hear you went travelling after leaving the Service, George—Merchant Navy wasn’t it? Anywhere exotic?’
‘Oh, come on now, FW—you would have known exactly what I got up to.’
‘Oh, for the first few months maybe—but nobody ever really considered you a serious threat. Seven years, eh? I suppose it must be … That damned Zinoviev affair! We were sorry to lose you, you know—with your unique set of skills you were a perfect asset to the SIS.’
‘Maybe.’
‘But?’
‘Let’s just say I lost sight of what I was supposed to be doing there. It was easy at first, just after the war; but towards the end … well, as I said at the time, I started having trouble recognizing the Firm’s definition of the enemy. Anyway, there’s no need to go over old ground.’
‘No, quite … By the way, George, I heard about that dreadful business with your fiancée, Cynthia; my condolences, dear boy. How on earth that madman Morkens escaped the hangman’s noose is beyond me.’
‘Well, it’s no mystery to me, FW—he got to the judge. No way of proving it, of course. They all closed ranks, didn’t they? After all, he was one of their own; the old boys’ club—you know how it works.’
‘Well, George—maybe … But he was diagnosed psychopathic—a danger to the public, correct? He’s still in Broadmoor?’
‘Yeah, that’s right. But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not talk about it.’
‘No, of course … Although, surely there must be a way—’
‘I mean it, FW—I don’t wanna discuss it!’
‘Apologies, George—I understand completely.’
Harley took a drink. ‘But look at you— Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police ? Christ on a bike! How did that happen?’
‘Steady now, Harley!’
‘No disrespect—what I mean is … well, you’re a man of action, FW. I can’t see you wading through all the endless committees and paperwork that must go with this kind of job. I take it you didn’t just volunteer—why on earth did you accept?’
‘I could hardly refuse,’ said Swales, relighting his pipe.
‘Higher authority, eh?’
‘The highest.’
‘The King ? You’re joshing me! What’s His Majesty doing appointing the Police Commissioner? Isn’t that the Home Secretary’s job?’
‘Usually. However, it wouldn’t really be appropriate to—’
‘Come on, you can trust me, you know that—besides, I’m still bound by the Official Secrets Act, aren’t I?’
‘Yes, well, I suppose that’s true …’
Swales got up and opened the door, making sure nobody was within earshot. He returned to the desk and sat back down amid a small cloud of pipe smoke.
‘Well, let me start by saying that over the last few years His Majesty has become increasingly concerned about the political future of this country. Remember now—he saw a powerful empire fall to revolutionary forces in nineteen-seventeen … and one can only imagine the guilt he must still feel at refusing asylum to his cousin Tsar Nicholas. But, you understand, that difficult decision was made with the sole intention of ameliorating the frustrations of the British working man. Now, I don’t have to tell you George, that since then conditions for that working man have become a damn sight worse. Why, he’s even lucky if he’s a working man at all nowadays. This bally Depression—The General Strike, hunger marches, the unions flexing their muscles … our friend Quigg isn’t the only one checking for Bolsheviks under the bed, I can tell you. The fear, one might even call it paranoia, of a British revolution has spread to the very highest echelons.’
‘Of course it has—it’s those highest echelons that have the most to lose,’ said Harley, offering his glass up for a refill. ‘Including His Majesty.’
‘Hmm,’ said Swales, frowning again at Harley as he topped up his whisky. ‘Look, we all know your feelings on class, George; but I would argue that we would all have something to lose. And
‘Oh, come on now, FW—you would have known exactly what I got up to.’
‘Oh, for the first few months maybe—but nobody ever really considered you a serious threat. Seven years, eh? I suppose it must be … That damned Zinoviev affair! We were sorry to lose you, you know—with your unique set of skills you were a perfect asset to the SIS.’
‘Maybe.’
‘But?’
‘Let’s just say I lost sight of what I was supposed to be doing there. It was easy at first, just after the war; but towards the end … well, as I said at the time, I started having trouble recognizing the Firm’s definition of the enemy. Anyway, there’s no need to go over old ground.’
‘No, quite … By the way, George, I heard about that dreadful business with your fiancée, Cynthia; my condolences, dear boy. How on earth that madman Morkens escaped the hangman’s noose is beyond me.’
‘Well, it’s no mystery to me, FW—he got to the judge. No way of proving it, of course. They all closed ranks, didn’t they? After all, he was one of their own; the old boys’ club—you know how it works.’
‘Well, George—maybe … But he was diagnosed psychopathic—a danger to the public, correct? He’s still in Broadmoor?’
‘Yeah, that’s right. But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not talk about it.’
‘No, of course … Although, surely there must be a way—’
‘I mean it, FW—I don’t wanna discuss it!’
‘Apologies, George—I understand completely.’
Harley took a drink. ‘But look at you— Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police ? Christ on a bike! How did that happen?’
‘Steady now, Harley!’
‘No disrespect—what I mean is … well, you’re a man of action, FW. I can’t see you wading through all the endless committees and paperwork that must go with this kind of job. I take it you didn’t just volunteer—why on earth did you accept?’
‘I could hardly refuse,’ said Swales, relighting his pipe.
‘Higher authority, eh?’
‘The highest.’
‘The King ? You’re joshing me! What’s His Majesty doing appointing the Police Commissioner? Isn’t that the Home Secretary’s job?’
‘Usually. However, it wouldn’t really be appropriate to—’
‘Come on, you can trust me, you know that—besides, I’m still bound by the Official Secrets Act, aren’t I?’
‘Yes, well, I suppose that’s true …’
Swales got up and opened the door, making sure nobody was within earshot. He returned to the desk and sat back down amid a small cloud of pipe smoke.
‘Well, let me start by saying that over the last few years His Majesty has become increasingly concerned about the political future of this country. Remember now—he saw a powerful empire fall to revolutionary forces in nineteen-seventeen … and one can only imagine the guilt he must still feel at refusing asylum to his cousin Tsar Nicholas. But, you understand, that difficult decision was made with the sole intention of ameliorating the frustrations of the British working man. Now, I don’t have to tell you George, that since then conditions for that working man have become a damn sight worse. Why, he’s even lucky if he’s a working man at all nowadays. This bally Depression—The General Strike, hunger marches, the unions flexing their muscles … our friend Quigg isn’t the only one checking for Bolsheviks under the bed, I can tell you. The fear, one might even call it paranoia, of a British revolution has spread to the very highest echelons.’
‘Of course it has—it’s those highest echelons that have the most to lose,’ said Harley, offering his glass up for a refill. ‘Including His Majesty.’
‘Hmm,’ said Swales, frowning again at Harley as he topped up his whisky. ‘Look, we all know your feelings on class, George; but I would argue that we would all have something to lose. And
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