Jeffrey Archer - Paths Of Glory

“I reckon that above 24,000 feet,” replied Finch, “we will find it almost impossible to breathe. I’ve carried out some experiments at 15,000 feet which showed that with the assistance of bottled oxygen, it’s possible to continue climbing at almost the same rate as at a much lower altitude.”

“But wouldn’t that be cheating, old chap?” asked Ashcroft. “It’s always been our aim to test man’s ability against the elements without resorting to mechanical aids.”

“The last time I heard a similar opinion expressed publicly was at a lecture given by the late Captain Scott in this very building. I’m sure, gentlemen, that you don’t need reminding how that sad adventure ended.”

Everyone on the committee was now staring at Finch as if he was the subject of a Bateman cartoon, but he continued unabashed.

“Scott not only failed to be first to reach the South Pole,” Finch reminded them, “but as you all know only too well, he and the rest of his party perished. Amundsen not only reached the Pole ahead of Scott, but is continuing to lead expeditions to the uncharted places around the globe. Yes, I would like to be the first person to stand on the top of the world, but I would also like to return to London to deliver a lecture on the subject to the Royal Geographical Society.”

It was some time before the next question was asked.

“Allow me to ask you, Mr. Finch,” said Hinks, choosing his words carefully, “does Mr. Mallory agree with you on the use of oxygen?”

“No, he doesn’t,” admitted Finch. “He thinks he can climb Everest without it. But then, he’s a historian, Mr. Hinks, not a scientist.”

“Are there any more questions for this candidate?” asked Sir Francis, looking as if he had already made up his mind on who the committee should select as climbing leader for the expedition.

“Yes, Mr. Chairman,” said Hinks. “There are just one or two matters I’d like to clear up, simply for the record, you understand.” Sir Francis nodded. “Mr. Finch, could you tell the committee where you were born and where you were educated?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” replied Finch. “I have no idea where Mr. Alcock or Mr. Brown was educated, but I do know that they were the first men to fly across the Atlantic, and that they were only able to achieve that, Mr. Hinks, with the help of a mechanical aid known as an airplane.”

Young tried not to smile, although he was no longer in any doubt who the committee would select as climbing leader.

“Be that as it may,” said Hinks, “we at the RGS-”

“Forgive me for interrupting you, Mr. Hinks, but I was under the impression that I was being interviewed by the Everest Committee,” said Finch. “As the Society’s secretary, you signed a minute to that effect.”

“Be that as it may,” repeated Hinks, trying to compose himself, “perhaps you would be kind enough to answer my question.”

Young considered intervening, but remained silent, confident that Finch could handle himself just as well in a committee room as he did on a mountain.

“I was born in Australia, but I was educated in Zurich,” said Finch, “and attended the University of Geneva.”

Ashcroft leaned across the table and whispered to Raeburn, “I had no idea that Geneva had a university. I thought it was just full of banks.”

“And cuckoo clocks,” said Raeburn.

“And what is your profession?” asked Hinks.

“I’m a chemist,” replied Finch. “Which is how I know about the significance of oxygen at high altitude.”

“I always thought chemistry was a hobby,” said Ashcroft, this time loud enough to be heard, “not a profession.”

“Only for children, Commander Ashcroft,” said Finch, looking him straight in the eye.

“And are you a married man, Finch?” asked Raeburn, flicking some ash off the end of his cigar.

“I am a widower,” said Finch, a reply which took Young by surprise.

Hinks scribbled a question mark against marital status .

“And do you have any children?” asked Ashcroft.

“Yes, one son, Peter.”

“Tell me, Finch,” said Raeburn, clipping the end off another cigar, “if you were selected for this important role, would you be willing to pay for your own equipment?”

“Only if I had to,” said Finch. “I am aware that the committee has launched an appeal to raise funds for this expedition, and I assumed that some of that money would be used to equip the climbers.”

“And what about your travel expenses?” pressed Ashcroft.

“Out of the question,” replied Finch. “If I were to take part in the expedition I would be out of work for at least six months, and although I don’t expect any financial recompense for loss of earnings, I see no reason why I should also have to cover my own expenses.”

“So you wouldn’t describe yourself as an amateur, old chap?” said Ashcroft.

“No, sir, I would not. I’m a professional in everything I do.”

“Are you indeed?” said Ashcroft.

“I don’t think we need detain Mr. Finch any longer, gentlemen?” suggested Sir Francis, looking around the table.

“I have some further questions for Mr. Finch,” said Young, unable to maintain his silence any longer.

“But surely you know everything you need to know about Mr. Finch.” said Hinks. “You’ve known this candidate for years.”

“I have indeed, but the rest of the committee has not, and I suspect they might find Mr. Finch’s answers to my questions illuminating. Mr. Finch,” said Young, turning to face the candidate, “have you ever climbed Mont Blanc, the highest mountain in Europe?”

“On seven occasions,” replied Finch.

“And the Matterhorn?”

“Three times.”

“And any of the other major peaks in the Alps?”

“All of them. I climb in the Alps every year.”

“And what about the highest mountains in the British Isles?”

“I gave them up before I was out of short trousers.”

“This is all on the record, Mr. Chairman,” said Hinks.

“For those who’ve taken the trouble to read it,” retorted Young, un-perturbed. “Can I confirm, Mr. Finch, that after completing your education in Geneva, you took up a place as an undergraduate at Imperial College, London?”

“That is correct,” confirmed Finch.

“And what subject did you read?”

“Chemistry,” replied Finch, having decided to play along with Young’s little ruse.

“What class of degree did that august establishment award you?”

“A first-class honors degree,” said Finch, smiling for the first time.

“And did you remain at London University after you had graduated?” asked Young.

“Yes, I did,” said Finch. “I joined the staff as a lecturer in chemistry.”

“And did you remain in that position after the war broke out, Mr. Finch, or did you, like Mr. Mallory, enlist in the armed forces?”

“I enlisted in the army in August 1914, a few days after war was declared.”

“And in which branch of the army did you serve?” asked Young.

“As a chemist,” replied Finch, looking directly at Ashcroft, “I felt my expertise could be put to good use by volunteering for the bomb disposal squad.”

“Bomb disposal squad,” said Young, emphasizing all three words. “Can you elaborate?”

“Certainly, Mr. Young. The War Office was looking for men to defuse unexploded bombs. Quite fun really.”

“So you never saw action on the front line?” said Hinks.

“No, Mr. Hinks, I did not. I found that German bombs had a tendency to fall on our side of the line, not theirs.”

“And were you ever decorated?” asked Hinks, leafing through his notes.

Young smiled. The first mistake Hinks had made.