Traitors' Gate Read Free Page A

deal until they were well on their way home. Other Directorships had followed. By 1914 he was already a power in the City; after the war he had refused a peerage on the grounds that there had been a Gwaine-Cust at Gwaine Meads for so many centuries that if he changed his name his tenants would think he had sold the place; foresight had enabled him to bring his companies safely through the slump of the early 1930’s and he had emerged from it immensely rich.
    Although his name was hardly known to the general public, it had long been respected in Government circles. To his great mansion in Carlton House Terrace, Diplomats, Generals, Colonial Governors and Cabinet Ministers often came to consult him privately on their problems and they rarely left without having drawn new strength from his boundless vitality and shrewd common sense.
    He was well over seventy, but the only indication of his age was the snowy whiteness of his hair, his bushy eyebrows and luxuriant cavalry moustache. His startlingly blue eyes were as bright as ever, he stood six feet four in his socks and could still have thrown most men of forty down his staircase.
    When Gregory arrived at Carlton House Terrace he was told that Sir Pellinore was at a meeting in the City; but, knowing that he would be expected to stay the night, he had his bag carried up to the room he usually occupied, then went into the library to await his host’s return.
    It was a fine lofty room at the back of the house with a splendid view across St. James’s Park to the Admiralty, the Horse Guards and the other massive buildings in which throbbed the heart of Britain’s war machine. For a few minutes he stood looking out at the tender green of the young leaves now breaking on the trees of the park, then he took from one of the shelves a copy of James Hilton’s
Lost Horizon
and became immersed once more in that wonderful story until heavy footfalls sounded on the landing and Sir Pellinore came marching in.
    ‘Hello, young feller! Glad to see you!’ he boomed, grasping Gregory’s hand in his leg-of-mutton fist. ‘So you’re fed up already with kickin’ your heels in the country, eh? Well, I’d hoped you’d continue to take it easy for a bit, but we’re a longway from having won the damn war yet; so if you’re spoilin’ to have another crack at the Nazis it’s not for me to stop you.’
    Gregory gave a wry grin. ‘You’re off the mark for once. I didn’t come here to ask about another mission and I do want another few months of idleness. But, unless you can pull a fast one for me, I’m not going to get them. I’ve been called-up.’
    ‘Well, I’ll be jiggered!’ Sir Pellinore slapped a mighty thigh encased in pin-striped trousers. ‘What a lark! Strap me, but this is the funniest thing I’ve heard for years.’
    ‘It struck me as funny too, to begin with. But it is no laughing matter. D’you realise that they would bung me in the ranks and perhaps make me a mess-waiter?’
    ‘Not to start with! That’s promotion!’ The elderly Baronet’s bright blue eyes glinted merrily, and he gave a great guffaw of laughter. ‘At least it was in my day. Job given to steady chaps who could be trusted not to pinch the sherry or pour the soup down one’s neck. After one glance at that truculent jaw of yours, any Sergeant-Major who knows his business would put you on to cleaning out the latrines. That’s about what you can expect!’
    ‘But seriously, you must get me out of this.’
    The under-butler had followed Sir Pellinore into the room with a tray of drinks. Turning, his master waved a hand towards them. ‘What’ll you have? I keep most of this muck for visitors who haven’t the sense to respect their guts. Stick to good wine topped off with a spot of old brandy and you’ll still be chasin’ the gels round the gooseberry bush when you’re as old as I am.’ As he spoke he poured himself out a tumbler full of Manzanilla, then drank half of it off in a couple of