Embassy Row

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Why did you look on the stairs?” asked the Inspector. He had been standing still, but now he paced, going to the windows, turning, and coming back. “Did you hear something that caught your attention? Did you see blood? What was it?”

  I indicated the door on the far side of the chamber leading onto the terrace. “If you will come with me, Inspector, I will do what I can to recount my movements to you.” I did not wait for him, but went straight to the door. The air in the room still smelled of cigars and brandy. With relief I opened the door onto the terrace. “I was standing near the top of the steps down to the garden, where I supposed Lord Brackenheath to have gone. I was reluctant to descend, given that I was still using crutches—”

  “I noticed you had a cane today, sir,” said Inspector FitzGerald, as if that in itself were significant. “And the old phiz is pretty rum.”

  “So I have,” I said, “brought a cane.” His observations on the state of my face I dismissed with a lack of apparent distress. “A token of last night’s adventures at Lord Brackenheath’s house.”

  “Odd development, that,” said Inspector FitzGerald, letting it hang in case I wanted to add anything.

  “Doubtless. And something not to be neglected, especially if it is established there is some connection. However the murder is, I believe, the more pressing. Let’s get on with it, shall we?” I favored him with a nod of readiness as we strode out onto the terrace.

  Accepting my direction in the matter, he got down to it. “Had you some reason to go into the garden, then?” asked the Inspector.

  “I was unsure of where I might find Lord Brackenheath, and the garden seemed a possibility,” I said, trying to recall what thoughts had led to my discovery. It was all so distant and ill defined. Taking care to be as meticulous as I could, I continued: “I came to the terrace because I had been told that Lord Brackenheath had stepped out to smoke in peace.”

  “Who told you that?” demanded Inspector FitzGerald. He had taken up the same position I had occupied at the top of the stairs, as if to verify my account.

  “I believe it was Andermatt, although I am not entirely certain, for I asked several people where his Lordship might be found. In fact, I believe Andermatt said his Lordship was in the Terrace Garden, enjoying his cigar. I was reluctant to attempt the steps because of my crutches, which you will recall I was using last night. But then I saw what I at first took to be a discarded sack near the foot of the stairs. I . . . thought it might be a bomb or something equally destructive. So I made my way down to it, and saw that while it was explosive, no bomb lay here, but the body of a man in evening clothes. I moved the body enough to ascertain the dead man’s identity. I felt drying blood under my hand, and made a note of the location of his wound, and then I went as quickly as I could to inform my employer what had occurred.”

  “You didn’t send for Andermatt?” The Inspector was instantly suspicious. He peered at me as the breeze ruffled his pomaded hair.

  “Why should I?” I countered. “My first obligation here was to fulfill Mister Holmes’ instructions and make myself useful to the Prime Minister. I did this.”

  “Most irregular. You were technically on Swiss soil, and you should have informed them first.” Now he sounded more puzzled than angry. I did not flinch from his scrutiny, and was rewarded with his observation. “Not that in these circumstances I wouldn’t have done the same.”

  “I was sent to fetch you not long after the body was identified and the instrument of his death located and taken as evidence. The scene was not much compromised.” I hoped this would mollify him to some degree.

  “For diplomatic shenanigans, you were quite prompt,” Inspector FitzGerald allowed grudgingly. “And you have been more helpful than I expected.”

  “I do what I can, Inspector,” I assured him.

  “That’s what worries me,” countered Inspector FitzGerald as he motioned me away. “Don’t leave the embassy. I may have need of you again.”

  FROM THE JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS

  Our comparison of names has turned up little of use so far, though another packet of banking information has just been delivered, and we will have to review it promptly. Perhaps with the intelligence we may obtain there, some useful connections may emerge. Mister Coldene has assured me that the Admiralty will assist these inquiries in any way possible, for they are as determined to protect the agreement with Japan as the Prime Minister is.

  Edmund Sutton has shown himself to be most apt at this, regarding all our extrapolations as a process of character study. I am quite certain he is enjoying himself, for he remarked not half an hour ago that he wishes he did not have to go across to M H’s club this evening, for he would rather pursue these clues with me than perform for those silent, brilliant men. His opinion of the members of the Diogenes Club borders on the irreverent, and never more so than when his appearance as M H has convinced them. He dismisses the notion that it is his skill which makes this possible, “For you may be certain, Tyers,” he said today with glee, “no actor would be fooled.”

  That’s as may be, but I suspect he is right. He is as keen an observer in his way as is M H’s brother. Neither rivals M H, but both possess abilities well beyond the ordinary.

  I will shortly prepare tea. This should convince the watchers that we are unaware of them for another day.

  I HAD JUST finished my interview with Mister Banadaichi, who was so overset by the murder of Lord Brackenheath that he had trouble remembering to answer my questions in English, when a note was delivered to me by one of the embassy footmen. The missive was unsigned, in the German language, written in a disguised hand on very plain, inexpensive paper:

  Mister Guthrie:

  Not all Japanese support the agreement, just as not all the English do. Consider Mister Minato’s responses in that light. If you wish to discover more, be wise and do not put him on the alert.

  I stared at the letters on the page as if they were in a foreign language unknown to me. Who had written them? To what purpose? Was this a legitimate warning, or was it yet another indication of the worst intentions of those seeking to bring embarrassment to England in her dealings with Japan? I folded the note in half and placed it in my waistcoat pocket, then did my best to master myself before dealing with Mister Minato, all the while wondering if the author of the note was aware that I was about to interview the man in question. Was it luck, deliberate action, or happenstance that put the thing in my hands just before Mister Minato presented himself to be questioned?

  “Mister Guthrie?” said Mister Minato from the doorway. He bowed, gauging his courtesy with care so that he would not make it appear that he was showing me one iota more honor than I deserved.

  “Mister Minato,” I said, half-rising and returning his bow. “Please come in.”

  Mister Minato looked more exhausted than Mister Banadaichi had. There were smudges under his eyes and a heaviness in his movements that made me suppose he had slept little the previous night. “Mister Holmes has been busy today. I understand the police are here, as well.”

  “Yes,” I said, indicating the chair across the table from me. “They are. They may want to speak with you, and they may not, depending on what their inquiries require; it may be that this talk of ours will suffice.” My tone was neutral, but I could not keep from watching Mister Minato narrowly, trying to discern what it was the note-writer wanted to indicate about the man—if, indeed, the note was not merely a ploy to keep me from performing my duties to the satisfaction of my employer. I recalled his earlier kindness to me, and I wondered if I was repaying him badly. Yet my failure to conduct a proper examination of the man would lead to Mycroft Holmes’ having incorrect information. I did not want that to happen. I settled myself more comfortably as Mister Minato strove to compose himself. “The Swiss will send in tea, if you wish it.”

  “Arigato,” said Mister Minato, who, having taken one look at the bruise on my face, now contrived not to stare by avoiding me altogether. “I would like
to have tea, and perhaps something to eat, for I have not yet breakfasted, and it is past the hour for luncheon. I do not think well when I am hungry, but we have had no opportunity to stop for a meal. There were many demands upon us this morning, as Mister Banadaichi must have informed you. We had many unexpected matters to attend to.”

  “I do understand, for it is much the same with me, though Mister Banadaichi refused, saying he was too nervous to want to eat. Still, neither of us are so afflicted, are we? A light repast would be very welcome just now. It is my pleasure to oblige,” I said, and rang for a footman, thinking it would be Enzo, but it was not; this fellow was French-Swiss and smug. “Tea for both of us, and a plate of sweet and ordinary biscuits, along with some cold slices of ham.” As I said this, I had a sudden yearning for my grandmother’s oak cakes. It was useless to ask for them, I knew, and the longing took me aback. Keeping in mind that this was a Swiss establishment, I added, “If you would, include a breakfast pastry or two, and a fruit conserve, to make up for our hectic morning? Mister Minato is hungry, as am I.” It would be useless to have asked for the sirloin, baked eggs, buttered crumpets, and kippers of a good English breakfast. I realized then I hadn’t the least notion what the Japanese had for their first meal of the day.

  “Avec plaisir,”said the footman, in a manner that suggested the opposite, and withdrew.

  “Now then, let me begin so that we may get this over with,” I said, addressing Mister Minato with what I hoped was agreeable candor.

  “Tell me what you want to know.” It would be too severe to say that he was sullen, but I detected that there was more than Japanese correctness in the reserve with which he spoke. “I will answer as well as I am able.”

  “So your ambassador has assured us,” I said, hoping to ease his mind.

  “Hai,” he said, and contrived to bow from his place in the chair. “Ask me your questions.”

  “Shall we get down to it, then? Sooner started, sooner ended.” I did not consult notes, but spoke from the items I had memorized. “When was the last time you recall seeing Lord Brackenheath alive?”

  Apparently Mister Minato had devoted a lot of his sleepless hours to just this matter, for he answered promptly and with such clarity of thought as can only come, as Edmund Sutton has taught me, with rehearsal. “I was with the men from your government, the two secretaries sent to assist in the copying of the agreement. It was my duty to do so. I believe you saw me.” He stared at the tabletop in order to keep from seeing the mess of my face.

  “That would be—” I prompted, not wanting to make it appear I was telling him what his account ought to be.

  “Two men. Mister Wright and Mister Hackett, as I recall their names. I do not recall their personal names.” He sounded almost angry that I should expect him to identify the men. “They were with Mister Banadaichi and me for a few hours as the agreement was copied.” He scowled as the footman came in with our tea, vowing to return momentarily with the rest of our sustenance. “These men are men of honor, are they not?”

  I was not quite sure if Mister Minato meant the secretaries or the Swiss footman, but I answered, “It is hoped they are. Your memory will serve to help us make that determination.”

  Mister Minato remained stubbornly silent until the footman had left us alone, and then he waited for me to pour out cups of tea for us before he spoke again. “I saw Lord Brackenheath in the anteroom near the Terrace Salon. He was holding an unlit cigar, I think. He had exchanged a few words with Mister Hackett, I suppose it was; the man who knows Korean. I thought he was trying to persuade Mister Hackett to do something for him, because he leaned forward a great deal and appeared to be keeping his voice low with an effort, but what it was he wanted and how he expected Mister Hackett to achieve his mission, I could not tell.”

  I stirred milk and sugar into my tea and saw a concealed wince from the Japanese secretary. “Help yourself, Mister Minato, if you want milk and sugar.” I could sense the tension in the man, and I wished to know the whole of it. “Is that all you recall of the exchange you witnessed, Mister Minato?”

  “There is something more. In the corridor, just before the encounter I described, I saw Lord Brackenheath insult Ambassador Tochigi. I was very much shocked that such a man in such a place would forget himself so completely. That was shortly before I saw him for the last time, no more than ten minutes at the most,” Mister Minato added. He was angered afresh as his recollection sharpened. “When I understood his purpose, I watched him, in case he should do anything more of an offensive nature.”

  “What did he do?” I asked, as I was supposed to. “What was the nature of his insult?”

  “He . . . said that he knew the Emperor was not . . . entitled to hold the position he holds. He called him a murderer and the descendant of murderers. Lord Brackenheath declared that the entire Imperial family was descended from those with no honest claim to their place, and that those who served them were nothing more than panderers and assassins. He said it as if he could do so with impunity.” Speaking the words was difficult for him. He gulped his tea as if to fortify himself. “He said this to make Ambassador Tochigi refute the terms of the agreement, and admitted as much.”

  I could only imagine the impact such words would have on a man of Ambassador Tochigi’s character. “What was the ambassador’s response? Did you stay to observe it, as well?”

  He nodded in that abrupt manner I had come to associate with him. “He only said that he had a commission to fulfill and he would do it in spite of anything Lord Brackenheath might attempt, that such a man as Lord Brackenheath could not compromise his honor with words. Ambassador Tochigi was certain that only his failure to complete the negotiations would dishonor him.” Mister Minato frowned. “Such an insult would not be tolerated if we were in Japan.”

  “No doubt,” I said drily. “Just as in Japan you might speak against the British Crown in a way you would hesitate to do in London, or against the Russians, but not in Saint Petersburg. That, I fear, is the way of the world.”

  Mister Minato glared at the milk jug. “It would not be so if—” He broke off.

  “If what?” I asked as blandly as I could. I sensed that I was on the edge of a chasm with this man, though why I should have such a sensation, I did not know.

  He shook his head. “You are ignorant.”

  “Certainly. If I were not there would be no reason for this interview. And I will be less so if you will instruct me,” I said, hoping I achieved the proper tone with him—enough respect to deserve an answer, but nothing servile to make him suppose he had achieved a moral victory in his recalcitrance.

  “You are nothing more than a servant, no matter what work is entrusted to you. You ask questions about matters you do not understand, and you have no notion how to evaluate the answers you receive. You do not know what is truly important, or who is in the game. You only do the bidding of those who have the power to demand it of you.” His dark eyes smoldered with arrogance and resentment.

  “You yourself are a servant,” I reminded him.

  He smiled once, very quickly. The smile was not pleasant to see. “It must seem so to you.” He finished his tea and permitted me to pour more. Clearly he was starting to enjoy his game with me.

  “If you are not the servant you appear to be,” I said carefully, departing from the list of questions I had memorized and taking a greater risk than I wanted to, “it means you are something less desirable—a spy.” I let this accusation hang between us. “Surely you do not mean to tell me that you are doing such a reprehensible task as that?” I was a fine one to speak, I added to myself.

  “I have the honor to serve my country, as you do,” said Mister Minato. There was no humor whatsoever in his smile.

  “In what capacity?” I asked, and made note that this time he had not said he served the Emperor, but his country. Even six months ago that shift in words might have got by me, but not now. I folded my hands and met his eyes directly, willing to take whatever time was
necessary to get the answer.

  The impasse was interrupted by the arrival of the French footman once again, bringing the food we had requested. His intrusion was a welcome one, for it broke the tension that had built up between us. I was pleased to see him for another reason: I am of the opinion that food can do much to infuse an occasion with cordiality that it might not otherwise have.

  The response came more quickly than I expected. Immediately the footman left us alone, Mister Minato exclaimed, “As a patriot. How else should I serve my country?”

  “Most creditable,” I said, “and yet, it could mean that you are willing to promote what you see as Japanese interests beyond those of the world at large.” I was goading him deliberately, hoping for a greater response.

  “How can you, an Englishman, say that when England has been bent on modeling the whole world in its image?” he challenged. “You think because you are English—”

  “I’m a Scot, actually,” I interjected, wanting to keep him off-balance.

  “The same thing,” said Mister Minato.

  “As the people of Hokkaido are the same as the rest of the Japanese,” I added, and was rewarded with a startled look. “I have confessed to ignorance, but I am not quite so uninformed as you wish to think me.”

  “It would seem not,” said Mister Minato, doing his best not to appear discomfited. “I did not think anyone but Mister Holmes knew anything about Hokkaido.”

  “How could we arrive at mutually satisfactory terms in our agreement if we had no understanding of the state of Japan and the Japanese today?” I asked as reasonably as I could, remembering as I did that Mister Minato had a very different standard of reason from mine.

  “You cannot be saying that men of Lord Brackenheath’s character are of the same mind.” He bit into a croissant, indifference in every lineament of his attitude.