The Ways of the World (23 page)

Back at the Mazarin, Max took a bath and was still towelling himself down when there was a knock at the door. He opened it to find Sam outside in charge of a breakfast trolley.

‘I ordered enough for both of us, sir,’ he said, sounding unwontedly chirpy. ‘There’s nothing like bacon and eggs after a night on the tiles.’

‘It’s you who overdid it, Sam, not me.’

‘If you say so, sir.’

‘But I am confoundedly hungry. And that bacon smells good. Wheel it in.’

Sam obliged. Max flung on his dressing-gown and they set to.

‘I’ve something to tell you, sir,’ Sam swiftly announced, munching on a sausage. ‘I’d have told you last night, but I wasn’t firing on all cylinders.’

‘So I noticed.’

‘Fact is, I may have found myself a job.’

‘You mean here – in Paris?’

‘Yeah.’

‘But how? What sort of job?’

‘Well, I thought rather than go gawping at the sights yesterday I’d do something a bit more … constructive.’

‘Which was?’

‘Like you’ll know, I’m sure, a lot of the meetings to do with the peace conference are held at the French Foreign Office on the Key Dorsey. I went down there and had a chat with some of the chauffeurs. They hang around most of the day, apparently. Got myself into a card game with the British drivers and helped one of them out with a distributor problem he was having. Turns out the chief mechanic they brought over from London’s gone and died of the Spanish flu and they’re desperate to find someone to replace him.’

‘So you volunteered?’

‘I’m to meet the bloke who hires and fires this morning. The pay’s not bad and room and board at the Majestic’s thrown in.’ Sam grinned. ‘Seems like you might be stuck with me, sir.’

‘What about the deposit on those planes?’

‘I’ll cable Miller cancelling the order. I reckon I can trust him to pay me back when I get home.’

‘You’ve got it all worked out, I see.’

‘Cars are child’s play compared with planes, sir. It’ll be money for old rope. I should be able to spare some time to help you out. If you need me to.’

‘It’s a kind offer, Sam.’ It had struck Max, in fact, that having a trusted ally lodging at the British delegation hotel might prove invaluable. ‘But everything’s much more complicated than it was this time yesterday.’

Max told Sam then about Spataro’s murder and Corinne’s arrest. Sam was clearly shocked by the developments. It hardly
required a genius to deduce that investigating Sir Henry’s death was a riskier enterprise than Max had originally supposed. And that was before the death threat delivered to him by the young Arab was taken into consideration. He showed Sam the note.

‘It gets straight to the point, doesn’t it?’

‘But I notice you’re still here, sir.’

‘I’ve never been one to walk away from a scrap.’

‘Or fly away, as I recall.’

‘I don’t really want to drag you into this, Sam.’

‘But you reckon Kaiser Bill’s spymaster is behind it all, don’t you, sir?’

‘Well, I—’

‘Which makes it my patriotic duty to lend a hand. If I can. And I haven’t given up on the flying school yet. You’ll be no use to me dead.’

‘Nor much alive, I suspect.’

Sam frowned. ‘You reckon the boy who slipped you the note was an Arab?’

‘Yes. What of it?’

‘It’s funny, that’s all. The drivers were talking about a spate of burglaries at the delegation hotels. Petty stuff, apparently. But not so petty if you’re the victim, I suppose. Anyhow, the papers have given the burglar a name: the Singe.’

‘The what?’

‘Singe.’

‘Do you mean
le Singe
– the Monkey?’

‘Ah. That’ll be it. He gets in through windows so high up no one thinks they need to be closed.’

‘Does he now?’ Max remembered standing on the roof of 8 Rue du Verger trying to understand what had led Sir Henry to his death. ‘I wonder how he gets to those windows.’

‘Over the roof, maybe,’

‘My thoughts exactly. But where are the Arab connections?’

‘A few people have caught a glimpse of the burglar – well, someone they think must be the burglar. They say he’s small and dark-skinned – Arab-looking.’

‘Is that so?’

‘So, d’you want me to ask a few more questions about the Monkey – after I’ve got my feet under the table at the Majestic?’

Max smiled. ‘It seems to me I’m powerless to prevent you.’

Sam nodded. ‘That you are, sir. But I thought it only polite to ask.’

IRETON SEEMED MONUMENTALLY
unsurprised by how little Max had learnt from Kuroda. It seemed to Max, indeed, that it was just as he had expected, perhaps even as he had hoped. If stringing Max along to no purpose was Ireton’s objective, it had been well served. If not, it was hard to understand why the American should look so pleased with himself.

Morahan had the decency to appear at least mildly disappointed as he confirmed Max’s account of their evening’s work. Malory served coffee and smiled appreciatively when Max passed on Kuroda’s good wishes. ‘He really is a charming gentleman,’ she declared, ignoring Ireton’s sarcastic scowl.

What Max did not pass on, of course, was news of Kuroda’s later contact with him. He reckoned it was only fair to play Ireton at his own game. For the same reason he made no mention of Spataro’s murder and Corinne’s arrest. He did not seriously doubt that Ireton knew of these events. But he was damned if he would give him the satisfaction of being the first to refer to them.

‘Are you going to tell me the next person you approached after Kuroda?’ Max asked bluntly as soon as Malory had left them to it.

‘I agree Kuroda was never likely to have breathed a word to anyone,’ said Ireton, answering an entirely different question. ‘But we had to rule him out. You can see that, can’t you, Max?’

‘I can see it was convenient for you to use me to rule him out for you. Who did you approach next?’

‘Like Kuroda told you, he said he’d outbid anyone else who was interested. I took him at his word. But I needed other bidders, of course, to drive up the price he’d be willing to pay.’

‘
Who?
’

‘Where’s the money in this world, Max, since most European countries have bankrupted themselves waging the war to end war? In my homeland, of course. The good old US of A. The American delegation was the obvious place to turn in search of a big fat bid. So, that’s what I did.’

Max sighed. ‘You may as well give me his name.’

‘No need. I’ve arranged to have lunch with him at the Crillon. I’ve told him there’s someone I want him to meet. You. But he doesn’t know who you are and it wouldn’t be fair to put you one up on him. Be at the Crillon at one o’clock and I’ll introduce you to each other. Then we’ll see what you can get out of him. He’s less tight-lipped and a whole lot less cautious than Kuroda.’ Ireton treated Max to one of his misshapen grins. ‘He could be our man. So don’t be late.’

Ireton soon excused himself on the grounds of a pressing engagement elsewhere, leaving Max to finish the coffee-pot with Morahan, who seemed in no hurry to be on his way. Max was emboldened to ask him a favour.

‘About my shadow, Schools?’

‘You want to lose him?’

‘I want to be able to lose him when I choose to.’

‘There are a few simple methods. You’re on foot. So is he. That makes any form of transport your friend. Hire a taxi when there are no others about. Hop on a tram just as it’s leaving. Likewise the Métro. There’s a good chance you can give him the slip, at least temporarily. He can pick you up again at your hotel, of course. So, what you really need to do is to put a face to him. The Métro’s probably best for that. Board a train, then jump off just as the doors are closing. Either he shows himself by jumping off as well or he stays on and loses you. I shouldn’t bother trying that this morning, though.’

‘Why not?’

‘I watched you come in. You’re not being tailed today, Max. Maybe Appleby’s decided it’s not worth the bother.’

‘You’re sure?’

Morahan shrugged. ‘It’s possible he’s put a smarter operator on your case, I suppose. Maybe more than one man, but that’s a heavy investment. I can’t see Appleby running to it.’

‘Why would he call it off?’

‘I can’t say. Maybe you should ask him.’

Morahan walked Max out. Max paused on his way at the door of Malory’s office to wish her a good morning.

‘Are you likely to see Mr Kuroda again?’ she asked.

‘She has a soft spot for our Japanese friend,’ said Morahan, coming unintentionally to Max’s rescue.

Malory blushed slightly and pursed her lips in irritation, though whether with herself or Morahan was unclear. ‘I’ve enjoyed talking to him about his country, that’s all. It brings back some happy memories.’

‘You’ve been to Japan?’ Max asked, surprised by the possibility.

Malory sighed, more sorrowfully than nostalgically. ‘I may as well tell you, if only to deny Schools the pleasure of relating it.’

‘I never speak about you to anyone without your permission, Malory,’ said Morahan, sounding offended by the suggestion.

‘No? Well, that may be so,’ conceded Malory. ‘In which case I apologize.’

‘Apology accepted. I’ll be seeing you, Max.’ With that Morahan retreated in the direction of his own office.

‘Oh lord,’ said Malory. ‘I believe I’ve hurt his feelings.’

‘I believe you may have.’

Malory looked at Max then with a frown of concentration, as if properly assessing him for the first time. ‘Travis said you were born in Tokyo.’

‘He’s disturbingly well-informed.’

‘But it’s true?’

‘Yes. I have no memories of the city, though. We left when I was only a few months old. It could as easily have been Timbuktu. You’ve been there?’

‘Tokyo? Yes. Timbuktu? No.’

They both laughed. Some of Malory Hollander’s artfully concealed vivacity broke briefly from cover.

‘What took you to Japan, Malory?’

‘I was a Lutheran missionary. Very young and very naive. I believed it was my duty to spread the word of God. And I set about my duty with the kind of energy only the very young and very naive possess. I’m pained to recall how insensitive I was, forcing pamphlets and prayer-meetings on all those polite, restrained and contented Shintoists and Buddhists. I’m lucky no one tossed a rock at my head. I wouldn’t blame them now if they had.’

‘How long did you last?’

‘Three years. Three wasted years. Except that I learnt how beautiful the country is and how remarkable its people are. I gained much more from the experience than they did.’

‘Does that mean you know how Kuroda’s mind works?’

‘Goodness, no. But it does mean I know better than to try to understand how it works. The greatest honour the Japanese do us is to refrain from telling us how stupid they think we are. I told Travis that once.’

‘How did he take it?’

‘He said he likes it when someone thinks he’s stupid. It makes it easier to outwit them.’

‘I doubt he’d find it easy to outwit Kuroda.’

‘I doubt that too.’

‘Do you ever think of going back to Japan?’

‘I will, one day.’ Malory smiled brightly at him, then added, bafflingly, ‘Something tells me you will too.’

Max found it hard to believe he really was no longer under surveillance, despite Morahan’s confidence on the point. He went down into Pyramides Métro station, bought a ticket to Gare de l’Est and waited on the platform with a smattering of other passengers, none of whom seemed to pay him the slightest attention. He gave them a lot of his, and elicited nothing in the way of a suspicious reaction. Then the train rolled in and everyone climbed aboard.

Max stood inside the doors for a few moments, then stepped back out. There was time for anyone following him to do the same, but no one moved. The doors closed. The train rolled out. And Max was alone on the platform.

GILBERT MELLISH, SURREY
solicitor, possessor of a finely honed professional manner, a balding dome of a head, an aldermanly paunch and an expression of practised neutrality, settled himself in the armchair to which he had been directed and pulled a bulging file from his briefcase. He gazed at his audience through thick-lensed glasses that magnified his eyes disquietingly, and cleared his throat.

The widow, brother-in-law, eldest son and daughter-in-law of his late lamented client, Sir Henry Maxted, were gathered in a semicircle around him. Of Sir Henry’s younger son there was no sign and Mellish had as yet sought no clarification of Sir Ashley’s statement that ‘My brother can’t be with us.’

Winifred, the Dowager Lady Maxted, appeared calm and composed. Her brother, George Clissold, sat beside her, regarding Mellish through heavy lids. Sir Ashley was altogether more alert, sitting upright in his chair and fiddling with his tie. He had made no reference to the somewhat testy telephone conversation he had had with Mellish two days previously, though the frown on the face of Lydia, the junior Lady Maxted, suggested she for one was well aware of it. Mellish’s correctitude had evidently failed to meet with her approval.

‘It’s my understanding that you’re all familiar with Sir Henry’s wishes for the disposition of his estate,’ Mellish said by way of preamble.

‘Yes,’ said Ashley. ‘We are.’

‘Gresscombe Place and the entailed farmland is yours, Sir
Ashley, along with five sixths of the income it generates, one sixth being reserved for your mother.’

‘Henry laid these matters before us some years ago, Mr Mellish,’ said Winifred. ‘There is no confusion on anyone’s part.’

‘Indeed not.’

‘There are no other beneficiaries, then,’ said Lydia.

Mellish wondered if she was thinking of herself, but was inclined to suspect she was more concerned about her absent brother-in-law. He nodded. ‘There are not.’

‘I have the death certificate issued by the French authorities, Mellish,’ said Ashley. ‘Armed with that, I assume you can set about applying for probate.’

‘Ah, there a small complication arises, I’m afraid.’

Ashley frowned. ‘Why?’

‘My firm has not been appointed as an executor of the will.’

‘A mere detail. As executor, I will—’

‘Neither have you, Sir Ashley.’