Fatal Enquiry (16 page)

“We discussed this plan years ago, didn’t we, before India became part of the Empire?” Barker asked. “If Tibet falls, Nepal would be sandwiched between British colonies and could be easily taken. The other countries in the region would fall like dominoes. It is a sound plan, I must admit. It’s dangerous, certainly, but then you always did enjoy a little risk in your endeavors.”

Nightwine flicked the ash from his cigarette into a glass tray. “It’s nice to know there is someone who understands me as well as you.”

“I understand you perfectly. Of course, you are not going to succeed. I intend to stop you.”

Nightwine considered this. “You’re welcome to try, but I warn you, it shan’t be as easy as your little trick at the dock. For one thing, you’ve acquired a lot of human baggage about you.” So saying, he trained the pistol on me. “You know, you really need to do something about this assistant of yours. He’s far too pretty. He just doesn’t lend that level of gravitas a private enquiry agency requires. You should leave him with me sometime. I’ll plane off some of his more delicate features.”

“Thank you, Sebastian, but I believe we shall keep Mr. Llewelyn as he is,” Barker murmured.

“Suit yourself,” he said, curling his lip in a sneer.

“This scheme of yours is vast and complicated,” the Guv continued. “The odds against your success are astronomical. You are far more likely to take an arrow to the chest or fall down a crevasse in the attempt.”

“Spare me the false concern for my welfare, Cyrus. Don’t you ever grow tired of trying to spoil people’s plans? Are you too unimaginative to think up any of your own?”

“As I recall,” Barker countered, “I did make plans. I came to London and opened a respectable agency. I bought a house and an office, I hired an assistant. I put away schemes. This plan of yours, brilliant as it is, is merely a pipe dream.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. It is my pension. I’ve proven to Her Majesty’s government that I’m an officer in whom it can give its trust.”

“I rather think you will disappoint them, Sebastian. It’s always been part of your character to deal from the bottom of the deck. As I recall, when you told me the first version of this master plan of yours years ago, you intended to sell Tibet to the highest bidder.”

“Do you doubt my patriotism?” he asked mockingly. “Britain, my home country, will be given first choice. Surely you don’t intend for me to be more generous than that.”

“And if China or Russia offers more?” I asked.

“Then Britain will simply have to make a higher offer. It is the way of the marketplace. There is nothing wrong with trying to get the most for one’s assets.”

“It’s not going to work,” Cyrus Barker said.

“That’s right. You’re going to stop me. In case you haven’t noticed, you are incapable of stopping so much as a nosebleed. Your accounts are blocked, this morning I doubled the price on your head, and there is no man willing to call you friend.”

“I have more friends than you think, Sebastian.”

“Then you should warn them to avoid you during the present crisis. This is not a safe time to have Cyrus Barker for a friend.”

“I’ll be sure to pass on the warning.”

“I hope you enjoy being chased out of churches and off barges, not knowing where your next meal is coming from. That packet of money you made in China has not insulated you from the hard times in life. It has been a fine recompense for the public humiliation you afforded me at St. Katharine Docks by the moneylenders.”

“If I had not humiliated you, would you have still laid this false trail and put a price on my head?” Barker asked.

“You left your dagger behind before. It seemed a shame not to use it. Let me ask you this in return. If I had not put Scotland Yard on your tail, would you have allowed me to transact business with the Foreign Office free from interference?”

“Not a chance.”

There was a sudden knock at the door. I hazarded a guess that it was the detective who had realized he’d been duped.

“There you are, then. It appears this meeting is at an end.”

Barker stood and I followed his lead, wondering if we were just going to stroll out the door like club members.

Nightwine put out his cigarette. “I’m not sorry I had him killed, you know.”

Cautiously, I turned to my employer. He suddenly had the admission of guilt he had waited for. I studied his face in that moment, wondering what his reaction would be. Barker was coiled, ready to snap.

“My brother, or Andrew McClain?”

“Finally hit a nerve, have I?” Nightwine said.

The knocking increased in volume until it was pounding. If I knew Scotland Yard bureaucracy, the detective would have to get permission before breaking down the door.

It was a fine door, white, with various panels. It seemed a shame to damage it.

“I believe that is our cue to leave, lad,” Barker said.

He crossed to a window and lifted the sash. It had begun raining and wind and rain came spattering in, lifting Nightwine’s maps momentarily, so he was forced to hold them down. By the time I reached the window Barker had already jumped out. I saw him land on the street below. Looking down at the ten-foot drop, I wondered if I would break my leg.

The door burst open behind me and I jumped. Barker steadied me as I landed on the hard and uneven cobblestones. My feet hurt like the devil, but I didn’t injure myself permanently. While the detective yelled overhead, the two of us sprinted down Pall Mall Street. When we finally stopped, we raised our collars and thrust our hands into our pockets, headed toward Waterloo Bridge and the relative safety of the Surrey side.

“I thought you were going to explode in there.”

“I very nearly did.”

“That man wants your guts for garters,” I remarked, as we trotted along in the rain. “What did we accomplish by going there? We came within a hairsbreadth of being arrested.”

Barker stopped and shook his head like a dog, sending droplets everywhere. “I went because I wanted to prove to him that I was not afraid of him and he was still vulnerable.

“We both know that this is the time and place we shall end our twenty-five-year feud.”

“Is there any chance of getting some food today? My stomach’s wrapped around my backbone.”

“You worry too much about the condition of your stomach.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s been my loyal friend these many years.”

“When we get back, perhaps you can sell my old suit for enough to fill your belly tonight.”

“What about you? You’ve got to keep up your strength, you know.”

We marched in a steady downpour, the rain drizzling down the backs of our necks. I’m not a hardship sort of fellow. If I had known I would become a private enquiry agent, instead of the poet or university don I’d set my cap to, I would have better prepared myself.

“What provoked this sudden return to the West on Nightwine’s part?”

“I would say he received a positive response to his query regarding an expedition to Lhasa. I do not believe it is the idea that was so new. Rather, it is the maps he had gathered. No European has successfully cartographed the Himalayas before. It is a blank on the map.”

“And now that he is here, he is taking advantage of the situation to settle your dispute once and for all.”

“Aye,” Barker called out over the rain. “He would not be able to enjoy his retirement knowing I would come after him.”

“Would you?” I asked. “Go after him, I mean? As far as Tibet or China?”

“Of course!” he cried, as the downpour became a deluge. “I’m no more able to leave this matter unfinished than he is!”

A little over an hour later, I sat on the edge of the bed, clad once more in a blanket. My clothes hung over the fender of the fireplace drying out. Tea was brewing on the hob, and we had cheese and biscuits on the desk after a successful barter with the pawnbroker. The Guv lay cocooned again, sodden as he was, and I could almost see vapor rising from the hammock.

“I’d give half my estate right now for a pipe and a tin of Astley’s Cavendish,” he remarked.

“Are we finally running out of people to see and places to investigate, sir? I think I’m getting a blister.”

“You’ll get worse than that before this case is done,” he replied.

Not
You poor lad.
Not
Take the rest of the day off,
though, as a matter of fact, we did, if only because the rain continued to pour down on London and we had no money for a cab.

“Perhaps in a day or so you would enjoy a visit to the Reading Room at the British Museum. I would like you to investigate Shambhala for me.”

“That sounds intriguing.”

“I think I should send you along to see Anderson, as well.”

“Robert Anderson? The spymaster general? Why would he want to see me?”

“A week ago you probably wouldn’t have been permitted, but your present notoriety might work in our favor.”

“It might get me arrested instead.”

“Then you can rest comfortably in a cell while your blister heals.”

“‘O frabjous day,’” I quoted.

“I beg pardon?”

“Nothing, sir.”

I got up and hobbled to the fireplace. My suit was taking a remarkably long time to dry and the chamber had begun to smell like wet sheep. The kettle began to whistle.

“Tea’s ready,” I said. “You are going to eat something today, aren’t you?”

There was no comment from the hammock.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The next morning the storm had rolled off toward the Continent, leaving everything bedewed and smelling of loam. I had done the best I could with a suit which had been drenched several times, a thrice-used collar, and a tie that had traveled from Canton while I was still in public school. I was going to see Robert Anderson, but not without misgivings.

“Why should we expect him to reveal anything to us, sir?” I argued. “He didn’t ask for me to come and probably feels I have nothing to offer him.”

“Then you must disabuse him of that opinion. What I have told you to say I would be interested in hearing, were I in his position.”

“But suppose he gives me nothing in return?”

“Really, Thomas, you must work these things out for yourself. Balk! Stay seated in his chair, an impediment to the day’s activities, until he either has you thrown out or finally opens his mouth.”

“What if he doesn’t know anything? I mean, his concern is the Irish threat. He has nothing to do with matters in Tibet.”

“Since when have you been an authority on the duties of the spymaster general? Do you suppose he is not concerned about a matter which could potentially enlarge the British Empire a hundredfold?”

“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I see your point.”

“We should have sold the tea kettle and bought a new collar,” he went on, eyeing me critically.

“I would have liked a shoeshine, as well,” I said. “It can’t be helped.”

“Good luck, lad,” Barker said, patting my shoulder.

“I thought you didn’t believe in luck,” I answered.

I crossed at Westminster Bridge, aware that I was not far from where this case had first begun. I could look over and see an engine steaming across the Charing Cross Bridge. I assumed Jenkins had opened the offices as always in Craig’s Court. What day was it? It was so easy to lose track when one is on the run. By my calculations, it was Friday, April 9. Officially, we had been wanted men for five days. Generally, the Guv likes to finish a case within two weeks’ time, though I seriously doubted he would make his self-determined deadline this time.

Entering the combined chambers of the Home and Foreign Office, I went up to the sentinel who guarded the building from anyone attempting to enter without proper authority. Pulling a piece of paper from my pocket, I borrowed a pen and wrote the words
RE: Shambhala expedition. T. Llewelyn
on it. I handed it to the guard, a stocky, ginger-haired fellow with a florid face.

“Give this to Robert Anderson,” I said.

The man frowned at me and I understood why. One doesn’t simply demand to see the spymaster general of all the British Empire without an appointment. Also, I was rather certain he recognized my name, for I had seen this particular Cerberus before. After some hesitation he pointed a pudgy finger at a bench, and stepping to a door, he conferred with a colleague before handing over my paper. Then he returned to his desk. Nothing happened for the next twenty minutes. The wheels of British government grind exceedingly slow, but finally, a civil servant, possibly the one he had spoken to, came and fetched me. As I passed I looked into the piercing blue eyes of the guard and he eyed me shrewdly. I was surprised at my own gall, but it was too late to turn back now.

Anderson was seated in his office, looking slightly harried and a bit grayer than when I had seen him last, when we had investigated a faction of Irish bombers. His office was Spartan and not particularly large, decorated with a Union Jack on a pole and a cross on the wall made of olive wood. I supposed the two represented what he stood for, God and Country.

“I’m not in the habit of speaking to wanted men, Mr. Llewelyn,” he warned, writing as he spoke. “You should not be here. What do you want?”

“I won’t take up much of your time. I was wondering if you could tell me the name of the gentleman leading this expedition to Tibet.”

His pen paused briefly, stabbed itself into his inkwell and went on writing.

“I couldn’t possibly answer that question. The names of our agents are confidential for obvious reasons. Besides, I have no idea what you will do with the information.”

I would not be deterred so easily. “Very well. Do you think if I inferred that said agent was Sebastian Nightwine, I would be far off the mark? You needn’t say anything. Just tap your nose with your pen.”

“You have a gift for facetiousness, Mr. Llewelyn, which is liable to get you into trouble.”

“I must take that as a ‘no,’ then. Fine. The consequences be on your head.” I rose as if to go.

“Sit down,” he commanded. “To what consequences do you refer?”

“I scarce can say, and certainly would not hazard a guess. I’m sure you know that he is very dangerous. If you can explain to me why Her Majesty’s government is plotting the takeover of Tibet with a man who has a file at Scotland Yard two inches thick, I’ll be on my way.”