3

"It is a very extraordinary thing," began Thirp in his high–pitched voice after he had watched the door close. "But you have such understanding—"

He twisted his long, thin hands together. "It may seem preposterously trivial to you, but what I have to tell you about is the despatch of twelve million coloured post cards from London, to various destinations I have checked. They are all pictures of the same person—"

"Reedly?"

"Exactly. I have known about these post cards for weeks—joining them up to other little things of a similar nature. There are some pamphlets, too—in various languages. Well, I will confess I'm startled. I did not expect these cards to move so soon. No. I counted on three or four weeks yet. I was timing things for that as I explained to you. Then suddenly they have been hustled off…"

"That means something has been precipitated?"

"Exactly. You see—I think. It's very significant." "The first cat's–paw of a storm?"

"Exactly. These post cards are trivial in themselves, but they are part of an elaborate scheme. If they go off, then the whole scheme must be in motion. Nobody would give a particular order, specially about them. Somebody or something has pressed a button. A post card can show how the wind blows."

"Things are still at a standstill on the front?"

"N–oo. I shouldn't say that. That's exactly it. They can't be. The unexpected must have been busy there. The front has always been difficult to watch. Conditions vary from sector to sector. From their left wing and all up through the Little Carpathians the disposition to fraternise has been very strong for some time. Bellacourt's leaflets, the ones you drafted, have done more there than bombs. Reedly has flatly forbidden them and he has five planes under arrest—"

"Blank mutiny."

"At Constance. I've just got the report of that. You know he has always been opposed to our air propaganda. But he has never dared touch it before. Probably he has some excuse. Things are different on the right there, where the lines bend back above the Jura. What we call the Italian flank. These sectors are more complicated. Old hatreds. There is a considerable artillery activity. The men can't get near each other, and there's Italians against our Spanish. That ugly old feud is as bitter as ever. There's black blood there, and also near the middle where the Czechs are up against the Germans. Now the English and Germans have even stopped sniping…But all that's quite secondary…

"Let's look at a map."

The map was spread on the table.

"These are details. The right and its little raids and killings is, I say, secondary. What matters is the state of affairs on the centre and their left. There their discipline is in such a state that their Higher Command may come trotting over to Reedly with a white flag at any time. For all I know that may be happening now. I told you that was possible yesterday, but I didn't realise it was imminent. Since then something definite may have happened. Something very definite. Reedly certainly didn't expect a snap to come so soon. Nobody expected it so soon. I didn't. He's a great commanding figure is Marshal Reedly, and when he says a thing has to happen, that is the appointed time. Maybe it's got something to do with the food breakdown. Maybe some quite small regimental affair has started an avalanche. Maybe they're shooting their officers like the Russians did in '17…Maybe they're fighting among themselves. But you see, whatever he's been getting ready in the way of a mine under our feet is going to be let off—sooner than was expected—in a day or so…Or earlier. These post cards…"

"You're listening in everywhere?"

"I could a tale unfold. But I spare you. I've got it pretty clear; trust me. I join my slats. The idea always has been to stage an Armistice at the front without consulting you, and to proclaim World Federation and the end of the war straight away. And that's what they seem to be doing now. In a rush."

"Reedly as Jove?"

"Descending upon an exhausted Europa in a cloud of post cards. Sorry! I'm afraid I'm mixing the ladies."

"And he means to do—what?"

"He will seize the aerodromes and tackle Bellacourt. And that reminds me of another thing about this sudden precipitance. Bellacourt, I find, has been in Canada. Has anything been going on in Canada?"

"You don't know that?"

"No, I don't know that. How could I know it—if you didn't tell me?"

"Well—there has been—

"Preparation?"

"Bellacourt will fight Reedly—yes."

"I wish I had known," said Thirp, and wished silently that sometimes Rud would let his left hand know what his right was doing. "I wish I had known," he repeated.

"Reedly must have heard of that," he went on. "Before I did. That may have touched everything off. But anyhow, he is against Bellacourt. He hates Bellacourt if possible more than he hates you. He's a vain man. These last months, without any real air fighting and the command of the air in our hands, have made him feel ridiculous. I think I can give a rough guess of what he will do. In one little communication that I happened to hear he said—what was it?—prig–ridden air. He'd go straight for the aerodromes and try and recover them from the Allied Air Control, that is to say, Bellacourt. He will seize some of the big power–stations. I've been trying to get all that unobtrustively policed—by trustworthy people. He will naturally denounce you for wanting to prolong the war by holding back the air arm. Hey Presto! Civilisation has been saved in the nick of time. We shall figure—as Reds, as World Communists, enemies of religion, enemies of patriotism. All our hard–won respectability gone! Most of us will be arrested."

"He's got all this ready?"

"He's got it half ready. In one way or another I've wetted a lot of his powder. Some sort of attack was actually brewing here, there's some army die–hards professedly on leave in Amsterdam. Maybe they meant to raid us here. But I've scotched that for the moment, I think, by bringing in about a thousand—nearly a thousand—of my own youngsters. From London…Well, anyhow, they'll be here this afternoon. He's had about three divisions in reserve in Flanders ready to be clapped into trains and rushed here by the end of next week. That I know. Munitions not arrived for them. He's a bad organiser. Roots has held that up, We've got all that taped. They're stirring now, but they can't get moving—at least only a few companies might be rushed…With no guns…I'll have the trains held up. I think I can do that. My men will be here in three hours at latest. Nothing much can happen until then."

His confidence had a slightly forced quality.

"Of course," said Thirp, "in a place like Amsterdam…One can't answer for everything—There's always been a strong reactionary movement…"

Rud stood brooding over the map.

"This place might be quite a lively spot in no time," he said.

Olders burst in with a paper in his hand and handed it to Rud. Rud read it silently and then aloud: "Enemy army in open mutiny. Discipline gone. Higher Command and officers ask to surrender to us. They are in great danger. Have ordered Cease Fire and am arranging surrender and armistice. Propose to proclaim World Peace forthwith based on self–determination."

"D'you hear that?" said Rud. "Based on self–determination."

"Only conditions generally acceptable. Trust you and Bellacourt will co–operate…"

"We were prophetic," said Rud.

"And now?"

"Either I shoot Reedly or he shoots me within the next twenty–four hours."

"My lads from London will be here," said Thirp; "it can't take them three hours. I don't see how I can possibly accelerate them…Frankly I would if I could. Tell me about Bellacourt. How does he stand? Can these planes from America be brought here? In time?…"

Rud answered none of Thirp's questions. Instead, he went on extracting particulars of the situation in Amsterdam.