French reached up and tapped on the roof of the cab. The driver pulled to the side. French lowered the window and stuck out his head.
“Back to the War Office,” he said. He settled back into his seat. “Vincent, have another word with your friend the guard and see what he can tell us about Welch.”
We wound our way back through the traffic and lurched to a stop outside the War Office. I was getting heartily sick of the place by now and prayed that we wouldn’t have to paw through any more dusty files today. I prefer action. I’ll take a sword fight or a bit of gunplay any day of the week over reading spidery handwriting. Vincent tumbled out of the hansom and disappeared around the corner of the building.
French and I sat for several minutes while he drummed his fingers on his knee. I was about to inform him that this behaviour was highly annoying and should be stopped immediately when Vincent yanked open the door of the cab. He climbed inside with a smug expression on his face.
“I fink you’re goin’ to like this,” he said. “My friend says Captain Welch is a nasty little bastard. ’E says ’e wouldn’t piss on ’im if ’e was on fire and most everybody feels the same.”
“That doesn’t make him a criminal,” I said.
“No,” conceded Vincent. “But the guard says the captain ’as started to strut around like a rooster. ’E bought himself a gold watch that ’e flashes about, and ’e’s ’avin’ ’is uniforms custom-made.”
“How does the guard know that?”
“’Cause ’e was on duty the day they was delivered.”
“That’s not unusual,” I said. “Just ask French. He has a closet full of tailored uniforms.”
“Yeah, but the captain ain’t got a rich family. The guard reckons ’e’s come into some money lately.”
I was skeptical. “That’s weak, Vincent.”
“But it’s suggestive.” French leaned out and gave the driver the address of Lotus House. “And we haven’t many leads to follow.”
“
Any
leads,” I corrected him.
“Then we’ll chase Captain Welch for a while and see what we can learn about the man.”
Upon our return to Lotus House, Vincent said he felt peckish and shot off to the kitchen to see if there were any sides of beef left lying about. French and I adjourned to the study for a discussion, which was not going to be a private one as the marchioness was lounging on the sofa, sipping a whisky and going through my accounts.
I whisked the ledger from her hands as I stalked past.
“That belongs to me, and I do not remember giving you permission to look at it.”
“Weel, now. Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this mornin’.”
“Correction. I got up on the wrong side of the sofa. And since there’s only one side of the sofa from which to rise, I expect I’ll be in a foul mood until a certain someone vacates my bed and leaves me in peace. When are you returning to Scotland? Doesn’t the present Marquess of Tullibardine need you there to chivvy him along? Aren’t the deerhounds pining away for you?”
The marchioness ignored my questions. “Pass me my snuff box, dear.”
I summoned Fergus to minister to Her Ladyship’s needs.
Vincent wandered in, brushing crumbs from his coat, and went immediately to check on the litter of pups. “Oi! Their eyes are open.”
The marchioness beamed proudly. “Indeed they are. They’ll be up soon and scamperin’ about.”
“When they walk, they travel.” I was going to have to be firm about that. I couldn’t have a passel of pups underfoot. As it was, my first-class brothel seemed to have metamorphosed into a combination of boarding house, hospital and kennel.
It was time for a council of war among French, Vincent, me and, since she showed no signs of stirring from her seat, the marchioness.
“Let us review what we know,” said French. I only stayed in my seat because I knew it would be a short recitation, as we knew very little indeed.
“We haven’t much to go on,” French said.
“Only the word of a guard who thinks the colonel was a deuced fine fellow, if a trifle distracted, and that Captain Welch is a bastard of the first water who’s recently acquired a few coins to rub together.”
“The latter is at least subject to verification.” French lit a cheroot and lay back in his chair. “I will make some discreet enquiries into the fellow’s background and finances. I’m reluctant to go through the usual channels at the War Office, for fear he might find out that we’re checking up on him. The records office is right below his office, and it would take only one slip from one of the clerks there to alert Welch.”
I was not sanguine about French’s enquiries. If Welch was a wrong ’un, he’d probably have been drummed out of the service long ago. I said as much to French.
“Agreed,” said French. “I doubt that I’ll find anything that implicates Welch, but I may find some connections.”
Vincent had been listening closely to the conversation. “Wot do you want me to do?”
“I’ve an important job for you, providing you’re feeling well enough to do it.”
“’Course I am.” Vincent bounded up and dropped the puppy he’d been holding into my lap. Then he engaged in a heated round of athletic maneuvers, hurdling chairs and hopping on his injured leg. “See?”
“That grimace when you put your weight on your bad leg?” I asked. “Yes, I saw that.”
Vincent shot me a dark look and then turned a pleading face to French. “I’m alright, guv. Really I am.”
“I doubt the work will be that strenuous. In fact, it may involve a good deal of sitting around and waiting.”
“You want me to follow this Welch chap?” Vincent practically quivered with delight.
“I do. And if you have to enlist a few of your friends to help you, I’ll pay the usual rate.”
I hate surveillance as it is almost as dull as listening to a parliamentary debate on agricultural policy, and I was therefore glad to hear this plan.
“India and I have spent too much time with Welch. It would be difficult for us to follow him without being spotted. I think it’s best if we leave this to you, Vincent.”
“And what shall I do?” I asked.
“For the moment, nothing at all. I’ll get in touch with my contacts and Vincent can follow Welch when he leaves the office tonight.”
I know what you’re thinking—that I should kick and scream and throw a royal tantrum at being left out of the picture. I’ve asserted on many occasions that women are just as, if not more, capable than men at this government agent business and to be told to stay home by French while the boys handled matters should have resulted in at least a tongue-lashing for the poncy bastard, if not outright violence to his person. But (and follow this bit closely now) my willingness to let French have a yammer with his old army buddies and some bank managers and to allow Vincent to stay up all night trailing Welch around London is direct proof of female superiority. While they were running around the filthy streets of the city I’d be tucked up at Lotus House, albeit with several unwanted guests (I include the dogs in this category), and that suited me fine. I needed to pay some attention to my business for if I was not careful I’d come back one day from playing spy and find the marchioness had pitched up in London for good, the collies had popped out more litters and the whores had eschewed their regular duties and were camped out in the study, inhaling snuff with the old bag. Consequently, I was more than happy to let the blokes do the heavy lifting for a bit. I’d weigh in with strategic insights and tactical suggestions as needed. In the meantime, I needed to wrest control of my kingdom from some liver-spotted, blue-veined hands.
• • •
It was a deuced fine plan, but after several days of living cheek by jowl with the marchioness, Fergus, four dogs and a litter of pups whose number I never did ascertain, my nerves were stretched as tight as a Mongol’s bow. I had some small successes, notably in rescuing my ledger from the marchioness and stowing it away in my desk under lock and key. The key I strung on a gold chain and wore around my neck. I reckoned that I had flummoxed the old crone until I found her using a hairpin to probe the lock on the drawer. I banished Maggie and the pups to the kitchen and told the marchioness that if any dogs were seen in any part of the house frequented by customers, she’d have to collect the animal from the nearest taxidermist. I had a devil of a time whipping the tarts back into shape. They’d developed some very bad habits under the marchioness, sashaying into my study and plopping down on the furniture for a natter. I set that to rights, but not without some complaints from the girls. That’s what comes of being lenient with employees. Pretty soon they start to think they have the right to lounge around drinking tea instead of lying on their backs and before you know it, they’ll have formed a union and demanded a reduction of hours and an increase in pay. It’s shocking, the things business owners have to put up with these days.
It did not help that French and Vincent blew in at odd hours of the day and night to discuss Welch’s latest movements, looking self-important and chattering at each other like two parrots while they absentmindedly thanked me for the sandwiches and brandy I handed to them. After a week with the marchioness and the canines, the prospect of slogging about the city while keeping an eye on Captain Welch was beginning to sound attractive.
The captain was a very busy man. Vincent had been forced to enlist a few of his friends to help keep track of Welch as he flitted from brothel to gaming house to theatre. Or so he said; knowing Vincent as I do I reckoned that the little heathen had just invented a few foot soldiers and was collecting a healthy sum from Her Majesty’s government. In any event, every minute that Welch was off duty he was gallivanting about, playing cards and watching cockfights, dropping in at various music halls and visiting the city’s best establishments.
French had shared with us the few scraps of information he’d discovered about Welch. The captain had had an undistinguished career in the army, due partly to the fact that he was not the most diligent of men in the service, and partly to the fact that he was loathed by his superiors.
“What’s wrong with the chap?” I asked.
“His fellow officers think he’s common.” French had the grace to look a trifle sheepish. “It’s hard for a fellow to fit in if he didn’t go to the right school or doesn’t come from a good family. Welch’s father was a schoolmaster and a lay preacher. Captain Welch found those origins difficult to overcome. And his own personality didn’t help matters any. He’s always been considered a dull dog by his fellow officers, though they all describe his rather desperate attempts to run with the rest of the pack. Unfortunately, he’s one of those unlucky chaps who gets bullied and ragged and develops a kind of servile, cringing attitude as a result. Of course that means the bullying just gets worse. The fellows in his regiment were glad to see him transferred into the quartermaster general’s office.”
“He didn’t cringe when we met him.”
“No, he did not. It appears that Captain Welch has adopted a new persona in the last few months. He’s become quite the lad. When he’s off duty he spends his time mingling with the fancy at prizefights and dining at the finest restaurants in the city. He’s developed a fondness for champagne and women, and he’s purchased a box at the opera. His transformation is the talk of the department.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That’s interesting. Would this transformation have begun at the same time as the theft of the rifles?”
“It did. The captain, being the sort of friendless chap who’s always the butt of every joke, couldn’t resist trying to ingratiate himself with his fellow officers. He’s been inviting them out to dinner and the theatre and footing the bill. I’ve learned where he banks and persuaded the manager there to let me see the captain’s account. Large amounts of money have been deposited into it over the last few months.”
“That explains where he got the dosh. No one thought to question how a captain from humble origins could afford to treat his fellow officers so well?”
“Captain Welch has frequently alluded to the generosity of a maiden aunt, recently deceased.”
“That old dodge. He really isn’t very bright, is he?”
“No. I think further proof of that, if we needed any, is that he’s going on about his business just as though Mayhew hadn’t been murdered and we hadn’t been round to his office asking questions. You’d have thought all the ruckus would have sent him scurrying for cover. Everyone else has.”
“You mean the three thugs who accosted us, and Philip.”
“It is odd that Welch has remained behind. With Mayhew dead and the government investigating, surely the scheme can’t be resurrected. Welch is a fool to stay at the department.”
“Agreed. Unless he’s been ordered to stay, by someone who wants to know how the investigation is proceeding.”
“Dear me, India. Sometimes the subtlety of your reasoning amazes me.”
“Do I detect sarcasm in your tone?”
“Only a smidgen. I think it obvious Welch has been ordered to remain at the War Office.”
“The question is, by whom?”
“If we find that man, we find the villain behind the whole scheme.”
Vincent had been listening to our conversation with an expression of perplexity. “’Anged if I ain’t lost. Was Mayhew stealin’ the rifles, or is Welch the one we’re after?”
“I don’t know about Mayhew,” said French. “Given what we’ve learned about Welch, I’m inclined to think that he’s been forging Mayhew’s signature and the colonel was innocent.”
