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Noblesse Oblige By Henry H. Hilliard with Pete Bruno Book 2 An Indian Summer Chapter 25 From the Chase to the View
A conference was hastily convened in the boys' cabin. Martin sat on the lower berth and Stephen occupied a stool and was holding Count Osmochescu's notebook. Carlo stood looking grave.
"As I see it," began Stephen, "the Count can only suspect we have the book; he can't know for sure. We must make him convinced that we haven't got it-even when we get back to England."
"If we get back," said Martin.
"I don't think we're in that much danger, Mala, but, of course, I can't be sure. Roman Kaliszuk would not tell the Count he gave it to us, would he, Carlo?"
"Oh no sir, I'm convinced he wouldn't, not even if he were being blackmailed; besides the Count had left Ritterburg well before he gave the book to me."
"We must hide the book and give the Count no reason to suspect us. I would like to know what he carries in his luggage and if he's armed, but if we search his cabin he may find out and then he'd know that we had it."
"Sir, I think it might be possible to search with the aid of his steward. He's Dutch and I knew him on the South Africa run. He could search with less suspicion or perhaps we could search together. We were quite friendly at one time."
"That's a good idea," said Martin. "There are three of us so the Count can't keep a watch on us all."
"But he mustn't suspect us. We have to be extra friendly to him."
Martin thought for a moment and said: "If we can get the book to Mr Churchill he could have it read or photographed or something and we could post it back to Ritterburg where it could be 'found'."
"That's marvelous, Mala. Do you think Roman Kaliszuk would be able to collect the book, Carlo?"
"Yes he would, but it would be best if it didn't have a British stamp on it. There might be other suspicious eyes in the house-I'm sorry to say this your lordship-I know they are your family."
"That's all right Carlo. I hope Uncle Otto is not involved in spying. Do you think he hates the British?"
"He didn't seem to, Mala. However, our countries have become bitter rivals over the last few years. He probably does have connections with the German government, however; in fact it would be surprising if he didn't," said Stephen.
Martin looked upset and Stephen sat next to him and put his arm around him. "I think it's certain the Count will search our cabins, either himself or he'll bribe a steward. Even yours is certain to be searched, Carlo."
"We could hide the book on our persons, your lordship," said Carlo, trying to divert Martin's thoughts away from the possibility that his family were treacherous. "Perhaps we could take it in turns to hide it-a day each. We could hide it in our trousers," said Carlo, indicating his groin. He took the small book and put it down his trousers and looked pleased. However a minute later it slithered down his leg and emerged on his boot.
Martin got up and went to his trunk. From the depths he produced a familiar garment. "If we wear combinations the book can't fall out," said Martin brightly.
"Where did you..." began Stephen.
"I keep a pair for emergencies, Derby," said Martin as he removed his trousers and put on the underwear. He then stuffed the book down the front and put his trousers back on. The small volume was hard to detect in its hiding place.
"Well done, Mala!" said Stephen. "Carlo, will you see if you can get your friend to search the Count's cabin while we're at dinner. One of us will race and warn you if the Count should leave the table unexpectedly."
It was easy to gain the Count as a dinner companion. The boys loitered in the bar and then in the saloon where tea was served. The Count appeared and they chatted about Germany and travel and said they looked forward to continuing their discussion of the possibilities of airship travel over their evening meal.
"Derby," said Marin quietly as they walked along the deck, "should we send a Marconigram to Mr Churchill? He could arrange to meet us in Hull."
"I don't think that would be such as good idea, Derby. For the Count not to suspect us, we must travel normally with him to London-if that's where he's bound for; besides, the wireless operator would know and could be bribed."
Martin nodded and they stood at the rail and watched as the coast of Pomerania slipped by. Martin adjusted his groin.
At dinner the passengers did not dress. Stephen hoped that his demeanor did not give anything away or that his conversation seemed a bit forced. He saw Carlo walk past the window and knew he was on his way to the Count's cabin. Martin chatted on quite naturally, almost forgetting for a moment that this was an act. At one point the Count found that he'd not brought his cigarettes. Martin froze, but Stephen smoothly produced a cigarette case and insisted that the Count try one of his. He drew a box of matches from his waistcoat pocket. They both lit up and Stephen managed to inhale without coughing. Martin was in awe of Stephen's brilliance.
They were having their coffee when Martin noticed Carlo pass the window again and he breathed a sigh of relief. The wait until they could decently excuse themselves was unbearable, but wait they must.
Back in their cabin, Carlo had also been waiting. "Well your lordship, I went in with Faas who turned down the Count's bed and hung up his clothes as normal. He won't suspect anything. There were plenty of papers in his suitcase-Rumanian writing and Russian too, possibly, so it was useless to touch them. I'm afraid there was a Webley Mk IV revolver, sir."
Martin went pale and sat down. "What about your cabin, Carlo?"
"I have a berth with five others sir: one other servant who is German and there are four third class passengers: a Frenchman and three Serbians. I will be alright there, sir."
The boys retired and Martin put the book under his pillow and made sure that Stephen slept with him in the narrow berth. They both slept uneasily.
The next morning Carlo knocked and was admitted. "I believe there was an attempt to search my luggage, sir," he began as he laid out the boys' clothes. "I think it was one of the Serbians, but I can't be sure. I'll wear the book today sir, if that's alright."
That was agreed to and the combinations were passed over along with the journal.
The Count was not evident at breakfast but he found the boys doing Eugen's exercises on the afterdeck. He engaged them in conversation as they did sit-ups and press-ups in their short trousers while at the same time he surreptitiously ran his hand over their jackets, which lay on the deckchair next to his. The boys finished and the Count helped each of them on with their jackets and walked back with them to their cabin.
As the Count had no reason to be asked in, he bowed and left them. Martin and Stephen collapsed from nervous exhaustion when they closed the door behind them.
"I think we should stay in the cabin, Mala," said Stephen.
"No, Derbs, we should leave and give the Count a chance to search it and find nothing-but not straight away or he'll go back and search Carlo or you and me again, do you see what I mean?"
"Yes, you're right. Good thinking, Watson!" said Stephen with a grin.
Thus the boys spent the day on their bunks, reading, with Carlo coming and going. The plan was explained to him and they decided that they would give the Count the opportunity before dinner when Carlo would be having his meal with the second class passengers and the boys would be having a drink in the saloon. The book was swapped to Martin again lest the Count turn his suspicions to Carlo.
This seemed to work and when the boys returned after dinner they thought that someone had been through their things, although it was hard to tell.
Carlo reported that his Serbian cabin mates had `accidentally' bumped into him when playing football in their cabin and felt in his pockets.
"Carlo," announced Stephen, "you must sleep with us tonight."
"Oh sir, that would not be right."
"Because you are a servant?"
"Well there is that too, but you do snore, sir."
"I do not snore, Carlo!"
"Carlo," called Martin. "Are you comfortable?"
"Yes, your lordship; quite snug thank you."
"Carlo, are you wearing drawers?" called Stephen.
"I can't remember, sir, perhaps you'd like to come up here and check. There's room for two."
"That's quite enough banter, you two," said Martin, suddenly happy for the first time in two days. "Go to sleep. No, Derby, don't! Not in front of Carlo."
"Oh I don't mind, your lordship. Don't mind me. I'll just go to sleep and won't hear a thing."
When they woke the next morning they found the ship was tied up at the port of Kiel. Stephen slid out of bed and took the book from Carlo and put on the combinations.
"They are very flattering, sir," said Carlo, admiring how Stephen filled out the garment. "You should wear them more often." Stephen was not convinced, but room was made in the crowded conditions for the Count's volume and Carlo gave Stephen's groin a little pat to make sure the book was secure.
The Count was not seen until luncheon when he was observed emerging from the wireless room. Stephen wondered if there was any way of finding out what messages he had sent.
They lunched together and Count Osmochescu was persuaded to talk about Romania, which saved the boys having to invent topics. Martin then complained about seasickness and said he'd lie down. The Count was very solicitous and insisted on accompanying them back to the cabin and practically forced his way inside where he insisted that Martin take some aspirin that he produced from a bottle. Martin took them and lay on his bunk. The Count looked around and left.
Martin sat up and held out his hand. In it was the two tablets. "I didn't trust that they weren't poison, Derbs."
They remained in their cabin or just outside of it for the rest of the day as the ship navigated through Danish waters towards the North Sea. Stephen went to dinner but Martin stayed in the cabin with Carlo who brought him food on a tray, the Count perhaps more likely to suspect that he had the book than Stephen who chatted with him amiably across the dinner table.
"Carlo," said Stephen as they took off their clothes for bed, "won't your Serbians be suspicious that you are not sleeping there?"
"No, sir," said Carlo removing his shirt, "they think I'm with my Dutch friend."
"Oh I'm sorry, Carlo, we are spoiling your holiday."
"Oh no, sir, don't say such a thing. This is far more important. Although if there was room for a third in your berth...?"
"I think it's a bit tight already, Carlo," said Stephen. "His lordship has put on weight after all that German food."
Martin threw a pillow at him and Carlo climbed to his lonely upper berth.
In the morning it was grey with sleety rain. The North Sea was a heaving, colourless seascape. This, however, gave them an excuse to remain in their cabin. Martin was wearing the combinations and had the book again and Carlo periodically went out to fetch coffee and food. At 11:00 there was a knock at the door. Carlo answered. It was the Count. "No sir, they are trying to get some sleep-Yes, sir, sick several times-Yes sir, I still do myself, even though I was a steward for many years-I'll tell them sir, good morning."
It was at 9:00 the following morning when, with some relief, they walked down the gangplank. The ship was tied up in the Humber at the Riverside Quay. There were some customs formalities and Carlo supervised the porters with the two large trunks and his own portmanteau. These were taken to the Paragon Station to be put on the N.E.R. for London.
The Count announced that he would not be proceeding to London as he was on his way to Liverpool. The boys expressed their regret at the parting and Martin went as far as to invite the Count to Branksome House when he was next in London. The Count looked genuinely puzzled at this piece of disingenuousness. He bowed again, shook their hands and left for his train.
Stephen went to the Post Office kiosk under the great barrel-vaulted arch of the station and came back shortly afterwards with chocolate, newspapers and The London Illustrated News and distributed them. They had half an hour to fill in before their train south departed. Then they went to the tearoom and had strong railways tea in thick china cups. This necessitated a visit to the gentlemen's lavatories further down the platform.
"When we get to Kings Cross..." began Martin but he never finished the sentence. The world turned about itself and he fell to the ground. There was a terrible pain somewhere in the back of his head and he could feel his coat being pulled at. He closed his eyes for a moment until he could muster his thoughts more clearly and then all was black until he felt a damp cloth being wiped across his face. He opened his eyes. It was Carlo.
"What happened, Carlo, did I fall?"
"No your lordship, you were coshed. We all were." Martin looked across and saw with alarm that Stephen was also lying of the ground. His clothes looked tattered and he realised that his were in the same condition. "He's going to be alright, milord. The police are coming."
Martin sat up, but his head throbbed so much he put it down again. "We were set upon, milord. They kicked Mr. Stephen pretty bad and you went down like a sack o' spuds. They held me down and took my purse and watch."
Martin managed to feel his coat pocket. His wallet was gone too. With an effort of will, he got to his feet and went over to Stephen where he went to kneel but ended up half-collapsing.
"Derby! Oh Derby! Are you alright?"
Stephen opened his eyes and tried to smile. "I'll be alright by the second round ref," he joked. His forehead had a deep gash and he winced when he moved. "Bruised ribs-maybe cracked, Mala."
Two policemen came and the boys were helped to a seat. Carlo, who was in the best shape, went to have their trunks removed from the London train; they wouldn't be catching this one.
One of the policemen came back with Martin's wallet and Stephen's prop cigarette case. "They must have dropped these, sir," said one of the policemen. Martin knew better; they were not after them in the first place.
Stephen was just giving his account of the confused happening when Carlo limped back, quite agitated. "Our trunks your lordship-they've be forced!"
Martin groaned.
"Have you got it, Derbs?" asked Martin in a low voice when the policemen left to examine this new crime scene. Stephen's trousers had been shredded with a knife and the answer didn't look promising.
"I wasn't carrying it, Mala."
"But sir, the trunks! They'll have it then!" cried Carlo.
"No they won't; it wasn't in the trunks. It's in the post. I posted it to London when we got to the station. We'll have it tomorrow morning."
They were detained for some hours by the policemen who tended to attribute the events as a robbery by a band of the foreigners who flooded into Hull on their way to America.
Carlo found them new clothes from their luggage and they were patched and cleaned up in the stationmaster's office. "I've had your trunks tied up with straps, your lordship. I'm very sorry this should have happened at the Paragon Station, sir."
"It's hardly your fault, Mr Downes. Thank you for being so kind," said Martin as he drank a mug of hot, sweet tea. "Do you think we can go now, Stephen, or will we have to go to the police?"
"Let's just go, Mala. The police know where they can find us."
When the three arrived in London, some five hours later, they were greatly relieved and had used the time to plan their moves carefully. It was decided to tell Uncle Alfred and Glass the butler, Carlo's cousin. These personages were gathered in the north end of the dining room. This space had been transformed in their absence into a smaller breakfast room by the addition of a folding wall. A giant oval window had been knocked through to the hall, borrowing light from that room. This attractive window was divided into smaller lights and the oval was ornamented by an elegant Baroque cartouche-the sort favoured by Wren. Uncle Alfred closed the hatch to the lift that went down to the kitchen. "The servants have found that they can eavesdrop through the shaft," Uncle Alfred explained.
Uncle Alfred looked concerned, especially at the prospect of his German relatives-even if only through marriage-being involved. Glass looked upset at the thought of violence, even gunplay being a possibility. It was he who suggested that Martin or Uncle Alfred should use the new telephone to call Mr Churchill. Stephen suggested that they should meet at Boodles rather than at the Admiralty or Westminster. Martin was glad that his uncle volunteered for this and he was away for some minutes.
"How have things been here, Glass?" asked Martin as they waited.
"Well, at sixes and sevens, sir," said the butler. "The kitchen and scullery have been made more convenient-almost like one room. My offices are under the stairs so I can reach the front door or the kitchen stairs quite quickly." He gave a look to Carlo that suggested that this arrangement might be more convenient than the Mews. "Your rooms are not finished, sir, but I think you'll like them. There are two bathrooms on that floor and two to go on the floor above. We will have four fewer bedrooms. Lord Alfred has his own sitting room and he will have his own bathroom too. And, oh, there will be a speaking tube to call Carlo your lordship- it was Lord Alfred's pet idea. And the bells are electric. They haven't started on the heating yet."
Lord Alfred returned. "It was a job to get Churchill but I did and he is most interested. He will meet you at Boodles at 5:00. We are to telephone again if the book doesn't arrive in the post."
A tour of the house was conducted. It helped to take their minds of more serious issues. 'Mr. Stephen's Room' shared a bathroom and dressing room with 'Lord Martin's'. Stephen decided that the first room would be their study. A small vestibule gave additional privacy to Lord Martin's Room and this only awaited plastering and painting. The kitchen looked bigger, but it was only the absence of an unnecessary wall. The service lift was electric and, of course, the old gas lamps were now replaced.
Carlo insisted that Stephen and Martin have their cuts and bruises seen to. In the new bathroom he stripped them both and dabbed them with iodine. Martin had a cut on his thigh from a knife. "What about your own wounds, Carlo, let me see them?" said Stephen."
"No sir, Mr Glass will attend to them, thank you. Hold still sir, this might hurt."
Martin and Carlo strapped up Stephen's ribs tightly. "I'm afraid sir that you will have to refrain from physical activity for a week or so or you will make matters worse."
"Can't I do this, Carlo?" said Stephen, grinning, as he gave his cock a few strokes.
"Do what sir?"
"Do this, Carlo?" said Martin also giving Stephen a few strokes.
"Well, you could do this your lordship," said Carlo and he gave Stephen's cock a few more strokes-it felt very nice-"and I think he might well need lots of this," (he repeated it) "but I would not recommend more than this (and here he masturbated him some more) and certainly not like this," (and here he changed hands).
"Well, he'll just have to be content with this, Carlo," concluded Martin giggling stroking Stephen's now rampant cock.
"Oh Mala, don't make me laugh," cried Stephen, "it hurts like blazes."
Carlo reluctantly withdrew to allow them a few moments of privacy and happiness after days of Sturm und Drang.
The next day they anxiously awaited the arrival of the post. At last it came and Glass brought the little package on a salver into the library, away from the dust and the army of tradesmen, and went to inform the participants.
Stephen opened the parcel bearing his own handwriting. They took turns in examining the book and could make out some names and figures-possibly shipping tonnage. It was hard to know. "It must be worth something to go to the trouble of attacking us. I wonder if the house is being watched?" said Stephen. They all went discreetly to various windows and peered into Piccadilly from behind the curtains.
"There's been no one in the Mews or by the kitchen door, your lordship. I'm quite sure of that," said Glass.
Uncle Alfred put the book on the shelves next to Morley's Life of Gladstone. "It will be safe here until this afternoon."
At 4:00 Martin assembled their group and unfolded a paper bearing complicated instructions.
Glass used his silver whistle to summon a hansom cab. He gave the driver sixpence and sent him away empty and signaled to a second cab. "I got that from Sherlock Holmes," explained Martin. Stephen and Martin got into it and headed to Hyde Park Corner where they jumped out and hailed another cab that took them past Buckingham Palace, through Trafalgar Square and back along Pall Mall to Boodles where they were admitted to the Strangers' Lounge.
Meanwhile, Carlo was seen walking to the tube station at Green Park where he boarded a train heading west but alighted just before it departed and regained the surface where he took a motor taxi outside the Ritz Hotel back to St James and from there to Pall Mall. He too was admitted and joined Martin and Stephen. Mr Churchill appeared and was introduced to the valet.
"Well, where is this book, young sirs?" said Churchill.
"It's not here yet," said Martin.
Just then the familiar face of Uncle Alfred appeared in the doorway and he crossed the room and produced the book from his pocket. "The traffic is so bad in London nowadays; it took me several minutes to cross Piccadilly to walk here. Something will have to be done, Mr Home Secretary."
"What happened to your arm, Mr Churchill?" asked Martin.
"Suffragettes. Now let me see this book." Churchill leafed through it as Stephen and Martin took turns in telling the story."
"And this Pole, Roman whatever his name is, can be trusted, Sifridi?"
"Oh yes sir and if you go along with the idea of returning the book after you have examined it could be sent to him with confidence, especially if it has a German stamp and postmark.
"Ah yes, gallant Poland," said Churchill and launched into a disquisition on its unfortunate people whilst Martin recalled Mr Monash playing a patriotic piece by Chopin on the piano in the drawing room at Croome only two years before.
"Well done, Sifridi, and well done to you chaps," said Churchill. "You did everything to divert suspicion. My great fear is always that our confidential agents will be exposed. This book may tell us that. However, it is more likely that Count Osmochescu is working for The Black Hand or simply for himself in a small way. You don't have a photograph of him by any chance?"
"Well, I took pictures of us all, Mr Churchill," said Stephen. "I'll send them to you at the Admiralty."
"Can you let us know what is in the book?" asked Martin.
Churchill frowned. "I may not be able to, Lord Martin. But perhaps we could meet briefly next week. The book could be back in Germany by then. The sooner the better for you chaps, eh?"
Martin would be in School, but Stephen promised to meet Mr Churchill at the Saville Club.
"My only fear now," said Churchill sonorously, "is that you gentlemen will sell this story to John Buchan or Erskine Childers. Then where will we be?" He chuckled and continued: "And I told you to go to South Africa or India for excitement!"
"Rajpipla's terrible exciting, Churchill," said Uncle Alfred and launched into a tale of daring-do in that portion of India.
"Oh your lordship, I hoped you would be up by now. You must get up." Carlo walked through the framing of what would be a wall at the end of the day. "The workmen are waiting to start. I've already put them off."
"Send them away, Carlo," said Martin from under the blankets. It's nice and warm in here with Mr Stephen. I don't want to get up yet."
"I can't, your lordship, they're Irish and we'll never get them back. You don't know how hard it is to get tradesmen these days."
"Tell them I'm sick. Mr Stephen is so nice and hard it would be a shame to waste it."
"He'll be hard again, your lordship and I'm sure you never talked to Mr Chilvers like this. Please get up and there's Mr Craigth's exhibition."
Martin was persuaded out of bed without the need to pull back the covers. Stephen was indeed impressively hard and Carlo felt a bit weak in the knees when he too emerged from the bed. He hustled them into the new bathroom just as the workmen walked through the wall and dumped their bags of tools on the Aubusson carpet.
"Carlo," said Martin as he got into the bath. "Mr Stephen and I would like you and Glass to take a fortnight's holiday. You need to recover from your own injuries and we would like to thank you for all you've done."
"That is most generous of you your lordship, Mr Stephen. I'm not sure how the other servants would feel about us being treated special."
"I'll speak to them, Carlo," said Stephen as Martin settled in the water on his cock. "You have been injured and the last few days have been exhausting."
"Well maybe just a week at Brighton. I have a pal who manages the Dudley Hotel at Hove. Should you be doing that with your injuries, Mr Stephen?"
"It's the best medicine," said Stephen with a grin that turned into a grimace. "Would you wash our hair?"
Carlo took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves and set to work on the blond and brunette heads of his young gentlemen as they relaxed in the bath with his lordship impaled on Mr Stephen's big cock. He rinsed them off and then soaped their bodies, being careful of their cuts and bruises. He realised he loved them as much as Chilvers loved them. It was a nice feeling.
Carlo reapplied iodine and dressings and bandaged Stephen's ribs as tightly as he could. Their very best London clothes were brought into the bathroom where they were dressed with difficulty while hammering and Irish voices could be heard in the room outside.
The gallery was in the vicinity of the Burlington Arcade and here the cognoscenti of London had been rounded up by Lady Eudora, Archie's mother, for this `private view'. Half the works were by Tsindis and the rest were from The Plunger's brush-some of which were already familiar to the boys.
Stephen and Martin pushed through the fashionable crowd and found Archie. He was wearing a cloak and a broad brimmed hat and his red moustache was now joined by a small goatee. He was in the middle of an animated conversation between a young man and the publisher, Fisk.
"...now Mr Bewley-Vance-Bewley, if you wrote novels like young Mr Lawrence or poems like Mr Masefield or Miss Nancy Nott..."
"That's tosh, Fisk, my stuff will be read long after people like Kipling and Masefield and Shaw are forgotten."
"Ah, but I'm afraid not before ..."
"Hullo Plunger, hullo Vance," said Martin cheerfully.
"Hullo Poole," replied Bewley-Vance-Bewley. "How's that young brother of mine going?"
"Biffo will be back in the lacrosse team this year just as soon as he's out of the wheelchair. I'll see him in a day or so. Good crowd Plunger. Sold much?"
"Hullo Poole, Stephen. A few. Bewley-Vance-Bewley is going to write a good review in The Times, aren't you, Vance?"
Bewley-Vance-Bewley went red and mumbled something about 'rising talent'.
The Plunger led them around the gallery and explained the pictures and spoke of Futurism and French 'wild animals' and other things that were strange to the ears as well as the eyes. "I like that one Plunger," said Martin pointing with his stick.
"You mean the one of the South London Gas Works or the Wireless Masts in Cornwell?"
"No, the one of the Trees on the Downs. It reminds me of Croome. Put a red spot on it Plunger, I'll buy it."
"Tsindis said that one had particularly significant form."
"And I'd like that one for Antibes," said Stephen and indicated with his stick the recent one done when La Joue Rose was launched.
"Good, Stephen, Lady Ottoline had her eye on that but was too slow," said The Plunger.
"Now that one has a good sense of colour and movement, Plunger," said Martin, trying to get into the swing of things as he looked at an attractive sunset done in pastel. "Is it a Fauve"?
"Yes, it is now rather, but if it's sold I have to give half to our maid. It was a Dutch scene with a windmill until she smudged it when she was dusting my studio, but it has significant form now, don't you think?"
They were interrupted by the sounds of a heated argument. Tsindis was red in the face and angrily pointing his finger. He was, apparently, championing a French painter called Braque while the other man, with baggy trousers and a drooping moustache, was passionately extolling an Italian called Boccioni.
"But you have never even seen one of his paintings!" cried Tsindis, almost tearing his hair out.
"I don't have to; I've read his manifesto-I can imagine the paintings".
Wearying of this Stephen and Martin drifted in the direction of the tea while The Plunger hurried over to his mother who had buttonholed Roger Fry.
"...yes, here was to stand my new sculpture 'Bride of Nuba'," Tsindis was explaining to Margot Asquith while indicating a large stone plinth that stood vacant in the centre of the room, "but the damn dray horse bolted and the work was smashed to smithereens. A year's work gone. I had been hoping to sell it; Thaddeus Buckweet said the Metropolitan Railway might have been interested in it for their new station at Baker Street-now it's just rubble," he sighed. "And the driver blamed me and said that it had frightened the horse."
They were getting ready to leave by stealth when they saw that there was a watercolour that had attracted quite a crowd. The people were squirming and tilting their heads. The boys were intrigued and moved closer. It then became apparent that it was being used as looking glass and the elegant men were adjusting their ties and fashionable ladies were straightening their hats in its reflection.
Stephen was drinking beer in his usual corner of The Saville Club. Several members came up to him and asked what he thought of Craigth's view and Stephen replied that he thought some of the pictures had 'significant form', and the members went away mentally adding another string to young Knight-Poole's bow.
Eventually Winston Churchill, the Home Secretary, came in. Brandy was ordered and conversation was conducted in low voices.
"Mr Knight-Poole, I can tell you that the diary has already been sent on to Ritterburg by our agents in Germany. We have to hope that the Pole can convincingly play his part, for if he does so, there will be nothing further to fear from Count Osmochescu." Stephen nodded. "I would like to say that he was already known to us, but I'm afraid that he wasn't. Your photograph was a great help."
"What was the scale of his work, Mr.\ Churchill, that is if you can tell me?"
"We seem to think he was in a small way and was gathering information to sell to anyone who would buy it. His notes seem to suggest that you, sir, or Lord Martin might be able to provide him with information on a Mr Tatchell or even obtain confidential information on our government's naval program. It suggested blackmail might be employed."
Stephen swallowed hard.
"Is there anything that he might have held against you, Mr Knight-Poole?"
"I can't think of anything, Mr Churchill," Stephen lied, glad that Martin wasn't here. "We both hold shares in Tatchell's company and we know he is making naval parts- possibly for submarines- but that's hardly a secret in Dorset. Martin sits on a committee with him."
Churchill nodded. "There is also the question of the role of the von Oettingen-Taxis family. At the moment we can find no connection with the Kaiserliche Marine-the Navy- in fact they are a Reichsheer family with connections to the Prussian land forces. Possibly Count Osmochescu was sniffing around them for the same purpose. We just don't know.
"Have you heard of the Black Hand, Mr Knight-Poole?" Stephen shook his head and ordered more brandy from the club steward. "They are a violent Serbian nationalist group-nationalism is the cancer of our era, sir-and they are fermenting revolution in the Balkans. I suspect there will be war again before the end of the year-this time it is Bulgaria who I fear is the aggressor and is threatening Serbia and the Count's own homeland. The Count may well be working with this group."
"I noticed how militaristic Germany was, sir, with many uniforms to be seen in Berlin and even at the seaside. Do you think they could be preparing for war?"
"It is obvious they are and we must be prepared in case we are challenged, which I hope we shan't be. Many nations, including Germany, would be interested in our new super-dreadnaught class and in our battle cruisers. I can tell you, sir, that their turrets will house 15-inch guns, sir-not 12, but 15 inches! Never built before!" said Churchill almost breathlessly. "The Germans would love to get hold of our plans just as we'd like to get hold of their technique for making their steel barrels. That explains why there are foxes like Count Osmochescu scurrying about. If you see him again you must act as if nothing had happened-invite him to dinner as you said you would, but give us a 'halloo'. We'd like to know what he's up to in England and hunt 'the fox from his lair in the morning'."
To be continued?
Thanks for reading. If you have any comments or questions, Henry and I would love to hear from you.
Just send them to farmboy5674@yahoo.com and please put NOB Nifty in the subject line.