Unlikely Traitors (17 page)

On the piece of paper was a handwritten message:
Ask Christopher Dobbs about his dealings with Major Frederick Hugh Crawford. This should be sufficient to get you the information you seek. If not, tell him you know about his secret dealings with both Narodna Odbrana and the Serbian society known as The Black Hand
.

The man who had handed her the paper, flashed a crooked smile before saying: “with the compliments of Mr. Fergus McTiernay.” The lilt of his Irish accent was unmistakable but no sooner had Ursula’s glance flickered back the letter than the man disappeared from view with the same disarming alacrity as he had arrived. She studied the message turning the piece of paper between her fingers thoughtfully before placing it in her skirt pocket. Clearly McTiernay knew about Christopher Dobbs—but was he and his message to be trusted? Ursula wondered just what kind of game McTiernay was playing at in helping her—but regardless, she had to pursue whatever information Dobbs may have. Ursula made her way over to the ‘Bertie’ and climbed in the backseat, knowing that no matter how much she despised Dobbs she would have to confront him. Of that she was sure. Ursula gritted her teeth.
Tomorrow
, she thought,
I will do it tomorrow
, but in the meantime she would check on the progress of Gerard Anderson’s inquiries. When it came to Christopher Dobbs, it was always prudent to be well-armed.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The brass plaque on the black lacquered door read:
Dobbs Shipping Company Ltd. By Appointment to His Majesty, George V
. Ursula turned the doorknob and entered a green and black marble-lined entrance foyer. She sniffed in disgust as she saw the long list of Dobbs’ acquisitions posted on a further series of brass plaques just inside the doorway.
Madison Steel and Plating Ltd
.,
Liverpool Shipbuilding and Shipyards
,
Dobbs Munitions and Ammunition Supplies
…the list went on, but at least, Ursula reflected, she had prevented Marlow Industries from suffering the same fate. She would rather die than hand over any of her father’s business empire to Christopher Dobbs.

On the opposite wall, above the secretary’s desk, was a magnificent mural depicting a map of the world, complete with details of all the Dobbs’ companies’ shipping routes. From the cut crystal chandelier that swung from the high ceiling above, to the sleek modern typewriter sitting unused behind the secretary’s high backed chair and the Marconi wireless receiver strategically displayed on a pedestal beneath the window, Christopher Dobbs was determined to display the extent of his power in every expensive detail. It sickened Ursula to see his success displayed so ostentatiously. By all rights he should have been hanged for his role in the deaths of Katya Vilenksy and her sister Arina, but his usefulness to the British government kept him immune from justice.

Steeling herself for what she must do, Ursula approached the secretary with long deliberate strides. Her boots struck the polished floor with each footfall, creating an illusion of almost masculine authority which Ursula, inwardly nervous, was grateful for. As Ursula reached the high polished front desk with its carved, ship-like details she nodded to the secretary.

“Kindly inform Mr. Dobbs that Miss Marlow is here to see him,” Ursula instructed with calm assurance. She pulled off her navy blue velvet hat and soft leather gloves as she spoke and regarded the young red-headed secretary with cool appraising eyes. It was not difficult to see why Christopher Dobbs had hired this young woman. She was petite and pretty, with violet eyes and a small pout of a mouth. It was also obvious from the bat of her eyelashes and the tap-tap of her fingernails on the shiny desk top that she posed little intellectual threat to him or anyone else.

“Have you an appointment?” the secretary asked. She looked down at her desk calendar, already flustered.

“No, I have not,” Ursula replied.

“Well I’m afraid…” the secretary began hesitantly before Ursula insisted. “Please tell Mr. Dobbs that I am here. I’m sure he will rearrange his schedule if necessary.”

The telephone rang and the secretary bobbed up and down on her seat before taking the call, her face reddening with a mixture of embarrassment and uncertainty.

Ursula merely raised an eyebrow. The secretary put the telephone ear-piece down and quickly got to her feet once more. “I will just go and ask him, Miss Marlow.”

“Much obliged,” Ursula answered.

The secretary disappeared behind an imposing oak door off to the right. It led, Ursula could only assume, to Christopher Dobbs’ office. It was a far cry, Ursula thought, from the man who just two years ago had taken over his father’s shipping company when it was in dire financial straits. Dobbs now had the money and the influence to own an office in the heart of London’s financial district and he was clearly determined to impress all who entered. It was no secret that Dobbs, convinced a war with Germany was inevitable, was building an armament empire worthy of competing with Vickers and Krupp.

The secretary emerged quickly from Dobbs’ office.

“Please come on through,” she said with a squeak. “He will see you right away.”

“I thought he might,” Ursula muttered under her breath, but still, the palms of her hands were clammy. It was never prudent to underestimate Christopher Dobbs.

“Miss Marlow,” Dobbs welcomed her from the doorway with a crocodile smile. “I’m surprised it took you this long to come and see me.”

“I’ve been busy,” Ursula replied.

“But of course,” Dobbs said as he closed the door behind her. She heard him turn the key in the lock.

Ursula quickly examined her surroundings, taking note of the tall cabinets and bookshelves, the framed photographs of Dobbs with an array of powerful men, and the large replica navigator’s globe on a wooden stand in the corner. Everything was designed to impress, but, she suspected, Dobbs was also sending a message to those like her who dared to challenge him. Opposition, this room said, was not only futile—it was dangerous.

Ursula took a seat on one of the leather armchairs in front of Dobbs’ oversized desk. She crossed her legs and arms to conceal her nervousness and watched as he walked round to take position behind the large mahogany desk. The swagger in his step was galling.

“I’ve been looking into some of your Irish friends,” Ursula said as he inched forward on the wooden swivel chair. She set her hat and gloves down on the chair beside her.

Dobbs regarded her with amusement. “Really?” he said.

“Yes, Major Frederick Hugh Crawford, to be exact,” she replied and was gratified to see that his smile faded a little.

“What of it?” Dobbs asked.

Ursula dug out her notebook from her skirt pocket. “Seems that one of your shipping companies has done quite a bit of business with the major. Even more interesting is that one of your armament firms also seems involved.” Ursula made a show of finding a page in her notebook, grateful that Anderson had discovered this much, at least. “Now, let me see,” she said, “Ah yes, a shipment of rifles was made just last week.” She glanced up quickly.

Was she imagining it or did Dobbs’ eyes narrow for a moment? There was certainly a dangerous glint in them. Ursula knew she would have to tread carefully.

“I was surprised,” she said, closing her notebook. “I would have thought the British government would have taken a dim view of gun running for the Ulster Unionists.”

Dobbs said nothing but continued to watch her warily.

“Oh, I know the Unionist cause has the support of many in parliament,” Ursula said. “But I feel sure that there are many in the government who would consider arming Ulster for a possible revolt against Home Rule as tantamount to treason…You wouldn’t want the wrong people to learn about your involvement, would you? You are, after all, only alive because the government deemed you to be a useful lackey to have on its side.” She paused and saw the flush of anger rising on Dobbs face. “If I had my way,” she added, “you would have been hanged for murder”—bitterness crept into her tone—“But if I can’t have that satisfaction, the least I can do is see you hang for this.”

“Only one man is likely to hang, my dear,” Dobbs responded, his composure returning with all its icy arrogance, “and I am happy to testify in court to ensure that he does.”

Ursula guessed that Dobbs could count on the tacit support of some of the conservative members of parliament and her knowledge of his Unionist activities was not, as yet, a sufficient threat to his position. She would need to use all the information McTiernay had provided her if she was to succeed in drawing him out, even though Anderson had found no evidence linking Dobbs to the pan-Serbian organization known as The Black Hand.

“Your chums at Whitehall would perhaps be less supportive if they knew about some of your other little side deals,” Ursula said smoothly. “I can’t imagine they wish to see organizations such as Narodna Odbrana or The Black Hand receiving British armaments or intelligence—especially not from a man whose fortune and freedom rests on doing exactly what the government wishes.”

Dobbs edged his chair away from the desk. His eyes bored into hers but Ursula remained calm. She sensed his uncertainty—that he was worried exactly how much she knew about his activities. In truth, Ursula only had McTiernay’s note to go on and there was always a chance that Dobbs would call her bluff. Ursula maintained eye contact with Dobbs with what she prayed appeared to be calm indifference.

“Perhaps,” she offered, forcing a confident smile. “I could forget all that I know about your little side deals, if you provided me with the information you have regarding Lord Wrotham’s case.”

Dobbs rocked back on the swivel chair and watched her closely.

“It’s up to you,” Ursula said, getting to her feet as if to go. “The satisfaction I will get from thwarting you is almost enough to outweigh helping Lord Wrotham. Believe me, I won’t hesitate to use what I know against you.”

“I have no doubt of that,” Dobbs responded gesturing for her to sit, “and I will give you what you want on the proviso that you keep your mouth shut.”

“Your sordid dealings are of no further concern to me,” she answered coolly.

Christopher Dobbs rose to his feet and crossed the room. Hidden inside one of the lower cabinets of the bookshelves was a large wall safe. With his back turned to her, Dobbs quickly opened it and rummaged for a few seconds before extracting a single piece of ledger paper.

He walked back and tossed it to her across the desk.

“This is it?” she asked, regarding the sheet with skepticism.

“That’s all I have at the moment,” he answered. “A closer examination will reveal it to be a summary of the financial accounts for the Imperial Gold and Diamond Mining Company dated 1907 with corresponding links to investments made by Count von Bernstorff-Hollweg and Fergus McTiernay. You don’t need to be certified as an accountant to work out that both men were defrauding the company. I’m sure by now you know that Lord Wrotham defended the company in a court case brought by disgruntled investors.”

Ursula gave a short sharp nod and continued to watch Dobbs suspiciously. She knew better than to take anything on face value from him.

“I just happen to know that the reason the Count von Bernstorff-Hollweg is testifying against Lord Wrotham is because someone threatened to divulge where the money is to the Count’s extremely long list of creditors. Now the Count may be a fool but he’s not stupid enough to allow wind of this to reach the ears of men like those associated with The Black Hand. If they were to learn the truth about the money from Guyana then they might start getting suspicious—and if they delve deeper they are likely to discover a number of unsavory business practices from their dear friend the Count…He is worried not just about his safety but also his reputation among Germany high society. The last thing he wants is for anyone to discover what really happened in Guyana.”

“Why were you originally offering to tell me this?” Ursula asked. “There must have been something you were hoping to get in return.”

”What, apart from the enjoyment of bedding you?” Dobbs said and she flushed at the reference to their conversation at Lady Winterton’s party. Dobbs really was a brute, but Ursula was not about to give him the satisfaction of another outburst. Instead she merely raised an eyebrow enquiringly.

“Your investigations into Lord Wrotham’s case will undoubtedly uncover information regarding potential rivals in the armaments trade,” Dobbs replied briskly. “Information that may prove useful to me one day.”

“And you really thought I would be willing to share this information with you?” Ursula said.

Dobbs smirked. “If I know you, it will end up on the front page of every newspaper in the country.”

Ursula felt uneasy, now she had played the hand McTiernay had given her, she was not at all sure that Dobbs was not still holding something back.

“There is still one thing I’d like to know,” Ursula said.

“And that is?” Dobbs regarded her insolently.

“Who exactly used the information you’ve given me, to compel Count von Bernstorff-Hollweg to testify against Lord Wrotham?”

Dobbs smiled. “Ah, that little piece of information would require further payment…”

Ursula felt a surge of anger. She snatched her hat and gloves and quickly rose to her feet.

“Don’t tell me your scruples are now suddenly offended,” Dobbs said with a laugh. “Remember my dear, you came to me…as you will come to me again when you realize you still need my help.”

“Kindly unlock the door,” Ursula said stiffly, trying to maintain a tenuous hold on self-control, “so that I can leave.”

“As you wish,” Dobbs replied. He slowly got up out of his chair, stretched his neck and walked around from behind the desk. Ursula was still standing, holding the back of the chair to steady herself as she waited for the rage to subside. She turned go but as she did so, Dobbs gripped her wrists and forced her back down on the chair to face him. He pinned her arms behind her easily, pressing his weight down upon her.

His hot breath was on her cheeks even as she struggled to turn her face away, even as she kicked and writhed beneath him. “You don’t seriously imagine that your petty threats will ever succeed against me—and please, there’s no point in screaming,” he said in a low voice in her ear, “all my employees know when to be discreet.”