The Shadow in the North

  Isabel went to bed as soon as the doctor had left - dazed and trembling now, and beginning to hurt. Sally answered questions: yes, the dog was hers; no, she didn't know why Miss Meredith had been attacked; no, she didn't recognize the man; yes, Miss Meredith lived here; yes, she usually walked the dog at that time; no, neither she nor Miss Meredith had received any threats. . .

  They seemed in the end to accept that it had been a chance attack by an opportunist, though she could tell that they were puzzled. He was too well-armed for an ordinary street robber, and to take on anyone accompanied by a dog like that when there were plenty of easier targets - well, it was odd. They left shaking their heads. It was after three o'clock when she got to bed, and no matter how many blankets she piled on, she couldn't stop shivering.

  First thing next morning, she went to her office - and found it empty.

  It had been ransacked.

  Her files, her carefully arranged correspondence, the folders on all her clients, the details of their shareholdings and savings - it was all gone. The shelves were empty, the drawers of the cabinet hanging open.

  She felt light-headed, crazy, as if she'd walked into the wrong office. But no - there were her table and chairs, there was the sagging couch. . .

  She ran down to the office of her landlord's chief clerk, who managed her rental.

  "Where are my files? What's happened?"

  For an instant, pure shock passed over his face - as if he'd seen a ghost. Then it closed into tight-lipped coldness.

  "I'm afraid I cannot say. And I must point out that I have received information about your use of this office which is most disturbing. When the police came this morning, they--"

  "The police? Who called the police? What did they want?"

  "I did not think it proper to inquire. They removed certain documents, and--"

  "You let them take my property from my office? And did you get a receipt?"

  "I am not going to stand between a police officer and his duty. And do not take that tone with me, young lady."

  "Did they have a warrant? On whose authority did they enter my office?"

  "On the authority of the Crown!"

  "In that case they will have had a warrant. Did you see it?"

  "Of course not. It was none of my business."

  "Which police station did they come from?"

  "I have no idea. And I must--"

  "You allowed police officers into my room to take away my property - you didn't ask for a receipt - you didn't see a warrant - this is England, did you know that? You have heard of a search warrant, I suppose? How do you know that these men really were police officers?"

  He banged the desk and stood up, shouting:

  "I will not be spoken to like that by a common prostitute!"

  The word hung in the sudden silence.

  He was staring fixedly at the wall behind Sally, unable to look her in the face.

  She looked him up and down, from the red spots on his thin cheeks to the papery knuckles clutching the desk.

  "I'm ashamed of you," she said. "I thought you were a businessman. I thought you could see straight, and deal fairly. Once, I'd have been angry with you - but now I'm just ashamed."

  He said nothing as she turned and left.

  The Sergeant on duty at the nearest police station was an elderly, avuncular soul, who frowned and tut-tutted in a concerned way as Sally began the story.

  "Your office?" he said. "You've got an office, have you, miss? That's nice."

  She looked at him carefully, but he seemed to be listening. She went on:

  "Did the policemen come from this station?"

  "I don't really know, miss. We've got a lot of policemen here."

  "But surely you'd know what was going on? They took some documents. They must have brought them back here. Has no one come in with paper or files or letters brought from an office in King Street?"

  "Oooh, hard to say. There's a lot of paper comes in and out of here. You'd better give me the details."

  He licked his pencil - and then she saw him wink at the constable behind the desk nearby, and saw the young man turn away to hide a smirk.

  "On second thoughts," she said, "don't bother."

  She put her hand out for Chaka, and looked down for the warmth of his love and his goodness, and there was nothing there.

  The tears spilled over her cheeks, and she left.

  She reached Burton Street only ten minutes after Frederick got back from the north. He was tired and dishevelled and unshaven, having spent the night on a slow train, and he'd eaten nothing since lunch the previous day, but he pushed aside his coffee and toast, listened intently to what she told him, and then called Jim.

  "Job for Turner and Luckett," he said. "Sally - finish my coffee for me. . ."

  An hour later, a removal van drawn by a lean grey horse pulled up outside Baltic House. Two men with green baize aprons got off, put a nosebag over the horse's head, and walked in past the stout commissionaire.

  "Load o' files," said the taller man (a lugubrious fellow with a large moustache) to the porter. "They come in earlier, or something. They got to be moved to Hyde Park Gate."

  "That's probably where Mr Bellmann's gone, then," said the porter. "I dunno where they put 'em. I better ask the chief clerk - I think he was handling 'em."

  An office boy was sent to find out, and five minutes later the removal men were carrying the first load down and stowing them in the back of their van. As they came in for a second load, the porter said, "You got a letter, have you? I better have a look. And I'll need a receipt."

  "Oh, yus - here you are," said the removal man. "You go on up, Bert - start on the next load."

  The more slightly moustached removal man went ahead while the porter scrutinized the letter authorizing the removal. When the files were all in the van, the first removal man wrote out a receipt on his firm's stationery and gave it to the porter before climbing up on to the box. The younger man removed the horse's nosebag. The commissionaire saluted as they drove away.

  When they were around the corner and out of sight of Baltic House, the younger man spoke for the first time.

  "Well, Fred," he said.

  "Well, Jim," was the reply.

  Jim pulled at his moustache, wincing as the spirit gum clung to his lip.

  "Don't pluck at it nervously," said Frederick. "A good manly tug's all it needs."

  He reached across and yanked it free with a sharp, tearing sound. A fusillade of oaths followed from Jim - enough, as Frederick said, to make the horse blush.

  "Tell you what," he said when the tirade had abated, "I'll turn in here and you jump down and turn the sign around. And we'll take off these aprons - just in case anyone wakes up and gives chase. . ."

  Two minutes later, with their flat caps changed for bowler hats and the sign on the van reversed to read WILSON BROS. WHOLESALE GROCERIES, they were on their way back to Burton Street.

  "Oh, Fred - I don't believe it!"

  Sally stood in the yard behind the shop and looked into the back of the van. She ran her hand over the nearest pile of cardboard folders and then turned and flung her arms around Frederick.

  He responded in kind, and the embrace only came to an end when a round of applause broke out from somewhere above them. Frederick looked up - to see the broad grins on the faces of the glaziers who were putting the windows into the new studio.

  "What the devil are you grinning at?" he roared.

  But then he saw the funny side of it, and grinned himself; and Sally smiled too. They went into the kitchen.

  "D'you want to check them?" he said. "See if they're all there?"

  "In a minute. . . Oh Fred, thank you, thank you!"

  She spread her hands, helpless, and sat down in tears. Jim opened a bottle of beer and poured it out for them. Frederick drank deeply.

  "How did you do it?" she said. "It's unbelievable. . . I really thought I'd lost everything."

  "I wrote a letter," he explained, "o
n the firm's stationery - not this firm, Turner and Luckett's - authorizing the removal of certain files to number 47, Hyde Park Gate. That's all."

  Turner and Luckett didn't exist. Frederick had had various items of stationery printed in that name, which had earned their keep several times already. Sally nodded, beginning to smile.

  "I guessed they were at Baltic House," Frederick went on. "Obviously they weren't in the police station; Bellmann's men might have worn police uniform to impress your landlord's clerk, or they might even have been real police - I bet he's got enough influence to swing that - but he's the only one who'd be interested in them. No, we waited till we saw Bellmann leave the building, and then we just walked in. I guessed they wouldn't question it if they thought the files were being moved to Bellmann's house."

  "We've done it before," said Jim. "It's funny, ain't it, Fred? Amazing what you can get away with. You could walk in anywhere with a bit of paper in your hand - you could get away with murder, almost."

  "Oh, if I'd lost these. . ." She felt cold at the thought. If her files were out of her hands, she couldn't look after her clients' money - and if the stock market moved in the wrong direction, it could be disastrous. She'd made some surprising profits for some of her clients, but she'd had some narrow escapes too. Everything depended on having the information close at hand and being able to move quickly. When she thought what she might have lost. . .

  "Could you take them to Mr Temple's for me?" she said. "There isn't room for them here, and now they know where I live, that's not safe either."

  "I'm going to have a bath," said Frederick, "and then I'll have something to eat, and then I'll take 'em wherever you want. And while I'm eating, I'll tell you what I found out up north. But not a word of that till I've got some food inside me - though I tell you what, Jim; we've got to find Mackinnon."

  Sally was different, Frederick thought as he shaved. More than just shaking her, Chaka's death had altered something deep inside her. Was it in her eyes? Her mouth? It was hard to say where the expression showed, but it moved him unbearably. And when she'd arrived, dark-eyed and paper-white - it was the first time he'd ever seen her helpless in that way, frightened, needing him. And the way she'd clung to him. . . Everything was changing.

  Over lunch he told them about Henry Waterman and the Steam Gun, and Sally added her findings from the Patent Library. Webster came in from the studio, heard what they were talking about, and sat down to listen.

  "What d'you think happened, then?" he said. "Summarize."

  "Bellmann and Nordenfels went to Russia," Sally began. "Nordenfels designed this gun and patented it there, only they couldn't build it in Russia because they haven't got the factories, or the techniques, for that matter. They needed somewhere with a lot of locomotive-building experience."

  "Then they had a fight," went on Frederick. "They quarrelled over something - don't know what - doesn't matter, really. Bellmann killed Nordenfels and stole the plans of his gun and came to this country - and invented a designer called Hopkinson."

  "And patented the invention in his own name. And he must have had Russian money," said Sally.

  "Why?" said Webster.

  "Well, when his match business collapsed he was left with nothing. But when he arrived in this country in '73 he had no end of money. This is just a guess, but I think he was subsidized by the Russian government. They wanted the Steam Gun built, and they funded him to get it done. The rest of his activities, the shipping, the buying up of companies and selling off their assets, all that's just spare-time stuff. The Steam Gun's the main thing. . . But, you know, I can't see who'd use a gun like that."

  "I should think any General would give his right arm for it," said Webster.

  She shook her head, and Frederick smiled, recognizing Sally-the-military-tactician.

  "In the first place, you could only use it where there's a railway line," she explained. "And you couldn't expect an enemy to wait politely until your engineers had laid down a line in the right place. Besides, it only fires broadsides, doesn't it?"

  "That's what I understood from Mr Waterman," said Frederick.

  "In that case the line would have to go right through the middle of the enemy position. Otherwise you'd have to have it parallel to their lines - and even then half your firepower would be aiming back at your own troops."

  "I see what you mean," said Webster. "But that's ridiculous."

  "Only if it's designed as a battlefield weapon. But perhaps it isn't."

  "If it's not for fighting battles with," said Frederick, "what the devil is it for?"

  "Well. . ." Sally began. "Suppose you were the ruler of a country, and you didn't trust your people. You thought there was a danger of revolution. As long as you had railway lines to the main cities and ports, and a number of Steam Guns, you'd be perfectly safe. It's an ideal weapon for that sort of thing. It's not to use against your enemies - it's to use against your own population. It really is evil."

  They were silent for a moment or two.

  "I reckon you've cracked it, Sal," said Jim. "But look - are you going to move in here or not? For one thing, they know you're still alive. And once they twig we've snitched your files back they'll go barmy. I would. And she ought to move in as well - Miss Meredith. We've got the room, after all."

  "Yes," said Sally. "I think it would be best if I did." She didn't look at Frederick.

  Jim went on: "And what's this about Mackinnon, Fred? You found out why Bellmann's chasing him, then? What's it all about?"

  Frederick told them.

  As he spoke, Sally could see Jim's face getting redder and redder. Eventually he turned away and began elaborately to trace a design with his fingernail in the scrubbed wood of the kitchen table.

  "So there you have it," Frederick said when he'd finished. "Scots law. You can get married at sixteen there, without any consent at all. I should have spotted it before I got to Netherbrigg: Gretna Green's the first village over the border. I guess Nellie Budd arranged it out of some kind of sentimental sympathy - she can't have been in love with him. That was just Jessie's jealousy. But where does that leave Wytham? Where does it leave the girl, for Heaven's sake? We have to assume that Bellmann knows about it, since Windlesham got the facts out of Mrs Geary some time ago. Obviously Mackinnon's in danger, but. . ."

  "He's in danger while no one knows about the marriage," Webster pointed out. "As soon as it's public knowledge, he's as safe as houses. Not even Bellmann would dare to bump him off then; the whole world would know why. Come to that, d'you suppose her papa knows?"

  "Mrs Geary said he did," said Frederick. "He came to her, apparently, and tried to pay her to keep silent about it. She sent him away with a Calvinist flea in his ear. I liked her, you know. Dry as dust, but she had a sense of humour - and completely honest. She said she'd say nothing until she was asked, and then she'd tell the truth, and no one could make her do less or more than that."

  "So Wytham knew about it all the time he was arranging the engagement photograph and announcing it in The Times," said Webster. "He's in trouble, isn't he?"

  Sally said nothing. She was thinking about Isabel Meredith.

  Suddenly Jim stood up.

  "Think I'll go out for a breath of air," he said; and without looking at anyone, he left.

  "What's the matter with him?" said Webster.

  Frederick groaned. "The boy's in love," he said. "And I forgot all about it. Look, Sally - we'll take your stuff to Mr Temple's, and then go to Islington and pick up Miss Meredith and whatever you want to bring here. Then I'll find Jim and we'll go and look for Mackinnon. What a case. What a case. . ."

  Chapter Eighteen

  HYDE PARK

  It was a dry, mild afternoon, with a fitful sunshine breaking through filmy clouds. Jim made his way to Hyde Park, fists thrust into pockets and a scowl on his face, and it was well for Alistair Mackinnon that he didn't bump into him.

  But by the time he'd reached the park he'd calmed down. He made his way to t
he Carriage Drive and sat on the grass under a tree, running his fingers through the dry leaves beside him and watching the carriages pass to and fro.

  It was the wrong season to drive in the park. The proper time to be seen here was the summer; the drive was so crowded then that the traffic hardly moved at all, but that wasn't the point. The point was to come here and be seen with your groom and your landau or your victoria, your greys or your bays - to be acknowledged by Lady This, to cut Miss That. In the winter all that social jostling took place indoors, and the Carriage Drive was left to the few people who wanted to breathe some fresh air and exercise their horses.

  But Jim had come there to see Lady Mary.

  Ever since that dreamlike day when he'd seen her in the Winter Garden, his mind had been fixed on her like a compass needle on the north. He'd haunted Cavendish Square, watched her leave and come back, seen her in the drawing-room window. . .

  He admitted to himself that he was besotted. He'd known girls, dozens of them, barmaids and housemaids and dancers, bold ones and shy ones and provocative ones and prim ones; known them to talk to and flirt with, to take to the music-hall or on the river. He'd never had much trouble attracting girls. There was nothing special about his looks, but he was maturing into a sort of rough handsomeness, most of which was due to his vitality and confidence. And he was easy with girls too, liking their company as well as their kisses: hasty kisses by area steps, or longer ones in the darkness behind the scenes in a theatre, or in the seclusion of a bower in the old Cremorne Gardens, before they closed.

  But that was nothing like this. Never mind the social gulf between them: she the daughter of an earl, he the son of a laundrywoman; even if they'd been able to meet in a social way, he'd still have wanted to treat her differently, because she was utterly different. Every little movement she'd made that day in the Winter Garden, every curl of her rich hair, every shade of warm colour in her cheek, the memory of her sweet breath on his face as she leant close to whisper - it was all infinitely precious; and he didn't know what in the world he could do about it.

  Except watch. And in his watching he'd learnt that she was in the habit of driving out in the afternoons; and at a guess, she came to the park. But it was a good guess. It was the obvious place to go. And as a carriage came past Jim's tree he looked up from the leaf he was shredding, and found himself gazing into her face.