The Hornet's Sting_ The Amazing Untold Story of World War II Spy Thomas Sneum - Mark Ryan [137]
Office politics had therefore worked devastatingly against Tommy. Only the previous summer, Rabagliati and Seymour had shown so much faith in his ability that they had asked him to risk his life for them. Now, for very different reasons, neither man was anywhere to be seen when Tommy needed their help in return.
To make matters worse, Sigfred Christophersen was released by the authorities. For Sneum, living in the shadow of the noose, his former partner’s freedom was hard to swallow. It was even rumoured that Christophersen was to be offered a place in the RAF in recognition of his services. The chance to fly. It was all Tommy had ever wanted for himself.
One day Griffith entered Sneum’s cell wearing a sadistic smile and told him he would be executed in a few days’ time. In the meantime he would be moved to a cell nearer to the gallows. ‘They’re just making sure the mechanism is working smoothly,’ he said, taunting his prisoner. ‘You’ll be dropping through the trapdoor soon enough.’
Tommy later claimed: ‘They had this holding cell before execution in Brixton, and I was put in there. I thought: Fuck. Now they’re really going to kill me, the bastards. I was in this empty cell, which looked much like all the others, except that nobody contacted you.’
That changed when Sneum heard a strange squeaking as something heavy was pulled along the corridor outside. The contraption sounded as though it was running on wheels. As it came closer, however, he saw it was nothing more lethal than a trolley laden with reading material. ‘Books? Want anything?’ An elderly man was asking the question to everyone he passed. The prison librarian had reached Sneum’s cell on his weekly round.
‘Do you have any Somerset Maugham?’ Tommy asked, bringing mild astonishment to the librarian’s face. ‘I like most English writers—except Shakespeare.’
The librarian looked horrified. ‘What don’t you like about Shakespeare?’
‘I just think he’s overrated,’ Sneum replied. ‘But any Somerset Maugham would be fine.’
‘I’ll see what I can do for my next round,’ the librarian promised.
‘Let’s hope I’m still here when you do your next round,’ said Tommy in a brave attempt at black humour.
Soon he was told he was on the move again, and he began to brace himself for the noose. Instead, he was taken into the exercise yard. There he was greeted with a spontaneous round of applause. Then he heard a shout: ‘Back from the dead, you lucky bastard!’
Tommy looked up to see he was sharing the yard with a young man of about his own age. A wide, warm grin had spread all over the other man’s face. Sneum had seen him before, and remembered feeling a little jealous of his popularity, not to mention the privileges it appeared to have earned him. The regime in Brixton clearly didn’t consider this character a threat; it was as though he had been there a long time, behaved well, and now was just finishing his half-hour of exercise without an escort. Tommy, though, was confused by the man’s little quip, delivered in a thick cockney accent. The Londoner smiled at the warder who had brought out the Dane. With a nod of his head, the guard allowed Sneum to approach his fellow prisoner.
‘Bill’s the name,’ said the man. ‘Griffith said they were going to hang you. Either he was playing a cruel trick on you or someone high up must have changed their mind. Anyhow, even Griffith says it’s not going to happen now.’
Relief swept over Tommy, and it was all he could do to fight back the tears. Deep inside he also felt a burning anger. Bill smiled sympathetically as he watched his fellow inmate struggle with his emotions. Sneum managed to introduce himself, and Bill revealed that his buoyant mood was not down to Tommy’s reprieve, but because he had been given his own imminent release date.
‘I robbed a