Fatal Enquiry

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

No one really calls it the Army Navy Club anymore, not if one considers oneself a Londoner. It is known simply as the Rag. In the last century someone had referred to a meal there as a “rag and famine affair,” and the name became part of London culture, though I understand the food has since improved. The Rag was a big stone block at number 36 Pall Mall, decorated with rococo carvings and tall elegant windows. The club was built, I understand, so that wealthy military men could come into London from their estates and find something in town more in line with their home comforts than the average coaching inn. I had never been in such an establishment before. It was as I expected, however: sea and land battles fought for space on the walls with mounted animal heads and commemorative plaques, while every table was strewn with curios and medals under glass.

The eye patch Barker sported actually worked in our favor for once. It gave him the look of an ex-military man, a former soldier or sailor, which, come to think of it, he actually was on both counts. We might have been stopped and questioned at another club, but there, looking and acting as if one fit in was enough to secure entrance.

Once inside, we made a sweep of the place, looking surreptitiously around the public rooms in search of Nightwine. I was conscious of the fact that we were two wanted men searching for a man guarded by a Scotland Yard dectective. I thought it likely Nightwine would be out somewhere or up in his room. Luck was on our side for once, and we found him seated at a table in a library, with several maps spread out across a table. His back was to us, but it was guarded by a burly detective with a sour expression and a copy of The Sporting Times in his hands.

Barker took a piece of club stationery and pencil from a hall table and I wrote a note on it according to instructions. It read: Inspector Abberline requests that you telephone “A” Division immediately. That done, I folded the note in half, put it on a salver, and slipped into the room, presenting it to the detective. As noiselessly as possible, I slipped out again.

Ten seconds later the detective pushed out the door with an irritated look on his face. As soon as he was gone, we entered the room and bolted the door behind us. Nightwine turned in his seat and regarded us quizzically, though not with any degree of alarm. Far from it, in fact. He had a revolver trained on us.

“Cyrus!” he cried, flashing those bleached-bone teeth of his. “How good to see you again. Was that you who sent my detective after a telephone call?”

“I thought it high time you and I had a conversation.”

“And you brought along Mr. Llewelyn. You see, I remembered your name this time. I like the eye patch, by the way, Cyrus. It suits an old pirate like you.”

“How is Shambhala these days?” the Guv asked.

“Ask me that in a few months.” Nightwine took a cigarette from his case and lit it. It was black with a gold tip. “I wish I knew. I’ve paid a king’s ransom for a map of its whereabouts, but I would still be executed if I crossed Tibet’s frontiers. The only way to go in is with force.”

“Gurkhas?”

“Were you told that or did you guess?”

“Neither. I deduced it. Only a Gurkha tribesman is hearty enough to fight in that temperature and those altitudes. You would arm them properly, I suppose.”

“Her Majesty’s government will provide us with the latest repeating Enfield rifles. I understand the palace guards at Lhasa carry only Chinese-made flintlocks. If it all goes according to plan it should be a massacre.”

“What will you do with the young Dalai Lama?”

“Hold him for ransom, of course. We’ll see how much gold and precious stones the country is hoarding.”

“Would you kill him?” I asked.

“If it suits my plans,” he said, as if we were discussing something as innocuous as betting on a horse. “Five Dalai Lamas have died in the past several years, mostly by poisoning. Dalai Lamas rarely reach maturity these days. They’ll simply send monks out to locate another one among the native population, like pigs hunting truffles.”

“We discussed this plan years ago, didn’t we, before India became part of the Empire?” Barker asked. “If Tibet falls, Nepal would be sandwiched between British colonies and could be easily taken. The other countries in the region would fall like dominoes. It is a sound plan, I must admit. It’s dangerous, certainly, but then you always did enjoy a little risk in your endeavors.”

Nightwine flicked the ash from his cigarette into a glass tray. “It’s nice to know there is someone who understands me as well as you.”

“I understand you perfectly. Of course, you are not going to succeed. I intend to stop you.”

Nightwine considered this. “You’re welcome to try, but I warn you, it shan’t be as easy as your little trick at the dock. For one thing, you’ve acquired a lot of human baggage about you.” So saying, he trained the pistol on me. “You know, you really need to do something about this assistant of yours. He’s far too pretty. He just doesn’t lend that level of gravitas a private enquiry agency requires. You should leave him with me sometime. I’ll plane off some of his more delicate features.”

“Thank you, Sebastian, but I believe we shall keep Mr. Llewelyn as he is,” Barker murmured.

“Suit yourself,” he said, curling his lip in a sneer.

“This scheme of yours is vast and complicated,” the Guv continued. “The odds against your success are astronomical. You are far more likely to take an arrow to the chest or fall down a crevasse in the attempt.”

“Spare me the false concern for my welfare, Cyrus. Don’t you ever grow tired of trying to spoil people’s plans? Are you too unimaginative to think up any of your own?”

“As I recall,” Barker countered, “I did make plans. I came to London and opened a respectable agency. I bought a house and an office, I hired an assistant. I put away schemes. This plan of yours, brilliant as it is, is merely a pipe dream.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. It is my pension. I’ve proven to Her Majesty’s government that I’m an officer in whom it can give its trust.”

“I rather think you will disappoint them, Sebastian. It’s always been part of your character to deal from the bottom of the deck. As I recall, when you told me the first version of this master plan of yours years ago, you intended to sell Tibet to the highest bidder.”

“Do you doubt my patriotism?” he asked mockingly. “Britain, my home country, will be given first choice. Surely you don’t intend for me to be more generous than that.”

“And if China or Russia offers more?” I asked.

“Then Britain will simply have to make a higher offer. It is the way of the marketplace. There is nothing wrong with trying to get the most for one’s assets.”

“It’s not going to work,” Cyrus Barker said.

“That’s right. You’re going to stop me. In case you haven’t noticed, you are incapable of stopping so much as a nosebleed. Your accounts are blocked, this morning I doubled the price on your head, and there is no man willing to call you friend.”

“I have more friends than you think, Sebastian.”

“Then you should warn them to avoid you during the present crisis. This is not a safe time to have Cyrus Barker for a friend.”

“I’ll be sure to pass on the warning.”

“I hope you enjoy being chased out of churches and off barges, not knowing where your next meal is coming from. That packet of money you made in China has not insulated you from the hard times in life. It has been a fine recompense for the public humiliation you afforded me at St. Katharine Docks by the moneylenders.”

“If I had not humiliated you, would you have still laid this false trail and put a price on my head?” Barker asked.

“You left your dagger behind before. It seemed a shame not to use it. Let me ask you this in return. If I had not put Scotland Yard on your tail, would you have allowed me to transact business with the Foreign Office free from interference?”

“Not a chance.”

There was a sudden knock at the door. I hazarded a guess that it was the detective who had realized he’d been duped.

“There you are, then. It appears this meeting is at an end.”

Barker stood and I followed his lead, wondering if we were just going to stroll out the door like club members.

Nightwine put out his cigarette. “I’m not sorry I had him killed, you know.”

Cautiously, I turned to my employer. He suddenly had the admission of guilt he had waited for. I studied his face in that moment, wondering what his reaction would be. Barker was coiled, ready to snap.

“My brother, or Andrew McClain?”

“Finally hit a nerve, have I?” Nightwine said.

The knocking increased in volume until it was pounding. If I knew Scotland Yard bureaucracy, the detective would have to get permission before breaking down the door.

It was a fine door, white, with various panels. It seemed a shame to damage it.

“I believe that is our cue to leave, lad,” Barker said.

He crossed to a window and lifted the sash. It had begun raining and wind and rain came spattering in, lifting Nightwine’s maps momentarily, so he was forced to hold them down. By the time I reached the window Barker had already jumped out. I saw him land on the street below. Looking down at the ten-foot drop, I wondered if I would break my leg.

The door burst open behind me and I jumped. Barker steadied me as I landed on the hard and uneven cobblestones. My feet hurt like the devil, but I didn’t injure myself permanently. While the detective yelled overhead, the two of us sprinted down Pall Mall Street. When we finally stopped, we raised our collars and thrust our hands into our pockets, headed toward Waterloo Bridge and the relative safety of the Surrey side.

“I thought you were going to explode in there.”

“I very nearly did.”

“That man wants your guts for garters,” I remarked, as we trotted along in the rain. “What did we accomplish by going there? We came within a hairsbreadth of being arrested.”

Barker stopped and shook his head like a dog, sending droplets everywhere. “I went because I wanted to prove to him that I was not afraid of him and he was still vulnerable.

“We both know that this is the time and place we shall end our twenty-five-year feud.”

“Is there any chance of getting some food today? My stomach’s wrapped around my backbone.”

“You worry too much about the condition of your stomach.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s been my loyal friend these many years.”

“When we get back, perhaps you can sell my old suit for enough to fill your belly tonight.”

“What about you? You’ve got to keep up your strength, you know.”

We marched in a steady downpour, the rain drizzling down the backs of our necks. I’m not a hardship sort of fellow. If I had known I would become a private enquiry agent, instead of the poet or university don I’d set my cap to, I would have better prepared myself.

“What provoked this sudden return to the West on Nightwine’s part?”

“I would say he received a positive response to his query regarding an expedition to Lhasa. I do not believe it is the idea that was so new. Rather, it is the maps he had gathered. No European has successfully cartographed the Himalayas before. It is a blank on the map.”

“And now that he is here, he is taking advantage of the situation to settle your dispute once and for all.”

“Aye,” Barker called out over the rain. “He would not be able to enjoy his retirement knowing I would come after him.”

“Would you?” I asked. “Go after him, I mean? As far as Tibet or China?”

“Of course!” he cried, as the downpour became a deluge. “I’m no more able to leave this matter unfinished than he is!”

A little over an hour later, I sat on the edge of the bed, clad once more in a blanket. My clothes hung over the fender of the fireplace drying out. Tea was brewing on the hob, and we had cheese and biscuits on the desk after a successful barter with the pawnbroker. The Guv lay cocooned again, sodden as he was, and I could almost see vapor rising from the hammock.

“I’d give half my estate right now for a pipe and a tin of Astley’s Cavendish,” he remarked.

“Are we finally running out of people to see and places to investigate, sir? I think I’m getting a blister.”

“You’ll get worse than that before this case is done,” he replied.

Not You poor lad. Not Take the rest of the day off, though, as a matter of fact, we did, if only because the rain continued to pour down on London and we had no money for a cab.

“Perhaps in a day or so you would enjoy a visit to the Reading Room at the British Museum. I would like you to investigate Shambhala for me.”

“That sounds intriguing.”

“I think I should send you along to see Anderson, as well.”

“Robert Anderson? The spymaster general? Why would he want to see me?”

“A week ago you probably wouldn’t have been permitted, but your present notoriety might work in our favor.”

“It might get me arrested instead.”

“Then you can rest comfortably in a cell while your blister heals.”

“‘O frabjous day,’” I quoted.

“I beg pardon?”

“Nothing, sir.”

I got up and hobbled to the fireplace. My suit was taking a remarkably long time to dry and the chamber had begun to smell like wet sheep. The kettle began to whistle.

“Tea’s ready,” I said. “You are going to eat something today, aren’t you?”

There was no comment from the hammock.