Spectred Isle (Green Men #1)(50)

“Mr. Lazenby? Have you remembered something?”

“No. No. I’m sorry, the experience in that place made me feel very unwell, and then I ate a large breakfast, and—excuse me.” He put a hand to his mouth, working his throat, and saw the men turn away.

The rest of the train ride was repeated interrogation. Saul stuck to his story, for lack of better ideas, as they passed through town after town, and was relieved to see the ugly red brick and soot of London. “Once we arrive, I take it I am free to go?”

Bracknell glanced at Delingpole, who shook his head. “No. I don’t think so.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m not satisfied, Mr. Lazenby. The fact is, some most peculiar things seem to have happened at once—the events in, or outside, Burwell, and a matter in London. I find it difficult to believe they are not connected given Glyde’s involvement. I am quite sure you will remember more, given assistance.”

“I’ve been assisted to remember things before,” Saul said. “I still have the scars. May I remind you that I’m a British citizen who has committed no crime?”

“There’s no need to be dramatic,” said Delingpole. “And your protests have been noted. But the nature of the Ministry’s work means that we have special powers granted by the Government. We require you to accompany us.”

“I think I’d like to speak to a lawyer.”

Delingpole gave a cold smile. “No.”

“What? That’s—”

“You have a record of collaborating with the enemies of this country in a peculiarly disgraceful manner, Mr. Lazenby,” Delingpole said over him. “You will now co-operate with her protectors, whether you like it or not.”

Saul leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs, trying not to show the fear he felt. They’ll lock me up, they’ll put me in a police station, in a cell...

He was not going to panic. He opened his eyes, trying to display a bit of backbone, and saw something under his shoe.

It was an ivy leaf, fresh and smooth as though it had just been plucked. He leaned forward and picked it up. It must have been stuck to his shoe, except that he couldn’t think of when he’d walked on greenery or how it had survived the journey from Burwell. He stroked the smooth surface, tracing the edge, sitting in silence as the train jolted on.

At last they pulled into the London terminal. The platform was crowded as they disembarked, Bracknell holding Saul’s arm, not in a friendly way. Saul wondered about shaking him off and making a run for it, whether that would just make matters worse.

They headed for the ticket gates, which demanded passengers proceed in single file. Delingpole went through, followed by Saul, and as he came out someone grabbed his arm and pulled, hard.

Saul stumbled sideways, finding himself dragged along at speed. “What the—”

“Lazenby, yes? I’m from Randolph,” said the man who held him, not slowing down. “He thought you might want a change of company. Come on, this way.”

“How do I know you’re from Randolph?”

“He said, I quote, ‘I’d give you a visiting card but the blighter’s had three of mine already.’ I suppose that means something to you? It’s certainly typical Randolph. Good afternoon, by the way. I’m Hugh Barnaby, call me Barney.”

He was something under thirty, with the fairish hair and goodish looks of the typical young English squire, a well cut lounge suit, a friendly face. Saul guessed minor public school, rugby football, a junior officer, probably a good war carried out with courage if not brains. He seemed that sort in every respect apart from the fact that Randolph had sent him.

“Saul Lazenby. Er, the Ministry—”

“My man’s dealing with them. They won’t get past him.”

“But am I not under arrest?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t think so,” Barney said without concern. “They aren’t the police.” He led the way through the station building and out onto the street, to where an Austin Seven waited. “That’s my bus. Sling your bag in the back, we’re just waiting for Isaacs.”

“Just a moment,” Saul said. “What is going on, please? Am I being rescued? Abducted? Given a lift?”

“Oh, the last of those, definitely,” Barney assured him with a grin. “I shouldn’t claim that Randolph wouldn’t abduct you if he felt the need, the man’s an absolute bandit. But those are not my orders, and you’re welcome to pootle off if you’d rather, it’s quite up to you. Ah, there he is. Chop chop, Isaacs.” That was directed to an approaching man: smallish, dark, bright-eyed, with the unmistakable look of the city-bred. “Everything all right?”

“Well, I told ’em to piss off as per, sir, which they may or may not of done, so if it’s convenient to scarper?”

“Righty-ho. In you get.”

Saul took the back seat as indicated. Barney hopped behind the wheel, surprising Saul, who’d expected Isaacs to be the chauffeur. The engine roared and they shot off, taking the corner in such style that Saul grabbed for a handle to hang on to.

“Right,” Barney said over the engine noise. “Now, Randolph asked us to deliver you to him. Is that all right with you?”

“Uh— I don’t know. How the devil did you, or he, know I’d be on that train? Or who those men were? Who are you?”