Blackstone and the Burning Secret (The Blackstone Detective Series Book 4) Page 15

  ‘Possibly he will,’ Blackstone agreed. ‘But as I said earlier, there’s really nothing else I can do.’

  24

  Sir Roderick Todd did not ask the Inspector to take a seat. But then, Blackstone thought, that scarcely came as a surprise. He had never been asked to sit down on any previous occasion, either—and if such a possibility had been offered to him now, his first thought would have been that the chair in question must be strategically placed over a trapdoor. Todd glared at him for several seconds, then said, ‘You’re going to tell me something I’d rather not hear, aren’t you?’

  ‘Why should you think that, sir?’ Blackstone asked.

  ‘Because you’ve come to see me voluntarily, rather than waiting to be summoned. And you only do that when you have something particularly unpleasant to impart. Am I right, Inspector?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Blackstone said, because it was—after all—the truth.

  ‘Tell me the worst, then,’ Sir Roderick said, resignedly.

  Blackstone took a deep breath. ‘I have reason to believe that the mastermind behind the spate of recent arson attacks is a person of some significance, sir,’ he said in a rush.

  Todd frowned. ‘A person of some significance? What are we talking about here? A barrister, perhaps? Or a doctor?’

  ‘No, sir. A lord.’

  Todd shook his head, almost despairingly. ‘I should have expected something like this. You simply never tire of trying to bring your betters down, do you, Blackstone?’

  ‘I have proof, sir.’

  The Assistant Commissioner sighed. ‘Well, now you’re here, I suppose I might as well hear it,’ he said ungraciously.

  Blackstone told Sir Roderick about the visit he had made to the Austro-Hungary Club, the package he had found in the workhouse, and the interview he had conducted with Molly.

  ‘So a common prostitute—a woman of the streets—believes that one of her clients acted as though he were a lord,’ Sir Roderick said, almost echoing Patterson’s earlier comments.

  ‘He wasn’t—’ Blackstone began.

  ‘Well, that’s almost crushingly convincing, isn’t it?’ Sir Roderick interrupted, cuttingly.

  Blackstone tried again. ‘He wasn’t one of her clients, sir.’

  ‘So he chose one of the other whores instead of her. That would explain why she’s out to get him.’

  ‘He wasn’t interested in any of the prostitutes. He was there to gamble—and he lost heavily.’

  ‘And that’s what makes him a lord, is it? That he lost heavily? Don’t you find it strange that though you will have come across the phrase, “As drunk as a lord”, often enough, there doesn’t seem to be one which refers to their addiction to gambling?’

  Patterson had been right, Blackstone thought. Todd wouldn’t see what he didn’t want to see. He hadn’t even bothered to listen closely to what evidence there was.

  ‘What ties the arson attacks in with a lord is not what the prostitute said,’ he explained, as patiently as he was able. ‘The link is the sheet of House of Lords notepaper.’

  ‘So why mention the prostitute at all?’

  The Assistant Commissioner had turned obstructionism into an art form, Blackstone thought.

  ‘I mentioned her because, once we’ve found out through other means who this lord is, she’ll be able to identify him,’ he said.

  ‘But why resort to other means at all?’ Sir Roderick said. ‘Why not go straight to the heart of the matter?’

  ‘I don’t understand, sir.’

  ‘Then I’ll explain it to you, Blackstone. This is what we’ll do. Tomorrow morning, we’ll herd every lord in the country—however important he happens to be—into the most dilapidated police station we can find, and—’

  ‘Sir, we—’

  ‘Perhaps, on reflection, we won’t even bother to use a police station at all. Perhaps we’ll make them line up along the Old Kent Road. And once we’ve got them there, we’ll ask this common prostitute to walk up and down the line and see if she can identify one of them. Would that suit you, Inspector?’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, sir,’ Blackstone replied.

  ‘Good! I’m so pleased to hear that. And why won’t it be necessary, pray tell, Inspector?’

  ‘Because we have a police artist’s sketch of the man.’

  ‘You do? Then would it be too much of an imposition to ask you to show it to me?’

  ‘Of course not, sir,’ Blackstone said, taking the sketch out of his pocket and placing it on the desk.

  In his current obstructionist mood, there were several ways Todd could react to the sketch, Blackstone thought.

  He might choose to belittle it by saying it was a very poor sketch indeed—that it could as easily be of a horse as of a person. He might attempt to undermine its value by claiming it reminded him of his coalman or his baker. He might even simply pronounce it a waste of time, and throw it on the floor.

  Todd chose none of these courses. Instead, he gazed down at the sketch with a growing look of horror on his face.

  ‘Is…is this some kind of joke?’ Todd demanded. ‘Because if you think I’ll find it amusing, Blackstone, I can assure you that you’re entirely wrong.’

  ‘It’s no joke, sir.’

  ‘But you surely know who this is, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t.’

  ‘Good God, man, don’t you read the papers?’

  ‘Not if I can help it, sir.’

  ‘The man in this sketch is—without a shadow of a doubt—Lord Lansdowne himself.’

  Blackstone felt as if the back of his head had been struck hard by a brick. He had thought it likely that the man might be moderately well known or moderately powerful. He had been prepared to learn that he was a personal friend of Sir Roderick Todd’s. But he had never—never—even considered the possibility that Lord Moneybags could be someone so important.

  ‘The…the Minister of War!’ he gasped.

  ‘The Minister of War,’ the Assistant Commissioner agreed. ‘The ex-Governor-General of Canada! The ex-Viceroy of India! And are you seriously trying to tell me that a man of his stature would allow himself to become involved in a scheme to blackmail the Government of which he himself is a part?’

  Blackstone’s head was still reeling from what he had just learned, but he was already starting to pull himself together again.

  ‘All men have weaknesses,’ he said, ‘even important ones like Lord Lansdowne. Gambling’s an obsession. And having blue blood running through your veins doesn’t automatically make you immune to it.’

  ‘But the man’s a member of the Cabinet. He has a fine house in town, and a country estate.’

  ‘Then he has more to lose than most people,’ Blackstone said, regaining a little more of his shattered confidence. ‘And even for someone like him, a gambling debt of one hundred thousand pounds must be a considerable strain.’

  ‘It’s ludicrous!’ Sir Roderick said. ‘Simply insane. I won’t even entertain the idea.’

  But despite Todd’s reaction, the more Blackstone thought about it himself, the more it made sense.

  ‘Look at the facts,’ the Inspector said. ‘We know he gambled heavily at the Austro-Hungary Club—and that he lost. We know that one of the two men who he went to the club with was killed when the Golden Tulip was set on fire. And we know that the arsonist has been an unwilling firebug at best.’

  ‘Unwilling?’ Sir Roderick said.

  ‘Very unwilling. Why did he start such a small fire on Tooley Street, and do it at a time when the river was so high that the Fire Brigade would find it easy to draw water? Why did he arrange for the captain of the Golden Tulip to be on deck when he set the sloop on fire? And why did he make certain that the bomb he left on Tower Bridge would never go off?’

  ‘You’re wrong on that last point, at least,’ Sir Roderick said. ‘The reason the bomb on Tower Bridge didn’t explode was because the bomber had set the timer incorrectly.’

  Blacks
tone shook his head. ‘No, sir. It didn’t go off because he didn’t want it to.’

  ‘And how can you possibly be so sure of that?’

  ‘Because of the note he left me.’

  ‘I’ve read that note myself,’ Todd said. ‘There’s absolutely nothing in it to suggest he didn’t expect the bomb to explode.’

  ‘He left it on the bridge,’ Blackstone said patiently.

  ‘And just what does that prove?’

  ‘If the bomb had gone off, it would have destroyed the note, so there would have been no point in leaving it in that particular spot. The very fact that he did leave it there proves my point.’

  Sir Roderick turned the idea over in his mind for a few seconds. ‘I suppose there may be some truth in what you claim,’ he said grudgingly.

  ‘Put yourself in Lord Lansdowne’s place,’ Blackstone argued. ‘He has probably convinced himself that he is the best person to conduct the war against the Boers and—’

  ‘He is the best person,’ Sir Roderick interrupted.

  ‘…and so he sees it as his duty to remain in office for the duration of the hostilities. But, at the same time, he has this crushing gambling debt which he knows could bring about his downfall. So what does he do? He persuades himself that, for the good of the country, he will embark on a course of action that he would never normally consider. He will blackmail the Government because, in the long term, he is doing it to benefit the Empire.’

  ‘I’m not sure I want to listen to any more of this—’ Sir Roderick Todd interjected.

  ‘But he can fool himself so far, and no further,’ Blackstone pressed on. ‘If he actually impedes the war effort—and the war effort is the only real justification for these criminal activities of his—then his delusion that he is acting unselfishly collapses. If he impedes the Southern African campaign in any way, then he reveals himself, to himself, for what he really is—a man desperate merely to salvage his own reputation.’

  ‘That’s ludicrous,’ Sir Roderick said—but he didn’t sound convincing, even to himself.

  ‘We need to bring him in for questioning,’ Blackstone said.

  ‘You might be able to bring a dustman in for questioning on the evidence you’ve got—or even a tea merchant or a book-keeper—but it’s certainly not strong enough to bring in a Minister of the Crown,’ Sir Roderick scoffed.

  ‘So you admit there is some evidence?’ Blackstone asked, pouncing on his inadvertent admission.

  ‘Yes,’ Sir Roderick said heavily, and as he spoke he took his handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his perspiring brow. ‘There is, perhaps, the possibility of some evidence.’

  ‘So how do you intend to act on it?’

  ‘We’ll talk to Lord Lansdowne, you and I—’

  ‘Talk to him!’

  ‘Talk to him. That is what I said, and that is what I meant. We will not drag him down to a police station, as you seem to be so crudely suggesting we should. This is a matter of some delicacy, and calls for a much lighter touch.’

  ‘And what kind of “lighter touch” did you have in mind?’

  ‘We will make an appointment with His Lordship, and see him in his office at the Ministry of War.’

  ‘How very civilised,’ Blackstone said. ‘How very civilised—and how totally bloody useless.’

  ‘You came to me for help, Inspector Blackstone, did you not?’ Sir Roderick said sternly.

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘And this is the help that I am offering you. We either go to see Lord Lansdowne in his office, or we do not see Lord Lansdowne at all. Which of those is it to be?’

  ‘So it’s one law for the rich, and another for the poor,’ Blackstone said bitterly.

  ‘It was always one law for the rich and another for the poor. I thought that a man in your position would have come to appreciate that long ago,’ Sir Roderick said. ‘But you have still not answered my question. I’ve given you two clear alternatives. Which one will you choose?’

  ‘We’ll go and see Lord Lansdowne in his office at the Ministry of War,’ Blackstone said, forcing the words out of his mouth.

  Sir Roderick permitted himself a slight smirk. ‘I thought that would be your answer,’ he said.

  25

  Standing at his office window and watching the river flowing past below, Blackstone remembered the night, three years earlier, when he had felt the urge to walk down the nearest steps—and keep on walking until the water covered his head and he drowned. If Vladimir, the Russian secret policeman, hadn’t suddenly appeared, he was convinced he would have done just that. But Vladimir had appeared, and—in a way Blackstone still didn’t quite understand—had restored his will to keep on fighting against the odds, to keep on striving towards goals he knew deep inside himself that he could never achieve.

  Not once since that night had he again contemplated drowning himself, but that did not mean the urge was buried for ever—didn’t mean it wasn’t just in hiding, waiting for the moment when it could re-emerge and absorb him completely.

  ‘I’ve seen dozens of magicians in the music halls, but they’re nothing but bumbling amateurs compared to you, sir,’ said a voice behind him.

  Blackstone, not quite sure if someone else had actually spoken or if he had merely been hearing one of the numerous voices which seemed—from time to time—to inhabit his brain, slowly turned round.

  ‘Did you say something, Sergeant?’ he asked Patterson.

  ‘Yes, sir. I said that you could knock spots off most of the magicians I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘And what’s brought on this sudden enthusiasm for my powers of wizardry?’ Blackstone wondered.

  ‘I should have thought it was obvious, sir. You go to the Assistant Commissioner with evidence so flimsy you could see light through it, yet he still agrees to allow you to talk to Lord Lansdowne.’

  Blackstone sighed. ‘There are times when I wish I could see the world through your eyes, Patterson,’ he said. ‘But if you’re ever going to rise above the rank of sergeant, you’re going to have to start seeing it through mine.’

  ‘What do you mean, sir?’ Patterson asked, puzzled.

  ‘Todd’s not allowing me to meet Lansdowne because he thinks it will give me the opportunity to build up my case against him.’

  ‘Isn’t he?’

  ‘No, he bloody isn’t. The meeting’s being held for Lansdowne’s benefit, not mine. It’s intended to scare him off.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Sir Roderick’s pretty much accepted that Lansdowne is behind the arson attacks…’

  ‘Well, then?’

  ‘…but a member of the Government can’t possibly be punished for his crimes, as he would be if he was an ordinary bloke like you or me. That’s why we’re going to see him.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Patterson confessed.

  ‘The meeting has no other purpose than to let him know that we’re on to him. It’s a way of saying that he’ll have to find another way to solve his financial problems—because if he continues with these arson attacks, he’ll reach a stage at which even his influential friends won’t be able to protect him any longer.’

  ‘So if you go to see Lansdowne, you’ll be helping Sir Roderick in his attempt to prevent the guilty from being punished?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And you’re still going along with it?’

  ‘Yes. Because it just might be possible to play Todd’s game and play one of my own.’

  ‘You’ve lost me again,’ Patterson admitted.

  ‘If Lansdowne refuses to see us at all, then he’s won,’ Blackstone said. ‘If he agrees to see us, but throws us out of his office as soon as we start asking questions, then he’s also won. But I don’t think he’ll do either of those things, because he’s a very clever man.’

  ‘But from what you’ve just said, the cleverest thing he could do would be to have nothing to do with you,’ Patterson protested.

  ‘And clever men always think they’re in co
ntrol,’ Blackstone continued, as if his assistant had never spoken. ‘Clever men believe they can handle any situation they find themselves in, and so it becomes a point of pride with them to meet trouble head on. That’s what I think Lansdowne will do.’

  ‘I still don’t see how that will get you anywhere.’

  ‘The more he says, the more chance I have of catching him out in a lie. And once I’ve done that, we’re into a different kind of game entirely.’

  ‘That’s all very well, but do you know enough about the intricacies of the whole affair to be able to appreciate when he’s lying and when he’s telling the truth?’ Patterson wondered.

  ‘Not yet,’ Blackstone said. ‘But I will by the time I meet him.’

  *

  It had been three years since Blackstone had last visited the house on Park Lane which was the Montcliffe family’s London home. Then, as now, the visit had been to do with a body found floating in the Thames, and then, as now, he did not enter the house through the front door, but by way of the basement servants’ entrance.

  A maid—one of the dozens who seemed to occupy the area below the family’s spacious quarters—led him along the maze of corridors to the butler’s private parlour.

  ‘Mr Hoskins is expecting you, sir,’ she said, then gave him a quick curtsey and disappeared.

  Blackstone knocked on the door. When the butler answered, he seemed genuinely pleased to see the Inspector, and shook his hand warmly.

  ‘Please, do come inside, Mr Blackstone,’ he said.

  Blackstone stepped into a room which was furnished with family cast-offs, but was still luxurious in comparison to what he was used to himself.

  ‘A glass of port, Mr Blackstone?’ the butler enquired. ‘I have a bottle of the ‘56, which I’m sure you’ll find more than palatable.’

  ‘I’m sure I will,’ Blackstone agreed.

  Mr Hoskins poured the drinks, then sat down opposite Blackstone. ‘I remember the first time you came to this house,’ he said. ‘I was, I think we could say, a little unwilling to cooperate with you.’

  ‘We could say you treated me as if I were an enemy soldier, approaching with fixed bayonet,’ Blackstone said.