The Shadow in the North (24 page)

He shook his head and looked.

Jim was standing, balanced, wary, holding a hand to his cheek. Blood was trickling thickly through his fingers. Facing him was Harris—and he was holding a knife.

"Watch him, Fred," Jim said quietly.

Harris pushed aside the wreckage of the wardrobe with his foot, giving himself room, and then lunged forward, stabbing upward, aiming for the stomach. Frederick tried to leap across the gap but found his leg caught in Sackville s grip, and lashed out with his other foot, losing sight of Jim as he fell. He swung his fist at Sackville, and twisted around desperately to see Mac-kinnon, of all things, free of the rope, reaching up to grab Harris's knife hand.

Harris snarled, snatching his hand away, and Mac-kinnon cried out—but it gave Jim his chance. As Harris looked back Jim swung his fist fiill into the center of the other man's face. It was the hardest punch he'd ever landed in his life. Harris went down like a log.

"Well done, mate," Jim said to Mackinnon, and i winced as the blood fell more freely from his cheek. Harris had slashed at his eyes and missed by half an inch.

"Tie 'em up before they come round," said Frederick. "Mackinnon, got some money? Give your landlady a tenner for the furniture and help us downstairs with these apes. Oh—tell the cabby he's got some passengers coming."

While Mackinnon scuttled off to see to the terrified landlady, Jim and Frederick removed braces, belts, and bootlaces from the other two and secured them as tight as parcels. It wasn't easy; though Harris and Sackville were too far gone to struggle, Frederick was dizzy from blows to the head, and Jim's fists were swollen.

They finally got the pair downstairs and into the cab, and Frederick borrowed a length of rope from the cabbie and tied it round them as an extra precaution. The cabbie watched with interest.

"Where to, guvnor?" he asked Frederick. "Smith-field?"

Smithfield was the main meat market for London. Frederick laughed painfiiUy.

"Streatham police station," he said. "Care of Inspector Conway."

He took out a card, scribbled MRS. NELLIE BUDD: ACCOUNT RENDERED on it, and pinned it to Sackvilles coat before shutting the door.

Jim watched, satisfied, as the cab drove away.

"If that bastard wants to use his nose again," he said, "he'll have to dig it out of his face with a spoon."

"You paid the landlady for the frolic?" Frederick asked Mackinnon. "Get a bag packed. You're coming to stay in Burton Street for the weekend—and no arguing. Oh—^and bring my watch."

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It was half past three when they got back to Bur-ton Street. Sally called a doctor to see to Jims cut cheek, made Frederick sit down and drink some brandy, and arranged a camp bed for Mackinnon in Jims bedroom; then she went to the shop to tell Isabel that Mackinnon was there and watched as Isabel turned pale, nodded, I and bent over her work again without a word.

The doctors attentions didnt improve Jims temper. As soon as the wound had been dressed, he slammed out to the new studio to exchange insults with the painters, whom he remembered from their previous visits. Mackinnon sat, pale, in the kitchen while Frederick rummaged in the biscuit barrel.

"Did they hurt you?'* Frederick said.

"A few bruises, thank you. Nothing grand. **

"You did well to grab his wrist like that. He'd have done for Jim otherwise. ..."

The back door opened, and Jim came in no less disgruntled than when he'd gone out. He helped himself to a biscuit and sprawled on the sofa.

"Different lot of painters," he said. "All they want to

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do is get on with the job. They got no conversation at all. Remember the last lot, when we had the shop done? They sent Herbert out one day for the loan of a left-handed screwdriver. Then when he couldn't find one they said sorry, what they really wanted was a pound of small holes. They gave him tuppence to go round to Murphy's and buy 'em. Poor little bugger. What are we going to do now, then?"

"Shut the shop," said Sally, coming in. "I've told Mr. Blaine and the others to go home early. We'll lock up and have some tea—that's what we'll do now. I thought Jim would finish the biscuits, so I've bought some crumpets. I hope you like crumpets, Mr. Mackinnon. Have those painters gone yet?"

Much later that evening (Isabel having gone straight to her room without seeing Mackinnon, Jim having gone to bed sore and tired, Webster and Mackinnon having simply gone to bed) Frederick and Sally found themselves alone in the kitchen.

She was curled up in a corner of the old sofa; he was lying back in the armchair on the other side of the fire, with his feet on the coal scuttle. The oil lamp on the table shed a warm glow on the checkered tablecloth, and on the cards Mackinnon had been amusing them with, and on the golden whiskey in the decanter, and on Sally's blond hair. Frederick leaned down and put his glass on the floor beside the chair.

"You know, he actually joined in," he said. "Mackin-

non, I mean. He grabbed for the knife Harris was about to stick in Jim. What are the options, Lockhart? First of all, get this wedding business in the papers, that's what I think."

"You're right," she said. "We'll go to the Pall Mall Gazette in the morning. After that. .. well, I'll ask Mr. Temple's advice about the patents. I think we've almost got him, but I'm not sure he's completely hooked yet. The Russian patents being missing—^that's circumstantial. Not quite incriminating, I think. We need to know—"

"We need to know how far up his influence goes. The police who raided your office—^were they real police? If they were, he's got a lot of pull. Which means that we've got to go extra carefiilly. It's a question of timing."

"Waiting for the right moment.. . . Who were those people Lord Wytham was seeing at the Foreign Office? If we can find out the departments they're responsible for, we'll have a better idea of what to do next."

"That's easy enough. They're a gossipy lot over there. I'll go and hang about in Whitehall on Monday, see what I can pick up . . ."

"You know," she said after a few moments, "I still don't know how I'm going to get my client's money back. Unless there's a reward. Actually, now I think of it, there is. For information about the loss of the Ingrid Linde. The one thing we haven't explored ..."

She leaned forward and poked the fire. Ash fell

through the grate, and a Uttle volley of sparks crackled upward.

"Fred?" she said.

"Mmm?"

"I want to say sorry. For the other night. It was hateful of me and I've felt miserable ever since. Because I love it so much when we work together. And we are a good team. If you still want to—"

She broke off then, finding it hard to continue. Frederick sat up, reached across, and turned her face to his.

And then the doorbell rang in the empty shop.

He swore and sat back.

"Now who the devil can that be?" he said.

They looked at each other and then at the clock. It was half past ten.

"ril go and see," he said, standing up. "I won't be long."

"Be careful, Fred," she said.

He made his way through the darkened shop and unlocked the front door. There, blinking mildly in the drizzle, stood a slight figure in a bowler hat and topcoat.

"Mr. Garland, I believe?" he said.

It was the man from the box in the music hall—Bell-mann's secretary. Taken by the man's nerve, Frederick laughed.

"Good evening," he said. "Mr. Windlesham, isn't it? You'd better come in."

Frederick stood aside and took Windlesham's coat and hat.

"Sally," he said as they entered the kitchen, "I think you know this gentleman."

She blinked with surprise and sat up.

"Forgive me for calling at this late hour," said the little man. "We met before. Miss Lockl^t, under unfortunate circumstances. I was hoping that you—and Mr. Garland—might do me the honor of listening to a proposition I would like to put before you."

Sally looked at Frederick and then back at Windle-sham. Her tycs were wide.

"I might add that I am speaking entirely for myself," he went on. "Mr. Bellmann doesn't know I'm here."

The two men were still standing. In the silence that followed the last remark, Frederick pulled out a chair at the table and offered the place to Windlesham. They sat down, and Sally left the sofa to join them. She turned up the light and tidied the playing cards out of the way.

"I ftiUy understand your hesitation," said Windlesham. "May I explain why I've come?"

"Please do," said Frederick. "But let's be clear about this. You're not working for Bellmann?"

"Technically, I am still in his employment. But I think it would now be to the greatest advantage of the greatest number if I changed my allegiance, so to speak. I cannot approve of Mr. Bellmann's North Star venture. Try as I will, I cannot do it, Miss Lockhart. To my mind

the Hopkinson Self-Regulator is a monstrous thing and should not be let loose upon the world. I've come to you because I've watched your activities with increasing admiration—^yours and Mr. Garland's—and I've come to place what I know at your disposal." He took off his glasses, which had steamed up in the warm room. "I am assuming you've found out about the Hopkinson Self-Regulator? I've no proof that you have, but I'd be surprised if. . ."

"The Steam Gun," said Frederick. "Yes, we know about that. And about Hopkinson."

"Or Nordenfels, hmmm?" Mr. Windlesham replaced his glasses, beaming gently.

"What do you want in return?" Sally said. She was still numb with surprise at his appearance—and not in the least inclined to trust him.

"Simply—how shall I put it?—protective corroboration," he replied. "When Mr. Bellmann's enterprise collapses, as it will before long, I want someone to vouch for the fact that I have been, as it were, spying on him and not working for him. I had hoped you would supply that assurance."

"Why not go to the police now?" said Frederick.

"The time's not ripe just yet. Mr. Bellmann's influence reaches high up in the police—^yes, and in the judiciary—and any attempt at this stage would misfire. Believe me, I am certain of that. We would find ourselves embroiled in suits for libel and slander, and we

would lose, and it would only serve to warn the wrongdoers. No, the time to go to the police is not now but when the organization is about to collapse."

"Why should it collapse?" said Frederick.

"It's overextended," said Mr. Windlesham. "I can let you have the details of loans, share issues, dividends, and so on; the gist of it is that the money is sunk in the Self-Regulator, all of it, and they're not being produced fast enough. There are unforeseen shortages of materials, difficulties with testing—it's an extraordinarily complicated machine, you know. Again, I can let you have the details. Mr. Bellmann has, I estimate, three weeks before catastrophe. Things could occur to put it off—if he could acquire a supply of graphite, for instance, it would help him—but the end is not far off."

"Who's the customer?" said Sally. "Who's buying these Steam Guns, or Self-Regulators?"

"Russia. The czar is increasingly concerned about the growth of anarchist movements among his people. And with the Russian expansion into Siberia—^you've heard of the proposed railway?—^you can understand how useful the weapon would be. But North Star is actively seeking other customers. The Prussian government is interested. The Mexican ambassador has sent an observer up to the firing range. It's at a point of balance, you see, Mr. Garland, a critical time. If we can tilt it the right way..."

"Tell us about the IngridLinde'' said Sally.

"Ah! The missing ship. That—er—belongs to a

phase of Mr. Bellmanns career that took place before I joined him. But I believe that the passenger list contained the name of a man who had witnessed Mr. Bell-mann's quarrel with Arne Nordenfels. The collapse of the Anglo-Baltic line, of course, meant that Mr. Bellmanns shipping activities could expand without hindrance."

"I'd like some written evidence of his involvement," said Sally.

"That would be difficult. I shall make a search—I shall have to be extremely discreet, but I shall do my best."

"You mentioned influence," said Frederick. "How far does it reach into the government? Or into the civil service?"

"Oh, quite some way. Mr. Bellmanns money has already helped in the matter of the various export licenses and regulations connected with the export of arms. Your inquiries, if I may say so, have been remarkably astute. They would soon have embarrassed some very highly placed people."

"Well, who?" said Frederick. "You've told us nothing we didn't know already. Names, Mr. Windlesham, names."

"Sir James Nash, the Inspector General of Artillery at the War Office. Sir William Halloway-Clark, undersecretary at the Foreign Office. The ambassador to Russia. There are several others less highly placed."

"Has this been discussed in Cabinet?" Sally asked. "Is

it government policy to allow this gun to be made and sold?"

"Oh, no. Most certainly not. The officials I mention are acting quite improperly. There would be the most appalling scandal if it came out."

"Lord Wytham," said Frederick. "What's he up to?"

"Ah!" Mr. Windlesham twinkled. "The father of the bride! A romantic little episode, the Scottish adventure, don't you think? And have you had any more success than our agents in the search for that elusive young man?

"Since you ask, yes," said Frederick. "We've got him safe. He's in London, being looked after by a good friend of mine. He won't get away—and you won't find him. What's Lord Wytham going to do?"

"Yes," said Mr. Windlesham sadly, "it's difficult for him. He was given a directorship on the strength of his many connections in government. There he might have been useful, but the—er—Scottish affair will come out soon; Mr. Bellmann is aware that it can hardly remain quiet for much longer. It's one of the embarrassments that are hanging over him. More embarrassing for Lord Wytham, of course. Perhaps fatally so."

"I wonder what you mean by that," said Frederick. "No, don't bother to explain. Were you responsible for hiring Sackville and Harris, by the way? And the man who attacked Miss Lockhart last night?"