19: "Home James----"

"ABOUT Our Leader in England," said Colemore. "Did you manage anything?"

"Unfortunately not," said Hambledon. "I wasn't at the office when your message came---I have a home---and though they rang me up at once and I rushed off to Willowmore Road in person I couldn't see anyone. I mean that literally as, of course, it was dark. There were men who came and went from number fifty-one but I couldn't get a fair look at any of them. To make matters worse, the air-raid siren went just as I arrived so one couldn't even use a torch."

"There wasn't much time, actually," said Colemore. "I don't know how soon the police sent off my message, and Symes rang up Our Leader well before eleven to say he wasn't coming. So I expect he cleared off at once."

"I probably passed him in the street. Never mind 'probably we shall meet at Phillipi' and I hope he'll enjoy it as much as I shall. Now tell me, how did you get on at Portsmouth?"

Colemore told in detail the story of their drive in the fish-cart along the Fareham road and of the mysterious reinforced concrete structures which they had seen. "They float," said Colemore. "Jones suggested that they were platforms for heavy guns, to be towed across and sunk off-shore during the Invasion."

Hambledon smiled. "They are known as Mulberry Harbours, but that's highly confidential at the moment."

"Oh, I'm not asking," said Anthony hastily. He went on to describe the lay-out of the factory. "The only reasonable way to reach the spot is to get Jones to land me on the foreshore from a dinghy. I should then persuade him to come with me and help to carry the explosives. At a convenient spot I should hit him under the ear and hand him over to the soldiers or whoever you appoint. That's simple, but as regards the sabotage I don't know what to suggest unless we can arrange a nice bright explosion and follow it up with some dramatic rumours of damage done and lives lost."

"I think we'll ask for expert advice," said Hambledon. He drew his telephone towards him, gave a number and almost immediately engaged in conversation with someone whom he called Henry. Hambledon asked him to come round and have a word with him then and there if possible, and Henry appeared to be offering him a choice of words over the telephone. Eventually Hambledon prevailed and replaced the receiver.

"He will come," said Hambledon, "in about ten minutes. In the meantime, perhaps you'd like to hear what happened at Symes' flat. Actually, nothing much happened. I sent a couple of men there, they opened the safe, photographed all the contents, locked it up again and came away. Most of the papers are not very interesting and there were, as you said, a large number of maps. The thing we were after, the key to that telephone number code, is there. The telephone numbers are a list of names and addresses just as you'd expect, we are looking into them and we expect they will prove illuminating."

"I hope so," said Colemore. "By the way," he added, with a rather embarrassed laugh, "I can't tell you how relieved I was to see Denton at Portsmouth Town Station last night. I couldn't think of any way of preventing Symes from catching that train unless I clouted him or threw him down the stairs."

"We thought you might have trouble when we saw how early it was when you left town. You did very well to put things off until eight. It's funny you should have suggested throwing him down the stairs; if you'd arrived at the station much earlier something like that would have happened to Symes. I suppose you've never practised picking pockets, have you? No, I thought you hadn't. It's considered rather a low-grade activity, I don't know why as it's really highly skilled. It would have been such fun if you'd pinched Symes' wallet yourself, wouldn't it?"

The door opened and there entered a Commander, R.N., whom Hambledon did not introduce by name. He merely greeted him warmly and said that "our young friend opposite" wanted to blow up the new factory opposite Portchester Castle, if nobody minded, and how could it best be done?

"Explain," said the Commander, and Hambledon did so. "He's simply got to keep in with these people," added Tommy. "It's vital. I'd rather he really blew the place up than fell down on this job. I expect you've got plenty more factories, haven't you?"

"You do make the most cold-blooded suggestions of anyone I've ever met," complained the Commander. "You ought to have been a pirate. Why pitch on one of our shows? Why can't he go and blow up the War Office or something that doesn't matter?"

"I could do that some other time, perhaps," murmured Colemore, but the Commander had suddenly became serious and was unrolling a large-scale map.

"I looked into this matter since you mentioned it to me the other day. This is the place, isn't it?"

"That's it," said Anthony.

"That viaduct," said the Commander, pointing it out, "where the railway crosses that patch of marsh, has got to come down. They used to light dummy fires on that stretch during the raids on Portsmouth, to persuade the Hun to drop his bombs on the mud. He scored several near misses, and the viaduct was considerably shaken. It is beginning to give in places, and the heavy loads it is now asked to carry are too much for it. We can't waste time pulling it down. It will be destroyed by demolition charges and Bailey bridges run across instead. If your young friend could arrange his---his charades for that day he might cash in on it."

"Not by day----" began Colemore, and Hambledon backed him up.

"It's got to be by night," he said firmly. "And the demolition charges should be fairly spectacular. We shall have an audience, you know. Also, it would help if the men on duty there exhibited suitable reactions. I mean, it's no good the sentries just saying 'There she goes,' and continuing to discuss football, it wouldn't carry conviction. Conviction," added Hambledon with considerable energy, "is precisely what this is going to carry, one of these days. Well?"

The Commander sighed. "Apart from your suggestion that sentries do nothing but loll round and discuss football, I see your point. The sentries will give an impersonation of Casabianca and stand unwillingly firm, while the others rush about and register distress and alarm, eh?"

"Search will be immediately instituted," said Hambledon. "The wandering lights of torches will be seen traversing the marsh----"

"Accompanied by loud splashes and suitable curses when they fall into pools of water----"

"Shots might be fired----"

"Must they?" said Colemore plaintively.

"Of course," said the Commander. "If we've got to stage a sort of Wild West fireworks show we may as well do it properly. You can always throw yourself flat, the ground is nice and soft I assure you."

"The night chosen should be moonless," said Hambledon.

"Perhaps you'd like me to arrange for a nice wet fog too," said the sardonic Commander.

Four nights later Colemore rang Symes up on the telephone and said he wanted to see him at once. "Will you come here or shall we meet somewhere?"

Symes said he would come to Colemore; when he arrived they retired to a quiet corner of the lounge and talked in low tones.

"I went to Portsmouth again and had another look at that place," said Colemore. "The only vulnerable spot is that viaduct across that patch of swamp. If that were broken it should worry them a bit. Then I went on and saw Jones. Next Tuesday is the best night for the attempt, no moon and a rising tide at about two a.m. It won't be high till after four, so the water won't be deep under the viaduct, but there's no fear of having the boat stranded as it might be on a falling tide. I shall go to Jones's house soon after ten, taking the necessary explosives with me, you can supply them, no doubt?"

"But----" began Symes.

"All I wanted to discuss with you was the get-away afterwards. I think I'd better go down by train---and I'll carry the suitcase myself this time, Symes. No more Eddies for me. But I don't want to walk through the streets of Portsmouth even in the dark with my trousers plastered to the knees with harbour mud, as they will be; not after that explosion. The police wouldn't have to switch a torch on to notice it, they'd smell it yards away. I think you'd better----"

"I will inform those in authority----" said Symes, raising his voice in order to interrupt.

"Quiet, don't talk so loud," said Colemore peremptorily. "You've got a car available, I suppose?"

Symes nodded sulkily.

"You will wait for me with the car on the Portsmouth-Fareham road from two o'clock onwards. You can park the car in that lane where we waited the other day, do you remember? With the car headed towards the main road, of course, ready to start at once. In case you're not sure where the lane is, here's an ordnance map." Colemore handed him a roll. "I've marked the spot in pencil, make sure you know it and then destroy the map. Got that?"

"How do you propose to get there?"

"I will get Jones to put me ashore past the boundary wire of that establishment and then I'll walk up to the road. It may take me an hour or more, you'd better wait till four o'clock at least. I can change in the car, I'll send you some clothes to take with you. All clear?"

"I will consult Our Leader," said Symes, dropping his voice to the edge of inaudibility, "and, if he approves, the scheme shall be carried out. I shall recommend it," he added, "it seems to me the only possible----"

"It is," said Colemore.

"But I must tell you that you should have obtained approval before proceeding to the actual arrangements with Jones. It is subversive of discipline for subordinates to initiate action, however brilliantly conceived, without consultation and approval. It----"

"I was in a hurry," said Colemore. "One can't keep on visiting Portsmouth, it's not a healthy spot in some respects. Our Leader will understand, as you'll find out when you tell him. I think we'd better not meet again before Tuesday night---Wednesday morning, rather---at about three a.m. at the point I've marked. Don't forget to destroy the map. Well, I think that's all. I've promised to have a game of bridge with some of the residents to-night. Stay and have a drink?"

Symes declined with thanks and went away. He did not look particularly pleased with life, and Colemore smiled to himself.

"Moral superiority," he murmured, and went to join the card-players. "I hope it'll work with contract bridge."

Tuesday night proved overcast and damp, more ideal for the purpose than the Commander's fog since Colemore and Jones had to find their way across dark waters to an exact spot invisible against the hill behind it. Jones, however, had not occupied his business on that water for years to lose himself now. He checked his position by sea-marks, buoys and other indications which meant nothing to Colemore sitting low in the stern of a smelly dinghy and hoping they wouldn't meet anything. Presently Jones stopped pulling and quietly unshipped his oars.

"Go for'ard now," he said softly, "an' get in the bows with the boat-'ook. We're not far off now."

Colemore obeyed, Jones took his place and propelled the dinghy with an oar over the stern. Presently there came from the darkness ahead a puffing sound, the noise of iron wheels on rails, and a faint glow from a locomotive. The factory was getting in the last supply before the viaduct was broken. The train came to a standstill and there came the sound of voices and a few dimmed lights. The dinghy slowed suddenly, ran on a yard or two, and came to rest against a tussock of marsh grass. Jones drew his oar in and came forward to join Colemore.

"Better wait a bit till they've settled down," whispered Colemore, and Jones agreed.

"The train crew will go back on the loco," he said. "They don't stay there nights."

"They won't unload the trucks to-night, I suppose?"

"No. Just leave 'em. There they go."

The small locomotive puffed into life again and went back up the line and out of sight. Doors slammed and peace settled upon the factory, broken only by the occasional sound of heavy boots on concrete.

"The sentries," explained Jones. "They won't see us. What about now?"

Colemore assented, and Jones went ashore with a line and a stake which he pushed into the soft ground to secure the boat. Colemore lifted out the suitcase and followed. He had an excuse ready to induce the fisherman to come with him; but no excuse was necessary, for the going was so difficult as to be nearly impossible. Slippery lumps of soil were separated by slimy channels, Colemore tripped and floundered in the dark, staggering with the heavy suitcase. Jones appeared to be able to see in the dark like a cat. He sniggered.

"Not like pavements, is it?" he whispered. "'Ere, best give me that."

He took the suitcase and strolled away, it was all Colemore could do to keep up with him until the going improved on firmer soil. They were approaching the viaduct at a tangent; under the second arch there was a small party waiting for them, though Jones did not know it. He paused about twenty yards away and put down the case.

"There you are," he whispered. "You get on with it now. I don't know aught 'bout explosives and don't want to. I'll get back to the boat and wait for you."

"Right," said Colemore. "Just a moment---she lies there, doesn't she?" He pointed.

"More to the left," said Jones. "See that pylon against the sky? If you stoop a bit, like this----"

Colemore hit him behind the ear and the fishmonger grunted and fell on his face. Anthony whistled softly and men came out from under the arch.

"This him?" they said. "Poor boob." They picked him out of the mud and removed him, while one of them gave Colemore a message.

"The officer says, sir, as you'd better come inside and wait, it's more comfortable in there. We aren't quite ready, them arches won't go up for another 'alf-hour. This way, sir, let me guide you. Mustn't show a light, that's the orders."

Symes backed the car into the lane according to Colemore's instructions. They had been duly confirmed by Our Leader, whose opinion of Colemore appeared to be rising steadily in a manner which made Symes grind his teeth whenever he thought of it. He had hinted tactfully that it might perhaps be advisable to test out this new recruit more thoroughly before putting too much trust in him. The hint had been met by a cold stare and an icier silence, Symes' voice died away in mid-sentence. He left The Presence disliking Colemore more heartily than ever. Something would have to be done about it, surely there was some means....

Symes turned out the lights, locked up the car and left it well out of sight from the casual passer-by. There was, in fact, a good deal of traffic, mainly military, along the main road from Portsmouth to Fareham even at two o'clock in the morning. He walked back along the main road till he reached a point he had noted before. One could look across from here at the embankment and its viaduct, though he could see nothing in the darkness, not yet. He climbed a gate and sat down inside the hedge to wait for what should come.

He heard the train wagons go down to the factory and the locomotive return, but nothing happened for some time. The sentries on the gate and the road-bridge were near enough for him to hear their footsteps when there was nothing passing on the road, one man had a tiresome cough.

Presently in the darkness he fancied he saw a tiny spark. It might have been merely fancy--he found himself counting seconds. If that fellow Bilston--no, Brampton--brought this off the Leader would be pleased. Perhaps it would really be better if he failed, and better still if he blew himself up----

There came a blinding flash in the darkness, a yellow flame leaping and carrying with it loose pieces of all shapes. Lumps of stuff, probably brickwork, a shower of earth, thin strips which might be railway lines. The flash died instantly but the picture was left before his dazzled eyes so that he could go on looking at it after the reality had vanished. Immediately upon the flash there followed the deep sound of the explosion, and directly after that an appalling scream in a man's voice, high and shaking, that slid down the scale and died away.

"Good lord alive," said Colemore, starting from his chair, "what was that?"

"It's all right," said the officer, laughing. "Only my mountebanks enjoying themselves. They were told to demonstrate. You've spilt your whisky, let me give you some more."

Symes also sprang to his feet, he had not expected this. Away to his left the sentries shouted to each other excitedly, one started to run and his fellow called him back. Down by the jetty, doors opened and lights appeared, the lights of torches in the hands of running men. More shouting, "Over there, look!" and shots fired. Somebody called "Ted! Ted, where are you?" and one of the sentries by the gate called up to one on the bridge, "Did you hear that yell? Somebody's got his." The bridge guard answered, "Reckon it was poor old Ted?"

Authoritative voices shouted orders and the lights began to scatter over the marshland. Symes hastily climbed the gate and went back to the car. He was half a mile or more from the explosion and, of course, well outside the boundary fence, but it would not do to be seen watching. It wouldn't do to be seen at all. He ran the last few hundred yards and threw himself at the car, fumbling with the locked door. That fellow Brampton had certainly done it this time---was it he who screamed? If he had not got far enough away---if he'd slipped and twisted his ankle, or just stuck in that filthy mud till something got him, a length of rail perhaps, like a javelin----

Symes got into the car, lit a cigarette and glanced at his watch by its glow. A quarter to three, he was to wait until four. He might be waiting in vain, or of course it might not have been Brampton who screamed.

At ten minutes to four he got out of the car and listened. Five minutes to four. Two minutes.

"He's not coming," said Symes aloud, and started violently as someone took him by the elbow.

"'Home, James, and don't spare the horses,'" quoted Colemore. "Did I startle you?"

"I didn't hear you," said Symes breathlessly. "Are you all right?"

"Quite, thanks. Get in the car and let's be going. I'll get in the back, I want to change. Gosh, that mud!"

"Who was that who screamed?" asked Symes. "Any idea? It was a yell, wasn't it?"

"Yes, I know," said Colemore grimly. "I'm sorry, although we didn't like him much. Poor old Jones. He lost his head and ran the wrong way. I found him---nearly got caught myself doing so---he was quite dead."

Symes started the engine and drove carefully away while Colemore wrestled with buttons and braces in the back seat. Jones didn't really matter except for the trouble of replacing him, on the whole Our Leader would be so pleased. That fellow Brampton had done it again.