The Ways of the World

by Robert Goddard

  ‘You … murdered … him.’ Max had to force the words out.

  ‘Agents of mine neutralized the threat he represented. They acted with my approval, at least initially. Henry’s fatal accident and Spataro’s death, apparently at the hands of Madame Dombreux, constituted a coherent, not to say elegant, solution to several related problems. You could say they were actions forced upon us. The attack on you and Ennis was clumsy by comparison. I did not sanction it. There will be repercussions, you may be assured, for those who instigated it. But there it is. I still have power. My resources, however, are undeniably diminished. I am the functioning arm of an empire that no longer exists. The Kaiser’s realm has shrunk to a castle in the Netherlands. So, what end do I serve now? It is an important question, as much for you as for me.’

  ‘Why should I … give a damn?’

  ‘Because you impress me, Max. You are single-minded, courageous and resourceful. We would work well together. Many of my people think you are as big a threat to their survival as your father was. They will not allow such a threat to hang above them. But if you come over to us, the threat is dissolved. You enjoy my protection. You join my secret army. You become one of my lieutenants.’

  ‘Not … in a million years.’

  ‘Do not decide so hastily. Rest here and recover. And while you do so, reflect. You can trust no one except me. I speak the truth. Everyone else dissembles, one way or the other. Oh, there is your tame mechanic, of course, Twentyman. He is loyal to you, I admit. That makes him vulnerable. What would you be willing to do to guarantee his continued well-being? Think about that also. A man of principle is always compromised by his friendships. For myself, I have no friends, no lovers, no confidants. I learnt the hard way that I could afford no such entanglements.’

  Max stared hard at where he judged Lemmer’s eyes to be. ‘Go to hell.’

  ‘If there is one, I undoubtedly will. But there is much to be done before I confront the hereafter. To business. Your clothes are in that wardrobe over there.’ Lemmer pointed his finger against the light. ‘I have examined the contents of your pockets. The list is interesting, is it not? Henry was certainly budgeting for an expensive, not to say extravagant, purchase. Whatever can it have been? The Trust and the Chinese box were to be expected. But I was surprised he had knowledge of the Contingencies Memorandum. He really was prepared to burn his boats, wasn’t he? And then there is the key.’

  Max groaned. There, before him, held in Lemmer’s fingers, was the key Max had found in the bedpost in his father’s room at the Majestic.

  ‘Still looking for the lock it fits, are you, Max? I’ll make you an offer. Find it before I do and you can have the key back. Provided I have first sight of whatever Henry locked away. Work with me. Not for, but with. You’ll enjoy it, I promise, just as you enjoyed the war. I know, I know. It should have been terrible, and so it was. But still it raised you up, didn’t it? It should have destroyed you. But you were forged by the fire, not consumed. I see that in you as clear as noon. It is a great asset. Don’t waste it. Learn to use it. Let me teach you how to use it. I am sorry Henry had to die. I can help you make more of his death than anything simple revenge can bring you.’

  ‘When I’m strong enough …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’ll find you … and kill you.’

  ‘Bravo.’ Lemmer patted Max on the shoulder. ‘You prove my point for me, Max. Don’t worry. You’ll come to see the sense of my argument, I’m sure of it. Go back to sleep. But remember what I’ve said. I must go now. Doctor Wahlen has other calls to make. I hope we will see each other again. The means of communicating with me will be made known to you in due course. I will kill you if you force me to. But I will not betray you. That is my pledge.’

  As Lemmer stood up, Max made a feeble grab for the hand in which he held the key. But he was far too slow. He grasped only thin air and felt himself falling from the bed.

  Lemmer caught him and heaved him back, panting, against the pillows. ‘Rest, Max. Rest and reflect. Then you will understand. Then you will know I’m right. Gute Nacht.’

  SAM’S FIRST FULLY functioning day in charge of the delegation garage, which occupied converted stables at the rear of the Majestic, was bound to be a busy and demanding one. There was no prospect of being able to visit Max until the evening. An early telephone call to the Hôtel Dieu had set Sam’s mind at rest, however. Max’s fever had broken. He was much improved. He was, Sam gathered, out of the woods.

  Appleby had received similar tidings and had decided, in a moment of soft-heartedness, to deliver them to Sam in person. But, when he found the delegation’s new chief mechanic whistling while he worked, he guessed those tidings had already reached him.

  ‘I’ll call in on him later today, Twentyman. Any message?’

  ‘Let those nurses tend him like a babe, Mr A. That’d be my advice. I’ll see him as soon as I’ve finished here, which won’t be till late, judging by the way your drivers hammer these engines.’

  ‘They’re not my drivers.’

  ‘Aren’t you part of the establishment, then, sir?’

  ‘A moot point, Twentyman. Decidedly moot.’

  ‘What about Brigham?’ Sam asked, lowering his voice, though he hardly needed to in the general hubbub of the maintenance bay.

  ‘The matter’s being dealt with, as I’ll be sure to tell Max. I’ll also tell him about Bukayev. Suffocated before he was dumped in the canal, according to the pathologist.’

  ‘Does Miss Bukayeva know?’

  ‘Zamaron will inform her.’

  ‘The poor chick. Will Zamaron let Madame Dombreux go now?’

  ‘Things don’t happen that quickly, Twentyman. You’ll have to be patient. And so will Max.’

  Some things did happen quickly, however, as Appleby discovered when he returned to his office. A summons had arrived in his absence. The Permanent Under-Secretary wanted to see him. ‘Without delay, sir,’ Appleby’s secretary informed him with some emphasis.

  Lord Hardinge of Penshurst, His Majesty’s Permanent Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, received Appleby in his first-floor office at the nearby Hôtel Astoria, where he enjoyed some respite from the toing and froing of the Majestic. He was a tall, lean, quietly spoken man of austere bearing, who wore authority like a favourite coat. He clearly regarded Appleby as a form of life he should not properly be required to engage with. But he was too polite to say so.

  Appleby was aware that Hardinge had overseen the creation of the Secret Service back in 1909. C was therefore beholden to him and he was obviously not a man to be trifled with. Whether he regretted allowing the establishment of an autonomous intelligence-gathering organization under the aegis of the Foreign Office was bemusingly unclear.

  ‘Do you know why I agreed to C’s proposal that you be sent here, Appleby?’ Hardinge opened.

  ‘My understanding was that you were anxious to avoid secret information finding its way to other delegations and interested parties, my lord.’

  ‘Indeed. For what would such leaking of information constitute?’

  ‘It would undermine confidence in the delegation’s decision-making procedures.’

  ‘And if it became publicly known?’

  ‘There would be a scandal.’

  ‘Precisely, Appleby. A scandal. The avoidance of such is, so far as I am concerned, the principal purpose your posting here was intended to serve.’

  ‘As to—’

  ‘I can hardly imagine a greater scandal than the implication of a senior civil servant in a multiple murder inquiry, can you?’

  Appleby offered a pained grimace by way of reply.

  ‘Well, can you?’

  ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘I read your memorandum concerning Brigham and the allegations of Miss Bukayeva with considerable perturbation. I intended to discuss the matter with you today. It did not occur to me that you would seek to question Brigham directly before we had had that discussion.’

  Ap
pleby shifted uneasily in his chair. He would have liked to light his pipe, if only to serve as a distraction. But he hardly felt he could in Hardinge’s headmasterly presence.

  ‘Brigham came to see me last night, after your meeting with him at the Embassy. He felt you had exceeded your authority by interrogating him and I’m bound to say I agree with him, as I shall make clear to C in due course. Would you care to defend yourself against the charge?’

  Appleby cleared his throat. ‘It’s sometimes important to question a suspect before he has a chance to prepare himself.’

  ‘A suspect in what?’

  ‘I’ve yet to establish the full extent of Brigham’s involvement in the recent spate of violent deaths, but I’m certain he is involved.’

  ‘Sir Henry Maxted, Raffaele Spataro, Walter Ennis and Igor Bukayev. They are the spate you refer to?’

  ‘Yes. Along with my late assistant, Thomas Lamb.’

  ‘In your memorandum, you mentioned a man called Fritz Lemmer, whom you described, somewhat melodramatically, as “the Kaiser’s spymaster”.’

  ‘It’s hardly melodramatic, my lord, merely accurate.’

  ‘In essence, you believe Brigham to be one of Lemmer’s spies?’

  ‘I regard it as highly probable.’

  ‘How would you wish to proceed?’

  ‘I’d like him placed in some form of detention, my lord, so I can question him at length and in detail.’

  ‘But who is to detain him, here in Paris?’

  ‘If you withdrew his immunity, the French police could—’

  ‘Absolutely not. The precedent such a move would set is unconscionable. There will be no detention, Appleby. The evidence you have amassed against Brigham is insufficient to justify anything of the kind. His liaison with Miss Bukayeva certainly demonstrates poor judgement on his part, but there is no reason – no reason whatever – to believe her version of events over his.’

  ‘I can’t agree, my lord. The circumstances of the discovery of Bukayev’s body clearly suggest Brigham acted at the very least as a messenger for whoever murdered him.’

  ‘And that would be Lemmer, or those acting on Lemmer’s behalf?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Hardinge sighed. ‘If I allowed the French to take Brigham into custody, I’d be reading a Figaro editorial alleging our delegation was a nest of spies before the week was out. And by next week the work of the delegation would have disintegrated in the face of a Daily Mail-orchestrated witch-hunt. You seem to have no conception of how serious the ramifications of this matter could be.’

  ‘I certainly don’t think Brigham was Lemmer’s only recruit in Whitehall, my lord.’

  ‘No. I’m sure you don’t.’

  ‘The ramifications are serious.’

  ‘They would be, if I gave you your head.’

  ‘With respect, my lord, I—’

  ‘Don’t tell me you take your orders from C, Appleby. I’m well aware of that. I’m also well aware of the source of C’s funding, for the simple reason that I control it. Brigham is an incorrigible philanderer. He has behaved very foolishly, but not, I judge, traitorously, far less treasonably. I have sent him back to London to cool his heels.’

  ‘You’ve sent him to London?’

  ‘I have. He can do no harm there, even supposing he has a mind to. I cannot say he was any happier to go than you appear to be to hear of his going. But I’m satisfied it was for the best.’

  ‘Well, my lord, I—’

  ‘Have grave reservations. Yes, no doubt you do. But I am bound to take a circumspect view. The Germany Brigham may or may not have spied for no longer exists. I think even you will agree Lemmer is not acting on behalf of the present government in Berlin. I am therefore satisfied that the integrity of the conference is not threatened by the tragic consequences of whatever manner of falling-out there may have been among his former acolytes.’

  Appleby summoned a deep breath, and with it his courage, then said, ‘I believe you ignore this matter at your peril, my lord.’

  ‘I am not ignoring it, Appleby. I am setting it to one side. If C decides to have Brigham questioned in London, I will not stand in his way. But here I must have quietude. The business of the conference demands it. Is that clear?’

  Appleby frowned heavily. ‘It is, my lord.’

  ‘Assess the situation for C’s benefit as you see fit. But I want no further harassment of senior civil servants, or minor ones, come to that, without my explicit prior approval, which you can assume will not be forthcoming. Is that also clear?’

  Appleby nodded grimly. ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Hardinge permitted himself a thin smile. ‘Then I’ll bid you good morning.’

  THE DOCTOR WHO came on duty on Monday morning expressed his pleasure and satisfaction at Max’s emergence from his fever. ‘You have strength, monsieur. It is not so common since the war. You will be leaving us on two feet, I think. Très bien, très bien.’

  Max made no reference to his nocturnal visit from Dr Wahlen. He knew Lemmer was right. No one would credit such a story. Telling it might only delay Max’s discharge from the hospital. And he wanted to be out of there as soon as possible.

  A tentative foray as far as the door of his room proved he would not be striding out just yet, however. The nurse who helped him back into bed recommended bouillon de boeuf for breakfast and a lot more rest. It was not what Max wanted to hear. But he was in no position to contest the logic of it.

  Burley assured Max that Appleby would be along to see him later. But his first visitor of the day turned out to be Schools Morahan. Even sitting down, he seemed to tower over the bed. Max was pleased to see him, though. And Morahan was evidently pleased to see him as well.

  ‘I was more or less convinced you’d get yourself killed, Max. I’m glad you didn’t quite pull it off. Malory sends her love.’

  ‘What about Ireton?’

  ‘We’ve had a cable. He’s staying away in light of what happened to you and Ennis. Especially Ennis. Deem it wise to lie low until all blows over.’ Morahan smiled mirthlessly. ‘Travis never was at his best under fire.’

  ‘Where did he cable from?’

  ‘Nowhere you’ll want to follow him to. If Carver quizzes you, as I’m sure he will, refer him to me. I guess you don’t need to know who in the British delegation Travis spoke to now, though, anyhow. It was Ennis who blabbed, right?’

  ‘Wrong, actually. I—’

  Max broke off as one of the more senior nurses entered in full sail. ‘Your … notaire … is here, Monsieur Maxted. Une affaire urgente. You want to see him?’

  ‘Found yourself a lawyer, Max?’ Morahan asked.

  ‘Apparently. Yes. Please show him in. Whoever he is.’

  The nurse frowned and went to fetch him. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Morahan. ‘If there’s anything I can do for you when you get out of here, you be sure to let me know.’

  Morahan’s helpfulness continued to puzzle Max, but he had no time to consider it further. The lawyer who bustled in as Morahan left was, to his surprise, none other than the Maxteds’ family solicitor, Gilbert Mellish, a long way from his normal Surrey stamping ground.

  ‘Mr Mellish! What are you doing here?’

  ‘They told me at the Mazarin you were in hospital following a shooting, Mr Maxted. I’m relieved to find you looking so well.’

  ‘I was lucky. But what I meant was: what are you doing in Paris?’

  Mellish, considerably breathless from rushing around the city and climbing the stairs of the Hôtel Dieu, subsided into the bedside chair, cradling a bulging briefcase on his lap. ‘Does your mother know of your injury, Mr Maxted?’

  ‘No. And I’d like to keep it that way.’

  Mellish squirmed uneasily, but did not dispute the matter. ‘As you please.’

  ‘You still haven’t told me why you’re here.’

  ‘Your father appointed you executor of his will, Mr Maxted. I assumed you’d attend his funeral and I planne
d to inform you afterwards, though obviously not quite this—’

  ‘He appointed me executor?’ Max was as astonished as he supposed he must look.

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Not Ashley?’

  ‘No. Though that reminds me …’ Mellish fished a letter out of his briefcase. ‘Sir Ashley asked me to deliver this to you.’

  Max took the letter and thumbed it open. It was in Ashley’s handwriting on Gresscombe Place headed paper, dated 28th March – the day after their father’s funeral and presumably the day Ashley had made the unwelcome discovery that Max, not he, was executor of Sir Henry’s estate.

  Dear James,

  I am sorry that we parted in Paris on somewhat acrimonious terms. I have subsequently regretted implying that I would not allow you to use any Gresscombe land for your proposed flying school. I would certainly not wish to stand in your way where that is concerned. Lydia and I both—

  Max cast the letter aside, unfinished. ‘How did Ashley take the news, Mr Mellish?’

  ‘He was … surprised.’

  ‘And my sister-in-law?’

  ‘I believe she expressed some doubt about whether you would want to accept the appointment.’

  ‘I have a choice?’