For once the General saw the joke. ‘One load of money stolen from a bank in Tigris, being watched as it is counted into the vaults of another bank in the City of London, eh? What was the point? I’ve heard of robbing Peter to pay Paul, but this is robbing Peter only to put the money into a different Peter in another country. God help us all!’
‘You don’t think they’ve changed sides, do you, General? Seen the light?’
‘I bloody well do not think that for a moment, Captain, and if you make that suggestion again you’ll be counting the damned daffodils in some isolated Siberian hovel before I’ve finished with you!’
‘Yes, sir, sorry, sir. Perhaps they want to buy something? Something to further the cause of world revolution, sir?’
‘Ludgate Circus sounds a pretty odd place to me to be starting the world revolution. But come, let’s think. He’s a crafty bugger, that Lenin. He knows that if he transfers the money to Cracow or anywhere else in Russia there’ll be more secret police waiting for him to come out of the bank than he has supporters. So what’s his game? It has to be something he can buy in England and he must know how on earth he’s going to get it out of England. Isn’t that so?’
‘Guns? Some kind of armaments, sir?’
‘I can’t see those boys going round buying guns. They enlist some poor soldiers or sailors in their cause and then use theirs. It’s not weapons they’re after.’
‘Maybe Lenin’s going to retire, sir? This is the golden egg for himself and Mrs Lenin to change direction. Perhaps they’re going to go to America to start a new life.’
‘New life be damned! The only new life that bastard wants is in Russia, and would lead to you and me being confined in the St Peter and Paul Fortress for the rest of our lives, or in that bloody daffodil village in Siberia. He’s good for the employment prospects of counterintelligence officers like you and me, Gorodetsky, I’ll say that for him. Where would we be without Lenin, for God’s sake?’
‘Where indeed, sir? Our English colleagues are going to ask around the Russian community in a general sort of way about what Lenin might want to do with the money.’
‘Good. We’ve got to find an answer to this one, Captain. I can feel the pressure coming from St Petersburg when I send in my next report. We’re going to have bloody Lenin for breakfast, lunch, tea and supper for a long time to come.’
It might have been Lady Ripon’s random fire into the ranks of the authorities that produced the Inspector. It might have been Lord Rosebery’s more discreet applications of pressure in a world he knew so well. But when Powerscourt returned to Markham Square early that afternoon, there was a visitor waiting in his drawing room, twirling his hat in his hands.
‘Good afternoon, my lord. Dutfield at your service; Inspector Matthew Dutfield of the Metropolitan Police. Also on the case is my interpreter Anna, transferred to my care by some Anglo-Russian banking house, currently reading up on the details of the case. Red hair, my lord, English by birth, loves everything Russian.’
‘Are you the reinforcements, Inspector?’
‘I suppose you could say I am. I was pulled off a nasty case of armed robbery to join your team, my lord. I’ve been doing my homework with Sergeant Jenkins.’
Matthew Dutfield was a tall thin young man with a mop of unruly brown hair and a winning smile.
‘And I have news for the case, sir. The Commissioner’s assistant received news from his colleagues that the Duke intends to give in to Diaghilev’s commands for money. The great ballet performances at Blenheim Palace can go ahead.’
‘That’s good news indeed. Excellent news. I look forward to it. But isn’t there one piece of police work that we could use to our advantage?’
‘What’s that, my lord?’
‘Well, if my memory serves me right, don’t the local police force have to give permission? There has to be adequate transport, no risks to public order, sufficient police available on the day to make sure things progress smoothly, that sort of thing?’
‘You’re right, sir, you’re absolutely right.’
‘I don’t see why we can’t use that to our advantage,’ said Powerscourt. ‘If the Ballets Russes don’t behave at this end, then we block the performance at the other end. This could be the key to unlock Diaghilev’s ban on our talking to his senior people. That has been the major block in this investigation. Until now we’ve made little bits of progress here and there, but until we can talk to those people we’re operating largely in the dark.’
‘I see what you mean, my lord. Begging your pardon, but could I use your telephone? It’s just that the Assistant Commissioner seemed to have some sort of instant connection to Diaghilev’s people — maybe it’s this Lady Ripon woman — but if I can talk to him right now, he might be able to press a few buttons for us.’
‘You carry on, Inspector, down the stairs and first door on the left.’
Powerscourt wondered if it was the shame of putting a Sergeant on the case that forced the Metropolitan Police to produce an Inspector. Maybe the thought of all those conferences at the opera house had forced their hand. It wouldn’t take long for one of the journalists to ask if it was normal to put police sergeants onto murder cases involving distinguished artistic people from foreign countries. That, he said to himself, was probably the answer.
Inspector Dutfield was back in a few moments. ‘Whoever got hold of that key into Diaghilev’s inner circle has done us a great favour, my lord. Maybe they warned him that police cooperation at both ends of the Oxford Road was necessary. They’re all going to speak to us, preferably after the event at Blenheim; all of his top people, and that’s official. Even Diaghilev himself, apparently.’
‘I wonder if I might leave that one to you, Inspector. The man stormed out of a meeting with Natasha Shaporova and myself earlier in this inquiry and stomped off down the stairs.’
‘Begging your pardon, sir, but aren’t you forgetting something? I’ve been reading up as much as I can about these ballet characters, and from what I can see they’re all pretty volatile, liable to have a tantrum and threaten to leave in the morning, and then be best friends at lunchtime. And they’re Russian as well. They’re a pretty emotional lot. Can you tell me, my lord, of a successful English novel where the heroine throws herself under a train at the end? Dorothea Brooke? Elizabeth Bennet? Fleur Forsyte?’
‘Do you know,’ said Powerscourt, ‘that thought had never occurred to me. How interesting.’
‘Let me tell you, my lord, how I intend to proceed. I’ve earmarked a couple of pages in my new notebook here for each one: Benois, Bakst, Stravinsky and so on. I’m not just going to ask them about where they were on the night in question, I’m going to ask them what they knew of the whereabouts of the others. That way, if they’re telling the truth, we can check all their alibis. Is there anything you’d like me to ask them, my lord, while I’ve got them in the witness box, as it were?’
‘Well, you should remember that Monsieur Fokine, the choreographer, is sort of on our side. He volunteered his help a few days ago and he’s most useful. Get him to give you an impression of Diaghilev at the Palladian bridge in Blenheim Palace. He may need a cane or a poker to make it work, but it’s very entertaining. Now then, I think you should include Alfred Bolm, the man who was supposed to have been dancing that evening.
‘And the reserves, if you like — the girls and the men who were not down to dance that evening, but were presumably acting as understudies in case somebody got ill. Sergeant Jenkins is working his way through the stagehands and so on.
‘You ask, Inspector, if I have any special question I would like to ask these top men from the Ballets Russes. Well, there is. It may seem way outside the scope of our inquiry, but I would like you to ask it anyway. Who were the next great stars going to be? Who were the next people to become as well known as Nijinsky and Anna Pavlova?’