Death in the House

by Anthony Berkeley

  The House of Commons is very like a public school. The Prime Minister is the Head, the Cabinet his Prefects, the Ministers without Cabinet rank and the Under-Secretaries are the Sixth, and the rank and file are the rest of the school, with here and there a bully, a promising youngster or a toady to those in High Places. (And the House of Lords is to the House of Commons much as Eton is to other schools, for reasons which it is unnecessary to particularise.) Moreover, since the average age at which intelligence ceases to develop is thirteen, the mental outlook is much the same as that of a public school too.

  Only the School Prefects really know what is going on behind the scenes, and what is planned for the future. The Sixth know no more than the rest of the school, but they take care to look as if they did; and the rest of the school is inclined to lump Prefects and Sixth together, and credit the latter with as much inside knowledge as the former.

  As Lord Arthur made his way through the lobby, therefore, he was greeted by more nods and becks and wreathed smiles, from friend and foe alike, than had ever come his way before. Half a dozen attempts were made to engage him in conversation, with the obvious intention of pumping him, but he was able to disengage himself from each with the ease of custom. There was indeed little that Lord Arthur did not know about Parliamentary ways, including the art of eluding awkward questions. He had been at home in the lobbies almost as long as he could remember, for when he was a small boy his father, the Marquess, had been Prime Minister. It was, in fact, Lord Arthur’s father who had noted the ability of young Mr Franklin and lifted him with unusual rapidity from the oblivion of the back benches, through an Under-Secretaryship or two, to Cabinet rank. Mr Franklin, now Prime Minister, had been delighted to be able to repay the debt by encouraging the obvious abilities of his benefactor’s son.

  Lord Arthur, without being in any way complacent, had always taken it for granted that he would be in the Cabinet one day. He came of an old political family, he knew he was no fool, he understood the political game from A to Z, and he had a powerful patron. He knew, equally, that it was only while Mr Franklin was at the head of things that his real chance held good. The days of the old political families are passing; there is more log-rolling and worse undercurrents in politics now than ever before (and that is saying a good deal); with a Labour Government in power, of course, he stood no chance, and even with a change of Conservative leadership it would be doubtful how far he could count on the new man. Not having had an opportunity of getting into the public eye, he had no influence in the country to offer; if he were to be quietly dropped now he never would be missed.

  ‘Old Franklin mustn’t make that speech. If he goes the way of the others, it may be the end of me as well as him. I’ve got to stop him somehow,’ he thought to himself, and then cursed himself for allowing personal politics to have any weight with him at such a time. But that was the way of it. If you were in politics, you had to be thinking of yourself the whole time. Even if your ambitions were as much for the country as for yourself, because you thought you could do real good if you had the power, you still had to keep thinking of yourself in order to obtain the power to do good.

  There was a man of whom Lord Arthur was vaguely in search, a Labour member for one of the Midland industrial divisions, called Perry, a youngish man who had been making a bit of a name for himself during the last couple of years by championing on every possible and many impossible occasions the cause of the Indian Untouchables. Lord Arthur knew well enough what was in Perry’s mind, just as every other Member did. To make a name for yourself in the House, according to the advice of the old hands, you can choose one of two courses: either you must single out some important member of the Government front bench and attack him in and out of season like a terrier yapping at a rat, till the great man is stung into taking notice of you and possibly placating you, or else you must specialise in some subject which is outside the range of the ordinary member, until you come to be looked upon as the House’s authority on that particular topic. Cabinet rank has been won before now by each of these methods.

  Perry was, of course, out to make a name for himself, and in that he differed not a jot from Lord Arthur himself. But the man did seem to know his subject, and his choice of it seemed to have been dictated as much by genuine sympathy as by practical policy. Lord Arthur thought that a chat with him would certainly be interesting, and might be helpful.

  Perry was run to ground in a corner of the smoking-room, and Lord Arthur took him off to the Secretary for India’s own room. A hundred envious eyes watched the exit, and at least a score of new rumours were coined on the spot.

  Ensconced in an armchair, Lord Arthur opened bluntly.

  ‘Perry, this is a bad business. I can tell you frankly, both the police and the Government are at their wits’ ends. You know a great deal about India and its people – probably more than I do myself. Can you throw any light on the trouble?’

  It was like a member of the Sixth, not quite a prefect yet but rumoured to be the runner-up for the next vacancy, entertaining in his study a member of the lower school.

  The lower school member bridled with pleasure. It was the first time he had ever been addressed by any of the Lordly Ones of the other side. Old Pitchcroft had been right when he advised him to specialise – and, by Jove, his own instinct in choosing India had been right too!

  ‘Well, I do know a bit,’ he admitted coyly. ‘But look here, Lord Arthur, is it right what everyone’s been saying? That Lord Wellacombe and Mr Middleton were poisoned, right under our eyes? Curare, or some such stuff?’ The lower school knew no more than the general public outside the school walls; all that could be said for it was that it heard the rumours earlier, but that was probably because it started them itself.

  ‘Perfectly right. It’s hardly a secret now. The newspapers are still holding it up, at the Cabinet’s wish, but they may break away any moment.’

  ‘Well, I think the House ought to be told a thing like that, Ministers being poisoned under our noses,’ the lower school plucked up courage to say.

  ‘I quite agree with you,’ Lord Arthur returned, diplomatically. ‘But unfortunately informing the House means informing the public, and the Prime Minister thinks that hardly advisable yet, for reasons which I need hardly point out to you.’

  ‘Oh, well, of course, in that case…’ The lower school subsided.

  ‘But about the main issue,’ Lord Arthur proceeded. ‘I take it that the intimate knowledge you have of the lower castes isn’t founded on books. You have personal contacts-correspondents perhaps?’

  ‘Oh, lord, yes, a couple of dozen. More, probably,’ said Mr Perry with pride. ‘I’ve been at proper pains to get into touch with the real chaps themselves. No intermediaries. There’s been too much of that already, and not in India alone. I could tell you some stories about that country that would make you open your eyes, Lord Arthur.’ Mr Perry was no more of a snob than anyone else, but he did find it advisable to insist upon his working-class origin. It had served him well too, for he would never have reached Westminster without it. His slogan had been: ‘Workers, vote for Perry! He’s one of you!’

  ‘Yes, yes, I don’t doubt you could. But what I’d like you to tell me now is whether you have any information about any Indian in this country now who might be behind this horrible business. The police can’t find the man, but people don’t tell the police things. They might very well let drop a hint to you, though.’

  ‘You mean, the Indian chaps I’m in touch with?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I can tell you one thing, Lord Arthur. They don’t know anything. I’d be bound to have heard it if they did. Lord, I should think I’ve had something like a thousand letters since that business started out there-burning the factories and bombing the workers, you know. Real mad, my chaps are.’

  ‘Against the terrorists, you mean?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Your friends in India aren’t opposed to the Bill, then?’

>   ‘You bet they’re not. Why, I could show you cables… a dozen of ‘em at least. Take it from me, Lord Arthur, there isn’t a low-caste Hindu who isn’t just as keen on this Bill going through as you are yourself. Why, it’s their salvation.’

  Lord Arthur looked at him curiously. The man was genuinely moved.

  ‘And yet, Perry, in a division you’d vote against the Bill. Or wouldn’t you?’

  The Labour member wriggled unhappily. ‘Well, you can’t say that. Matter of fact, I haven’t made up my mind yet. Ought to support the party, o’ course,’ he mumbled miserably, under Lord Arthur’s accusing eye. ‘You see, our leaders say – ’

  ‘Your leaders are trying to make political capital out of the Bill, distorting its object and raising the parrot-cry of “Fascism”. Yet if they don’t know as well as you do that without this Bill India’s going to drop into anarchy, they’re much more stupid men than I believe they are. So you have to choose between your conscience and your party, Perry. It’s the old, old political choice.’ Lord Arthur spoke as if he were at least a hundred and three and had been Prime Minister half a dozen times.

  ‘Well, ‘s a matter of fact, I have been talking to some of our chaps, and some of us aren’t too satisfied about it. I don’t know but what we mightn’t… anyhow,’ said Mr Perry, suddenly aggressive, ‘you oughtn’t to talk as if the boot’s all on one foot. Look at what your chaps have done in the past, voting against things they knew jolly well were right, just because it was the other side brought ‘em in.’

  ‘My dear fellow,’ Lord Arthur soothed him, ‘there’s nothing to choose between the parties. Don’t think I meant that for a minute. There have been dirty things done on both sides, and there’ll be plenty more. But if you look at the lists of those voting for and against a really important measure, like this Bill, you’ll find a handful of the Opposition every time among the ayes. Those are the chaps who put their conscience before their party. Mind you, it does them a lot of harm with their own party, at the time. But in the long run… it often pays.’

  The Labour man looked at Lord Arthur with respect.

  ‘What would you do about this Bill, in my place?’ he asked, simply.

  ‘I should vote for the Bill, and I should make a little speech first explaining why you intend to do so. After all, you’re in a particular position. You know. And I don’t think it will do you any harm. At all events, you’ll gain the respect of the House; and that’s worth having.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Mr Perry.

  With the comforting knowledge that his time had in any case not been wasted, for a vote in the House is worth a thousand at the polls, Lord Arthur returned to the matter in hand.

  Here, however, he drew a blank. The Labour man was able to give him convincing first-hand evidence, fully confirming the reports that had reached his office, that the lower castes in India were solid for the Bill, as were the higher castes; it was from the intermediates, the Babus and particularly from the new type of Nationalist business man, that the opposition came, and even these had not a majority among themselves. It was only a small, but a very determined minority, with almost isolated supporters in the Indian States, who appeared to have made up their minds to stop the Bill at all costs.

  Those chaps aren’t my pigeon,’ Mr Perry told Lord Arthur. ‘I don’t know anything about them. To tell you the truth, I haven’t been much interested. But have you seen S P Mansel? There’s a chap who might be able to tell you something about that lot. You know he went out there after they burned his factories down? I believe he got into touch with the actual chaps who did it, too, and talked to ‘em straight. Trust Mansel to do the spectacular thing. He’s much more likely than I am to be able to tell you something about that lot. You have a talk with him.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Lord Arthur. ‘I will.’

  The two men rose.

  ‘By the way,’ Lord Arthur said, very casually, ‘you know Dr Ghaijana pretty well…?’ He paused invitingly.

  It was a name which, naturally enough, had been much in his mind during the last two days. Dr Ghaijana was a Parsee, the only Indian member of the House of Commons. He had stood as an Indian Nationalist, demanding complete freedom for his country and severance from the British Empire, and he had been duly elected by one of those constituencies in the eastern half of London which seem to take a delight in returning freak Members. Dr Ghaijana was an educated man, and his reputation was of the highest; but he was a fervent patriot. The police had, of course, investigated him thoroughly, and had reached the conclusion not only that he was above reproach, but that from the place he had occupied in the House it would have been completely impossible for him to have discharged, propelled or in any other way have caused the poisoned thorns to reach the persons of the dead Ministers. So far as the police were concerned, Dr Ghaijana was out of it – but they were keeping a wary eye upon him nevertheless, and upon correspondence, his visitors and his associates still more.

  ‘Dr Ghaijana?’ repeated Perry. ‘Oh, yes, I know him. In fact I know him pretty well. Not that I agree with his ideas, mind, because I know for a fact that the low-caste Hindus don’t want Home Rule. They’d be a sight worse off under their own people than they are under British Raj, and they know it. But you can take it from me, Dr Ghaijana hasn’t had anything to do with this business at all, Lord Arthur. They wouldn’t be his methods, bombing and poisoning. Dr Ghaijana is a perfect gentleman in every sense of the word.’

  ‘I see,’ said Lord Arthur, wondering a little which sense of the word ‘gentleman’ indicated an inability to bomb and poison.

  Parting with Perry in the lobby, Lord Arthur put a call through to Lloyd-Evans’ home before leaving the House. The information he received was that Mr Lloyd-Evans had not returned.

  Another call, however, brought the news that Mr S P Mansel would be delighted to receive him. Lord Arthur, again warding off the importunities of the seekers after knowledge, went out and called for a taxi.

  The house of Mr S P Mansel was in Grosvenor Square. It had once been the town house of a ducal family. It cost Mr Mansel a great deal of money, but he considered the publicity worth it.

  An envious rival had once described Mr Mansel as the impresario of finance. Whereas most financiers work under cover, burrowing their way to riches like moles, Mr Mansel had introduced glitter into the business. The floating of a new mammoth company by Mr Mansel was the financial equivalent of a C B Cochran first night. The fact that Mr Mansel was ‘news’ made his companies ‘news’ too. All that he did was on an elephantine scale which tickled the popular imagination. Moreover, his concerns paid dividends – to those lucky enough to be still holding the shares when the corner had been turned. The enormous sums which Mr Mansel was reputed to have made had been earned solely by buying up at a low figure shares in new companies of his own which had not declared a dividend during their first three or four years of existence, and holding them until the dividends began to roll in; the shares would then leap up to somewhere around twenty times their previous value, and Mr Mansel would unload. This manoeuvre he repeated with equal success over and over again, only a small proportion of the investing public ever realising that a Mansel Company was a lock-up investment for at least three years, and after that a gold mine. The small proportion who tumbled to Mr Mansel’s game, and realised that a Mansel Company, so far from being over-capitalised was if anything the reverse, found themselves richly rewarded for their astuteness.

  As Lord Arthur walked up the steps towards the imposing front door of the Mansel mansion, he wondered idly what had caused such a man to stand for parliament. Actually, Mr Mansel, following in the footsteps of a great rogue and always ready to learn, had thought that it might pay him to do so and had promptly bought a safe seat. He rather enjoyed the cachet it gave him.

  Lord Arthur reached for the bell.

  chapter ten

  Inside Information

  With his finger actually outstretched towards the bell, Lord Arthur paused.
He knew really very little about Mansel. Would it not be advisable to obtain a little information before interviewing the man? The name of one of the Treasury officials jumped into his mind, a man whose job it was both to maintain liaison with the world of private finance and also to keep abreast of what was going on behind locked doors in the City (there are ways of doing this, as there are ways of doing most things).

  Lord Arthur looked round for a public telephone. There was one on the corner, not fifty yards away. He hurried to it and put through the call.

  His man was in, and provided the information promptly.

  ‘Mansel?’ he said. ‘He’s in pretty low water. In fact, I should say he’s desperate. His bankruptcy may be announced any minute.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ The information was a complete surprise to Lord Arthur. ‘What’s the cause?’

  ‘Oh, quite a few things have gone wrong with him lately. But it’s chiefly the failure of his Indian ventures. He spent a colossal fortune setting ‘em going – they were to have been the Sixpenny Stores of India, and he was to manufacture all the articles himself and cut out the manufacturer’s profits. When they burned down his factories and bombed his work-people, the scheme went west. And if you want my personal opinion, I think Mansel will go west with the scheme.’

  Lord Arthur whistled. ‘If Mansel crashes, he’ll bring down a good many people with him?’

  ‘Hundreds. And there’ll be a panic in all his concerns that are still sound. It’ll be a very nasty affair altogether. We’re hoping here that he’ll still be able to stave it off somehow. And knowing Mansel, I shouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t got a card or two up his sleeve yet. Well, is that all you want to know?’