not really sure. That's where you come in. About six months ago, M.I.6 handled a very minor espionage affair. You may remember it. An Admiralty clerk called Simmons was caught passing classified information to a man called Ranevsky, a naval attache at the Russian Embassy.'
'He got five years, didn't he?'
'That's right. It was all very small beer.'
'Didn't the Russian claim diplomatic immunity?'
Mallory nodded. 'M.I.6. had him for a couple of hours and then he had to be handed over to his own people. They flew him out next morning. The really interesting thing proved to be the fifty one-pound notes he'd passed over to Simmons before they were arrested. They were new notes and M.I.6. managed to trace them to a Bond Street bank where a cashier not only recognised Ranevsky's photograph, but also remembered details of the cheque he'd cashed.'
'Are you saying it was one of Donner's?'
Mallory nodded. 'Genuine, too.'
'What did Donner have to say?'
'He wasn't asked anything, Paul. That side of things was never mentioned at Simmons's trial. It wasn't worth wasting on such an insignificant event. They simply dropped the whole thing fairly and squarely into my lap and told me to get on with it.'
'And you've been checking on Donner ever since?'
'That's right and the deeper we probe, the unhealthier it looks. From Burgess and Maclean onwards, everywhere we dig, we seem to find Max Donner hovering on the outer perimeter of things. And not only here. France, Germany, Canada--he has business interests all over the place.'
'But Donner's a highly successful business man, a respected public figure?' Chavasse shook his head. 'What would he stand to gain? It just doesn't make sense.'
'Neither did the Gordon Lonsdale affair at first.'
'But Lonsdale was a Russian, a professional agent.'
'Who was a Canadian to all intents and purposes. Even now there is some doubt about his real name.'
'Are you suggesting that Max Donner might be another Lonsdale?'
'I'm not sure,' Mallory said. 'It's a possibility: that's all we can say for certain at the moment. Donner's parents were Austrian. He was born in Vienna in 1916 while his father was fighting on the Italian front. After the war, things were difficult and then his father came into a small legacy and they emigrated to Australia in 1925.'
'How did they fetch up in a place like Rum Jungle?'
'Like plenty before him, Donner's father fell into the wrong hands. With what was left of his legacy he bought what he understood to be a thriving cattle station. When they got there, they found a mud hole in the wilderness, a broken down shack and a handful of starving cows. Mrs. Donner wasn't built for that kind of life. She died in 1930.'
'When the boy was fourteen?'
'That's right. He and his father hung on for another year, then sold out for seventy-five pounds and left.'
'Where for--Sydney?'
'With a depression just beginning?' Mallory shook his head. 'They took to the road in the Outback following that great Australian custom like thousands of others. Donner's father died in 1933 at a place called Clay Crossing. We know that from the death certificate.'
'When the boy was seventeen?'
Mallory nodded. 'From then on, he was on his own. Just another swagman walking the Outback at a time when half the men in the country were out of work. He joined the army in Kalgoorlie the day after war was declared.'
'And you don't know what happened in between?'
Mallory shook his head. 'From the death of his father at Clay Crossing in 1933 to his enlistment in the army in 1939--a great big blank and I don't like it.'
'And what's he up to at this end?'
'I'm not sure, that's the trouble, but I could make a reasonable guess. For the past couple of years, we've been losing people in a steady trickle. People like Simmons. Not all that important, but important enough. Confidential clerks engaged on classified work, cypher clerks and so on. Thirty-eight in all.'
'Too many,' Chavasse said. 'Only a really efficient
'He got five years, didn't he?'
'That's right. It was all very small beer.'
'Didn't the Russian claim diplomatic immunity?'
Mallory nodded. 'M.I.6. had him for a couple of hours and then he had to be handed over to his own people. They flew him out next morning. The really interesting thing proved to be the fifty one-pound notes he'd passed over to Simmons before they were arrested. They were new notes and M.I.6. managed to trace them to a Bond Street bank where a cashier not only recognised Ranevsky's photograph, but also remembered details of the cheque he'd cashed.'
'Are you saying it was one of Donner's?'
Mallory nodded. 'Genuine, too.'
'What did Donner have to say?'
'He wasn't asked anything, Paul. That side of things was never mentioned at Simmons's trial. It wasn't worth wasting on such an insignificant event. They simply dropped the whole thing fairly and squarely into my lap and told me to get on with it.'
'And you've been checking on Donner ever since?'
'That's right and the deeper we probe, the unhealthier it looks. From Burgess and Maclean onwards, everywhere we dig, we seem to find Max Donner hovering on the outer perimeter of things. And not only here. France, Germany, Canada--he has business interests all over the place.'
'But Donner's a highly successful business man, a respected public figure?' Chavasse shook his head. 'What would he stand to gain? It just doesn't make sense.'
'Neither did the Gordon Lonsdale affair at first.'
'But Lonsdale was a Russian, a professional agent.'
'Who was a Canadian to all intents and purposes. Even now there is some doubt about his real name.'
'Are you suggesting that Max Donner might be another Lonsdale?'
'I'm not sure,' Mallory said. 'It's a possibility: that's all we can say for certain at the moment. Donner's parents were Austrian. He was born in Vienna in 1916 while his father was fighting on the Italian front. After the war, things were difficult and then his father came into a small legacy and they emigrated to Australia in 1925.'
'How did they fetch up in a place like Rum Jungle?'
'Like plenty before him, Donner's father fell into the wrong hands. With what was left of his legacy he bought what he understood to be a thriving cattle station. When they got there, they found a mud hole in the wilderness, a broken down shack and a handful of starving cows. Mrs. Donner wasn't built for that kind of life. She died in 1930.'
'When the boy was fourteen?'
'That's right. He and his father hung on for another year, then sold out for seventy-five pounds and left.'
'Where for--Sydney?'
'With a depression just beginning?' Mallory shook his head. 'They took to the road in the Outback following that great Australian custom like thousands of others. Donner's father died in 1933 at a place called Clay Crossing. We know that from the death certificate.'
'When the boy was seventeen?'
Mallory nodded. 'From then on, he was on his own. Just another swagman walking the Outback at a time when half the men in the country were out of work. He joined the army in Kalgoorlie the day after war was declared.'
'And you don't know what happened in between?'
Mallory shook his head. 'From the death of his father at Clay Crossing in 1933 to his enlistment in the army in 1939--a great big blank and I don't like it.'
'And what's he up to at this end?'
'I'm not sure, that's the trouble, but I could make a reasonable guess. For the past couple of years, we've been losing people in a steady trickle. People like Simmons. Not all that important, but important enough. Confidential clerks engaged on classified work, cypher clerks and so on. Thirty-eight in all.'
'Too many,' Chavasse said. 'Only a really efficient
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