Chapter Five: Day Four (Tuesday)
Mirabelle fell asleep that night as soon as her head touched the pillows. She was woken by the sound of running water: Leon having a shower bath.
Opening her tired eyes, she looked around the room and realised that it was broad daylight - it was morning, and she must have slept for hours. She tried to rally her thoughts, and remembered that this was the last day before the General Election. Perhaps this would be the last day that she and Leon would have to protect Maria - if the Communists' allies were defeated tomorrow, the Communists would lose their influence in Britain and they might even have to leave the country. I do hope that will happen! she thought. I wish that Maria didn't have so many enemies!
She remembered that she still had to go through the evidence that she and Leon had collected yesterday. So much to do, and here she was lying in bed! She sat up and reached for her handbag, pulling out the notebook she had used the previous day, and began to look through the notes she had made and the copies of the lists of contacts given to her by Michael, Tanner and Sergei, refreshing her memory of what they had said. Flicking on to the last page, she stopped in astonishment: what she had thought was a list of contacts was a message. From its style of address, she guessed that it had been written by Sergei:
'Beautiful lady (the message ran), I am amazed to see you in the company of the cold-hearted assassin Gonsalez. Take care, beautiful lady, he will kill you as he has killed so many. If you want to understand this, you must go to the sign of the single rose on the hill tomorrow at noon.'
'What?' she exclaimed. Leon put his head around the bathroom door. 'What is wrong, carina?' he asked.
'Someone wrote a message on my notepad yesterday. I think it was Sergei.' Mirabelle held the notebook out to him. Leon stepped over to take it from her, and examined the page. 'Yes, that was Sergei,' he said. 'I've seen his handwriting before. I tracked him down - he was involved in trafficking women out of Russia and into Britain and France for manual work and various immoral purposes. I shot his brother and three of his co-workers, but Sergei escaped.'
'What happened to the women?' asked Mirabelle.
'Some wanted to return to their homeland, but many did not, and some were not fitted for any suitable work. In the end we found places for all of them, but it was a very difficult case. The one thing I can say is that whatever their situation now, it was far worse in the hands of Sergei's brother.' Leon looked again at the note. 'This is certainly intended as a trap, but it might help us capture more of that gang.' He became thoughtful. 'You should not go, darling, but we'll need a female decoy - perhaps the women police officers can help.'
'We can talk to Meadows,' said Mirabelle quickly, before he could develop his plans any further. 'I'll go and have a shower,' and she got out of bed and hurried to the bathroom.
She found that she was still feeling sick, just as she had the previous day, and began to be anxious that she was sickening for something. Stiffen your sinews, my girl, she told herself, you'll never be a success as a Just Woman if you can't stay out all day without feeling unwell. Pull yourself together! She had her shower and hurried her preparations so that she was only five minutes behind Leon going downstairs.
George and Raymond were already eating breakfast; Leon was sipping coffee, waiting for Mirabelle to arrive. George greeted the fourth member of the Triangle with a smile and a question: 'Did you enjoy your outing to Rhyl?'
'It was wet,' answered Mirabelle. 'But we did catch up with the people we were looking for.'
'Was it worth going all that way?' Raymond asked Leon. 'You could have sent Digby.'
'This operation required prudence and finesse,' responded Leon, reaching for the marmalade. 'It needed a professional hand; so Mirabelle and I went ourselves.'
'Marmalade on crumpets, darling? Are you sure?' asked Mirabelle, breaking into her boiled egg.
'Yes,' her husband answered, and proceeded to ladle marmalade on to his favourite dish.
'Don't expect good taste from Leon,' George advised. 'So, whom did you find in Rhyl?'
'The Countess Viramova, young Sergei - who is currently her lover; a man calling himself Tanner, but I think the police know him under other names; and a young Russian emigr\u00e9 known as Michael the White, or simply Michael White.'
'White, as against Red,' remarked Raymond.
'Yes.' Leon bit into his crumpet. He was going to go on talking with his mouth full, but Mirabelle gestured him to be silent and continued the narrative herself. 'We got a list of their contacts and their current operations. They've been trying to influence the elections, to get the Conservatives in.'
'So they think the Conservatives will be friendly to them?' asked George.
'Yes, but I don't see why they should be.'
'Neither do I. Do continue.' George continued eating his poached eggs and spinach.
'And the Countess has been receiving information about Maria's movements. Joan Josep - the Catalan revolutionary who besieged us on Sunday afternoon - has been sending her information. The Countess wants to have Maria killed, or at least arrested. But we told her that Maria has already been arrested - except that she's out on bail.'
'Do you have that list of contacts or did you give it to the police?' asked Raymond.
'Yes - I mean, both; I have carbon copies,' Mirabelle told him. 'Oh, and Sergei left a note for me - I'll show you after breakfast.'
After breakfast they assembled in George's first floor office to look at Mirabelle's notes, the contact names (many of whom were already known to the Three) and the letter from Sergei.
'This is a little too obvious to be a trap,' observed George.
'It's a double bluff,' responded Leon. 'Obviously, Sergei knew he was about to be arrested or worse, but he left us with a puzzle to solve. I expect he wants Mirabelle to walk into a meeting of his current group of white slavers. I would certainly like to meet them - I have a few things to give them.' His restless hands twitched in anticipation.
'Obviously, Mirabelle must not go,' said George. 'And neither should you, Leon - they'll see you coming. No, a woman should go, but someone who can look after herself.'
'I can look after myself!' Mirabelle expostulated.
'Of course,' answered George, calmly, 'but Leon doesn't believe you can, and despite all his claims to be without sentiment he would not be able to bear seeing you walk into danger; so I suggest we ask Meadows to send one of the women police.'
'I expect they'll volunteer,' retorted Mirabelle.
At that point, they heard the doorbell ring. 'I'll go,' said Raymond, rising, and went downstairs; but before he reached the bottom of the stairs the group in the office heard the front door open and Megs cry: 'Miss Baines! How are you? Are you well?' and Lucy's excited voice replying.
'I think we have our volunteer,' George observed.
'But Lucy can't go! She can hardly shoot - and she's too young to die - and she's my friend,' exclaimed Mirabelle.
'All reasons why I'm sure she'll volunteer immediately,' George replied. 'In any case, I hear more than Lucy's steps outside; I think we have a party to visit us,' and he rose to his feet just as Raymond opened the door and ushered in Lucy, Edward Davies and Riley.
'Morning, guv'nor,' said Riley, grinning at his own impertinence, 'we've come to see whether you've any work for us this morning.'
Mirabelle rose and hurried to greet Lucy with a hug. 'Where did you go yesterday?' exclaimed the latter, 'and why didn't you take us with you?'
'We went to Rhyl chasing Russian Czarists,' answered Mirabelle, 'and it was too far to drive the taxi!'
'Well, we're coming today, whatever you're doing,' Lucy replied.
'Don't you have any work to do at Alma's?' asked Mirabelle, leading Lucy to the settee, and sitting down beside her to talk.
'She's giving me a day off - she's out distributing leaflets for the Liberal Party.' Lucy's face was bright with excitement. 'So what adventures do we have today?'
'We have a very dangerous mission,' answered George, walking out from behind his desk and standing over Lucy.
'How exciting! Tell me all about it!'
George gestured to everyone to be seated, and then said, 'Leon will explain,' and sat down once again at his desk.
Leon launched into an explanation of the note that Sergei, 'A Czarist and a trafficker in human misery,' had left Mirabelle, 'presumably in an attempt to lure her into a trap. Mirabelle shouldn't go - the gang will know what she looks like. But someone should go; a woman who can act the part of Mirabelle, who's brave and can keep her head in a crisis.'
'I'll go,' said Lucy at once - as they had all known she would.
'If you go, we're going to keep an eye on you,' said Edward at once, and Riley nodded.
'The plan is that we all go,' said Leon, 'but that one person acts as the bait, while the rest of us surround the place and then move in to arrest the criminals.'
'We must inform the police,' said George. 'Raymond, will you get Meadows on the phone, please?'
Inspector Meadows had had a difficult few days. A few weeks of night shifts had been followed by day shifts, but due to the case of Maria of Gratz he had not been able to have a break between the two shift patterns. His team - including the policewomen Busby and Pearce - had suffered in the same way. They were all now showing the symptoms of exhaustion: impatience, difficulty in making decisions and short tempers, and were hoping for a rest day after the General Election tomorrow.
Nevertheless, Meadows came out to 233 Curzon Street with his team, including several faces who were now very familiar to Mirabelle. She always said that she had difficulties remembering names, but she remembered Taylor, who had been on the Bridges & Westbury job, and Stanley - the sergeant who had led the police team on Sunday afternoon - and of course she went down to greet WPCs Busby and Pearce as they arrived. The police came into house via the back door from the mews, and the men sat in the kitchen drinking tea, regaling the servants with exciting real-life stories of crime, while Busby and Pearce came upstairs to say 'Good morning,' to Maria. 'As she's a dangerous criminal on bail, we have to check on her every day; by rights she should come into the station, but of course she can't, so we're coming out to her,' Pearce explained to Mirabelle and Lucy.
'What news do you have for me today?' asked Maria, in her tired, frail voice; but Mirabelle noticed that her eyes were bright; she was obviously feeling better this morning.
'No news, ma'am,' said Busby. 'There's still a lot of excitement in the press about that letter that Mr Manfred sent to the Megaphone, and speculation about the election tomorrow.'
'Will you vote?' asked Maria.
'No, ma'am - none of us are old enough,' Busby responded, looking at Pearce, Mirabelle and Lucy, who had accompanied her into Maria's room.
'Old enough? How old must you be to vote?'
'Women have to be aged thirty, or own land - and none of us qualify.'
'That is very unfortunate.' Maria was thoughtful. 'How would you have voted, if you could?'
'I haven't thought about it,' Busby retorted. 'I seem to remember that you're an anarchist; you don't believe in voting.'
Maria's eyes flashed. (She is feeling better, thought Mirabelle.) 'Who told you that?'
'You did, ma'am, at South Place Chapel.'
'Did I? I never remember what I say in my addresses.' Maria brushed the fact aside. 'So, where are you all going today? I am sure that you are going somewhere, because I heard Inspector Meadows come in and speak to George.'
'I think George is staying here,' said Mirabelle.
'Of course, he will stay with me; but where are the rest of you going?' Maria's tone was challenging. 'I am sure you are going to enforce justice somewhere.'
'We're after Sergei's gang,' said Mirabelle. 'He left a message in my notebook.'
'Did he? Let me see.' Maria held out her right hand imperiously; Mirabelle shrugged, and handed over the notebook, opened on the page in question.
Maria sighed: 'English, of course,' and frowned over the page. At last she handed the book back to Mirabelle. 'You are not going,' she said firmly.
'No, I'm going,' said Lucy.
'I have seen you with Mirabelle, but I do not know your name,' said Maria. 'You came to my lecture at South Place Chapel.'
Lucy nodded. 'I'm Lucy Baines. I'm a friend of Mary's, and I work for her Aunt Alma, and for the Just Men.'
'She's going to join the police!' said Pearce, laughing.
'No, I'm going to marry Mary's cousin Mark,' replied Lucy.
'Not if Edward Davies has anything to do with it, you won't,' Busby told her.
'Mary - oh, you mean Mirabelle. I see.' Maria nodded. 'You are a brave young woman, Lucy. I wish I could come with you, but as you see, I am an invalid just now. You must come back when it is all over and tell me everything that happened.'
'Yes, I'll do that,' answered Lucy. 'Miss Goddard told me the same.'
'I don't know why we let her boss us about,' said Mirabelle to Busby, as they went to find Meadows and the Three Just Men in George's office.
'She talks like a person who expects people to do as she says, and so they do,' replied Busby.
'Of course, now she's told us to go back when it's all over, we can't get ourselves killed,' reflected Pearce with a grin.
'I wasn't planning to,' retorted Mirabelle, but she felt her blood run cold at the thought. Was there really a chance that Lucy might be killed? Don't even think of it, she told herself. We'll be all right. We always are.
In George's first floor office\/ reception room, they finalised their strategy. Leon brought the directory of London businesses from the book shelf, and explained that the 'rose on the hill' must be the Rose and Crown public house at Harrow on the Hill. Raymond added that he knew the place well: it was a big old building, standing in its own grounds. It boasted a clientele of businessmen and their clients, although some of those businesses frequently operated on the wrong side of the law. It was agreed that Leon would drive the Buick rather than the Spanz, as it was less likely to attract attention; Raymond would take his own motorbike; Riley would bring his taxi, and the police would travel in their own unmarked vehicles. They would arrive at the pub from different directions and park in different positions, so that the pub was effectively surrounded. Lucy, who would be wearing some of Mirabelle's own clothes (they wore the same dress size, although Lucy was slightly the taller and had darker hair) would go into the lounge and tell the barman that she had been invited to meet a Russian gentleman at the house. She would be shadowed by Edward Davies, who would remain within hearing. Leon and Mirabelle would enter the lounge area and remain within hearing of Edward. Raymond said that he would go into the bar area to see whether he recognised any of the personnel; and George remarked that he would remain at the house in Curzon Street: 'Someone needs to keep an eye on Maria, and co-ordinate operations.'
As the group set off to start their journey, Lucy was chattering with excitement, Busby and Pearce were brisk yet calm; but Mirabelle felt strangely lethargic. This isn't me at all, she thought, crossly; I must be sickening for something. She shrugged the feeling aside, checked her bag for her gun, and selected a warm coat and hat.
They reached the Rose and Crown without incident. Riley parked his taxi nearby, and Lucy got out. Edward waited for her to reach the door into the lounge before following her, and Riley then turned the taxi so that he could make a quick getaway if necessary. Leon and Mirabelle arrived in the Buick, parked outside the Rose and Crown and went into the lounge. The two police cars parked on the other side of the road and kept watch, waiting for a signal from Leon or one of the other members of the Triangle agency. While they watched, Raymond arrived on his motorbike, which he propped on its stand, and went through the entrance to the bar.
There was a long silence in the two police cars. There was little traffic on the road to distract them, and nothing seemed to be happening at the pub. It was, as Raymond Poiccart had described it, a big building, built of red brick with a tiled roof and large chimney stacks on each side, standing in its own grounds. On one side the building had been extended at ground floor level to provide an additional seating area in the lounge, and at the back there were outbuildings and stores. To judge from the first floor windows, there was a meeting room upstairs and offices, with further rooms in the attic. The police watched patiently; from their position they could see both the lounge and the bar entrances, but no one went in or came out. At last Busby said to Pearce, 'I can't stand this,' and Pearce nodded.
'Let's go and look for a fallen woman,' she said.
'Sounds good,' said Busby. 'We'll go into the bar,' she said to the police constable who was in the driver's seat, 'and tell them we're looking for a woman of dubious reputation who is believed to be operating from there. Then we can keep an eye on what's going on.'
Her colleague nodded. 'Take care,' he said, and the two women got out of the car, crossed the road and headed for the entrance to the bar.
In the other car, Meadows cursed when he saw the two WPCs set off. 'What the hell do those two think they're doing? They've been contaminated by Gonsalez and his wild ideas.' He did not, however, call them back. There would be time enough to give them a dressing down if it all went horribly wrong; and if it all went right, he could claim he had given his approval.
As Busby and Pearce approached the bar entrance, a noise above them made them look up. They hurried across the front of the public house to the lounge bar side, and reached out their arms just in time to catch Lucy Baines as she swung herself off the edge of the extension roof. The three almost fell to the ground in a heap, but recovered their joint footing and Lucy was deposited in an ungainly manner on to gravel at the base of the wall.
'Thanks! You broke my fall,' she said, dusting herself down and straightening her hat.
'Good of you to drop by,' remarked Busby.
'What made you drop in?' asked Pearce.
Lucy laughed. 'Stop joking! I had to leave Mr Petrov in a hurry. We need to find the others quickly! He's expecting the rest of his gang!'
She explained hurriedly as she led them into the building, but it was not until later that they learned the whole story: she had gone into the bar as arranged and had approached the bar to ask whether anyone had been in asking for Miss Mirabelle Leicester, but as she approached a man had come up to her, and had asked whether she was Miss Leicester. On her confirming that she was, he had asked her to 'come up to my office - I have something important to tell you.' Trusting that Edward Davies was shadowing her, Lucy had followed the stranger out of the bar and up a flight of stairs to the first floor, where the other had ushered her into an airy room, with a desk and telephone, comfortable chairs and large curtained windows. He urged her to sit down on one of the chairs by the window, and had seated himself with his back to the desk.
He introduced himself as Mr Petrov and explained that he represented a syndicate of leading Russian businessmen who were hoping to develop business in Britain. They wanted her to help them persuade her husband, Leon Gonsalez, and the other two Just Men to assist them and promote their interests. He seemed very friendly, but Lucy was suspicious: it occurred to her that these businessmen might be planning to kidnap her and hold her to ransom, to force the Three Just Men to help them. She became even more suspicious when he poured her a drink of sherry and invited her to drink to their co-operation, assuring her that his associates would arrive soon and discuss the matter with her fully.
She was very relieved when the telephone rang, distracting her host, who got up and turned his back to her as he answered it. 'Yes,' he said, 'she's here. Good, do not be slow getting here. We need to move quickly. Yes,' and then he started to talk in another language, which Lucy didn't understand.
She decided that she had heard enough and would leave; but her route out of the room was blocked because her host was standing between her and the door. However, there was the window next to her, and as he was facing the door - thus preventing anyone else from entering unseen - he could not see what she was doing. So she got out of her chair, stepped noiselessly to the window and looked out.
Lucy had always been a very active girl and as a child her favourite activity had been climbing trees, lampposts and drainpipes, to her mother's despair and her father's amusement, so she was quite prepared to lower herself out of the window and drop to the ground if necessary. When she saw the roof of the extension below her, it was the work of a moment to lower herself out of the open window and on to the tiles. She closed the window behind her, trod carefully down the roof and let herself down into the arms of Busby and Pearce.
As she led them back into the Rose and Crown, she explained hurriedly that some Russian criminals were coming to meet Mr Petrov. Coming into the bar, they saw Raymond Poiccart drinking a glass of ale, sitting opposite a man in workman's clothes. Both men looked up as the three women entered and Raymond's friend appeared alarmed at the sight of the policewomen, but Lucy cried: 'Mr Poiccart! There are Russian gangsters coming - they're going to hold a meeting upstairs!'
'Russians?' repeated his friend. 'Them Russians are our allies.'
'Not these,' said Busby. 'These are spies who want to stir up trouble in Russia.'
The other appeared puzzled. 'How's that?' he began, but Raymond said soothingly, 'There are still some Czarists around, Harry, and some of them are using this public house as a base. Have you come across any suspicious-looking foreigners in here recently?'
'I don't know - I might have,' said Harry slowly, and Raymond shook his head at Lucy, who hurried her companions through the bar and into the lounge.
Mirabelle and Leon were sitting at a table by the fire, where they had a good view of the whole room. Lucy hurried over to them; Busby and Pearce sauntered in more casually, looking about them at the clientele, searching for familiar faces.
'Mr Petrov's telephoning upstairs,' said Lucy, before Mirabelle could ask her how she came to be back so quickly. 'He's calling his Russian friends.'
'You decided not to stay,' Leon observed.
'He says he represents a Russian business syndicate, and they want the Three Just Men's help to develop their business in Britain. You can go and speak to him yourself,' replied Lucy.
'I'd prefer to listen-in to his telephone call,' answered Leon, getting up and going in search of the publican. Lucy promptly sat down in his chair, opposite Mirabelle.
'I thought he might be thinking about kidnapping me,' she explained, 'so I climbed out of the window.'
Mirabelle laughed. 'You were supposed to be bait,' she said, 'not sneaking away as soon as there was danger!'
'You would have done the same! He probably hasn't noticed yet that I've gone.'
'Where's Edward Davies?' asked Busby, coming up to their table.
'I don't know. He followed me upstairs,' answered Lucy.
'He came in ahead of us,' agreed Mirabelle. 'I assume he's outside the room Lucy went into.'
'I'll go and check.' Busby walked towards the stairs, but at that moment man's voice shouted urgently from above. She bounded up two steps at a time, with Pearce close on her heels, but even as they ran a shot rang out, and from the first floor landing Edward Davies's voice shouted: 'Lucy!
'Edward!' cried Lucy, jumping to her feet. She rushed up the stairs, leaving Mirabelle sitting alone by the fire. She was about to rise and follow them; but suddenly she felt a heavy hand on her left shoulder, holding her down.
'Now, Miss Leicester,' said a voice in her left ear. 'Come outside with us, and we can go for a ride.'
Mirabelle felt her body go cold, and her heart flutter. She would have reached for her bag, but it lay under the table, out of her reach. A hard, cold object jabbed against her shoulder; she realised that it was a gun. She tried to get up, staggered, gasped and fell senseless to the floor, knocking over the table and two glasses of beer, which smashed.
The barmaid screamed; every other person in the lounge leapt to their feet and hurried to help the young woman lying in a heap on the floor. The scream brought Raymond and Harry rushing in from the bar; Raymond pushed through the crowd that had gathered around Mirabelle, shoved to one side the three burly men who were standing over her, and felt her pulse.
'Get back,' he said to the man who was holding her shoulder, 'give her air.'
'It's my wife,' said the other gruffly, 'she fainted for no reason. I must take her home.'
'This is not your wife,' retorted Raymond, 'and I am a doctor. She had a very good reason for fainting, and you are not taking her anywhere. Get back.' His strong arms gestured around him, clearing a space - and everyone else stepped back out of range of his fists.
'I say-' began the other, 'you can't do this. It's my wife, I tell you.'
'Then tell me how she got into this condition.' Raymond turned Mirabelle gently on to her side and laid her in a more comfortable position. He loosened her coat and scarf and the collar of her dress slightly so that she could breathe.
'I don't know what you mean!'
'Clearly you don't. Ah, officer' - this to Pearce, who had just come back down into the lounge, summoned by the barmaid's scream, 'arrest this man for impersonating an officer of the law.'
Nothing loath, Pearce immediately stepped forward and laid a hand on his right arm. 'I arrest you for impersonating an officer of the law; you do not have to say anything, but anything you say will be taken down and may be used in evidence against you.'
'This is preposterous!' exclaimed the other. 'My wife has collapsed, and you arrest me!'
'Your wife?' Pearce looked down at Mirabelle's body; her pale face became even paler than usual as she realised what had happened, but she recovered her natural vivacity almost at once and looked the man in the eye. 'You certainly are impersonating an officer, and I'm taking you into custody for your own protection; her husband will shoot you on sight! Are you going to come quietly?'
'Don't be ridiculous!' The other attempted to twist out of Pearce's grip, realised that she was stronger than he'd expected, struggled and tried to push her away, but she hung on for grim death. As his two companions pushed forward and tried to pull Pearce off him, Pearce grabbed her whistle with her spare hand and blew for all she was worth, which brought Busby, Edward Davies and Lucy rushing back down the stairs. Raymond scooped Mirabelle up into his arms and carried her out of range as the newcomers fell on the three men who were attacking Pearce. Most of the people in the lounge fled with shouts of alarm, some into the bar and some out into the street; as they ran out, four policemen - summoned by Pearce's whistle - rushed in.
Pearce's victim was trying to pull his gun on her, but she had hold of his gun arm. One of his companions drew a gun just as Lucy picked up a stool and used it as a club - she failed to knock him down, but he dropped his gun with an oath. The police attempted to restrain the three, but they fought back like demons; Davies held his gun to the head of the man who was struggling to escape from Pearce; and then Leon's voice shouted: 'Surrender, or I'll shoot!' and everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look at him.
Leon came out of the publican's sitting room, where he had been using the telephone, his gun pointed at the three men around Pearce. 'I'll shoot you this moment if you've harmed a hair of my wife's head,' he said, his face a grim mask of death.
'She's unhurt,' came Raymond's voice from the other side of the room, where he had laid Mirabelle on a settle by the wall. 'She has only fainted.'
'Take them away, officers,' Leon instructed the policemen, who proceeded to handcuff the three and remove them to the police cars outside. 'What happened to Petrov?' he asked Busby. 'He cut off his phone call suddenly.'
'Davies shot him,' answered Busby. 'When he realised that Baines had gone, he came out of the room upstairs to find her, and when Davies asked him where she was, he said: "She's gone," so Davies shot him.'
Inspector Meadows walked in during this explanation and commented: 'He's getting into your bad habits, Gonsalez.'
'Self-defence, Inspector,' replied Leon, smiling his most charming boyish smile; but Meadows shook his head.
'I'll have to bring you people into line; you can't keep on shooting people out of hand just because they happen to be dangerous gangsters set on destroying society. Davies, I assume your finger slipped on this occasion, but you need to come back with me to the station and get a certificate for that gun of yours. And then the Triangle Agency need to give you a proper job, rather than your acting as odd-jobs man for them.'
'He's already on our ledger, Inspector,' Leon reminded him.
'He needs something more regular than your ledger-work. Is that Russian upstairs dead?'
'I'll call an ambulance,' said Lucy, and ran into the publican's sitting room to borrow the telephone again; Edward followed her.
Leon put his gun away inside his jacket and walked over to Mirabelle's side, bending over her and taking her right hand in his. 'Carina, can you hear me?' he asked.
Mirabelle's eyelids fluttered; her eyes opened, and she looked up at him. 'My word,' she said, 'what happened?'
'You fainted. Don't get up' - he put out a hand to prevent her from rising - 'you're still very pale. Raymond, what's your diagnosis?' Anyone who did not know Leon would have thought he was completely calm and unfeeling; but Mirabelle and Raymond saw the flicker in his eyes and his twitching fingers and knew he was extremely anxious about her.
'Her condition is as is to be expected for a woman of her condition,' responded Raymond calmly.
Leon's eyes narrowed. 'What do you mean, Raymundo mio?'
'She has been married to you for over four months,' responded Raymond, looking his colleague in the eye, 'and you two did not take the advice of George and myself to sleep in separate beds.'
Inspector Meadows was the first to break the silence that followed.
'Let me be the first to congratulate you,' he said, bending over Mirabelle and shaking her hand, then Leon's hand. 'I expect to see you down at the Yard as soon as Miss Leicester - or should I say Mrs Gonsalez? - is well enough to stand. We have some matters to sort out from this case. Busby, Pearce - congratulate Miss Leicester and then follow me out to the car.' He nodded to Raymond and Leon, and left.
Busby and Pearce looked at each other.
'It seems a shame,' said Busby.
'What a waste of a crime fighter!' said Pearce.
'You'll have to hire a nurse, and then you can come out crime fighting again,' said Busby. 'Jolly good luck, all the same.' She shook Mirabelle's hand.
'Take good care,' said Pearce, and did likewise; then they followed Meadows out.
'I don't think I understand,' said Mirabelle faintly as they left, 'what's going on?'
'They mean, carina, that you are going to have a baby,' explained Leon.
'My word!' said Mirabelle again, and closed her eyes in shock.
'Where is Mirabelle?' asked Maria. She was propped up in bed so that she could look out of the window and face the visitors who were sitting around her room. 'I told her to come back and see me.'
'You told me to come back and tell you what had happened,' said Lucy, 'and I've told you.' Her face was especially radiant, and she was nursing her left hand in her right.
'Mr Davies shot Petrov, and asked you to marry him,' replied Maria. 'But I had understood that you are already engaged to Mirabelle's cousin.'
'I am. I'm not sure which of them I prefer,' confessed Lucy, blushing.
Maria shrugged - she had no time for other people's emotional traumas - and continued: 'And the police arrested Vrinsky, Andrevin and Little Peter. I am glad to know that they are all in prison.'
'For the moment,' said Busby. 'Meadows wants to deport them.'
'And you all escaped unharmed, except Mirabelle. What has happened to her? She is my sister. I am worried for her.'
'She's confined to bed,' said Pearce. 'Gonsalez has told her she mustn't get up until tomorrow.'
'Is she hurt?' insisted Maria.
'She's expecting a baby,' exclaimed Lucy. 'Isn't it exciting?'
Maria relaxed immediately. 'Is that all? Then there is nothing to worry about. But I am worried about the elections tomorrow. Someone must find out for me what is happening.'
Busby and Pearce got to their feet to leave. 'Don't worry, Mrs Manfred,' said Pearce, 'we'll come back to check up on you tomorrow and we'll tell you all about it.'
Leon had put Mirabelle to bed, with strict instructions that she should get some sleep. 'I have to pay a visit to an old acquaintance,' he said.
'Darling, whom were you talking to on the phone back there? You went on talking even after Petrov had been shot.'
'When Petrov left the line and didn't come back, his correspondent became anxious and began to call out for him. So I spoke to him in Russian, telling him that Petrov had been called away, and asking him to give me a message for Petrov.' Leon was happily smug at the success of his deception. 'He told me that he was coming to meet Petrov and his associates, but as I knew that Petrov would not be available, I told him that I would come to see him on Petrov's behalf. So he told me where to meet him, and what to bring with me. He asked me to bring you, so clearly they had planned to abduct you, as we suspected. I'll tell him you are safely confined. Then he told me to bring money and to be ready to receive instructions. He is very excited, because he is sure he has discovered where Maria of Gratz is and how she can be killed.'
'I see,' said Mirabelle. 'So this is an old acquaintance? Who is he?'
'Herr Bleaumeau from Karlsruhe. He was once a member of the Red Hundred. George, Raymond and I killed two of his associates, but he escaped us.'
'I wish I could come with you!'
'It would be very dangerous, and you are in no condition to come. Sleep well, darling - I'll be back soon.' Leon kissed her on the forehead and left her to sleep.
The Three Just Men never attempted to keep track of each other's movements; they trusted each other implicitly, and it was taken for granted that they would keep each other informed if necessary, or not, if it was not necessary. Leon often went out on his own business without telling anyone where he was going, but on this occasion he put his head around the door of the laboratory to tell Raymond: 'I'm going out after Bleaumeau of Karlsruhe. He has resurfaced in London.'
Raymond nodded. 'Do you have a location?' he asked.
'He told me to meet him at the Savoy. He thinks I'm one of Petrov's minions.'
'Be careful.' Raymond bent his head to his laboratory bench, and Leon departed.
He set off down the mews behind Curzon Street; dressed as an ordinary workman, he would have passed without notice anywhere in London. However, the two policewomen walking ahead of him up the mews heard his footsteps coming up behind them, turned and recognised him.
'Where are you off to, Gonsalez?' demanded Busby.
'I have some unfinished business to attend to,' answered Leon. The two women swung in either side of him and kept pace with him.
'I know that expression on your face,' said Busby. 'You're off to break the law, and you don't want us along.'
'So we're coming with you,' added Pearce. 'Mirabelle would want us to keep an eye on you.'
'Tell us where you're going,' Busby continued, 'and we promise not to get in your way.'
Leon considered. He preferred to conduct such operations alone, but if he sent Busby and Pearce away and anything went wrong, they would feel responsible. There was also a risk that they would go and fetch Meadows, who would stop him before he had completed his task. He thought rapidly.
'Very well,' he said. 'The man I am going to visit is involved in white slavery, so it will be entirely appropriate for women police officers to play a role in the investigation. You can go in before me, with me or after me - what would you prefer?'
'If we go in after you, he'll be dead,' retorted Busby. 'I know you, Gonsalez.'
'Why can't we just listen outside?' asked Pearce. 'Isn't that what you usually do - listen at windows?'
Busby agreed. 'You go in and question him, and we'll listen outside.'
Leon laughed. 'He's staying in the Savoy Hotel,' he said. 'If you can get out on to the balcony, you can listen from outside the window.'
Pearce shuddered - she was scared of heights - but Busby said fiercely, 'You're on!'
As they walked on towards the Strand, Leon explained his plan. They would have to arrive at the hotel separately, so it would be up to the women to find their way to the right window. He knew the room number - it was on the second floor, at the back of the hotel: 'you can go up the fire escape; it will be the third window to the left.'
Busby was aware of Pearce's dislike of heights, but was not going to admit to any weakness on the part of herself or her companion. 'Right,' she said.
Leon explained that he would go in to the room and speak to Bleaumeau, and try to get him to talk about his operations. At an appropriate moment, the women could break in. 'I'll try to get him to open the window, to make your task easier.'
They parted at the corner of a street; Leon went ahead, while the two policewomen went round to the back of the building. In the service area they found the fire escape, and climbed up with care: it was now mid-afternoon and as the day was cloudy the light was growing poor. Busby led the way up to the second floor, where a door opened out of the hotel on to a metal platform. There was no means of opening the door from the outside, but they could climb over the railing and make their way along the narrow balcony to the third window on the left.
Busby looked over the railing. 'That's not a balcony,' she muttered.
Pearce leaned over to see. 'Eighteen inches and a two foot parapet!'
Busby shrugged. 'We'll have to crawl,' she said.
'I'll have to do it with my eyes closed,' said Pearce.
'Fair enough. Come on.' Busby climbed over the railing, lowered herself on to the narrow ledge and let herself carefully down so that she was behind the parapet. She crawled along a little, then paused to ensure that Pearce was all right.
Pearce was not all right. She had managed to walk across roofs at Curzon Street, but lowering herself onto a narrow ridge with such a low parapet was too much. She tried closing her eyes, but that made it worse; she tried opening her eyes, and was almost sick. At last she fixed her eyes on a distant point and lowered her legs over while Busby called: 'Left a bit - down a bit - down a bit - you're there.' Clinging desperately to the fire escape railing, she managed to squeeze herself on to the ledge and crawl along after Busby, who set off along the ledge on hands and knees, her regulation truncheon banging on her thighs.
It seemed an unreasonable distance to the third window - far further than it looked from the ground - and the two women quickly realised that the ledge had not been designed for crawling on. It was worn, and filthy with soot, and covered in bird muck. Their hands and knees were covered in slime and dirt by the time they reached the window they wanted and cautiously raised their heads.
'Got him,' muttered Busby. It was clearly the correct window: the man inside, a stout and elderly individual in a multi-coloured dressing gown - had just opened the door of his room to admit Gonsalez. But could they hear what the men were saying? Both women strained forward, but they could distinguish very little; the sound of the traffic below drowned out the voices inside the room.
The man in the room - Bleaumeau - was standing with his back to the window, but Gonsalez was facing them, and could see them; he gestured with his hands as if to tell them to duck down. 'Idiot,' muttered Pearce, 'I can't!' Busby gestured back to tell him to open the window. Gonsalez shrugged, and turned away.
'I hate you, Gonsalez,' muttered Busby, putting her ear to the glass. Then: 'Watch out! He's coming!' cried Pearce, and both women shrank back out of view as the man in the room came over to the window and flung it up, then turned back into the room. 'Now we can breathe freely,' the women heard him say.
'Petrov has not told me anything,' Gonsalez said. He was imitating the accent and manner of speech of a London labourer of eastern European extraction - the intonation was so perfect that Pearce had to blink and stare to convince herself that it really was Gonsalez. 'I only know the woman Leicester is in a safe place. What do you want her for? He did not explain.'
'That is no business of yours, my friend,' Bleaumeau replied. 'You need only know that I have a destination in mind for her.'
'What sort of destination? Do you mean murder?'
'No, no. Just some work. We find work for beautiful women. Beautiful work, making men happy.' Bleaumeau seemed amused - Busby gritted her teeth and wondered whether she could get away with shooting him now.
'Beautiful women? So you employ many women?' Gonsalez was being deliberately obtuse.
'Employ is perhaps not the right word, but many women work for me, yes.'
'You mentioned Maria of Gratz - is she also to work for you?'
'No, no, my friend. She will not work for me - for her, the sentence is death. It is a long time since she earned that sentence from me, a long time.'
'I don't understand,' said Gonsalez, still deliberately obtuse.
'It is not for such as you to understand, my friend, but simply to do as you are told and to carry my message to Petrov. You will see him tonight?'
'I'll go straight back now.'
'Then carry this note to him.' Busby and Pearce raised their heads above the windowsill and saw Bleaumeau take a piece of paper out of a drawer in his desk and pass it to Gonsalez. Gonsalez took it and put it into his trouser pocket. He then looked around the room and said, 'A nice place you have here, Mr Bleaumeau.'
'That is true,' answered the other complacently. 'However, it is no concern of yours, my friend, so you can hurry back to Petrov.'
'I was just wondering,' Gonsalez said, 'whether you wanted any more agents, Mr Bleaumeau. It looks to me that you'd be a much better employer than Mr Petrov.'
Bleaumeau shrugged. 'In this game, one does not want many agents, my friend. One wants to know whom one can trust. Off you go.' He waved his visitor away, and Gonsalez turned to leave. He walked three paces, then turned back again.
'I've worked for a lot of different people,' he began, as if pleading with Bleaumeau to give him employment. 'I've worked for the Countess Viramova-'
Bleaumeau stiffened. 'What do you know about her?' he demanded.
'She's been arrested by the British police,' said Gonsalez. 'They're making her tell them everything -'
'Out!' Bleaumeau grabbed Gonsalez by the arm and pushed him bodily towards the door. 'Get back to Petrov! I have no work for you here!' and he pushed the protesting man out of the room, and locked the door behind him.
Mopping his brow, he ran to a cupboard and pulled out a carpet bag, into which he began to push papers, ledgers and books. He pulled out a key on a string around his neck, opened a wall safe and pressed yet more papers, packages and boxes into the bag. Having fastened it, he donned a heavy overcoat and hat, took a gun from a drawer in his desk and put it into an inside pocket, headed for the door and unlocked it.
'This is where we go in,' said Busby, and Pearce nodded. Both women started to clamber in through the window, but their legs were stiff from crouching in the cold on the narrow ledge, and Pearce slipped. Busby shouted and caught hold of her. Bleaumeau heard the cry and turned back. He saw the women at his window and dropped the bag in his amazement - then he reached into his coat to pull out his gun. Busby shouted at the top of her voice: 'Gonsalez! Where the hell are you?'
The door behind Bleaumeau slammed open and Gonsalez rushed into the room, Browning in hand. At the same moment, Pearce managed to grab hold of the window ledge and haul herself into the room. She shot in through the window and rolled across the carpet; Busby fell in after her and pulled out her gun as she hit the floor. Bleaumeau looked from Gonsalez to Busby and Pearce and back again, then realised that two guns were pointing at him - no, three (Pearce's gun appeared last) - and he let his own gun fall to the floor and raised his hands above his head.
Pearce got to her feet. Her legs were still shaking from cold and from fear, but she walked across the room, pulled a set of handcuffs from her tunic, grasped Bleaumeau's hands and handcuffed him. 'Mr Bleaumeau, I arrest you for being a member of a proscribed anarchist organisation, for attempting to kidnap Mirabelle Leicester and for conspiracy to murder Maria of Gratz. You do not have to say anything, but anything you say will be taken down and may be used in evidence against you. Please accompany me to Scotland Yard.'
Bleaumeau looked helplessly at Gonsalez. 'What is this? What is going on?' he asked.
'This gentleman is a police agent,' said Busby. 'You've been caught by an undercover operation. Are you coming quietly?'
'Yes - yes -' Bleaumeau shook his head in confusion. Suddenly he looked extremely old and tired. 'I don't understand. This man is a police man? I thought he was one of Petrov's agents.'
'Petrov was arrested this morning,' said Pearce gently. She put a hand on his shoulder. 'Come along, old grandfather. Come down to Scotland Yard and we'll explain.'
Gonsalez moved to pick up Bleaumeau's carpet bag, but Busby got to it first. 'I'll take this,' she said firmly. 'I'm sure Inspector Meadows will be very interested to see it.'
'I would like to see it myself,' said Gonsalez, in his natural voice, 'as I believe the contents may help me to clear up several other cases.'
Bleaumeau uttered an oath and stared at Gonsalez. 'I know you! I know you! You are that damned man - that one of the Four Just Men! You tried to kidnap me - I remember you!'
Leon nodded, smiling with satisfaction. 'And you escaped me, Herr Bleaumeau, but this time you will not escape the law. You may only thank God that these two policewomen met me on my way here, otherwise you would not have lived to see an English gaol.'
'So you're confident you've got the lot of them,' observed Meadows.
Leon nodded. 'I - we - have caught the ringleaders. There are still the small fry, who know very little about the gang's operation and were acting only on instructions. They will take longer to pick up, but the information should be in there.' He nodded at Bleaumeau's carpet bag, which was sitting on Meadows's desk.
'What was in that note that Bleaumeau gave you?' asked Busby.
Leon shot her a look of annoyance; he had hoped that she had forgotten about the note. He produced it from his pocket and handed it across the desk to Meadows, who looked at it and promptly handed it back.
'You'd better read it to us,' he said, 'I assume that scrawl is Russian.'
Leon grinned delightedly and said, 'You see why I didn't show it to you earlier!'
'Let's have a translation,' said Meadows.
'Bleaumeau is telling Petrov where Maria is, and tells him to kill her by poison,' said Leon. 'He suggests that he send her a cake from a well-wisher, or perhaps chocolates. However, as Maria is still very weak, she isn't eating anything except gruel and beef tea. When I get back to Curzon Street I'll check with Nurse O'Leary to make sure Maria hasn't received any gifts from well-wishers.'
'We'll be over tomorrow to check up on her,' Pearce reminded him.
'I'll get my officers on to this.' Meadows slapped the carpet bag. 'Now get back to young Mirabelle, Gonsalez. She'll be wondering where you've got to.'
Leon left the office, nodding good night to Meadows and the officers, and walked off down the street; but he hadn't got far when Busby and Pearce caught up with him.
'Leon Gonsalez! Stop right there.' Busby put a hand on his arm. 'Show me that note you got from Bleaumeau.'
Leon grinned at her. 'You can't read it; it's in Russian.'
'I know. But I bet it said more than you read to us.'
Leon looked from Busby to Pearce and back, then shrugged. 'Why should I argue with you? The British police are always right.'
'You bet we are! Where are you going, Gonsalez?'
Leon's smile seemed fixed. 'I'm going back to Curzon Street.'
'We don't believe you,' said Pearce. 'You're going to find the women Bleaumeau has kidnapped.'
Leon shrugged helplessly. 'Why should I argue? But why should I do that, rather than leaving it to the good inspector?'
'Because you want to tie up the case yourself,' retorted Busby, 'and remember that we know you too well. We know you won't rest until you've rescued them.'
'You're too chivalrous, Gonsalez,' Pearce laughed.
Leon was annoyed at the accusation of sentiment. 'I'm acting from motives of strict justice, as I always do.'
'Yes, tell that to the judge. Right, are we going, then?' Busby asked him.
'You can't leave us behind. We're here to keep an eye on you for Mirabelle,' said Pearce.
Leon looked from one of the WPCs to the other and shrugged again. 'Very well. It would be better if you two were in plain clothes.'
'It's getting dark,' said Busby. 'They can't see us. Where are we going?'
'East', answered Leon.
'Then we can drop in at my lodgings and get some plain clothes,' said Pearce.
Leon's initial plan had been to go to the address in Bleaumeau's note, find out what was there, and then decide what to do. He relished the challenge of such cases. Had Mirabelle been with him, he would have discussed the case with her and they would have run through various possible lines of action. He did not consider that he could do his with the policewomen, who would have little patience with his more outrageous ideas. However, having the women with him could be an advantage, if they were prepared to play along and act a part.
They went via Pearce's lodging, a single room in an old house in Holborn. Leon waited outside - men were not allowed in the rooms - while Busby and Pearce went inside. When they came out they were in plain clothes, although it would be obvious to anyone who looked at carefully them that they were policewomen, from their confident stance and rolling gait. However, Leon had not expected any more, and as he led them on their way he explained his plan to them.
'Bleaumeau's note said that Petrov should bring Mirabelle to his club in Deptford, so I assume that it's a place of entertainment. There may be gambling, drinking, dancing or drugs; we won't know until we get there. I assume it's in an old warehouse or a cellar. We'll have to see what is happening there and then decide how best to proceed.'
'How come you didn't know about this place?' demanded Pearce.
'There are a lot of dubious clubs in London. We only intervene when there is clear injustice that has evaded the law.'
'So how has this one evaded the law?' wondered Busby.
'I have a suspicion, but we'll see when we get there.'
They caught a bus over the Thames to Deptford, and walked along the dimly-lit streets looking for the address on the note. The sun had set and the street lamps were just coming on, but they were dim and widely-spaced; the three kept close together as they walked. At last Leon said: 'Here we are,' and the three halted and looked up at a wooden sign over a door.
'Deptford Mission to Seamen?' exclaimed Pearce. 'Are you sure?'
'The perfect disguise,' Leon assured her. 'Let's go in.'
The door was unlocked. Inside was a large hall set out with tables and chairs, and a few men playing cards or chess. An elderly man sat on a chair by the door and challenged them as they came in: 'Good evening, friends.'
'Good evening,' answered Leon in Russian. 'I have come from Petrov.'
The other was instantly alert. 'You must go downstairs, friend,' he said, gesturing towards a door in the left wall. 'Go through the cellar and through the door at the end, then up to the second floor. The boss will talk to you.'
Leon thanked him, gestured the women to follow him, and led the way to the other door. It opened on to a flight of steps leading downwards; when they emerged at the bottom, they found themselves in a well-lit cellar, which was used for storage. Leon walked on across the cellar and to a door in the opposite wall, which opened on to a lift shaft. He pressed the button to summon the lift.
'What is this place?' whispered Busby, staring around her.
'At a guess, it's an unlicensed club, operating out of the back of the same building as the legitimate Mission to Seaman at the front,' answered Leon.
'What did that man at the door say? He didn't question us.'
'I told him that I was from Petrov - clearly that was enough.' Leon looked at his two companions. 'Pull your hats well down over your eyes, pull up your mufflers round your faces, and try not to say anything. He probably thinks we're all Russians.'
'My grandmother's Russian,' said Pearce. 'That's where I inherited this red hair.'
Leon looked at her flaming red hair, white skin and brilliant blue eyes. 'Of course,' he said. 'Do you know any Russian?'
'Only yes and no!'
'Then it's best to keep your mouth shut. Let me do the talking.'
The lift arrived, and Leon flung open the gate. 'After you, officers!' They grinned at him and got into the lift - Leon followed and pulled the gate shut behind him - he pressed the button for floor two, and up they went.
The boss was working in his office and greeted them with a scowl, but cheered up immediately that Leon mentioned Petrov. 'Thank God,' he said, 'I wondered when you would get here. I have some new women just arrived and I need you to go upstairs immediately and give them their orders. We open at seven and they have done nothing yet.'
'Of course,' said Leon. 'Where will we find them?'
'They will be in the dormitory, top floor.' He gestured upwards. Leon nodded, said: 'We will deal with it,' and gestured Busby and Pearce to follow him out.
'There are some women newly arrived here,' he told them as he led them back to the lift. 'Apparently he thinks you are Petrov's women who train and manage the women who work for him.'
'We obviously look mean,' said Pearce. 'Let's see what state they are in.'
The lift only took them to the third floor; they had to climb the stairs to find the dormitory, which was in the attic. They found five women sitting at one end of the dormitory, huddled in threadbare coats and talking between themselves, another group who were wearing dancing dresses and were apparently getting ready for the show that evening, and a group of a dozen sitting on the beds and weeping, who were clearly in no state to go anywhere. The women who were getting ready for the evening show looked round as they entered and one challenged them in English with a strong Russian accent: 'Who are you?'
'We've come to see how you are,' answered Leon. 'Do you have everything that you need?'
'Are you joking? We're treated like slaves here! And this new bunch are ill.' The leader of the girls in dancing clothes gestured towards the girls sitting on the beds.
Busby and Pearce immediately ran over look at them. Leon said, 'I'm a doctor,' and followed them.
'Doctor! What's the use of that? We need proper food and housing,' said the dancers angrily. Leon nodded, and bent over the group on the beds. One woman was coughing; another was so pale and thin that she looked like a living skeleton, and her breathing was very fast and shallow.
'This woman has tuberculosis,' said Busby, indicating the woman with the cough. 'She must have medical treatment at once.'
'So does this,' said Pearce, looking up from the woman next to her: 'these are worse cases than I've ever seen.'
Leon nodded; he recognised the symptoms of the disease. He turned to address the dancers. 'Where do these woman come from?'
They shrugged. 'Who knows?' said the leader. 'Andrei ships them in, like he shipped us in. They're refugees, looking for a better life; and they end up here.'
'You said they've just arrived.'
'Yes, they came this afternoon. Andrei will expect them to join the chorus line this evening. In fact,' the leader laughed, 'we thought you were the madams come to lick the newcomers into shape. We've never seen medics here before. Who sent you?'
'We brought ourselves.' Leon bent over a third woman; Busby was checking her pulse. The woman was grey in the face and seemed to have a breathing difficulty. Busby shook her head in concern. 'These women are dying,' she said. 'They need immediate treatment.'
'Some of them always die,' said the leader of the dancers. 'The healthy ones are over there.' She pointed to the five women in threadbare coats.
'What happens to them if they die?' asked Busby, angrily.
The other shrugged. 'I don't know. Andrei gets men to take the bodies away. I don't know what he does with them.'
'Gonsalez,' said Busby, 'this has to stop.'
He nodded. 'We need to get them out of the building. Which is the quickest way out?' he asked the dancers.
'There's only one way out - the way you came in.'
Pearce looked around. 'No windows,' she said. 'Is there a skylight?'
'There's a door on to the roof, but there's no way out that way,' the leading dancer said, pointing upwards.
'There doesn't need to be.' Pearce reached inside her coat and pulled out her police whistle. 'I just need to blow this.'
'Officer,' said Leon patiently, 'it's unlikely that there's anyone within hearing at the moment. You know that Deptford isn't as thoroughly policed as central London.'
Pearce scowled at him. 'I had a glance at that note Bleaumeau gave you. I can't read Russian, but I know the alphabet and I did see the word Deptford. Meadows should have sent a team after us, but they won't know exactly where we are.' She stood up straight and looked at the hatch in the low ceiling. 'Is it locked?'
Leon looked up and said, 'There's a bolt. Help me move this bed.' The dancers watched in bemusement as he and the two women moved an empty bed across the floor to stand under the hatch in the roof. Leon climbed on to the iron frame, reached up and unbolted the hatch, opened it and then asked Pearce: 'Are you going out?' She grinned, shook her head and held the whistle out to him. 'Three short blasts.' He nodded, reached up and hauled himself up through the hole on to the roof. They heard the whistle; there was a pause, and then the whistle was repeated, and they heard Leon walking about on the tiles. The whistle was repeated again, and then he lowered himself down again through the hatch.
'There's an old fire escape down the side of the building,' he said. 'They're coming up that way.'
'Is it safe?' asked Pearce. Leon handed her back her whistle.
'I think so. They'll be here in a moment.'
'What is going on?' asked the leading dancer. 'What are you doing? I thought you were going to take the sick women to hospital.'
'We are,' said Leon. 'Help is coming that way.' He pointed up to the hatch.
'But why were you whistling? I don't understand what you British do.'
'Is this the best entrance you can find us, Gonsalez?' asked a familiar voice. A face was looking through the hatch from the roof: it was Stanley, the sergeant who had led the police team during Sunday's siege at Curzon Street.
'I regret that I cannot offer you a red carpet,' answered Leon, 'but this is an easier entrance than the way we came in through the cellar. You may lower yourself down easily and drop on to that bed.'
'Right-o.' Stanley directed his men to let themselves down through the hatch. The dancers screamed when they saw the police. 'No, no! We have done nothing wrong! Make these men go away!'
'It's all right, ladies,' said Stanley politely, 'we haven't come to do you any harm. We've come to have a little chat with your employer.'
'It isn't like the old days, is it?' asked Busby. The three had got a lift in a police car back to Scotland Yard. The sick women had been taken away in ambulances; the other women had been taken away to a secure women's hostel, where they would have clean, warm beds and decent food and be cared for by trained warders until their papers could be checked and their immigration status made clear. 'Andrei', the boss of the outfit, and his employees were under arrest. Busby, Pearce and Leon were going back to make their report before going off-duty.
'In the old days you would have shot him,' added Pearce.
'I was planning to do that tonight,' Leon assured them.
'We know,' said Busby, 'and that's one reason we came with you. The other reason was that Mirabelle would have wanted us to keep an eye on you for her.'
'Meadows has been saying that you ought to be a special branch of the police,' said Pearce. 'In fact you already are, but it should be more official.'
'Our good inspector fails to see that advantage of the Triangle Agency operating independently,' observed Leon. 'He has complete deniability if our operations go wrong, and he takes the credit if we succeed.'
'Well, we'll see about that,' said Busby. 'We have to come over every day to Curzon Street to check up on Maria of Gratz, so we can keep an eye on you and Mirabelle too.'
It was an hour later that Leon finally arrived back at 233 Curzon Street. The servants had long ago departed, but in the kitchen he found a tray covered with a cloth and a note: 'For Mr & Mrs Lightning.' He looked under the cloth: Mrs Dorran had left some cold pork pie, cold potatoes and pickle, and some cold fruit tart. He smiled at her thoughtfulness - she was always determined to take care of Mirabelle and fought a constant battle to ensure that he, her 'Mr Lightning', ate proper meals. He picked up the tray and carried it up the stairs from the kitchen, then laid it down on the table in the hall for a moment while he looked in on his two friends in the drawing room.
George and Raymond put aside their newspapers. 'So you're back at last,' observed George. 'Did you put the cat out?'
'It ran when it saw me,' remarked Leon. This was a running joke in the house - there was no cat, but George maintained that any normal household would have one and would put it out at nights - rather than being out all night as Leon so often was.
'Did you find Bleaumeau?' asked Raymond.
'Yes, and he sent me to the Seaman's Mission in Deptford.'
'Ah, yes.' Raymond nodded. 'I have been wondering about that institution. But I have not had the opportunity to investigate thoroughly.'
'There's little of it left now to investigate,' Leon told him. 'The police have torn it apart! By the way, George: Maria should not be allowed to receive any gifts from well-wishers. Some of her enemies are trying to poison her.'
George nodded. 'Of course,' he said. 'I'll warn Nurse O'Leary.'
'We had better warn the servants as well,' Raymond said, and George nodded.
'Yes, it would be too easy for a stranger in the street to give them something for her. Incidentally, Leon, Mirabelle has been asleep since you went out this afternoon. I expect she will need something to eat by now. Have you eaten today?'
'Mrs Dorran left us something,' said Leon. 'I'll take it upstairs now. Goodnight,' and he left the room, picked up the tray and took it upstairs. George and Raymond returned to their reading.
'Did you win?' asked Mirabelle sleepily, as Leon came into their room.
'Yes, darling. Have you slept well?'
'I've had a lovely rest! I dreamt the Conservatives won the election, and all the anarchists left Britain.'
Leon laid the tray on the bedside table and sat down on the side of the bed. 'I doubt Maria will,' he said, 'but we can worry about that tomorrow.'
Mirabelle opened her eyes and looked into his face. 'Did you shoot him?'
Leon shook his head. 'I met Annie Busby and Lilian Pearce, and they insisted on arresting him.'
'So he'll have to stand trial,' said Mirabelle sleepily. 'That's good.' She yawned 'We've saved Maria from so many people - since she came we've brought her back from Nottingham, and rescued her from Menshikoff, and from Thorney Manor, and ended a siege, and arrested Czarist conspirators - do you think we'll ever be able to stop people attacking her?'
'No, darling - I think we'll have to give her a permanent bodyguard.'
'Edward Davies and Lucy!' Mirabelle smiled to herself. 'They'll like that.' She yawned again. 'Sorry, darling - I'm just so sleepy!' She closed her eyes.
Leon bent and kissed her forehead. 'Don't go back to sleep yet,' he said. 'Mrs Dorran has left us some supper, and you need to eat, darling.'
She opened her eyes and smiled sleepily at him. 'I'll eat if you will!'
'I will.' He picked up the tray and laid it on the bed. 'Open your mouth and I'll feed you - do you want pie first, or tart?'
'Oh, you barbarian! Pie, of course!'
'There's no "of course" about it. Numerous scientific studies show that the traditional order of eating savoury and sweet dishes is based purely on social custom and has no effect on the effectiveness of the digestive system.' Leon held out a piece of pie, and Mirabelle bit into it, spluttered, exclaimed: 'Crumbs!' and then began to laugh. 'Oh, give it to me!' She took it from his hands, broke a piece off and put it into his mouth. 'There, I can feed you too - I bet you haven't eaten all day!'
The meal left crumbs all over the bed and floor; Mirabelle resolved that she would get up early in the morning to clean up, before Emily came in and saw the mess. 'And then we'll go out and see how the General Election is going on - tomorrow is going to be a very busy day.'
The end
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