‘I don’t know. I told Commissioner Zamaron as much about them as I could.’
‘Well, I trust that’s more than you’ve told me. Were they French?’
‘Er, no.’
‘What, then?’
George grimaced. The conversation had reached the delicate stage where he had known it was bound to arrive sooner or later. He had to tell her, of course. He had to tell her, however painful she would find it to hear.
But pain, ironically, was what Winifred at once thought he was suffering from. ‘Are your ribs aching very badly, George?’
‘No, no. They’re fine as long as I don’t laugh or cough, so no jokes or cigars, there’s a good girl. You’re going to have to take this on the chin, I’m afraid, Win. I think Henry had other business with Soutine besides selling the cylinder-seals. I think he wanted to buy the information that ultimately got Soutine killed. Maybe Henry too. The people who did for Soutine and kidnapped me, you see . . . are Japanese.’
‘Japanese?’
‘Count Tomura, Win. He’s a member of the Japanese delegation to the peace conference. His son Noburo led the gang I was held by.’
‘Tomura?’
Winifred looked shocked and dismayed. And somewhere beneath that outward reaction, George sensed, she was also deeply saddened. He had led her into a shadow she believed she had long ago stepped out of for ever. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Count Tomura is here? In Paris? His son too?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Henry engaged this man Soutine to . . . to enquire into their affairs?’
‘I believe so, yes.’
‘But why? Why would he do that?’
‘I don’t know. But I suspect, well . . .’ George shrugged helplessly. ‘It has something to do with the Farngolds.’
‘No.’ Winifred shook her head. ‘That can’t be.’
‘I wish it couldn’t, Win, but Noburo Tomura asked me while I was being held if the name meant anything to me. I didn’t mention it to Morahan or Sam Twentyman or Commissioner Zamaron. No one knows about it. But he did ask me. I denied it, of course. That’s actually what cost me my fingernail. Young Tomura wanted to be absolutely certain of my ignorance. I made sure he was.’
‘Oh, George, I’m sorry.’ Winifred frowned pityingly at him. ‘You shouldn’t have been dragged into this.’
‘It can’t be helped. And don’t think holding my tongue was an act of bravery. It was clear to me he’d have killed me if I’d admitted knowing anything on that front.’
‘What can there be to know – or for Count Tomura to be afraid of – after all this time?’
‘It could have something to do with Jack Farngold.’
‘Who?’
‘Matilda Farngold had a brother, Win.’ George gave his sister an apologetic look. ‘I came across him while I was working for Jardine’s.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?’
‘There seemed no cause to trouble you with it. And no reason why you should ever need to worry about him. He worked for Jardine’s too, as a captain in their Far East merchant fleet. In the ordinary way of things, I’d never have known he existed. But during my last tour of duty in Shanghai before I left the company – 1912, it would have been – I was sent to Weihaiwei to sort out a problem.’
‘Where?’
‘A British enclave on the Shantung peninsula. Jardine’s did a lot of business there. A Jardine’s employee – Captain Farngold – had been arrested after a break-in at the offices of the Oriental Development Bank. The bank was Japanese-owned. No cash was stolen, but documents belonging to them were found in Farngold’s possession. The story given to me by the police was confusing. They didn’t know what was in the documents, which had already been returned to the bank. Farngold refused to explain himself. The police rather half-heartedly suggested he’d drunk too much in one of the bars by the port and broken in as some kind of lark. It was an absurd idea, really, but there you are. They were prepared to drop charges, as was the bank, if Jardine’s guaranteed Farngold would leave Weihaiwei and never come back. Head Office had already made it clear I was to put a stop to any scandal and get him off the company’s books. So, that’s what I did.
‘I had one stilted conversation with him before he was released. He had no idea who I was, of course. The name Clissold would have meant nothing to him. I was just the pen-pusher who’d been sent to salvage Jardine’s good name. He’d worked for them longer than I had. Twenty or thirty years. According to our records, he was in his late forties, I think, though he looked older. A life at sea can have that effect. But I had the impression some other trouble had worn him down as well: the trouble that had caused him to break into the bank.’
‘Are you sure he was Matilda’s brother?’ Winifred asked suddenly, grasping at a straw. ‘The name might have been a coincidence.’
‘The police showed me what they’d found in his pockets. He was carrying a photograph of two children in his wallet. A boy and a girl. The boy looked about nine, the girl about seven. She was carrying a doll, I remember. He was dressed in a sailor-suit. Someone had written on the back, Jack and Tiddy 1874. The ages were right. The names were right. He was her brother, Win, no question about it.’
‘What happened to him after he was released?’ Winifred asked hollowly.
‘I don’t know. There were plenty of other shipping lines who’d have taken him on. I put him on a ferry to Port Arthur and that was the last I saw of him.’
‘You asked him why he’d broken into the bank’s offices?’
‘Of course.’
‘And what the document was he’d stolen?’
‘Yes. But he told me nothing. “I had my reasons.” That was all he’d say. After he’d left, though . . .’
‘What?’
‘I made a few discreet enquiries. One of the directors of the Oriental Development Bank turned out to be Count Tomura. It was plain to me that’s why Farngold had stolen whatever the document was.’
‘But it was in Japanese, surely. How would he know what it said?’
‘A good question. And there’s an answer. I had a word with the first officer of Farngold’s ship before it left port without him. He said Farngold was fluent in Japanese. He’d taught himself the language, apparently. This fellow had seen him reading local newspapers when they called at Japanese ports. Self-taught Japanese? That’s close to impossible, unless you dedicate yourself to the task over many years.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘There’s only one explanation, isn’t there? Know thine enemy. He had – maybe he still has – Count Tomura in his sights.’
‘Revenge?’
‘His father and his sister. He might blame Tomura for both their deaths.’
‘But what has this to do with Henry? How would he even know who Jack Farngold was?’
‘It’s not so unlikely Henry would know Matilda Farngold had a brother, is it?’
‘No,’ Winifred admitted.
‘As for how he’d know the brother was pursuing Tomura, I’ve no idea. But there must have been vital information in the material le Singe stole from the Japanese delegation – vital enough to bring Tomura all the way here. If James ever makes this connection . . .’
‘Where is James?’
‘No one knows. Not in Paris, though, which is some kind of blessing. But he may return at any time.’
Winifred drew a deep breath and braced herself. The shock had passed already, George judged. She had accommodated the news. She had done what she always did: accepted reality. ‘We must do our best to prevent this harming anyone else, George. Henry is dead and Jack Farngold is beyond our help. I will not allow James to waste his life on a crusade against Count Tomura.’
‘You won’t tell him the truth, then?’
Winifred looked her brother in the eye. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘He may find it out for himself.’
‘Not if I can prevent it.’ She nodded solemnly to herself. ‘And I believe
I can.’
MADAME BERTON’S TELEPHONE was in the tiny room – scarcely larger than a sentry box – from which she supervised arrivals and deliveries to the building. Morahan squeezed the door shut behind him and stood while he made the call.
He was mightily relieved when he heard Commissioner Zamaron was in his office, since there was no one else at the Préfecture likely to help him. He was put straight through.
‘Léon?’ Morahan had been on first-name terms with Zamaron since helping him conclude a clutch of murder inquiries in one night a month earlier. The assistance he had rendered should, he calculated, guarantee him a helping hand now, when he so badly needed one.
‘Schools.’ Zamaron sounded oddly stiff, his normal jauntiness of tone noticeably absent. ‘Are you in difficulties, mon ami?’
‘What makes you ask?’
‘L’intuition. Aussi . . .’ Zamaron’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Le Deuxième Bureau. They have been to see le Préfet.’
‘About me?’
‘Oui. Count Tomura, joint deputy head of the Japanese delegation, has spoken to the Ministre des Affaires Etrangères. You must understand. This is all above my head. It is said you have stolen documents belonging to the delegation. Le Ministre has ordered full cooperation with the Japanese in order to retrieve the documents and to place you under arrest. Monsieur Twentyman also. Is he with you?’
‘Better I don’t say.’
‘C’est vrai. I told them there were reasons to believe people close to the Japanese delegation – and therefore close to Count Tomura – murdered Soutine and kidnapped Monsieur Clissold. But they did not listen, Schools. They did not want to. There has been a marché. How would you say? A deal.’
‘I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.’
‘What is it you want me to do?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ If there was to be a rescue party, it would not be coming from the police. That was graphically clear. They would merely serve as reinforcements for Noburo Tomura. Zamaron had his orders. And they were the sort of orders he would have to obey if called upon. ‘Thanks for putting me in the picture, Léon.’
‘I am sorry, Schools.’
Morahan did not doubt he was. But in sorrow there was no salvation. He hung up.
Lady Maxted was well aware that her arrival at the Hotel Bristol had caused something close to consternation among the members of the Japanese delegation she had so far encountered. They were evidently unused to visitations from unaccompanied English-women, especially those of Lady Maxted’s age and pedigree. Her request to see Count Tomura Iwazu, which had carried a finely judged element of peremptoriness, had thrown them into confusion. Should they brush her off? Or should they ascertain Count Tomura’s wishes in the matter? His ogreish reputation made the decision a difficult one. But in the end they did what Lady Maxted had relied on them doing. They undertook to inform their master of her presence.
Whether Count Tomura was actually on the premises was not made clear to her. She was escorted to a first-floor room overlooking Place Vendôme and asked to wait there. It was furnished as a writing-room, thickly curtained, austerely decorated and cold at that hour of the morning.
She took it as a sign that her wait might be lengthy when a grey-waistcoated young man came in, lit the fire for her and asked if she would like some coffee. She accepted.
Tomura was coming. She did not doubt it. He knew all that had occurred and would understand what had brought her to Paris. She imagined he was no keener than she was to have the past disinterred. He had doubtless kept as much from his son as she had from hers. If a line was to be drawn, it was for them to draw it.
Oh yes. Tomura was coming.
‘What d’you want, Morahan?’ Carver growled down the telephone line.
‘A favour.’
‘I’m out of stock.’
‘I did you a good turn with the name of our contact at the Hôtel des Réservoirs. That must have won you a lot of credit with le Deuxième Bureau.’
‘For which your reward was me going easy on you and Ireton. Well, I’m going easy. Though if the flics catch Blachette and he squeals . . .’
Morahan could almost see Carver smirking and shrugging.
‘I’m in a hole, Frank. I need a hand to get out of it.’
‘What kinda hole?’
‘Noburo Tomura and a bunch of ex-sumos have my apartment staked out. I’m here now. I need a safe passage.’
‘I’ll bet you do. Le Deuxième Bureau have already been on to me. Stolen documents, Schools. That’s the story. And Count Tomura kicking up a storm. Twentyman was mentioned. With you, is he?’
‘Yes. Along with a junior member of the Japanese delegation.’
‘Right. Plus the documents?’
‘I just need to get us out of here in one piece. You could arrange that. If you wanted to.’
‘What’s in the documents?’
‘I can’t discuss that on the telephone.’
‘But you could discuss it? Later?’
‘Maybe.’
‘OK.’ There was a pause. Then: ‘Here’s what I can do for you, Schools. You and the documents, under my escort. Twentyman and your tame Jap will have to fend for themselves, though. I can bale out a fellow American. That’s as far as it goes.’
‘It’s not far enough.’
‘Are you sure about that? The Brits will look after Twentyman. And the Jap’s not your problem, is he? You could come out of this set up nice and sweet if you play your cards right.’
‘You reckon so?’
‘I do.’ Carver gave Morahan a chance to mull his offer over before adding, ‘What d’you say?’
Morahan said nothing, beyond a weary sigh. He hung up.
‘Schools Morahan will work something out,’ said Sam in an effort to calm his companion’s nerves. Yamanaka was pacing the room, rubbing his hands together and taking in ever shallower breaths. ‘He outwitted Tomura before. He can do it again.’
‘It does not matter . . . whether he can or not,’ Yamanaka stammered. ‘If Count Tomura believes I have acted against him, I am . . . finished.’
‘It can’t be as bad as that.’
Yamanaka looked despairingly at Sam. ‘You do not understand. I have read the file. He will know I have read it. He will kill me, Mr Twentyman. Today. Tomorrow. One day soon. He will kill me.’
Sam could think of nothing to say to that. He lit a cigarette and offered Yamanaka one. It was eagerly accepted. The pair stood together by the window. The street below was empty. But round the corner, at the front of the building, it was, they knew, a different matter.
‘I have thought about the document,’ murmured Yamanaka.
‘And what have you thought?’ Sam prompted.
‘That my lord Saionji is not a careless man. If le Singe was able to steal it from his residence, which is where it must have been kept, it was because Marquess Saionji allowed him to steal it – wanted him to steal it.’
‘That doesn’t make any sense.’
‘But it does, Mr Twentyman. Oh, it does.’
‘Call me Sam.’
‘Very well. I am Eisaku.’
They shook hands in a gesture of solidarity Sam found faintly disquieting. It was the kind of solidarity bred by the contemplation of extinction.
‘I believe Marquess Saionji anticipates Count Tomura may try to remove him from his path to power.’
‘Remove him how?”
‘By killing him.’ Yamanaka dragged fretfully on his cigarette. ‘Dark Ocean has a history of killing its enemies. And Count Tomura is Dark Ocean. Marquess Saionji stands for the old ways Tomura and his kind wish to sweep away. And he is respected. The Emperor listens to what he says. His assassination – blamed on someone else: the Koreans, the Chinese – would advance Tomura’s cause. It may be Tomura knows Marquess Saionji has a file detailing his dirty secrets. With the authority granted him by Prime Minister Hara, he could have hoped to secure the file and destroy it. Then he would be free to strike at my l
ord Saionji. But with the file missing, in unknown hands . . .’
‘He couldn’t strike in case the contents of the file ended up in the newspapers.’
‘Exactly so . . . Sam. And if that is so . . .’
‘We’ve done Tomura a big favour by finding it.’
‘Yes.’ Yamanaka took the longest drag yet on his cigarette. ‘We have done more than he could have hoped. And for our reward . . . he will kill us. Before he kills my lord Saionji.’
‘Schools?’ said Malory. “Where are you?’
‘My apartment. Sam and Yamanaka are with me.’
‘Did Yamanaka translate the document for you?’
‘He did. Now I know why Tomura père et fils are so desperate to get hold of it. And Tomura junior has the building staked out. It looks like Yamanaka was followed. Or else Travis gave them my address.’
‘He’s angry enough with you to have done that. But how are you going to get out?’
‘Is Travis there?’
‘No. I’m expecting him within the hour.’
‘Then I’ll have to ask you to pass on a message for me, Malory. And it’s not one Travis will enjoy hearing.’
‘What is it?’
‘The short version? If I go down, he goes down with me.’
‘What exactly does that mean, Schools?’
‘It means he’ll have to save me to save himself. And he won’t have long to think about it.’
COUNT TOMURA IWAZU entered the room with a soft-footed hint of stealth. He was a bullishly built man of sixty, straight-backed and square-shouldered. He wore his morning-suit as if it were a military uniform: every crease precise, every button just so. He had once been handsome, but age had dragged at his features and one of his ears was disfigured. A stray bullet or an errant blade had robbed him of half of it. His eyes blazed with the pride his bearing confirmed. Except it was not pride so much as hauteur. Winifred clearly saw that as she looked at him. Count Tomura Iwazu almost quivered with the force of his own certainty – in himself and the justness of his wishes.
‘Lady Maxted,’ he said, his voice gruff, his accent a curious hybrid of Japanese and aristocratic English. He bowed faintly to her.
The Corners of the Globe Page 27
