The Ways of the World

by Robert Goddard

  It was not as simple as that, of course. Norris was not the only agent of Lemmer’s to whom Sir Henry had posed a threat. The decision to set Tarn on him must have been a collective one. There were guilty men – and women, in the case of Nadia Bukayeva – who had escaped punishment and would probably continue to do so. Lady Maxted understood that and urged her son to accept it, as she was willing to.

  ‘These other people may still see you as a threat, James, may they not?’

  ‘They may.’

  ‘Then why return to Paris? Staying away would draw a line under the affair. And if what you say – and what I infer – about the sort of people they are is correct, a line must be drawn somewhere. You cannot pursue them all.’

  ‘There are some loose ends I have to tie up.’

  ‘So, you will come home soon?’

  ‘I’m not sure how long it will take.’

  ‘I can persuade Ashley to allocate the land you need for your flying school, you know. Lydia doesn’t call every tune. And the executorship gives you something to bargain with, as perhaps your father foresaw.’

  ‘I can’t think about any of that now, Mother. I can’t predict what I may yet learn – and where learning it may lead me.’

  ‘At what point does bravery become foolishness, James?’

  ‘When you overstep a mark you can’t see until you’ve overstepped it.’

  ‘Is that thought meant to comfort me?’

  ‘I won’t lie to you, Mother. That’s probably the only comfort I can offer.’

  They parted in wind and rain on the platform at Dover Marine station. George had gone to secure a taxi to take him and Lady Maxted to the Lord Warden Hotel, where they planned to stay overnight before returning to London. Max would soon have to board the steamer for Boulogne. He thought everything had been said that needed to be said. But his mother, though she trusted her brother in all matters, had one last thing she wished to say to her son – and to her son alone.

  ‘I am aware what Lionel believes he is to you, James, and my conversation with him yesterday left me in little doubt that you are aware of it too.’

  ‘There’s no call to speak of it, Mother.’

  ‘You thought him a traitor.’

  ‘And he’s not a traitor. I was ready to believe the worst of him. I was wrong. I admit it.’

  ‘I am not concerned with that. A man who behaves as he does must expect to be misjudged. What concerns me is the possibility that you will credit his claim of … a blood relationship … because you now know he is not quite as bad as you thought him.’

  ‘I really don’t—’

  ‘There is something I must tell you, James.’

  Max looked at his mother, her expression veiled by the shadow of her hat and the rain-blurred glare of the station lamps. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked levelly.

  ‘Absolutely. Lionel Brigham is not your father. Believe me in this if in nothing else. If I had a Bible with me, I would be willing to swear upon it. You are Henry’s son. There is no margin for doubt or uncertainty. You are his son and no other man’s.’

  No margin for doubt or uncertainty? How could that be? Sir Henry had unwittingly revealed to Max where his mother had spent the summer of his conception. Either she was lying to him now, which he could hardly believe, or there was something he was not being told. And this possibility was only strengthened by what she said next.

  ‘Honesty is always partial, James. No two people can or should reveal everything of themselves to each other. I will not be interrogated about this. Nor will I interrogate you about those many things you have chosen, wisely or not, to keep from me. But you are Henry’s son. That is the truth. Carry it with you – along with your mother’s love – in whatever trials still await you.’

  It was a rough crossing and a largely sleepless journey followed from Boulogne to Paris, as Max analysed his mother’s words in search of what he took to be their hidden meaning. It still eluded him. And sleep came, perversely, just as the train was entering the Gare du Nord.

  He was not required to vacate his cabin for another hour, which he dozed through, before breakfasting in the station café. He bought a copy of the Paris edition of the Daily Mail and forced himself to read it. There was nothing yet about Tarn, which came as a relief. The editorial was a dire warning against leniency towards Germany. Max could not help wondering if Lemmer planned to use any of the material he had removed from the safe-deposit box to win some concessions for his country. It was a worrying thought. But there was nothing he could do about it. Whatever advantage access to the box had handed to Lemmer was his to exploit.

  Max went straight to the Mazarin from the station and dropped off his bag, then headed for the Majestic. He found Sam just where he had expected to find him, supervising work in the hotel’s garage.

  ‘They winkled you out of the hospital, then,’ said Max, soft-footing his way to Sam through the clamour of tuning engines and then surprising him.

  ‘It’s you, sir,’ Sam responded, whirling round to greet him with a broad smile. ‘Alive and well, I’m relieved to see.’

  ‘The feeling’s mutual, Sam.’ They shook hands warmly. ‘I gather we’ve both been in the wars.’

  ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘Can you spare me a few minutes?’

  ‘’Course I can. I’ll make us some tea. Come into my parlour.’

  Sam fired off some parting instructions to the mechanic he had been talking to, then led the way to his tiny office, where he had rigged up a Primus stove.

  ‘I’ve managed to get hold of some English tea,’ he proudly announced, setting the kettle to boil and lighting a cigarette. ‘Smoke, sir?’

  ‘No, thanks. But tea will slip down a treat.’

  They sat down, Max in the only chair, Sam on an upturned box, and regarded each other with smiling bemusement. ‘Mr Appleby told me you’d gone and killed Tarn, sir. But not how you’d managed it.’

  ‘I had help, Sam. From le Singe. Without it I wouldn’t have survived.’

  ‘What’s his game, sir?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I’m glad he’s playing it. I owe him my life. I gather you owe Morahan yours.’

  ‘That’s right, sir. We’re a lucky couple of beggars.’

  ‘I’m afraid I read Brigham wrong.’

  ‘And we both read Nadia wrong.’

  ‘So, we’re gullible as well as lucky.’

  ‘That’s about the size of it. But better gullible than unlucky, don’t you reckon?’

  Max nodded. ‘I do.’

  They swapped stories of their narrow escapes as they drank tea from enamel mugs. From Sam, Max did not withhold le Singe’s message. He showed him the scrap of wallpaper with the Japanese characters written on it.

  ‘Does that really mean something, sir?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Yes. And I intend to find out what.’

  ‘You’re not dropping it, then, with Tarn and that turncoat Norris both dead?’

  ‘Did you think I would?’

  ‘Not really, sir. I never expect you to take the easy course.’

  ‘I’m sorry you had such a rough time of it in my absence, Sam. If I’d been here—’

  ‘It mightn’t have turned out as well as it did. And it wasn’t that rough. I never knew my life was in danger until after it stopped being. I came to in the hospital to find my forehead being stroked by a nurse with the face of an angel, telling me I’d nearly suffocated and should take it easy. It wasn’t difficult to do as she said. The worst was learning Nadia was a snake in the grass.’

  ‘There’s treachery everywhere you look, I’m afraid.’

  ‘And salvation in strange places. I still don’t understand why Mr Morahan stepped in. I’m just thankful he did.’

  ‘I plan to ask him. But I don’t expect to learn much. He keeps his own counsel.’

  ‘That he does, sir. But I’d be happy to hear what he tells you – even if it doesn’t amount to anything – over a glass or three this evening.’r />
  ‘Good idea. We’ve both earnt a night on the spree.’

  ‘See your family while you were in Blighty, did you, sir?’

  ‘I met my mother.’

  ‘I don’t suppose the subject of those fields your dad earmarked for you cropped up, did it?’

  Max offered no immediate answer. He drained his mug and set it down by the kettle, then gazed out through the glass-panelled door into the maintenance bay. ‘I couldn’t drag you away from all this, Sam,’ he said at last. ‘You’re doing your country such sterling service.’

  ‘You mean you won’t drag me away.’

  ‘I mean I don’t know what the future holds.’ Max turned to Sam and grinned. ‘Apart from standing you more drinks than will be good for you this evening.’

  MAX ENTERED THE outer office of Ireton Associates at 33 Rue des Pyramides, to find Schools Morahan and Malory Hollander discussing horse-racing form, with laughter bubbling in their voices. Max had a fleeting impression, not for the first time, that they shared some secret purpose over and above their work for Travis Ireton, that they were partners in an enterprise whose significance eclipsed their everyday concerns – and of which they would never speak.

  The impression was all the more fleeting because of the pleasure they took at his arrival. Malory kissed him and Morahan pumped his hand.

  ‘I knew Tarn by reputation, Max,’ said Morahan. ‘I’d never have expected you to be able to outwit him.’

  ‘I was lucky. And so was Sam.’

  ‘He was. Sometimes, though not often enough, fortune smiles on the righteous.’

  ‘I want to thank you for what you did.’

  ‘I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.’

  ‘It didn’t just happen, though, did it? I gather you both decided I needed looking after and Sam was the beneficiary.’

  ‘We were glad to be of service.’

  ‘Would Travis have approved?’

  ‘We didn’t ask him,’ said Malory. ‘That’s what happens when you make yourself elusive.’

  ‘He’s still lying low?’

  ‘He is,’ said Morahan. ‘But he’s back in Paris. Business would suffer if he stayed away any longer. You won’t be seeing him here for a while, though. Carver mistakenly thinks Travis knew about Ennis’s dealing with Lemmer and wants to sweat the details out of him. So Travis is keeping out of his way. I’m meeting him this afternoon at Enghien racetrack. He feels safe in a crowd. Malory’s just been picking me a winner from the paper.’

  ‘Héliad in the four o’clock,’ said Malory. ‘The track will suit him.’

  ‘We’ll see about that. Any message for Travis, Max?’

  ‘None you’d care to pass on.’

  Morahan smiled. ‘Understood.’

  ‘Grand as it is to see you, Max,’ said Malory, ‘you really shouldn’t stay.’

  ‘She’s right,’ Morahan sighed. ‘Carver’s stationed a guy in the café across the street to monitor comings and goings here. He’ll report your arrival and I’d guess Carver would take a long talk with you as second best to one with Travis.’

  Max had no wish to encounter Carver. At the very least the man would waste a lot of Max’s time. ‘I’d better make myself scarce, then.’

  ‘Have you heard about Corinne Dombreux?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Commissioner Zamaron regards me as his new-found meilleur ami since I helped him wrap up those several murder cases that have been cluttering his desk. Best of all from his point of view, and thanks to you as well as Nadia Bukayeva, the principal suspects are all dead. Never mind that Norris probably didn’t hire Tarn on his own initiative—’

  ‘Or that Tarn didn’t shoot Ennis.’

  Morahan looked surprised and curious. ‘He didn’t?’

  Max shook his head. ‘No. But what about Corinne?’

  ‘Oh, I pointed out to my buddy Léon that she’s obviously innocent and that by arranging her early release he could avoid being obliged to look for the police officers who might have dosed up the evidence against her. This very morning he telephoned me to report that the magistrate’s set her free.’ Morahan glanced up at the clock. ‘She’s probably on her way home already.’

  ‘Ligne Trois from Concorde to Notre-Dame-des-Champs would be your quickest route,’ said Malory.

  ‘Give her my regards when you see her,’ Morahan continued.

  ‘You’ve met Corinne, Schools?’ Max asked.

  ‘Once, yes.’

  ‘How did that come about?’

  ‘She called by here one day hoping to see Travis. He was out. She got me instead.’

  ‘What did she want with Travis?’

  ‘She never actually said. I advised her to make an appointment. It was only later that I discovered she knew Henry. So, if I was guessing, I’d say she was anxious about his dealings with Travis and planned to charm Travis into telling her what those dealings were.’

  ‘And did she make an appointment?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Malory. ‘Travis told me to invite her to have lunch with him if she called again, as she duly did.’ She flicked open the desk diary in front of her. ‘Wednesday, March twelfth. Café Voltaire, Place de l’Odéon.’

  ‘The twelfth?’ Sir Henry had been in England that day, changing his will and reclaiming his father’s Sumerian antiquities. Corinne had never mentioned lunch with Ireton. She had never mentioned meeting him after their encounter at St-Cloud. ‘Did Travis say what happened?’

  ‘Not that I recall. But then I doubt I asked.’

  ‘Schools?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘If you want to dodge Carver, Max,’ Malory said softly, ‘you really should go.’

  ‘Yes. Of course. One other thing, though. Do you speak Japanese, Malory?’

  ‘I picked up a few of the basics.’

  ‘What about reading it?’

  ‘Are you kidding? Have you seen what Japanese looks like?’

  Impulsively, Max took the scrap of wallpaper out of his pocket and showed her le Singe’s message. ‘Like this?’

  Malory squinted at the markings, then nodded. ‘Yes. Just like that.’

  ‘Any idea what it means?’

  ‘No. Except …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, there are no kanji in it. It’s mostly katakana, I think, so that suggests it’s a foreign word translated into Japanese.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Kuroda could tell you what it says,’ suggested Morahan.

  ‘Just what I was thinking. Where would I be likeliest to find him, d’you think?’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Or later.’

  ‘There’s a Council of Five meeting today. It’s a sop to Japan for being excluded from the Council of Four. Their delegates will be out in force. So, he’ll probably be with them at the Quai d’Orsay until …’

  ‘Some time after Héliad romps home in the four o’clock at Enghien,’ said Malory with a superior smirk. ‘Is that writing on a fragment of wallpaper, Max?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘Where’s the wall it came off?’ asked Morahan.

  Max did not answer. All he said as he strode towards the door was, ‘I must go.’

  ‘Then go well,’ Morahan called after him.

  ‘Amen to that,’ murmured Malory.

  As Max hurried away from 33 Rue des Pyramides in Paris, heading, as Malory had recommended, for Concorde Métro station, Appleby advanced slowly into C’s office at British Secret Service Headquarters in London.

  Nine days had passed since C had approved his proposal to use Max as a means of tracking down Lemmer. The plan had so far failed to achieve its desired result. It had produced other effects, however, not all of them to C’s liking, as his forbidding expression and the absence of any other member of staff served to confirm. What he had to say – and what Appleby might say in response – he evidently did not judge suitable for committee consumption.

  ‘Si
t down, Appleby, sit down,’ C began in a tone he may have intended to be neutral, but which somehow carried gruffness at its edges. He closed a file he had been studying. ‘I’ve just taken a look at the minutes of last week’s meeting to remind myself of the conditions upon which I approved your operation.’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir?’

  ‘The justification you advanced for using James Maxted as a proxy in the search for Lemmer was that we could disown him if we needed to.’

  ‘Indeed, sir and—’

  ‘I specifically told you to avoid drawing our inquiries to the attention of the French authorities and at all costs to keep the Americans out of it.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Appleby glumly. The course of their discussion was set and it was not set fair.

  ‘I must congratulate you. I cannot recall in the admittedly short history of this department an operation that has miscarried so comprehensively and so quickly. I have had Lord Hardinge bending my ear about your harassment of senior civil servants and reminding me that my budget for this year is still only provisional. I have had the commissioner of the Metropolitan Police reporting that you conferred departmental privilege on Maxted in respect of their investigation of a homicide at an address in Mayfair earlier this week. The US Department of State has been in touch with the Foreign Office seeking information they believe we may possess about Lemmer’s whereabouts following the assassination of a member of the American delegation in Paris last Saturday. The Deuxième Bureau wants to know what we have to say about the murders of two members of our delegation last Tuesday. One of our own men, a promising young agent whose father I know personally, is also dead. Meanwhile, extreme measures are having to be taken to hold the press at bay. And Lemmer, I feel sure you will confirm, is as elusive now as he was when you last sat in this room.’

  Silence settled over them, moderated by C’s stertorous breathing. He appeared to be waiting for Appleby to mount a defence, with little expectation that it would be adequate.

  ‘Well, sir—’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Things obviously haven’t gone as I’d hoped.’

  ‘I should perhaps add understatement to the list of your talents when I next review your personal file,’ said C unsmilingly.