The Ways of the World

by Robert Goddard

  ‘There have been some valuable outcomes.’

  ‘Pray apprise me of them.’

  ‘We’ve exposed one of Lemmer’s agents in our delegation.’

  ‘But sadly he’s not available for interrogation.’

  ‘No, sir. Nor is Lemmer’s agent in the American delegation. But the damage the Americans have suffered is greater than any done to us. I believe Lemmer now has information likely to prove very embarrassing to them.’

  ‘The Contingencies Memorandum?’

  ‘Yes. The Japanese may also be in difficulties.’

  ‘Because of these Chinese documents you think he’s procured?’

  ‘Yes. I suggest the French can be fended off by demanding an explanation from them for the bungling at best, the sabotage at worst, of inquiries into the death of Maxted’s father.’

  ‘Sir Henry. The lovesick old fool – if I read your report correctly – who set this disastrous sequence of events in motion.’

  ‘It may be he was that, sir. Or it may be he wanted to be thought that.’

  ‘What are you implying?’

  ‘I believe there’s more to be discovered yet about Sir Henry and his dealings with Pierre Dombreux.’

  ‘Who we assume was another of Lemmer’s spies?’

  ‘Yes, sir. But it is only an assumption.’

  ‘As is your claim that Lemmer had penetrated all the leading delegations in Paris.’

  ‘We know about Norris and Ennis, sir. There are bound to be others. If we can take one of them alive, we may find a trail that leads to Lemmer.’

  ‘A faint hope, Appleby, considering that I imagine you’d start looking for these “others” by investigating Norris’s known friends and associates. Lord Hardinge wouldn’t allow that, I’m afraid. It would be more than my job’s worth, never mind yours.’

  ‘It’s the obvious way to proceed, sir.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to find an unobvious way. Before you try, speculate for my benefit about Lemmer’s motives. His network, however extensive, no longer serves any purpose. The Berlin government has no use for him, even supposing he has any use for them. And our fly on the wall at the Kaiser’s court-in-exile assures us they have no contact with him at all. So, what is he trying to achieve – and for whom?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. Frankly, that’s what we should probably be most worried about. Lemmer has a plan. It’s in his nature. He’s plotting to some end. But what that end might be …’

  ‘Why did you disobey my orders where young Maxted was concerned, Appleby?’ A frown like a brewing storm had taken over C’s never entirely benign features. ‘You were supposed to disown him if anything went wrong, as I think we can agree it did.’

  ‘He risked his life for us, sir, and nearly lost it – twice.’

  ‘That’s your explanation?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Appleby braced himself. ‘It is.’

  ‘Mmm.’ The frown lightened – marginally but significantly. ‘The gesture does you credit, Appleby, even if nothing else does in this sorry affair. We cannot simply wash our hands of those who help us for noble reasons, however advantageous it might be to do so. Can Maxted be of further use to us?’

  ‘It’s hard to see how, sir.’

  ‘Yet he worsted Tarn, a seasoned killer.’

  ‘He did, sir, though not without assistance.’

  ‘From le Singe?’

  ‘So he said, sir.’

  ‘And whose side is le Singe on?’

  ‘Difficult to judge, sir. We know almost nothing about him. He’s … a rumour made flesh.’

  ‘More flesh and less rumour is what we need all round, Appleby.’

  ‘What do you want me to do, sir?’

  ‘Return to Paris, for the time being. The situation in the Council of Four is tense, as I’m sure you’re aware. It’s perhaps fortunate for us that the PM’s too busy wrangling with Clemenceau over the Rhineland to give any attention to our problem with Lemmer. We’ll keep our heads down for a while and review the situation in a month or so. But talking of heads, I’ll be candid. Yours may well have to roll.’

  Appleby was unsurprised. He had taken too many chances. He had offended too many powerful people. ‘I stand by my report, sir.’

  ‘Good. Backing down won’t help you. I’m not sure what would, short of a breakthrough on the Lemmer front. Think you can pull one off?’

  ‘With my hands tied as they are, sir? No. But …’

  ‘Never say die, eh?’ C’s gaze narrowed to a squint. ‘At your age, you could opt to retire now the war’s over. But I dare say you haven’t a great deal to retire to.’

  ‘I’d prefer to stay on, sir.’

  ‘Yes. Of course you would. Well, we’ll see.’ C sighed heavily. ‘That’ll be all for now, Appleby. You can go.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  As Appleby rose to leave, C cast him a strange, almost pitying look. He seemed about to add something, then changed his mind and flapped a dismissive hand towards the door, through which, a moment later, Appleby retreated.

  IT WAS NOT clear to Max whether Madame Mesnet recognized him or not. But she admitted him to 8 Rue du Verger readily enough and confirmed, somewhat grudgingly, that Corinne was in. ‘Madame Dombreux? Oui, monsieur. Elle est à la maison. Au troisième étage.’

  He climbed the stairs to her door, accompanied, it seemed to him, by his father’s ghost. It was easy to imagine Sir Henry walking up with him, breathing heavily, rocking slightly in that arthritic way he had, humming to himself some old music-hall tune as they went. For an instant, Max was convinced he smelt the old man’s cigar smoke drifting past him.

  They reached the door. And Max was alone. He knocked.

  There was no response, though he was certain he had heard a movement inside the apartment. He knocked again and called her name. ‘Corinne? It’s Max.’

  There was an interval of silence. Then the door opened and she looked out at him. She was pale and hollow-eyed. But to see her in her own clothes rather than the grey smock she had worn while in custody was a relief. There was disbelief in her gaze and more vulnerability than there had been before. Confinement had left its mark. She had not known, of course, how long she would be held. She had not known Max would be as good as his word and win her liberation.

  ‘Can I come in?’ he asked lamely.

  ‘Of course.’ Tears sprang suddenly into her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. Please.’ She stepped back, dabbing away the tears with a handkerchief.

  He entered and closed the door. ‘How are you?’ he asked, horrified by his own banality.

  ‘Oh, Max.’ She hugged him then, clinging tightly to him. ‘I never thought this day would come.’

  ‘I told you it would.’

  ‘I didn’t dare believe you.’ She broke away, but held him by the hands as she looked at him. ‘Is it all true? The man who killed Henry is dead and the man who paid him to kill Henry is also dead?’

  ‘Yes. It’s true.’

  ‘And you are well and safe?’

  ‘As you see.’

  ‘You look thinner, Max. And your colour is not so good. They tell me you were shot.’

  ‘A flesh wound. I’m fine.’ He smiled. ‘Though tender when hugged.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t—’

  ‘No, no. It’s all right. You’re not quite your old self yet either, Corinne. We’ve both been through the wringer, haven’t we?’

  ‘They said you were in London. When did you get back?’

  ‘This morning. I came here as soon as I heard you’d been freed.’ He glanced past her, his attention taken by something he could see through the open door of the bedroom at the end of the passage. A suitcase was open on the bed, with clothes and other articles piled in and around it. He frowned in puzzlement. ‘Are you … going away?’

  Corinne let go of him and nodded solemnly. ‘I have to. It’s a condition of my release. I must leave Paris immediately and stay away for the duration of the peace conference. It was made very cl
ear to me that if I refused they would continue to hold me.’

  ‘But on what charge? I thought the police had admitted you were innocent.’

  ‘Of poor Raffaele’s murder, yes. But I can be accused of complicity in Pierre’s alleged treason at any time they wish and detained indefinitely under emergency wartime regulations. And the war cannot officially end while the conference continues.’

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘Nantes, to begin with. My sister has agreed to take me in, probably against her better judgement. I won’t stay with her for long. Though where I’ll go from there …’ She shook her head. ‘I simply don’t know.’

  ‘But you’ll write and tell me when you’re settled?’

  ‘If you want me to.’

  ‘Of course I want you to.’ Max wondered if, like him, Corinne had imagined a possible future in which they were not so far apart. Irony was knotted around them. But for his father, they would never have met. And but for his father, he might have spoken some of the words that had formed in his mind.

  ‘Then I’ll write. But to what address?’

  ‘I’m not sure. My solicitor will know where to find me. Write to him.’ He took Mellish’s card from his wallet and handed it to her. ‘You will, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘I promise.’

  ‘When will you set off?’

  ‘This afternoon.’

  ‘So soon?’

  ‘I was advised to leave without delay. I have no choice but to comply.’

  ‘Do you have time for lunch with me before you go?’

  ‘Oh, Max, there’s such a lot I have to sort out. Lunch would be lovely, but …’

  ‘Say you’ll come.’ He smiled defiantly at her. ‘There’s so much I have to tell you.’

  ‘Tell me now.’

  ‘Only if you agree to lunch.’

  She gave in and smiled back at him. ‘All right.’

  She had made coffee and there was more than enough for two. They sat drinking it by the window of the sitting-room. The window was half-open and the sounds of the city – clopping hoofs, rumbling carts, rattling trams, barking dogs, raised human voices – filtered in around them. As Max recounted his experiences of the previous ten days, he made excuses to himself for resorting to minor misrepresentations in order to avoid mentioning certain things – such as his night with Nadia Bukayeva and his wish to believe the worst of Brigham because he might be his son – on the grounds that they changed nothing materially. The truth of why Sir Henry had been killed and by whom and at whose instigation was established now, doubtful though it was that it would ever be formally acknowledged.

  ‘Tarn wasn’t simply an assassin,’ Max explained. ‘He specialized in disguising his murders as accidents – or as the acts of others. I suppose Norris and his accomplices feared Pa might have confided in you, so Tarn planned to silence you as well, by having you take the blame for Spataro’s murder, which also conveniently disposed of a false witness against you before he could change his story.’

  ‘And Henry took all the risks he did so that he and I could live in luxury?’

  ‘Apparently so. His money was tied up in the estate in Surrey and I suppose he didn’t think it would be fair to the family to try to take any out. Ribeiro’s scheme promised an independent source of wealth.’

  ‘But I would have gone anywhere with him, even if he’d been penniless. He must have known that.’

  ‘He probably did, Corinne. But he wanted you to enjoy the finer things in life after being denied them for so long.’

  ‘Instead of which, Henry is dead and I am homeless and jobless.’ She looked away, out through the window.

  Max saw her chin trembling from the effort it took her not to cry. He stretched forward and took her hand. ‘I’m sorry.’

  She squeezed his in return, then let go. ‘I had plenty of time to think while I was in custody,’ she said, her voice thick with emotion. ‘I suppose I always knew Henry carried secrets with him of which he would never speak. And I suppose I knew those secrets were dangerous. When he went to London, I didn’t really believe he’d been recalled to the Foreign Office. I never told you before – I didn’t want you to doubt my loyalty to him – but while he was away—’

  ‘You went to see Ireton.’

  ‘You know?’

  ‘Morahan told me. Just this morning.’

  ‘Ah, Mr Morahan.’

  ‘He sends his regards. He said you wanted to know what dealings Pa had with Ireton.’

  ‘Yes. I met Ireton for lunch in the hope of finding out. It was a waste of time. Mine and his. It soon became clear we had different expectations of each other. He said a lot. But he told me nothing. Except, of course, what I already knew: that he would steal me from Henry if he could, or even share me with him.’ She shuddered. ‘He is not an honourable man.’

  ‘As his behaviour since has confirmed.’

  ‘Henry should have known better than to do business with him.’

  ‘There’s no one else in that particular business.’

  ‘No. I suppose there isn’t. I wonder, though, if there wasn’t something else Henry was trying to arrange through someone other than Ireton.’

  ‘What makes you think so?’

  ‘The Arab boy who saved your life. Le Singe. You said he can travel across roofs, up and down sheer walls and in and out of high windows.’

  ‘Better than any gymnast.’

  ‘Then it must have been le Singe Henry was chasing when he went up on to the roof. No one else could have got in here so easily. Tarn used the boy to lure Henry on to the roof and then …’

  ‘Pushed him off.’

  ‘Yes.’ She shook her head, surprised by her own reactions, it seemed. ‘I’m glad you killed Tarn, Max, however useful he might have been alive. I’m glad he had a split second in which to understand that he was going to pay for what he’d done.’

  ‘I don’t think le Singe realized what was going to happen. He’s been trying to make amends for it ever since.’

  ‘But why did Henry go after him, Max? That’s what I can’t stop asking myself. Why?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Max had told only Sam about the message on the wall in London. He had kept it from Corinne so far, assuring himself that he should find out what the message meant before disclosing it to her. That was not the only reason for his reticence, though. Corinne was surely right. There was a secret within the other secrets Sir Henry had borne. Max could sense it. He could almost smell it, as distinctly as the cigar smoke he had imagined on the stairs. But he could not see it. He could not touch it.

  ‘Do you think you will ever know?’ Corinne asked.

  ‘I think I will, yes. One day.’

  Before leaving, Max borrowed the key to the attic and retraced the steps his father had taken on the last night of his life, reasoning out the sequence of events as he went. The pursuit: le Singe swift and agile, Sir Henry slow and lumbering. Le Singe would have had to hold himself back, so that Sir Henry could not fail to know where he had gone. Then, as Sir Henry entered the attic, le Singe broke the skylight in the loft space above and scrambled out on to the roof. Sir Henry followed, through the window ahead of him, emerging in the gulley behind the parapet and turning to—

  Tarn struck. Not cleanly, though. There was a struggle. But the younger, stronger man prevailed. Sir Henry was pushed back over the parapet. He lost his footing. He fell.

  Max stood where he had stood once before on the roof, the city spread around him like an arena. He stared out and down into the air his father had fallen though.

  There was nothing to see. He looked up, towards the apex of the roof, where le Singe could have crouched and watched as the deed played itself out. There was nothing to see there either. Except the blank sky. Against which the mind could paint any picture it cared to – until the true one was known.

  THE COUNCIL OF Five meeting had brought a horde of functionaries to the French Foreign Ministry on the Quai
d’Orsay. Max had to join a lengthy queue for a word with the portier who controlled access to the building beyond the entrance hall. Military police were guarding the stairs and corridors. No one was going any further without a good reason.

  Just as Max was wondering whether he would be able to persuade the portier to send a message to Kuroda, he saw the representative of the Japanese delegation he and Morahan had spoken to at the Hotel Bristol descending the main staircase, wringing his hands as ever. He appeared to be on his way out of the building.

  Max intercepted him as he headed across the hall. ‘Excuse me. You may not remember me. We met last week, at the Bristol. I was—’

  ‘Ah yes.’ The man nodded in recognition and gazed at Max through circular steel-framed glasses. ‘You were looking for Commissioner Kuroda.’

  ‘That’s right. I—’

  ‘Your name is Maxted. You were with Mr Morahan.’

  ‘You have a good memory.’

  ‘It is part of my job, Mr Maxted. To remember things.’

  ‘I’m looking for Commissioner Kuroda again. Is he here?’

  ‘Ah, no. I am sorry. He is not here. I do not know where he is. I will see him later, though. If you want me to give him a message …’

  ‘How much later is that likely to be?’

  ‘I cannot say. He is busy with many things.’

  ‘It’s rather an urgent matter.’

  ‘Can I help?’

  Max hesitated. He contemplated having to wait another day for an answer to the question that had been burning inside him for far too long already. He could not do it. It was a simple matter of translation. It was not really important who did the translating. ‘That’s kind of you, Mr …’

  ‘Yamanaka.’ The name came with a courtly bow.

  ‘Well, Mr Yamanaka, the thing is this.’ Max took out the scrap of wallpaper and showed him the message. ‘Can you tell me what this says?’

  Yamanaka peered at it. ‘Of course. It is written in Japanese. You cannot read it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It is a Japanese translation of an English word. An English surname, I think.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I think so, yes.’