Spy’s Honour

28

With O’Gilroy back on the strength, the launch took them further down into the harbour, landing them at the Schloss pier just before the fish market. The Schloss itself, home of the Kaiser’s brother Prince Heinrich, was a stolid square building that Ranklin would have assumed to be a learned institute. But perhaps the Prince liked it.

“Now,” Ranklin told O’Gilroy, “can you head on down the waterfront and find out about the service to Korsor?”

O’Gilroy nodded. “And where else?”

Ranklin frowned, then saw the point: the question needed to be buried in among others. “Then ask about all the regular routes to both Denmark and Sweden. There should be half a dozen. And what ships – whose – run them.”

“I can get somebody to do that for you,” Corinna offered.

“No.” It came out more abruptly than Ranklin had meant. “Sorry, but I don’t want you to be involved in this.”

“Oh? The last time we met – the time before that, anyway – you didn’t seem too worried if I got shot. This could be worse, could it?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, a fate worse than death? I’ve always wanted to be saved from one of those. Whatever they are. Let’s find this bank.”

It turned out to be the local branch of the Dresdner, and Corinna turned out to have a small wad of paperwork in her purse that sent bank employees hopping like fleas. Oblivious or accustomed to this, she sat with Ranklin in the manager’s office, sipping coffee and assuring him that indeed her esteemed father was well, enjoying Kiel Week but, as ever, busy.

Her German was as good as her French, Ranklin noted, with an accent he knew but couldn’t quite place.

“Perhaps you could also tell me something,” she continued. “Do you know the Wik Landentwicklungsgesellschaft?”

The manager blinked, frowned, concentrated, then remembered with a grunt of laughter that he apologised for. “It is a long time ago, but now I recall. A sad and instructive story. The man thought he had a legal option to buy the land that would be on the south side of the new locks. He formed a company to get money to buy the land and then to build on it or perhaps to sell to the Government for offices of the locks. He was right that the Government wanted that land, but wrong that his option to buy was good in law. So, he lost everything, the company was finished, all who had bought shares also lost.”

“Do you recall the man’s name?” Corinna asked, in case Ranklin wanted to know.

“No. It is too long ago. But he committed suicide anyway.”

Corinna glanced at Ranklin, her eyes wide.

“Drowned himself,” the manager added, to show he was trying. “In the old lock. The north one. Your father was not interested, I hope?”

“We just came across the company name. I thought if it still existed, it must be doing well.”

“Ah, indeed it would have been, but for a fine legal point.”

“It can be a mistake to argue the law with the lawmakers,” Corinna agreed. “Thank you for your time, and the coffee. Come along, James.”

On the pavement, she let out a long breath. “Woof. Sorry I can’t remember the poor bastard’s name, only the exact spot he dived into the hereafter. Jesus wept.”

“I suppose I can remember the details of some deaths – some nasty ones, in the war, but I can’t remember the names.”

“I guess inhumanity’s only human. Anyhow, you’ve most likely got the guy’s name on the bond, as chairman of the company. Is it important?”

“I have no idea at all.” Ranklin wondered just how many times he had said that or something like it already that day.

“Well, if it can wait, it’s the Holstenstrasse we’re looking for now.”

“If you don’t mind, while we’re in this district, I’d like to drop in at the Deutscher Kaiser hotel: there’s a couple of Britons there who dined with Cross on his last night …”

And who, with a bit of luck, might spin the afternoon out until Corinna remembered something more urgent than helping him buy clothes. But neither Kay nor Younger was in, so he left them notes explaining simply and untruthfully who he was. He took his time about writing those, but it couldn’t be nearly enough.

It was a blazered, white-shoed, new-necktied and distinctly grouchy Ranklin that she delivered back to the Club towards the end of the afternoon.

“Well,” she said, “now I know what your fate worse than death is. I knew men didn’t like clothes shopping, but …”

“I’m sorry. Rather a lot on my mind.” He was looking around for O’Gilroy.

“D’you want to visit the Victoria Luise this evening?”

“Ah – I’d like to very much, but it rather depends on what O’Gilroy’s found out about those steamship services. Can I get a message to you on board?”

“You can hire a boat to send one. Or get the Club to run up a signal hoist.”

“Er …?”

She indicated the complicated flagpole in the corner of the Club front garden. There were several signal flags fluttering from one of its many ropes. “Get them to hoist KAC – that’s us – then the ‘affirmative’ flag, then just sign it J.”

“I doubt I belong there sufficiently for them to do that.”

“Then just hang a bath towel out your bedroom window,” she said impatiently. “Which is it?”

He pointed it out.

“One towel if you’re coming and I’ll send the launch here at nine. Oh, hell.” She relaxed and grinned. “I know you’ve got problems you can’t talk about. Don’t worry about being the perfect gentleman as well. I’ve met enough of them already.”

She strode away across the road – a cab horse wisely conceding her the right – to the jetty. Ranklin turned into the Clubhouse.

There was no sign of O’Gilroy but there was a message. It was on official police paper and simply said: Herr Gorman has been arrested. J. Lenz, Hauptmann.