Free Black August by Dennis Wheatley Page A

the fleet out of its Home ports to rendezvous twenty miles south of St. Catherine’s Point—off the Isle of Wight. When they got there it was found that several of the capital ships were so seriously undermanned that, instead of sending them up to Scapa or some place where the malcontents could be dealt with, they ordered them home again; and now the sailors are deserting by the score.’
    â€˜By Jove!’ Kenyon whistled. ‘Then things are a jolly sight worse than we thought.’
    â€˜Well, anyway the Army is all right,’ said Hyde-Symple grimly. ‘But I must be getting back to barracks.’
    As he stood up the footman reappeared. This time with a letter on a silver salver. He presented it to Kenyon and spoke in a low voice. ‘A messenger boy has just delivered a large bunch of flowers, milord, and this note was with them. He said there was no reply.’
    â€˜Thanks, William—excuse me, chaps.’ Kenyon’s face turned a deep shade of crimson as, angry and embarrassed, he turned away to open the letter. It was from Ann and read:
    Dear Lord Fane,
    It was not until this morning that I learned by accident of your identity. You chose to conceal it, no doubt on account of the fact that we move in such different circles—and, since that is the case, no possible good could come to either of us by continuing our acquaintance. I must apologise for the rather stupid remarks which I made about you in the train on the way to Ipswich, as I realise now that they were quite unjustified, but I am returning the flowers you sent me since I prefer to forget the whole episode as soon as possible.
    Yours sincerely,
    ANN CROOME.
    The others had been discussing the effects of the moratorium and Hetherington was confirming the rumours of an approaching bank crisis when Kenyon turned back to them.
    â€˜Whos been bunching you, Kenyon?’ Hay-Symple inquired with a grin, from the door.
    â€˜Oh—er—some flowers that I sent have come back—went to the wrong address, I think,’ he finished lamely.
    Veronica suddenly hooted with laughter. ‘Wrong address myfoot! Just look at him, darlings—do! The poor fish has been turned down by some wench. His face is as red as his hair!’
    â€˜Oh, shut up!’ snapped Kenyon savagely. ‘It’s nothing of the sort.’
    A general titter of amusement ran round the room, but after a moment it sank to a hushed silence. They had caught the voice of a newsboy calling in the square below. Faintly at first—then louder, the harsh cry was wafted up to the strained ears of the listeners.
    â€˜Speshul edition! Speshul! … Speshul! … Decision by the Big Five … Banks Close Down!’

5
The Structure Cracks
    The morning after she had returned Kenyon’s flowers Ann put off getting up till the very last moment and lay thinking about him.
    Perhaps she had been a fool to dash off that note. So many of her thoughts had centred round him since their first meeting, and now she had ended the affair by her own impulsive act. But he had deceived her about himself, and it rankled badly that he had allowed her to say those stupid things about him in the tram. Still, she had apologised for that and Gregory was right of course; Kenyon would only regard her as a fit companion for a few evenings’ amusement. No, she had taken a line, the right line, and she must stick to it even if he tried to open the affair again. She turned over on her tummy and nestled her dark head into the crook of her arm; then a sudden annoying thought struck her. She had forgotten again yesterday to give her ration card to Rudd. That meant no glass of milk for breakfast, and no butter for her bread. The wretched thing had been quite useless to her so far except for her light lunch in the City, although she had taken it out immediately on her return from Orford. If only she could get back to the sleepy peace and security of that little