Read At Some Disputed Barricade for Free Online Page B

behind such a sentiment is dead. He was killed at sea, in the Battle of Jutland, last year.”
    None of the fear left Corracher’s face; if anything, it increased. “Possibly.” His voice was flat.
    “I was there. There can be no doubt.” Matthew remembered the German destroyer looming out of the darkness, the earsplitting sound as the huge twelve-inch naval guns on the deck of the
Cormorant
exploded, the searing fire belowdecks, magazines on fire, the stench of burning corticine, shattered glass, and smoke. Most of all he remembered Patrick Hannassey’s face as he stood with the prototype of the missile guidance system in his arms and hurled it down. He had turned to leap to the German ship that had rammed them and been carried away and back again by the sea, crashing into them over and over. Matthew had lunged after Hannassey. He could not afford to let him go with the knowledge he had of their scientific failure. He had locked with him, struggled, and won. He could still see Hannassey going over the side, whirling for an instant in the air, lit by the flames of the burning ship, arms and legs flailing. Then the German destroyer had heaved up on the wave and smashed into the
Cormorant
again, crushing Hannassey like a fly.
    Corracher was staring at him, eyes wide. “Oh…” he gulped. “Then he…he can’t have been alone in the cause.”
    Matthew’s emotions were too raw with the memory for him to argue. Hannassey was the only man he had ever killed with his own hands, but it was the knowledge of what happened to Detta that wounded him. She was the Peacemaker’s daughter. Of course long before he knew that, he had known she was an Irish Nationalist, just as she had known he was in British Intelligence. They had used each other. That did not stop him from loving her, or feeling the pain twist in his gut because he had beaten her at the game of betrayal. Her own people had crippled her in punishment for losing. Beautiful Detta—who had walked with such dark and subtle grace.
    “Exactly what is it you want to tell me, Mr. Corracher?” Pain was jagged in his voice. “There have always been traitors and profiteers. Unless you come about someone of whose acts you have proof, there is nothing I can do. Perhaps it is a police matter rather than intelligence?”
    Corracher appeared to come to some decision. The embarrassment in his face was acute, but this time he did not hesitate.
    “I have worked hard and had some success in persuading the independent elements in Hungary to swing to the allied side. But they are my contacts, my mother’s family, and others they knew among the Hungarian aristocracy, who trust me. But I have been a voice within the cabinet against any kind of softening or appeasement,” he went on. “One of the few left.” He swallowed with difficulty, as if his throat was tight. “I am about to be charged with a crime I did not commit, but the evidence against me is overwhelming. Mr. Lloyd George will have no choice but to dismiss me from office, and leave the criminal prosecution to take what course it will.” His voice cracked. “It is unlikely that I will escape prison. But even with the best legal defense I can find, if I am cleared it will not remove the slur from my name, or the suspicion that I was guilty.”
    Matthew felt the anger grow within him. If the man really was innocent, it was appalling. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “How can Intelligence help you? Do you know who is behind it?”
    Corracher’s eyes reflected an emotional exhaustion that was crippling. “If you mean names, I have no idea,” he replied. “I don’t believe there is anything you can do. I’m not seeking your help, Major Reavley, I am giving you information. I am not the only person to whom this has happened. Other men with views inconvenient to some have left office for one reason or another. Kemp was killed in a zeppelin raid last autumn. Newell resigned, no real reason given. And Wheatcroft is