The Aquila Project

by Norman Russell

  ‘A thief, hey?’ said Doyle. ‘Well, I’m not surprised, sir. Some of us suspected her already of being up to no good. She’s no trained servant, that’s for sure. Come on, you,’ he said roughly, seizing Vanessa by the arm. He pushed her in front of him over the threshold into the corridor. Alexander, the head footman, had come hurrying from the kitchen to answer the bell. Doyle waved him away, and led Vanessa into the cold flower-room across the corridor.

  ‘You’ll stay here, see?’ he growled. ‘I’m going to fetch the constable, and I’m going to lock you in here till I get back. A thief, hey? Is it just you, or have you got a damned accomplice waiting on the outside?’

  Doyle did not wait for an answer, but hurried away, locking Vanessa in the room by turning the key on the other side of the door. Vanessa rubbed her arm. First the baron, then this rough coachman – why did men always seize women by the arm? Still, it could have been worse. It might have been her throat.

  Despite the hot summer weather, it was chilly in the flower-room. Some light filtered in through the frosted glass panes in the door, and she could see shelves full of glass and metal flower vases, and near them a depressing brownstone sink. She had felt afraid when the baron had dragged her from her hiding place, but that fear was rapidly being replaced by the exhilaration of success. She knew that what she had overheard would be of the utmost value to Colonel Kershaw – if, that is, he didn’t dismiss her on the spot for taking an unauthorized initiative. Perhaps—

  She heard the key turn in the lock, and in a moment Doctor Kessler had erupted into the room. His face was dark with anger, and his waxed moustache bristled with what seemed to be its own belligerence.

  Vanessa backed away from him in fright. He looked half-crazed, and she wondered whether he was about to foam at the mouth. She could smell the mint sauce that still clung to his jacket, and in the midst of her fear came a sudden inclination to laugh.

  ‘If you lay a hand on me, Doctor Kessler,’ she said, ‘I’ll scream the place down.’

  ‘You little fool!’ Kessler’s voice came low and menacing. ‘You may have deceived Augustyniak and the others, but not me. You’re no thief. You’re too clumsy and gauche for that particular trade. No, you are one of Napier’s spies, insinuated into the baron’s household to spy on him—’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean! Spy on him for what? What’s he supposed to have done?’

  She saw Kessler hesitate as he realized that he had spoken indiscreetly and, at the same moment they both heard the door from the garden pushed open. A young police constable walked into the flower-room, accompanied by Joseph Doyle. The study door opened, and the baron and his guests came out into the corridor.

  ‘Ah! Constable!’ cried Baron Augustyniak. ‘You’ve arrived here commendably quickly. I want you to take this girl in charge. I accuse her of being a thief.’

  The constable glanced at Vanessa, looked carefully at her face, and then took a notebook and pencil from his pocket.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked, and when she told him that it was Susan Moore, he wrote it down slowly and laboriously. Then he turned to face the baron.

  ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘there’s a Scotland Yard officer working at a case close by, and I’ve asked him to come here to help. I can’t arrest this young woman without some evidence, and this officer from the Yard will be a great help.’

  ‘Very well,’ said the baron. ‘Is it in order for my guests to leave, now? It’s almost half past ten.’

  ‘That will be quite in order, sir,’ said the constable, ‘provided that you will be available for questioning. It’s really a matter of routine, nothing more than that. If your coachman will keep an eye on the girl, I’ll fetch the Scotland Yard officer straight away.’

  A moment later, the baron had ushered his guests along the corridor, and the constable had disappeared through the garden door. Vanessa and Joseph Doyle stood in a kind of embarrassed silence for a while, and then the coachman spoke.

  ‘You’d better admit to being a thief, Miss Drake,’ he said, ‘so that by arresting you the police will be able to spirit you away from this lion’s den—’

  ‘You know who I am?’ cried Vanessa. ‘But how—’

  Joseph Doyle chuckled to himself. ‘Well, of course I know who you are! Just do as I say, and play up to this Scotland Yarder when he comes. The colonel wouldn’t like anything nasty to happen to you. That’s why I came here in the first place.’

  ‘What happened to the original coachman? Mr Quiller said he’s gone off in a huff.’

  ‘He went off, miss, because someone paid him to do so. You know who I mean.’

  ‘But how could you get away with pretending to be a coachman?’

  ‘I am a coachman,’ Doyle replied, ‘and I’m minded to stay here for a while. It’s a nice billet. But look! That constable’s returned with his Scotland Yard friend. I’ll make myself scarce. Remember what I told you: admit to being a thief. That’ll get you out of here.’

  As he was speaking, the garden door had opened to admit the constable, followed immediately by the Scotland Yard officer. Vanessa almost cried out in surprise. It was her fiancé, Jack Knollys. Joseph Doyle smiled to himself, and slipped out the room. At the same time, Baron Augustyniak came up from the entrance hall, where he had been bidding his guests farewell.

  Jack Knollys turned to look at Vanessa, and his face broke into a smile of triumph.

  ‘Well, well,’ he said, ‘if it isn’t Gertie Miller! A little bird told me that you might be up to your tricks in St John’s Wood. The game’s up, Gert. Have you got Johnny the Stoat with you?’

  ‘I’m saying nothing, Mr Knollys,’ said Vanessa sulkily. Knollys turned away from her impatiently, and addressed Baron Augustyniak, who had not taken his eyes off Vanessa. His face held an expression which was an uncomfortable mixture of mockery and relief. It was impossible, thought Vanessa, to know what that enigmatic man really thought of his erring housemaid.

  ‘Sir,’ said Knollys in low tones, ‘this young woman is well known to us, and in the normal course of things she’ll be held overnight, and brought up before the magistrate in the morning. But you, or a member of your household, will need to lay a complaint against her, and will be called as a witness, as she was seized by you on suspicion, and not caught in flagrante delicto.’

  A little shadow of anxiety crossed the baron’s brow, which Knollys took as a cue to make a suggestion.

  ‘Now, I appreciate, sir,’ he said, ‘that this is a Diplomatic household, and if you wish, I can prosecute this case myself, and make a brief statement to the press. I shall have to identify the house, but nobody will need to be called as a witness. I will leave you to decide what course of action to take.’

  ‘I should be glad to hand the whole squalid affair over to you, Sergeant,’ said the baron. ‘The Russian Ambassador would, I know, take it as a great favour if I was allowed not to appear personally in the business.’

  ‘The Russian Ambassador, sir? I understood that you were a Polish gentleman?’

  ‘It’s the same thing,’ replied the baron, shortly. ‘See to the matter, will you, Sergeant?’ He suddenly turned on his heel and hurried away.

  Knollys turned to the constable, who was standing guard over Vanessa.

  ‘Constable,’ he said, I want you to look around the grounds, just in case her accomplice, Johnny the Stoat, is with her. Come on, Gertie, I’m going to search your room, just in case you’ve helped yourself to anything else of the baron’s, and then you pack your things. It’s a night in the cells for you, my girl, and up before the beak in the morning.’

  Vanessa led her captor to a door in the hall that took them up the servants’ staircase to the third floor. She opened the door of her room, and hurried in, closely followed by Knollys. She was immediately all but smothered in one of Jack Knollys’ powerful embraces.

  ‘He knew you’d overstep the mark,’ he said, when he had released her. ‘That’s why he made sure that I was here most nights. He�
��ll give you what for, when he sees you next.’

  ‘Jack,’ Vanessa whispered, ‘he’ll forgive me immediately when he hears what I have to tell him. This Baron—’

  ‘Don’t say anything now, Cornflower,’ said Jack. ‘You never know who’s listening. Just pack up all your things, and I’ll get you out of here. I’ve got a cab waiting at the end of the road.’

  It had been a great adventure, Vanessa mused, as she began to pack. Her only regret would be not seeing her young friend Ellen again, and leaving behind her the belief that she was a common thief and criminal. Somehow, the idea of Mr Quiller thinking that to be the truth filled her with an almost painful regret.

  10

  Conclave at Lipton’s Hotel

  VANESSA SAT BACK on the stuffed horsehair seat of the cab, and sighed with relief. It was quite dark, and the elegant streets of St John’s Wood were radiant with gaslight. Mixed with the smell of stale tobacco and damp, she could just discern the perfume of night-scented stock. The cab driver had not waited for instructions, but had driven swiftly out of Cavendish Gardens and into the dark expanse of Regent’s Park. Despite her excitement, Vanessa found that her eyelids were too heavy to keep open, and she slept.

  She awoke with a start to find that they had crossed Marylebone Road, and were making their way along Harley Street. She glanced at Jack Knollys, who was separated from her by her bulky carpet bag. He looked stern and preoccupied.

  ‘Where are we going, Jack?’ she asked. Her fiancé seemed to wake up from a kind of trance.

  ‘What? Oh, it’s you, Cornflower. Is this your little carpet bag? What do you want to know?’

  ‘I want to know where we’re going. We’ll be in Mayfair, soon, at this rate.’

  ‘We’re going to Lipton’s Hotel, in George Street, just off Hanover Square. As soon as Baron Augustyniak sent for the police – and that was providential, if you like! – I alerted the colonel to the situation, and he said that he would see you straight away. Lipton’s Hotel is one of his bases, apparently. A bit like Bagot’s, only on a more modest scale.’

  ‘I don’t want him to see me dressed like this,’ said Vanessa. ‘In this housemaid’s dress, and old black coat. He’s always seen me smart and well turned out.’

  ‘He doesn’t care what you’re wearing, Cornflower. Neither do I, for that matter. You look all right to me. You always have, and you always will. Here we are now, turning in to Hanover Square.’

  It was rather gloomy in the entrance hall to Lipton’s Hotel, as the gaslights had been turned down to a glimmer. A young man seated in a kind of mahogany and glass cabinet near the door glanced up at them as they came in from George Street.

  ‘He’s upstairs,’ said the young man. ‘Number 6, on the first floor.’

  At Jack’s insistence, Vanessa preceded him up the staircase, which was thickly carpeted. She had never been in Lipton’s Hotel before. From what she could see of it, it was very comfortable, and of a high standard. They found Number 6, and Knollys knocked quietly on the door. A voice bade them come in, and Vanessa and Jack entered the room.

  Colonel Kershaw rose from a chair near the fireplace of what was evidently a sitting-room. Vanessa noticed that coffee and sandwiches had been set out on a small table, and suddenly felt hungry. Sitting opposite the colonel was Arnold Box, and standing at one of the windows overlooking George Street was a man in his late thirties, his face adorned with a clipped moustache, and with lines of good humour at the corners of his deep-set blue eyes.

  ‘Missy!’ cried Colonel Kershaw, ‘so you’ve been successfully abducted from the clutches of the foe! I expect you’ve a lot of things to tell me, but first you’d better fortify yourself from the food and drink laid ready on that table. And you, Mr Knollys. Of course, you both know Inspector Box. This other gentleman is Major Blythe, from the Home Office. Major Blythe and I occasionally work together. So sit down, both of you, and sustain the inner man – and woman. Then we will talk.’

  Vanessa did as she was bid, and poured out two steaming cups of coffee for Jack Knollys and herself. The sandwiches, a selection of ham, chicken and cucumber, were very fresh, and they both did full justice to them. Meanwhile, Kershaw, Box and Major Blythe talked in low tones among themselves. It was only when the colonel had seen that Vanessa and Jack had both finished their refreshments that he spoke to them.

  ‘And now, Miss Drake,’ he said, ‘the time’s come for you to tell me all that happened to you since you set foot in White Eagle Lodge on Friday, the 6th. Take your time, and try to recall everything concerning Baron Augustyniak, his wife, and his guests. I will not interrupt your story unless it’s absolutely necessary.’

  Vanessa told her audience all about the master and mistress of White Eagle Lodge. She gave a complete set of verbal portraits of all the servants, what they said and what they did. She dwelt in great detail on the fateful dinner party, describing and naming the guests, and repeating word for word what Doctor Kessler had said about Arnold Box. She saw Box pull a wry face, and when she described how she had spilt the mint sauce, she saw a fleeting smile cross Colonel Kershaw’s face.

  He leaned forward in his chair when she began her account of the scene in the study, which had culminated in her exposure. She concluded her tale by asserting that although Baron Augustyniak had treated her roughly when he had found her in the silver-cupboard, she still thought that he was normally a considerate gentleman, with a kindly regard for his servants. He seemed to be both patient and resigned in the matter of his wife’s jealousy.

  When Vanessa had finished her tale, Colonel Kershaw sat in absorbed silence for what seemed like minutes. For a brief moment she wondered whether he was going to dismiss her from his service for exceeding her brief. It would not have been the first occasion that he had almost decided to do so. The thought troubled her more than she had realized. Did he know that her loyalty to him was total and unconditional?

  She saw Jack Knollys looking at her with quiet amusement, and realized that he had read her thoughts. She loved Jack Knollys, and hoped that one day soon he would name the day. As for Colonel Kershaw – well, she had special feelings for him, too, and had long ago sensed that he regarded her as a kind of surrogate daughter….

  Colonel Kershaw pulled himself up straight in his chair beside the fireplace.

  ‘Well, Miss Drake,’ he said, in his quiet voice, ‘I think you have excelled yourself on this particular mission. The information that you have brought me is quite invaluable, and I cannot see any other way in which I could have obtained it. Well done, missy!’

  Vanessa felt herself blushing with pleasure. He was going to keep her, and something told her that there would never again be talk of a parting of the ways. She muttered a quiet ‘Thank you, sir’.

  ‘You have witnessed this evening,’ Kershaw continued, ‘a gathering of some of the most dangerous men who have ever assembled in an English house to plot treason and anarchy, and rather than exclude you from this conference, I will ask you to remain for a little while and listen to what I have to say.

  ‘First, I knew nothing of evil report about Baron Augustyniak, but now I see him as what he himself called the “anchor man” of this organization, The Thirty. Incidentally, Miss Drake, what a very good memory you have! All those foreign names, and whole sentences of dialogue. That’s an invaluable asset, which could be of special use in the future.

  ‘Second, let me talk about Doctor Franz Kessler. I know a great deal about him. Mr Box here has met him, and so has Sir Charles Napier. Kessler has recently been appointed Second Secretary at Prussia House. This man, a Doctor of Law from Heidelberg University, is an expert swordsman and a crack shot with a rifle. He is a man with blood on his hands, and a ruthless determination to see any project with which he’s associated carried through to success.’

  Vanessa listened, fascinated. It was not often that she was allowed to share in this kind of consultation. It was as though the colonel felt that she was now ready for greater trust and responsib
ility than he had seen fit to bestow upon her in the past.

  ‘There are some people,’ Kershaw continued, ‘myself included, who wonder why such a man has been given a post carrying diplomatic immunity. Sir Charles Napier believes that Kessler has powerful friends in the higher German Establishment. Whatever the truth of the matter, Kessler is now a diplomat, and therefore not subject to the stringencies of our British law. As you yourself have witnessed, Miss Drake, Kessler has a violent temper – hardly a diplomatic trait.’

  ‘And he’s a crack shot with a rifle, sir?’ said Box. ‘That’s very interesting.’

  ‘It is, Box. He is also a killer. I know for a fact that he had committed two violent murders for political purposes, as the agent of a third party. I know who that third party is. So does Napier. I am convinced now that Kessler was sent here to London purely to fulfil some nefarious purpose of this nest of assassins and dreamers calling themselves The Thirty. It seems that he’s the blackmailer-in-chief of this precious gang, and that he has a hold over a number of English collaborators….’

  Colonel Kershaw stopped speaking, and turned to look at Major Blythe, who, so far, had sat silently, listening intently to what he was saying.

  ‘Blythe,’ said the Colonel, ‘in connection with that other matter – the police business that we talked about – do you think there’s anything doing in that direction? About Kessler and his diplomatic safe, you know?’

  ‘I’d say yes, Colonel; very decidedly. After all, there’d be nothing to lose for all parties on our side. What do you think, Mr Box?’

  ‘About – oh, yes, I see. Well, I’ve no objection, gentlemen, as long as you don’t tell me anything about it. Or Sergeant Knollys.’

  ‘There you are, Colonel,’ said Major Blythe. ‘Everybody’s in agreement on that matter. Do you want me to put it in train when I see him?’