The Prime Minister reached into his drawer and took out a large envelope, which he handed to Richard. 'Here are the blanks for the draft treaty. Simply fill in the details in accordance with the agreement you reach. The final terms are entirely your responsibility: we will stand by whatever arrangements you make. You'll have Thornton from the FO present as your adviser throughout, of course. You've met him?'
'Yesterday for the first time. He seems very able.'
'He is extremely able. Highly experienced, and with a full knowledge of our capabilities.'
'Which is something I conspicuously lack, I'm afraid. Needless to say, I'm deeply honoured, but I cannot help wondering why you asked me to undertake these negotiations.'
'Why do you think I asked you?'
'Well, obviously if outsiders weren't to realise the importance of the talks, you had to pick somebody fairly junior; yet it's patently too important a matter to be handled at Embassy level. But I can't help feeling there are others better qualified than I to deal with it. The only real asset I have seems to be—' He broke off.
'Seems to be what?'
'Alderley.'
'How do you mean, Saunders?'
'Well, I do spend a certain amount of time there with my brother and his family. My sister-in-law gives frequent house parties. Then there are the Alderley collections - foreign visitors do call now and again to examine them. So the visit of two men from a small European country, at the same time as I'm there myself, will cause no talk; while at the same time they will be well out of sight of the press and the diplomatic corps. In addition, the house is extremely secure. From the moment the Foreign Secretary asked if my brother would be willing to entertain a couple of strangers for a few days, I had in mind that that might have been the reason I was chosen.'
The Prime Minister shook his head firmly. 'No. Those factors did enter into our calculations and Alderley did seem an eminently suitable venue. However, there were others equally suitable. I did not select you because your brother happens to be Earl of Burford, but because you are the best junior minister for the job. All right?'
'Very much so. Thank you.'
'Please convey to the Earl and Countess our gratitude for their cooperation. I shall, of course, write when the talks are concluded. There are to be some other guests present, I understand?'
'Yes, an American couple by the name of Peabody. He's in oil, I believe.'
'They are the only ones?'
'The only ones I know of. My niece, Geraldine, may have some friends of her own down. Why - do you think she ought to be asked to put them off?'
'By no means. We do not want to give the impression that anything out of the ordinary is taking place there. By the way, how much do you know about your opposite number?'
'Adler? Only that he's been very much the power behind the throne in the Duchy in recent years.'
'Comparatively few people know even that much. The general public have barely heard of him. Have you realised how rarely you see his picture in the papers?'
'No, I hadn't. But, of course, it's quite true.'
'He's an American, you know.'
'Really?'
'Well, half-American. His mother was American and he lived there most of his life until about ten years ago. He met the present Grand Duke at Harvard and returned to the Duchy with him. Since then he's never looked back - even though he's reported to be a highly unconventional kind of diplomat. Apparently he's the one man in the country who's got all the facts necessary to conduct the negotiations at his finger tips - without even having to consult notes.'
'Remarkable. Who is this man Felman who is accompanying him?'
'Oh, just a young aide or secretary of some kind. We are not, at their request, laying on any official welcome. We do not even know by what means they are travelling to this country. They will make their own way to Alderley.'
The Prime Minister rose. 'Now I must wish you luck - and assure you that if you succeed in bringing these negotiations to a satisfactory and speedy conclusion, I will not let the fact go unrecognised.'
CHAPTER THREE
Guests
'I'd just like to see any doggone jewel thief try to lift my Carrie's diamonds. Even this guy they call the Wraith.' And Mr. Hiram S. Peabody looked pugnaciously up from the magazine out of which the faces of himself and his wife stared at him.
His secretary, John Evans, who had been the one to bring the magazine to him, gave a sigh. 'I'm afraid you might get your wish, HS.'
'Let him. I'll be ready. My daddy didn't make half a million bucks, and I didn't turn it into fifty million, by backing down to cheap crooks.'
The two men were in the sitting-room of Mr. Peabody's suite at the Savoy Hotel in London. Evans, a thin young man, with hornrimmed glasses and a small toothbrush moustache, was looking harassed. The Wraith is hardly a cheap crook, sir. And I'm not suggesting you should back down to anybody.'
'Tell me, John, how long have you been with us?'
Evans looked surprised. 'Nearly twelve months.'
'For the last four of those we've been travelling all over Europe - Athens, Rome, Venice, Paris, and a whole lot more. All that time Mrs. Peabody has had her necklace with her. You've never worried about it before. Why start now?'
'Well, for one thing, your exact movements - and the facts about the necklace - have never been so publicised in advance before.'
'But if this Wraith character moves in society, as he's reputed to, he doesn't need a newspaper to tell him where the wealthy are, does he?'
'There's more to it than that. This magazine lays down a definite challenge. It's not the sort of thing the Wraith will want to ignore. He's been inactive for some time now and he's probably ready for a comeback. This is thoroughly irresponsible journalism, if you ask me.'
'I'm with you there. Guess I was a mite foolish to speak so freely to that reporter.'
Just then the door opened and Mrs. Peabody sailed in. A smart woman of about fifty, with a round, good-natured face, she was followed by four package-laden page boys. They put down their burdens, were lavishly tipped, and departed. Carrie Peabody turned a beaming face towards her husband. 'Hiram, you really should have come. I've had a dandy morning. And I don't suppose I've spent more than two thousand dollars, either.'
'That's swell, Carrie. Come and look at this.' He held out the magazine to her.
Carrie took it and gave an exclamation of pleasure. 'My, isn't that nice? You look truly distinguished, honey.'
'Read what it says.'
'Read it to me, will you? Save me putting my eye-glasses on.' She passed the magazine back.
Peabody read aloud: 'Mr. and Mrs. Hiram S. Peabody, who arrived in London this week on the final stages of a European tour. Mr. Peabody is the well-known Texas oil millionaire, and the owner of one of America's largest collections of antique firearms. Mr. and Mrs. Peabody will be staying for some days at Alderley, the country seat of the Earl and Countess of Burford. His lordship is, of course, well known as the foremost collector of old weapons in England, and Mr. Peabody is anxious to inspect the Alderley collection - and to show Lord Burford one of his own prize possessions, which he recently purchased in Rome.
'Mrs. Peabody is here seen wearing her famous diamond necklace, which is insured for five hundred thousand dollars. It is perhaps fortunate that Alderley has one of the most elaborate burglar alarm systems in Britain. Otherwise, we feel the necklace might make an almost irresistible target for the notorious Wraith!'
'The Wraith?' Carrie Peabody said sharply. That's that society jewel thief, isn't it - the one who always leaves a calling card?'
'That's it. A drawing of a sheeted ghost. John figures we should deposit the necklace in the bank before we go to Alderley - just to be on the safe side. What do you think?'
Mrs. Peabody shook her head firmly. 'Oh no. Definitely not. I've never stayed with the English aristocracy before. Our hosts may have a title going back hundreds of years and a famous stately home full of art treasures and
antiques. But they don't have a diamond necklace worth half a million bucks. I must have something to keep Uncle Sam's end up. I'm taking my necklace - and wearing it.'
Her husband chuckled. 'Good for you, Carrie. That's just what I figured you'd say. Something else our hosts lack, too, is a unique, personally-engraved Bergman Bayard 1910/21 semi-automatic pistol, custom-made as a gift for Tzar Nicholas II just before his assassination. I'm sure looking forward to seeing the Earl's face when I produce it.'
* * *
In the smoking-room of his club, Algernon Fotheringay was talking.
'Then, of course, next week I'm toddling off down to jolly old Alderley for a few days. You ever stayed at Alderley?'
His listener, the laziest member, and the only one who hadn't made a hasty withdrawal within moments of Algy's appearance, yawned and shook his head.
'Oh, it's an absolutely topping place. The Earl and Countess are ripping people. So's Gerry, their daughter. I met the Earl at Lord's the other day. He almost begged me to go down. They're having quite an exclusive party, and he said that it wouldn't be the same without me at all.'
'I'm sure that's true.'
'I had several other invitations outstanding, of course, including one to Cliveden. I was tempted, but when it came to making a decision, Alderley won. The grub there's ripping. The cook does a perfectly spiffing steak and kidney pie - and she's a dab hand at soufflés, too, don't you know. The only possible fly in the ointment is that a little bird tells me there are going to be a brace of foreigners there. Some Americans, too, but I don't bar Americans. No these are a couple of real foreigners. Of course, if they turn out to be too hairy at the heel, one can steer clear of them. It's a pretty big place. But the danger is that Lady Burford might be tempted to dish them up some of their national dishes. I was staying once at a place in Norfolk, don't you know. Of all things they had a bally Arab staying there. A sheikh or something. Well, you know, the chief delicacy among those johnnies are sheep's eyes. Well, would you believe it - I say, old man, are you all right?' But the laziest member was asleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Richest Man in Europe
In a large house on the outskirts of Paris, in a big curtained room lit only by a flickering log fire, a little wizened, bald old man sat in a high-backed armchair. He was holding an open atlas and studying a map of Africa. Eventually he raised his head, revealing a hooked nose and deep set eyes, which burnt with a fierce light. His lips were thin and his jaw long and pointed. His hand, which now moved slowly to press an electric buzzer set into the low table beside his chair, was scrawny, like a claw. The old man looked frail, almost lost in the big chair, dwarfed further by the high vaulted room, and by the huge old-fashioned grate, the flickering light from which barely reached the distance recesses of the room. Yet in spite of his frail appearance, there was strength in the old man - strength in the talon-like hand, strength in the jaw, above all strength in those dark and darting eyes. The old man dominated his surroundings, as for forty years he had dominated the lives of thousands of people all over the world - people who had never even heard his name.
That name was Jacob Zapopulous. It was a name which was spoken of with something like awe in the financial centres of the world; the name of a man who, through a combination of financial genius, treachery, graft and blackmail, had made himself the richest man in Europe.
Jacob Zapopulous had no friends and no partners, for he trusted nobody. There were, however, half a dozen men in his employ in whose efficiency and sense of self-interest he had confidence, and it was one of these who now entered the room in response to the buzzer. He was a man of about forty, with a pale face, light blue eyes, and blond, short - cropped hair. He was a Dane and his name was Bergsen. He crossed the room silently, his feet sinking into the sumptuous Persian carpet, stopped in front of his master, and stood waiting impassively. Thirty seconds passed. Then in a high-pitched, cracked voice, Zapopulous spoke - slowly, quietly, and distinctly.
'I have a task for you. It is for you alone. Succeed in it and you will become a rich man.' He held out the open atlas. 'Take this.'
Bergsen did so.
'Look at the territories shaded blue.'
'May I switch on a light?'
'Yes, yes.'
Bergsen crossed to the mantelpiece, switched on a lamp, and stood under it with the atlas in his hands. 'Yes?'
'How many are there?'
Bergsen was silent for a few seconds. Then he said: 'Thirteen.'
'Yes, thirteen - scattered throughout the entire length and breadth of the continent. An absurd empire! Each individual colony isolated, not one of them large enough ever to be of any importance. The fools in the Duchy could never even afford to develop them slightly, to exploit them in any way. Not one of those colonies has any industry to speak of, no large-scale commerce, no great city. They are peopled almost exclusively by primitive native tribes and poor white farmers. A few of the people are tolerably prosperous, most of them just scratch a living. The territories are backward, moribund, useless. Or they have been until now.'
Bergsen looked up, but said nothing.
'In one of those primitive, useless colonies, something has been discovered,' Zapopulous said, and his voice was harsh. 'What it is, I don't know: gold, diamonds, oil. And I don't know in which one. But I do know that the Duchy is quite unable to take advantage of the discovery. She is weak, threatened from all sides, desperate for military aid. And in return for this she is prepared to cede that entire territory, her only negotiable asset, to the British.'
Zapopulous sat up. His voice grew higher. 'Some people in one of those little blue patches are sitting on a fortune. And they do not know it. Their land will shortly become immensely valuable. Whereas now - now, most of those people could be bought out for a comparative pittance.'
Bergsen nodded. 'If we knew who they were. You want me to find out?'
'You are quick, Bergsen. That is just what I want: ascertain what mineral has been discovered and the precise location of it. Bring me the information when you have it; later you can handle the actual purchasing of the land on my behalf.'
'You don't think that there might be a risk? If the whole colony - whichever it is - is going to change hands, might not individual landowners lose their holdings?'
'Pah! Nonsense!' Zapopulous made a gesture of contempt. 'Whatever government is in control of the territory, it will not affect the legal standing of individuals. The British government are not Bolsheviks. They will respect the rights of landowners. I intend to be the biggest landowner. And the first essential is to discover which land is involved. Find out - and ten per cent of everything I make will be yours.'
He was being offered the chance of a fortune, but Bergsen displayed no emotion - and offered no thanks. He waited, aware that there was more to come.
'Very shortly,' Zapopulous continued, 'a representative of the Grand Duke, a man named Martin Adler, is going to England to discuss the deal with a British government minister. Who this minister is to be and where the meeting is to take place, I do not know. How you make use of this information is entirely up to you. But obviously if by some means you can learn what is said at the meeting, your job will be done. Now go. Do not come again until you have all the information I require. Turn the light out before you leave.'
CHAPTER FIVE
Misgivings
'What's the matter, Nick? You look worried.'
Martin Adler's companion in the first class compartment of the Orient Express looked up and gave a smile. 'Why do you speak in English, Martin?'
'Good practice for you, pal. Frankly, yours sounded a bit rusty when you were speaking with those Britishers at the reception the other day. So I think we'll stick to English for the rest of this trip. Nothing makes an Englishman feel more superior than to hear another guy talking broken English.'
Nicholas Felman hesitated for a moment; then: 'OK, you are the boss,' he said carefully. 'How did that sound?'
'Not bad. Keep
trying. But you didn't answer my question: why the anxious visage?'
Felman shrugged. 'Just nervousness. I have never had experience of anything so important as this. I cannot help wishing that you had not asked for me to accompany you, Martin. You need someone older - someone more practised at negotiations of this nature.'
'Don't be such a hick. I didn't want one of the old guard of stuffed shirt diplomats - all hot air and protocol. I wanted someone I could talk to, who understands me, and whom I understand. You know just as much about the situation as any of those old buffers.'
'Yes, I believe I do, and I do not want you to think I am not grateful for your confidence. It is merely that I cannot bear the thought that I might fail my country. The situation is so perilous—'
'You don't need to tell me that, old buddy. But I don't see in what way you could let the country down. If we should fail, I'd be to blame. But the British aren't our enemies. They want to help. These are just going to be cosy, informal talks to decide the precise details of how best they can help - and how we can best repay them.'
'You make it sound very easy. But I have this feeling that things are not going to proceed quite as smoothly as you anticipate.'
'You're a natural-born pessimist,' said Adler.
* * *
'Blasted foreigners.' George Henry Aylwin Saunders, twelfth Earl of Burford, muttered the words as he sat in a wicker chair on the terrace at Alderley, gazing out across the tree-dotted parkland, baking under the summer sun.
A few yards from him, a hammock had been slung from a hook on the wall of the house to the spreading branch of a nearby tree. At that moment the only indication that Lord Burford was not simply soliloquizing was a bulge in the underside of the hammock; but after a quarter of a minute his daughter's voice from inside it murmured: 'Which ones? Richard's? What's wrong with them?'
The Affair of the Bloodstained Egg Cosy Page 2
