Fatal Enquiry

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

I found Mac in the front hallway with the door open, polishing the knocker and doorknob with another of his homemade solutions. It was good to see him quite his old self again, hale, hearty, and full of his usual energy, particularly since I wanted to talk him into doing something he would be reluctant to do.

“I say, Mac, could I see you for a moment?”

“What do you mean?” he asked suspiciously. “You’re looking at me now. You want to talk; then talk.”

“Yes, but I want us both seated.”

“Seated? Have you ever once seen me seated in this house? This is where I work.”

“Just come inside and sit for a few minutes. That blasted doorknob can wait.”

“So now you’re an expert on doorknobs? All right, I’m coming.”

We went into the parlor and sat on the sofa. It was the least-used room in the house and had been decorated by a professional in the latest style. We almost never came in here, and didn’t stay for more than a minute or two when we did. Mac sat down warily, as if perching on a satchel full of dynamite.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Do you recall Mr. Barker saying he wanted those maps of Tibet?”

“Of course I do. He said it over the telephone not fifteen minutes ago.”

“Nightwine told me yesterday that he had given most of them to the Foreign Office already, but not the important ones, the ones hardest to get.”

“What of it?” he asked. He was as skittish as a colt. I’d have to say this just right if I were to convince him.

“I know where they are. They are either in a room where I saw him studying them earlier, or in the club chamber where he sleeps. If I could go in disguised as a servant, I might be able to search for them. Chances are, we’re talking about small scrolls, not large ordinance maps. They might even fit up my sleeve.”

“You’re not in a condition to do much more than sit right now, Thomas. Remember, you were in hospital all last week. Besides, your arrival was witnessed by several people. I doubt you could go in without being spotted.”

“You’re probably right. If only someone could go in for me who knew what to do, someone who could make a more convincing waiter than I.”

“Oh, that’s subtle. Whoever could you mean?”

“The security in that building is very lax,” I assured him. “Barker and I strode right through the front door.”

“And because of that, it is not going to be so easy now.”

“Barker would suggest going through a back door, I suppose,” I went on. “He always favors the back-door approach.”

“They’re not stupid, Thomas. They’ll be watching for fellows like me.”

“As I recall, you wanted my position before I was hired. This is your opportunity to impress the Guv with your competence if you accomplished this mission.”

Mac held up two fingers. “First of all, I do impress him with my competence every day, unlike some people, and secondly, it is not a mission at all. This is one of your harebrained schemes. It won’t work, I tell you.”

“Are you telling me you can’t do this?” I asked. “Look, we’ll go over the plan together, I’ll listen to every suggestion you have, and if it seems feasible to you, we’ll do it. I won’t force you into anything, and I’ll even go with you.”

“You know you can’t go into the club, not with a face like that. You’d be recognized in a heartbeat and we’d both be thrown out or arrested.”

“Then I’ll wait nearby and lurk until you return.”

“Couldn’t I just go back to polishing doorknobs?” he asked, but it was a halfhearted attempt. Like the trout on the end of a leader, he was hooked.

“There are plenty of doorknobs there, which definitely require your expert touch.”

Close to an hour later, we climbed out of a cab near Pall Mall. Mac had changed suits, even gone so far as to remove his yarmulke, and looked every bit a servant of the Army Navy Club. Trying to convince him of that was another matter.

“Suppose he comes in.”

“Act like a servant. He won’t know you from Adam.”

“I don’t even know what to look for.”

“Maps or anything else that looks relevant. Anything with writing on it. If you can’t find anything or seriously believe you’re about to get in trouble, just walk out.”

“I really can’t go to jail again,” he said. “It would break my mother’s heart.”

“Barker and I had a conversation recently, the day we broke into Clayton’s house. He said our current situation warranted our not being able to call ourselves enquiry agents anymore, at least not until we can rehabilitate our reputation. I say if Nightwine is the one responsible for making us mere detectives, then we should use every advantage we have at hand against him. There’s no reason he should get complacent. I want the blackguard to feel we are breathing down his collar, quite literally, because we will be.”

“I will be, you mean,” he corrected. “You’ll be outside walking about.”

“Now you know the sort of work I’m forced to do day in and day out.”

“How will I know what room he’s in, and if he’s there?”

“He’s in room six. I called the hotel and asked. It’s a marvelous invention for detective work, the telephone set. When you get there, knock. If he answers, say you’ve got the wrong room. If not, use the skeleton key.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” he asked, taking it out of his pocket, as if it were a fuse ready to go off at any moment.

“Look, Mac, it’s a blank key. It goes in the hole and you jiggle it about. You’re an intelligent chap. I’m sure you can figure it out, and if you can’t, just leave.”

“Just leave?”

“Yes. This is only an attempt. I’m not trying to get you arrested. Do your best, do what you can, look for the maps, and then get out of there as quickly as possible. I have enough to answer for when the Guv comes home without bailing out his butler.”

“I prefer ‘factotum,’” he corrected.

“Yes, well, I prefer a clay pipe and a black Apollo at the Barbados, but we’ll have to do without at the moment.”

“There is no Jewish prayer to beseech heaven for a successful burglary,” he said, and crossed the street.

As soon as he was gone, all his arguments fell on my shoulders. What was I thinking, sending a butler to do a detective’s work? He was untrained and barely knew a betty from a bulldog pistol and I’d just sent him after the most dangerous criminal in all England. Cyrus Barker would have my guts for garters when he found out, and rightly so. It would have been reckless to do it myself, but sending Mac was irresponsible. Suppose he got hurt or captured or arrested. Suppose Nightwine shot him dead, poor Mac, who, while he might be a bit of a prig, had never actually done anyone any harm.

All right, I told myself, nothing is going to happen. He’ll be fine. At the slightest hint of danger, he can simply walk out. You’re giving him the chance to be the enquiry agent he’s always wanted to be. If he’s successful, you’ll give a glowing account to Barker when we see him again. Oh, how I hope he’s successful.

Five nerve-racking minutes later, he appeared at an upper window and gave the thumbs-up signal. The problem was, we hadn’t discussed signals. Was he saying he was going into the room now or had already come and gone? Before I had the chance to wave back at him to come back and forget the whole thing, he stepped away from the window and was gone.

I began to pace up and down Pall Mall. The area was originally a grass court for Charles II a few hundred years ago when paillemaille, a game similar to golf and croquet, was played here. Back then, the area was nothing but parkland and the only danger was being barked in the shins with a wooden ball.

Ten minutes had passed when Nightwine’s cab suddenly pulled up at the door. I stepped back into a shop, out of sight. Surely Mac must be done, I reasoned. Then it occurred to me how thorough he tended to be in all his work. If Nightwine caught him, I couldn’t imagine the trouble we’d be in. I stared at the open front door, a black rectangle of space, waiting. Five more minutes creaked slowly by. Then a hand suddenly jostled me and I crouched in defense. It was Mac.

“What did-”

“Get out of here!” he muttered as he flew past.

I looked back the way he had come and saw two porters from the club chasing after him. I was far too weak to follow. As they passed, I reasoned if he could make the open square of Trafalgar, he’d be lost among the people and pigeons there. It occurred to me that there was a second word to come out of that old game, “pell-mell,” to run quickly and with great confusion.

Much more slowly, I made my way to Trafalgar Square. Eventually I passed the two porters returning unsuccessfully from their search. Stepping up to Nelson’s Column, I scanned the view and eventually spotted Mac standing in front of the National Gallery. I crossed over to him.

“I thought you were done for sure,” I said.

“Stupid idea! What were you thinking?”

“I thought maybe I could make up, you know, for getting captured by Nightwine.”

“But you escaped.”

“And got beaten and injured, and of no use to anyone. Face it, Mac, I made a hash of it,” I admitted. I looked him up and down. “No maps, I take it?”

“No maps. I hunted down below and up in his room. He’s got them locked up somewhere, I think.”

“Did he walk in on you?”

“I jumped behind a sofa when I heard the door open and waited five minutes while he smoked a cigarette practically in front of me. I was so close I thought he’d hear me breathing. Then he crossed into his bedroom and I sneaked out as quietly as possible.”

“It was a disaster from start to finish,” I said. “I’m sorry I got you involved in it. It really was a stupid idea.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Jacob Maccabee said. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he handed me a folded slip of paper. I unfolded it. It was a bank draft.

Pay to Mr. Sebastian Nightwine the sum of nine thousand pounds.

They could have heard our cries of joy back at the Army Navy Club.