What situation? Threlford wondered. Had the Old Man been sitting out in the sun for too long? Had he finally gone off his chump?
‘We’re marching into Chandrapore to restore order,’ the General said, reading the obvious doubts on his subordinate’s face. ‘No one should be able to argue with that. And should I decide to continue to occupy the state once order has been restored,’ the General gave his aide a broad wink, ‘then who’s to blame me? Can’t be too careful with these excitable niggers, now can we?’
Threlford swallowed hard. There were procedures laid down for dealing with a superior who had gone completely doolally, but it would be a brave man who attempted to enforce them.
‘You look troubled, Donald,’ the General said, obviously enjoying himself hugely.
‘Well, yes, sir. I…it’s just that—’
‘Spit it out, man!’
‘I take your point about your discretionary powers, and so on and so forth. And you’re quite right when you say that it’s the duty of the Army to restore order, should the need arise. But…’
‘But what?’
‘But there hasn’t been any trouble in Chandrapore. If there had been then I, as your aide, would have been the first to hear about it.’
The General laughed. ‘You’re quite right, of course,’ he conceded, ‘there hasn’t been any trouble vet. But I received one telegram this morning, and I’m expecting another tomorrow. And let me assure you, my dear Donald, that soon after that second telegram arrives, there’ll be trouble enough in the so-called ‘princely state’ to more than justify whatever course of action I deem necessary.’
Thirty
When the Maharaja had informed Blackstone that he would need time to raise the ransom the kidnappers demanded, he had been lying. The safe in the corner of the suite was proof of that, for even as he had delivered his lie, it had contained one hundred and fifty thousand pounds. It did not contain that much money now. The bundles of banknotes were as thick as they had ever been, but their value had been considerably reduced.
The only man who was aware of the true state of affairs was sitting at the Maharaja’s feet at that moment, fighting the temptation to keep his eyes on the safe door. Not that there was much danger the Maharaja would notice even if he did, Sapan Aggarwal thought. The man had not spoken for more than an hour, and but for the occasional sigh, it would have been possible to believe that he was unconscious.
Aggarwal had closed two of the three paths which had been open to him. The first—actually becoming the loyal retainer he had pretended be for so long—had been blocked the moment he removed the money from the safe. There was no going back on that now. The second—allying himself with the kidnappers—he had rejected on the grounds that at least some of the leaders of the plot appeared to be white, so the chances of a poor Indian getting a fair deal out of them was practically negligible. Thus, he was left with the one course he had already been committed to when he arrived in England. He would play a significant role in the planned palace coup, and be rewarded accordingly.
The telephone rang, its piercing shriek making both the Maharaja and the secretary jump. Though Aggarwal wanted to leap to his feet and grab the phone, he restrained himself. It would not do to seem too eager. Besides, there was protocol to be observed. It was the function of one of the servants—his only function—to answer the telephone, and there was nothing to be done until the proper procedure had been followed.
The servant picked up the phone, answered it in his broken English, and then bowed in the Maharaja’s direction.
‘There is a man who wishes to speak to your secretary, Your Majesty,’ he said.
‘Who is it?’ the Maharaja asked.
Who do you think it is, you bloody fool! Aggarwal thought viciously. It is the kidnappers, of course! Who else would ring me—a man with no existence of his own outside the whim of his master?
‘They do not say who it is, Your Majesty,’ the servant replied. ‘They say only that it is urgent they speak to Mr Aggarwal.’
The Maharaja nodded to his secretary, who then climbed to his feet and walked over to the telephone.
‘Aggarwal?’ the voice asked at the other end of the line. ‘Yes.’
‘Do you have the money?’
‘Yes, I have the money.’
‘Then listen carefully. You are to place the notes into a leather attaché case and take the case to Bank underground railway station. You are to be alone. No other servants, and none of the Maharaja’s bodyguards, are to accompany you.’
‘I will arrange for a cab to collect me, and—’
‘No cabs. Policemen can hide in cabs. You will walk.’ But it is very dangerous to be alone on the street with so much money. I may be robbed.’
‘You will not be. From the moment you leave the hotel, you will be guarded every step of the way.’
‘But—’
‘Shut up and listen! You are to buy a ticket at Bank Underground Station—it will cost you tuppence, so make sure that you have the coins with you—and then you are to board the first train available.’
‘And then?’
‘Did I say there was an ‘and then’?’
‘No, but there surely must—’
‘You have been told all you need to know. Follow the instructions or face the consequences.’
There was a click and then the line went dead.
Aggarwal felt sweat starting to form on his brow. He had based all his calculations on having five minutes unobserved in order to do what needed to be done. He had not even considered the possibility he might be watched as he made his way to the rendezvous point.
He pictured the kidnappers checking through the piles of banknotes. They were clever men. It would be obvious to them what he had done. And even though he would not have cheated them—since he would have brought them all they asked for—they might not see it that way.
What was he going to do? What was he going to do?
They would not begin to have him under observation until he actually left the hotel, he realized with a huge rush of relief. And that was all the opportunity he needed! For surely, somewhere between the suite and the hotel’s main door, he could find a quiet room—or even a cupboard—where he could take the necessary steps.
‘What did they say?’ the Maharaja asked anxiously.
‘They want the money delivered now, Your Majesty.’
‘And then they will return my son to me?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty. But only if we do exactly as they say. They will have people watching me on the street. No servants or bodyguards must follow me, or they will regard it as a breach of faith.’
The Maharaja nodded his acceptance. ‘Take the money from the safe,’ he said.
Aggarwal walked over to the safe and began to extract bundles of money—the right bundles of money.
‘You will not be followed, but one of the guards will escort you as far as the street,’ the Maharaja said.
Aggarwal’s hands froze. ‘That…that will not be necessary, Your Majesty,’ he gasped.
‘Do you dare to defy me?’ the Maharaja asked, astonished.
‘No, Your Majesty, but—’
‘Once you are outside, the kidnappers will make it their business to see that you are not robbed, but as long as you are within the hotel the money is still mine and I will have it guarded. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ Aggarwal said miserably.
He should have thought of this possibility, he told himself. Whatever the risk, he should have tried to bribe the guards earlier. But now it was too late! So what was he to do? How the hell could he get rid of the rubbish?
Thirty-One
The club servant walked along the corridor of the United Services’ Club with the long, perfectly measured strides of a man who had served in one of the elite guards’ regiments. Behind him, Blackstone matched his pace precisely, though Patterson—who had had no military training himself—was finding it hard to keep up without givin
g the impression of being hurried.
At the door of the smoking room, the porter came to an abrupt halt.
‘Wait here,’ he told the two detectives, before opening the door and disappearing into the room.
He returned a minute later. ‘General Pugh is willing to see you now.’
He seemed surprised that a distinguished military man like the General would condescend to spend time with a couple of ordinary policemen.
And so am I, Blackstone thought, for he had never imagined it would be this easy to see Pugh.
The porter led them into the smoking room. It was a large room, full of big leather armchairs and thick with the aroma of cigars. There were perhaps a dozen members in the room. Some were talking, some reading the early editions of the evening papers. All gave the impression of being very much on home territory.
General Pugh sat in splendid isolation, a large balloon glass of very pale brandy in his hand. So this was the man whose career Major Walsh had been following for nearly twenty years—the man who had stood by while two common soldiers were executed for crimes he had committed himself.
There should be more evidence of his life history etched into his face, Blackstone thought. A man like Pugh had no right easing so comfortably into stocky old age. He had no right to look so at peace with himself.
Pugh looked up at the two policemen. ‘Well, don’t just stand there like mutes at a funeral,’ he said.
‘I beg your pardon, sir?’ Blackstone said.
‘The reason that the club puts chairs in this room is it expects people to want to sit down on them, so now you’re here you might as well take the weight off your feet.’
Blackstone eased himself into a chair which had probably cost more than he earned in a year. The General had a very different approach to that of Colonel Howarth, he thought. Howarth had made him stand, Pugh had invited him to sit. But the Inspector had long ago stopped confusing courtesy and politeness with honesty and decency.
‘Read in the paper that Charlie Howarth topped himself,’ the General said. ‘I assume that’s why you wanted to talk to me.’
‘It is, sir,’ Blackstone agreed. ‘You visited the Colonel a couple of months ago, didn’t you?’
‘That’s right, I did.’
‘Might we know why?’
He fully expected Pugh to tell him to mind his own damned business, but instead the General said, ‘I visited him because he asked me to.’
‘Was there a purpose behind the visit?’
‘Yes,’ Pugh agreed hesitantly. ‘A definite purpose, at least from his standpoint—but I’m still not entirely sure what it was.’
The conversation had already started to take turns that Blackstone had not anticipated. ‘Could you explain that last remark to me, sir?’ he asked.
‘Certainly willing to do my best. When we old buffers get together, it’s inevitable we talk about our days in the Army. Not that it’s usually much of a talk—in fact, it sounds more like an artillery barrage.’
‘Artillery barrage? I’m not sure I understand.’
‘Did you know that I was the best soldier ever to serve in the British Army?’ Pugh asked. ‘Are you aware that, compared to me, Wellington was nothing but a bungler and Wolfe little more than a choir boy?’
Blackstone coughed, awkwardly. ‘No, I didn’t realize that, sir.’
Pugh laughed heartily. ‘Of course you didn’t. And there’s good reason for that. It isn’t true! But every old war horse likes to think of himself as the greatest soldier who ever trod the earth—and when we get together it’s not usually to listen to what the other chap has to say about himself, but to brag about our own exploits. That’s what I mean about an artillery barrage—we all want to have our say, and it’s the one with the loudest voice who usually wins.’
Blackstone nodded. ‘I get the point now, sir.’
‘No you don’t,’ Pugh said, ‘but you look a sharp enough chap, and you will in a minute. When I went to see Charlie Howarth I expected him to want to tell me how he saved the Empire single-handed, but all he seemed interested in were my exploits.’
‘Any exploits in particular?’
Pugh gave him a hard stare. ‘Know the answer already, do you? Can’t bear the kind of chap who asks questions he already knows the answer to. Damned annoying’
‘I don’t know the answer,’ Blackstone promised. ‘It just seems to me that since Colonel Howarth invited you, rather than anyone else, it must be because of something which was unique to you.’
Pugh nodded. ‘Smart thinkin’,’ he said. ‘As a matter of fact, Charlie Howarth was interested in somethin’ in particular. Wanted to know about the leave I took in ‘80.’
Blackstone recalled Walsh talking about the way in which some soldiers had chosen to use their leaves.
‘I assume you took this particular leave in Central Asia,’ he said.
‘Are you certain you don’t know this story?’ Pugh demanded.
‘Positive,’ Blackstone assured him. ‘I’m just making an informed guess.’
‘Then your information must be very good,’ Pugh said, ‘because that’s exactly where I did go. Went to the eastern end of the Caspian Sea, to be exact. Took me months to get there, and involved crossing some of the most desolate places on God’s earth. Probably no idea what it’s like yourself, but I can tell you that a man can travel for hundreds of miles without seeing another living soul.’
‘Was the purpose of your expedition to gather military intelligence?’
‘Yes, it was. Suppose there’s no harm in admitting that now. Heard rumours that the Russkies were planning to invade a place called Merv, which would have given them a vital staging post on the route to India. Rumours said they were already assembling a large army on the shores of the Caspian. Wanted to see if it was true.’
But you didn’t do this openly, did you?’ Blackstone asked. ‘To disguise your true intentions, you probably said that you were conducting a geographical survey?’
‘Not quite such an informed guess this time, Inspector,’ Pugh said gleefully. ‘Didn’t so much disguise my intentions as disguise myself. Pretended to be an Armenian horse-trader. Had to, otherwise the British Diplomatic Mission in Tehran might have heard what I was up to. And if they’d reported it back to the Foreign Office, there’d have been hell to pay. Of course, once I’d actually collected the information, the government was glad enough to hear it. Did some good, too, I think. By the end of the year, the Tsar was giving the Queen his personal assurances that he had no interest in conquering Merv.’
‘And that’s the story Colonel Howarth wanted to hear?’
‘Yes, in a way. Except that he didn’t seem very interested in the details of the expedition. Didn’t seem interested in the expedition at all, as matter of fact. Was more concerned with what might have happened if I hadn’t decided to go to Transcaspia.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Kept asking me if I thought the Empire had survived more by luck than judgement. Wondered whether the day of the amateur spy was over. Said the Army had become professional in every other way, and wasn’t it about time we became more professional in the way we gathered our intelligence?’
‘Did you agree with him?’
‘Suppose I did—on a practical level. But in my heart I’m against it. Wellington said the Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton. Not at some kind of Germanic staff college, you understand, but back at school—where a man’s character is formed. Think he was right about that. We English have always been a nation of amateurs, and it hasn’t served us badly so far, now has it?’
That depended, Blackstone thought. If you’d served in the 2nd Afghan War under General Roberts—as he had—then you’d probably agree with Pugh and Wellington. If, on the other hand, you’d served in the 1st Afghan War and survived the retreat from Kabul under Elphinstone—and only one man had—you’d probably be forgiven for wishing that your commanding officer had attended some kind of Germanic staf
f college.
‘What were you guided by when you gave your answer to Colonel Howarth’s question?’ the Inspector asked. ‘Your heart or your head?’
General Pugh smiled, perhaps a little sadly. ‘I answered with my head,’ he admitted. ‘It’s all very well for us old dogs to dwell on our past glories, but we have to think of all the puppies coming up. If you send a man into battle, you owe it to him to arm him as well as you can—and that includes arming him with the best possible intelligence.’ He paused. ‘Funny thing, Howarth wasn’t a particularly emotional sort of chap, yet he seemed quite overcome when I told him that. Thanked me for visiting and told me I’d put his mind at rest. Had absolutely no idea what he meant by that. Do you?’
‘No,’ Blackstone admitted.
Nor did he, though he was sure that the answer Pugh had given had been very important to Howarth—and that whatever had impelled Howarth to feel the need to ask the question was very important to the case.
Thirty-Two
For the first fifteen minutes of his journey to Bank Underground Railway Station, Sapan Aggarwal did all in his power to spot the men who were tailing him.
It proved to be a hopeless task. The streets were crowded, and he soon lost the ability to decide whether the man in the top hat, who was behind him at that moment, was the same man who had been on his heels at the corner of Oxford Street and Wardour Street.
Besides, who was to say that his hidden escorts would be so obvious as to wear top hats at all? Why couldn’t the beggar heading in the same direction as he be one of the kidnappers? Was that hansom cab travelling so slowly because the cabby was a cautious soul—or because one of his unknown watchers was sitting inside it? Didn’t the man pushing the barrow weighed down with vegetables look altogether too healthy to be a real costermonger?
It was impossible to know if he was being observed continually or only at intervals, but he was certain that if he fell into the hands of the kidnappers before he had had time to adjust the contents of the attaché case, he would find himself having to answer some very unpleasant questions.
Blackstone and the Great Game (The Blackstone Detective Series Book 2) Page 16