Strange Conflict by Dennis Wheatley Page A

blitzkrieg so de Richleau’s guests decided to set off for home before it flared up again.
    On the following day the Duke lunched with the Admiral and a naval staff-captain, at Sir Pellinore’s mansion in Carlton House Terrace. The Admiral was square-chinned, paunchy and bald; the Captain a merry-eyed man with sparse brown hair and a fine, broad forehead.
    They held a long discussion, and afterwards examined a number of large-scale charts of the Western and Northwestern Approaches which the naval officers had brought with them. The situation was considerably worse than de Richleau had imagined and he questioned the Admiral as to how many people actually had access to each route planned before it was handed to the officer commanding a convoy.
    The Admiral jerked his pink, bald head towards the Captain. ‘Nobody except Fennimere and myself. We plot the routes together, taking into consideration the latest information regarding enemy forces in each locality; then Fennimere writes the orders out by hand, so that there is no question of even a confidential typist being involved. The orders are sealed in a canvas-lined envelope which is weighted with lead so that it can be thrown into the sea and will sink immediately in the event of an emergency. It is then locked in a steel despatch-box which Fennimere personally takes to the port from which the convoy is proceeding. He hands it over to the officer commanding the escort, who in turn hands it to the officer commanding the convoy—but only when the convoy is already several hundred miles out and the escort is about to return to port. In this manner even the officer commanding the convoy cannot possibly know what route he is to take until he is actually at sea, since the sealed orders do not even pass into his possession until the escort is about to leave him.’
    â€˜That certainly narrows the field,’ said the Duke, ‘and Idon’t see how you could possibly take any greater precautions.’
    The Admiral shrugged wearily. ‘Neither do I. The problem as to how they get their information defeats me utterly, and you’ll be doing us an immense service if only you can put your finger upon the place where the leakage occurs.’
    â€˜You see,’ added Fennimere, ‘even if one of the officers commanding a convoy were a traitor and had a secret wireless apparatus by which he could inform the enemy of his approximate position twenty-four hours after the escort had left him, that does not solve the problem, because it postulates that every officer commanding a convoy is a traitor—which is manifestly absurd.’
    â€˜Yes, I appreciate that,’ the Duke agreed. ‘Therefore the leakage must occur in London, where the routes of all convoys are settled. May I have your private address?’
    The Captain looked a little surprised, but the Admiral smiled. ‘He’s perfectly logical in assuming that it must be you or I, Fennimere, and since the Intelligence people have been shadowing both of us for weeks what does one more sleuth matter?—in fact the more the better. If only they would provide a couple of attractive young women to sleep with us each night our innocence would be proved conclusively.’
    â€˜Of course you’re right, sir,’ Fennimere laughed. ‘I’m quite used to tripping over detectives wherever I go now, so if His Grace pops out of the bathroom cupboard one morning I shan’t mind a bit.’ He turned to de Richleau. ‘I’ve taken a temporary lease of a flat, No. 43, North Gate Mansions, Regent’s Park, and the Admiral has a house, No. 22, Orme Square, Bayswater.’
    â€˜If you’d care to look over the place any time,’ the Admiral suggested, ‘I’ll leave word with my wife that you’re to have the run of it for as long as you like.’
    â€˜The same goes for my flat,’ added the Captain.
    â€˜Thank you, gentlemen, but I only asked