Peter Lovesey - The Tick of Death

‘Jesus! If only we’d been ready, we could have done for Gladstone!’ said Devlin.

‘And set the cause back twenty years,’ said Carse witheringly. ‘The Clan does not murder indiscriminately. Gladstone for all his faults provides the best hope we have of achieving Home Rule. Please go on, Sister.’

‘I was remarking that Gravesend is patronised by all the most illustrious ocean-going travellers,’ said Rossanna. ‘It was obvious to my father that sooner or later some person suitable for assassination would appear there. But rather than focus our attention on the ship, and attack it with torpedoes, he fastened on a more certain means of destroying our victim; it is to attach a watertight box containing a bomb to the underside of the pier. It will be clock-timed, of course, and set according to the itinerary, which is always conveniently published in the newspapers when personages of that class set sail.’

‘Stunning!’ said Millar. ‘The submarine boat can deposit the bomb two hours ahead, and be clear of the area by the time it detonates.’

‘Exactly. And it is far more certain to account for its victim than a torpedo fired at the iron hull of a great oceangoing vessel.’ Rossanna surveyed her audience to see that the point was taken.

Carse placed his hand palm downwards on the table. ‘One moment. This pier. It would need to be a floating pier to take account of tidal variations, would it not?’

‘Lord, yes,’ said Devlin. ‘The average rise and fall is fifteen feet. But the river is twenty-five feet deep at low water at Gravesend. We’ve been into all this.’

‘I don’t doubt that you have. What I cannot comprehend is how you propose to attach Brother Sargent’s bomb to the underside of the pier. When you are ten feet under water in a submarine boat, you cannot open the man-hole in the roof, you know.’

Devlin ignored the sarcasm. ‘That is why I have devised an apparatus-a form of harness-to convey the bomb on top of the conning-tower, after the fashion of the rack on top of a cab. Several hooks will project upwards ready to fasten on to the pier when we pass beneath it and so detach the bomb from its harness.’

Carse released a long breath, vibrating his lips at the same time. ‘That sounds extremely hazardous to me.’

‘Courting disaster,’ added Millar, for emphasis.

‘What if the mechanism of the bomb is disturbed?’ said Carse.

Cribb decided some expert reassurance was wanted. ‘Ah, if that happens, it’s a guinea to a gooseberry that the thing won’t detonate at all.’

‘But Mr Sargent’s bomb is so beautifully packed that it is most unlikely to be disturbed by the manoeuvre,’ Rossanna quickly added. ‘You must examine it yourselves. It’s as neat as a picnic-hamper from Fortnum and Mason.’

Cribb noted the compliment. It was comforting to know that if he was drummed out of the Force for his part in these activities, there might be an opening in the grocery trade.

‘Very well,’ said Carse. ‘Let us presume that the explosion is successful. What guarantee is there that it will destroy a man standing upon the pier?’

‘I should have thought the answer to that was obvious,’ said Rossanna, clearly becoming nettled by the trend of the conversation. ‘This evening we saw a brick building totally demolished. We are now talking about a pier constructed of wood. ’

‘The bulk of which,’ countered Carse, ‘is below the surface of the water. I think it would surprise you if you saw the volume of timber required to support a floating pier. The charge-if it detonates-will rend the planks asunder, I agree, but I am not so sure that it will kill anyone standing on top. We have not gone to so much trouble and expense to let our victim off with a ducking.’

‘But the gazebo was blown to smithereens by a bomb ten feet underneath,’ persisted Rossanna.

‘Not so, my dear,’ said Carse. ‘Brother Sargent’s bomb destroyed part of the understructure. When that was gone, the building collapsed. What we saw tonight was admirable in its way, but quite a different exercise from blowing up Gravesend pier.’ He paused, before adding, with exaggerated courtesy, ‘Sister.’

Rossanna flushed with annoyance. ‘Then perhaps- Brother-you can suggest a better way of doing it.’

‘Certainly,’ said Carse in the same bland tone. ‘How much dynamite do we have in store here, Brother Devlin?’

‘About two hundredweight.’

‘Very good. And is this submarine boat capable of conveying that amount to Gravesend?’

Devlin frowned, puzzled. ‘I don’t see why not.’

‘Very well. This is my proposal, then. Instead of trying to do clever underwater tricks with hooks and harness, we make quite sure that our bomb is lodged in the right place by converting our submarine boat into the biggest and most devastating infernal machine in history. In other words, we stuff the boat with dynamite-including Brother Sargent’s estimable bomb, which in these circumstances will serve as the detonator-and anchor it below the pier. When it explodes, the pier and everyone on it will be blown to bits, and probably half Gravesend as well.’

‘Cripes, that’s brilliant!’ crowed Millar. ‘It can’t fail!’

‘Destroy the submarine boat?’ said Devlin, disbelievingly. ‘It’s taken a year to assemble it.’

‘I appreciate your sentiments, Brother,’ said Carse. ‘It’s a fine piece of engineering. But it was built for one occasion. This is not the kind of exercise one repeats at intervals. Once the job is done, we can never hope to take the British by surprise in the same way again. Far better that the thing is destroyed in action than allowed to survive for the river-police to track down in the intensive search they will certainly mount after the operation. This way is safer for us all.’

‘I don’t think that is altogether true.’ Rossanna had spoken, her voice more controlled and deliberate than before.

‘Why not?’ demanded Carse.

‘Because one of us at least will have to pilot the boat into position under the pier. How is that person going to escape?’

‘That’s a fact!’ said Devlin. ‘If the boat stays down there, someone has to be inside it.’ Even as he spoke the words, their full implication dawned on him. His eyes bulged in horror. ‘I’m the only one who knows how to pilot the thing!’

Carse raised his palm in restraint. ‘Let us not sully the dignity of our meeting by effusions of panic, Brother. There is no reason why we should not conduct our discussion in a civilised fashion. One does not wish to be put into the position of blackballing another member of the Clan, but as Chairman I have my duty to do and I shall certainly not shirk it, if free speech is threatened. I was about to come to the most interesting part of my proposal: the identity of our candidate for assassination.’ He paused dramatically. ‘At this moment there is an ocean-going yacht, the Hildegarde, moored in Gravesend Reach. Tomorrow morning at half-past ten, as the tide turns, it is due to set sail on a ten day cruise through the Straits of Dover and along the south coast. All of the party but one are already aboard. They include Lord Charles Beresford, Sir Charles Dilke and several young women well known upon the London stage.’

‘Moses!’ ejaculated Cribb, unable to restrain himself. ‘Would one of them by any chance be Mrs Lillie Langtry?’

Carse produced his approximation of a smile. ‘No, sir. Mrs Langtry is at present on tour in America. But I gather from your inquiry that you have my drift. The final member of the party is due to go aboard the Hildegarde tomorrow morning. He will arrive at Gravesend pier at ten o’clock, having come by landau from Marlborough House.’