So it was that Max learnt of all that had occurred in his absence. There was much to relate and much also to understand.
If Max had ever doubted Farngold was the key to the mystery that had claimed his father’s life – and come close to claiming his and Sam’s too – he doubted it no longer after hearing what Sam had to tell him. Jack Farngold and his dead sister, Matilda, once married to Count Tomura, were links in a chain that led from the past – the past of Sir Henry Maxted and Fritz Lemmer as well as Count Tomura – to the present: from Tokyo, thirty years before, to Paris, on the second night of May, 1919. The chain could not be seen. The hands that had forged it were unknown. But it was there, as real and hard as iron.
For his own part, Max disclosed little of what he had done in the month since he had last been in Paris and Sam did not press him for details. He knew without Max having to tell him that Max had done everything he could to draw Lemmer’s sting – so far with only limited success. ‘I’m looking for his secretary, Sam. She’s with the German delegation. Appleby agrees with me she may have the information we need to round up all the spies Lemmer’s recruited over the years.’
‘Good luck with that, sir. Anything I can do to help . . .’
‘You’ve done enough, I should say.’
‘But not enough to get the better of Count Tomura and his sewer-rat of a son. Someone else did that.’
‘Yes. But who? And how?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
‘Well, for what my guess is worth, I suspect Count Tomura backed down because of his involvement with the Farngolds. Lemmer knows all about it, as far as I can gather. It’s possible he forced Tomura’s hand to ensure the Count’s problems didn’t complicate his grand strategy.’
‘And what is his grand strategy, sir?’
‘He has a spy network for sale. Maybe the Japanese are the buyers. My aim is to see he soon has no network left to sell.’
‘What about le Singe, sir? He gave us the documents to punish Tomura for letting his son kill Soutine. But the documents are back with the Japanese now and Tomura’s taking himself off home. That isn’t going to satisfy le Singe, is it?’
‘I can’t worry about him, Sam. I have too many other things to worry about.’
‘’Course you do. Such as your uncle. Are you going to see him? I phoned the hospital earlier. They said he’d left – gone back to his hotel. The Mirabeau, in Rue de la Pay.’
Max pondered the question. Why he should be reluctant to visit George he was not sure, but reluctant he was. The old boy would encourage him to contact his mother. And that he did not want to do. To succeed he required insulation from sentiment. His instinct was to stay away.
But instinct could not rule. The Farngold secret amounted to far more than had been revealed by the documents le Singe had supplied. It had to. And Sir Henry had known what it was. There was a chance Lady Maxted knew as well, whether she was aware of it or not. And what she knew George was likely to know also, as her closest confidant by far.
‘I should see him, Sam, yes. I’m sorry. We may have to postpone that drink.’
En route to the Mirabeau, Max passed close to the Plaza-Athénée and thought of his father’s old friend Baltazar Ribeiro. It was clear from what Morahan had told Sam about his dealings with Sir Henry that Ribeiro had lied to them. He and Sir Henry had cooked up the fable of buying land in Amazonia for a rubber plantation to explain away Sir Henry’s money-raising efforts if the need arose, as later it did. Ribeiro had stuck loyally to the story, as agreed. He had probably hated doing it, but he had done it nonetheless.
What would he say now if Max confronted him? It was doubtful Sir Henry had entrusted him with the Farngold secret, if only to spare him the possession of dangerous information. Even if Ribeiro did know the truth, he would deny it. Max would gain nothing from the encounter, except confirmation that his father had chosen his friends wisely. Morahan’s behaviour underlined the point. He had kept silent out of loyalty to Sir Henry – until it was no longer feasible to do so.
‘What’s it all about, Pa?’ Max murmured to himself as he walked on. ‘Who is Tomura holding? And why didn’t you want anyone else going after them?’
At the Mirabeau, a surprise awaited Max, though one he realized at once he should have anticipated. Asking after George Clissold without volunteering he was his nephew, Max was informed Monsieur Clissold was in the restaurant – with his sister.
‘His sister? Lady Maxted’s here?’
‘
Oui, monsieur
. You know ’er also?’
‘Yes. But, er, I won’t interrupt their dinner.’
‘May I give them your name?’
Max smiled blithely. ‘That won’t be necessary.’
News of his mother’s presence had taken Max aback. A suspicion had formed instantly in his mind at the mention of her name. Travelling to Paris after learning George had run into trouble was natural enough. That was not the issue. The issue was Farngold. Sam and Morahan had learnt all they knew of the Farngolds from the documents le Singe had supplied to them. George had said nothing about them. During his interrogation by Noburo Tomura, the Farngolds had evidently never been mentioned. But was that really true? In view of the importance of the subject to Count Tomura, it seemed unlikely – it seemed unbelievable, in fact – that his son, who was also Matilda Farngold’s son, had failed to ask George if he had heard of the name. It was the question that mattered above all others. Yet, according to George, it had not been asked.
Suddenly, Max experienced a jolt of certainty. The question had been asked. Oh yes. It had been asked.
He headed nonchalantly along the hallway past the restaurant and lingered by the door, where a menu was displayed for perusal. The restaurant was no more than half full. From where he stood he could see most of the tables.
There they were. His mother and Uncle George. They looked much like other pairs of diners, conversing quietly as they ate. George was holding himself stiffly, as a man with a broken rib was apt to. His left forefinger was heavily bandaged. He had been through it, no question. Max felt sorry for him. George was too loyal to his sister for his own good.
He saw his mother shake her head then at something George said. Max recognized the gesture in all its subtlety. It was not meant to convey disagreement or impatience. The purse-lipped smile that accompanied it told all. It meant:
There is nothing to worry about
. It meant:
I have settled the matter
.
In that moment, Max knew for certain. He knew it as he studied the glance that passed between his mother and her brother. They were each other’s oldest ally. But Max understood them too well to be deceived. They were not worried. They were not worried in the slightest. They already knew Count Tomura was leaving Paris. And they knew why.
Farngold was the reason. Lady Maxted was privy to Tomura’s secret. So was George. It was the threat that had seen him off. They
knew
. But they would never tell.
Lady Maxted had settled the matter. In her own particular way.
But it was not settled. Max would be damned if it was.
He turned then and walked away.
WHETHER THE HOTEL
clerk would alert George to Max’s Visit to the Mirabeau, or describe him well enough for George to realize who he was, was out of Max’s hands. He did not propose to force his uncle and mother to lie to him, confident as he was that they would if they felt they had to. Sir Henry had been aware of the risks he was running and had engaged Ribeiro’s services to cover his tracks because he wanted to ensure Max did not try to finish what he had started. Lady Maxted wanted the same. She would never admit there was a secret, held captive, perhaps with Jack Farngold in Japan, for Max to pursue. She would do everything she could to save him from that.
But Max did not want to be saved. The cards he held he would play. Lemmer had to be stopped. In stopping him, Max hoped to uncover the truth about the Farngolds. And then . . .
But he could not look so far ahead. The war had taught him to study only the sky he flew through. All he knew for a fact was that he had come this far. And he was not about to turn back.
The reception desk at Max’s hotel was unattended. But the lobby was not empty. Sam was waiting for him.
‘There you are, sir. Thought I’d have to hang around a good bit longer. Short and sweet with your uncle, was it? He was probably—’
‘I didn’t speak to him, Sam.’
‘You didn’t? Too tired, was he?’
‘I thought better of it. Now, what are you doing here?’
‘Something I forgot to tell you earlier. I didn’t reckon it could wait.’
‘Let’s discuss it over that drink I promised you, then. There are plenty of bars around here.’
Plenty of bars there were, most of them insalubrious. But insalubrity promised anonymity. And Max was in need of that. He was also in need of confirmation that George knew more than he was telling about the Farngolds, so no sooner did they have glasses in their hands at the murky counter of the first establishment they came to than Max asked Sam if he would do something for him.
‘I want you to speak to my uncle before he goes back to London.’
‘Well, I was intending to, anyway, sir. Thought I should tell him how it all ended.’
‘My mother’s staying at the Mirabeau as well.’
‘She is?’
‘Yes. And I don’t want to have her fussing over me. That’s why I’ve decided to . . . steer clear.’
‘Is she the fussing kind, sir?’
‘I’d just prefer to avoid having to explain myself to her, that’s all.’
‘Understood.’
‘I’d like you to ask Uncle George if he knows anything about the Farngolds.’
‘Righto, sir. But it’s not likely, is it?’
‘Even so.’
‘I’ll ask.’
‘Take careful note of what he says and how he says it, won’t you?’
‘I’ll be sure to, sir.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Are you going to see Schools and Malory while you’re here?’
‘You’ve got to know them quite well, haven’t you, Sam? Yes. I intend to see them. I want a full account from Schools of what he agreed to do for my father.’
‘He took Mr Ireton’s death hard. It was as if he blamed himself.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘Dunno. But—’ Sam slapped his forehead. ‘I still haven’t told you about the letter. It’s why I came to your hotel.’
‘What letter?’
‘Commissioner Kuroda wrote to me from Marseilles before catching the boat to Japan. He enclosed a letter he wanted me to pass on to you. I got it on Wednesday, but so much happened yesterday and today I forgot all about it. Anyway, here it is.’
Sam fished the letter out of his pocket and handed it over. It was addressed simply to
Max
.
Max tore the crumpled envelope open and squinted at the letter inside. ‘I’ll never be able to read it in this light. Let’s go back to the hotel.’
‘That’s all right by me, sir.’ Sam glanced around the bar. ‘To be honest, this place is starting to give me the willies.’
They went to Max’s room. Max sat down to read the letter at the desk. Sam took the armchair – and promptly fell asleep while Max read what Kuroda had written to him.
Marseilles, 28th April 1919
My dear Max,
The habits of caution my long years of police work have imbued in me cause me to doubt the wisdom of sending this letter to you. The sailing schedule of the NYK line does not permit me much time in which to decide the point, however. Nor can I be sure you will receive the letter even if I send it. The matter is hedged about by many uncertainties.
I must begin by expressing my regret for withholding from you certain information concerning your late father. I held him in the highest regard. I gave him a solemn promise that I would not tell you all I knew of his activities and his motives and in conscience I must abide by that.
My impression is that you have inherited his sense of honour and his determination to settle moral debts. I suspect you will come to learn more of him than he would have wished and will therefore realize at some point that I have not been completely open with you.
I am not alone among your father’s confidants in keeping secrets for him. I assume he swore them to silence in terms similar to those by which I undertook to be bound. Loyalty to a dead friend is not something of which any of us should be ashamed. So, I do not apologize to you. But I do wish I had been free to speak more candidly to you.
You will undoubtedly have been told by Mr Twentyman of the circumstances of my departure from Paris. I do not exaggerate when I say that my continued well-being is by no means guaranteed. I am considered to be a threat by certain powerful interests within my nation’s government. Previous experience shows them to be capable of extreme action. It is possible they may decide to put an end to me. My ability to resist them is limited. My position is acutely vulnerable.
Though your father implored me to discourage you from seeking to uncover his secrets, I no longer feel it is right for me to do so. I cannot speak of things I assured him I would not speak of. But I can say this. Follow him, Max. Beware Count Tomura. Fear Lemmer. Suspect everyone you cannot trust absolutely. But do not abandon your quest, for whatever else it may be, it is not ignoble. It is, I venture to suggest, the gauge of your life. It is what you were born to do.
Truly yours,
Masataka
Max replaced the letter in the envelope.
Follow him, Max
. Such was Kuroda’s urging. Such was the urging of his own instincts. He found a scrap of paper and scrawled a note on it:
Stay here if you want. I have gone to see Schools. I may be some time. M
. He propped the note on the bed, where Sam could not fail to see it when he woke. Then he slipped out of the room.
‘HELLO, MAX,’ MORAHAN
called from the doorway of his apartment as Max reached the top of the stairs.
Morahan did not wait for Max to reach the door. He left it open and moved unsteadily back into the sitting-room. The slight slur in his voice and the heavy smell of bourbon that met Max as he entered the apartment told him his host had been drinking heavily.