Mask of the Verdoy (49 page)

Harley watched the tremor ripple across the General’s moustache.

‘Oh, to hell with it! I sincerely hope you’re right—for all of our sakes … Come on then Corporal Harley—over the top, once more. Although the thought of creeping into no man’s land to take out a nest of Boche seems rather appealing at this particular moment in time.’

***

The members of the raiding party gathered in the centre of Belgrave Square as the last of Lady Wingford’s guests arrived.

‘Our lookout has confirmed that the three individuals are now in the premises, Sir Frederic,’ said Fellowes, loading the chamber of a revolver and handing it to Swales. ‘Coleshaw and the Flying Squad men are covering the back entrances. How would you like to proceed, sir?’

‘George? After all, this is your little hunting party—thoughts?’

‘Well, I was mulling this over on the trip back from the West Country, as it happens. I think it’s unlikely that they’re going to just assassinate the PM by shooting him in cold blood in front of all the guests. I mean—that’s hardly gonna win everyone over to the Fascist cause now, is it? Pembroke was terrified of being injected with this Wolf’s Bite potion—that jazzed-up ergot toxin I was telling you about—but it’s a bit of a risky plan, ain’t it? Guaranteeing that they’ll have the opportunity to stick a syringe into one of the dinner guests? Not impossible, I suppose—Saint Clair could follow the PM to the khazi … Still, I’m not convinced. No, I think the likeliest thing is another bomb—after all, they’ve invested a lot of time and energy in fabricating this terrorist campaign; this’ll be the pay-off, won’t it?’

‘So, you believe either Lady Euphemia or Sir Pelham will reconnoitre the best location, conceal the explosive, and then both leave early before it detonates?’

‘That’s about the size of it, yeah.’

‘Very, well. It seems a reasonable assumption. Fellowes, I’ll need a search party to go in with me, discreet and efficient. You keep the strong-arms out here—including Harley and Mr. Rosen there.’

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa!’ said Harley, tipping his hat back. ‘There’s no way I’m staying out here and missing all the fun—not after all I’ve been through. I want to see this one through to the end!’

‘With respect, this is a high society gathering, George. And quite frankly … well, at this precise moment you look a little like a tramp.’

Rosen’s guffaw at this quip was soon silenced by the General’s admonishing glance.

Harley huffed in disbelief.

‘Well now, I’m dreadfully sorry I missed my shave and got splattered with a bit of mud! But I was up most of the night working the clues and then had to drive hundreds of miles on the off chance of saving the country from a Fascist coup!
Jesus Christ!
Cut me some slack, won’tcha?’

‘Alright, George—there’s no need for histrionics … Harley and DC Pearson will be coming along with me, Constantine.’

‘Understood, sir … And I think it might be prudent if I were to join you as well.’

‘What’s all this then, Fellowes?’ asked Harley. ‘It’s not like you to be in the thick of it.’

‘Oh, let’s just say that I have a personal interest in this one, George,’ said Fellowes, donning a pair of dove grey gloves.

‘Curiouser, and curiouser …’ said Harley, with a raised eyebrow.

‘You don’t think that will leave us a little undermanned outside?’ asked Swales.

‘I don’t, sir, no.’

‘Very well. In we go then, gentlemen! Remember—we’re looking for explosive devices or syringes, or indeed, anything else of a suspicious nature. And please remember—tact and discretion at all times. We’re dealing with the higher echelons of society here—it’s not some clip joint in Soho. Follow my lead, please. And there’ll be no need for the smashing of doors or the breaking of heads.’

‘
Oh … I don’t know
,’ muttered Harley, following Swales across the road towards the grand entrance of Marchford House.

***

‘Ah, Sir Frederic! A very good evening, sir,’ said the Wingfords’ butler, expertly disguising his surprise at discovering the Metropolitan Police Commissioner and a gaggle of intimidating characters amassed on the doorstep.

‘And a good evening to you, Dalston. Your mistress is at home, I trust?’

‘Indeed, sir—Her Ladyship is engaged in one of her salons this evening. Are you and your … 
associates
expected, Sir Frederic?’

‘No, Dalston—I’m afraid this isn’t a social visit.’

‘Ah! I feared as much, sir. If you’d like to come in, I’ll have you announced.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t do that, actually, Dalston,’ said Swales ushering the search party quietly into the grand entrance hall. ‘I wonder if instead you might make it known to her Ladyship that I’d like a discreet word with her, out here.’

‘Of course, Sir Frederic. If you’d just wait here then, sir.’

‘Good man.’

‘D’you think we should be giving them the heads-up like that?’ asked Harley, after the butler had disappeared through a door in the corner of the hallway. ‘I mean, who’s to say that the Admirable Crichton there isn’t in on the whole thing?’

‘Well, George, I don’t know that for sure, but I’m willing to take the risk. Lady Sybil happens to be a good friend of my wife’s.’

‘Cosy.’

‘And if we have her permission to search the premises I think there’s less chance of things being concealed from us, don’t you agree?’

‘Probably—just as long as she’s not a member of the Verdoy, eh?’

‘Will we be evacuating the building immediately, Sir Frederic?’ asked Fellowes.

‘No, Constantine, I think not—let’s see what we find first. After all, it is highly unlikely that the bomb will be detonated while Sir Pelham and Lady Euphemia are still here—that’s if there is a bomb, of course.’

‘Well, it’s stone-ginger that there’ll be something, FW,’ said Harley.

‘Freddy! How fabulous to see you!’ gushed Sybil Wingford, drifting into the reception hall. She was an expansive woman, in more ways than one, and the high wing collar of her silver satin dress gave her the air of a galleon in full sail.

‘Sybil, you’re looking ravishing, as ever,’ said Swales, kissing the outstretched, heavily be-ringed hand.

‘Oh my!’ said the hostess, holding her lorgnette up to her face to better inspect the group of strange men crowded into her hallway. ‘Whatever is all this, Freddy?’ She peered closely at Harley’s stubble and travel-stained attire. ‘How very intriguing!’

‘I apologize profusely for the intrusion, my dear. But I’m afraid it was unavoidable. You see, I’m here on official business, a little matter of state security.’

‘How dreadfully exciting! Do go on!’

‘Well, I shall need your permission to search the premises, Sybil. I realize this will cause your guests a certain amount of inconvenience. However I’m afraid that—’

‘Oh, nonsense, Freddy! Between you and me it’s rather a staid bunch in tonight—they could do with a little pepping up. I say—is this anything to do with the PM? … Odd fish—I’ve always suspected that there might be a few skeletons in the cupboard. Well, apart from the obvious one, of course—you know he and Peggy Sackville were an item for a while don’t you? Although they do say that—’

‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Sybil, but this really is rather urgent. Is he here?’

‘Who?’

‘The Prime Minister.’

‘Why, yes—of course. As a matter of fact he’s in the study with Lady Euphemia Daubeney. Glorious creature—do you know her at all? Just
so
beautiful … and bright as a button, of course. She does so much for charity, the dear thing. As a matter of fact I think that’s why she wanted a little time alone with Mr. Ramsay MacDonald. I
wouldn’t be surprised if she’s bending his ear right now, appealing for a little state help with that wonderful family clinic that she runs. Come along, I’ll show you the way … Oh, and tell your boys they’re welcome to search the place for whoever it is you’re after … I say—this has nothing to do with that new chauffeur of ours, has it, Freddy? He’s from Liverpool, you know—which, of course, always makes one a little nervous.’

***

Lady Wingford knocked at the study door before ushering in Swales, Harley, Pearson and Fellowes, who walked in to find Ramsay MacDonald and Lady Euphemia sitting at a small table, drinking sherry.

‘Sorry to interrupt, James,’ said Lady Wingford. ‘As you can see, Sir Frederic is here … in an official capacity, apparently. He needs to speak to you urgently.’

‘Thank you, Sybil,’ said Swales, holding the door open. ‘You’ve been most cooperative. I promise we’ll endeavour to make this as short as possible.’

‘Oh, think nothing of it,’ said the hostess, waving her hand in the air. ‘Happy to do my bit.’

‘Yes, well, thank you again,’ said the General indicating the open doorway with a tilt of his head.

‘Oh, I see … You’d like me to … Yes, of course.’

Lady Wingford exited, looking a little crestfallen at missing the opportunity of gathering a little gossip at firsthand.

‘Why, Mr. Harley, what a pleasant surprise!’ said Euphemia, taking a sip of her sherry.

Harley just nodded curtly, which produce a wry smile from the aristocrat.

‘Commissioner,’ said Ramsay MacDonald, taking out his glasses from his top pocket and putting them on to regard the General. ‘What is it? Not another bombing I hope?’ There was a slight blurring to his Scots lilt that suggested it wasn’t his first sherry of the evening.

‘Thankfully no, Prime Minister—not yet, anyway.’

‘Not yet? What on earth do you mean?’

‘We’re in possession of certain intelligence …’ Swales paused to regard Euphemia, who continued to sip her sherry demurely.

‘Yes, go on Swales—intelligence regarding what, exactly?’

‘Well, we have good reason to believe, sir, that … well, that if you remain here your life will be in considerable danger.’

‘From whom, Commissioner Swales?
From whom?
’

‘From her!’ said Harley, stepping forward to point a finger at Euphemia.

Just then the study door was flung open to reveal Sir Pelham Saint Clair.

‘There you are, Swales!’ he said, striding into the room and closing the door firmly behind him.

Fellowes shared a quick glance with Harley and then surreptitiously placed a hand to the butt of his holstered gun.

‘And, as it happens, from him as well,’ said Harley, keeping a close eye on the Blackshirt leader.

Saint Clair took a moment to fire a black look at the private detective, then turned to General Swales.

‘I hope you have a bloody good explanation for all of this, General!’

‘For all of what, Sir Pelham?’ asked Swales, with a quizzical raised eyebrow.

‘For that bunch of impertinent apes who are, at this moment, ransacking Marchford House as though it were a Pennsylvania speakeasy!’

‘Is this true, Sir Frederic?’ asked Ramsay MacDonald.

‘I fear Sir Pelham is exaggerating somewhat, Prime Minister. It is true that some of my men are, at this moment, conducting a discreet search of the premises—with Lady Wingford’s permission, of course.’

‘To what end?’

Swales paused for a moment, smoothing down his moustache.

‘Cat got your tongue, Swales?’ asked Saint Clair, removing a cigarette case from his waistcoat pocket, an act which prompted Fellowes to slip off the safety catch on his pistol.

‘We believe that Lady Euphemia might be involved in a plot, Prime Minister … a plot to remove you from office and bring about a change of government, by force. A coup d’état, if you will.’

‘
Good God!
Are you listening to this?’ barked Saint Clair. ‘It’s like something out of a
Boys’ Own
comic! I’ve never heard such rot in all of my life!’ He lit his cigarette and flung himself down on the chaise longue. ‘And exactly what evidence do you have for such a far-fetched story, Swales, hmm?’

‘Yes,’ said Ramsay MacDonald. ‘I must admit, General, it all sounds rather preposterous. I mean, Lady Euphemia, here … well, she’s hardly … that is to say … are you sure you’re not the victim of some kind of practical joke?’

‘We have a witness account, Prime Minister, amongst other things.’

‘A witness account? Really? From whom, exactly?’ said Saint Clair.

‘Giles Pembroke,’ answered Harley, manoeuvring himself so he could keep an eye on Saint Clair’s hands.

‘And you are?’

‘George Harley.’

‘Ah yes,’ said the Sir Pelham, with a look like he had just discovered a bad smell under his nose. ‘George Harley—the Bolshevik private detective … Tell me, Mr. Harley, would this be the same Giles Pembroke who was found this very afternoon, dead in the chapel at Chantry Hall?’

‘News travels fast—you must be well connected.’

‘Indeed I am. And the news is that just before the Reverend Pembroke was found dead in his church a stranger with a costermonger’s accent was seen loitering about the local village.’

‘I’m not sure that having a pint in the local can be classed as loitering … but yeah—that was me. You see, before he topped himself the Reverend Pembroke gave me some very interesting information, Saint Clair. Ludovico Girardi, Colonel Kosevich, the Verdoy masks, the ergot poisoning, the bombing campaign … he spilled the beans on the whole bloody shooting match.’

Harley was certain that he’d caught the faintest hint of hesitation in the baronet’s voice before he replied.

‘I haven’t a clue what you’re blathering on about, old man. But let’s just get one thing clear, shall we? Are you telling us that this witness account, ludicrously claiming that Lady Euphemia here is mixed up in some kind of coup, came from a man who is now dead and cannot corroborate your story?’

‘Yup.’

‘Well, I must say—this is priceless!’ said Saint Clair, laughing ostentatiously as he blew smoke to the ceiling.

‘What other evidence do you have, Commissioner?’ asked Ramsay MacDonald. ‘It all seems quite flimsy to me so far. You do know that we cancelled a meeting with the German ambassador today, on advice from your office. I do hope you have something more substantial up your sleeve.’

‘With respect, Prime Minister, I appreciate your concern with the details of the case, but my priority right now is your safety and the safety of the other guests here tonight. We are acting on information that there is a credible risk to your safety—probably from some kind of explosive device. An accusation of such magnitude … well, I’m afraid it must be fully investigated, no matter how inconvenient it might be for those concerned.’