India Black and the Shadows of Anarchy (A MADAM OF ESPIONAGE MYSTERY)

by Carol K. Carr

  I’d have been up against it, except that the men on duty tonight had been specially selected by French and instructed not to open fire when I came slinking up to them. Still, I was nervous as Thick Ed, Flerko and I made our way to the Langham. The three of us had been deputed to seize Dizzy, while Schmidt waited in a carriage down the street. I had been rather surprised to see Schmidt on the box handling the horses. He seemed too much the intellectual to have any practical skills, and he guided the nags with a deft hand. I’d have preferred that job, as waltzing into the prime minister’s hotel with Thick Ed and Flerko seemed fraught with all sorts of danger, especially with Flerko’s propensity for overenthusiasm.

  A block from the hotel we slipped down a street and into an alley, approaching the building from the rear. With a bit of luck, I might have been able to wheedle my way past the desk clerk, but Thick Ed and Flerko would never have passed muster in the Langham’s lobby, not with Thick Ed being a lumbering brute who might have been there to clear the drains, and Flerko smelling faintly of herrings. The odour had provided the cover for Flerko, as he’d visited the Langham on numerous occasions, trying to flog his wares and managing to penetrate the upper corridor where Dizzy’s room was located. He’d been tossed out on his ear each time and warned never to come back, but the little fellow had wormed his way past the watchful eye of the employees in several instances. When Flerko wants to murder someone, he lets nothing stand in his way.

  Soundlessly, we picked our way through the detritus in the alley. Flerko stumbled over a cat and an anguished yowl echoed off brick walls. Despite being in one of the better sections of London, the alley reeked of rancid fruit and stale water. A central gutter was filled with viscous black liquid. I plucked up my skirts and winced as I splashed through the puddles.

  We reached the Langham and stood in the shadows watching. We’d chosen an hour when almost everyone inside the hotel would be snoring in their beds, bar a bleary-eyed doorman at the front entrance and an equally sleepy-eyed clerk who would be dozing at the desk. But we waited a good few minutes anyway, just to be sure that no one was moving about the service entrance. It had begun to rain lightly, an icy mizzle that reduced visibility and seeped slowly through my cloak. I studied the alley intently, as I knew Superintendent Stoke had stationed men there, but I saw no signs of the watchers. We might as well have been alone in that dreary place.

  Then Thick Ed put his lips to my ear. “We go now.” His hobnailed boots grated against the cobblestones as he crept away. I touched Flerko’s sleeve and we followed, gliding swiftly through the darkness to a thick wooden door. But Flerko’s prior visits had already informed us that this entrance was locked and barred from the inside, and so we bypassed it to stop at a low frame window just beyond. I heard the snick of a blade as Thick Ed opened his pocketknife and set to work on the latch. Moments later metal creaked and the bomb maker grunted in satisfaction. He prized open the window slowly, but the Langham’s owners did not neglect any details of housekeeping and the window slid smoothly upward in the oiled frame without a sound.

  Flerko scuttled through the opening first while Thick Ed and I cooled our heels outside. The little Russian was gone for a few minutes, then thrust his head out the window and whispered, “The hall to the stairs is clear.” I accepted his hand and clambered over the sash and into a darkness more profound than that of the alley. I stepped to one side as Thick Ed heaved himself through the window. We were in a storeroom, where the excess luggage and trunks of the hotel guests were kept.

  “Take my arm,” Flerko murmured, and I clutched the sleeve of his coat. Thick Ed grasped a handful of my cloak, and we inched forward. My eyes had adjusted to the gloom by then, and I discerned a faint line of light along the floor, indicating the existence of a door and a lamp beyond it.

  “When we reach the hall, we turn right,” Flerko whispered. “We walk ten paces, and then we reach a second turn to the right. Just as you turn the corner, you will be at the stairs. The guard is sitting in a chair at the foot of the stairs. He will see you immediately when you come around the second corner.”

  “We’ve gone over this before, Flerko.” Anxiety made me curt.

  “Don’t hurt to go over it again,” Thick Ed said.

  “If you two keep gassing, the guard is going to hear us. I’m going now. Try to be quiet when you follow me.”

  I marched away with confidence, opening the door of the storeroom to find myself in a long hallway whose gloom was only partially dispelled by a few gas lamps, burning feebly. With all the guests in bed the lamps had been turned down low, but there was enough light to see the shadowed aperture that marked the next turning. I strode along, not bothering to muffle my footsteps. Thick Ed and Flerko crept along behind me as silently as mice. One step away from the corner, I drew a deep breath, hesitated momentarily, then plunged on. There was no going back now.

  “Oh!” I drew up sharply, with a hand at my mouth. “You frightened me.”

  Dizzy’s first guard had been sprawling at ease in a straight-backed chair he had tipped up against the wall. He was a good-looking fellow, with a square jaw, the thick neck of a circus strongman and eyes that sparked with intelligence. He was on his feet in an instant, doffing his hat, challenging me with a look that was both shrewd and appreciative.

  “Good evening, ma’am. You’re out late tonight.” A lady would have bridled at such a bald statement, but as I am no lady, I did not.

  I unleashed a coquettish smile in his direction. “Indeed I am. As are you. But I believe my time shall be more gainfully employed than yours.”

  He returned my smile with interest and shrugged. “I wouldn’t doubt it.”

  I placed a foot on the first riser, and the fellow half-turned to watch me walk up the stairs. I rested a hand on the banister. “What time do you get off duty?”

  Thick Ed burst around the corner. My interlocutor caught the movement from the corner of his eye, and he flung his coat open with one hand, reaching for a revolver tucked in a holster at his waist. The man’s mouth opened to raise the alarm, and Thick Ed smashed a fist into it. Blood spurted in a wild arc, spattering the anarchist’s face. The guard staggered back, swiping at the fountain of red spurting from his nose and lips and looking dazed. Thick Ed cocked a fist and swung again, catching the guard squarely on the chin. The poor fellow’s head jerked backward, and Thick Ed caught him as he was falling to the floor.

  “Hsst!” Thick Ed summoned Flerko, who darted around the corner and seized the guard’s ankles. Thick Ed stuck his hands under the man’s armpits and lifted his shoulders. The guard’s head lolled limply. The two radicals shuffled hurriedly down the hall to the storeroom with their burden. Once there, they were to gag and bind the man, removing any weapons they found and return to me to remove the second guard, who waited outside Dizzy’s room. I had a few moments to reflect, which is not conducive to one’s confidence when one is in the midst of knocking out chaps and nicking the prime minister. You start to doubt the wisdom of your plan (dicey, at best) and whether you’re placing the most important man in Europe, if not the world, in danger (you are) and if you’ll be able to protect him from that danger (God, I hope so, as I’m very fond of Dizzy, and while his views on the franchise are questionable and he writes dreadful novels, I’d hate to see the old boy with an axe buried in his neck). You also have time to mull over the fact that the anarchist chappies have one plan and you (and French) have another and while the two plans are meant to coincide for the moment, very soon they’ll diverge sharply and it will be up to yours truly to see that that happens without the radicals sussing out the trap you’ve laid for them. A lesser woman might quail at the prospect of such responsibility, but I merely girded my proverbial loins and waited for the return of my co-conspirators, who were taking a deuced long time to wrap a rope around a bloke’s hands and feet.

  Finally they appeared. Flerko was bubbling with excitement, but Thick Ed was grimly professional. “He’ll sleep a good long while,” he whispered
, referring to the guard. “Let’s collect his friend.”

  The second guard sat outside the door to Dizzy’s room, which was a few steps down the hall and to the left of the staircase. I sauntered up the steps and into the corridor. The guard’s head swiveled in my direction. He was a twin of the fellow we’d dispatched below, only his jaw was more pronounced and his expression craftier. As instructed, he hadn’t heard a sound when we’d attacked his compatriot at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Oh, I say. I wonder if I have the correct floor,” I stammered. “I’m looking for room number twelve.”

  “Bit late for room service, isn’t it?”

  I edged past him, craning my neck at the numbered plates attached to the door frames.

  “Hold on, miss. Where do you think you’re going?” He’d taken three steps to catch up with me, and now his fingers twitched on my sleeve. “You shouldn’t be up here.”

  All his attention was focused on me, and Thick Ed chose that moment to strike. He bounded up the stairs and charged down the hall, running on the balls of his feet. The second guard whipped round and shoved me into the wall just as Thick Ed delivered a haymaker to the bloke’s cheek. The man’s knees buckled. He was out before his head bounced off the floorboards.

  Thick Ed was already at work with a picklock, twisting a thin metal blade in the lock of Dizzy’s room with an air of purposeful concentration. Flerko stood next to him, whispering unnecessary instructions.

  “Watch the stairs,” I told him, and the little Russian scuttled off. It was all for show, of course, but I had to maintain the illusion that we could be caught at any moment. Then the lock rattled and Thick Ed muttered. He turned the doorknob, and the two of us peered into the room.

  Dizzy lay on the sofa before the fire, feigning sleep. A sheaf of papers was scattered over his stomach, as though he’d been reading state papers and dozed off. French and I had wanted the prime minister to be sawing wood in his bed, but Dizzy had refused to be kidnapped in his nightshirt and without his boots. I can’t say that I blame him. The wind up a nightshirt was bound to be chilly, and Dizzy was prone to chest complaints. At least he was snoring, though rather unconvincingly, inhaling vigorously through his nose (and you’d have thought that a prime instrument for such use) and blowing out air like a whale breaching the surface of the ocean. We’d have to roust him soon, before the old dear opened one eye to see if his act was going over with the crowd. I pulled out my Bulldog.

  Thick Ed strode to the sofa, grasped Dizzy’s shoulder and simultaneously put a thick hand over the prime minister’s mouth. Dizzy’s eyes flew open and flooded with alarm at the sight of the burly chap towering over him. Dizzy wasn’t shamming now; there was real worry on his face. I hoped this affair wouldn’t prove too much for the old boy.

  Thick Ed gave him a friendly grin. “Now then, squire. You just keep quiet and everything will be right as rain. And don’t think about calling your guards. We’ve taken care of them. You see that lady over there?” He indicated me with a jerk of his head. “She’s a wizard with that revolver of hers. You open your mouth just a crack and you’ll be joining the big parliament in the sky. Is that clear?” It was the longest speech I’d ever heard from Thick Ed and it was deuced effective.

  Dizzy nodded, and Thick Ed removed his hand. Dizzy cleared his throat, but somehow found the strength to remain silent, which for him was quite an accomplishment. All politicians love the sound of their own voices, but Dizzy positively worshiped his. Thick Ed yanked a rag from his pocket and thrust it between the prime minister’s lips. Then he extracted a cord from the same pocket and, stepping round Dizzy, tied his hands.

  Thick Ed returned briefly to the second guard and trussed him tightly, pushing a square of cloth into his mouth and wrapping a second length of cloth around his head to hold in the gag. By now Flerko had joined us and was staring at Dizzy with an expression of utter revulsion. I doubt Dizzy had seen such a look of repugnance since he’d last encountered his old enemy Gladstone in the halls of Westminster.

  “You are vermin,” Flerko informed Dizzy. “I spit on you.” He pursed his lips to make good on this statement.

  “Don’t taunt the prisoner,” I said. “You’ll have plenty of time to sneer at him later.”

  A blade appeared in Flerko’s hand. Dizzy cast a frantic look at me. Confound it, this wasn’t in the script.

  “Save that for the guards,” I said crisply. “Iv—, I mean, Grigori will be furious if you stab the prime minister before we get a chance to try him for his crimes.”

  The mention of Grigori did the trick. Flerko ran a thumb along the knife’s edge while he mumbled a few threats at Dizzy, and then reluctantly sheathed the weapon. The prime minister’s face was as pale as a tallow candle, and a bead of sweat trembled on his upper lip. I tipped him a quick wink as Flerko retreated to join Thick Ed.

  I believe I mentioned previously that the time was approaching when our scheme would have to trump that of the anarchists. Our radical friends, being the bloodthirsty buggers that they were, had intended to knife the guards and leave behind their dead bodies. Well, it wouldn’t do to let them live, as they could easily identify Flerko, Thick Ed and me. Naturally, Dizzy had baulked at this aspect of the plot, and it had been left to French and me to devise a way to circumvent this heartless deed without alerting the members of the cell. I was to judge the proper moment when we must intervene to stop the guards’ death, and then things must go as clockwork if we were not to wind up with two dead blokes on our hands. Judging by the look of killing rage on Flerko’s face as he bent over the second guard, the time had come.

  I stepped to the window and pushed aside the curtain. “I see someone in the alley, Thick Ed.”

  Thick Ed had been arranging the guard’s body to permit more expeditious throat slitting. He sprang up and joined me at the window.

  “Where?”

  But there was no need to point out the nonexistent interloper. On the floor below us, a ruckus had erupted. Several men were shouting unintelligibly, and the stamp of feet could be heard on the marble floor of the lobby.

  “Flerko! Quick! Run down and see what’s happening.” Thick Ed yanked Dizzy to his feet, and Flerko hared away to return in a few minutes, blowing hard and with his hair standing on end.

  “There are men in the lobby,” he huffed, “and they’re shouting at the desk clerk.”

  “Police?” I asked.

  Flerko shook his head. “I didn’t see any uniforms.”

  “Can we reach the storeroom?” Thick Ed asked.

  “If we hurry.”

  Thick Ed pushed Dizzy toward the door. “Not a sound, remember? If you make a noise, we’ll kill you.”

  Flerko led the way, sprinting down the corridor to the stairs and darting down them to ascertain the lay of the land. He motioned to us from the first landing, and we careered after him with Thick Ed dragging Dizzy and me bringing up the rear. We gained the ground floor and peered cautiously down the hall toward the lobby. We saw nothing, but heard voices barking questions, followed by the drowsy reply of the night clerk.

  “If anyone tries to stop us, keep going,” said Thick Ed. “All we have to do is get to the storeroom and lock the door behind us. Move now.”

  We moved. Thick Ed hustled Dizzy along with me at his heels and Flerko dogging my footsteps. We reached the storeroom and bolted inside. Flerko eased the door closed and turned the lock.

  “Out the window,” ordered Thick Ed, which turned out to be confoundedly difficult for Dizzy as he’s about as spry as an iron post. But we managed somehow, lifting the prime minister bodily through the opening and hurling ourselves into the alley. We jogged along at a rapid clip, or attempted to, for Dizzy, besides being an inflexible old coot, was also slow. Thick Ed kept dragging the prime minister and swearing under his breath, while Dizzy staggered and bumbled about making an enormous racket as he tripped over boxes and collided with empty barrels. At this rate half of London would hear us and come to investigate. Th
ick Ed realized the same thing at the same instant, and letting out an exasperated curse, he swept up Dizzy in his arms and flung him over his shoulder. Dizzy issued a stifled grunt, and I stifled a smile. I reckon I’m the only whore in history who’s ever seen the British prime minister carried about London like a side of beef.

  We made good time after Thick Ed hoisted Dizzy to his shoulder. The prime minister constituted a light burden, and Thick Ed carried him as easily as he would a child. He even had breath to speak.

  “Where’s that bloke you saw?” he asked.

  “What bloke?”

  “You said you saw a man in the alley. Why haven’t we run into him?”

  “It must have been a vagrant, looking for a place to doss down. Perhaps the noise frightened him away. Do you see anyone, Flerko?”

  “Not a soul.”

  We reached the street where Schmidt waited with the carriage, and Thick Ed whistled softly. Schmidt had been enjoying a pipe. He knocked out the ashes on his boot and stowed the pipe in his pocket. He wrenched open the door of the carriage.

  Thick Ed tipped Dizzy onto the seat, which elicited a groan from our aging statesman. Poor fellow. He was as game as they come, but this escapade was proving a bit much.

  “Were there difficulties? Did anyone see you?” asked Schmidt.