‘Neatly done, Brother!’ said Carse. ‘Take her to her room and see that she gives us no more trouble.’
With Rossanna’s fists raining blows on the lower regions of his back, Cribb carried her from the room. He mounted the stairs with difficulty, thankful when she seemed to regard her struggle as hopeless and gave up pummelling. In her room, he stood by the bed and spoke to her before putting her down. ‘Now, Rossanna, I want you to believe that I shan’t let your father be killed. Carse and Millar are dangerous men and we must let them think they are having things their way. When the time is right, we’ll foil them, but you must help me.’ He put her gently down on the bed. She lay passively, breathing heavily. ‘I must tie you to the bed,’ said Cribb, ‘to make it seem convincing. Take off your stockings, please. I’ll use those.’
To his profound relief, she compliantly drew off two lengths of black silk and handed them to him.
‘Put your hands against the bars at the head of the bed.’ He tied them securely, one stocking for each hand. Then he picked up the shawl she had worn earlier and bound it round her ankles. As an afterthought, he straightened the tatters of her dress to cover her shoulders. She nodded her thanks. ‘Now I must get back to them,’ he told her. ‘Whatever happens, Rossanna, whatever they tell you, believe me I shall see that your father does not die in that submarine boat.’
‘I believe you.’
Downstairs, Carse greeted him as he entered the dining room. ‘Good work, Brother. You managed her in fine style. She’ll thank you for it later, when she’s had time to think it over. Women appreciate a firm hand. And now you may congratulate Brother McGee on his decision. We put my suggestion to him and he unmistakably nodded his head.’
‘No doubt about it,’ Millar confirmed.
‘He will pilot the submarine boat on its last stage tomorrow morning,’ continued Carse. ‘Oh, and he will not be alone. I believe Miss McGee told you about the policeman being held prisoner in the house, who was brought here after his suspicious attempts to befriend Malone. He will accompany Brother McGee, tied up, of course, and heavily drugged. It will be a convenient way of disposing of him.’
Cribb’s eyes widened. ‘But we don’t know that he’s a policeman. We can’t condemn a man to death simply because he bought a drink for one of us in a pub!’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t concern yourself about that,’ said Carse. ‘After all, the Prince of Wales hasn’t bought drinks for any of us and he’s marked down for destruction.’
CHAPTER 13
Cribb’s acquaintance with the criminal classes was not slight or superficial. Of the seven people in his life he could claim to have understood almost totally, five had been murderers. This was no discredit to Mrs Cribb and Thackeray (who were the other two); it was from professional necessity. However guilty a man appeared according to circumstantial evidence, it was not enough to justify a prosecution. You had to find the motive. So time and again he had sat with prisoners and stranglers, patiently taking the measure of their minds. And to a lesser degree, scores more of the law-breaking fraternity had come under his scrutiny, from blackmailers and swindlers to the petty criminals whose activities were dignified by the cant of the underworld- broadsmen, dippers, dragsmen, maltoolers, screevers and shofulmen. Not one in all his recollection was quite so odious as Carse.
Millar, of course, had just exhibited the violence. He would certainly have beaten Rossanna insensible if Cribb had not intervened. And if he had been left to carry her upstairs, the consequences were loathsome to imagine. Yet it was Carse who made the flesh creep most. His form of violence was more detestable because it was calculated to the last detail and unaccompanied by any emotion. He had condemned three men to death as coolly as if he were ordering a new suit. All that mattered to him was the neatness of the design.
And what a design! Attacks on royalty were nothing new; the Queen herself had survived eight separate attempts on her life, but they were all ineptly carried out, thank Heaven. Since the latest, two years ago at Windsor, and the recent dynamite scares, her personal bodyguard had been trebled, and her appearances in public practically abandoned. The Prince, too, never moved these days without two or three detectives at his shoulder. His presence at Gravesend tomorrow would be the occasion for a massive show of strength by the local police. No one on the route would be allowed within yards of the Royal carriage. The pier and riverside would be cleared of unauthorised persons. Thames Division would patrol Gravesend Reach and escort the launch carrying the Prince from the pier to the Hildegarde.
Who would suspect that assassins would strike from twenty feet below the pier?
Now that he knew the atrocity being planned, Cribb was in an appalling situation. The path of duty plainly lay in the direction of the nearest village. If the alarm were raised, the Prince could be persuaded to cancel tomorrow’s arrangement. But once Cribb left the house, the dynamiters would realise they had been tricked. They would escape. And they would certainly kill Thackeray before they left.
He decided to stay. He was under no illusion; in making this decision he was accepting personal responsibility for the future King of England. But while there was a chance of saving Edward Thackeray of Rotherhithe as well as Albert Edward of the House of Windsor, he was determined to take it. He would stake everything on his own ability to outwit Carse and Millar. There was already a plan in his mind.
At half past ten, he returned by arrangement to the dining room. Carse and Millar were there with McGee. On the table was the box containing the twin of the infernal machine that had gone under the gazebo. The lid was open.
‘We were admiring your handiwork, Brother,’ said Carse. ‘So neatly put together! I believe this is identical with the first bomb. Is that so?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Cribb candidly. ‘I was asked to make two bombs for Mr McGee to choose from. They were alike in every respect.’
‘Good. Then we should have no disappointments tomorrow morning. Do you know, I cannot abide failure, Brother Sargent? If things go wrong I have the most queer compulsion to take revenge on those responsible. The results are sometimes unspeakably distressing. Are you ready to activate the machine? We shall want it to detonate at precisely five minutes past ten tomorrow. By then His Royal Highness will have shaken hands with the local dignitaries and be moving sedately along the pier to the waiting launch. Our agents have studied this procedure before.’
Cribb approached the box and carefully tilted the alarm clock so that its face was visible. Under the watchful eyes of the others it was quite impractical to move the alarm-hand to any position but the one Carse had indicated. ‘Shall I set the clock to the correct time?’ he asked.
Carse drew out a gold watch. ‘Very well. But we shall take the time on my watch as the standard. Yours is incorrect by several minutes, if you remember. Set the hands to twenty minutes to eleven, taking care that the hour hand does not pass over the alarum hand.’
Cribb obeyed.
‘Now you may wind the clock,’ said Carse.
A lively ticking presently issued from the metal box.
‘It’s going all right,’ said Cribb superfluously.
‘But not activated yet, I think,’ said Carse. ‘You have still to wind the alarum. I believe it is the winder itself that makes contact with the trigger of the gun, is it not?’
‘Yes, I was leaving that till last. Now that the times are set, I can put the clock face down and turn the winder, as you say. One needs to be careful at this stage.’
He completed the process, leaving the handle of the alarum in a position where it would strike the trigger with sufficient force to operate the firing-mechanism of the gun.