Sir Charles moved back to his chair and sat down. “How are you, Neil?”
“Pretty fit, sir. I’ve just had six weeks on the island.”
“I know. How’s your shoulder?”
“No more trouble. They’ve done a good job.”
Sir Charles nodded. “You’ll have to be a little more careful next time, won’t you?” He opened a file, took out a type-written document and pushed it across. “Have a look at that.”
He occupied himself with some other papers and Mallory skimmed through the three closely typed sheets of foolscap. When he had finished he handed them back, face expression-less.
“Where’s theKontoro now?”
“The destroyer which found her took her straight into Brest. For the time being the French are holding the lid down tight. Complete security and so on. They can’t keep it quiet for more than three or four days. These things always leak out sooner or later.”
“What are they trying to do about it?”
“The usual round-up of anyone who’s even remotely sus-pected of being connected with the O.A.S. or C.N.R. On top of that, theDeuxieme Bureau and theBrigade Criminelle, backed by every available military security agent, have been given one order. Find that submarine.”
“I shouldn’t have thought that would be too difficult.”
“I’m not so sure,” Sir Charles said. “For one thing this is no ordinary submarine. She’s quite small. A thing the Germans were working on at the end of the war.”
“What’s her radius?”
Not much over a thousand.”
“Which means she could be based in Spain or even Portugal?”
“The French are working along those lines right now, but they’ve got to be careful. On top of that, they’re combing the entire Biscay coast, every creek, every island.” He sighed heavily. “I’ve a horrible feeling that they’re completely wast-ing their time.”
“I wondered when you were coming to that,” Mallory said.
Sir Charles grinned impishly like a schoolboy, opened a drawer and took out a map which he unfolded across the desk. It was a large-scale Admiralty chart of the Channel Islands and the Golfe de St. Malo.\
“Ever hear of Philippe de Beaumont?”
“The paratroop colonel? The one who helped bring de Gaulle back to power?”
“That’s right. He was one of the leaders of the military coup of May 1958 and a member of the original Committee of Public Safety. Philippe, Comte de Beaumont. Last sur-vivor of one of the greatest of the French military families.”
“And he’s living in the Channel Islands?”
“He was the great advocate of a French Algeria. When de Gaulle came down on the side of independence he resigned his commission and left France.” Sir Charles drew a circle on the chart about thirty miles south-west of Guernsey. “There’s an island called lie de Roc owned by old Hamish Grant.”
“You mean Iron Grant, the Western Desert general?”
“That’s right. Been living there for five years with his daughter Fiona, writing up the war. His daughter-in-law Mrs. Anne Grant seems to run things. Her husband was killed in Korea. About a mile west of lie de Roc there’s a smaller island called St. Pierre.”
“And de Beaumont’s living there?”
“He bought it from Grant two years ago. There’s a sort of castle up on top of the rock, one of those mock-Gothic jobs some crank built during the nineteenth century.”
“And you think he’s up to no good?”
“Let’s put it this way. The French have checked on him for two years now and can’t find even the hint of a con-nection with either the O.A.S. or C.N.R., although he’s known to be sympathetic to their aims. Frankly, even their Foreign Office think he’s simply agrand seigneur who won’t come home because he’s annoyed with the General.”
“And you don’t agree?”
“I might have done until yesterday evening.”
What happened to change your mind?”
“I’ve had a man keeping an eye on de Beaumont for a year now, just as a precaution. There’s a small hotel on lie de Roc. He was working there as barman. He went missing Tuesday. Yesterday evening he drifted in on the evening tide. The police went over from Guernsey and picked up the body. Needless to say there isn’t even a hint of foul play.”