Blackest of Lies (5 page)

Hubert suppressed a shiver at the thought of someone like Gallagher creeping in while he was asleep.  ‘Wicked’ was the word for it, all right.

“What did you do then?” asked Hubert.

“For a while, I couldn’t do anything, sir.  I just stood up there, shaking. I don’t know for how long. The door was locked and there was no key, so I went back out through the window to find Mr MacLaughlin.  He and his men broke through the door from the corridor side to check that His Lordship was dead and then he called his boss up in London.”

“And that’s all you can tell us?”

“That’s right, sir.  We was all herded into the kitchen by Mr MacLaughlin and told not to stir an inch from the place.”

Kell and Hubert glanced at each other.  It was fairly obvious that little more would be gleaned from the gardener.  “Well, that will be all for the moment, Mr Dudeney,” said Kell.  “We’ll call you again if we need you.”

The old gardener stood up, stiff with lumbago, and shuffled off towards the door, placing the empty brandy glass on the table as he passed it.  Then he turned and looked at Kell across the room.  “Who is going to run the War for us now, sir?  That’s what I wants to know.  Does this mean the Hun’s going to win?  I mean, who do we have who can hold a candle to the likes of him?”

But it was Fitzgerald who turned around in his seat.  “Who, indeed, Dudeney?  Who, indeed?”

**********

Thompson had been searching for MacLaughlin for the best part of twenty minutes before he thought of going to the kitchen.  He opened the door and looked in to see a crowd of frightened faces.  MacLaughlin and his men were taking statements from the house staff.  Thompson caught his eye and cocked a beckoning finger.  MacLaughlin went visibly white and followed Thompson out into the corridor.

“Where can we speak, MacLaughlin?”

“The housekeeper’s parlour is just along here, sir, if you’ll follow me.”

Once in the room, Thompson sat down in a flowery armchair and looked up at the other man.  He did not invite him to sit down.

“Right, MacLaughlin, let’s have it.  What the hell happened?”

MacLaughlin swallowed quickly to wet his dry throat and said, “I don’t know, sir, and that’s the truth of it.  Somehow, they gained access during the night.  I had four officers patrolling the grounds but somehow they managed it.  There’s evidence that two men reconnoitred the area yesterday and certainly the carpets in the bedroom show traces of two sets of footprints – no boots.  Apart from that, we simply have no clue as to how they got in.  Or out again, for that matter.”

Thompson let the silence hang in the air for a moment.  “Have you any idea of the trouble we are in?  You were briefed in the minutest of detail as to the IRB threat.  You had everything you needed to ensure the safety of Lord Kitchener, but now he’s dead.  Worst of all, I’m saddled with that bloody headmaster Kell sermonising over how we failed to look after our charge.  If it weren’t for the fact that they’re all busy chasing Micks from the Uprising just like us, we’d have his entire
department
crawling all over the place.”

“Sir, we did everything by the book.  There is no way they could have slipped past us and ...”

Thompson held up a hand. “Spare me.  The fact of the matter is that he
has
been murdered. Arresting those responsible is incidental to the sheer enormity of the problem the War Office is going to have to face. Catching and hanging the bastards will be as nothing to the mess we have to clear up.”

He sneezed into a handkerchief and then looked up at MacLaughlin through red-rimmed eyes.  “You’re not an ambitious man, MacLaughlin, I hope.  As far as the Branch is concerned, your career is pretty much dead in the water.  Others will have to decide on what we can salvage from this balls-up but you, for the moment, can carry on with the due process of law and catch the killers.  Do you think your demonstrably limited capabilities could cope with that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then take yourself out of my sight, there’s a good chap.”

MacLaughlin made for the door. As he was leaving, Thompson said, “Send Fredericks to me.”

Alone in the corridor, MacLaughlin grimaced and punched the wall in sheer frustration.  Fredericks was his up-and-coming subordinate. ‘Up-and-passing’, now.  He opened the door into the kitchen.  There he was, beavering away with the statements.  Bastard!

“Fredericks!” he called, “Thompson wants you.  In the housekeeper’s parlour.  Move yourself.”

**********

An hour later, Thompson re-joined Kell in the main drawing room.  He poured himself a drink from the brandy decanter, flopped into a seat and then looked over at Kell. "Well,” he said, "I've seen the scene of the crime, as it were.  Young Fredericks showed me the form.  Smart young lad, that.  Nothing to be seen in the bedroom apart from a few footprints and four burn holes in the carpet from the spent cartridges.  Two sets of prints, though, on one of the pillars.  It could rule out Gallagher, if he’s still a loner these days but, on the other hand, we have a bullet and it's definitely a Mauser.  Went clean through the skull and embedded itself in the base of the headboard.”

Fitzgerald screwed his eyes shut.  “Please!”

Thompson snorted to himself and then continued, “From the description, it sounds like our man.   If we can snatch Gallagher and he still has the gun, we could be in business.  I’ve set Fredericks to alert road, rail and ports.  We might catch him on his way home.”  He wiped his nose and took a pull at the brandy.  “But only if our luck changes."

"Anything from the staff?” asked Hubert.

Thompson held his glass out at arm’s length and looked at it with an incredulous frown.  "Do you know, I can barely taste this stuff? 
Damn
cold!  Sorry – the staff – very little, so far.  No one remembers seeing anything out of the ordinary.  Bloody useless ... wait a minute.”  He exploded into his handkerchief again.  “God, I feel awful.  Anyway, I have set everything in motion.  We'll round up the usual Celts and see what we can get out of them.  That, of course, is the least of our worries."

"I agree,” said Kell.  "Time we decided upon tactics.  As I said before, I think that a sudden heart attack or influenza should be the message and …"

"Won't work,” said Thompson thickly, wiping his nose.

"And why not?"

Thompson scratched his head in bemusement.  "I’ve been thinking about this.  If this
is
the work of the IRB, and there is nothing to suggest otherwise, what do you think their next move would be if we tried to cover up the death in any way?  They'd have their involvement spread across every newspaper that would print it – especially abroad."

"We are able to deal with the newspapers – any which do not co-operate, we close down.  They know that."

"Same problem –
and
you can’t close down foreign publications.  But the mere fact that we consider the circumstances of Lord Kitchener's death to be so questionable as to render it unfit for public consumption would be enough for the unwashed to start a campaign for disclosure. Repington, for a start, would have a field day."

"You have a point,” said Kell, reluctantly.

Hubert looked up.  “Is this the Colonel Repington I met when we went down to the Standards Committee a few weeks back?  The Military Correspondent of some newspaper or other?”

“The 'Daily Express'.  Yes, the very same man – and that makes him a creature of Lord Northcliffe – our ‘foremost newspaper magnate’, as he likes to be known.  Both of them hated Lord Kitchener to the death and they have made no secret of their utter disdain for his handling of the War.  They’ve caused this country no end of trouble, between the two of them.”

“But he was a soldier himself.  Wait a minute - wasn’t there something about his having been forced to resign his commission, years ago?”

“An affair with some official’s wife”, said Kell, “and that is why he is now justly reduced to the status of newspaper hack.   However, Northcliffe’s rags have an undeniable influence on the masses, which makes Repington’s ravings doubly dangerous.”

Thompson weighed in.  “Absolutely right.  In fact, one of my lads told me he had heard the good Colonel referred to as the ‘twenty-third member of the Cabinet’!  Ridiculous.”

“He was universally detested,” snapped Fitzgerald, irritably straightening a fold in his tunic.  “A constant thorn in our sides.  Indeed, you may remember, Kell, Lord Kitchener actually banned him from the entire Western Front because of his irresponsible scaremongering over the alleged lack of artillery shells.”

“Indeed I do.  I understand he had only allowed him back a few weeks ago.”

“Well, there are bigger fish to fry right now,” said Hubert, turning to Fitzgerald.  “What about this suggestion, sir, that we could arrange to have Lord Kitchener develop flu or something of the kind?  Enough to give him reason to remain at home for a week or two.  That would give us a little more time.  We already control the grounds and the house.  We can decide who has access to him."

Fitzgerald gave a snort of exasperation.  "Did you listen to anything I said on the way down from London, Lieutenant?  Lord Kitchener is – was – a very dynamic leader.  He expected a lot of his subordinates – perhaps too much.  When he found others lacking, he tended to take on their tasks himself.  He was not a delegator in important matters. That, in turn, means that pivotal strategies conceived and directed by him are under way with no one at the helm.  He could not be absent from London for more than a few days without his presence being required."

Thompson nodded in agreement.  "And when it becomes known that the government – for remember, gentlemen, we do this on the orders of the Prime Minister, himself – has tried to keep the matter of Lord Kitchener's murder a secret, heads will roll.  There is no doubt that the present government will fall and that’s something we cannot allow in the current crisis.  The King, for one, will not be pleased.  He was fond of His Lordship, as was Lady Asquith.  He’ll be devastated by the news, however it comes to his ears."

"Well,” said Kell, "we have little choice.  At the most, the news can be kept quiet for no more than a few days.  After that, the Prime Minister will have to announce it to the House after first informing His Majesty.  And then God help us all."

Hubert pulled gently at his lower lip, deep in thought.  "We don't even have a few days.”

Thompson looked up from his handkerchief.  "What do you mean?”

"The IRB High Command will be desperate to jump the gun on us, if you'll pardon the metaphor.  As soon as Gallagher, or whoever is responsible for the hit, confirms a successful operation, they'll set their publicity machine in motion, as Commissioner Thompson says.  It'll be round the world inside twenty-four hours."

Thompson nodded.  "I believe you have the right of it, Hubert.  MacNeill will be hopping about like a schoolboy needing a pee when he hears the news."  Fitzgerald shuddered at the simile and turned to watch the fire, allowing the other to continue, "And matters will only be made worse by any attempt on our part to suppress things.  The bastards have us well and truly stitched up."

Hubert paced about the room, deep in thought, his eye falling on the unfinished charcoal drawing on the front of one the mantelpieces.  The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as the idea struck him.  Kell, sitting as he was, across the room, could see the change in expression and followed Hubert's eye line to the fireplace.

"What is it, Hubert?"

Hubert held up his hand for silence while he revolved the idea, the ridiculous idea, around his mind for a few seconds.

"Hubert ...?"

"There might be a way out of this.  A temporary one, to be sure, but good enough for Government work."

Thompson sat forward eagerly.  "If you have anything that can save our balls, man, let's hear it!"

Hubert faced his audience and ticked off the points on the fingers of his left hand. "Our problem is that the IRB
know
, or shortly will know, that they’ve been successful.  It is only a matter of time before they announce the fact to the world.  We have a day, two at the outset, before that happens.  Lord Kitchener can't be absent from the War Office for long without suspicions being aroused.  The problem is that we can't suppress the news even for that length of time.  It could be that the IRB are just waiting to see if we attempt a cover up.  Any announcement of an 'illness' and they would spread the news of his murder to the four winds.  There'd be demands to produce a walking, talking Secretary of State for War – something we would find difficult."

"Get to the point, lad.  What can we
do
?"

"We have to arrange matters so that Lord Kitchener resumes work on Monday morning as usual.  Wednesday, at the absolute outside.”

"Are you mad?” asked Fitzgerald.

Thompson held up his hand to silence him. "Go on,” he said.

"With Lord Kitchener still apparently treading the boards, the IRB can hardly accuse us of suppressing the news of his death."

Fitzgerald raised his eyes to the ceiling in scorn. "And how are we to achieve this … this
miracle
?"

Hubert looked at the other two and, suddenly, Thompson saw the light.  His eyes widened.  "A double, by God!  Do you mean that you actually
know
someone who could pose successfully as Kitchener?"