Stone's Fall

'Nonetheless, I must talk to him. Ah. Here comes Mr Williams. Perhaps he will be able to tell me . . .'

'33Wellington Street. That's where he lives,' he said hurriedly. 'Please . . .'

'Not a word,' I whispered back.

And then Mr Williams came within earshot and that was the end of the conversation, but in some ways it was the most interesting part yet of my visit. A pity I hadn't had more time with the young man, who seemed serious and observant.

'I'm surprised you let me in there,' I remarked as we went back to the cab. 'I mean, I read in the newspapers all about spies trying to steal secrets about guns and things.'

Mr Williams laughed. 'Oh, steal away, if you wish. There is nothing you have seen which is so very secret. What a gun looks like tells you nothing. It is how the metal is made, how the hydraulics work, how it is aimed. That's where the true secrets lie. And we are careful about that. Except for the gun-metal part.'

'Why?'

He winked, and bent towards me conspiratorially. 'Because the Germans already know.'

'How come?' I asked, eager to hear a tale of espionage.

'Because they invented the process. We stole it from them.' He leaned back his head and chuckled. 'They're the best in the world at that, the Germans. Very advanced.'

'So you have spies in Germany?'

'Oh, good heavens no. Lord Ravenscliff had shareholdings. That is very much better. He had a substantial shareholding in Krupp's, the German steel company. Not in his own name, of course; through an intermediary bank in Hamburg. They were able to obtain whatever he wanted. And Schneider in France.'

I was astonished. I didn't think it worked like that at all. 'But secret processes from here are not learned by the Germans by the same methods in reverse?'

Mr Williams looked shocked. 'Of course not. His Lordship was an Englishman, and a patriot.'

Fair enough, I thought. On the other hand, what about that tale Seyd had told me, about building submarines for the Russians? How patriotic was that?

'So tell me, Mr Braddock,' the manager said as we headed back to the factory gate, 'what did you find most impressive about Beswick? Anson, I imagine.'

I considered. 'Certainly it is a staggering sight,' I said. 'Quite beyond belief, really. It was worth the journey just to see it. But, oddly, I do not think that was the most impressive. I think the fact that this yard exists, and can produce such a thing more remarkable still. The idea that anyone can organise this anthill of a place is the most surprising.'

I had said the right thing. Williams almost glowed at my words.

'That was Lord Ravenscliff's genius, and why the greatest compliment to his skill is to say he will not be missed. Do not misunderstand me,' he said with a smile as I raised an eyebrow. 'It is what he wanted. To create an organisation so perfect it could run by itself, or rather with only the managers, each of whom knows their business. I believe he succeeded.'

'How so?'

'The job of any company is to make as much profit as possible. As long as that is the main aim of the managers, then there is no need to direct them. They will, collectively, take the right decisions.'

'And you will soon find out whether that is the case.'

We had arrived by the gate. A cab, one of several, was waiting patiently to take me back into the centre of Newcastle. Williams courteously held the door for me as I got in.

'Indeed. It will be very interesting. Have a safe journey back to London. I hope you have enjoyed yourself.'

CHAPTER 23

At eight o'clock, after a rapid meal, I left once more, this time walking away from the works and into the rows of houses to the west of the city centre. Mr James Steptoe lived somewhere in that rabbit warren. It was a dreary journey, into monotonous red-brick streets, each house exactly the same as the next, all built, I suspected, by the works and for the works. Each had a door and two windows facing the street. All the doors were green, all the windows brown. There were no trees, few patches of green, and surprisingly few pubs; I supposed that the works had intervened there as well and banned such places in order to keep its workforce sober and efficient. Or it was looking after its health, and acting responsibly. Take your pick.

But it was neat and well ordered, no doubt about that, and a few streets of newer houses showed signs of a different way of thinking. Curved porches, more fanciful roofs. Small enough, and mean enough, no doubt, but a place to live and be comfortable. There were churches and schools and shops, all laid out with thought and care. I had seen very much worse in the East End, which was a hellish, confused nightmare in comparison with this disciplined, uniform place which, if it was a barracks, at least allowed its occupants to pretend.