Being called on the carpet a second time in one week in front of the Prime Minister of Great Britain is not something I would recommend. Salisbury’s mood was so dark he was taking small pills for his digestion as if they were sweets. How much power did he have, I wondered, and how far could these powers extend? Could they close the agency? Could we be tossed in jail, or rather, prison? I’d already experienced the latter and had promised myself never to give cause to go there again. Being married made me want to avoid it even more.
Over and above our circumstances there was something that made our situation even more wretched. Commissioner Munro had come to gloat. It was difficult for him to hide the glee from his face, which was just as well; he did not have the face for it. He probably did not smile from one year to the next and those particular muscles had atrophied.
“I don’t know why I let you continue with this little charade, Barker,” the Prime Minister said in a low voice. “Knights Templar or no, I should never have trusted you. You have caused an international incident. You are complicit in the death of an Austrian aristocrat and their embassy has asked for an investigation.”
“I’m certain—” Barker began.
“Don’t interrupt!” Salisbury thundered. “You’ve damaged our reputation with the Vatican and the Roman Catholic Church. The Archbishop of Canterbury regrets trusting you. Munro here regrets suggesting your name for the assignment.”
“Had I known,” the commissioner said, “what a blunder you would make of a simple trip across the Channel, the work of an hour or two, I’d have had one of my own men take responsibility for it.”
“You have sullied the name of the Knights Templar, if such a thing were even possible,” Salisbury continued. “And Her Majesty’s government is considering making charges against you. Against both of you. I hear, Mr. Llewelyn, that it was you that dropped a priceless antiquity into the Channel.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “It was.”
It was easier just to agree than to argue over the circumstances or make a vain attempt to explain what had happened.
“Mr. Barker, your incompetence has been a disgrace to our country. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
I’d been so absorbed with my own misery since we’d arrived that I had not taken the time to look at the Guv. However, at that moment, the man was relaxed. There was not a shred of anxiety in his entire body. It was if he’d been thinking of something else entirely during the tirade, such as needing to get some new tobacco, or whether he might visit our barber for a shave.
“Well?”
Barker snuffed as if aware just now that some answer was required of him. Then he rummaged around in the inside pocket of his coat until he found an envelope.
I’d seen it in his hand right before the battle in Craig’s Court. He placed it on the very edge of the Prime Minister’s desk, teetering there, so that it had to be snatched from the farthest corner.
Salisbury pulled it open with enough ferocity as to nearly rip it to shreds. I saw the Prime Minister blanch as he scanned it and then sit back in his chair. He read the letter, then he read it again, then a third time just to be certain the wording had not changed since the second. At last, the paper fell on his blotter. Heedless of protocol, Munro pounced on it like an old tom and began to read it.
“You posted it?” Salisbury exclaimed. “You posted the manuscript?”
“Aye, sir,” the Guv answered. “It seemed the best method to get it to its destination safely. I trust Her Majesty’s postal service, even if you do not. As for the Continental mail, I thought them capable of managing to get a simple package to Vatican City without incident, which is precisely what happened.”
“But the satchel was quite heavy. There were so many sheets of glass.”
“Ah, there was. I consulted an expert in the matter and he assured me that the entire manuscript could be pressed between four panes only. He arranged them very carefully—carefully enough for the manuscript curator at the Vatican Library.”
“So the other sheets of glass—”
“Remained in the original satchel.”
“And the copy in the Home Office’s possession was a fake.”
“Aye, sir. When it was taken from my safe, no one questioned its contents.”
“I see. What, then, is this business with the silk hose?”
“Silk hose?” I cried, tearing the letter from the hands of the Commissioner of the London Metropolitan Police Force. My eyes took it all in.
Mr. Cyrus Barker
7 Craig’s Court
Charing Cross, London
Dear Mr. Barker,
This is to inform you that the manuscript you sent to us has arrived safely. It has been stored carefully in the vault and is pending a decision from Cardinal Bettini and the other officials as to when and where it will be translated. I was surprised when the package arrived in a manner contrary to what we expected, but was gratified that it was received in such excellent shape. Neither damp nor handling has affected the text in any way that we can see.
I must admit yours was one of the most unusual packages this library has seen. These eyes have witnessed a hundred things used as packing materials, from wool, fleece, wood pulp, and wads of cotton, but this is the first time we have encountered silk hose as a means of cushioning a priceless article. It was satisfactory, but you might consider something more practical should you find another item to send to our vault.
In Christ’s name,
Cardinal Russo
Vatican Library Curator
“Hose,” I moaned.
“It came to hand, sirs, and seemed a plausible way to protect the delicate manuscript.”
“You waited several days to receive word from Rome?” the Prime Minister asked.
“I did, sir. It was my attempt to keep Arnstein and his conspirators occupied, unaware the actual manuscript was hundreds of miles away.”
“When did you post it?” Munro demanded.
“First thing on the second day.”
“But it was in the vault of the Cox and Co. Bank that morning!”
“It was, for a while, and then it wasn’t. Should the day ever arrive that I cannot outwit a band of CID men I shall close my offices and retire.”
“The man’s impossible!” the commissioner boomed. “Let me arrest the scoundrel now!”
Salibury frowned, considering what to do next.
“Your order was to take the satchel to Calais.” The Prime Minister sat back in his chair and regarded my employer. “You got round me, Mr. Barker, didn’t you? You irritated me until I gave you permission to do it your own way. You tricked me.”
“I would have refused the offer if I had not had enough room to maneuver. As a rule, I don’t care for courier work. There are too many restrictions.”
“So, gentlemen, you managed to both deliver the package and find the killer of Hillary Drummond. You may have thrown a bit of mud on the Home Office’s shoes, but you avenged the death of one of our best agents.”
Barker shrugged his shoulders in reply.
“What about your interference with the messages that come in and out of Whitehall? Will there be any more assaults?”
“There is no reason. I merely needed a show of strength.”
Barker stood and cracked the muscles in his neck. We had in no way been dismissed yet, but he pulled his coat about him and began to button it.
“If there’s nothing else, we have potential clients waiting.”
“Ummm, yes.”
“Oh, and be certain to send for us if we can ever be of service to you again.”
Salisbury’s jaw fell open and then he burst into laughter. He was still laughing when we left his office. Munro was at our heels, pulling a particularly dour face.
“Commissioner,” the Guv said. “Will you walk with me? There is a matter we should discuss.”
We left by the front door at last, that famous black door with the ornamental lamp hanging over it. We were an odd trio, two private enquiry agents and the Commissioner of the London Metropolitan Police Force. I walked behind, having no way to know what would happen next.
“We don’t like each other, do we, Commissioner?” my employer asked Munro.
“We most certainly do not.”
“Nor were you a favorite of Pollock Forbes.”
“Are you gloating?” Munro asked. “If you do, I would prefer to walk alone, thank you.”
“Pollock Forbes did not trust you. He gave the helm of the Knights Templar to me, to do with as I will.”
“You are beginning to irritate me, Barker. Say what you have to say.”
“We do not get along, but I believe you to be an honest man. Even trustworthy in your own way. Forbes convinced me to take over the Templars, and yet I do not want it, not all of it, anyway. There may be pertinent information that Scotland Yard might not only need, but need in a hurry. I have a small practice here, precious but small, and were I fully invested in the society, I would have to give it up, which is something I would never do.”
Munro frowned as if he were certain he was being tricked, only he wasn’t certain how.
“We shall lock horns a great deal, but I suggest we share the duties of running the Knights Templar.”
“In exchange for what?” the commissioner asked.
“In exchange for not having to run the blasted thing myself. I am not accustomed to the kind of frivolities enjoyed by many societies, for example. Nor do I care for the rituals.”
Munro stopped and stared, bushy brows meeting in the middle.
“I’ll never get you, Barker, as long as I live.”
“No, Commissioner, I don’t think you will.”
“Why join a secret society if you do not socialize or enjoy rituals?”
“Because it brings together men of importance in order to do the most good.”
“You want power, then.”
“No, I most definitely do not want power. Do you? Have you plans to take the Prime Minister’s position? Have I misjudged you?”
“All I want is to have an efficiently run police force and to see it safely into the new century.”
“I want that as well.”
“You’re still sore about my turning you down for the constable’s position all those years ago!” Munro cried, laughing.
“It rankled for a time, I’ll admit, but if you had not refused me, I would not have opened my offices.”
“And become a thorn in my flesh.”
“A messenger to harass you and keep you from becoming conceited.”
“Second Corinthians 12:8. Only it is a messenger from Satan, as I recall.”
They walked in silence for a while, lost in thought, as I dogged their steps.
“How will I know what is best for us to do?” Munro asked. “It would be so much better if you would just turn the society over to me fully. I have the men to do what needs to be done.”
“I prefer a system of checks and balances,” the Guv said. “You will not get what you want all of the time, and neither will I, but we will get some of it.”
“Do not think I will promise not to throw you in a cell just because we are working together. I shall not accede to that.”
“I would not ask. My solicitor is on retainer. He needs to earn his keep.”
“Let me consider the matter and get back to you.”
“No,” my employer said, shaking his head. “You must decide now, or the offer is rescinded.”
Munro blustered. His face turned red and his hands balled into fists.
“You are the most infuriating man in all of London. Of England, in fact!”
“That is a high compliment, sir, and is corroborated by many in this town.”
“Very well,” Munro said. “I accept, the Lord help me. We shall divide our duties later. Do you require men to transcribe messages?”
“Perhaps later, although I have a man working on them at the moment. I will see that they are sent to you personally.”
“Scotland Yard, sir,” I said.
“What?” the Guv asked.
“We are here. Scotland Yard is right there.”
“Thank you, Thomas.”
“Come to my office tomorrow afternoon. I shall clear my schedule.”
“Two o’clock?”
“Fine.”
“Good day, Commissioner.”
“Barker.”
We parted company. The air was cold and crisp and dazzlingly clear. I tucked my stick under my good arm and slid my hands into my pockets.
“Thomas,” Barker said, with an air of disapproval. “Pray take your hands from your pockets. It reflects upon the agency.”
“Oh, good,” I said. “At least one thing hasn’t changed.”
Barker raised his blackthorn and a cab came to our feet. Slowly, we crawled aboard.
“Newington, driver! I’d say we’ve earned a day off, don’t you?”