It was remarkably quiet at Thorney Manor that morning, considering all the confusion of the previous evening. The police had gone back to Scotland Yard at around 6am, taking various prisoners with them. The wounded had been taken away by ambulance and the bodies of the gunmen who had been shot dead had been removed to the police mortuary. Mr Paul Simpson MP and his wife Grace had gone to bed around 6.30am, to snatch a few hours' sleep. The guests and the live-in servants slept late, recovering from the excitement of the shoot-out the previous evening and then the police questioning that had followed into the early hours. Only the servants who lived off the premises turned up on time at 7.30am, and found their colleagues still in bed.
At 7am Nurse O'Leary had opened the door out of the room where George Manfred and his wife Maria of Gratz were staying, to fetch her patient a glass of water. She found a young policewoman sitting on a chair directly outside the door: WPC Annie Busby. Busby greeted her cheerfully: 'Is she awake?'
'Mrs Maria is dozing,' answered Nurse stiffly. 'I don't think we've been introduced,' she continued.
'I'm woman police constable Busby, and Inspector Meadows of Scotland Yard asked me to sit here to stop anyone getting into the room and killing that woman,' said Busby. She held out a right hand to Nurse, who shook it briefly. 'My colleague WPC Pearce is downstairs, looking round the place to check that no one is lurking in corners.'
'Good,' answered Nurse. 'I'm just going downstairs to fetch some water for my charge.'
Busby nodded, and moved out of the way to allow Nurse to pass. She then moved back to the middle of the doorway, to bar any would-be visitors. Meadows's instructions to her had been strict, but Busby had not needed to be told: absolutely no one must be allowed into that room, except people Busby knew could be trusted. That cut out virtually everyone in the house, including Mr Simpson and his wife.
Nurse O'Leary made her way downstairs to the kitchen, where she took a glass at random from a kitchen cupboard, rinsed it at the kitchen tap, filled it and carried it upstairs. Busby allowed her into the room, and Nurse carried the water to Mrs Maria's bedside. George Manfred sat there, holding his wife's hands in his, murmuring words of comfort to her.
Maria lay very still. Her face was white and her breathing was shallow, but she was still alive despite having taken a bullet in her body the previous evening - a bullet that had been intended for Inspector Meadows. Having sworn several times in the previous few days that he would gladly see the beautiful terrorist dead, Meadows was now in the embarrassing situation of owing her his life. He had commented to Leon and Raymond, however, that if it hadn't been for Maria, he would not have been on the scene; the case would have been dealt with by the Berkshire police. He was there only because Maria was involved, as she was on bail from Scotland Yard.
Now George took the glass of water from Nurse O'Leary's hand, and held it to his nostrils for a moment to check that it was pure. He sniffed; then he sniffed again. Then he handed the water back to Nurse.
'That does not smell clean,' he said. 'Do taste it.'
Nurse O'Leary sniffed, and then said: 'I'm sure it was a clean glass!'
George wished that Raymond Poiccart was there; he would have tested the water immediately. He said, 'Do find WPC Pearce and ask her to help you check. It may be this glass was contaminated from previous use.'
Nurse O'Leary retired, puzzled and confused. She went downstairs again and found WPC Pearce in the kitchen examining the glassware by holding it up to the electric light; it was still too early in the morning to use sunlight. 'This is all smeared with something,' she said. 'What do you have there?'
Nurse O'Leary explained. Pearce was intrigued.
'Surely someone can't have put poison on all the glassware!' She considered a moment. 'Let's try the butler's pantry.' This room, however, was locked.
At this point the cook arrived for work, and was first annoyed to find strangers in her kitchen, then - when she heard the story they had to tell - worried at what had happened to her crockery. A few moments' examination was sufficient to show that all the crockery had been sabotaged by being daubed with a chemical with a brown tinge. Pearce suggested that they go and report to Manfred, 'The Just Men are chemists,' so they all trooped upstairs.
Busby refused to let the cook into Manfred's room, so Manfred came to the door. The cook greeted him with a volley of woe and a collection of smeared plates. Manfred examined them under the electric light.
'Leon and Raymond could probably tell you what this is, but I am not an expert,' he said. 'However, I know that Leon found poisons in the guests' rooms last night. Several of the guests came here with the intention of sabotaging the meeting and to kill as many people as they could. It's likely that none of the crockery or cutlery is safe to use.'
The cook had quite a few things to say about her employer for inviting such men to the house, but Nurse O'Leary's concern was how to give her patient a drink. Eventually she emptied a small bottle of cold tea she had brought with her to drink herself, and after rinsing this out filled it with water for Mrs Maria. Meanwhile, Pearce had gone to call 233 Curzon Street and Scotland Yard to ask for reinforcements, and the cook went away muttering, to start washing up the poisoned plates and cutlery.
Busby returned to her place at the door, but checked inside her tunic to ensure that she had her gun readily to hand. She had no means of knowing whether the would-be poisoner was still on the premises, but she was assuming the worst. She had heard Maria speak in South Place Chapel, and at the Miners' Hall in north Nottingham, and she had seen for herself the violent reactions she could arouse. After hearing Maria boast of some of her own past achievements in a lifetime of anarchism and revolution, Busby herself would have been happy to shoot her. However, her duty was to enforce the law; and even though Maria was a self-confessed murderer and anarchist who had entered England illegally, Busby's intention was to see her stand a fair trial, and for that to happen Maria had to stay alive.
She suspected, however, that Maria would escape justice. For all their talk of justice, the Just Men were remarkably inconsistent in enforcing it. They had let a murderer like Maria go, but eighteen years ago they had murdered a government minister who had wanted to expel revolutionaries from Britain. So far as Busby could see, their behaviour before the Great War had been little better than Maria's. But they had done valuable intelligence work during the Great War and afterwards they had received a pardon, on condition that they kept out of politics and stopped murdering people. They had generally kept to the first, but Leon Gonsalez still regularly shot people. His claim was that they were criminals and that it was self-defence, but Busby, much as she liked Gonsalez and owed him a personal debt of friendship, wished he would let the courts decide who deserved to die, rather than making his own decisions on the matter.
Her musings were interrupted by WPC Lilian Pearce approaching along the landing. 'Meadows is sending reinforcements,' she announced, 'and so is Curzon Street.' She came right up to Busby and dropped her voice to a whisper. 'They're going to get her out of here. Gonsalez is sending some of his agents.'
Busby nodded, and gestured her to go into the room. This was information that should be kept strictly behind closed doors.
George Manfred and Nurse O'Leary listened in silence as WPC Pearce passed on what Leon had told her. There would be three different rescue parties: one genuine and two as decoys. George and Nurse should take Maria out of the house by one of the back routes, to the jetty on the river, where there would be a boat to collect her. If that became impossible, they should join one of the other rescue parties. Leon would be with the boat, so wouldn't be available to co-ordinate events: George and the policewomen would have to use their initiative.
'Another of his madcap schemes,' said Nurse O'Leary. 'That boy is always full of daft ideas. Mrs Manfred isn't fit to travel, and shouldn't be moved for at least three days.'
'I would agree,' said George, 'but this morning's incident with the glassware does not bode well for our stay here. If it is possible, I would prefer to get Maria to safety.'
'George? A weak voice spoke from the bed. 'What is it?'
He knelt at her side and took her right hand in his. 'We are going to try to take you back home to Curzon Street, dearest,' he told her.
She nodded. 'Yes,' she said, 'I would like to be there.' She smiled weakly at him, and closed her eyes again.
Nurse O'Leary and WPC Pearce exchanged glances. 'All right,' conceded the nurse, 'I agree that we should try, if it will make the patient happy. But I don't advise it. She isn't well at all.'
'I suggest we don't mention it to the owner of this house,' Pearce said. 'I'm not sure he's to be trusted.'
George nodded agreement, but did not speak; his attention was on his wife.
At ten o'clock, the guests at Thorney Manor began to wake up. They were puzzled to find a policewoman sitting on a chair on the landing, but WPC Busby explained that she was guarding 'a wanted woman, so that she can't escape.' Some wanted to ask further questions, but Busby dismissed them with a: 'Sorry, sir' (or madam), 'that's all sub judice,' which left them baffled.
Paul Simpson stopped to ask her whether George would be coming down for breakfast. Busby explained that he would not, and added that there appeared to be some problem in the kitchen. The MP was reluctant to accept her word for this and asked to speak to George himself, so Busby knocked on the door and, when Nurse O'Leary opened it, explained that Mr Simpson had asked whether Mr Manfred wanted breakfast.
'No, thank you,' retorted Nurse, 'and there's some trouble in the kitchen, sir. I'd go and see to that before you invite anyone else to breakfast.'
Mr Simpson hesitated, still wanting to talk to George; but he was distracted by his wife's voice in the hall, calling him downstairs. Busby and Nurse listened as Grace Simpson's voice rose in distress, her husband's rose in anger, and a clatter of good leather on highly polished wood announced their departure in the direction of the kitchen.
'That will keep them out of the way for a while,' said Busby cheerfully.
'What we're going to eat in the meantime, I don't know,' said Nurse crossly. Busby grinned at her. 'It's only for a few hours,' she said. 'I enjoy seeing Labour MPs panic!' From which it may be deduced that Busby - offspring of an army family - had little sympathy with socialism.
Digby, Dennis, Dick Jones and William Smith were in a small truck proceeding along the Great West Road. William Smith was driving. The back of the truck held long ladders, buckets, mops and brooms. The group had decided to take up window-cleaning.
It had been Dick Jones's suggestion; when not employed by the Just Men, he worked as a window cleaner.
Their instructions from Leon Gonsalez had been to create a diversion at Thorney Manor so that the three rescue parties could get into the house without Mrs Maria's enemies realising what was happening. After a short discussion, the four had decided that window cleaning offered the best potential for keeping an eye on what was going on in the manor and disrupting anything that they wished to disrupt. Leon had told them which room Manfred and Mrs Maria were in, and if needs must they could always climb up a ladder, enter through the window and go to their assistance. They were discussing possible actions as they drove. These would probably get them thrown off the manor grounds, but this didn't matter, provided that Mrs Maria got away.
'Funny, isn't it,' remarked Digby. 'Three days ago she was a menace to society and now we have to protect her!'
'It's not her that's a menace to society,' Dick Jones told him. 'It's those communists and anarchists who support her.'
'She encourages them,' Digby retorted. 'The Inspector told us she's a menace.'
'I heard the Inspector wants her back in London where he can keep her under his eye,' said Dennis.
'Ah.' Digby agreed that this would explain it.
'It's Mr Poiccart,' said William Smith, suddenly, pointing to a motorcyclist who had just overtaken them. The motorcyclist gestured to them to pull over and stop, so William did so as soon as he could, coming to a halt at a field entrance. He opened the truck door and leaned out.
'Is everything all right, Mr Poiccart?' he called.
Raymond Poiccart got off his motorcycle, propped it on its stand and came over to the truck. 'Good morning,' he said, politely. 'Everything is fine, but we need to organise our arrival. My plan is to call the house owner away on a fool's errand. You should wait outside the manor grounds until he has left, then come to the front door. You can tell the servants that Mr Simpson hired you, and no one will know any better.'
'Sounds good to me! Yes, we'll do that, Mr Poiccart,' agreed William.
'Good. I will see you at the manor,' said Raymond, got back on his motorcycle and roared away. William waited until he was out of sight, and then started the truck up again.
'On our way, lads,' he said, and drove on westward.
After a short period of complete confusion in the kitchen, and some frantic washing up, sufficient clean crockery and cutlery had been produced for breakfast to be set out in the breakfast room. The guests found their way there in twos and threes, and helped themselves from the buffet to fried eggs, devilled kidneys, crispy bacon and kedgeree, accompanied by coffee, toast, butter and marmalade. WPC Pearce, looking into the room during her perambulations of the house, felt her nose tingle with the delicious aromas and her stomach rumble, but she hushed it firmly. She was not allowed to eat or drink while on duty, except during strictly defined break periods.
But despite herself, she lingered long enough outside the doorway to hear Paul Simpson say: 'We'll begin the first discussion in the library at 11 o'clock.'
The library! George Manfred had been writing in there last night, and Pearce decided it would be wise for her to check that he hadn't left anything behind. She hurried across the hall to the library, and, finding the door slightly ajar, went inside.
The room was quiet, and lit by the morning sun. She walked across the carpet to the desk where George had worked; there was now nothing on it but blotting paper. She bent to open a drawer to check whether he had left anything there, heard a faint 'click', and froze.
'Don't move,' said a male voice.
Pearce held her breath. She had a gun concealed in her tunic, but if she moved to draw it her hidden assailant would probably shoot her. She thought quickly, and decided that dying wouldn't help the case and would upset her colleague Busby.
'Close the drawer and stand upright,' said the other.
Pearce did as she was told. She heard footsteps behind her; she felt something hard in the small of her back. She realised that it was the invisible assailant's gun.
'We're going for a walk,' said the voice. 'Start moving.'
Pearce headed for the door, which she had left open. The other suddenly realised this, and that there was a servant in the hall, who noticed the movement in the library and looked towards them. The servant's eyes opened wide in alarm and she screamed at the top of her voice. Pearce felt the object on her back vanish and heard rapid steps withdrawing behind her. She spun, ducked, drew her firearm and fired down the library at a rapidly-retreating figure, who dived behind a free-standing bookcase. Pearce ran after him; the servant ran into the library behind her, calling: 'Miss, miss, what's going on, miss?' Pearce reached the bookcase and cursed: there was a door behind it, and it was open. Her assailant had escaped. She ran through and found herself at the bottom of a flight of spiral stairs. Above her, a door slammed; the man was gone. She turned to see the servant behind her, white-faced and shaking, saying: 'What's this, miss? He left this.'
'Don't touch it,' said Pearce automatically, without even seeing what 'this' was. She stepped back into the library, put the safety catch back on her gun and thrust it into her belt, then looked up to see what the servant had found. The woman was standing by a polished wooden table, looking at a small phial of white crystals. Next to it was a piece of paper, with a handwritten list of names.
Pearce pulled a pair of leather gloves out of a pocket in her skirt, put them on and carefully opened the phial. 'It looks like sugar,' she said. She bent and sniffed at it. 'But probably not,' she decided. She looked severely at the servant. 'Did you see him? Do you know who it was?'
'No, miss,' stammered the other, 'it was a man with dark hair, but I didn't get a proper look at him. I haven't seen all the guests, miss.' She hesitated, then said, 'Are you all right, miss? You were awful white when I first saw you. Then I saw him with his gun and I just screamed, I couldn't help it.'
Pearce gave her a big reassuring grin. 'That was the best thing you could have done,' she said. 'You scared him off. You probably saved my life; thanks. I'm WPC Pearce,' she added, 'who are you?'
'I'm Evie Fitch, and I'm the downstairs maid here,' said the other woman, 'and I've never been so frightened in my life, miss, no, I haven't! And you just stood there, all calm, though white as a sheet - I think you're ever so brave, I do!'
'I'm paid to be brave,' said Pearce, 'but thanks.' She looked at the phial and the list of names. 'Are these all people who are staying here?'
Evie Fitch looked at the list. 'I think so,' she said. 'The housekeeper, that's Mrs Lovell, told me that some of them have left - that one,' - she pointed at the list, 'and that one, and that one. But the rest are having breakfast in the breakfast room.' She looked at Pearce and asked, 'would you like a bite to eat, miss? You do look pale.'
Pearce considered the state of the crockery earlier on and said, 'That's very good of you, but I'd better keep on with this case. Are there any guests whose names aren't on here?' She noticed that George and Maria's names had been added at the bottom, in a different pen from the rest.
'I don't know, miss,' Evie admitted, 'you'll have to ask Mrs Lovell.'
Pearce closed the phial and wrapped it in a handkerchief. 'I'll take this away,' she said, 'and this' - picking up the list. 'Can you introduce me to Mrs Lovell, please?'
'She'll be in her office,' said Evie. 'I'll show you.'
Mrs Lovell was pleased to speak to the young policewoman. 'I've seen the Megaphone this morning,' she said. 'Isn't it terrible?'
Pearce was startled. 'I haven't seen it,' she said. 'What does it say?'
'Look at this!' Mrs Lovell thrust it under her nose. Pearce took one look at the screaming headlines and realised what George Manfred had been writing in the library. She bit her lip to stop herself laughing aloud. 'Has Mr Simpson seen this?' she asked.
'No. He never reads the Megaphone, only the Times and the Herald. Is it true? Are we really going to be invaded by Communists?'
'Well, there's certainly a danger that they've already infiltrated society and politics,' Pearce told her. 'In fact, I understand that many of the guests here are Communists.'
'Yes, but they're allies of the government - not anarchists,' protested Mrs Lovell.
'I believe that some of them are actually anarchists and are here deliberately to undermine the government,' said Pearce. 'I've just encountered one of them in the library,' and she explained what had happened, taking care to praise Evie Fitch's courage in coming to her assistance.
'Lord help us!' Mrs Lovell sat down at her table, fanning herself with the Megaphone. 'What a terrible thing! Whoever could it have been?'
'That's what I've come to ask you about,' said Pearce. 'He left this list of guests on one of the tables. Now, are there any names missing from this list?'
Mrs Lovell ran a finger down the list, counting the names, and then got a list out of a drawer in the table and compared the two. 'Three names are missing,' she decided. 'Mr Collins, Mr Richards, and Mr Hume.' She looked up at Pearce. 'None of them are Russians,' she said.
'There are British Communists as well as Russians,' Pearce reminded her. 'The man who held me up sounded English. Could you tell me which rooms they're in?'
'I'll take you up there myself,' said the housekeeper, rising to her feet and picking up her bunch of keys.
But when they got to the rooms in question, the guests had flown; even their luggage had gone. Mrs Lovell was bewildered. 'Mr Simpson didn't tell me that they'd left,' she said. 'They were here when I arrived this morning, I'm sure.'
Pearce thought quickly. 'Can you find out whether they've told anyone that they were going?' she said. 'And I'll scout around.'
Mrs Lovell agreed and went in search of the butler, Mr Gregory, to ask him whether the three had spoken to him; while Pearce headed back to find Busby. 'Busby! I've been shot at!'
Her colleague raised a hand to cut off her volley of speech. 'Don't tell everyone!' she warned her. 'Whisper.' So Pearce whispered.
Busby frowned as Pearce described how she had been held up at gunpoint, and her frown deepened as the tale continued. 'No one came along this corridor,' she said. 'The gunman could be anywhere in the house - hiding in the attics, waiting to pounce. Let's see that list.' Pearce produced it, and Busby read it through, shaking her head. 'It looks as if they're after everyone!'
'They're going to have a discussion in the library after breakfast,' Pearce said. 'I'll go and keep an eye on them.'
'Yes, do that. I'll stay here.' Busby pulled her gun out of her tunic. 'I wish those reinforcements from Curzon Street would hurry up!' She knocked on the door of the bedroom and slipped inside, closing the door behind her. 'Manfred! There are anarchists in the house! One of them held up Pearce - they've got guns. If you hear anything - don't open the door.' She slipped out again and closed the door firmly.
George opened his mouth to reassure his semi-conscious wife that all was well, but Maria spoke first, murmuring: 'My guns are in my bag.' 'Dearest,' George answered, 'you are wounded. You mustn't fight. Lie still.'
'The nurse can use them,' murmured Maria.
'Lie still, dear,' repeated George - calmly, kindly, but firmly. Maria recognised that tone of voice; it was a tone that brooked no argument, the voice of the leader of the Just Men who had confronted governments and criminal masterminds and faced them all down. She smiled to herself, and relaxed.
'She's a difficult patient, and no mistake,' Nurse O'Leary said. 'Using a gun in her condition, indeed!'
'Do check her bag,' answered George, and Maria felt him move, as if indicating the bag in question, 'in case we need it.'
There was a pause, then Nurse O'Leary exploded. 'Did she come here to start a war, or something?'
'She came to meet the men who are now prowling around the house, looking for someone to kill,' observed George. 'Do check them over, Nurse. I know you have experience of weaponry.'
Maria heard Nurse mutter, and then she heard the click of guns being lifted out of her bag and examined. She smiled again - George and his friends knew many strange people, but she had confidence that this nurse would be useful in a shoot-out.
WPC Pearce went down the back stairs and entered the library through the door out of which her assailant had escaped. She found the butler superintending two of the male servants, moving the tables and chairs around in preparation for the discussion planned by Mr Simpson. He looked up at her in surprise as she entered.
'Mr Gregory? WPC Pearce - we met last night.' Pearce held out a hand in greeting.
'Of course,' said Gregory, slightly mollified. He shook her hand. 'What are you doing on the back stairs? I thought they were locked.'
'They were unlocked this morning when a gunman escaped up them. Did Mrs Lovell speak to you about three of the guests here - Collins, Richards and Hume?'
'Yes, she mentioned that three of the guests have left without telling anyone. I thought it was rather odd. Have you found them?'
'No,' said Pearce, realising that either Mrs Lovell had not passed on the full story or that Mr Gregory had failed to understand the situation. 'I believe they are dangerous armed men and are hiding somewhere in the house.'
'That's very odd. They were all at breakfast.' Gregory looked at the servants who were arranging the chairs, and gave a few instructions. 'All the guests were there - I mean, all who are able to be there.' He looked again at the table and chairs, and nodded approval. 'That's fine now, boys, good. You can let Mr Simpson know that he and the guests can come in.' He turned back to Pearce. 'Will you stay to listen to the debate, miss?'
Pearce was a little annoyed at the 'miss' - Gregory should have known that 'officer' would have been more correct. 'I think I had better find these gunmen,' she replied. 'I can guard these stairs from the other side of that door - as one of them went out that way, they may come back by the same route.' She turned towards the door, and as she did so both she and Gregory heard a step on the stairs, above them.
Pearce darted back through the door, pulled out her gun and started up the stairs. She heard a scuffle above her, and the sound of feet retreating. As she shouted: 'Stop! Police!' a bullet whistled past her ear, hitting the stone wall beside her and ricocheting down the spiral of the stairs. She tried to get a shot back, but couldn't see her assailant round the bend. Another half a dozen steps brought her into sight of the door to the first floor landing, and she saw a figure poised there, aiming at her - she leaned back into the centre of the stairs as he shot, then leapt forward and fired at his back. She heard a cry - she ran forward and found a man lying on the landing carpet, struggling to roll on to his side so that he could raise his right arm to fire at her. She grabbed the arm and disarmed him just as the two young men who had been helping the butler in the library caught up with her and leapt on him.
'It's Mr Collins,' one exclaimed. Pearce put his gun to one side, out of his reach, and went through his pockets. She found some papers and his wallet, and was just going to look at the papers when she noticed Collins trying to put one of the buttons of his jacket into his mouth. 'Stop that!' she shouted, and slapped his hand back. 'Hold that man,' she ordered the two servants, 'he's trying to commit suicide.' One of the servants held Collins's hands behind his back and the other tied his wrists together with a large pocket-handkerchief.
'Thanks.' Pearce then leafed through the papers from Collins's pocket. 'German,' she said, in annoyance; she had learned French at school, but not German. One of the papers, however, was in English, and she read it, then looked at Collins. 'What is the National Socialist Party?' she demanded.
He looked up at her, and spat to one side. 'I'm not answering your questions,' he said.
'So I hear.' Pearce was about to order her two assistants to take the man downstairs when he gasped and slumped sideways in their grip. Alarmed, she put down the papers and wallet and checked his pulse. He was alive, but his pulse was weak. Then she realised that her shot had left his left arm streaming blood -the man was bleeding to death.
'Do either of you know first aid?' Both men shook their heads. Pearce dipped into her pockets, found her own clean pocket handkerchief and tied it around the wounded arm as a tourniquet. Then she made Collins lie on his side and instructed one of the young men to apply pressure to the gunshot wound to reduce the bleeding.
'What's happening here?' asked Mr Gregory, coming up the spiral stairs to find out what had become of his assistants. Pearce explained, and showed him the papers from Collins's pockets. Mr Gregory shook his head sadly.
'The National Socialist Party - a very difficult organisation, miss, very difficult indeed. Not socialists at all, to my way of thinking. But Mr Simpson would invite them.'
'Are Hume and Richards National Socialists too?'
'No, no - they belong to another movement. There are so many political movements in Europe nowadays, it's hard to keep track of them all.'
'I'll leave this one in your care,' said Pearce, picking up the gun, papers and wallet, and taking them down the corridor to find Busby, who greeted her with a cheery question of: 'Did you get him?'
'Yes! He's Collins - a member of the National Socialist Party of Germany.'
'Ruddy Socialists,' said Busby. 'The German lot are as bad as fascists.'
'Hume and Richards are still missing.'
'Keep looking,' was her colleague's response. 'They might be downstairs in the library by now.'
'Would you like to swop duties?' asked Pearce. 'You've been sat there for hours - fancy stretching your legs?'
'No, I like to see you rushing about. And if anyone's going to shoot Mrs Maria, I want to watch them do it.'
While the crisis at Thorney Manor deepened, Leon and Mirabelle had driven to Maidenhead, where they parked the car by the riverside and made their way to a boatyard. Leon had phoned in advance to the boat keeper and asked him to get a suitable vessel ready for them: it turned out to be diesel-powered, with a good deck area for sitting out on in good weather, and a cabin below. Mirabelle borrowed the boatyard's telephone 'to call the people where we're going', while Leon had a few minutes' discussion with the boat owner to gain some familiarity with the controls. When Mirabelle returned from the phone, Leon started the boat and they set off slowly down the river.
'How long will it take us to reach the manor?' asked Mirabelle, anxiously.
'About half an hour,' answered her husband. 'Whom did you speak to?'
'I said I was from the Yard and asked to speak to one of the policewomen. They found Pearce and I told her that we'd be about half an hour, so that's fine. But she said there are three anarchists loose there - she's arrested a gunman who's a member of the German National Socialist Party. Isn't that one of the groups Maria quarrelled with?'
'Maria has quarrelled with most groups,' reflected Leon, 'but that one is certainly towards the top of the list.'
'I've asked Pearce to keep a look out for us and let George know when we arrive. I hope Raymond's got there by now!'
'We don't want Raymond to arrive too long in advance,' said Leon. 'According to my watch' - he checked it - 'we are making good time, so provided that Raymond hasn't hit any pot holes we should be all right.'
'Poor Raymond!' mused Mirabelle. 'That motorcycle looks very uncomfortable to ride.'
Leon shrugged expressively. 'He drives it too fast,' he said.
Paul Simpson MP ushered his remaining guests out of the breakfast room towards the library. His wife, Grace, suggested to the other wives that they might like a walk around the garden, but as it was a chilly morning in late October no one was tempted. Instead, some of the women headed for the billiard room, some went into the morning room (now tided after the excitement of the previous evening), and some joined the men in the library. Grace went to check with Mrs Lovell that the house was in order, and found her re-reading the Megaphone.
'Oh, Mrs Simpson,' she greeted her employer, 'have you seen the Megaphone this morning? What terrible news! Do you think that any of the Reds are here?'
Grace, startled, leaned over her shoulder to see the front page, and saw the screaming headlines: 'Civil War Plot by Socialists' Masters: Moscow Orders To Our Reds; Great Plot Disclosed Yesterday.'
'What?' she exclaimed. 'Whatever is that?', and she snatched the newspaper from the housekeeper. 'Socialists' masters - what do they mean? What are they saying?' Her eyes scanned down the page. 'Mrs Lovell! This is terrible! How could they print such things? This can't be true!' - and she ran out of the housekeeper's office, still holding the Megaphone in her hand.
'Excuse me, Mrs Simpson' - the housekeeper pursued her, anxious to retrieve her reading matter, but the MP's wife was running for the library, crying: 'Paul! Paul! Have you seen this? Paul!'
Mrs Lovell walked after her, a little put out. After all, she told herself, a woman is entitled to her bit of rest: she'd completed her tasks for the first part of the morning and had been having her break. Mrs Simpson had no call to come snatching her paper away like that. As she crossed the hall, the doorbell rang. To judge by the shouting that had just broken out in the library, Mrs Lovell realised, no one was likely to come to answer it, so she stepped over and opened the door.
An elderly man stood on the doorstep: stout, dark haired with streaks of grey, with a narrow moustache beneath an aquiline nose. He was wearing a motorcyclist's clothing and had obviously ridden hard and furiously. 'I've been sent by the Prime Minister to ask Mr Simpson to come to Downing Street immediately to discuss an urgent matter of national security,' he said.
Mrs Lovell's mouth dropped open; she hadn't realised that the events reported in her favourite paper would have such an impact on her employer - but of course they would, she told herself. 'Just a minute,' she said, 'step into the hall,' and then she shut the door behind the visitor and went into the library.
All was uproar, with the guests gathered around the newspaper and arguing. In the centre of the argument was Mr Simpson, who was saying: 'It's all rubbish. It must be. I would have heard from the Prime Minister,' and then Mrs Lovell cleared her throat.
'Excuse me, sir,' she said, 'a message from the Prime Minister.'
Silence fell instantly. Every eye turned to look at her.
'Yes, Mrs Lovell? What is it?' asked her employer.
'The Prime Minister has sent a special messenger, sir. You're to go to Downing Street immediately to discuss an urgent matter of national security.'
A murmur of alarm went round the room. Mr Simpson turned to one of the servants. 'Ask Arnold to bring the car round,' he said. Then he turned back to the housekeeper. 'Tell him I'm setting out immediately and will be at Downing Street as soon as possible,' he said.
'Very good, sir,' said Mrs Lovell, and went back into the hall to deliver her message. The motorcyclist thanked her gravely and took his leave.
As his motorcycle roared away down the drive, Nurse looked out from the window of the Manfreds' bedroom. 'Mr Poiccart's come and gone,' she reported. 'Now here's the Simpsons' chauffeur, with the big car. Mr Simpson's coming out; he's kissed his wife - must be a serious matter - he's getting in the car - they're leaving.' She turned back into the room. 'I'll get the bags packed up.'
'Leave out my guns,' murmured Maria. 'I need my guns.'
'You need rest, young lady,' retorted Nurse, 'and rest is what you're going to have, for as long as possible.' She opened up Maria's suitcase and began to pack items into it, muttering: 'Guns, indeed!'
Pearce meanwhile was exploring the top floor, looking for the two missing men. She paused in her search to look out the back of the house: from the top floor windows she could see across the lawns to the Thames and beyond. She wondered where Gonsalez and Leicester had got to and whether they were within sight yet.
And then she saw a narrow pleasure boat, moving slowly down the river. They drifted up to the manor's jetty and stopped. She saw Leicester jump ashore and throw a rope around a mooring post.
Pearce stepped quickly back from the window and hurried downstairs to report. Of course no one could leave the house until the decoys had arrived, but it was good to know that the getaway boat was here.
Busby was stretching her legs as Pearce came running along the landing from the back stairs. She spun round, asking: 'What's happened?'
'Ship ahoy,' replied Pearce.
'Simpson has left,' Busby told her. 'Nurse is getting ready for the getaway.'
They heard a bell clang below, at the back of the house. 'Go and find out who that is, officer,' said Busby, and sat down outside the Manfreds' bedroom door again. Pearce reached the top of the stairs just in time to see the housekeeper cross the hall and disappear through the green baize door that led into the service part of the house
She waited, suspecting that this was one of Gonsalez's rescue parties, and not wanting to do anything that might arouse suspicions within the house. Then the butler walked across the hall, and at that moment Mrs Lovell emerged from behind the baize door, looking annoyed. Seeing the butler, she said sharply to him: 'Did Mr Simpson tell you that he had booked the window cleaners for this morning?'.
'No.' The butler seemed indignant that she should ask him.
'I wish he wouldn't interfere in the running of the house.' She heaved an exasperated sigh. 'I've told them to use the tap in the scullery.'
She marched away, towards her office. The butler turned on his heel and saw Pearce at the top of the stairs. 'Well, have you found our missing guests?' he demanded.
Pearce began to descend the stairs. 'No,' she replied. 'Where did you put Mr Collins?'
'He is in the storeroom, with one of the kitchen lads watching him,' responded Gregory.
'Would you recognise Hume and Richards if you saw them?' Pearce reached the bottom of the stairs and looked him in the eye.
'Of course.'
Pearce doubted that 'Of course,' but decided to exploit it. 'You can come into the library and tell me whether they're there,' she said.
In the library, the guests were debating the letter which had been published in the Megaphone. Some of them reckoned that it represented the official policy of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, while some were sure it was a forgery. Pearce, who was sure that Manfred had forged it, struggled not to laugh out loud as she watched. Gregory looked carefully around the faces in the room, then went to speak to Grace Simpson, who had taken Mr Simpson's place at the head of the table. She nodded, rose, and came to speak to Pearce. As she did so, there was a creaking noise outside and the bottom rungs of a ladder appeared at the window.
'What is that?' asked Mrs Simpson.
'The window cleaners, madam,' Gregory told her.
'Oh - well, that's good. The windows are filthy.' Grace decided not to advertise the fact that she had not expected them. She turned to Pearce. 'Now, what can I do for you, dear?'
'WPC Pearce, ma'am,' responded Pearce. 'I'm here to protect the wounded woman in the room upstairs. I have reason to suspect that two of your guests who appear to have departed are in fact still on the premises with the intention of attacking either the wounded woman upstairs or your other guests. I wanted to ask you some questions.'
Grace nodded. 'Go ahead, dear.'
'Officer,' Pearce corrected her. 'Have you seen Mr Hume or Mr Richards since breakfast?'
'No.' Grace thought hard. 'No, I haven't.'
'Did they give you any indication of their intentions?'
'No, absolutely not. I had expected them to be at this debate this morning.'
A crash came from upstairs, then the clatter of breaking glass, followed by a shout and the sound of running feet on the floor above. Grace looked up at the ceiling, saying: 'What can that be?'
'Excuse me, ma'am.' Pearce rushed off towards the hall; the footsteps above seemed to be on the first floor landing. A shot rang out - Busby's gun! Pearce ran full speed for the stairs, almost colliding with a man coming down, gun in hand. She leapt to one side to avoid his bullet, then spun to face him, her own gun at the ready; at the same moment she heard the front door bell ring again, and then a clatter of feet on the stairs above her as Digby ran down after the gunman, his own gun in hand. As the gunman's weapon wavered between Pearce and Digby, Edward Davies's voice came from the front door: 'Taxi? We had a call for a taxi.' Pearce shouted: 'Police!' and fired at the gunman just as he leapt the last few steps into the hall and ran for the front door - she and Digby went after him, shouting: 'Stop, police!' Edward Davies drew his gun, fired and missed; as the fugitive gunman responded, Grace Simpson ran out into the hall crying: 'What are you doing?' but was pulled back out of danger by Gregory, who dragged her into the library and slammed the door behind her. The gunman spun from Pearce to Digby to Davies, shouting: 'Fascists! You'll never take me!' Pearce heard Grace Simpson scream and realised that something was going on in the library and that she needed to get past this mad gunman and find out what it was. She fired at the man's legs: he crashed to the floor, dropping his gun, which span across the polished wooden flooring and hit the umbrella stand. Digby stooped to pick it up, just as Lucy and Riley ran in through the front door.
'More bodies?' cried Lucy.
'He was in one of the rooms upstairs. When I started cleaning the windows he saw me and did a runner, so I came after him,' said Digby.
'Straight through the window, without opening it?' (thus Pearce).
'I was in a hurry.'
'Who are you?' demanded Davies of the wounded gunman.
'He's Hume or Richards' (Pearce again).
'Are you Hume or Richards?' (Lucy).
'Stop asking *** questions and get me a doctor' (the gunman).
'It's only a flesh wound' (Pearce).
'***! I'm dying here. I need an ambulance.'
Lucy looked out of the front door. 'There's one coming now. We can put him in that.' She was about to step out of the front door to flag Bill Trevor down, when someone stepped out of the library and stopped her.
'That ambulance was for somebody else,' he said. 'Let's just go upstairs and fetch her, shall we?'
They all looked at the newcomer. He was one of Paul Simpson's respectable English guests - he had been introduced to Lucy and Mirabelle the previous evening as a distinguished man of letters, a Mr Woodcroft-Crawley. Now he held a gun in his right hand and had his left arm about Grace Simpson; and he was holding the gun to Grace Simpson's head.
'I see you're not giving us much choice,' said Pearce. She looked at her companions. 'Put your guns away,' she said, 'and let's go upstairs with the nice gentleman.'
'You'll leave your guns down here,' he retorted.
'Yes, let's,' said Pearce, 'so that the butler and the servants can pick them up and come and shoot us in the back.'
He frowned at them. 'Maybe not, then,' he agreed. 'Put them away. If any of you touches your gun, I shoot Grace here.'
Poor Grace Simpson was in tears, but was trying not to weep aloud. She went unprotestingly upstairs at gunpoint, and the others followed quietly. When they got to the room where George and Maria had been staying, Crawley kicked the door open, then stopped short.
'Gone,' he said.
The others said nothing; the statement was clearly accurate. The room had obviously been vacated in a hurry, but it was certainly empty.
Crawley spun round to face the others, his back to the window. 'All right,' he said, 'where are they? You tell me, or Mrs Simpson's dead.'
They all looked at each other. 'How should we know?' asked Pearce. 'They were here a few minutes ago. We pursued that gunman downstairs and left them here; and now they've gone.'
'Perhaps they went into another room,' suggested Lucy.
'Perhaps you should go and find them. You've got five minutes, and then I shoot Grace,' said Crawley.
'Oh, come on, be reasonable,' retorted Pearce, raising her voice and stamping her foot as if in frustration. The others joined in the chorus: 'Be reasonable.' 'How can we possibly know where they are?' 'That woman's really elusive.' 'They've done a runner.' 'They legged it while we were downstairs.' 'They've probably got away in that ambulance by now.'
'They can't,' retorted Crawley. 'They can't have got past us to the front door.'
'They could go to the back door,' said Digby, 'where my window cleaning stuff is.'
Crawley stared at him, as if he suddenly realised that this was what had happened. Then a shot rang out behind him, and he fell to the floor. Grace Simpson promptly fainted, as if the shot had been for her; but Lucy leapt forward and caught her.
'Good shooting, Dennis,' said Pearce to the man standing on the window-cleaning ladder outside the window.
'That was a close one,' Dennis said. 'I thought he'd have heard us putting up the ladder.'
'We made as much noise as we could to cover you,' Pearce assured him.
Crawley groaned, and Davies knelt by his side. 'You got what comes to men who try to harm good women, mate,' he assured the dying man. 'Why were you after Mrs Maria?'
'Dangerous anarchist,' muttered Crawley. 'Was going to destroy the party.'
'Is it worth getting the ambulance for him?' asked Lucy. 'It'll be round at the back door.'
'If it's still available,' Pearce agreed, and the two women set off to find Bill Trevor, Nurse Rose and the ambulance.
'Do you think Mrs Maria really did go out of the back door?' asked Lucy, as they hurried down the stairs.
'She must have done,' answered Pearce. 'They must have gone the moment you arrived!'
As they reached the back door, they met Busby coming back in. 'She's away,' she said. 'Thanks for the distraction. Mr Trevor is here with an ambulance. Shall we put some of the men you've shot into it?'
'That's what I thought,' said Lucy. 'Is Mary all right? Did you see her in the boat?'
'She's fine,' answered Busby. 'Gonsalez is smug because his plan has worked.'
Lucy giggled. 'He's brilliant,' she said.
Busby snorted. 'He'll have to go on being brilliant. Don't think that this is the end of it! There's three more days to go until the Election, and those communists are going to be after that woman every step of the way.'
'And after Wednesday?' asked Lucy.
'The Labour Party will lose,' said Pearce, 'and then the Communists won't have any more power in Britain.'
'Put it another way,' added Busby, 'after Wednesday, no one will care. But until Wednesday we have to try to stop her being assassinated.'