He was dark from the sun now, rather like Lenox. His expression was neutral. There was nothing in it of the fiendish madness the detective had seen on that lifeboat. But this calmness was in itself a fearsome thing.
“How did you get here?”
“We were prepared,” said Billings. “Coin, water, food. What sort of fool do you take me for?”
“Where is Butterworth?”
“I left him.”
“You killed him.”
“If you prefer. He didn’t want me to come here.”
“He was wise.”
The knife pressed into Lenox’s throat. It must have been drawing blood, by now. His horror of knives had awakened. “Was he wise? I suppose he may have been. Just like Halifax. Just like Martin. Just like … you.”
“Me.”
“I told you I’d put my penknife in you, didn’t I, Lenox?”
“We were friends aboard the Lucy, Billings.”
A look of bitterness snarled the younger man’s lip. “Friends,” he said with heavy scorn.
Lenox considered shouting, but knew it would mean his instant death. “You have gone mad. Come back to sanity, I beg of you. Give yourself up.”
But Billings was too far gone. His eyes were wild and angry; the sane part of himself, the one that had allowed him to act as a competent naval officer these many years, seemed to have receded once the secret of his other side was out. It was often the way, Lenox knew. When the veneer had fallen away, it was hard to put it back up, for men like Billings.
“I’ll give you up,” said Billings.
“Did you even mean to carve up Halifax?”
“What?”
“You meant to kill him—but your gruesome little surgery. You couldn’t help that, I suppose, but it wasn’t part of the plan, was it?”
“Shut up.”
“Take your knife from my throat and I’ll let you leave.”
“Ha.”
“Billings, I warn you—”
“You warn me! I ought to—”
And then, to Lenox’s very great shock, he discovered that his own warnings were more potent than either he or Billings had imagined. There was an extremely soft footfall, and an instant later something heavy and black swung through the air and knocked Billings in the back of the head.
The murderer stared at Lenox open-eyed for a moment, and then fell, his knife tumbling harmlessly from his hand.
“Who is that?” said Lenox.
“It is I, McEwan, sir.” The steward was breathing heavily. “I came because you have a guest.”
“At two in the morning?”
“Yes, sir. And if I say so, it couldn’t have happened at a better time.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
A man came in through the door.
“Mr. Lenox?” he said in a French accent.
Lenox blinked twice and pondered the scene in his room, which now bore a more than passing resemblance to King’s Cross Station at the rush hour.
“Who are you?”
But he scarcely needed to ask. “I am Sournois,” the man said. “What has happened here? Is this related to … to our business?”
“No. It’s an old business—an ugly one, I’m sorry to say. McEwan, do you know this man?”
“No, sir. He woke the butler and the butler woke me.”
Lenox, still in bed, though now up on his arms, looked at the Frenchman. “How do I know you’re … Sournois?”
“In front of him?” the Frenchman said, gesturing to McEwan.
“He just saved my life. It’s fair to say that he has earned my trust.”
“Thankee, sir.”
“The kitchen is always closed when one is hungriest,” said Sournois.
“There’s never a meal to be had in Port Said after ten,” Lenox replied. “Show me your hands?”
“Eh?”
“Your finger.”
“Ah, of course.” Sournois held up his left hand, and it was, as expected, missing a single digit. “That is settled, then.”
McEwan, baffled, looked at both of them. “What is it, sir?” he said.
“This man is helping our government, McEwan. He’s French.”
A pained look flashed across Sournois’s face, but he nodded. “It is true. Mr. Lenox, we cannot stay here. I took a great risk in coming, but—”
“Mainton betrayed us.”
“Pierre Mainton? No, no, not that amiable buffoon. I am with the French delegation here. It was one of your men who betrayed your plans. He still has connections in the highest parts of your government, apparently. Lord—”
And here Sournois said the name of the earl’s son, the one who had fled England after a duel. Cosmo Ashenden. The one Lenox had dined with the night before.
“I never took him for a traitor,” said Lenox.
“Use that word more gingerly, please,” said Sournois.
“Are you discovered?”
“No. There are presently three hundred and forty Frenchmen in Port Said, and I have a better reason for being here than any of them. As it happens I also am in control of them, at least those who work in government, while I remain here.”
“I see. And am I betrayed?”
“Perhaps. We only received information that an Englishman was meeting with a Frenchman in the kitchen below the gentleman’s club, but of course it is known that you are freshly arrived in Port Said. Still, two hundred people came with you on the Lucy, and the French government would never take action against a member of Parliament. It was their own traitor they wanted.”
Just as Edmund had predicted. “I was chased.”
“Perhaps incorrectly. We must go, at any rate—every minute I linger here endangers both of our lives. I took a risk in coming.”
“Thank God you did.” Lenox stood up. “Where would you have us go?”
“Neutral territory.”
“Oh?”
“I have an idea—my carriage is outside.”
“Should I trust you?” said Lenox.
Sournois glanced around the room, and saw, lying on Lenox’s desk, the ornamental dagger that the wali’s nephew had gifted to the prime minister. “Please, bring this. You may check my driver and me for weapons.”
“Very well.”
“But, sir!” said McEwan. “There’s Mr. Billings!”
Lenox, dressing now, looked down at Billings’s still body. “What do you think we should we do, McEwan?”
“He must be arrested—handed over to Mr. Carrow!”
“I quite agree. Bind his hands and legs and sit over him until I return, please. I’ll send word to the Lucy tonight.”
McEwan nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“And have at those ginger biscuits while I’m gone, the ones Jane sent along with me. You’ve earned them.”
McEwan smiled. “Just as you say.”
Lenox went to him and looked him in the eyes. “Really, Mr. McEwan; shake my hand. I thank you, as does my family. When we return to England I will think of some way I can properly express my gratitude.”
“Thank—”
“But now I have to go.” Lenox took the dagger and nodded to Sournois.
A carriage was waiting in the shadows near the consulate, not far from the road. Feeling rather ridiculous, Lenox patted down its driver and then Sournois, and had them turn their pockets inside out.
“Are you satisfied?” said Sournois.
“Yes. Where are we going?”
“The water.”
“Can we not speak in the carriage, as we drive?”
“It will take several hours, I expect, our conversation. A carriage at this time of the evening is conspicuous, unless…”
“Yes?”
“Well, unless it carries a European gentleman bound for the pleasure boats. The floating brothels.”