hell are they doing here?'
'If you'll just sign this,' said the Special Branch man and placed a document on his desk.
The Headmaster read it through with increasing alarm. 'The Official Secrets Act? You want me to sign '
'Just a simple precaution, sir. Nothing more. Of course if you'd prefer to face criminal proceedings in connection with certain offences again the person committed in Belfast...'
'Belfast? I've never been anywhere near Belfast,' said the Headmaster, beginning to think he'd shortly be joining Slymne in a padded cell. 'You come here and tell me to sign the Official Secrets Act or be charged...Dear God, where's that pen?' He scrawled his signature at the bottom of the form.
'And now the key to the School Armoury, if you don't mind.'
The Headmaster handed it over and while one of the men took it out to the officer in charge of the squad the other settled himself in a chair. 'I think I must warn you that should anyone make enquiries about Mr Glodstone or a certain ex-pupil it will be in your interest not to say anything,' he said. 'The Belfast charges are still outstanding and having signed the Official Secrets Act the consequences could be slightly unfortunate. Need I say more?'
'No,' said the Headmaster indistinctly, 'but what am I going to tell Mr Clyde-Browne?'
'Who, sir?'
'Christ,' said the Headmaster. Outside the soldiers had begun to load the lorry with all the weapons from the Armoury. That was a relief anyway. He'd never liked the bloody things.
'And now if you'll just take me up to Glodstone's rooms.' They crossed the quad and climbed the staircase. 'Not that I suppose we'll find anything of interest,' said the Special Branch man.
