The Aquila Project (18 page)

The guard on the main entrance stood aside, and Kershaw led his men up a narrow wooden staircase. The first-floor landing gave entrance to a number of offices, all locked for the weekend. They ran up to the second floor, where a door stood wide open. They rushed into the room that had been used by the would-be assassin.

Count von und zu Thalberg, who was kneeling beside Doctor Franz Kessler's body, looked up as they entered. He was holding two folded sheets of paper in his hand.

‘Well done, Kershaw,' he said. ‘You got him straight through the heart. Look at him! Look at the surprise in his dead eyes. He never saw you, of course.'

‘Like all these fanatics, he was an over-reacher,' said Kershaw. ‘I'll go now, and look in some of these other rooms. I expect you know what I'll be looking for.'

When Kershaw left the room, Box watched as Thalberg
carefully
placed the two folded documents into the inside pocket of Kessler's jacket. When he withdrew his hand, it was covered in blood. Count von und zu Thalberg saw Box's sudden movement of revulsion, and got to his feet.

‘Inspector Box,' he said, in his faultless unaccented English, ‘you and I have been allies in the past, and I think you know what desperate fanatics myself and Colonel Kershaw have to deal with. To us, and to Baron Augustyniak, the peace of Europe, and the security of its peoples, are of paramount interest. You look with distaste at this dead fanatic lying at our feet; think of the millions – yes,
millions
– of innocent people whose lives we have saved by preventing that man from plunging all Europe into eternal night.'

‘Sir—'

‘It's all right, Mr Box. No apology is necessary. But I just want to say a few words more to you before we bring this business at the bridge to a close. I'm speaking to you now as a German. Your brilliant deductions at Polanska Gory have led directly to the preservation today of our Kaiser and Fatherland. I think you'll find that your deeds of this fateful week will not go unnoticed or unrewarded by the Imperial Family.'

Count von und zu Thalberg retrieved a black overcoat and a silk hat from a chair where he had thrown them. He looked angry and determined, like a man bent on a mission of vengeance.

‘I'm going now, Mr Box,' he said. ‘There's a great deal to be done in Berlin today, as this fellow was only the agent of another. This gang – The Thirty – will be rounded up and rendered
impotent
by nightfall. Once we have ensured that the Prussian State Telegraph system is uncompromised, Colonel Kershaw will use his own special powers to see that the remnants of this criminal gang in England are removed permanently from the political scene. Baron Augustyniak will do likewise, once we have communicated this afternoon to his adjutant in Warsaw. Goodbye, Mr Box. Perhaps we will meet again, some time.'

When Thalberg had gone, Box looked down at the dead body lying at his feet. He noted that a powerful rifle lay on the floor nearby, where it had dropped from Kessler's nerveless fingers. He had first seen this cruel and crazed man at the gunsmith's near Covent Garden, and now he had come to this, his mad dreams of power smashed by Colonel Kershaw's unerring bullet. Count von und zu Thalberg had hinted at further bloodletting to take place in Berlin that day. Well, that was his affair.

Box walked out on to the deserted landing. Strong sunlight was pouring through a window on to the polished boards of the corridor. What were those scratches running parallel across the floor? They disappeared into a room further along the passage. Box the detective knew what those marks were: the scraping left by the heels of boots when their owner was being dragged,
unconscious
or dead, across a floor. Box entered the room.

Colonel Kershaw was standing motionless, with arms folded, over the body of Anton Grunwalski. He lay on his back in a pool of blood, and it did not take an expert to see that his throat had been cut.

‘You were right, Box,' said Kershaw, glancing at the inspector. ‘You said that Grunwalski was merely a detail of the grand
deception
. Kessler would have brought him up here, continuing the pretence that Grunwalski was to be the assassin. God knows what the poor man would have done if that had really been the case. I am convinced that he would never have betrayed my trust.'

‘Perhaps he would have shot Kessler instead, sir.'

‘He might well have done. Perhaps Kessler feared that. So he stunned Grunwalski, dragged him in here, and cut his throat. It's quieter than a gun, you know.'

Colonel Kershaw looked down at the body once more, and then walked to the door.

‘I'm very angry at what has happened to Grunwalski,' he said. ‘Kessler was merely the agent of someone else, and I intend to destroy that “someone” for this. But not just yet. Come on, Box,
let's get out of this slaughterhouse. By next Tuesday, God willing, you and I will be back in good old England.'

As the two men descended the stairs to the street below, the bells of the Chapel on the Bridge rang out again, and the crowds set up a mighty cheer to greet the reappearance on the bridge of William II, Emperor of Germany and King of Prussia.

As the sun set over Berlin in a splendour of red and gold, Arnold Box and his old ally Sergeant-Major Schmidt stood on the roof of the barracks of the 32nd Imperial Field Regiment, savouring the peace and stillness of the scene spread out before them. It was the evening of Sunday, 22 July.

‘You can see the whole city from up here,' Schmidt was saying. ‘There's the new cathedral, rising up above the Kaiser Wilhelm Bridge. There's the Column of Victory…. That's the Reichstag over there: magnificent, don't you think, Herr Box? There's the Brandenburg Gate…. There's….'

The old sergeant-major's voice faltered, and he gave vent to a deep sigh.

‘What's the matter, Mr Schmidt?' asked Box.

‘I don't know, Herr Box, it's just a feeling. That sunset – I
sometimes
think that there's more to this twilight than just the time of day. There's a raging spirit abroad, a spirit of greed and violence, of self-interest, and a growing love of the kind of nightmare that that madman Nietzsche exalts as the coming world. Will our great city of Berlin endure? Or is it just waiting in readiness for its own sun to set? One day, people like Kessler might triumph, and then all this will fall to ruin.'

The sun disappeared from sight beyond the Tiergarten, and a sudden breeze made the two men shiver. Sergeant-Major Schmidt seemed to awake from his gloomy reverie. He gave vent to one of his throaty chuckles.

‘There, Mr Box! I'm dreaming! This weekend has been a glorious victory, and next week you will be back in England. The
great ones have conferred together, and the eagle's nest is cleansed. So come, my friend, let us go downstairs and drink each other's health. All will be well.'

V
ANESSA
D
RAKE
LOOKED
critically at her reflection in the bedroom mirror. She saw a young lady of twenty-one, very fair and slim, clad in a long dark-blue coat with a high collar. She was wearing a designedly frivolous matching hat, adorned with dyed feathers, and a decorative half veil. Yes, she would do.

On the Wednesday morning following her night at Lipton’s Hotel she had been taken by Arnold Box to his old father’s Cigar Divan and Hair-Cutting Rooms in Oxford Street, and there she had stayed very comfortably in a suite of upstairs rooms recently vacated by old Mr Box. She had lived there for a fortnight, enjoying the company of Toby Box and his faithful staff, and listening to stirring tales of life on the beat in the 1860s.

Yesterday, the 26 July, Inspector Box and Jack Knollys had called upon her in Oxford Street, to tell her that she was no longer in danger, and that they had come to escort her home to Westminster. They had travelled by cab, and Mr Box had taken the opportunity to tell her that Doctor Franz Kessler was dead. So much for old Mr Minty, she’d thought. He’d been a rude, silly, bad-tempered man, who had no idea how to treat a young woman. How dare he call her a clumsy clodhopper!

And now, Colonel Kershaw had invited her to accompany him to Baron Augustyniak’s house in St John’s Wood, so that she could hear some facts about the mission in which she’d been involved.
He would be here within minutes. Did she look all right? There was the bell jangling downstairs. She picked up her reticule from the table, and hurried out on to the landing. The colonel’s carriage had arrived.

The white villa in Cavendish Gardens glowed in the strong morning sun as Colonel Kershaw rang the bell. Evidently, Quiller the butler was busy elsewhere, because it was sixteen-year-old Ellen Saunders who opened the front door.

‘Colonel Kershaw and Miss Drake, to see Baron Augustyniak.’

Ellen gave them both a neutral glance, dropped her eyes, and curtsied. It came as a shock to Vanessa to realize that her fellow-housemaid of a fortnight ago had failed to recognize her.

‘Come this way, please,’ said Ellen, and preceded them to the baron’s study. ‘Colonel Kershaw and Miss Drake,’ she said, and closed the door quietly behind them.

Baron Augustyniak sprang up from his desk, and shook hands with Kershaw. He looked in the best of spirits, his mane of blond hair swept back from his high forehead, his beard newly trimmed, and his monocle in his right eye.

‘Colonel!’ he cried. ‘And Miss, er—’

‘Drake. Miss Drake is my confidential secretary. She knows as much as I do about The Thirty.’

‘Indeed? Well, then, we can speak openly of our business in Poland. It would seem that The so-called Thirty have been rendered harmless. None of them escaped us in Poland, and Thalberg has been very busy indeed in Germany these last few days. He did well, and so did your associate, Inspector Box. A remarkable young man, that.’

Baron Augustyniak was almost unconsciously admiring the elegant Miss Drake as he spoke. Vanessa noted the little puzzled frown that marred his brow, and smiled to herself.

‘All’s well here, too, Baron,’ said Kershaw. ‘A number of people in high places have been rendered neutral, and others have taken
warning at what happened to them. The fangs of The Thirty have been well and truly drawn. And so you have decided to settle permanently in England?’

Baron Augustyniak sighed, and shook his head.

‘I will not beat about the bush, Kershaw. I’ve been dismissed. The Okhrana was not very pleased with my role in the affair. They said, in fact, that I had allowed myself to be used as a dupe, and that it would be agreeable to all if I retired. I agreed, of course.

‘So here I am, domiciled in England, where I can devote my time to building up my Polish Institute. I have a lovely home, a lovely wife, and a new vocation!’

Vanessa saw Colonel Kershaw smile, but he made no reply.

‘And now— Ah!’ cried Augustyniak, springing up once again from his chair. ‘Of course! Miss Drake – or Susan Moore, isn’t it? My dear girl, I wondered….’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Vanessa. She found herself blushing in spite of herself. For a fleeting moment she was the housemaid, and he was the master of the house.

‘Well, I think you did very well, my dear, though I knew all along that you were actually Colonel Kershaw’s little girl spy. Your real name, I seem to remember, is Gertie Miller, and you were already known to the police. Still, if you were working for Colonel Kershaw all the time, that puts a different complexion on things.’

The baron’s words told Vanessa and Kershaw that he still did not know that both the police constable and the sergeant who had ‘arrested’ Gertie Miller were also Kershaw’s agents.

The baron went over to his desk, and picked up the framed Polish coin.

‘I’d like you to have this, Miss Drake,’ he said, ‘as a token of my personal esteem. It will remind you of the desperate adventure in which you participated, a venture which ultimately saved the whole of Europe, and Britain too, from a devastating war. And I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize for treating you so
roughly when I discovered you in the silver-cupboard. I had to convince the others, you see, that I was really angry, so that I could deliver you safely into the hands of the police.’

Baron Augustyniak placed the Polish coin into Vanessa’s hand.

‘Goodbye, Miss Drake,’ he said. ‘Kershaw, I think we are all agreed that this business in Berlin should remain a secret, at least for the near future. Europe is calm again. Let sleeping dogs lie.’

Some minutes later, they took their leave of Baron Augustyniak. Ellen passed them in the corridor as they made their way to the front door, and automatically dropped them a little curtsy.

‘Sir,’ whispered Vanessa, ‘will you wait for me in the carriage? I shan’t be a few minutes.’

Vanessa hurried after the little housemaid, who was on her way to the flower-room.

‘Ellen!’ she cried. ‘Don’t you recognize me? It’s Susan!’

The girl turned round sharply, and her face broke out into a brilliant smile.

‘Coo! Is it really you, Susan? They said you were a thief, and known to the police. I cried myself to sleep that night, thinking of you. So you’re really called Miss Drake? Are you a spy, like the Master?’

Vanessa started in surprise. How on earth did Ellen know that? Somebody had once told her that servants knew everything. Perhaps it was true.

‘Yes,’ Vanessa replied, ‘I’m a spy, but it’s a big secret, and you’re not to tell anyone. As for the baron – well, he’s doing special secret work for England, and when I was caught by the gang in the silver closet, he pretended that I was a thief, so that the police would come and rescue me. And they did. But don’t tell anyone.’

‘I won’t, Susan, I promise. And what about your young man? The one who turned out to be a brute? Did he ever come back to you?’

‘Yes, he did. He went down on his knees on the cobbles and asked me to forgive him, which I did. He’s a spy, too. But you’re not to tell anyone.’

‘Oh, no. It’s like a story, isn’t it? I’m ever so glad to know you’re all right.’

Vanessa opened her reticule, and withdrew a beautifully wrapped one-pound box of Fortnum and Mason’s chocolates.

‘These are for you, my dear,’ she said. ‘You were very kind to me when I worked with you here, and I’ll never forget you.’

Vanessa gave Ellen a quick hug, and hurried away to join Colonel Kershaw. No one was about, so she pulled the front door shut after her.

‘Coo!’ said Ellen Saunders in ecstasy.

As the carriage turned into Regent’s Park, Colonel Kershaw asked Vanessa a question.

‘When is Sergeant Knollys going to marry you, missy? Or, to put it another way, when are you going to marry
him
?’

Should she blush? No, the question was a serious one, and, coming from Colonel Kershaw, it would have an ulterior motive.

‘If he would name the day, sir, I’d marry him in a flash.’

‘Hm…. And I suppose that after you were married, you’d want to give up being one of my nobodies. Or perhaps Sergeant Knollys would expect you to do so.’

‘No, sir!’ Vanessa was surprised at the vehemence of her tone. ‘I want to work for you until I’m no longer of use. And Jack thinks the same as I do. We’ve discussed all this before.’

‘Good, I’m glad. Now, during the last year, you’ve carried out two missions for me in which you’ve infiltrated a private house, and set yourself the task of finding things out. When I sent you to Baroness Felssen’s mansion, you almost lost your life – your fault, I hasten to add, not mine. And you lasted just long enough at Baron Augustyniak’s to find out things of prime importance. You’re no longer a “nobody”, Miss Drake, and I should like to offer you promotion in my organization to the rank of
agent
surveillant.
That is a person who trains to assume a number of different roles – a servant, perhaps, or a clerk, or even a
nursemaid,
and the work involves penetration of a suspect household. It can be dangerous work, but as you know, you would never be more than a breath away from help. There’s a stipend that goes with being an
agent
surveillant
– twenty-five pounds a year. It makes you a fully-fledged agent in the Secret Intelligence. Do you accept?’

‘Oh, yes, sir!’ There seemed no more to say, but perhaps it would be as well to show that she was not entirely consumed by emotion.

‘Poor Baron Augustyniak,’ she sighed. ‘It was kind of him to give me his coin as a keepsake. It seems so unfair that he should be dismissed, after all that he did to lure The Thirty into his net.’

Colonel Kershaw laughed. What a splendid girl she was! He rather hoped that she would never lose that endearing quality of naïvety.

‘Dismissed? Nonsense! The good baron’s firmly fixed in the higher echelons of the Imperial Russian Police. They’ve decided to station him permanently here in England, and “dismissal” is as good an excuse as any other. He knows I don’t believe him. Well, I rather like the idea of having him here. Like speaks to like, you know. Whenever the Russian Question rears its head, I’ll talk directly to him, and leave Sir Charles Napier to engage in subtle talk with the diplomats.’

When they finally reached Tufton Street in Westminster, Kershaw handed Vanessa down from the carriage, and stood watching her as she entered the gaunt former convent building where she had her home.

On the 30 July, which was a Wednesday, Colonel Kershaw broke one of his unwritten rules by calling for Arnold Box at King James’s Rents. He waited patiently in the vestibule until Box came hurrying out of his office to join him. The inspector was wearing a sober black suit, relieved at the throat by one of the new wing
collars and a dark blue tie. He was wearing black gloves, and was rather self-consciously carrying a tall silk hat.

‘Hello, Mr Box,’ said Kershaw, ‘you’re looking very
distinguished
this morning, if I may say so. Now, we’ve plenty of time, so I suggest we take a leisurely walk to 9 Carlton House Gardens, and on the way I’ll tell you a few things about our adventure that haven’t yet come to the public notice.’

The two men were going to visit the German Embassy at Prussia House, at the express invitation of the Ambassador, Count Paul von Hatzfeldt-Wildenburg, where they were both to receive the official thanks of the German Emperor for their part in the destruction of his would-be assassins.

‘There’s nothing to be nervous about, Box,’ said Kershaw, as they walked from Great Scotland Yard into Whitehall. ‘The ambassador will greet us by name, and then say whatever he’s going to say. After that, we’ll be free to go about our business.’

‘There’s something that I’ve been wanting to ask you, sir,’ said Box. ‘When we came upon the dead body of Kessler, Count Thalberg seemed to be stuffing the dead man’s pockets with papers or letters—’

‘Let me tell you the story of those papers,’ Kershaw interrupted. ‘You recall Major Blythe? Well, I commissioned him to save your colleague Detective-Inspector Fitzgerald from disgrace and dismissal, and then I promptly got him and his light fantastic boys to burgle Kessler’s safe in Prussia House. A very valuable addition to my people, is Bobby Fitz. Oh, yes, he’s working full time for me, now.

‘Those papers included a list of English professional men who were willing to assist Kessler and his master in the event of their being successful in Berlin. I have already acted on the contents of that paper, Box. But there were also copies of letters from Kessler to his master, a man called Count von Donath, President of the Prussian Court of Requests, which revealed both men’s treachery to the Kaiser and the German Empire. I entrusted Count von und
zu Thalberg with the task of “planting” those papers on Kessler’s corpse. By doing so, we ensured that both Kessler and the slippery von Donath would be brought to book. Clever, don’t you think?’

‘And this man von Donath—’

‘That man von Donath, Mr Box, was the evil genius behind the whole enterprise. Sir Charles Napier had severe doubts about him, and alerted me to his existence last May. He was a man who connived at secret murders. It was his hand, as much as that of Kessler, that was on the hilt of the dagger that killed Grunwalski.’

Colonel Kershaw stopped speaking, and his mouth set in a grim line. Box knew that he was thinking of his failure to save the life of his own agent.

‘What will happen to this Count von Donath?’ asked Box, as they turned into Cockspur Street.

‘Happen? He’s dead, Box. A few days after we foiled the attempt on the Kaiser’s life, he drank cyanide mixed in a glass of wine, and perished immediately. Beside him was a freshly-opened letter, which hinted at blackmail, and revealed that the writer knew all about his secret plans for the Germany of the future.’

‘So he committed suicide?’ said Box, half to himself.

‘Yes. Or maybe – maybe someone set out to avenge the death of one of von Donath’s victims. That is not at all beyond the bounds of possibility.’