End of Spies by Alex Gerlis (popular ebook readers .txt) 📕

paperwork? Hawke said of course, and Bourne apologised as he led him to the back of the gallery, explaining that the office was not as tidy as perhaps it should be but he blamed his grandfather for that.

It was only when he sat down in an ancient chair that he was unsure would hold his weight that Sir Roland noticed a woman sitting in the corner of the room, her slim legs crossed and her hands resting on her lap. Bourne said she was a colleague and someone who could absolutely be trusted – ‘Perhaps even more than me!’ Pearson was intrigued by her: she was perhaps in her mid-fifties, a remarkably elegant woman with a face he’d describe as pretty. In her day she must have been quite beautiful. She nodded her head in his direction but otherwise remained impassive as Bourne completed the paperwork and placed the cheque in a small safe.

‘You said, Mr Hawke, that you doubted there was much one could do regarding the way the country is going.’ He coughed and paused as he considered what he was about to say. ‘There are those of us who take the view that that is not necessarily the case. We have long believed that this country has been perhaps… misguided in the allegiances it formed and in whom it sought to protect and those it chose to oppose.’

He paused and turned round to the woman, who said nothing but nodded: carry on.

‘A number of us are seeking to support those in Europe who may have hitherto been seen as the enemy but who we regard as the last defenders of Christian Europe against the communists – and the Jews, of course.’

The room dropped into silence and Anthony Hawke half nodded.

‘Support them in what way, Bourne?’

‘Perhaps I could explain.’ The woman had uncrossed her legs and was smoothing her skirt. ‘What Charles is trying to say is that there are Germans who are being hunted as war criminals when they did no more than fight for their country. We are of the view that these people are in the vanguard of defending Europe’s traditional values. To this end, a number of them are seeking to assume new identities and leave Europe, so that they are in a position to resume their cause. We are assisting one particular group in a practical manner, specifically by providing funds to enable their passage. There are also people in this country we wish to send on the same… route.’

Anthony Hawke nodded, trying to appear impassive. ‘I despise this government and I had considerable doubts about the course and aims of the war, but I’m a patriot – I’m not a Nazi, you know!’

‘But don’t you think, sir,’ Bourne looked down as he spoke, ‘that the enemy of my enemy is my friend?’

‘So are you asking me for money?’

Bourne turned to the woman again, who said that indeed, anything would be most appreciated.

Hawke removed the chequebook from his jacket pocket again. ‘I wouldn’t want to be… embarrassed by this.’

‘Of course not, sir: what we can do is treat it as a purchase. We have some Victorian sketches of doubtful provenance that are really worth very little, but it would ensure everything appears above board. May I ask how much you intend to give?’

‘Twenty-five pounds is what I had in mind.’

‘That is most generous, sir, thank you very much.’

‘How do you get the money over to the Continent?’ Hawke was looking down at the chequebook as he spoke. ‘I don’t imagine you send them cheques, eh?’

‘Strictly cash,’ said the woman. ‘We send it by courier. We had one courier who went out a few weeks ago, and there’s another we hope to send soon.’

‘Yes,’ said Bourne, chuckling. ‘Killing two birds with one stone!’

The woman coughed, and when Sir Roland looked up, he noticed a furious look on her face.

Two days later, Sir Roland Pearson was sitting in Tom Gilbey’s office with the Wright landscape propped up on a chair next to him. Roland Bentley was also present, as were Hanne and Prince, summoned back from Lincoln.

Pearson gave a lengthy account of his two visits to Bourne and Sons. When he had finished, he rubbed his hands together and pointed to the painting, as if its purchase had been the purpose of the exercise.

‘The objective of Sir Roland’s mission was to establish whether there is a link between this art gallery and the Kestrel Line. Is that not correct, Tom?’

Gilbey told Bentley that it was.

‘And it would seem that such a link has been established through this visit?’

‘To an extent, yes.’

‘What do you mean, Tom?’

‘Don’t get me wrong, it was a successful visit, but the evidence gained from it is circumstantial rather than direct. I’m sure our police officer friends here appreciate the difference – I assume Danish law is similar in this respect?’

Prince and Hanne both nodded.

‘Without in any way seeking to diminish what you achieved Roly, we only have what Mr Bourne and Mr Ridgeway have said, along with the more explicit statement of the unnamed woman.’

Pearson had opened his notebook and now read out loud, as if giving dictation: ‘“…a number of them are seeking to assume new identities and leave Europe, so that they are in a position to resume their cause… We are assisting one particular group in a practical manner, specifically by providing funds to enable their passage.” I ought to add that I made these notes more or less contemporaneously: I pride myself on my recall.’

‘And you gave them a cheque for twenty-five pounds, I believe it was. To whom was it made out Tom?’ Roland Bentley’s fountain pen was poised as he waited for an answer.

‘To Bourne and Sons, sir: we’ve already been through this. Obviously it’s a pity it wasn’t made out to another account, as then it would have been easier to trace.’

‘They were hardly going to ask me to make out a cheque to the Nazi Escape Fund, were they?’ Pearson looked pleased