''Easy on, Doctor—"
"I'm either with you, Jack, on the inside of what you know from this moment on, or to hell with you and this whole business—you can put in to shore right now, drop me off, and I'll take my chances!"
Despite his inbred horror of making a scene, Doyle secretly enjoyed the cleansing effect of his outburst. It seemed to unlock a door inside Sparks, although it still remained for the
door to be opened. Doyle took out his revolver and pointed it at the ship's hull.
"You've got ten seconds to make up your mind before I blow a hole in this damn boat, and you'll be lucky if any of us make it to shore," he said coolly, cocking back the hammer. "I'm quite serious."
Larry made a casual reach into his pocket.
"No, Larry," said Sparks, without looking at him.
Larry removed his hand. They waited.
"Time's up, Jack," Doyle said, raising the gun, ready to fire.
"The house belongs to Brigadier General Marcus McCauley Drummond. Royal Fusiliers, retired. Put the gun away, Doctor."
"I'm not familiar with the name," said Doyle, easing his finger off the trigger but not relaxing the hammer.
"General Drummond's service record was distinguished primarily by its lack of distinction," said Sparks, in a clipped tone free of asperity. "His officer's commission was purchased with family money, whereby his inexplicable rise to top rank comes clear: The Drummonds are one of the nation's most prominent munitions manufacturers, our foremost suppliers of bullet and mortar shot. They own plants in Blackpool and Manchester as well as three German companies producing heavy artillery. General Drummond was not a particularly avid consumer of his own inventory; during his twenty years of service no troop under his command ever fired a shot in anger.
"Upon the death of his father six years ago, the General cashiered out and assumed control of the family concern. The aggressiveness that was in such scant supply during his years in service to the Crown found its voice in commerce: Sales and profits have tripled. Last year Drummond married his eldest daughter into the Krupp family of Munich, his most formidable competitor on the Continent. The result is a potential monopoly. The General is now poised to dominate the international as well as domestic market. He is currently negotiating to purchase the company that manufactures the very service revolver you are holding in your hand. Is there anything else you wish to know?"
Doyle released the hammer and lowered the gun.
"What drew your attention to Drummond in the first place?"
"Orders," said Sparks, managing in a single word to invoke eight hundred years of monarchy, thereby rendering further inquiry in that direction tantamount to sedition.
Doyle was not immune to the potency of such a suggestion. He replaced his gun in the bag and sat down. International munitions manufacturers. Orders from the Queen. His mind reeled.
"My father always said a man's most useful virtue is to recognize when he's in over his head," he said wearily.
"Have a sandwich, guv," said Larry kindly, offering the basket.
Doyle took one. Eating always made him feel better. At least he could still rely on that.
"I don't suppose you could prosecute Drummond for harboring a fugitive."
"There was no trace of Mr. Dilks or any other gray hood on Larry's subsequent visits to the General's house," Sparks explained. "Even so, the case presents more insurmountable difficulties."
"How's that?"
"According to the records of the Central Criminal Court, the prisoner Lansdown Dilks died in the hangman's noose last February. Authorities were kind enough to post us a photograph of his headstone."
The sandwich sagged in Doyle's hand. His jaw was agape.
"The other point I should like to illuminate for you, Doyle, is that, generally speaking, conventional prosecution of whatever adversaries I might in the execution of my duties pursue is not necessarily, by any means, my primary objective," Sparks said quietly. "I am not, in other words, at all times necessarily bound to discharge my responsibilities within the strictest confines of the law."
"No?"
"Not strictly, no. This frees me to rely on the talents of men under my command who would otherwise find the prerequisites for employment within the established law-enforcement system ... unduly rigorous."
Doyle turned to Larry, who smiled, cracked open a bottle of stout with the gap in his teeth, and offered it to him.
"I see," Doyle said, and took the beer.
"Now, Doctor, I have confided in you the true nature of my business," Sparks said, leaning back and relighting his pipe. "Are you still of a mind to cast your lot with me, or shall I instruct Larry to put in at the next negotiable beach?"
Sparks seemed perfectly content to wait him out indefinitely. For a moment, South America leapt irrationally into Doyle's mind as a third, immensely attractive alternative. He drank his beer and tried to brake the wheel of fortune spinning in his head.
"I'm with you," said Doyle.
"Good man. And glad we are to have you," said Sparks, energetically pumping his hand.
"Welcome aboard, sir," added Larry, beaming.
Doyle thanked them, smiling wanly, secretly yearning for even the smallest confidence in the wisdom of his choice. The question of his enlistment settled, they busied themselves with trimming of lines and sails to fit the changing conditions of the sea. As the sun reached its ascendant, land appeared on the southern horizon.
'The Isle of Sheppey," Sparks said, pointing south. "If the wind holds, we should make land at Faversham by sundown. It's a full night's ride from there to Topping. If you don't mind, I think it advisable we push straight on through."
Doyle said he didn't mind.
"The late Lady Nicholson's husband is a man by the name of Charles Stewart Nicholson, son of Richard Sidney Nicholson, the earl of Oswald, who over the years has quietly become one of the wealthiest men in England," said Sparks, with a note of contempt. "I'm most eager to meet Charles Stewart Nicholson. Would you like to know why?"
"Yes," answered Doyle neutrally, content now to let Sparks dictate his own rate of revelation.
"Lord Nicholson, the younger, came to my attention last year when he sold a large tract of family land in Yorkshire to a blind trust. Surrounding this seemingly commonplace transaction was a legal miasma that proved tremendously difficult to penetrate: Someone had gone to considerable lengths to conceal the identity of the buyer from the public view."
Sparks paused, watching Doyle's confusion with amused interest.
"Would it surprise you to learn that the man who purchased Nicholson's land was Brigadier General Marcus McCauley Drummond?"
"Yes, Jack. Yes, it would."
"Yes. It did me, too."
chapter ten TOPPING
THEY DID INDEED REACH FAVERSHAM BY NIGHTFALL. NeGOTI-
ating the outer reaches of the Isle of Sheppey, they sailed up the generous arm of the sea known locally as the Swale, took a narrowing channel upstream, and put in at the edge of the oyster beds in shallow waters outlying the old town.
Larry leapt off the bow, pulled them ashore, grabbed their bags, and scampered up an embankment, disappearing from view. Doyle and Sparks gathered the remainder of their possessions and followed his path up the hill. Waiting for them on the ridge above was a brougham with a brace of fresh horses, and helping Larry load in was none other than brother Barry. Doyle found it nigh onto impossible to discern one from the other until he moved close enough to spy Barry's disfigurement. Larry took evident pleasure in properly rein-troducing Barry to his valued friend, the esteemed Dr. Doyle. Barry was not nearly so talkative as his brother, quite the contrary, but between the two of them Larry's generous endowment of gab amounted to an equitable disbursement of verbal capital. Doyle found his chilly opinion of the twins beginning to thaw with prolonged exposure to Larry's homely warmth. The only dissonance he experienced came while attempting to reconcile Barry's sour mien and retiring disposition with Larry's characterization of him as a rampant, indefatigable womanizer.