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I was standing by one of the large, panelled windows in my Pimlico flat, looking out over the little garden that occupied the centre of the square in which I lived. It was a glorious spring day, bright sunshine and only the merest hint of a cloud in the sky. The trees and shrubbery in the garden were covered with flawless, fresh leaves, in such a delightful shade of soft, velvet-like green that they looked almost man-made. An elderly couple, the gentleman aided by the use of a walking stick, were strolling through the garden, seemingly content to enjoy nature’s beauty and, perhaps, to engage in a little conversation.
They would not, I felt sure, be discussing the recent events in Scotland that had so occupied my time, since, in the interests of national security, the Government had insisted the newspaper people not mention a word of it and, like all good Englishmen, they had abided by this prohibition. That rather suited me, as I was not the least bit keen on giving an account of myself to some over-eager reporter type, flourishing his notepad and badly-worn pencil. The limelight was most definitely not something I craved. No, I had other things on my mind. Rather pressing things, as it happened.
I had returned to London the day before, after spending two delightful days with my godparents, who had, once again, spoiled me terribly. After my narrow escape from the claws of Sneijder, my godmother had been utterly desperate to shower me with every little luxury she could conjure up, perhaps worried I might find myself in a similar situation on my return journey and, on this occasion, fail to escape with my life. It was a blow to have to leave them when the time came, but London and my job called, so I left them on the platform at Glasgow station, my godmother having insisted they accompany me that far, from where I caught the night train back south. Of course, I was obliged to inform them of my safe arrival the very second I set foot on the ground at Euston station.
There had been but one thing, other than Sneijder and his co-conspirators, that had occupied my thoughts on the train during the journey south and that was my utter determination to be married to Caroline at the earliest opportunity, should she be willing to have me, of course. My brush with death had made me see how things might be suddenly taken away from a person and left me with a clear picture that I should not delay seizing such momentous and joyous opportunities for any longer than I absolutely needed to. I also decided it would be a very good thing to spend a little more time with my parents, whom I had, in recent years, visited shamefully infrequently, although they were far too loving to ever say anything of the sort to me.
Thus, on the very afternoon of my arrival back in London, having first washed and changed into some clean clothing at my flat, I made my way across town to the Carsons’ family home, sought and obtained consent from Caroline’s father to marry his eldest daughter, then made my nervous proposal to Caroline in the privacy of the small garden at the back of their house. I must admit, I think I was rather more nervous than I had been while looking down the barrel of that revolver in Scotland, but I dropped to one knee and made my plea to my darling Caroline.
She is a terrible tease sometimes, my fiancée, and she dithered a little too long for comfort before she put me out of my misery and said yes, practically knocking me off my feet when she threw herself at me in celebration. I do believe half of London already knows about the engagement. Of course, my decision being such an impulsive one, I did not have a ring to give her, but she was not put off by such an oversight and assured me we would soon make a visit to Hatton Garden in search of something suitably expensive. For a while, I feared I would become a bankrupt even before we reached the wedding day.
But my business in London at that time was not all concerned with marriage proposals and weddings. On the morning of my second day back, I had received a visitor to my flat, a round-faced man, with an entirely bald head and extravagantly large eyebrows, in which could have nested a wren or two. I thought at first that he was one of those pedlars of life insurance policies who go door to door, hoping to tempt some poor soul into parting with a sizeable sum of money in return for very little by way of benefit. Indeed, I had all but slammed the door shut on him when, in a quiet, firm voice, he mentioned the name Sneijder, at which I stopped and stared at him in a state of mild shock. How, I wondered, could he possibly know that name? For a moment, I feared he might be some sort of conspirator of the Doctor’s, come to exact a terrible revenge, but as I hesitated, the bald man pushed his way in and sat himself down in my sitting room.
“Who are you?” I demanded, rather confounded by his lack of good manners.
“You don’t need to know my name,” he replied, speaking with a distinct Welsh accent, soft and melodic. “Only that I represent His Majesty’s Government.”
“You mentioned a name just now.”
“Sneijder?”
“That’s the one. I don’t suppose that was a coincidence?”
“Would you believe me if I claimed it was?”
“No.” There was a pause as I eyed the fellow up. His suit looked a little cheap, but his shoes were well polished and his nails clean and clipped. I had met a good many people involved in the government of the Empire during the course of my work and this man sitting before me appeared as good a match as any. “What do you know of Sneijder?”
He looked at me from under those bushy dark brows, as if he was, in turn, weighing me up, something I found a little disturbing. “A German Doctor who has been busy planting dangerous false notions in the minds of British citizens, operating from a house in Scotland.”
“I hope you’re not about to tell me he’s managed to escape.”
“I very much doubt that Doctor Sneijder is going to get a chance to escape, not where he’s locked up. No, Mr Templeman, I am here on a related matter.”
“Mm,” I was keen on finding out what the man had to say for himself, but, for the time being, I was even more keen to hear what had happened to Sneijder since I had left Scotland and this man sitting in front of me might very well be my only opportunity to find out. “Before we get on to your agenda, I’d appreciate you explaining to me what has become of Sneijder and his fellow conspirators since their arrest.”
I sat down on the small, two-seater sofa opposite my guest and made it clear from my attitude that there would be no further conversation until he had met my request.
“That’s fair enough, I suppose.”
He dragged a handkerchief from out of a jacket pocket and blew his nose loudly before continuing. It did occur to me that he might have been giving himself some little time to decide just what he was and was not prepared to share with me, but I cared not, as long as I got a clear statement of events since Sneijder’s arrest.
“Well,” he went on, at length. “Following their arrest, Sneijder and his associates were brought down here to London, then shipped out to a high security prison on Dartmoor. Our best police officers and others,” there was a momentary pause at this point, as if my visitor wanted to underline his reference to these ‘other’ people, “have been interrogating them since then. None of the three have turned out to be the talkative sort, more’s the pity.”
“So, you’re telling me that the police have yet to learn anything useful from them?”
“That’s the long and short of it, yes. But that’s not been our only line of investigation. Excellent records were found at the house in Scotland, including details of all the victims, and specially selected police officers have been interviewing these people and one or two of their relatives.”
He stopped to scratch at the side of one eye and as he did so he noticed a photograph of Caroline on the sideboard. He stared at it for a moment.
“Sister of yours?”
“No, actually it’s my fiancée. I proposed to her yesterday, as it happens. After the recent events in Scotland, I decided I really ought to get on with things, before it was too late.”
“Very sensible. Now then, back to our little story. It turns out that Sneijder had a handful of other people strategically placed around the country. Their job has been to befriend people in positions of influence, identify a family member who could be suggested to have some sort of mental problem, then step in with a helpful suggestion to the relative that they ought to arrange for a consultation with the marvellous Doctor Sneijder. It’s unlikely everyone took up the offer, of course, but plenty did and certainly enough to matter. A well-thought-out scheme, which would have been tricky to spot, if not for what happened to you.”
“Do you know who all these accomplices are?”
“Happily we do. Sneijder made the mistake of keeping names and addresses in a folder at the house in Scotland. We’ve been busy over the last two days paying some unannounced house calls. There’s only been one that’s got away so far. A fellow who saw our men breaking into his property as he was returning home from a visit to the theatre. But don’t worry, we’ll catch up with him soon enough.”
I scratched at the side of my head as I took in what I had been told, rather taken aback at the scale of the operation Sneijder had been running. It certainly wasn’t an amateur scheme.
“That’s quite remarkable. Has this sort of thing been done before?”
“Nothing quite the same as Sneijder’s been doing. We’re more used to your run-of-the-mill spying, trying to gain influence through friendship and blackmail, and attempts at stealing sensitive information. I suppose, though, we’ll have to get used to schemes like this being tried. If it can be done once then it can be done again.”
“There’s a thought and not a pleasant one.” Then something occurred to me that I really ought to have considered before. “But I don’t suppose you have called on me today just to provide me with an update on your progress.”
“Very perceptive of you, Mr Templeman. Indeed, that is not the reason I’m here today.” My visitor shifted in his chair, as if preparing himself for some significant announcement. For a moment, I thought perhaps I ought not to have asked the question, least the result was something I didn’t much like. “His Majesty’s Government is always on the look-out for suitable people to employ, especially in... very specialised roles. The sort of thing that needs a cool head under pressure and an ability to think on your feet. Needs to be someone who can sort things out for themselves, when there’s no one else around to give instructions or directions.”
There was a look of expectation on his face, as if he believed he’d said more than enough to make himself crystal clear. In matter of fact, I didn’t have the foggiest idea what he was talking about and I suppose he must have noticed the confusion in my expression, which I fear was rather clueless.
“We need people of our own to hunt down and root out dangerous men like Sneijder. They’re always out there, trying to undermine the Empire. All the more so right now. And I take it I don’t need to say anything further as to why that might be the case. The right sort are few and far between and my superiors and I are of the opinion you’re just such a man. What you did up there in Scotland has impressed all the right people. Quite excited, some of them are.”
I couldn’t stop my eyebrows from flicking upwards at the surprise of what I’d just been told and I tried to cover up my confusion by leaning back in my chair and bringing my hands together on my lap as if in serious contemplation. After a moment or two, I fashioned a reply, of sorts, though it was a little hard not to laugh, so ridiculous did I consider the proposal.
“You mean, you’re asking me if I’d like to become a spy?”
“The word ‘spy’ isn’t something we like to use. It’s more the sort of thing you get in an adventure story, not the serious business of protecting one’s country. But that’s the general idea, yes. It’s not the sort of offer we make every day of the week. Only the very best candidates get approached. It’s quite a privilege.”
I paused, a sliver of a smile on my face. It seemed I had let into my house a salesman of sorts after all. The fellow appeared rather keen to complete the deal and was already doing a good deal to persuade me to sign up. But it was so out of the blue I found myself almost at once dreaming up a thousand questions, not the least of which was how on earth I would explain such a development to Caroline. Or perhaps the idea was not to say anything at all. Yes, I was flattered, I’ll admit it, but I was also hesitant and confused.
“Well... Of course, I’m keen to help my country, but... as I mentioned, I’m to be married soon and there, no doubt, there will be children. It’s a lot to consider.”
No doubt my guest had received such an uncertain response on previous occasions he’d made such a proposal to a prospective spy, since he appeared not the least put out by my reticence; not a trace of disappointment or surprise on his face.
“You don’t need to make up your mind today, Mr Templeman. You’ll be wanting to think it over. Most people do, not that we ask very many, of course. We run a well-oiled machine, let me say that much. You’ll get some excellent training to help you along the way and one of our more experienced men will guide you through your first year or so. You don’t need to worry about being dropped in the deep end and left to drown.”
“I see. Good.”
“Well, you think it over,” suggested my guest, before rising to his feet and doing up his jacket. “I’ll be back in two days’ time for an answer.”
“Two days.”
I climbed to my feet, still somewhat in a daze, and escorted my visitor to the front door.
“Oh and one more thing,” he said as he placed his hat back on his head. “Best not say anything to that fiancée of yours, or anyone else for that matter. Need to keep these things hush-hush, I’m sure you understand.”
“Yes, Of course.”
I closed the door behind him before returning to my chair, where I sat in silence for almost an hour, confounded and confused by such an unexpected development.
It was a state of mind that had not altogether left me as I rose to my feet and took up station by a window, from where I was able to look out at the park. A middle-aged couple were taking a stroll but I was not at all in the frame of mind to pay them any attention, since I was pre-occupied with the notion that I could, if I so chose, take up the profession of spy. But how to make a decision?
Of one thing I was absolutely certain; prior to the recent events in Scotland, I would not even have considered myself suitable material for any such undertaking. Indeed, I had considered myself really a rather unadventurous and unremarkable sort of fellow. I knew I was the determined sort and quick to adapt to a new situation, but that’s a long way from fighting with enemy spies on a lonely, fog-bound Scottish hillside.
As I gave thought to the unexpected proposal, I begun to see that perhaps I had never given myself sufficient credit for my abilities, not being the kind of person to blow his own trumpet and all that. Maybe I had more about me than I had realised. After all, the odds had been tremendously against me in Scotland and yet I had made it through. It certainly would bring me a life of adventure and excitement if I was to accept and there was, of course, the looming threat of war, when we would all need to put our shoulder to the wheel.
On the other hand, I was about to become a married man and my work, unexciting and often boring as it was, did provide a steady income and one sufficient on which to raise a family. It was a great deal to give up. I found myself deeply regretting not being able to consult Caroline on the matter, for I was sure she would be of considerable help in clearing my mind.
I looked again out the window. The couple walking in the park made their way through the gate on the far side, leaving the trees and shrubbery entirely to the birds. Several of these flew down on to the lawn, where they set about searching for morsels to eat. A Hackney carriage turned in at the top of the square and made its way along the road to a house on the far side, where a woman in a delightful summer dress stepped out on to the pavement before entering the house. For one brief moment I thought it might be Elizabeth Fitzsimon, her blonde hair so similar in tone and form, but she was someone else entirely.
My thoughts returned to Scotland. It had been quite a considerable adventure and I wasn’t sure I wanted it to be the only one of the sort that I experienced in my lifetime. It seemed I had an answer for my visitor when he returned.
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* * * The End * * *
Alexander Templeman will return in a new story.
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From the David Good private investigator series
From ‘Good Investigations’
“Mr Good,” she purred like a hungry cat meeting a blind mouse, “and I do hope you will be.” She slid beautifully, effortlessly in to the knackered old punter’s chair, and I swear the thing wrapped itself lovingly around her sexy, lithe frame. Then she tempted me with those dark bewitching eyes, calling me closer, closer, closer
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From ‘Good Girl Gone Bad’
If you ask me, good girls can be the baddest there are, if the fancy takes them. Maybe it's because they save it all up for one big splurge, then go mad bad. I don't know, but what I do know is that anyone who tries telling you some little darling of theirs' wouldn't say boo to a goose is either stupid, misinformed or both. Any goody two shoes type should carry a health warning, 'Danger, Good Girl. May go bad at any moment'.
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From the Banbury Cross Murder Mystery series
From ‘The Hide and Seek Murders’
Eleanor Golightly never saw so much as a glimpse of the figure that moved up behind her, swift and silent, from the cover of the shrubbery. Indeed, she was only very briefly aware of the immense blow that came crashing down on her head. Just for a second or two, the world seemed to stop in silence, a peculiar sensation that she couldn’t quite get to grips with before it had passed and she collapsed on to the immaculately cut lawn.
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