‘He’s always been a strong-willed boy.’
‘Yes.’ Winifred smiled wistfully. ‘I rather admire that in him.’
‘That NCO he was planning to start the flying school with might know something.’
‘Mr Twentyman. Yes. James trusts him.’
‘I’ll have a quiet word with him.’
‘I’d like to know that James is safe and well, that’s all.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’ George frowned as he puffed at his cigar, as if considering the scale of the task ahead of him. ‘There’s no danger I’ll bump into Brigham in Paris, is there?’
‘None. He’s been granted extended recuperative leave by the Foreign Office. I believe he’s spending it at his villa in Cannes.’
‘He’ll invite you down there if you give him the slightest encouragement.’
‘I won’t be encouraging him, George, however slightly. That door is closed.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘The Secret Service man James and Ashley have both spoken of. Mr Appleby. It might be best to avoid him if at all possible.’
‘He’ll have no interest in me, Win. I’ll just be doing what I’m supposed to do at work: a little quiet brokering.’ George laid a protective hand on his sister’s shoulder. ‘Leave it to me.’
SAM TWENTYMAN ASSUMED when he took the job of chief mechanic for the fleet of cars servicing the British Empire Delegation to the Paris Peace Conference that conferring would be suspended on Sundays and peace would therefore reign in the cavernous garage of the Hotel Majestic at least one day a week.
But Sundays, he discovered, though quiet by comparison with Monday to Saturday, were not wholly lacking in demands for transport, although those demands were so unpredictable that the drivers and mechanics on duty were usually either too few or too many.
The latter was the case this Sunday, with the consequence that a couple of drivers’ card schools were in session, the players seated on spare crates and boxes. The mechanics were whistling and joking while they checked and retuned some of the engines. And Sam was in his cubby-hole office, sipping treacle-sweetened tea to aid his concentration as he sought to bring order to the chaos of his predecessor’s paperwork.
Quite how the small, smiling, morning-suited oriental reached the threshold of his office without anyone noticing him Sam could not afterwards have said, nor how long he was there before coughing delicately to signal his presence. But so it was and so he did.
Sam started with surprise, spilling his tea and cursing as some of it spattered across the garage ledger. ‘Blimey O’Reilly, where did you spring from?’
‘So sorry.’ The man bowed, wringing his hands apologetically as he did so. He gazed at Sam through large, round, steel-framed spectacles and went on, smiling, ‘You are Mr Twentyman?’
‘Yeah. That’s me. Sam Twentyman.’
‘My name is Yamanaka. I am with the Japanese delegation.’
‘Really? Well, what can I do for you, Mr Yamanaka?’
‘I assist Commissioner Kuroda. You have heard of him?’
‘Er, yes.’ Sam had never met Commissioner Masataka Kuroda, security officer to the Japanese delegation, but knew, because Max had told him, that he was a friend of Sir Henry Maxted. Kuroda had given Max invaluable information about the Japanese government’s dealings with Fritz Lemmer and the importance of the so-called Chinese box, a cache of documents stolen from the Chinese delegation on its way to the conference.
‘He wishes to speak with you, Mr Twentyman.’
‘Me? Why?’
‘Only he can tell you. He is waiting for you outside. Will you come?’
‘Well, I’m not—’
‘It has to be now, Mr Twentyman.’ The smile was still in place. But Yamanaka’s tone was earnest. ‘Delay is not possible.’
Before leaving Paris, Max had asked Sam, as his most trusted friend – in fact, his only trusted friend – to deal with anything affecting his interests that occurred in his absence. He had not been able to say what might arise. But he had upset a lot of people during his time there. And not all of the consequences of that had necessarily worked themselves out.
‘Chances are nothing will happen, Sam. But I know I can rely on you to do your best for me.’
‘That you can, sir.’
‘Don’t take any risks on my account, though. I’m not worth it.’
‘Right you are, sir.’
A gleaming limousine was parked in the mews. Yamanaka opened a rear door for Sam to climb in, where Kuroda was waiting – a tall, thin, ascetically gaunt old man, morning-suited like his assistant, though there the resemblance ended. Sam had difficulty imagining such an obviously serious man ever actually smiling.
‘Mr Twentyman,’ Kuroda said, his voice soft and precise. ‘Thank you for agreeing to speak to me.’
‘Pleasure, I’m sure, sir.’
‘Let us hope so.’ A closed glass panel sealed them off from Yamanaka and the driver. Kuroda tapped on it with the handle of a tightly furled umbrella. The car started away.
‘Where are we going?’ Sam asked, faintly alarmed.
‘I am going home, to Japan. My journey begins at the Gare de Lyon. We travel there together. Then you will be free to return here, while I board a train for Marseilles.’
‘You’re going home, in the middle of the conference?’
‘I have no choice. I have been summoned. To answer certain . . . accusations.’
‘Sorry to hear that, sir.’
‘The accusations are groundless. I will be exonerated. That is certain. Unhappily, that is not the point.’
‘No?’
‘You are Max’s friend, Mr Twentyman.’ His eyes were sorrowful and far-seeing. ‘He spoke of you. And my enquiries confirm what he said.’
‘They do?’
‘Do you know where he is?’
‘No, sir.’
‘And even if you did, you would not tell me.’
‘Well, I—’
‘Please, please.’ Kuroda dismissed the matter with a wave of the hand. ‘It is so. And it is rightly so. We are both friends of Max. And he is a friend of us both. Listen to me carefully, Mr Twentyman. I must speak to you of secret things. If it became known to my superiors that I had spoken of them to such a person as you, then I would face accusations I could not answer. But my removal from Paris forces me to confide in you. Will you respect my confidence?’
Sam swallowed hard and nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. You may trust Yamanaka, but no one else. You understand?’
‘I’m not at all sure I do, sir, no.’
‘No. But you will. There has been a change in the balance of power within my nation’s government since the delegation left Tokyo late last year. The Emperor is ill. The court is divided. To remain in office, Prime Minister Hara has had to agree to send Count Tomura to serve as joint deputy of the delegation under Marquess Saionji. He arrived last week. His son is a junior member of the delegation and has caused much trouble. Now his behaviour will go unpunished. Count Tomura represents a political faction that believes the military should control all aspects of government. He is an enemy to my lord Saionji. And me, of course. He is behind my summons to Tokyo.
‘I am fearful of what Count Tomura plans to do. Officially, his purpose is to stiffen the delegation’s resistance to pressure from the United States to make concessions to China over Shantung. You have read about this, perhaps?’
Sam shook his head. ‘No, sir.’
Kuroda raised a single eyebrow to signal his disappointment at Sam’s failure to follow the news of Sino–Japanese relations and cast a weary glance out at the Seine as they travelled along the Cours la Reine. The French Foreign Ministry building on the Quai d’Orsay, where, as Sam knew, the business of the conference was painstakingly pursued amid the unrolling of maps and the tabling of demands, appeared ahead of them on the other side of the river.
‘The Shantung peninsula was wrested from Chinese control by Germany in 1897. The Japanese ar
my expelled German forces in 1915 and have occupied Shantung since then. Japan’s present policy is to insist the occupation continue. The Chinese are naturally opposed to this, as is the United States. Marquess Saionji is suspected by some of sympathizing with the case for restoring Shantung to the Chinese. Count Tomura is here to ensure he does not yield on the issue.’
‘Very interesting, sir,’ said Sam, feeling he should say something.
‘But you do not know Shantung from Southend.’ Kuroda surprised Sam by smiling thinly at him.
‘You’ve, er, heard of Southend, have you, sir?’
‘I have been there, Mr Twentyman. I strolled along the promenade with a young lady in Southend long ago, when I was also young.’
‘Blimey.’
‘It is true. And what I am about to tell you is also true. Count Tomura is set upon more than Japanese retention of Shantung. He has a greater, darker objective. I do not know what it is. He has arranged for me to be recalled to Tokyo to prevent me finding out. I will speak now of matters I believe you will be aware of because Max has told you of them. Never admit your awareness of these things to anyone else except Yamanaka. To do so would put his life as well as yours at risk.
‘The faction Count Tomura represents was responsible for hiring Tarn to find and kill Lemmer. Thanks to Max, he failed. That failure has led to a change of policy. I believe the faction now hopes to neutralize the threat Lemmer poses as a result of his acquisition of the Chinese box by coming to terms with him rather than eliminating him. How that is to be achieved I do not know. Why they should wish to enter into an alliance with him I also do not know, though I may learn the answer to that question in Tokyo.
‘There is a fly in the ointment, however: someone who knows too much about Tarn and Lemmer and Count Tomura’s fellow travellers to be allowed to live. I sense Count Tomura is particularly concerned about him, perhaps for personal reasons. I speak of le Singe. There is a belief that he entered our delegation’s hotel, as well as Marquess Saionji’s residence, without being detected, perhaps more than once, and stole – or memorized the contents of – various secret documents. Since his arrival Count Tomura has taken large collections of such documents into his keeping, ostensibly to safeguard them. But he is a tiger who roars so that none will challenge him and discover he is lame. There is a secret touching him, buried deep within all the other secrets. I believe Sir Henry Maxted may have learnt what it is. And I believe he may have learnt it from le Singe.
‘If I am correct, le Singe is a threat to Lemmer as well as Count Tomura. He has nowhere to turn for protection. But his wits and his wiles will serve him well. He will not be easy to find. Count Tomura will therefore seek out those he suspects of knowing le Singe. Max is one. But Max has disappeared. So, where will he turn? Who is there close to Max who might also be able to locate le Singe?’ Kuroda looked at Sam searchingly.
‘You mean—’
‘Exactly. You, Mr Twentyman.’
‘Oh, my giddy aunt.’
‘Quite so.’
Sam clapped a hand to his mouth in dismay. ‘You’re sure about this, sir?’
‘Sure enough to give you this warning. I believe they will come for you eventually.’
‘But . . . I don’t know where le Singe is.’
‘They will not believe you. Nor will they believe you do not know whatever they suspect le Singe knows.’
‘You’re saying they’ll kill me, aren’t you?’
‘I am sorry to say they will, if it seems to them to serve their purpose.’
‘What can I do?’
‘You have a little time, Mr Twentyman. I do not think they know yet who you are. And I sense Count Tomura is proceeding at a cautious pace. Other issues will determine how fast he can move. I suspect he wishes to settle the Shantung issue before proceeding with his other objectives, whatever they may be. But they will include le Singe. That is certain. And therefore, sooner or later . . .’
‘They’ll include me.’
Kuroda nodded solemnly. ‘Yes.’
‘Bloody hellfire.’
‘As to what you can do, only two courses of action commend themselves. The first is flight.’
‘Run and hide, you mean?’
‘But hiding, I sense, is not your forte. Nor probably your inclination.’
‘What’s the second course of action?’
‘Find le Singe before Count Tomura finds you. Learn the secret that will bring him down. And then . . .’
Sam gulped. ‘Bring him down.’
‘Yamanaka will help you if he can. There is a laundry in Rue Frédéric-Sauton – la Blanchisserie Orita – where you can leave messages for him and he for you. The owner is a cousin of his and can be trusted. You have that?’
‘Rue Frederick Soton. Bloncheesery . . .’
‘Orita.’
‘Orita,’ Sam repeated.
‘Max booked out of the Hotel Mazarin on the fifth of this month. Have you heard from him since?’
‘No, sir.’
‘If you do, please warn him also.’
‘Of course.’
‘When we last met, he asked me if a certain English surname meant anything to me.’
‘Farngold.’
Kuroda nodded. ‘That was the name.’
‘And it didn’t mean anything to you, he said.’
‘If you hear it from another, especially le Singe—’
‘I’ve never heard anything from le Singe, sir. Nor has Max. He doesn’t seem to speak.’
‘Remember the name, Mr Twentyman. It could be crucial.’
‘I’ll remember, sir.’
‘Remember also: the skilful warrior does not rely on the enemy not coming; he relies on his own preparedness. You have a chance.’ Kuroda inclined his head towards Sam and fixed him with his soulful gaze. ‘Use it.’
MAX WOKE EARLY on Monday morning, well before the time set on his alarm clock. The dawn was grey and drizzly, but he did not care. He reviewed the events of Sunday over a stale cigarette with shame – and relief they had now lapsed into the past. He only wished he could forget what had happened. But there was no chance of that.
The arrival on the scene of Sergeant Tulloch had done nothing to pierce the darkness surrounding Selwyn Henty’s whereabouts. The good sergeant had asked if Selwyn was a drinking man and had reluctantly suggested he might have fallen into the harbour and drowned. Privately, Max had little doubt of it, except that he believed Selwyn had not fallen, but been pushed.
Tulloch had decided to organize a search of the harbour and inner bay by boat, leaving Susan Henty to her own devices. Unable to bear the thought of sitting at the Ayre Hotel and waiting for news, she had resolved to tramp the city, armed with a snapshot of her brother, asking passers-by if they had seen him. Max had been obliged to accompany her. The exercise had been in vain.
Clearly clutching at straws, Susan had suggested Selwyn might have gone back to the Ring of Brodgar to study the alignment of the stones at sunrise. Why he should have done so without telling her or how he would have travelled there under his own steam were questions that had gone unanswered. They had set off in the car to discover whether he was still there. This journey had also been in vain.
Max felt a heel and a wretch for his treatment of Susan. He was more or less certain he knew the truth. But he could not speak of it without exposing his stated reasons for being in the Orkneys as a sham.
Late on Sunday, he had set about covering his tracks.
‘I forgot with all that’s been going on to tell you earlier, Susan, I’m going to Hoy tomorrow to see the Vanguard memorial. I had a message from the fleet chaplain saying he’d be happy to show me round the cemetery. I’ll be away overnight. I’m so sorry about the timing.’
‘Obviously you must go, Max. It’s not as if you can do anything here.’
‘I only wish that weren’t true.’
‘But it is. There’s nothing I can do either. I greatly fear . . .’
‘Don’t say it.’
‘I’ll go on hoping, of course.’
‘You should.’
‘He was missing once in the war, you know, but he came through.’
‘There you are, then.’
‘But this is a small island. And there isn’t a war being waged on it.’
‘Even so . . .’
‘Thank you for all you’ve done, Max. I really am awfully grateful.’
Max winced at the memory of Susan’s tearful gaze as he walked out of the Ayre, travelling bag in hand. He headed for the Castle Hotel, where the coach service to Stromness left from, composing in his head as he went the letter he would send Susan before quitting Orkney, explaining that news of a death in his family – a grandmother, perhaps – meant he would have to leave without returning to Kirkwall. Naturally, he would forget to give her any means of contacting him. It was the damnedest business, it really was. But it would have to be done.
Sam was sharp with several mechanics that morning, which he could see by their reactions surprised them. They looked relieved when he withdrew into his office to brood on his problems over a pot of tea and a succession of cigarettes. He had tried to convince himself Kuroda was mistaken. But the truth was he believed the old man’s every word. Sitting tight and doing nothing was not the answer. Nor was fleeing, especially since it was far from clear where he could flee to. He was left with only one course of action open to him: find le Singe and learn what he knew.
But how? He would have valued Appleby’s advice, but he had promised Kuroda he would tell no one what they had discussed. Where, then, could he turn?
He turned over in his mind everything he knew about le Singe, which was precious little. The boy had to live somewhere. And those who engaged his services had to have some means of contacting him. What could it be? How had Sir Henry managed it?
Then, in a flash, it came to him. Max had voiced the suspicion that Sir Henry had been put on to le Singe by Travis Ireton. Yes, of course. The well-informed Mr Ireton. He would not tell the likes of Sam the time of day, let alone how to find le Singe. But there was someone close to Ireton who might be a little more forthcoming.
Sam picked up the telephone.
The Corners of the Globe Page 5
