‘Oh, yes, sir, the padre. He did a tour of the place with the Sister and Father Martin.’
‘Who gave him permission?’
‘He had a War Office pass, sir. You know, those unrestricted access things. I think you’ll find Sergeant Morgan put the details down.’
‘I can see that. The point is, what was Conlon doing here?’
‘Search me, sir. Nice-looking man. Grey hair, glasses. Looked like he’d had a hard time. Oh and he had an MC, sir.’
‘Yes, well, that could mean anything,’ Benson said sourly. ‘I’m going down to see Sister.’
She was in her office when he knocked and went in. She glanced up and smiled. ‘You’re back? Did you have a good leave?’
‘Yes, not bad. Is Father Martin around?’
‘Just went into the chapel to hear confessions. Anything I can do?’
‘There was a Major Conlon here when I was away.’
‘Ah, yes, the Army chaplain. A nice man. On sick leave. I understand he was wounded in Sicily last year.’
‘Yes, but what was he doing here?’
‘Nothing. We just showed him round and he took over for Father Martin one evening. He’s not been well, you know.’
‘Has he been back?’
‘No. I understand from Father Martin that he’s been posted. A military hospital in Portsmouth, I believe.’ She looked slightly bewildered. ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘Oh, no, it’s just that when unexpected guests turn up with War Office passes one likes to know who they are.’
‘You worry too much,’ she said.
‘Probably. Good night, Sister.’
But it wouldn’t go away, the nagging doubt, and when he got back upstairs to his office he phoned Dougal Munro.
Jack Carter had gone to York for the day. His train wasn’t due into London until ten so Munro was working alone in his office when he took the call. He listened patiently to what Benson had to say.
‘You were right to call me,’ he said. ‘I don’t much like the idea of officers with War Office passes sticking their noses into our business, but there it is. One of the problems with using a place like the Priory, Benson. These religious types don’t behave like other people.’
‘I’ve got Conlon’s details here on the admission sheet, sir. Do you want them?’
‘Tell you what, I’m packing up here quite soon and going home,’ Munro said. ‘I’ll call in and see you. About an hour and a half.’
Til expect you, sir.’
Benson put down the phone and Corporal Smith, standing at the door, said, ‘You’ll see Colonel Stei-ner’s booked for chapel, sir.’
‘What in the hell has he got to confess cooped up in here?’ Benson demanded.
‘Eight o’clock as usual, sir. Shall I do it with Corporal Ross?’
‘No,’ Benson said. ‘We’ll do it together. I’m expecting Brigadier Munro, but he won’t be here until half past eight. Now get me a cup of tea.’
At Chernay, the elements were very definitely against them, fog rolling in from the sea and rain with it. Schellenberg and Asa Vaughan stood in the radio room waiting while Flight Sergeant Leber checked the situation with Cherbourg.
After a while he turned to them. ‘The Fuhrer’s plane got in all right, General. Landed at six just before this lot started.’
‘So, what’s the verdict?’ Asa demanded.
‘Parts of the Channel you’ll find winds gusting up to Force Eight.’
‘Hell, I can handle wind,’ Asa said. ‘What else do they say?’
‘Fog over southern England, from London down to the Channel coast. Another thing. They say it will get worse here during the night.’ He looked worried. To be frank, sir, it stinks.’
‘Don’t worry, Sergeant, I’ll find a way.’
Asa and Schellenberg went out into the wind and rain and hurried across to the hut they were using. Schellenberg sat on one of the beds and poured Schnapps into an enamel cup. ‘Do you want some?’
‘Better not.’ Asa lit a cigarette instead.
There was silence, then Schellenberg said, ‘Look, if you think it’s not on, if you don’t want to go…’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Asa told him. ‘Of course I’m going. Devlin’s depending on me. I can’t leave him in the lurch. Wind doesn’t bother me. I flew for the Finns in their Winter War, remember, when we had blizzards every day. Let me tell you about fog. Taking off in it’s nothing, but landing is something else and it worries me that I might not be able to land when I get there.’