The Ways of the World

by Robert Goddard

  ‘What game?’

  ‘Spying. Sabotage. Assassinations. You name it, he’s had a finger in it. So they say.’

  ‘What’s he to do with my father?’

  ‘Well, the thing is this. Cigarette, by the way?’ Ireton proffered his case.

  ‘I prefer my own brand.’ Max studiously took out one of his Wills and lit it. ‘The thing is?’ he prompted.

  ‘Delicate, Max, delicate. Like I told you the other day, Henry’s put a few pieces of information my way since this conference began. Nothing treasonable, I assure you, just … titbits.’

  ‘And like I told you, I don’t believe it.’

  ‘You’re going to have to if you want to find out who killed him. The fact is, Henry was eager to raise money. I don’t know why. Maybe to set up Corinne Dombreux in the manner to which he thought she should become accustomed. He wasn’t typical of my sources of information, far from it, and the information he supplied was minor stuff. Then, just last week, he offered me something in an altogether different league. Or, rather, he offered me someone. Lemmer.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Lemmer vanished last November, around the time the Kaiser decamped to Holland. Since then his whereabouts have preyed on a lot of people’s minds. The word is that he recruited spies for Germany in every European government. He probably didn’t stop at Europe either. Nobody except Lemmer knows who they were and they’re mostly still in place, presumably hoping and praying their well-paid work for the Kaiser never comes to light. The question is …’

  ‘Where is Lemmer?’

  ‘Exactly. Where is he? And what’s he up to? Maybe he’s still in touch with his agents, many of whom could be here in Paris, negotiating on their countries’ behalf. You see how significant that could be? Whose interests are they really serving? Maybe Lemmer’s trying to soften the peace terms for Germany, or sow discord among the Allies. There’s no way to tell. The Americans, the British, the French and all the others would like to lay hands on Lemmer and sweat the truth out of him. But they can’t find him. Which means his whereabouts constitute a very valuable commodity. Off-hand, I can’t think of a more valuable one.’

  ‘And that’s what my father was offering you.’

  ‘In a nutshell, yes.’

  ‘But how would he know where Lemmer was?’

  ‘It seems improbable, I grant you. But not when you think about it. Lemmer is notoriously elusive, not to mention camera-shy. There are precious few people who know what he looks like. Henry happens to have been one.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Lemmer was a naval attaché at the German Embassy in Tokyo in the early nineties. He hadn’t perfected his knack for invisibility then. Henry met him several times, apparently. So, when he told me he’d seen Lemmer here, in Paris, I was inclined to believe him. And happy to agree to act as his broker.’

  ‘Pa said he knew where Lemmer was? An actual address?’

  ‘Not quite. He said he was in a position to lure Lemmer to a meeting. That would have been enough.’

  ‘What could he lure Lemmer with?’

  ‘He didn’t say. But he assured me it could be done. For a fee.’

  ‘How big a fee?’

  ‘I never got the chance to find out how high an interested party might have been prepared to go. Before I could open negotiations, Henry was killed. It would have been some auction, though. Remember, Lemmer could tell a government not only who the traitors are in their own ranks but who they are in other governments’ ranks. And with the right persuasion a traitor in one cause can be recruited to a different cause. Lemmer would be quite a catch.’

  ‘Do you think he killed my father?’

  ‘It’s possible. Not personally, of course. He hires people to do that kind of thing for him. Alternatively, word of what Henry was trying to sell might have reached one of Lemmer’s agents, who had good cause to fear exposure.’

  ‘How would word have reached them?’

  ‘I made some inquiries, as Henry asked me to.’ Ireton shrugged. ‘I’d be sorry to think that action on my part led to his death, but I warned him of the risks he was running and he insisted on going ahead.’

  ‘Who did you make these inquiries with?’

  ‘I spoke to them in strictest confidence. It wouldn’t be fair to identify them.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Like I say, I can’t—’

  ‘Who the hell are they?’ Max jumped up and leant across the desk. ‘I want their names.’

  Ireton did not flinch, though he frowned slightly as he looked up at Max. ‘I think I’ve told you as much as I agreed to. More from me requires more from you. We share an interest in Fritz Lemmer, Max. I don’t delude myself that you’ve told me everything you’ve found out about your father’s activities. You’d have been a fool to. By the same token, I can’t be expected to disclose everything I know or suspect at this stage. We have to learn to trust one another, you and I. We have to pool our resources. We have to collaborate.’ The frown faded, to be replaced by the scar-distorted smile. ‘Now, how does that sound to you?’

  MAX WAS UNDER no illusions about the bargain he struck with Ireton. ‘You want me to find Lemmer for you, don’t you, Travis? Then you can sell his whereabouts to the highest bidder. I take all the risks. You take all the rewards.’

  ‘Not at all.’ Ireton looked shocked by the suggestion. ‘I’d be happy to split the proceeds fifty-fifty. If that’s what you want.’

  ‘I’m not interested in turning a profit. I’m interested in finding my father’s murderer.’

  ‘I know. But you may as well take your share. If only to deprive me of it. I’m sure you wouldn’t class me as a good cause. Now, let’s get down to it, shall we? I sounded out three people about Henry’s proposition. I didn’t name Henry. It was all done on a hypothetical basis. But if one of them – or an associate they confided in – knew of my links with Henry and Henry’s knowledge of Lemmer, they might have figured out who my source was. That seems to me the likeliest explanation for Henry’s murder. But if you confront these people and start throwing accusations around they’ll know I pointed you in their direction. Given what happened to Henry, that could have unhealthy consequences for me. You follow?’

  ‘I could say I found their names along with Lemmer’s on a list I came across amongst my father’s possessions.’

  ‘That’s good. You appear to have a real talent for this kind of thing, Max. A list. I like that.’

  ‘So, who were the three?’

  ‘Not so fast. I need to be sure you don’t drop me in it. I also need to know what, if anything, you learn from them about Lemmer.’

  ‘I won’t mention you. And I’ll tell you whatever I find out.’

  ‘I have your word on that?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Ireton smiled, as if genuinely amused. ‘Sadly, in this serpent-pit of a world we inhabit, the word of an English gentleman is no longer sufficient to quell all doubts in such matters. Schools will go with you when you meet them. He occasionally works freelance as a bodyguard, so the arrangement shouldn’t arouse any suspicion.’

  ‘If you think that’s necessary …’

  ‘Oh, I do.’

  Max had no choice, as Ireton must have known, but to agree. ‘All right, then.’

  ‘Fine. We have a deal.’ To Max’s surprise, Ireton offered him his hand. They shook. ‘OK. We’ll take them in the original order. Kuroda, at the Japanese delegation.’

  ‘Kuroda?’ Max was genuinely surprised, but also disappointed. The first name he had been given was one he already knew.

  ‘You’ve heard of him?’

  ‘Corinne told me my father knew him.’

  ‘Did she? Well, that’s interesting.’

  Max had the distinct impression his acquaintance with Corinne was well known to Ireton, though for some reason he did not want to admit it. ‘I guess it’s no surprise. Kuroda’s certainly old enough to have met Henry when he was in Japan.’

/>   ‘Why did you go to him?’

  ‘Because there’s a persistent rumour Lemmer was behind a plot to assassinate the then Tsarevich when he visited Japan in 1891. His visit was supposed to smooth Russo-Jap relations, but the assassination attempt scotched that mighty effectively. A big feather in Lemmer’s cap and an even bigger grudge for the Japs to bear. So, I thought they might be willing to pay over the odds for a chance to grab him.’

  ‘And were they?’

  ‘Hard to tell. Kuroda’s the epitome of the inscrutable Oriental. But he didn’t deny they’d be interested. He wasn’t going to ignore the matter, that was clear. You need to establish what he did – who else he consulted, for instance. Play on your role as the loyal son seeking justice for his dead father. The Japs have a soft spot for that kind of thing.’

  ‘It’s not a role,’ Max snapped.

  Ireton was unabashed. ‘All the better, then. I suggest you and Schools call on him at the delegation’s hotel this evening.’

  ‘This evening? What’s wrong with this morning?’

  ‘Schools is tied up all day. I won’t get a chance to brief him until later.’

  ‘I can’t wait that long.’

  ‘Sorry, but you’ll have to. That’s the deal.’

  ‘Who are the other two you sounded out?’

  Ireton looked almost pained. ‘Come on, Max. I wasn’t born yesterday. Neither were you, though a lot closer to yesterday than I was, I grant you. If I tell you who the others are now, there’s nothing to stop you approaching them on your own. No, no. We see how you get on with Kuroda. And we take it from there. One step at a time.’

  Max gave brief but serious consideration to grabbing Ireton by the throat and trying to force the other names out of him. He felt certain the American was stringing him along for devious reasons of his own. But he could not afford to yield to temptation. There was too much at stake. ‘Very well,’ he said through gritted teeth.

  ‘Meet Schools here at six.’ Ireton beamed. ‘OK?’

  Max left Ireton’s offices burning with impatience. His search for the truth seemed to be diverted or delayed at every turn.

  His first thought was to return to the Mazarin and find out whether any message had reached him from Zamaron regarding Spataro. But a second thought saw him divert to Little Russia. Perhaps the morning would find Bukayev manning his bookshop.

  The bookshop was open, but Bukayev was nowhere to be seen. The jingling of the bell as Max entered brought a sombre, heavy-featured young woman scurrying out of an office to the rear. She had raven-black hair, tied back severely, and was dressed mostly in black as well.

  She addressed him in Russian, understandably enough, since the books filling the ceiling-high shelves all had titles printed in the Cyrillic alphabet.

  ‘I am looking for Mr Bukayev,’ he said, slowly and distinctly.

  To his relief, she switched to English in response. ‘Ah. He is not here.’

  ‘Do you know when he’ll be back?’

  ‘A few days, maybe. He is out of Paris.’

  ‘Damn it all to hell!’ The strength of his reaction surprised her. She took a step back. He raised a hand apologetically. ‘I’m sorry. I badly wanted to talk to him.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘It concerns my late father, Sir Henry Maxted.’

  ‘You are Sir Henry Maxted’s son?’

  ‘Yes. I—’

  The jingling of the doorbell and the warning look he caught in her eyes cut him off. A bulky, bull-necked man in a tightly belted raincoat and pork-pie hat entered the shop. ‘Dobroe utro,’ he growled.

  The young woman returned the greeting in half-hearted fashion and watched the man as he began a slow prowl of the shelves. Then she looked at Max and spoke to him quietly, to his bemusement, in French. ‘Un instant, s’il vous plaît.’ Her expression and the change of language combined to urge caution on him.

  She hurried into the office and returned a moment later, carrying a pencil and a notepad. She offered them to Max, her glance shifting to monitor the movements of the newcomer. ‘Votre nom et votre adresse, monsieur?’ she prompted.

  ‘D’accord,’ he mustered, taking the pencil and pad. He wrote the information down and handed them back.

  ‘Merci, monsieur,’ she said, smiling briskly. And that, her smile conveyed, was all she had to say – for now.

  A brisk walk took Max back to the Mazarin. The morning was wearing on and soon, he knew, the mourners would be gathering in Epsom for his father’s funeral. There would be many muttered questions about his absence and no one would have an adequate answer. Many would assume the worst. He wished it could be otherwise. But it could not. He had chosen his course. And he would steer it.

  Vindication of a sort was waiting for him at the hotel. There was, at last, a message. Please telephone Mr Appleby as soon as possible. Max was only half surprised Appleby had been left to convey the news to him. Zamaron was probably too embarrassed, given his explanation for Sir Henry’s death would now be in tatters. Max hurried up to his room and put a call through to the Majestic straight away.

  The switchboard left him hanging for a moment, then he was connected. ‘Mr Maxted?’ came Appleby’s gravelly greeting.

  ‘Yes. It’s me. I didn’t know you were back in Paris.’

  ‘Ah. I suppose your brother mentioned my trip to London. I returned on the sleeper last night.’

  ‘And heard of an unexpected development?’

  ‘Yes. I did. You already know?’

  ‘I was forewarned that Spataro was going to withdraw his claim about Corinne spending the night with him.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Corinne.’

  ‘Really?’ Appleby sounded genuinely puzzled.

  ‘That is why you called me, isn’t it?’

  ‘No. No, I’m afraid it isn’t. Spataro hasn’t withdrawn his claim. And he isn’t going to now.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He’s dead, Mr Maxted. Murdered, in his apartment, the night before last. His body was discovered yesterday.’

  ‘Murdered?’

  ‘Yes. And the police have arrested Madame Dombreux.’

  ‘I THOUGHT YOU might like to accompany me when I take a look at the murder scene, Mr Maxted,’ Appleby went on, his tone of voice sounding bizarrely normal to Max in the light of what he had just said. ‘You won’t get in there on your own and I know you’ll have lots of questions, so do you want to come with me? It’s now or never, I’m afraid. I’m operating on a tight schedule.’

  ‘Yes,’ Max murmured. ‘I’ll come.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘Good. I’ll pick you up in … a quarter of an hour?’

  ‘All right. A quarter of an hour.’

  ‘See you shortly, then. Sorry, by the way, if this was a bit of a facer. I was surprised myself.’

  Surprised? Yes, Max thought as he stared at the receiver before hanging up. He was that too. Surprised and shocked and horrified. Corinne had not murdered Spataro. He was surer of that than of most things. Good God, the man was already dead when she came to report his change of heart. He was already dead and she had not known it. A trap had been closing around her. And she had not known that either. But she knew it now. And so did Max.

  ‘Are you still there, Lamb?’ Appleby asked, returning his attention to the other telephone on his desk.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I think I can give you a few hours off. You deserve it after the shoe leather you’ve expended over the last couple of days. I’m taking Maxted to Montparnasse.’

  ‘Righto, sir.’

  ‘Pick up his trail later at Ireton’s. I think we can safely assume he’ll find his way back there.’

  ‘I should say so, sir.’

  ‘Good work so far, Lamb. Well done.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  The hearse drew away from Gresscombe Place under a pewter sky through flecks of snow blown on an icy
wind. No words passed between the passengers in the limousine that followed it. The two Ladies Maxted, Winifred and Lydia, occupied the rear seat. They were veiled and enveloped in black. The middle seat, behind the driver, was shared by Sir Ashley and Winifred’s brother, George, black-suited and sombre, although in George’s case sombreness did not extend to sobriety. Ashley could smell the whisky on his uncle’s breath quite clearly. There had evidently been more than the one stiffener he had admitted to.

  Ashley, though he would never have confessed as much, would have quite liked to join George in a glass, not merely to render the funeral service and the committal of his father’s body to the Surrey earth less harrowing, but also to quench some of the anxiety his earlier telephone conversation with the family’s lawyer had left him with.

  He should never have made the call, of course. Lydia had chivvied him into it. ‘Stir the fellow up, darling, or we’ll be waiting for ever to settle your father’s estate.’ It had been apparent from Mellish’s tone that he did not consider the discussion of such issues before the funeral to be entirely seemly. ‘I was going to suggest that I call at the house tomorrow morning, Sir Ashley, when I can set out the testamentary position in full.’ It had hardly been possible to argue with that. But Ashley had pressed for an assurance that everything would be straightforward – and had not received one. ‘I would prefer to say nothing further about the provisions of Sir Henry’s will until tomorrow.’

  Damn the fellow. Why did he have to be so tight-lipped? Ashley knew the terms of the will as well as he did. At least, he supposed he did. But now, watching the hearse move slowly along the drive ahead of them, he was not as certain on the point as he would have wanted to be.

  Max made his view of the matter known to Appleby while they were still standing in the lobby of the Hotel Mazarin. ‘I don’t believe for a moment that Corinne murdered Raffaele Spataro, Appleby. The very idea is absurd.’

  ‘Sometimes facts force us to believe what we can’t imagine,’ Appleby countered in his irritatingly sympathetic manner. ‘That’s why I suggested we go and inspect the scene of the crime for ourselves.’