The Soldier's Art - Anthony Powell [84]
“Excuse me, sir.”
“Yes?”
“A serious matter has come through on the telephone, sir.”
“Well, what is it?”
“Diplock’s deserted, sir.”
This message was so unexpected that Colonel Hogbourne-Johnson, already sufficiently provoked by the appointment of Ivo Deanery to the command of the Recce Unit, could find no words at first to register the fact that he fully comprehended what Keef had to report. The awfulness of the silence that followed must have told on Keef’s nerves. Still standing almost to attention, it was he who spoke first.
“Just come through, sir,” he repeated. “A. & Q. issued an order to keep an eye on him, but it was too late. The man’s known to have made his way across the Border. He’s in neutral territory by this time.”
To have trusted Diplock, to have stood by him when accused of peculation, was, so far as I knew from my own experience of Colonel Hogbourne-Johnson, the only occasion when he had ever shown a generous impulse. Of course that was speaking from scarcely any knowledge of him at all. In private life he may have displayed qualities concealed during this brief observation of his professional behaviour. Even if that were not so, and he were as un-engaging to his friends and family as to his comrades in arms, even if, with regard to Diplock, his conduct had been dictated by egoism, prejudice, pig-headedness, the fact remained that he had believed in Diplock, had trusted him. He had, for example, called Widmerpool to order for describing the chief clerk as an old woman, simply because he respected the fact that Diplock, years before, had been awarded the Military Medal. Now he had been thoroughly let down. The climax had not been altogether deserved. Widmerpool had been wrong too. Diplock might be an old woman when he fiddled about with Army Forms; not when it came to evading his desserts. Still, that was another matter. It was Colonel Hogbourne-Johnson who had been betrayed. Possibly he felt that himself. He rose to his feet, in doing so managing to sweep to the floor some of the papers from the pile of documents on Widmerpool’s table. Giving a jerk of his head to indicate Keef was to follow him, he left the room. Their steps could be heard thudding down uncarpeted passages. Widmerpool shut the door after them. Then he stopped and laboriously recovered several Summaries of Evidence from the floor. Anxiety about his own future was evidently too grave to allow any satisfaction at Hogbourne-Johnson’s discomfiture. In fact, I had not seen Widmerpool so upset, so reduced to utter despair, since the day, long past, when he had admitted to paying for Gypsy Jones’s “operation.”
“There’s been the devil of a row,” he said.
“What’s happened?”
“The General’s livid with rage.”
“About what Sunny Farebrother said?”
“That bloody M.G.A.’s given him a totally false picture of what I said.”
“What’s the upshot?”
“General Liddament says he’s going to make further enquiries. If he’s satisfied I’ve behaved in a way of which he disapproves, he won’t keep me on his staff. Of course I don’t mind that, as I’m leaving anyway. What I’m worried about is he may take it into his head to ruin my chance of this much better job, when he gets official notification. He seemed to have forgotten that was in the air.”
“Does he know Hogbourne-Johnson was playing about with the same matter?”
“Of course not. Hogbourne-Johnson will be able to cover his tracks now.”
“And Diplock?”
“Oh, yes, Diplock,” said Widmerpool, cheering up a little.