But not caution. The South Western Hotel adjoined Southampton Town station, where the train terminated. Suspicious of anything so simple, I got off at a workmen’s halt a mile or so short of my destination and walked the rest of the way through a maze of back-streets, heading always towards the wailing of the gulls and the salty tar-laden smell of the docks.
There were several liners in. I could see their funnels between the cranes and gantries visible beyond the shipping offices and warehouses of Canute Road. One massive triple set, painted red, white and blue, already had steam up. It was the Leviathan, waiting to bear me and my secret away.
On the boat-train to London four months before, Millington the toping Jeremiah had told me the time-ball on the roof of the South Western Hotel operated at ten o’clock every morning. I sat in the park on the other side of the road, smoking a cigarette and waiting for the hour to be signalled. At five to ten by my watch, the ball was run up the mast. As soon as it dropped, I picked up the bag and walked smartly across to the hotel entrance.
The lobby was almost empty, stray murmurs echoing in its marble heights. The tumult of summer was long gone. Only the stubborn and the desperate were taking ship for the New World. I was directed to Quincy’s suite on the first floor. ‘Ah yes,’ the concierge remarked. ‘Mr McGowan said he was expecting a visitor. Do go straight up.’
I found him lounging in a smoking-jacket amidst the debris of a large breakfast. He greeted me warmly, gesturing towards the same view of the Leviathan I had already savoured, framed now by one of the tall curving windows of his sitting-room. ‘There she is, Guy. Ready and waiting. I sailed home on her at the end of the war, you know, from Liverpool. She was a dazzle-painted troopship then. Levi Nathan, the men called her. It’ll be strange to go aboard thirteen years later on account of the same war – and what your bagful of secrets says about it.’
He pointed to the bag, which I had placed on a side-table. ‘Do you want to look at the contents?’ I asked, pulling it open.
‘No, no,’ he replied, stepping across to run his fingers over the bundle of books and papers. ‘There’ll be time enough for that once we’re under way. So long as it’s all here – and proves what you say it proves.’
‘It is. And it does.’
‘That’s good enough for me. In a—’
There was a knock at the door and a call of ‘Room service’. Quincy grinned. ‘I ordered some champagne. Reckoned we should wish ourselves bon voyage.’
‘Splendid idea.’
‘Well, why not? We do have something to celebrate.’ He walked to the door and pulled it wide open, then said: ‘Come on in, gentlemen.’
What happened next was so fast and unexpected that I had been seized and my right arm pinned behind my back before I could do more than blink. I heard the door close, saw Faraday and Vasaritch standing in front of me and felt the cold touch of a gun barrel against my temple. Then pain jagged through my shoulder as my arm was twisted towards breaking point. I cried out, only for a large hand to be clapped over my mouth.
‘Be quiet!’ hissed Vasaritch. ‘We want no noise. The gun has a silencer. And I will use this—’ He raised his other hand for me to see, clenched but apparently empty. Then, at a twitch of his thumb, a four-inch blade sliced out of its stock. ‘If I have to.’ He said something in a Slavic tongue and the hold on my arm slackened. ‘You understand?’ I nodded. ‘Good.’ He took his hand from my mouth and began frisking me, swiftly finding and removing the revolver. ‘What is stolen is taken back,’ he growled. Then, stepping away, he turned to Quincy and said: ‘The records?’
‘They’re in the bag on the table.’
‘We should examine them here,’ said Faraday, glancing at me before he added: ‘In case anything’s missing.’
‘Yes,’ replied Vasaritch. ‘We should. Milan—’ Milan was apparently the name of the huge ox-limbed creature holding me. After a burst of instructions in what I took to be Serbo-Croat, he frog-marched me into the bedroom and pushed me down onto the chair by the dressing-table. Vasaritch relieved him of the gun while he took out lengths of rope clearly brought for the purpose, twisted my arms behind the back of the chair and tied them together round the base of the splat. Then he forced a cloth between my teeth and bound it there as a gag before fastening my ankles to the stave. The knots were tight and the rope thin enough to cut while strong enough to withstand any amount of struggling. I was hog-tied and helpless.
‘No tricks this time, Horton,’ said Faraday from the doorway. ‘Your lucky streak is at an end.’
‘Enough,’ said Vasaritch. ‘The records are all that matters.’ There was the hint of a rebuke in his tone.
‘Of course,’ said Faraday, smiling humbly. ‘Let’s have a look at them.’ He retreated into the sitting-room and Vasaritch followed, muttering something to Milan as he left.
Milan waited a moment, then began checking the knots. He need not have bothered, for he had done his work well. My thigh muscles were beginning to ache and blood was trickling from one corner of my mouth, where the rope had cut into it. At length, he stood up, grunted in evident satisfaction and strode from the room.
For several minutes I was left alone. I could see none of them through the doorway, only hear the rustling of paper and turning of pages. If they meant to kill me, what were they waiting for? Goaded by fear, anger and self-reproach, I strained at the ropes, trying to wrench myself free. The chair gave a few creaks, but remained firm. The certainty that I was wasting my energy washed over me, but what else was I to do? I had walked into a trap. Surely there was some alternative to waiting till the trapper returned to finish me off.
But there was not. Unless it was to brood on how I had been deceived. Quincy must have been playing a devious game of double bluff from the moment he arrived in Venice. His shock and rage on hearing my story had merely been the devices of an accomplished actor. He had known it all before I breathed a word. Because he was one of them. And who, I asked myself, was not? Just a few vainglorious fools. Like me.
Then, just as I was thinking of him, Quincy ambled into the room, closing the door softly behind him. ‘Sorry about this, Guy,’ he said, stooping over me to dab at the blood on my chin with his handkerchief. ‘The man mountain doesn’t know his own strength. But, then, who does? His own strength – or his own weakness?’ He looked me in the eye and must have been able to read there the accusations I would have flung at him had I been able to. ‘Well, maybe we do now, you and I.’
He moved past me to the bed and flopped down onto it, fixing me with his gaze in the dressing-table mirror. ‘Faraday and Vasaritch are going to be quite a while sorting through those papers. So, I thought we’d have a talk. Well, I’ll talk. You just listen.’ He took out a cigar, lit it and leaned back against the pillows. ‘Sorry I can’t offer you one, but …’ He shrugged. ‘In case you’re wondering, my motives in this aren’t completely mercenary, just substantially so. You see, my father left his entire fortune – including his controlling block of shares in the McGowan Steel Corporation – to my brother Theo. Oh, Theo pays me well for what I do, which he’d tell you isn’t much, but I’m dependent on him, that’s the hell of it. Dependent on his generosity, his approval, his … opinion. It comes hard at my age, let me tell you. Damned hard.’ He sighed and took a puff at his cigar. ‘So, when Faraday came to me a couple of months ago with a lucrative proposition, I jumped at it. You bet I did. He said he was acting on behalf of Fabian’s aggrieved clients. They wanted their money back. He’d already put you on the same trail. But he’d decided to hedge his bets. He thought a member of the family – a favourite uncle, to be precise – might be able to wheedle the truth out of Diana where a skirt-chaser like you couldn’t. I agreed to try – for a fee sufficient to buy me freedom from brother Theo. Cash on delivery, you understand. And I’ve just delivered. As soon as Faraday’s run his expert eye over those accounts, I’ll be paid what’s due to me.’
My eyes widened, but he did not seem to notice. His share o
f Charnwood’s money was all he could think of. He did not know – as Faraday shortly would – that the money no longer existed. I had not mentioned the point during our counsel of war on Box Hill because it had not seemed important. The Concentric Alliance’s responsibility for the war had eclipsed all thought of what Charnwood had done with the proceeds. But not in Quincy’s mind. In his mind, it was the only thing that mattered.
‘When I got to Venice, I saw things weren’t as simple as Faraday supposed. It was clear to me Vita and Diana knew you were spying on them. So, why were they letting you? Because they had nothing to hide? Or because they knew you were looking for the wrong thing in the wrong place? Well, it had to be the latter. They were hiding something, no question. But not what we thought.
‘I’m not sure when the suspicion first formed in my mind. It grew slowly, as I watched and studied them and tried to figure out why Wingate should have followed Diana to Venice after murdering her father. Little niggles of doubt. Little irritating unanswered questions. And then the blinding realization. Fabian wasn’t dead. It was him they were hiding, not his money. I called a meeting with Faraday aboard Vasaritch’s yacht and put my theory to him. He agreed it fitted the facts. But he wanted hard evidence. He said he’d send a letter to the villa, addressed to Miss Charnwood – without specifying which one – containing nothing but a piece of paper on which he’d draw a pair of concentric circles. He said neither Vita nor Diana should recognize the symbol. If one or both did, it meant Fabian had told them secrets only a man expecting to die – or hoping to be thought dead – would part with. He wouldn’t explain what the symbol meant. Said it was better for me not to know. And I reckon your experiences bear him out on that point, don’t you?
‘Well, Vita’s reaction to the letter supported my theory. I was convinced Fabian was alive. And that he had the money. But where was he? Vita definitely knew. Diana probably did too. And, sooner or later, I was sure they’d let the information slip. If I stuck to them long enough, they’d be bound to give him away. Patience was the key – as Faraday agreed. My negotiations with Gregory were a put-up job, designed to explain the lifting of the deadline without alerting you to the change of strategy. We just couldn’t be certain where your loyalties lay by then, you see. Besides, the further you were off the scent, the better it suited me. I didn’t want you getting any of the credit. So, naturally, I encouraged Faraday to think your allegiances had become questionable.
‘And so they had, hadn’t they? But, as for the scent, well, it seems you had a better nose for that than me all along. When I got back to Amber Court the night you whisked Diana away, I found Vita too worried and distraught even to lie plausibly about where you’d gone. Fearing you’d stolen a march on me, I applied some … pressure … to dear Vita. It didn’t take much to loosen her tongue. In the end, she was glad of a shoulder to cry on. She realized the game was up when I made it clear I knew Fabian was still alive. After that, she admitted everything. And everything included the Concentric Alliance.
‘It shook me to the core, I won’t deny. A world war, engineered by my brother-in-law and the people who’d hired me to find his money. At first, I couldn’t believe it. Then it began to make sense. Not just because of what Maudie had said aboard the Lusitania. There was the symbolism as well. The concentric circles Faraday had drawn. And the name of Vasaritch’s yacht. Quadratrice. A geometrical term meaning a circle used to square other circles.’ He chuckled. ‘And to think the old man used to say the money spent on my education could just as usefully have been thrown into the Ohio river!’ His chuckle became a guffaw.
‘Don’t look so sombre, Guy. Maybe you’ve no choice with a gag on, but I have good news for you, believe me. I’m saving you from yourself. You and Diana. When Vita told me what the two of you were planning, I knew you’d never get away with it. Not just because of Faraday and his masters, but because this is a story the world doesn’t want to hear. The war was Germany’s fault. The politicians have been telling us that for thirteen years, so it’s got to be true. Do you seriously think they’d let you put the record straight? Do you seriously imagine you’d ever be allowed to? This was a fool’s crusade from the start, Guy. You were never going to get to Jerusalem.
‘As for Diana … Well, a daughter’s love runs deeper than a brother’s, I guess. Deep enough to blind her to everything except the desire for revenge. She didn’t betray you, Guy. Not in Dublin, anyhow. Faraday named her as his source to deflect attention from me. And to goad Fabian, I suppose. That would have pleased him more than a little. Vita sent Fabian the letter at my direction. It was the only way I could think of to make him insist on meeting you alone, the only way to prevent Diana getting hurt or taking matters into her own hands. You were expendable, but Diana … She’s my niece, for God’s sake. I owe it to Maudie to see she comes to no harm. That’s what I meant about my motives. Sentiment featured on the list. Low down, I admit. But it featured.’
He scrambled to the end of the bed and sat leaning against the rail, close enough to lay a consoling hand on my shoulder. I longed to throw it off, to leap from the chair and stuff his expensive cigar – along with his expansive words – down his throat. But all I could do was squirm.
‘I was angry when I heard what had happened in Phoenix Park. Not because they’d killed Fabian. I told Vita he’d be safe once he handed over the records, but I’m not sure even she believed that. Anyhow, he had it coming. Nor because of the threat to my fee. Faraday hadn’t found it difficult to track you down in Dublin, so I didn’t reckon you’d be able to stay on the run for long. No, you weren’t the real worry. Diana was.
‘When the Irish police began investigating the killings in Phoenix Park, they found a cab driver whose description of a fare he took out to the park from a rank near the Shelbourne Hotel matched that of a man seen running away after the shooting. At the Shelbourne, they discovered the description also fitted an Englishman staying there called Morton, not seen since the night before. They were told Mr Morton had been the constant companion of another guest from England, Miss Wood, who was still in the hotel. So they took Miss Wood in for questioning. She claimed Morton was just an acquaintance whose affairs she knew nothing about. Eventually, they decided to show her the three bodies in case she recognized them. But no. She said she’d never seen any of them before.’
Poor Diana. I felt for her then, waiting all day for me to return, wondering where I could have gone. Then the police, full of questions she dare not answer. And Charnwood’s corpse on a mortuary slab: a dead father she dared not claim.
‘It must have been hard for her, Guy, don’t you reckon, to stand there in that morgue and disown him? But she is hard, of course. Hard as a diamond. And determined. They gave up questioning her in the end and let her go. Just about the time last Friday night when you surprised me at the gate of Amber Court. Did I say surprised? Answered my prayers would be nearer the mark. I had you. Where Faraday had failed not once but twice, I had succeeded. Enough to justify a bonus, I reckon. Well, we’ll have to see about that.
‘I had to think quickly, of course, but that’s something I’ve always been good at. Quick to get into trouble and quick to get out of it, the old man used to say. Anyhow, I had you, but I didn’t have the records. Not quite. Still, you swallowed my line about going to the American papers, so laying hold of the records only meant waiting for this little subterfuge to run its course. Not bad, eh? And don’t feel too sore about it, because it really was the best thing you could have done. The very best.
‘Diana reached Dorking while I was in London on Saturday. Vita didn’t tell her about the letter she’d sent to Fabian for fear of how she might react. And she didn’t tell her about my involvement for the same reason. Diana’s nerves were stretched taut by not knowing where you were or what you were up to or what she ought to do for the best. When I got back from Iver, I could see the state she was in and I reckoned there was only one way to get her off the hook without showing my hand. Vita agreed to back me up.
I said you’d contacted me, told me everything and proposed we all decamp to the States with the records. I couldn’t explain why you’d gone to meet Fabian alone, of course, without mentioning Vita’s letter, so you’ll have to dream up something to account for that. Be sure it’s credible. We don’t want—’
He broke off, noticing my confused expression in the mirror. Then he smiled broadly. ‘You haven’t got it yet, Guy, have you? We’re all getting out. You, me, Diana and Vita, in exchange for the records. They’re the terms Faraday and Vasaritch have agreed to, negotiated by my good and generous self. Diana’s waiting in her cabin on the Leviathan. According to me, you said she was to go aboard early; you’d make contact once you were safely at sea; Vita and I would follow on the Olympic tomorrow to avoid a suspicious simultaneous departure; and we’d all meet up in New York next week to drop our bombshell on an unsuspecting world. Well, that’s not quite how it’s going to turn out. There’ll be no bombshell, because there’ll be no records. They stay here. You tell Diana you sold them to Faraday. You tell her you did what comes naturally to any con-man: you took the money and ran.’ He grinned and blew a self-congratulatory pair of smoke-rings towards the ceiling. They rose, dissolving as they did so in a mirage of concentricity.
‘Yes, Quincy,’ I wanted to say. ‘Very clever. But money is the rock on which your plan founders. There isn’t any, you see. No doubt you’re about to offer me some condescending fraction of your eagerly anticipated fee for selling this lie to Diana. But you needn’t bother. Because you won’t be paid anything. Not a penny. Not a cent.’
‘She has to be convinced it’s all over, Guy,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘If you just vanish along with the records, she’ll go on pursuing the faint possibility of avenging her mother, especially now she has her father to avenge as well. She’ll go on and on till they’re forced to silence her. No, she has to believe you’ve sold out. She has to be persuaded her only ally is a man of straw. And she has to leave England. There are too many reminders here, too many reasons to go on chasing after the truth. She’ll snap out of it in the States, believe me. I’ll make sure she does. Oh, you can leave that side of things to me. I’m an old hand at it. All you have to do is tell her you’ve betrayed her, then walk out of her life. I’ll even pay you to do it. Fabian died still owing you a thousand pounds, didn’t he? So, why not let me write you out a check for that amount? One that won’t bounce. By the way, I don’t expect you to stay aboard till the ship reaches New York. Not with the Babcock trial still rumbling on. No, no. I’m a reasonable man. The Leviathan calls at Cherbourg this evening. Get off there. Go wherever you like. You’ll have some spending money in your pocket. More than enough to use as seed-corn in a poker school. Or to snare some rich widow in Monte Carlo. You’ll come out of this better than you could reasonably have expected to. Thanks to me.’
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