Lethal Pursuit

by Will Thomas

  I must admit yours was one of the most unusual packages this library has seen. These eyes have witnessed a hundred things used as packing materials, from wool, fleece, wood pulp, and wads of cotton, but this is the first time we have encountered silk hose as a means of cushioning a priceless article. It was satisfactory, but you might consider something more practical should you find another item to send to our vault.

  In Christ’s name,

  Cardinal Russo

  Vatican Library Curator

  “Hose,” I moaned.

  “It came to hand, sirs, and seemed a plausible way to protect the delicate manuscript.”

  “You waited several days to receive word from Rome?” the Prime Minister asked.

  “I did, sir. It was my attempt to keep Arnstein and his conspirators occupied, unaware the actual manuscript was hundreds of miles away.”

  “When did you post it?” Munro demanded.

  “First thing on the second day.”

  “But it was in the vault of the Cox and Co. Bank that morning!”

  “It was, for a while, and then it wasn’t. Should the day ever arrive that I cannot outwit a band of CID men I shall close my offices and retire.”

  “The man’s impossible!” the commissioner boomed. “Let me arrest the scoundrel now!”

  Salibury frowned, considering what to do next.

  “Your order was to take the satchel to Calais.” The Prime Minister sat back in his chair and regarded my employer. “You got round me, Mr. Barker, didn’t you? You irritated me until I gave you permission to do it your own way. You tricked me.”

  “I would have refused the offer if I had not had enough room to maneuver. As a rule, I don’t care for courier work. There are too many restrictions.”

  “So, gentlemen, you managed to both deliver the package and find the killer of Hillary Drummond. You may have thrown a bit of mud on the Home Office’s shoes, but you avenged the death of one of our best agents.”

  Barker shrugged his shoulders in reply.

  “What about your interference with the messages that come in and out of Whitehall? Will there be any more assaults?”

  “There is no reason. I merely needed a show of strength.”

  Barker stood and cracked the muscles in his neck. We had in no way been dismissed yet, but he pulled his coat about him and began to button it.

  “If there’s nothing else, we have potential clients waiting.”

  “Ummm, yes.”

  “Oh, and be certain to send for us if we can ever be of service to you again.”

  Salisbury’s jaw fell open and then he burst into laughter. He was still laughing when we left his office. Munro was at our heels, pulling a particularly dour face.

  “Commissioner,” the Guv said. “Will you walk with me? There is a matter we should discuss.”

  * * *

  We left by the front door at last, that famous black door with the ornamental lamp hanging over it. We were an odd trio, two private enquiry agents and the Commissioner of the London Metropolitan Police Force. I walked behind, having no way to know what would happen next.

  “We don’t like each other, do we, Commissioner?” my employer asked Munro.

  “We most certainly do not.”

  “Nor were you a favorite of Pollock Forbes.”

  “Are you gloating?” Munro asked. “If you do, I would prefer to walk alone, thank you.”

  “Pollock Forbes did not trust you. He gave the helm of the Knights Templar to me, to do with as I will.”

  “You are beginning to irritate me, Barker. Say what you have to say.”

  “We do not get along, but I believe you to be an honest man. Even trustworthy in your own way. Forbes convinced me to take over the Templars, and yet I do not want it, not all of it, anyway. There may be pertinent information that Scotland Yard might not only need, but need in a hurry. I have a small practice here, precious but small, and were I fully invested in the society, I would have to give it up, which is something I would never do.”

  Munro frowned as if he were certain he was being tricked, only he wasn’t certain how.

  “We shall lock horns a great deal, but I suggest we share the duties of running the Knights Templar.”

  “In exchange for what?” the commissioner asked.

  “In exchange for not having to run the blasted thing myself. I am not accustomed to the kind of frivolities enjoyed by many societies, for example. Nor do I care for the rituals.”

  Munro stopped and stared, bushy brows meeting in the middle.

  “I’ll never get you, Barker, as long as I live.”

  “No, Commissioner, I don’t think you will.”

  “Why join a secret society if you do not socialize or enjoy rituals?”

  “Because it brings together men of importance in order to do the most good.”

  “You want power, then.”

  “No, I most definitely do not want power. Do you? Have you plans to take the Prime Minister’s position? Have I misjudged you?”

  “All I want is to have an efficiently run police force and to see it safely into the new century.”

  “I want that as well.”

  “You’re still sore about my turning you down for the constable’s position all those years ago!” Munro cried, laughing.

  “It rankled for a time, I’ll admit, but if you had not refused me, I would not have opened my offices.”

  “And become a thorn in my flesh.”

  “A messenger to harass you and keep you from becoming conceited.”

  “Second Corinthians 12:8. Only it is a messenger from Satan, as I recall.”

  They walked in silence for a while, lost in thought, as I dogged their steps.

  “How will I know what is best for us to do?” Munro asked. “It would be so much better if you would just turn the society over to me fully. I have the men to do what needs to be done.”

  “I prefer a system of checks and balances,” the Guv said. “You will not get what you want all of the time, and neither will I, but we will get some of it.”

  “Do not think I will promise not to throw you in a cell just because we are working together. I shall not accede to that.”

  “I would not ask. My solicitor is on retainer. He needs to earn his keep.”

  “Let me consider the matter and get back to you.”

  “No,” my employer said, shaking his head. “You must decide now, or the offer is rescinded.”

  Munro blustered. His face turned red and his hands balled into fists.

  “You are the most infuriating man in all of London. Of England, in fact!”

  “That is a high compliment, sir, and is corroborated by many in this town.”

  “Very well,” Munro said. “I accept, the Lord help me. We shall divide our duties later. Do you require men to transcribe messages?”

  “Perhaps later, although I have a man working on them at the moment. I will see that they are sent to you personally.”

  “Scotland Yard, sir,” I said.

  “What?” the Guv asked.

  “We are here. Scotland Yard is right there.”

  “Thank you, Thomas.”

  “Come to my office tomorrow afternoon. I shall clear my schedule.”

  “Two o’clock?”

  “Fine.”

  “Good day, Commissioner.”

  “Barker.”

  We parted company. The air was cold and crisp and dazzlingly clear. I tucked my stick under my good arm and slid my hands into my pockets.

  “Thomas,” Barker said, with an air of disapproval. “Pray take your hands from your pockets. It reflects upon the agency.”

  “Oh, good,” I said. “At least one thing hasn’t changed.”

  Barker raised his blackthorn and a cab came to our feet. Slowly, we crawled aboard.

  “Newington, driver! I’d say we’ve earned a day off, don’t you?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “You posted the manuscript,” I said, shaking my head
. “And did not tell me.”

  We were up in Barker’s chamber, which runs the length of the house. To call it a garret would be a trifle modest. We were sitting in two large leather chairs, sharing an ottoman in front of a crackling fire. The snow had blown south across the Continent and we didn’t miss it. I hoped we had received our allotted amount of snow for the winter.

  The Guv had one limb stretched out toward the fire. The trouser leg had been rolled up past the knee and his foot was bare. The brace had been removed at last. It was still too early, really, but no one could convince him of it. His calf looked like a map of a war zone. A jagged line of sutures meandered down it, like a river of blood. There were angry welts from where the metal and leather had pressed repeatedly against the skin. The limb looked pale and unhealthy, but all that didn’t matter. The brace was off after almost half a year. No more could he be pitied for his infirmity. No more would he be less than a threat to whoever crossed our path. He flexed his toes toward the warmth of the hearth, a small and personal victory.

  “Aye, I did. Or rather, Mac did. He was quite put out that I sent the socks to the Vatican, however. I told him better they than I.”

  “And you saw no need to inform me?” I asked. “I can understand you not telling me when I was an apprentice, but now I am a partner.”

  “You are a partner, true, but I still have a thing or two to teach you. If I tell you everything you cannot develop your own powers of logic and observation.”

  “I see the observation, but not the logic.”

  “Look, a man asks me to deliver a package to Rome. Very well. I put it in a box, add postage, and send it on its way. In what way is that illogical? The postal systems of Western Europe are the envy of the world.”

  “What of Jeremy’s counterfeit manuscript?” I asked.

  “It begins realistically enough, but toward the end, I’m afraid he became creative. It was destroyed.”

  “It would have been nice to see Monsignor Bello’s face when he realized what he had,” I remarked. “From a distance, of course.”

  “He was certainly inventive with his language when we finally spoke in Calais, and he a man of the cloth. I might have told him what I had done with the manuscript had he not aimed a pistol at my head in my own office. I tend to take such matters personally.”

  “When did you first suspect Arnstein?” I asked.

  “Now, lad, you know I suspect everyone at the start of an enquiry. In his case, he discovered the manuscript, or possibly even forged it. Yet the German ambassador said that no money had been paid for it, which he would most certainly not have said if Arnstein had been paid and they had no manuscript for their troubles. He wasn’t concerned about the count, he was angry about Drummond stealing the satchel and killing the translator. He believed not only that the Foreign Office was behind it, but that the British government had possession of it, which of course they did. At that point, the satchel had become a liability, should it be proven to be in our possession. This is why Salisbury was so anxious for us to get rid of it, to get it off our shores as quickly as possible.”

  “Whereas you had already posted the manuscript and were awaiting confirmation, while trying to determine who had killed Drummond and Wessel.”

  “Aye. We had only a small window of opportunity.”

  I stared into the fire, letting the questions I had inside me come bubbling up.

  “Did Arnstein kill Wessel because he was the translator?”

  “That seems logical, does it not? More likely, however, it was the blue coats. I believe he had difficulty managing so many young men who would willingly die for him. They killed Wessel and his driver, hoping to find the manuscript themselves.”

  “What will become of them, do you think?”

  “If they were in the lugger and did not capsize, then they returned to Dover and took the next ferry to Antwerp. I presume the lads I injured were handed to the Austrian embassy.”

  “What about Cochran? Surely he was involved.”

  “Only peripherally. I don’t think possessing the manuscript would have added much to his tent revival. He was doing very well without it. Even more so now. Have you read the newspapers? Of course you haven’t. He was shot two nights ago by a released mental patient. He wasn’t hurt, but he was grazed, enough to make his believers think that atheists and liberal socialists were trying to kill him. His camp meeting was more than full last night. He performed an impromptu second service for those who couldn’t get in.”

  “Why do evil men prosper?”

  “I don’t know that I would call him evil, just opportunistic. Remember, if there is suitable punishment in this world, what is left for the next?”

  “If he were innocent, or mostly innocent, how did Voss come to join his flock?”

  “Likely the boys of the academic school were told to lie low until needed. Perhaps this was where Voss chose to be. He could have heard him speak during Cochran’s German tour. I would have questioned him further, but Hatzfeldt spirited him away. Name another suspect.”

  “Karl Heinlich.”

  “Of every story I heard this week, his appeared to me the most plausible. He cared about his brother, he was tired of touring. He’d lost his faith as a youth while attending a progressive university. Every word he spoke seemed true. If the man was guilty of theft and murder, I’d have been glad to expose him, but he was innocent.”

  “And Grayle?”

  “Ah, His Lordship. He’d heard from Arnstein that the manuscript was somewhere in London. It was too rewarding a piece of gossip not to impart to the most famous collector in Britain. It was an open secret, despite what Salisbury said. Grayle didn’t care about theft or murder or national machinations. He merely wanted to own the manuscript. It would be his new bauble. I wonder what he will try to purchase next.”

  “Why do you think the German government, that is, the Kaiser, did not send a squad of their own men to London to find the satchel themselves?”

  “I am only speculating, Thomas, but the manuscript was stolen, a beloved scholar was murdered, and the Germans were humiliated once more. Tensions are so high between England and Germany now it would be dangerous to send a dozen agents to London. Also, the manuscript might simply have been too much trouble to bother with, especially if their scholars believed it to be a fake gospel, which is still possible.”

  Mac arrived with the iron pot and tiny cups Barker used to drink gunpowder tea. I drank some with him but only to be polite. The drink is almost tasteless, and what taste there is noxious.

  “Is there anything else?”

  “We can add the Home Office and the Jesuits to the list of organizations that do not trust us.”

  “I did not become an enquiry agent to make friends. I’m here to right wrongs and help people find justice.”

  I laughed. “What are the Templars but a group of friends and acquaintances, albeit well-connected ones?”

  Barker put his thimble-sized cup back on the tray and lifted another. “I see your point and shall not argue with it.”

  We sat and listened to the fire while I considered the case.

  “Was this Pollock Forbes’s plan all along?”

  Barker laughed and actually slapped my knee. “Now, see, you are coming along after all. Aye, it was all Forbes’s maneuvering. When he told us he wanted me to take the reins or he’d have to choose someone else, he meant someone in particular.”

  “Munro.”

  “Indeed. It was Forbes himself who suggested us for the assignment, but Munro pressed Salisbury, hoping to embarrass us.”

  “Which he did,” I replied.

  “But Forbes knew we would carry a card or two up our sleeves.”

  “Yet you gave the society over to Munro. Why, if you think him a scoundrel?”

  “He may be a scoundrel, and petty, and mean-spirited, but he is an able administrator. The new building was built under his direction, the regulations he created have produced better constables and inspectors. He w
ould not be my first choice for Master of the Templars, but who would be? Certainly not I.”

  “You weren’t tempted? I thought you were for a time.”

  A second empty cup was set beside the first.

  “The temptation was there. The thought of so much information at hand was tantalizing until I realized that less than a hundredth of it concerned my work. Why should I care that a Lord Mayor has a mistress or the Chancellor of the Exchequer has a gambling problem, unless it has to do with a specific case, and what are the chances of that? As high as a manuscript arriving in Berlin, that proved a notion an academic had theorized recently.”

  “You believe it to be a fake?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me or my faith, and I doubt it will be proven either way. It is a permanent conundrum. The British government was wise to send it away. They might have even suggested to the Vatican that the manuscript is dangerous, and should never see the light of day again.”

  “It’s a shame. I’d like to believe it was real.”

  “Ever the romantic, Mr. Llewelyn.”

  “Guilty, I suppose. But, another gospel!”

  “It would be like Krakatoa, lad, spewing ash and fire all around the world. Best let it slumber.”

  I pointed at him. “You’re siding with Salisbury and Munro.”

  “Am I? It’s possible. Just because I think them heavy-handed doesn’t make them any less competent at their occupations.”

  “You think them competent?”

  “I do. If there were a better, younger, and more able man for the position, I believe we would know who he is.”

  That was twisted logic, but I wasn’t about to get into a political debate. I’d never told him I was a liberal socialist, but I’m certain he suspected it.

  “Ah,” I said, which is always vague enough to make a good bookmark in a conversation, since it sounds agreeable while meaning absolutely nothing.

  “Did you have further comments?” the Guv asked, pouring himself a final thimble of tea.

  “I suppose my mind tried to connect Cochran to the German government and Arnstein to Lord Grayle. After the Pritchard case last year, I am suspicious of conspiracies among our suspects. The thought that Germany had nothing to do with this case save as a victim astounds me.”