Mask of the Verdoy (35 page)

Swales placed his pipe in the ashtray and folded his hands on his midriff.

‘A coup d’état, Harley?’

‘Yes! A coup d’état. A British Fascist coup d’état … Come on then—isn’t this where you call me a lunatic and have me thrown out the office?’

General Swales stood up and walked over to stand in front of his desk.

‘Detective Constable Pearson, would you mind leaving us for a moment? I’m sure Miss Chambers will be more than happy to make you a cup of tea. We shouldn’t be too long.’

‘Oh, right … of course, sir.’

‘It’s been good working with you, Albert,’ said Harley, as the policeman walked towards the door.

Pearson stopped and gave the private detective a concerned look.

‘He’s pulling your leg, Pearson,’ said Swales. ‘Go on now! I promise you’ll be reunited with your partner before you know it.’

When Pearson had left Harley took his seat again.

‘Alright, let’s have it then.’

But Swales merely held up his hand and walked over to open a door opposite the one that Pearson had just left by, inviting into the room a man dressed in a sombre but expensive suit, with a serious and somewhat troubled countenance.

‘Christ! Look what the cat’s dragged in! How are yer, Fellowes?’

Constantine Fellowes approached Harley, regarded his blackened eye, shook his hand and finally gave him a curt nod.

‘Still mixing with the rough boys I see, Harley,’ he said, without a smile; but then as Harley well knew—Fellowes hardly ever smiled.

‘Well, you know how it is … So, how’s the Firm?’

‘Oh, every moment of my waking life is filled with joyous rapture, Harley,’ was the sarcastic reply.

‘I’m afraid I’ve rather added to poor Fellowes’ already onerous responsibilities by inviting him to join me at the Met, George,’ said Swales. ‘Where he has taken on certain temporary duties within the Special Branch department. He does, of course, retain his position within the SIS.’

‘I wasn’t aware it was an
invitation
, sir?’

‘Alright, that’ll do, Fellowes! It’s your own bloody fault for being so damned efficient! Come on now, sit down—we have work to do.’

Swales returned to his desk.

‘General, may I just?’ Fellowes picked up Harley’s list and spent a while scrutinizing it before placing it back on the desk and taking his seat.

‘I took the liberty of having Fellowes sit in the adjacent room to monitor our conversation, George. I hope you don’t mind. Only, you see, I had an inkling that you were on to something.’

‘And am I?’ asked Harley, still not totally certain as to which way the situation was going to pan out.

Before he answered Harley’s question, Fellowes gave his superior an enquiring look, to which the General responded with an unequivocal nod.

‘Well, first of all let me offer my congratulations, Harley,’ he said. ‘Give or take a few details your theory about the Verdoy bares an uncanny resemblance to one of the more viable scenarios we’re entertaining back at the department.’

‘I’m sorry, Fellowes, but it’s been a while now—was that, by any chance, SIS-speak for saying that you agree with me?’

‘You know what, Harley,
yes
—I believe I do! My, my … wonders will never cease. You see, for a while now we’ve had a man on the inside at the BBF—’

‘Yeah, I know—Joe Hamilton. He’s a good man.’

Fellowes shared a mildly surprised look with General Swales.

‘It is indeed Joe Hamilton … I’m assuming that you didn’t learn this from the man himself—I was led to believe that he hadn’t divulged that particular piece of information. Should we be concerned about a breach of security, George?’

‘Oh no—it was all my own work, Fellowes.’

‘Indeed? And I hear that you located the safe house within a day or so as well. Would you care to enlighten us as to your methods?’

‘I can’t go giving away all my best moves, Fellowes. After all, I’m already giving one of your young DCs the George Harley crash-course in wide-boy living.’

‘And does Pearson know about Hamilton’s work with the BBF?’ asked Swales, looking concerned.

‘Well, as it happens—yes he does. Is that a problem?’

‘It might be.’

‘Hold on a minute! You’re the one who suggested I partner up with him. Is there something I should know?’

‘Let me ask you something,’ said Fellowes. ‘In your opinion, can Pearson be trusted?’

‘Can he be trusted?’ Harley took a deep breath and blew it out slowly while he contemplated the question. ‘Well, I’ve only known him five minutes, right? But from what I’ve seen so far I think his heart’s in the right place. He’s certainly got a pair of balls on him. We got in a bit of a tight spot the first night out together and he shaped up pretty tasty … ’Course, he’s a bit green when it comes to city life.’

‘I would imagine everyone’s a little green in your eyes, Harley,’ said Swales, relighting his pipe. ‘You make the Artful Dodger look like a farmer’s boy.’

‘You try telling that to my old mate Solly Rosen—he reckons I’m too stuck up to play with any more. Talking of Solly—any progress on making those trumped-up charges go away?’

‘Patience, Harley, patience! I told you—I’m looking into it. Let’s deal with the matter in hand, shall we? We’re discussing Pearson … Tell me, in your opinion, is there any reason to believe that he has fallen under the control of DI Quigg?’

Harley sat up.

‘No … why? Do
you
think he has?’

‘I think you’d agree that you’re in a better position to judge the lad’s character—having worked so closely with him over the past few days.’

‘Well, let’s see … when he was jumped at Paddington … Well, you’ve seen his head—there’s no way that was faked. Christ! He was almost crushed under that tram!’

‘Remember, though,’ said Fellowes, ‘he is still stationed at Savile Row. By all accounts Quigg runs the place like his own little fiefdom.’

‘Only the bogeys, though—the CID boys. I know for sure he hasn’t got the same grip on the woodentops.’

‘But Pearson
is
CID.’

‘Yeah, but he’s new to the factory, ain’t he? An outsider … and what about that bomb? He was there with me and Effie Daubeney when that bastard Kosevich tried to blow us all up near Spitalfields market.’

‘If that’s what actually happened.’

‘What do you mean? What about that poor kid—the stable lad? And I nearly lost my bleedin’ eardrums. It definitely happened, I can vouch for that!’

‘No one’s disputing there was an explosion,’ said Fellowes, allowing his features to slip back into their default expression of slight frustration. ‘But surely, it’s far more plausible to imagine that Kosevich himself was the intended victim? After all, if this Wild Cat Brigade really is an alliance of international revolutionary activists then it’s conceivable that amongst their ranks are elements linked to the Bolsheviks, who would certainly have a score or two to settle with a White Army colonel.’

‘And I suppose it was just a coincidence that at the very moment they decide to blow him up, Earl Daubeney’s niece just happens to be exiting the building?’

‘Do you really think these anarchists were after Lady Euphemia, Harley?’ asked General Swales.

‘No, I don’t, FW—because I don’t believe there
are
any anarchists to start with. I think this Wild Cat International Brigade is a figment of someone’s imagination—someone high up in the Verdoy … someone like Earl Daubeney, for example. I reckon Kosevich was just a hired gun.’

‘But why on earth would he want to assassinate his own niece, Harley? And by such exaggerated means?’

‘I dunno. I haven’t worked that bit out yet. She’s apparently an extremely rich lady—maybe the Earl inherits if she dies?’

‘All indications are that the BBF are by no means short of funds,’ said Fellowes. ‘I would imagine Mussolini’s patronage alone could keep them going for a jolly good while.’

‘Well then, maybe she knows too much. Perhaps she’s stumbled across some information about the plans for a coup?’

General Swales now stood up and started to pace the floor.

‘But what about that ordnance you discovered, Harley? That stick of dynamite, with the Russian stamp?’

‘Yes it had a Russian stamp—but from the Tsarist administration, not Soviet.’

‘Well, the Bolsheviks are hardly going to go around re-stamping every stick of dynamite, Harley,’ said Fellowes, dismissively. ‘That’s hardly compelling evidence.’

‘And if these anarchists don’t exist,’ continued Swales, ‘then who the bally hell is responsible for the other bombings?’

‘Kosevich … working for the Verdoy.’

‘Oh, come now, Harley! Surely even you can’t really believe that Sir Pelham Saint Clair would—’

‘Yes I can!’ said the private detective, interrupting the General with passion. ‘And with respect, FW, I think you need to start believing it yourself. It’s a changing world—you, of all people, should realise that. That old nineteenth-century code of honour bollocks went out of the window with the first bomb the Jerries dropped from a Zeppelin back in nineteen-fifteen. And then, well … you know what we saw over there in France—that was something new, right? Death on an industrial scale. And anyone who
was
out there … all I’m saying is it changes the way you think, about life, about killing—it
desensitises
you. After all, that’s the only way you survive it—you know that. And don’t forget Saint Clair was out there too; only I think he lapped it all up—grew stronger from the horror, got steely, cold … Some of ’em, did, you know.’

Swales began to respond, but Harley held his hand up and continued.

‘All I’m telling you is that Saint Clair wouldn’t bat an eyelid over losing a few civilians, not if it meant guaranteeing success for his brave new experiment. These Wild Cat bombings? Well, if he wants his coup to succeed, what better time to do it than when the country is in a state of national crisis? When it has been clearly demonstrated that the government—this National government, representing the
old-style parties—are impotent in the face of a terrorist campaign from a bunch of foreign extremists.’

‘These are all interesting theories, Harley—even if they are harrowing to listen to; but unless you have any evidence to corroborate them then they remain just that—
theories
.’

‘Well I hope you’re not suggesting we all just sit around until the fifteenth waiting to find out if I’m right or not?’

Swales now returned to his desk, smoothed down his walrus moustache and folded his hands on the desk in front of him.

‘To return to the original question, George: in your opinion, is DC Pearson under the influence of DI Quigg?’

‘What? We’re back on that?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid I need an answer.’

‘Well, in my opinion, no. I’ve seen nothing to suggest that he’s been turned.’

‘Well, that’s good news, at least. He’s a bright lad—spotless record, good family background. He’s the shining light of his local division.’

Harley sat back in his chair and gave a little snort of laughter.

‘I’ve just clicked—you want him for SIS.’

‘Possibly, or Special Branch, of course. It’s one of Fellowes’ initiatives—we’re widening our net, looking further afield. We’re no longer just recruiting from the military.’

‘Or from the public schools?’

‘Indeed. You see, maybe we did learn something from your short stay with us, George.’

‘You could call it the Harley Legacy,’ added Fellowes, maintaining his deadpan expression.

‘So that’s why you’ve got the lad with me! I really am giving him a crash-course. You cheeky bastards!’

Swales smiled through a cloud of pipe smoke.

‘Two birds with one stone, dear boy, two birds with one stone. It’ll certainly be good experience for him, that’s for certain … Now, Fellowes, I think we can bring Pearson back in for the briefing, don’t you? And George, please be aware that we haven’t put our little proposal to the lad yet; so mum’s the word for the moment. Understood?’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep schtum.’

Swales picked up the telephone.

‘Ah, Miss Chambers. You can send him back in now. Thank you.’

Pearson appeared at the door, a little surprised at seeing a stranger in the room.

‘Well, don’t stand there dawdling, man, come on, in you come! That’s right … Now, there’s someone here I’d like you to meet. This is Fellowes, Special Branch.’

‘Sir.’

Fellowes gave Pearson the once over and then allowed him the briefest of nods.

‘Fellowes here, Albert, is a very important individual,’ said Harley, as Pearson took the seat next to him. ‘I’ve always thought of our Fellowes as a bit like a “Punch and Judy” man.’

The statement raised an eyebrow on the otherwise impassive features of the Special Branch man.

‘You see, you read all about these politicians and Royals in the daily rags, but you know, really it’s men like Fellowes here that run the whole bloody puppet show. Be sure to treat him with the respect he’s due, Albert. Mr. Punch, the Policeman and the Crocodile? Well, this one’s got his hand up all their arses!’

‘That’ll do, Harley!’ said Swales, trying to affect the air of a disapproving headmaster whilst suppressing a smile with the introduction of his pipe. ‘Let’s get down to business, shall we? After all, we’ve got rather serious matters to discuss, have we not, Fellowes?’

‘That we have, Sir Frederic …’ Fellowes now left his seat and stood beside the desk. ‘Now, Pearson, we’ve already touched on the fact that Harley’s theory on the nature of the organisation known as the
Verdoy
offers certain plausibility. Our undercover man in the British Brotherhood of Fascists has worked his way up the ranks to a position of relative responsibility, soon to be inaugurated into the Elite Bodyguard unit. This has consequently given him access to many useful sources of intelligence. Amongst other disclosures he has reported a link to various high-powered individuals, who, as well as being in communication with the BBF executive on a one-to-one basis, apparently also assemble en masse from time to time to hear Sir Pelham give jingoistic, rousing status updates on something referred to as “the Correction”.’

‘“The Correction”? My God! It’s gotta be a coup—right?’ said Harley, leaning forward excitedly.