Will Thomas - Fatal Enquiry

“Glad that you survived it,” he finally said.

“I spoke to Nightwine yesterday,” I told him, stirring the cocoa at the bottom of my cup. “He was insufferable. Surely he can be stopped somehow.”

“I don’t see how. His plan, audacious as it is, is simply too good to pass up. I mean, my God, man, we could practically own the whole of Asia by 1900! That’s earth-changing.”

“He says they’re going to make him a brigadier general.”

“It gets worse than that, Thomas. I have it on authority that he’s getting a knighthood. That’s only the start. Remember, Disraeli became Earl of Beaconsfield when he made Victoria an empress.”

“Meanwhile, Barker has a price on his head.”

“I’ve done what I could,” Forbes said. “You have no idea the prejudice against your employer at the moment. Military deserter, possible murderer. You know, he’s never given a reasonable explanation of how he acquired his wealth in China. There’s even a popular concern over his beliefs as a Baptist. It’s out of fashion, whereas Nightwine’s are more … worldly, shall we say?”

“Old-fashioned,” I repeated, thinking of Mrs. Ashleigh.

“I beg pardon?”

“Nothing. So, would you say that the conflict between the Guv and Nightwine has become common knowledge?”

Pollock Forbes shook his head like he was a schoolmaster and I a wayward pupil. “No. I’m saying you can walk into any betting establishment in London and find out that not only are there bets that one will destroy the other, either figuratively or literally, but the odds are three to one in Nightwine’s favor.”

“Is that even possible?” I asked, more to myself than him.

“Of course it is. You can be sure Nightwine has placed a wager on himself to win as well and told his friends to do the same. He’s in this to win. Every pound he makes is used to influence someone. The more irons you place in the fire the less chance the flame will go out. Do you know what Barker should be doing? Instead of disappearing, he should be showing his face any and everywhere.”

“But he’s got a price on his head,” I pointed out. “Five hundred pounds.”

“Who is stupid enough to go after Cyrus Barker? Would someone pull a gun on him, knowing how good a shot he is? Would someone dare take hold of his sleeve, knowing he’d wake up in hospital, if not the morgue?”

“So, some are betting on Barker, then.”

“Aye,” he said, reminding me that like the Guv, Forbes was a Scot. “And you can tell his supporters everywhere. Like yourself, they’re all wearing colored spectacles.”

In spite of my cut lip, I couldn’t help but smile and think of a box of spectacles I’d seen in a shop window. I had Soho Vic to thank for that.

“It’s become common knowledge, then.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he admitted. “It isn’t in the newspapers per se, though any news on Barker is quickly exploited. The odds rose significantly in his favor when he was cleared of the charges against Clayton.”

“Have you placed any bets yourself? I notice you’re not wearing the dark lenses.”

“I cannot be seen to take one side over another, if I wish to continue to do my work. If I decided to have a flutter on the side, that’s my business.”

I looked at him hard. Every Scotsman enjoys a good gamble, or so my father always said. Did Pollock bet where his pocketbook told him to, or did he go for the sentimental favorite?

Another cup arrived. Who knows what number Forbes was on? I could feel my body thrumming with the stimulant.

“Pollock,” I heard myself say. “Do you know where the Guv is?”

“You’re asking me?” he said, tapping his chest.

“Yes, I am. I need him to know something. Something very important about the case.”

“Sorry, old man. I honestly would tell you if I knew. He hasn’t confided in me or anyone else that I know about. He could have sailed to the Continent, for all I know, though I doubt it. He doesn’t like to leave London for very long.”

I drank my cup and looked at him speculatively.

“What?” he finally asked.

“I hold an awfully large piece of this puzzle, one that even Barker doesn’t have. If I die, the information would die with me.”

“Why not tell me, then? Is it because I wouldn’t tell you which way I would bet?”

“Something like that. When we were last here, he told me that while you generally helped him, your interests are mainly for the good of London itself. Or the government, or the empire. I forget precisely how he put it. In other words, he trusts you, but your main concern is not necessarily the welfare of Cyrus Barker and his agency.”

Forbes discreetly coughed into his pocket handkerchief and replaced it in his pocket again. “Quite right. Take this Tibet matter. It is so very much in the best interest of the government, I’d be a fool to say we shouldn’t do it. It doesn’t matter in the larger interests of the country who suggested it or supplied the maps.”

I nodded and sipped my coffee again.

“I’ll give you some advice,” he said. “Free of charge.”

“What’s that?”

“If Barker is destroyed, killed, I mean, you must run away as fast as you can. Go back to Wales. Farther, if possible. There’s the chance that you know too much, you see, that Barker may have confided in you. You might know, for example, where he has some money hidden. It’s not just you, either. There’s your clerk, your butler, anybody intimately connected to him. Even shopkeepers who trade with him. Nightwine won’t stop with his death. He won’t rest until the name Barker is used as an example of everything that is wrong with society. He will lie and cast aspersions until you would cut out your own tongue rather than admit that you even knew the man.”

“Would you?” I asked. “Would you deny you knew him?”

“You’re damned right I would. Believe it or not, I’m trying to do something here that’s larger and more important than the reputation of just one man. If you intend to jump on his funeral pyre, there are plenty willing to add more faggots to the flames. London loves a good spectacle.”

“That’s harsh, but honest, I suppose. And since you’ve been honest with me, I will tell you.

“If you can get this to Barker, I’d appreciate it. If not, I hope you’ll keep it to yourself. Nightwine has a daughter in town, named Sofia Ilyanova. She is responsible for the deaths of the men and women in O’Muircheartaigh’s office, Lord Clayton, probably Gerald Clayton, and even Andy McClain, too. By using her, Nightwine was able to establish an alibi for himself each time. However, she despises her father and wants to get away from him.”

“Is she the one who kidnapped you from the priory?”

“Yes, she was.”

Forbes sat for a moment, blinking. Finally, he stood and motioned me to follow. He led me to the lodge room at the back and ushered me inside. I recalled when he had censured Barker for taking me there, but I supposed a quiet place to talk was more important than standing on ceremony.

“A daughter, eh?” he said, beginning to pace. “Is she married?”

“No. She’s the result of a union in his youth with a Russian countess. The mother killed herself. He’s taken the girl all over the world. She’s an expert at poisons.”

“Do you have any idea where she is staying?”

“I know where she was last night.”

“You’re not involved with her, are you?”

“How could I be?” I countered. “She killed a close friend of mine. Mr. Barker and I are targets number one and two. However, she’s had several opportunities to kill me and didn’t take them.”

“Is she loyal to her father?”

“She held a gun to his head for about five minutes, but didn’t pull the trigger. They’ve parted company, but knowing how duplicitous he is, it could have all been staged for my benefit. Her visit to the office a week earlier to hire Barker may well have been a ruse to kill him.”