The moment the door closed behind the prisoner and his escort, Joe sank back into his seat and put his head in his hands. For good or ill, he’d fulfilled his promise to Kingstone to attack the roots. With Swinton out of the picture for a time—probably all too short a time—the mainspring of the organisation was disabled. He wouldn’t be able to order Kingstone’s killing from the depths of Vine Street nick. Well, he’d managed a breathing space for the American at last.

At Kingstone’s request, Joe had asked Miss Snow to book two first-class cabins aboard the Naiad for him, sailing on Wednesday. He’d wave him off with relief, but relief mixed with regret for all the conversations they would never have, the arguments they would never settle. One short weekend in the senator’s company had made him his friend for life, Joe decided with no guilty twinge of sentimentality. He’d admired the way the man had dealt with the assassination attempt, he’d enjoyed the long talks they’d had, driving between London and Surrey. The president, in his troubles, was fortunate to have a steady man at his side, Joe reckoned. A man now forewarned about the clandestine forces intent on influencing the world’s affairs.

And Armitage, the occupant of the second cabin? Damned lucky to be getting away once more. Joe was not comfortable with the idea that the FBI man was watching Kingstone’s back but the two seemed to have an understanding that suited them both. What had Julia told him about her friendship with Natalia? As young things, they’d clung together, swiftly learning how much stronger a pair can be than a single soul working alone. And three was stronger still. Joe smiled at the idea that the Nine Men’s Morris mill of three would be operating again. Two tough men, standing on either side of their leader. All might yet turn out well.

Joe reached for his phone again. Belt and braces was never a bad policy. It was essential that these two good centurions got back home safely. There was one more thing he could do to ensure this.

“Get me the Admiralty, please, Miss,” he asked the operator.

But it was not about to turn out well for Joe. For the second time in his short tenancy in this office he’d overstepped the mark. Swinton would surface eventually and raise hell. Better prepare for it. Wearily, Joe took a sheet of headed writing paper from his desk and wrote out his resignation. He signed it, put it into an envelope and wrote the commissioner’s name on the front. The least he could do was save the old fellow’s face and reputation.

Suddenly free of the tiresome grind of fifteen years, Joe recognised that he didn’t want to grow old sitting at that desk. He’d had enough of investigating dubious people doing nefarious things in London’s underbelly. He was sick of politicians using him to poke their scorching chestnuts out of the fire. He promised himself he’d leave at once, pack a bag, go and find Dorcas and take her off to the south of France. Married first or unmarried, he didn’t much care. Always provided that she’d be willing to hitch herself to a man freshly without profession—and not much in the way of resources, come to think of it. And assuming her affections weren’t being directed to some other quarter. Bloody Truelove! He’d probably left it too late.

Two hours to go before he picked up Kingstone at the conference hall. At last a quiet moment when he could get up to date with his notes. He reached for his notebook and began to write.

As he wrote, an insuperable snag occurred to him in the matter of Natalia’s death. If the powers who decided these things were, when all the evidence was in, minded (or directed) to declare a suicide, they would come upon the problem of the absence of any .22 pistol in her hand, in the car or in the immediate vicinity. What the devil had Armitage done with it? How many more guns had he managed to smuggle into the country? Where was the .22 now? Joe lifted the phone again and left a message for Bacchus.

CHAPTER 27

“Bill! Shouldn’t you be with Cornelius?… What are you doing?”

“God! You startled me! I thought I had the floor to myself this afternoon. Kingstone said you were tying up Natalia’s loose ends. I thought you must have gone over to the clinic. What have you been up to, Julia? How long have you been standing there?”

“I haven’t started standing here yet and with a welcome like that I’m not going to. I’ve just come back from town. I’ve been to see Natalia’s lawyers. Had to be done. I sorted out her things before I left. There wasn’t all that much. There’ll be more at the theatre but I’ll do that tomorrow when I break the news that they’ll have to field a substitute for the opening night. Cornelius brought back some of her stuff from wherever it was she went and I’ve repacked everything in the cabin trunk. No idea what to do with it though. There it is if anyone wants it. Are you going to shoot me with that thing? If not, put it away. I don’t like guns.”

“Come off it, Julia! You know what I do. You’re lucky, creeping up on me like that, that you caught me re-loading. I might have drilled you.”

Armitage regained control of himself and began again. “Come on in! No need to pad about. There’s half an hour to go yet before I pick the boss up. He took pity on me and sent me out of the conference half way through. Too damn boring. Come and have a look. Don’t pull that face! You ought to learn how to load a gun.”

Doubtfully, Julia approached the bureau where Armitage was standing and watched him. He slipped the big gun back into its usual place in the holster in the small of his back.

“Colt Police Positive,” he told her as he tucked it away. “Thirty-eight, four-inch barrel. Not the fastest in a draw but no one talks back to it. That’s for distance work or for making seriously big holes. This is what we use for close up. It’s a twenty-two.”

He produced what Julia thought to be an entirely more acceptable pistol. A neat little thing so long as no one was using it in anger, she ventured to comment.

“And this is how we load it.” He demonstrated. “Why are you shuddering? It’s only a piece of metal when it comes down to it.” In an effort to cancel the impatience in his tone, he added more gently, “Think of it as a life-preserver.”

“Didn’t do much to preserve my Dad’s life. He was mixed up in all sorts of political trouble here and in Russia. I’ve watched him many a night doing just what you’re doing. Playing with his guns. Big old things, not like that one. More likely to blow your hand off than kill anybody. They brought his body back one winter’s night. Dumped it on Ma’s doorstep. I found it when I went out for the bread. Three things I can’t stand the sight of: blood, snow and a man loading up.” Suddenly afraid, Julia kept her voice level and asked, “Bill—are you expecting trouble when the conference turns out?”

“I’m always expecting trouble. That’s why I spend some time checking the guns before I leave to go on duty. Do it carefully and you know it’s done. No need for last-minute twitchiness. Never double-check once you’re out there—that’s a dead giveaway. A man’s hand goes to his holster—you shoot. It’s not ten paces, turn and fire at will in this game.” He put the safety catch on the pistol, showing her how that was done, and then slipped it away in his pocket.

“Why do you need two guns this afternoon?”

“Because the senator doesn’t make my life easy. The risks he takes freeze my blood! He and that Sandilands are two for a pair. The silly buggers parade about without any protection but their own swagger. They’ll have not a gun between them when they get out this afternoon! Armaments are not allowed in the conference building—that’s why I’m picking the boss up when he gets out. And anyway, Kingstone had to hand his pocket gun in to the country police force after his little adventure down in Surrey. Sandilands?—well, London policemen don’t go about armed, however high their rank. He’s got an old Browning somewhere but he probably keeps it in a glass case.”