Jones and I were left alone.
‘Mr Jones! Mr Pinkerton!’
My heart sank, hearing myself addressed in this way. I turned and found myself facing Edgar and Leland Mortlake. Although dressed more formally in white tie, as the occasion demanded, the two men presented exactly the same appearance that they had at the Bostonian and it was as if no time had passed between then and now.
‘Perhaps I am mistaken,’ Edgar Mortlake began, ‘but I am sure I just heard the envoy addressing you as Scotland Lavelle. I knew it couldn’t be right when I heard the name as poor Scotchy is in no state to attend.’
‘An outrage!’ Leland Mortlake rasped, his thick lips curling in a scowl.
‘It seems to me that you have no right to be here. You were not invited. And if you are present it is only by theft – you stole the invitation, did you not? – and by lying to the envoy of the United States of America.’
‘We came in pursuit of our enquiries and following an attack on my office that led to the death of two police officers,’ Jones replied. ‘You will, of course, pretend you know nothing of that. But we can discuss this at another time. We will leave.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Edgar raised a hand and a younger, rather pompous-looking man, one I had not seen downstairs, came hurrying over, as if he sensed trouble. ‘These two gentlemen are detectives. One is a Pinkerton’s agent. The other is from Scotland Yard. They have entered the legation under false pretences and have interrogated the envoy himself.’
The official stared at us. ‘Is this true?’ he asked.
‘It is true that I am a police officer,’ Jones replied. ‘And I did speak just now with Mr Lincoln. But it was not my intention to meet him and I certainly did not interrogate him.’
‘You must have them removed,’ Edgar snapped.
‘Arrested,’ Leland added. As always, one word seemed to be all he could manage.
The official was clearly uncomfortable, aware that this conversation was taking place in a crowded room with the envoy and his wife no more than a few feet away. Jones had maintained his equanimity but I could see that he was deeply troubled. Meanwhile, the two brothers were gloating, enjoying our predicament. ‘Gentlemen, you had better come with me,’ the official said, at length.
‘Gladly.’ Jones and I followed him out of the room, leaving the party behind. Neither of us spoke until we had reached the corridor and the doors had been closed. But finding ourselves alone, Jones turned to our escort. ‘I do not deny that we should not be here and that, at the very least, this is a most serious breach of protocol. For that I can only apologise. But I can assure you that you will find redress with my superiors and now, with your permission, my friend and I will leave.’
‘I am very sorry,’ the official replied. ‘I do not have the authority to make that decision. I must speak to my own superiors before I can permit you to depart.’ He gestured. ‘There is a room just down here. If you will wait a few minutes, you will not be detained for long.’
We could not argue. The official showed us into an office where, I presumed, visiting members of the public might find themselves, for it was sparsely furnished with a table and three chairs. A picture of Benjamin Harrison, the twenty-third President of the United States, hung on one wall and a large window looked out onto Victoria Street with the beacons still alight below. The door closed and we were left on our own.
Jones sat down heavily. ‘This is a bad business,’ he remarked.
‘And one that is entirely my fault,’ I said, adding quickly, ‘I cannot tell you how much I regret the impulse that brought us here tonight.’
‘All in all it was probably futile. But I will not blame you, Chase. It was my own decision and there is some significance in the fact that the brothers Mortlake were both here.’ He shook his head. ‘That said, I do not care to think what may ensue.’
‘They will not fire you.’
‘They may have no choice.’
‘Well, what does it matter?’ I exclaimed. ‘You have the most remarkable mind I have ever encountered. From the moment we met in Meiringen, I saw that you stood apart from Lestrade and the rest of them. In all my years with the Pinkertons, I have never met an agent like you. Scotland Yard may choose to dispense with you, but let me assure you, my dear Jones, that they will come searching for you, wherever you are. London needs a new consulting detective. You were saying the same only yesterday.’
‘It was in my mind, it is true.’
‘Then you should make it an actuality. And maybe I will stay here a little longer myself, just as your wife suggested. Yes – why not? I can become your very own Watson, but I can promise you I will cast you in a more flattering light!’ He smiled at that. I went over to the window, looking out at the footmen and the waiting coaches. ‘Why must we wait here?’ I asked. ‘The devil with it, Jones, let us be on our way. We can face the consequences tomorrow.’
But before Jones could reply, the door opened and the official returned. He walked towards me and drew the curtain, deliberately blocking the view.
‘Are we to be allowed to leave?’ I demanded.
‘No, sir. The third secretary wishes to meet with you in private.’
‘Where is he?’
‘He will be here presently.’
No sooner had he spoken than there was a movement at the door and the secretary walked in. I recognised at once the short, grey-haired man I had seen in the entrance hall. Now that we were in close proximity, he seemed even smaller than I had first thought, putting me in mind of the puppet that Jones had purchased for his daughter. He had a very round face with the eyes, nose and mouth grouped tightly – almost too tightly – together. His hair was thin and wispy, showing through to a skull that was peppered with liver spots. Most peculiar of all were his fingers, which, though perfectly formed, were too small for his hands, perhaps half the length they should have been.
‘Thank you, Mr Isham,’ he said, dismissing the official in the queer, high-pitched voice I had noted earlier. ‘Shall we sit down, gentlemen? This is an unfortunate business and we need to be brief.’
We sat down.
‘Let me introduce myself. My name is Coleman De Vriess and I hold the position of third secretary here at the legation. You are Inspector Athelney Jones of Scotland Yard?’ Jones nodded and he turned to me. ‘And you …?’
‘My name is Frederick Chase. I am an American citizen, an agent with the Pinkerton Agency in New York.’
‘Why are you here?’
It was Jones who replied. ‘You will be aware of the outrage that took place two days ago at Scotland Yard. I believe that I was the target of an attack that left three men dead and many more wounded.’
‘And your enquiries brought you here?’
‘We believe that the man responsible may be hiding behind the protection of the legation, yes.’
‘And who might that man be?’
‘His name is Clarence Devereux.’
De Vriess shook his head. ‘Apart from the envoy and his wife, this legation has only twelve permanent members of staff,’ he said. ‘I can assure you I have never met the man of whom you speak. And of course we are aware of what happened at Scotland Yard. How could you think otherwise? Mr Lincoln himself sent a message of condolence to your Commissioner and I can understand your desire to apprehend the perpetrator by any means at your disposal. At the same time, however, I cannot stress too highly the impropriety of what you have done, coming here tonight. You are aware, sir, of the principal of extraterritoriality, that the residence of the envoy is protected from British law and that for a police officer to come here in this manner is a flagrant abuse of international protocol.’
‘Wait a minute!’ I cried. ‘We have seen two men in this building tonight, Edgar and Leland Mortlake, and we know them to be gangsters of the very worst kind. I have seen their files at Pinkerton’s. I know them for what they are. Yes, Inspector Jones and I may have stepped outside the niceties of the law, but are you going to sit ther
e protecting them and obstructing us, particularly in light of what has occurred?’
‘It is the responsibility of this legation to protect American citizens,’ De Vriess returned. His voice had not changed but there was anger in his eyes. ‘To the best of my knowledge, the two gentlemen of whom you speak are businessmen, nothing more. Do you have evidence of any crime they have committed in this country? Is there any good reason to request their extradition? No. I thought not. And if I may say so, there is nothing to be gained by adding slander to the list of charges which will be brought against you.’
‘What is it you plan to do?’ Jones asked.
‘You have my sympathy, Inspector Jones.’ From the look on the third secretary’s face, he had anything but. He folded his hands on his lap, lacing his fingers together. The tips barely reached his knuckles. ‘It is my intention to lodge a formal complaint with your superiors first thing tomorrow and I will accept nothing less than your dismissal from the force. As to your friend, there is little we can do to rein in Mr Pinkerton’s agents. They are well known for their excesses and for their irresponsible behaviour. I will have you removed from this country, Mr Chase, and you may well find yourself being prosecuted in an American court. And that, gentlemen, is all. I have a party to return to. You will be shown to the door.’
Jones stood up. ‘I have one question,’ he said.
‘And what is that?’
‘When you came into this room, you addressed me, correctly, as Athelney Jones. I wonder how you came by that information as neither of the Mortlake brothers were fully acquainted with my first name?’
‘I do not see the relevance—’
‘But I do!’ To my astonishment, Jones strode across the room and, using his walking stick, hooked the edge of the curtain and threw it back, revealing the scene outside. For a moment I thought there was something he wanted us to see but then I realised he had quite another aim in mind. The effect on the third secretary was extraordinary. It was as if he had been struck in the face. For a moment, he sat in the chair, staring wildly, gasping for breath. Then he twisted round, unable to look outside for one minute longer.
‘I would advise you against reporting me to anyone, Clarence Devereux!’ exclaimed Jones.
‘Devereux …?’ I got to my feet, staring at the cowering figure.
‘Now everything is explained,’ Jones went on. ‘The connections between Lavelle, the Mortlakes and the legation; the reasons why the carriage came to this place and why you can never be found. Is Mr Lincoln aware, I wonder, of the sort of man he employs as his third secretary?’
‘The drapes!’ the man who had called himself Coleman De Vriess muttered in a high-pitched whisper. ‘Close them, damn you!’
‘I will do no such thing. Admit who you are!’
‘You have no right to be here. Get out!’
‘We are leaving, of our own volition. But let me tell you, Devereux. We know who you are now. We know where you are. And although you may hide in the legation for a while to come, you can no longer rely on its protection. We have found you and we will not let you go!’
‘You will die before you come close.’
‘I think not!’
‘You cannot touch me. And I swear to you – you will regret this day!’
Jones was ready to leave but I was not. ‘You are Devereux?’ I exclaimed, looming over this small, trembling man. ‘You are the criminal mastermind we have so long feared? It was you who came to London believing that you could yoke the entire underworld to your desires? I would not believe it but for the evidence of my own eyes and what I see is beneath contempt.’
With an animal snarl, Devereux lunged at me and might have grabbed hold of me had Jones not pulled me back.
‘Can we not arrest him?’ I cried. ‘I have travelled halfway around the world to find this man. We can’t just leave him.’
‘There is nothing we can do. We have no authority here.’
‘Jones …’
‘Forgive me, Chase. I know your feelings. But we have no choice. We must leave now. We cannot be found here.’
Still I wanted to fall upon Devereux, De Vriess, whatever he called himself. The man was trembling, his eyes half-closed. I thought of the trail of blood that had brought us here, the fate of Jonathan Pilgrim, who had been so mercilessly put to death by this creature or his cohorts. I remembered all the suffering he had caused. I believe, had I not left my jackknife at the hotel when I changed, I would have plunged it into him with no second thought but Jones had seized hold of me. ‘Come!’
‘We can’t!’
‘We must! We have no evidence against him, nothing but the strange psychological condition that has reduced him to this state.’
‘You will die for this,’ Devereux hissed. He was half-covering his eyes, his whole body contorted. ‘And it will be slow. I will make you pay.’
I wanted to reply but Jones dragged me out of the room. The corridor was empty and nobody tried to apprehend us as we continued down the stairs and back out into the street. Only once we were in the open, away from the legation gates, did I free myself from my friend’s grip and spin round, sucking in the evening air. ‘That was Devereux! Clarence Devereux!’
‘None other. Was it not obvious? When we first entered the hall, he had his back to the door. It was his agoraphobia. He did not dare look out! And before he came into the room, he sent his lackey in to draw the curtains for the same reason.’ Jones laughed. ‘And his name! There’s vanity for you. Coleman De Vriess. CD. He chooses to hide behind the same initials.’
‘But did we really have to leave him? For Heaven’s sake, Jones, we have just discovered the greatest criminal of his generation and we walk out without apprehending him, without saying another word!’
‘If we had tried to apprehend him, all would have been lost. Our own position was tenuous for we were there under false pretences. I have no doubt that Mr Lincoln and his friends are unaware of the sort of man they are protecting but even so their natural instinct would have been to come to his defence, to support one of their own.’ Jones smiled grimly. ‘Well, the game has changed. Now we are at liberty, we can regroup and plan our next move.’
‘To arrest him!’
‘Of course.’
I looked back at the legation – at the coaches, the footmen, the flickering lights. It was true. We had found Clarence Devereux. There was only one problem. How in Heaven’s name were we going to draw him out?
FOURTEEN
Setting the Trap
I slept fitfully that night. My rest was once again disturbed by my troublesome neighbour who had never once left his room but who seemed to haunt the hotel with his presence. He seemed to eat neither breakfast nor dinner. He had arrived at the same time as me – or so the maid told me – but he never went out. I thought of confronting him but decided against it. For all I knew, he might be a perfectly innocent traveller, transformed into a threat only by my imagination. Indeed, had it not been for the noise of his coughing and that one, brief glimpse at the window, I would not even be aware of his existence.
Far more disturbing were my weird, distorted dreams of Clarence Devereux. I saw his face, his malevolent eyes, those ridiculous fingers of his, too small for any man. ‘I do not eat meat!’ I heard him cry, but then I found myself lying on an oversized plate with a knife on one side, a fork on the other, and I was certain he was about to eat me. I was back at the legation with Robert Lincoln and his wife. I was at Bladeston House with blood pooling around my feet. Finally, I was at the Reichenbach Falls, plunging down for an eternity with the water crashing around me only to open my eyes and find myself in bed, the sheets crumpled and a rainstorm lashing against the windows.
I had no appetite and ate little breakfast for I was anxious to hear from Jones as to what, if anything, had ensued as a result of our evening’s adventure. The news, when we met, was not good. Contrary to my expectations, an official complaint had already been made by the American legation, naming Jones and addre
ssed to the Commissioner.
‘Our friend Coleman De Vriess had the temerity to sign it himself,’ Jones said as we sat together in another cab, splashing through the puddles that the brief storm had left behind. ‘It was delivered at nine o’clock this morning. Fast work, would you not say?’
‘What will happen?’ I asked.
‘I will almost certainly lose my position.’
‘This is my doing …’
‘Tut, man, it is of no importance. My beloved Elspeth will be delighted for one and anyway we have several days before any action will be taken. First there will have to be an interrogation, then a committee, then a report, a review and finally a recommendation. This is how the British police force works. A great deal can happen in that time.’
‘But what can we do?’
‘We have a dilemma, it is true. We cannot arrest Clarence Devereux. It will be difficult even to interview him without the permission of his envoy and I suspect that will not be forthcoming, particularly in the light of last night’s events. What proof do we have that he is involved in any nefarious activity?’
‘You have seen the files that I brought from New York. And you heard what your colleague Stanley Hopkins had to say. Devereux’s name is known all over London.’
‘But the name of Coleman De Vriess is not. I have to say, it is an ingenious idea for a criminal to hide behind the curtain of diplomatic immunity.’ Jones chuckled. He did not appear remotely put out. ‘No. There is only one way we can lay our hands on Mr Devereux and that is to capture him red-handed. We must set a trap. The moment he makes an appearance outside the legation, we will have him.’
‘Where will we begin?’
‘The answer is perfectly obvious. Indeed … Slow down, driver! I believe we have arrived.’
We had driven but a short distance and, looking around me, I saw that we had returned to the top of Chancery Lane. I had almost forgotten Silas Beckett and his unpleasant barber’s shop, such had been the pace of events. But as we climbed down, I saw that a group of police constables were waiting for us, out of sight of both the shop and the hurdy-gurdy man whose lamentable playing could be heard around the corner. ‘Stay close to me,’ Jones commanded. Then, to the nearest of the officers: ‘You know what to do?’