Free The Soldier's Art by Anthony Powell Page A

woman when he won the Military Medal’.”
    “How does he
know? – some old women are very tough.”
    “I replied in
the most respectful manner that Diplock won the M.M. a long time ago,” said
Widmerpool, ignoring this facetiousness. “That I was only referring to his
present fumbling about with A.C.I.s, Ten-Ninety-Eights, every other bit of
bumph he can lay his hands on, especially when something is needed in a hurry.
I suppose Hogbourne-Johnson thought he was snubbing me. He gave that curious
snarling laugh of his.”
    This slight
brush had taken place before Widmerpool’s more disastrous encounter with the
Colonel. It illustrated not only Widmerpool’s retention, in certain respects,
of civilian values, but also his occasional lack of grasp of some quite obvious
matter. Even in civilian life, a frontal attack would have been ill-judged in
approaching a relationship in a business firm such as Hogbourne-Johnson’s with
Diplock. It was not going to alter the stranglehold Diplock enjoyed on
Hogbourne-Johnson. At the same time, the fact that Widmerpool felt it possible
to offer that remark about Diplock at all, absolved him from any suggestion of
later deliberately assailing the Colonel through insidious attack by way of his
own chief clerk. Widmerpool had already decided Diplock was unsatisfactory.
When the time came, of course, he was not blind to pleasure derived from that
method, but he did not contrive it of sheer malice. Once the ball was rolling,
as D.A.A.G., he had no alternative but to follow up suspicions aroused.
    That even the
lightest of such suspicions should have come into being on the subject of Mr.
Diplock behaving in an irregular manner might seem out of the question; far
less, that there should be indications he was embezzling government funds.
However, that was how things began to look. Possibly so much rectitude in
observing the letter of the law in matters of daily routine required,
psychologically speaking, release in another direction. General Conyers had
been fond of expatiating on something of the sort. Anyway, the affair opened by
Widmerpool saying one day, soon after the three-day exercise, that he was not
satisfied with the financial administration of the H.Q. Sergeants’ Mess.
    “Something
funny is going on there,” he said. “Diplock is at the bottom of it, I’m sure. I’ve
told those Mess treasurers time and again to take the bottle from the cellar
account and charge it to the bar account. They never seem to understand. In
Diplock’s case, it looks to me as if he
won’t
understand.”
    These doubts were not set at rest as the
weeks passed. Not long after
Widmerpool made this comment, several small sums of money disappeared from places
where they had been deposited.
    “I’ve
recommended that cash-boxes be screwed to the floor,” said Widmerpool. “At
least you know then where they’ve
been left. Diplock put all sorts of difficulties in the way, but I insisted.”
    “Have you
mentioned these losses higher up?”
    “I had a word
with Pedlar, who didn’t at all agree with what I am beginning to wonder – I try
to have as few direct dealings as possible now with Hogbourne-Johnson. I am
well aware I should not receive a sympathetic hearing there. It will be a smack
in the eye for him if my suspicions turn out to be correct.”
    Then it
appeared, in addition to the Sergeants’ Mess, something unsatisfactory was
afoot in connection with the Commuted Ration Allowance.
    “Mark my
words,” said Widmerpool. “This is all going to link up. What I require is
evidence. As a start, you will go out to the Supply Column tomorrow and make a
few enquiries. I must have facts and figures. As you are to be travelling in
that direction, it will be a good opportunity to explain those instructions I
have here just issued to RA.S.C. sub-units. You can go on to the Ammunition
Company and the Petrol Company, after you’ve gathered the other information.
Take haversack rations, as they’re some