Adam had no immediate reply and was still trying to formulate one when Etherege himself came to his rescue. ‘I knew Mr Carver’s father many years ago. It seemed but an act of politeness to offer to show his son around the city in which I have made my home for the last ten years.’
‘So you were a familiar of the late railway builder.’ Ravelstein turned his eyes to the diplomat and then back to Adam, like a fox trying to decide which of the chickens in the roost was the plumpest. He seemed briefly inclined to pursue the topic but changed his mind. ‘Mr Carver, it has been a great pleasure to meet you,’ he said abruptly, ‘but I see my old friend General von Friedberg is in the room and I must hurry to speak to him. You English gentlemen will, I am sure, excuse me.’ The count clicked his heels together and, with another slight inclination of his head, left them.
‘Who exactly is that man?’ Adam asked.
‘Ravelstein?’ Etherege took his companion’s elbow and guided him towards a corner of the room where there was no one to overhear them. ‘He is a puzzle, is he not?’
‘He seems remarkably well informed. He knew I’ve been staying at the Deutscher Hof. He knew my father’s profession.’ Adam smiled. ‘Damn it, he knew of Travels in Ancient Macedon. And even its author has almost forgotten that particular volume.’
‘Ravelstein makes it his business to be well informed.’
‘But who is he?’
‘He has no official position in the new German government.’ The diplomat nodded briefly at two gentlemen in military uniform who passed by, and watched as other guests drifted towards them. Once again he steered his companion away from the crowds. ‘However, he has one inestimable advantage over many who do have such positions.’
‘And that is?’
‘He has the trust of Otto von Bismarck. He has known the chancellor for nearly forty years. Since they were both law students at Göttingen.’
‘So Ravelstein is a lawyer?’
Etherege laughed. ‘As much, or should I say as little, of one as Bismarck. Ravelstein is a keeper of secrets.’
Adam turned to look at his companion. ‘What kind of secrets?’ he asked.
‘Oh, all kinds. His work is very familiar to us at the embassy.’
‘He is a clandestine agent for Bismarck’s government?’
Etherege raised his fingers briefly to his lips. ‘We do not like to advertise our knowledge of the fact. But, yes, that is as good a description of his position as any.’
The two men had reached the long windows at one end of the room, which opened onto a terrace. They stood there, looking out at the late afternoon light. Etherege rested his hand briefly on Adam’s arm. ‘There is something else about the Graf that perhaps you should know,’ he said.
Adam raised his eyebrows enquiringly.
‘When Bismarck and Ravelstein were young men together in Göttingen, they were also friendly with two foreigners who had come to Germany to study.’ Here, Etherege smiled briefly, opened the door onto the terrace and stepped outside. Adam followed him. The diplomat clearly had something more to say but, equally clearly, he was determined to say it in his own way and his own time. ‘One of them was Motley, the American historian. You will have heard of him, of course. He was ambassador to the Court of St James’s and was recalled suddenly at the end of last year. You will remember the story from the newspapers—? Perhaps you have even read his work. It takes the history of the Dutch Republic as its subject, I believe.’
‘And the other?’
Etherege paused for effect. There was no doubt that he was enjoying the slow revelation of his information. ‘His name was Vernon,’ he said eventually. ‘James Henry Vernon.’
‘Harry Vernon’s father?’
‘The very same.’
‘That is interesting.’
‘I thought you would find it so. What is even more interesting is that one of my informants tells me that your Mr Vernon met with another man, a German, in the Alexanderplatz this afternoon. From the description, it was almost certainly Ravelstein.’
‘And why would Ravelstein wish to meet with Harry Vernon?’
‘Mr Vernon is your friend, is he not? I was rather hoping you might be able to tell me that.’
‘I am as much at a loss as you are, Etherege, to answer that question.’
‘Ah, well, perhaps we could both hazard a guess.’ The diplomat caught Adam’s eye and smiled shrewdly. ‘And there is one last fact about the Graf that I should tell you.’ They had reached the terrace’s stone balustrade and were looking down on a lawn surrounded by plane trees. A man, presumably a gardener, was wheeling a barrow across it. ‘He is a very ruthless man, Mr Carver, and a very dangerous one. You would be well advised to take great care in any dealings you might have with him. And now I think it is time we went back inside and took our leave of our hostess.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Quint passed through the lobby of the hotel, happily unaware of the disdainful looks bestowed upon him by guests and staff alike. Servants were expected to enter their rooms via a door from the stable yard behind the building, but nobody had yet dared to tell Quint that. As he crossed the black-and-white marble floor in the direction of the stairs to the basement, he nearly collided with a young woman who was heading towards the main door onto Unter Den Linden. Both parties took a step back. Quint made a sound that might have been an apology. He looked at the woman and recognized her immediately. ‘You’re the judy we saw at the back of King’s Cross,’ he said.
‘I’m the lady you was privileged to visit in ’er rooms in north London,’ the young woman replied.
‘We’ve been a-lookin’ for you.’
‘Well, ain’t that plummy? But I ain’t been looking for you. So, if you’ll be so good as to shift your carcase, I’ll be on my way.’
With that, the woman took a step to one side, ostentatiously adjusted the white fur stole that hung around her shoulders, and strode out of the hotel. Quint watched her go.
From the reception desk, one of the hotel’s assistant managers, a timid man, watched him. He knew he should already have told this fierce manservant that the lobby was not a place for him, but, hampered by the fact that he had only a limited command of the English language, he had balked at the task. Now he screwed his courage to the sticking place and began to make his way towards Quint. ‘Geehrter Herr,’ he began. ‘Dear sir.’ But he was too late.
Quint had abandoned any idea of descending to his own room. He needed to tell his master of his encounter. With no notion that one of the hotel’s employees was waving half-heartedly in his direction, he set off at pace towards the ornate, curving staircase that led to the first floor. Behind him, the assistant manager dropped his hand and sighed.
Quint took the stairs two at a time, barrelled purposefully along the corridor and burst, unannounced, into Adam’s room. ‘I’ve just seen ’er, guv,’ he said.
Adam was sitting in a chair by the window, smoking a cigarette and trying to understand what he could of the headlines in the Norddeutsche Allgemeine Zeitung. He looked up in surprise as his servant tumbled into the room. ‘Who have you seen?’
‘’Er,’ Quint repeated impatiently and with added emphasis. ‘The tart we’ve followed from London. She’s ’ere in the same ’otel.’
‘Are you certain it was she?’
‘She was got up to the nines but it was ’er all right.’
‘We need to speak to her. Did you not stop her and engage her in conversation?’
‘I couldn’t, guv.’ Quint gestured in annoyance. ‘She was out of the ’otel in a flea’s leap. I couldn’t stop ’er.’
* * * * *
‘My dear Etherege, I did not know that you were a visitor to Café Beethoven. I have not seen you here before.’
George Ether
ege was sitting at a table by the window which looked out onto the passing throng in Friedrichstrasse. He was not watching the crowds but reading a novel. A cup of black coffee was on the table in front of him. He looked up as he heard his name.
‘Good morning, Graf,’ he said. ‘I could say much the same of you. I am here most mornings and I have not seen you before.’ He placed a silver bookmark carefully between the pages of his novel and closed it. He put the book down close to his coffee cup.
Ravelstein picked it up and scrutinized the lettering on its spine. ‘Lothair. A novel by your prime minister, is it not?’
‘Our former prime minister. Mr Disraeli was in office three years ago. Mr Gladstone is prime minister at present.’
‘Ah, of course, I had forgotten.’
Etherege allowed himself a brief, inward smile at the absurd notion that Ravelstein might be unaware, even temporarily, of the identity of the current British prime minister.
‘A curious occupation for a man of power,’ the Graf went on. ‘Scribbling stories for the reading public. I cannot imagine my old friend Bismarck indulging in such a pointless activity.’
Etherege smiled to himself again. ‘No,’ he agreed, ‘it is hard to picture the Iron Chancellor as a writer of fiction.’
‘He has far better things to do with his days.’
‘I have no doubt he does.’
Ravelstein placed the book back on the table and beckoned to one of the white-aproned waiters. ‘Would it be an imposition if I joined you?’ he asked, sitting down before Etherege had a chance to indicate whether it would or would not be.
A young waiter, barely of an age to shave, appeared at Ravelstein’s shoulder.
‘Einen schwarzen Kaffee, bitte.’
‘Jawohl, Herr Graf.’ The boy scurried off as if his life depended on the speed with which he returned with the black coffee.
‘I hope you will not think me impertinent, Mr Etherege—?’ Ravelstein looked enquiringly at Etherege.
‘I am sure I will not, Graf.’
‘But I feel I must say something to you – warn you, perhaps – about the gentleman with whom you attended Frau Kestelmann’s yesterday evening.’
‘Mr Carver?’
‘That is his name, I understand.’
‘A delightful young man, I thought.’
‘But a dangerous one.’
The waiter had already returned with Ravelstein’s coffee and he set the cup down on the table in front of the Graf. His hand was trembling slightly and he spilled a few drops of the black liquid on the cloth. He took a quick, gulping breath and began to apologize abjectly. Picking up a napkin, he dabbed desperately at the spilt coffee.
Ravelstein waved him away. ‘Es ist nichts,’ he said. ‘Verschwinde.’
Still babbling his apologies, the waiter backed off, turned and fled.
‘Dangerous?’ Etherege opened his eyes in feigned astonishment. ‘Surely not?’
‘Perhaps you do not know the gentleman’s history.’ Ravelstein was now staring fixedly at the small black stain on the cloth as if he intended to make it disappear by the force of his will alone. ‘Perhaps you do not know that he killed a man in European Turkey.’
‘I did hear stories of his adventures there. It was in self-defence, was it not? The man was a madman.’
‘He was a distinguished professor of classical literature at one of your ancient universities.’
‘But a madman, nonetheless. He was threatening to murder Carver. The gentleman had no choice but to shoot him.’
‘That is not what I have heard.’ Ravelstein lifted his eyes from the table and glared fiercely at the English diplomat. ‘That delightful young man, as you call him, shot down an elderly scholar in – what is the English phrase? – in cold blood. I was shocked, very shocked when I was told of it.’ Ravelstein attempted, not very successfully, to twist his face into an expression to match his words.
It was difficult to imagine what would truly shock the German spymaster. ‘And yet,’ Etherege said equably, ‘no action was taken against Carver either in Turkey or in England, when he returned home.’
‘In the new Germany, we are not so tolerant of murderers, Mr Etherege.’ The Graf paused and tapped his fingers several times on the table. ‘We are not, of course, able to prosecute an Englishman for a crime that took place in territory ruled by the Ottomans.’
‘Of course not.’
‘But we can discourage him from staying here in our capital.’
Etherege said nothing but smiled blandly.
‘To put it simply, Mr Etherege, this man Carver is not welcome in Berlin. I would suggest, strongly suggest, that you persuade him to leave the city and return to London.’ Ravelstein drank the last of his coffee and pushed his cup into the centre of the table. He stood and nodded his head in the Englishman’s direction. ‘Good day, Mr Etherege.’
‘Good day, Graf.’
Etherege leaned back in his chair, his eyes following the tall figure of the German as he made his way through the noise and bustle of the café. At one point, Ravelstein stopped and bowed ostentatiously to two large men in black suits who were eating Berliner doughnuts as if they feared there was soon to be a shortage of them. They paused long enough in their consumption to haul themselves to their feet and return his salute.
Etherege gestured towards the teenage waiter, who approached cautiously, half an eye still on the Graf’s departing figure.
‘Wollen Sie noch etwas, mein Herr?’ the boy asked.
‘Nein, danke. Ich möchte jetzt bezahlen.’
The waiter dashed off and Etherege watched as the Graf von Ravelstein pushed open the door of the Café Beethoven and stepped into the crowds passing up and down Friedrichstrasse.
* * * * *
‘Who’s that? Is that you, Harry?’
Adam said nothing. The voice was immediately familiar, and his heart leapt a little as he heard it. He had been both dreading and desiring the moment when he met Hetty again. Now it was here.
The door opened slightly. When Hetty recognized the identity of her visitor, the young woman attempted to slam the door shut but Adam was too quick for her: his foot prevented her from doing so.
‘I am sorry to be so ungallant, Hetty, but I must insist on speaking to you.’ He pushed hard against the wood and the door flew open as the girl stumbled back into the room. Adam entered and closed the door behind him. Harry Vernon had reserved a suite of rooms at the Deutscher Hof for his mistress. The one into which Adam now walked was a sitting room, with high windows looking out onto the lime trees that gave Unter den Linden its name.
The girl had recovered her balance and moved behind a large button-back armchair. She glared at Adam.
This was not, he thought, going to be the welcome for which he had been hoping.
‘Well, I ain’t got no wish to speak to you. What the ’ell do you think you’re playing at? Barging into a girl’s room like a bull through a five-barred gate.’
‘Come, Hetty, there is no point in continuing this charade.’ Adam steeled himself to be as brusque as she had decided to be. ‘I know why you are here in Berlin. And I know you are not who you claim to be.’
‘I don’t care a tuppeny damn what you know or don’t know.’
‘I think you will care when you hear what I have to say.’
‘Don’t you be so sure.’
‘I know that you are no more called Hetty Gallant than I am. I know that you sent me off to York on what you thought would be a wild goose chase. I know that you have travelled here to Berlin with Harry Vernon.’
The girl’s face fell. For the first time, she seemed disconcerted rather than outraged by Adam’s visit to her room.
‘What if I did?’ she said, after a
moment’s silence. ‘Ain’t no law against a gentleman admirer taking his lady friend on a trip. Not by my reckoning. And whose business is it what I call myself but my own?’
‘Agreed on both counts, but there is a law against the same gentleman admirer purloining papers from his place of work and taking them abroad.’
‘Purloining? What the ’ell you talking about?’
‘Stealing.’
‘I know what “purloining” means, Mr ’Igh-and-Mighty. I just ain’t got the first idea what all this has got to do with me.’
‘Harry has left London with some very important documents. He should not have taken them. I have been sent to recover them and return them to their rightful owners. In order to do this, I have to have the answers to certain questions.’
‘What’s that to me? Why should I care if you want to know all the ins and outs of a duck’s arse?’
‘I think you will know the answers to some of these questions.’
‘Why should I? And, if I did, why should I tell you?’
‘Well, Dolly – I suppose I should learn to call you Dolly—’
‘Or Miss Delaney,’ the girl interrupted. ‘We ain’t that friendly you can be calling me Dolly any time you want.’
‘We were friendly, Dolly. We were very friendly – for one night at least.’ Adam, struggling not to sound too plaintive, could hear that he had failed.
‘That was then. This is now.’
‘Well, Miss Delaney,’ Adam said after a pause, noting that she had decided to drop any pretence of being Hetty Gallant, ‘I think you do know, and I think you will very definitely find it to your advantage to confide in me.’
Dolly was now watching him warily. She showed no sign of moving from behind the bulky chair.
‘Where is Harry Vernon?’ Adam asked.
‘I ain’t going to tell you.’
‘He’s staying here in the hotel with you, is he not?’
Dolly was running her fingertips along the back of the chair. She said nothing.
‘Have you seen any papers in his possession? Official-looking documents?’
Carver's Truth Page 28
