The Quality of Mercy Read Online Free PDF Page B

believe me, he’s one of the best men we’ve got. He’s like me in one respect – he doesn’t suffer fools gladly.’
    Mountbatten showed him where to go but did not offer to accompany him.
    The Gun Room was smaller than Edward expected. There were Purdeys locked in the gun cabinet, rods in some sort of basket, fishing tackle including nets and gaffes, walking sticks piled in a corner, wellington boots, a few stuffed birds – in other words the type of room found in every country house including Mersham Castle. The head of what Edward thought might be an elk grinned at him from just above one door. On every wall, nondescript sporting prints competed with photographs of Mountbatten at play – standing in heroic pose over a, presumably, dead tiger, on a polo pony swinging a stick, and at the helm of a yacht.
    A row of heavy leather-bound volumes, no doubt recording the game killed on the estate, filled a bookcase. The sole window was shuttered and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. The pool of light spilt by the table lamp did not extend beyond its immediate environs but he could just make out a cheap clock on the wall behind the battered table on which so many guns and rods, not to mention dead animals, had been thrown over many years.
    ‘Lord Edward, how good of you to spare me a few minutes. Forgive the cloak-and-dagger stuff but I try to keep in the background as much as possible. I have heard very good things about you from the people at Special Branch and I gather you sorted out a nasty little problem for the FO. Van said you cleared up the mess with the minimum of fuss.’ Van was Sir Robert Vansittart, until recently the Permanent Head of the Foreign Office. ‘In fact, you seem to have made your mark with a number of people whose opinion I value, without drawing attention to yourself. Not something Dickie would understand.’ Liddell chuckled mirthlessly.
    There was something cold and even repellent about his manner which made Edward glad Mountbatten had warned him not to rush to judgement. His clipped, patrician accent sounded as though it had been marinated in lemon juice. He was of average height, with receding hair and an officer’s obligatory toothbrush moustache. As his eyes got used to the gloom, Edward saw he had the upright posture of the professional soldier and the expressionless face of a man with too many secrets.
    ‘Sir Robert is a remarkable man. I was sorry that he felt he had to resign,’ Edward ventured.
    ‘Hmm,’ was Liddell’s only comment. His eyes seemed never to leave Edward’s face and he found himself having to look away at a photograph of Mountbatten with Errol Flynn.
    ‘I wondered if you’d be willing to help your country once again?’
    ‘Would I be working for Special Branch?’ Edward found himself asking.
    ‘You’d be working for me.’
    ‘May I ask who you are, sir?’ Edward persisted. ‘I mean, Lord Louis told me a little bit about you but not who you work for.’
    ‘I work for a government organization preparing for the next war with Germany. We are particularly concerned with subversive activity in this country by agents of foreign powers.’
    ‘Does it have a name – your organization?’ Edward asked daringly.
    Liddell looked down his nose and coughed. ‘It does not exist so how can it have a name?’ A thin smile indicated that this was a joke. He hesitated and then said, ‘You took an oath of secrecy when you were working for Special Branch so I suppose I can tell you this much – I run a section called MI5. It is never to be referred to nor its existence even hinted at. You understand me?’ Edward, intimidated by the man’s steely authority, nodded his head in assent. ‘If at any time your authority is questioned, you can, as a last resort, imply that you work for Special Branch but that is only when you have no alternative. I should perhaps say, however, that we in MI5 have no powers of arrest. We make use of the police when we