Assegai

The following days were feverishly busy as Leon reported to Lord Delamere and took over his new job as his lordship’s intelligence and liaison officer. Despite all this distraction, Eva was never far from his mind. Her image rose unexpectedly to haunt him at odd hours of his day.

When Penrod left for his new assignment in Egypt Leon was at the railway station to see him off. Their relationship had cooled noticeably since Eva had come between them. At the last moment, as they stood on the railway platform and the train conductor gave a blast on his whistle, Leon could contain himself no longer. Once again he asked his uncle if there was any way in which he could contact Eva now that Germany and Britain were at war and all regular channels of communication had been closed.

‘You should forget about that young lady. I’ve pulled your irons out of the fire once already and I don’t want to be forced to do it again. She can bring you nothing but trouble and heartbreak,’ Penrod replied, and climbed up on to the balcony of his carriage. ‘I shall give your love to your aunt. That will please her.’

It was almost a week later and Leon was leaving Lord Delamere’s office in the Barclays Bank building. As he stepped out through the main doors into the road he felt a small soft hand press into his. Startled, he looked down – into the huge dark eyes of a Vilabjhi cherub. ‘Latika! My sweet lollipop!’ he greeted her.

‘You remembered my name,’ she exclaimed, with delight.

‘Of course I did. We’re friends, aren’t we?’

Only then did she remember her errand. She placed a small folded square of paper in his hand. ‘My daddy said I should give this to you.’

Leon unfolded it and read quickly: ‘I must speak to you. Latika can bring you to my emporium as soon as you can come. Signed by Mr Goolam Vilabjhi Esq.’

Latika was tugging at his hand, and he allowed her to lead him away to where his horse stood at the hitching rail down the street. He mounted, then reached down from the saddle to take the child under her armpits and lift her behind him. She clasped him around the waist, and they rode the length of the street with Latika squeaking and wriggling ecstatically.

When they entered Mr Vilabjhi’s shop Leon saw that his own little shrine had been maintained assiduously, and now contained more memorabilia: pictures of him in flying gear, and newspaper articles about the open day at the polo ground.

Mr Vilabjhi rushed out of the back room to welcome him, and his wife brought in a tray of strong Arabic coffee and sweetmeats. She was followed by all of their daughters, but before they could entrench themselves their father drove them out, with fond cries of ‘Be gone, you wicked and rowdy female personages!’ He bolted the door behind them. Then he came back to Leon. ‘I have a most pressing and urgent matter on which I plead for your wise counsel.’

Leon sipped the coffee and waited for him to proceed.

‘Without any doubt you are aware that your uncle, the eminent sahib Major General Ballantyne, asked me to receive messages from the lovely memsahib von Wellberg on his behalf and forward these to the correct authority.’ He looked at Leon quizzically.

Leon was about to deny any knowledge of this arrangement, but then he realized that would be a mistake so he nodded. ‘Of course,’ he agreed, and Mr Vilabjhi looked relieved. ‘The reason that the General chose me is that I have a niece who lives with her husband in Altnau, a small town in Switzerland on the north shore of Lake Bodensee. Across the lake is the town of Wieskirche in Bavaria. This is where the castle of the German count is situated, and also the main factory of the Meerbach Motor Works. It is also where Memsahib von Wellberg lives.’ Mr Vilabjhi had phrased it delicately. ‘My niece works in the Swiss cablegram company. Her husband has a small fishing-boat on the lake. The shore is not heavily guarded by the egregious Germans, so it is easy for them to cross the water at night and pick up any message at Wieskirche, then return home and telegraph it to me. I take it to General Ballantyne. But now the esteemed general has gone. Before he left he told me I should deliver any future messages to the man who has taken over his job at KAR Headquarters.’

‘Yes. Colonel Snell,’ Leon said calmly, although his heart raced at the prospect of messages coming directly from Eva.

‘Ah, of course I am telling you nothing that is not already well known to you. However, a terrible thing has happened.’ Mr Vilabjhi broke off and rolled his eyes tragically.

Leon’s heart was chilled with dread. ‘Something has happened to Memsahib von Wellberg?’ he asked.

‘No, not in the very least, not to the memsahib, but it has happened to me. After the departure of the general I took the first despatch from my niece to the office of Colonel Snell. I learned in no ambivalent terms that the man is an enemy of the general. Now that he has left for Egypt, Snell will not pursue or foster any enterprise initiated by your honourable avuncular relative. I think it is because the praise and success arising from it would redound to the general’s credit, rather than to Snell himself. Also it seems he knows that you and I are friends and he looks upon you as an enemy. He knew that if he insulted me and questioned my veracity, he would be getting at you. He drove me away with harsh words.’ Mr Vilabjhi paused. It was obvious that he had been deeply hurt by his encounter with Snell. Then he went on bitterly, ‘He called me a “devil-worshipping wog”, and told me not to go back to him with my vaunting claptrap about secret despatches.’ Tears welled in his dark eyes. ‘I am at the end and far limit of my wits. I know not what to do so I appeal to you.’

Leon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. His mind was racing. He knew that if he wanted ever to lay eyes on Eva again he needed Mr Vilabjhi as his ally. He chose his words carefully. ‘You and I are loyal subjects of King George the Fifth, are we not?’

‘Indeed we are, Sahib.’

‘If the beastly man Snell is a traitor, then you and I are not.’

‘No! Never! We are true and resolute Englishmen.’

‘In the name of our sovereign, we have to take over this enterprise from Snell and steer it to a victorious conclusion.’ Leon had picked up Mr Vilabjhi’s floral turn of phrase.

‘I rejoice to hear such words of wisdom, Sahib! This is what I hoped you would say.’

‘First, you and I must read the message that Snell has rejected. Have you kept it safe?’

Vilabjhi sprang up from his desk and went to the iron safe in the wall. He brought out a large cash book bound in red leather. Tucked under the rear cover was one of the distinctive Post Office envelopes. He handed it to Leon. The flap was sealed.

‘You did not open it?’

‘Of course not. That is not my business.’

‘Well, it is now,’ Leon told him, and split the envelope with his thumbnail. He drew out the folded buff sheet, his hands trembling with excitement as he unfolded and spread it on the desk. Then he sagged with dismay. It was covered with rows and columns of numbers, no letters.

‘Damn it to hell! It’s in code,’ he lamented. ‘Do you have the key?’

Mr Vilabjhi shook his head.

‘But of course you know how to send a reply?’

‘Of course. I arranged the link with the memsahib through my niece.’