That made her ponder, but in reality it could only be one of two things: he was either acting for those he had worked for in Ethiopia or the Czechs themselves. She knew what he thought about Fascism, given she had heard him talk about it too many times to be in doubt about his feelings.

‘Look, there is danger in this, I won’t lie to you, but it is more to me than to you. In a sticky spot you can always claim you were deceived about me, wave your press credentials and scream for the American ambassador.’

‘How do we get to this Cheb?’

‘I told you, by car, which I will drive.’

‘Long journey?’

‘Depends on checkpoints and things I don’t know about. Could be four hours, could be ten.’

‘When do we leave?’

‘As soon as we get the go-ahead. You happy with what you’ve been told?’

‘Like hell I am, but if I’m going to be sitting in a car with you for all that time I guess it will give me a chance to grill you properly.’

‘My real name and what I am up to is off-limits and I need your word on that.’

That made her stop walking and look up at him and there was a note in her distinctive cracked voice, deeper that usual. ‘You telling me, Doc, that you would accept my word?’

How do you say to someone, I know what you are made of; I have seen you embrace danger and a cause when you could have walked away; struggle through tents full of the dead and dying doing a job for which you had no training and do it superbly; that, in fact, for all the sparring we indulge in, you are admirable?

‘Corrie,’ Cal replied, ‘you might be a pain in the backside but you’re an honest pain in the backside, so if you give me your word I know you will keep it.’

‘Boy, are you a master of the compliment.’

‘Do we have a deal?’

They had walked ten paces before the answer came, which pleased Cal; he did want her to think it through.

‘We do. Do I wait to hear from Henlein?’

‘Yes, but I will know the response before you do.’ That got raised eyebrows. ‘Pack a small bag and be ready to go at a moment’s notice, but don’t call down for a porter or say anything to the hotel desk. I will call you on the internal phone and you can carry it down yourself. And try to stay out of sight of any of your colleagues, who are bound to ask where you are going if they see luggage.’

She giggled. ‘Mata Hari lives.’

‘Corrie, this is not funny. If anyone does spot you and asks, say you’re going to check up and try to get a story on the plight of those Jews seeking to get out over the Rumanian border.’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The summons for Sir Hugh Sinclair to attend a private meeting at 10 Downing Street with the prime minister was uncommon indeed – he normally briefed the Home Secretary – so much so that it engendered in him a desire to know what was going on before he obeyed the summons.

So he telephoned next the First Lord of the Admiralty, Duff Cooper, who was a member of Chamberlain’s Cabinet, albeit one who was vocally unhappy with the present policy, though only in private conversation. That required Cooper to make some enquiries before ringing back.

‘Neville thinks you are up to something, Quex.’

‘It’s my job to be up to something, Freddy.’

‘I can’t be certain, but I think Inskip has been whispering in Neville’s ear that you are acting against Government policy.’

‘Indeed. No details I suppose?’

‘Sorry, old chap, can’t oblige.’

‘Thanks anyway, Freddy.’

‘Be just like being had up before the beak, I shouldn’t wonder.’ That was followed by a laugh from a man who did that a lot. ‘And what a beak.’

When Sir Hugh arrived in Downing Street it was to see fishing rods being loaded into the back of the PM’s Humber, along with a basket for his catch, making the head of SIS wonder how anyone could call standing flicking his rod by a riverbank at this time of trouble correct behaviour. When he was shown into the Cabinet room it was to find the PM dressed in tweeds and plus fours, obviously ready for departure.

Normally in a wing collar and black coat, such country apparel did not improve Neville Chamberlain’s appearance; he was still the pigeon-chested fellow of caricature, tall with his slight stoop and that vulture-like face dominated by dark heavy eyebrows over the nose about which Duff Cooper had made his jest.

The only person present was his newly appointed cabinet secretary, Edward Bridges, so fresh to the job that he took no part in the conversation; surprisingly he took no minutes either as Chamberlain began to speak in that rather high voice of his, not, Quex noted, while looking him in the eye.

‘Sir Hugh, I would like your latest appreciation of the state of affairs over the Sudetenland.’

‘I briefed the Home Secretary only two days ago, sir.’

‘I’m well aware of that; has anything altered in the meantime to change your opinion of events?’

‘No, sir, I fear that Lord Runciman’s mission is mired in intractability, that whatever President Beneš offers will be rejected and that the whole of Henlein’s campaign is being orchestrated from Berlin.’

‘You have taken no unusual steps in Czechoslovakia that would fall across the line of Government policy?’

‘No, Prime Minister, and neither would I contemplate such a course.’

‘Matters are coming to a head, Sir Hugh, perhaps as soon as Herr Hitler’s leader’s speech at Nuremberg. I want nothing between now and that occasion to in any way give the German Chancellor or the leadership of the Sudeten German Party cause for concern. It could be, in short, turned into a flashpoint from which things would either be said or done from which even the best intentions could never recover.’

‘Do you have any specific instructions, sir?’

‘Only that your task is to support the elected government.’

‘As always.’

Only then did Chamberlain look directly at him and there was nothing benign in his eye.

‘Your car is waiting, sir,’ Bridges said, failing to disguise that he had been instructed to remind his boss, in short, to curtail the exchange as soon as the PM had issued what amounted to a warning.

‘Ah yes. Do you fish, Sir Hugh?’

‘Sad to say, only in troubled waters, Prime Minister.’

‘They can be smoothed by application, but not by anyone acting in excess of their instructions.’

What had been said to him and by whom? There was no point in asking with the beak nose bobbing in dismissal. As he exited the heavy door Quex was tempted to look at the watch he wore in his waistcoat, to let Chamberlain know that he had dragged him up from Victoria for an interview that had lasted all of two to three minutes and that in consequence he was annoyed to be treated worse than a servant; he did not do it from a lifetime’s habit of concealing his emotions.

Making his way down Whitehall and then across Parliament Square and along Millbank, with the tip of his unnecessary brolly beating out an increasingly angered tattoo on the pavement, it did not take long to nail the potential culprit who had engineered this event but the question remained as to what to do about it.

If it was McKevitt, then he was entitled to his concerns about policy; Quex did not run a dictatorship but an organisation that had ample room for the free airing of views, even of dissent.

But the protocol was that such a thing was internal, it was not to be taken outside the walls and if the Ulsterman had done so it was not merely because he disagreed but that he had another motive, and given his ambition was close to an open secret, that did not take long to arrive at either.

Still ruminating on that, he returned to his office to find the latest telegram transcript from Peter Lanchester, which told him what was being planned in Czechoslovakia, which in order to approve meant all he had to do was nothing. Was it the right policy to pursue?