And Is There Honey Still For Tea? by Peter Murphy Page B

was, in theory, a secret withheld from the public. But anyone with a serious interest in military or intelligence affairs knew, or could discover without undue difficulty, that the current C was Dick White, a former police officer who had previously served as chief of the domestic intelligence service MI5. Relations between the two services had come under considerable strain since the defections of Burgess and Maclean, largely because of MI5’s perception that MI6 preferred to rely on breeding and pedigree, and the old boy network, than on objective personal assessments in recruiting its officers and deciding how far to trust them. White’s appointment in 1956 had been designed partly to ensure that the two services could work efficiently together, and he had achieved some success. White was regarded by some of Baxter’s colleagues as too much of a boy scout, insufficiently innovative and too risk-averse to be an effective leader of a traditionally swashbuckling service, which understood that it could not provide real intelligence without breaking a few rules. But his masters in Whitehall, who had by now become wary of breaking rules, saw him as a safe pair of hands and welcomed his caution. His predecessor, John Sinclair, had resigned over the officially unexplained death of the diver ‘Buster’ Crabb, almost certainly during an operation to inspect the hull of a Soviet warship moored in Portsmouth harbour as the guest of the British Government, an operation which had been specifically forbidden by the relevant Minister. Whitehall looked to White to clamp down on that particular kind of swashbuckling in future.
    White had come in on this Saturday morning especially to meet Baxter, even though Professor Francis R Hollander did not exactly constitute a national emergency. The defections of Burgess and Maclean and, more recently, Kim Philby, had left an indelible imprint on the psyche of the Service and, despite its recent successes in arresting and prosecuting spies and dismantling several Soviet networks, any hint of internal sabotage was taken very seriously. White knew things about the departed spies, and about others such as Anthony Blunt, which were not yet known even to his political masters, and which would turn their hair white if they were to be told. The case of James Digby had a similar potential, but it was at risk of being played out on a very public stage. White was determined to prevent that from happening. He needed to know exactly what was going on, and to take any steps necessary to prevent yet another blow to his Service.
    Baxter declined coffee. He had already drunk enough for the day at St Ermin’s. C had dressed down for the occasion in a dark brown sports jacket, grey slacks and a green and yellow tie over a darker green shirt. He was seated in the armchair behind his desk, a copy of the Daily Telegraph , carefully folded, on the desk in front of him. The building was deathly quiet. One or two officers, including the duty officer, one or two secretaries, and the duty librarian, were finding themselves something useful to do in various corners, but otherwise the place was deserted. Baxter hated it like this. It gave him the creeps. He thrived on the bustle and energy which permeated the building during the working week. At weekends it had an aura of decay about it.
    â€˜Julia thinks Hollander has no evidence against Digby that would stand up in court,’ Baxter began. ‘She didn’t say it in quite so many words, but that was the effect of it.’
    â€˜Really?’ White asked. He turned his swivel chair halfway round towards his window, then back again. ‘Then he has behaved rather rashly, hasn’t he?’
    â€˜Yes. I am sure counsel will have left Hollander in no doubt that he is likely to go down in flames if it goes to court, and that if he tries to defend his article as being true, the only result will be that the damages will be even greater than