‘I might still.’
She looked hard at me then, and something was touched off within which wasn’t often allowed to show in her face, but for a moment it was there, and it was something I’d seen before in Sutcliffe and Manston, something that gave one the feeling of standing naked, half-dead with fatigue, looking down into some greeny-blue ice gorge which just offered coldness while you fought off vertigo, and death when it overcame you. . . . They all came from the same mould.
I opened the door for her and as she moved the look was gone. She gave me a charming, polite inclination of the head so that I almost put my hand out to thank her for a pleasant time.
She said, ‘If you wish, you can stay up here and read the contents of the envelope. No one will disturb you.’
‘Thank you.’
She went and I closed the door on her. I stuffed the envelope in my pocket, gave her three minutes and then went out myself. In the shop I collected Alfred. Outside the shop I picked up a taxi. As usual I got a talkative driver.
‘Where to, sailor boy?’
He got more than he bargained for because Alfred took my side and suddenly began to scream at the top of his voice, ‘Bloody! Bloody! Bloody! Bloody!’
He kept it up at intervals all the way to Miggs’s place. Happily Miggs was out, so I left Alfred for him with a note. As I went out, shutting the door behind me, I heard Alfred scream, ‘Shut that door. Shut that bloody door!’
I went weakly to the tube station. Alfred and Saraband Two and Ankers in one afternoon were proving that I didn’t have the stamina I thought I had. And, to cap it all, there was Sutcliffe to come. The cup of life was fairly brimming over with dirty water.
*
It was half past four. I kicked off my shoes and flopped on the bed with Saraband Two’s letter in my hand. I stared at the ceiling, knowing that I didn’t want to open the letter, knowing that I wished now that I had never got myself and Wilkins involved in this, knowing that this time I had really gone too far—and couldn’t now avoid going further, right out of the daylight into the jungle gloom and menace of Sutcliffe’s world. Frankly, Sutcliffe frightened me. Manston I could take. But Sutcliffe, no.
The plaster that had fallen off the ceiling had left a lath-striped patch the shape of Australia. That’s where I should be, I thought. Somewhere in the outback, safe. But not even that would be far enough away.
I stacked the pillows up, propped myself against them, lit a cigarette and opened the letter. It was typed on foolscap sheets of paper, watermarked Abermill Bond. Made in Gt. Britain. And it read:
For the attention of Robert Cledwyn Sutcliffe, O.B.E., M.C.
(Well, that was something. I’d never known his second name. The bastard was Welsh. Not that all Welsh are bastards. And he was an O.B.E. I could think of lots of other orders he merited, none of them likely to appeal to his vanity because, of course, he was vain. It was the odd quality that supported his ruthlessness, efficiency and labyrinthian thinking. Military Cross too. Well, he could bring that out for an airing on St David’s day and parade it around Whitehall with a leek stuck in his hat. Shut up, I told myself. You’re only going on at him because you’re scared stiff of him.)
I read on:
1. The bearer of this communication is well known to you. He will explain his participation in this matter, and that he is acting under duress.
2. It is requested that you bring the following information and suggestions to the attention of the Prime Minister and First Lord of the Treasury, The Rt. Hon. James Freemantle Dawson, O.B.E., M.P.
3. The Prime Minister already knows that his son, William Freemantle Dawson, has been kidnapped. This was done, purely for monetary gain, by two private individuals. These individuals have now sold out their interest in this operation to another party, who now wishes to open negotiations for the return of William Dawson, subject to suitable exchange arrangements being concluded. These will not, of course, involve any financial payments.
4. At the moment the Prime Minister’s son is in good health, being well cared for and allowed reasonable facilities for exercise and recreation. It is hoped that no cause will be given for this state of affairs to be changed.
5. At the moment the following individuals, of special interest to the party who has now taken over the care and custody of William Dawson, are held in one or other of Her Majesty’s prisons.
a) Henry Houghton, Admiralty clerk. 15-year sentence. 1961.
b) William Vassall, Admiralty clerk. 18-year sentence. 1962.
c) Frank Bossard, Guided missile researcher. 21-year sentence. 1965.
d) Peter Kroger, Bookseller. 20-year sentence. 1961.
e) Helen Kroger, Wife of above. 20-year sentence. 1961.
6. The safe return of William Dawson is proposed on the basis of the following conditions:
a) Any exchange would include the automatic return of Gerald Brooke, British subject, now held in the labour camp at Mordva since his removal from the Lubyanka prison, Moscow.
b) Any exchange must, from your side, include two of the persons listed under para. 5 above, one of whom must be one of the Krogers.
7. In order to maintain security, and avoid damaging publicity for either side, it is essential that the Prime Minister’s personal interest in this matter be kept strictly secret and that no leakage should ever be allowed of the fact that his son was kidnapped.
Further, to avoid public agitation over the exchange of one of the Krogers, it is suggested that a well-authenticated cover be arranged to show that the Kroger chosen had died in prison. A guarantee is given that this cover will be strictly honoured by the party of this side. In this manner the only public announcement
