Hauptmann Lenz, our distinguished Captain of Detectives, said that he had anticipated die attempt since coming into possession of an old bond certificate illustrated with a picture of die planned locks. Close scrutiny revealed to him near-invisible pinpricks marking on die picture a route to die place where the Imperial viewing stand is now erected, under which die dastardly Dragan undoubtedly planned to plant the bomb. Hauptmann Lenz assures us that he always had the matter under complete control and that the Emperor was never in any danger.
The infamous Dragan, described as a large man with close-cropped hair, may also have been responsible for the death last Sunday of the English Naval Lieutenant who could have encountered Dragan on a midnight reconnaissance of the locks …
Corinna put down the paper and blinked several times. “Lordy, that Gothic typeface makes your eyes water. But it makes it all look very solemn and true – is any of it?”
“I shan’t be complaining to the editor,” Ranklin said.
“Then I guess none of it is – except the explosion. That woke me. And it ties up – maybe I mean blows up – every loose end: lets you boys off the hook, even solves your murder for you.” She sipped her coffee. “Pop’s gotten the idea that you two were in there somewhere, helping to save the Kaiser, maybe preventing a war.”
O’Gilroy unbent from his rigid stance by the rail to refill her cup. “Is that a good idea, then?”
“I’d say so. The idea he had before was that you were stirring things up to the point where the cops were likely to raid this ship. He would not have liked that – and neither would you. Better to be unsung heroes.”
“And who sang the unsung song for us?” Ranklin asked.
She just smiled. Then: “Oh, in all the excitement, I forgot to ask how you got on with the Widow Wedel.”
“Ah, yes, that …”
“Did she tell you anything about her husband and the land company?”
“Well, she wasn’t all that forthcoming … In an awkward position, employed by the government. But reading between the lines, I’d say she’s pretty bitter. Very loyal to the late Wedel.”
In fact, once she knew she could trust Ranklin, the Widow had become vitriolic about the authorities who had “murdered” her husband. By now it was probably self-justification for the secret revenge she was taking, but Ranklin had had the sense to agree with every word.
“What work does she do?”
“Oh, some routine office stuff.”
Her face set. “And that’s all you found out? You just don’t take women’s work seriously.” She swept off to the companionway.
Before going down, she turned and looked back. Ranklin, who had scrambled politely to his feet, was now leaning on the rail beside O’Gilroy, and neither of them looked in the least abashed. Indeed, they both looked rather smug.
She walked – almost stalked – back, and her face was still set. “All right. I’m not a damned fool and neither are you two smirking schoolboys. I don’t think you came here to stop the Kaiser getting assassinated, not you nor your Navy pal before you. I think you came here to do something to the German Navy. I don’t know what, but it’s something you wouldn’t do to the French Navy or ours, I hope. I think you’ve done it, too. And with all this talk of war, are you quite sure you haven’t gotten started already?”
Neither of them said anything. The Kachina shuddered, rumbled, and began to inch forward as the rope from the mooring buoy was hauled aboard. That morning, Sherring himself had decided to motor to Hamburg, leaving the yacht to follow through the Canal; Ranklin and O’Gilroy had chosen to stay for the voyage. Hauptmann Lenz was happy: there was no point in risking another meeting with him.
When Corinna really had gone below, O’Gilroy asked: “Is she right, then?”
“I don’t think so. Let’s say we’re just rearming – with knowledge that won’t help or hurt unless a war really starts.”
“And what about the boy, Cross, and his father?”
“I’ll write to him. I must remember to keep that article from the Zeitung.”
“So he’ll think Dragan killed the boy?”
“With Dragan dead, as you might say, it’s the best solution we can hope for. Remember, Lenz knows Dragan and Cross were connected, with the letter being in his pocket. He suppressed that in return for me letting him solve the great bond mystery.”
“By sticking pin holes in it and sending me to get me head near blown off with bullets and dynamite.”
Ranklin shrugged. “It needed explaining away. And when I asked if Dragan could have killed Cross, he jumped at that, too.”
O’Gilroy chuckled thinly. “I damn bet he did.”
Ranklin looked at him. “Now why d’you say that?”
“Ye don’t think it odd that a Captain of Detectives turns out and goes miles in the middle of the night to see a murdered Royal Navy Lieutenant. But he didn’t: he turned out for a poor nobody of a seaman dead of an accident. That’s what the locks feller reported; told us himself.”
“You think Lenz knew it was Cross already?”
“Cross was important to him: he’d been spreading word on Dragan and assassination before he got dead and the letter found. So mebbe Lenz was at that eating house, too, separate from his detectives. And when they were fooled with Cross changing his fancy blazer, Lenz wasn’t. Mebbe he followed Cross out to the locks and they met there – and he’s a big strong feller. It’s only guessing, mind. But I’m sure that after that, Cross wouldn’t be assassinating anybody whatever.”
Ranklin pondered, watching the lumpy town coastline glide past. “Why would Lenz go back then, to do the investigation?”
“Safest to be in charge yerself, wouldn’t ye say? Could be worried he’d left a clue – he’d’ve left hurried the first time.”
They had reached the wide inlet to the Canal and were curving in towards the old locks, past the raw earth bank that was due to be blown next month to flood the new ones. Beyond that, there was a flicker of colour from the flags and bunting where the Kaiser and King of Italy had just finished their sightseeing.
“And Reimers,” O’Gilroy asked, “d’ye think he’s content?”
“He wasn’t around last night, thank God. I’m none too sure how much he’d have believed about Dragan and all. Or how much he does believe.” Avoiding a meeting with the Naval counter-intelligence agent had been an even better reason for staying aboard the Kachina.
“But,” he mused, “if Cross hadn’t invented Dragan and his plots he’d probably still be alive. In a way, Dragan did kill him, after all.”
“Sure,” O’Gilroy said. “Isn’t it in the papers? – it must be true.”
CAVENDISH SQUARE
37
Immediately after the State Ball at Buckingham Palace, everybody began to leave London. The King went to Goodwood, the Duke of Devonshire to Buxton for the cure, others to the Continent for more exotic cures and tours, to Cowes for the yacht racing or just to their country places.
Not quite everybody, of course. Parliament had to stay at the bedside of the Irish Home Rule Bill, and the Foreign Office was busy trying to reconvene the conference of ambassadors to re-agree the Balkan frontiers they had agreed on just before they were outdated by the new war. Seven million other Londoners also stayed throughout that clammy hot July, most of them without even being invited to the dinner given by a leading political hostess who had thoughtfully decorated her house as “A Country Garden” for the evening.
“I’ll leave you to persuade Sir Aylmer about Votes for Women,” she said to the Commander. “But do try and settle it before Leon gets just a little too tipsy to play the piano.”
It was part of her political talent not just to arrange useful “accidental” meetings but to leave on a slightly outrageous remark that broke the ice.