The Ways of the World (26 page)

‘Yes, it’s me … Sir Henry’s boy is the problem. He’s downstairs. He’s been making a nuisance of himself … Easy for you to say. It’s me who has to carry it off … You’d better remember my problems are your problems … He mentioned Tarn, damn it … All right … God damn it, I said
all right
… Yes, yes … Yes. I’ll be there.’

Ennis crashed the receiver down so heavily the telephone toppled off the desk. With a curse, he bent down and hoisted it back into place. Then he turned and saw Max.

‘What the—’

‘Who was that you were speaking to, Walter?’

‘None of your damn business.’

‘I must beg to differ, since it’s me you were discussing.’

‘Get out of here.’

‘Not until you’ve told me who you were speaking to.’

Ennis grabbed the telephone and rattled the switch-hook. ‘Ennis, room two twenty-one,’ he announced to whoever had responded. ‘I need a couple of guards up here to deal with an intru—’

He was cut off by Max wrenching the phone out of his hand, so violently the wire was pulled out of the wall behind the desk. Max tossed the instrument aside and stared into Ennis’s eyes. The man was frightened, probably not just of Max. His face was lightly sheened with sweat and he was struggling for breath.

‘Get out … while you still can, Maxted,’ he panted. ‘You’re in … way over your head.’

‘No. You’re describing yourself, Walter. I know exactly what I’m doing.’

‘If you did … you’d quit now.’

‘Who were you speaking to when I came in?’

‘Go to hell.’

Ennis was obviously not going to answer any questions voluntarily. Max decided to see whether a little discomfort would loosen his tongue. He punched him hard in his bulging stomach. Ennis went over like a sack of flour, sagging on to his knees with a spluttering groan.

‘Who was it, Walter?’ Max demanded, kneeling beside him. ‘I need the name.’

Ennis’s head fell forward. His face was a purplish red. He was choking and coughing. Max thought he might be about to vomit, but now was not the moment to show him any mercy.

‘
Who was it?
’

‘You don’t … understand,’ Ennis gasped. ‘You … haven’t got … a chance in hell.’

‘We’ll see—’

There was suddenly a noise behind him of running, booted feet. Shadows fell across them. In the next instant something blunt and heavy struck the back of Max’s head with stunning force. And he went down with it, into a pool of darkness.

TRY AS HE
might to disguise it, there was no question that Shuttleworth, i/c support services for the British delegation to the peace conference, regarded Sam as the answer to his prayers. He needed someone with the technical expertise to keep the delegation’s fleet of cars on the road who was also capable of controlling a squad of junior mechanics. A former RFC NCO engineer with impeccable credentials fitted the bill perfectly. And, as Sam pointed out, he could start straight away.

‘Tomorrow morning?’ Shuttleworth asked.

‘Yes,’ Sam replied.

‘The job’s yours.’

‘You did say there’d be accommodation, didn’t you, sir?’

‘Certainly. Bed
and
board.’ Shuttleworth consulted a chart hanging on the wall behind his desk. ‘Your predecessor shared a room with Jenkins, who’s down with the flu himself, so I can’t put you in there. Let’s see …’ He sucked his pen for a moment or two, then made a telephone call. ‘McLeod? Shuttleworth here. I need accommodation for a new chief mechanic. Is two eight five still empty? … Good … Yes … Twentyman, S … Got that? … Good … You’ll see to it, then? … Thank you.’ He put the telephone down and smiled at Sam. ‘Another dead man’s making way for you, Twentyman. But don’t worry. He didn’t actually croak in the room. And you’ll have it to yourself, which is a bonus.’

Sam’s gaze strayed to the wall chart. On it were several grids of numbered boxes, with names written in them, some crossed out and substituted with others. The name in box 285 had been crossed out,
but no new name had yet been entered. And the old one was still legible.
Maxted, Sir H
.

‘I’m sure the room will be fine, sir,’ Sam said quietly.

Sam paid a visit to the garage before he left the Majestic. The junior mechanics seemed a decent bunch. He had encountered less promising material in the RFC on numerous occasions. It wouldn’t take long to knock them into shape.

He walked back to the Mazarin to collect his belongings and leave a note for Max suggesting they meet that evening. Whether they would, he had no way of knowing. It depended on what Max discovered in the course of the day – and, he supposed, on just how alluring Max found Nadia Bukayeva. Sam regretted having been too drunk to offer any kind of competition for her favours, although he did not delude himself that the result would have been different, however sober he had been. A Russian monarchist like Nadia was bound to be a snob at heart. She would always prefer an officer.

Several large men in overcoats and hats were gathered at the reception desk when Sam entered the Mazarin. The discussion they were having with the clerk was not exactly heated, but it was certainly warm. One of them, who was older than his companions and seemed to be in charge, was speaking slowly and very firmly. He sounded as if he was keeping his temper with some difficulty.

‘A man’s been killed,
monsieur
, and I’d ask you to bear that in mind. You say you’ve no idea where Mr Maxted is or when he’s likely to be back?’

Mention of the name Maxted stopped Sam in his tracks. The clerk knew he was acquainted with Max and Sam was not at all sure he wanted to be drawn into the exchanges. He turned towards the door. But it was too late.

‘There is Mr Maxted’s friend, Mr Twentyman,’ the clerk wailed. ‘Perhaps he can help you.’

One of the large men cut off Sam’s retreat. He turned back to be
met by the stern gaze of the clerk’s interrogator-in-chief. ‘Mr Twentyman?’

‘Er, yes. That’s me.’

‘I’m looking for James Maxted. It’s a matter of considerable urgency.’

‘Sorry. I don’t know where he is.’

‘But you are a friend of his?’

‘Well, yes. We … were in the war together.’

‘Were you indeed? Mr Maxted’s kept very quiet about you, I must say. My name’s Appleby. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.’

Sam had heard of him. Appleby. Secret Service bigwig. Not to be trifled with, especially not by the likes of Sam. ‘Lieutenant Maxted doesn’t—’

‘Lieutenant, is it? I see. The bonds of war are close, aren’t they? If Maxted chose to confide in anyone, I suspect it would be you.’

‘If he did, sir, I’d respect his confidence.’

Appleby gave him a narrow-eyed stare. ‘So you would, I’m sure.’

Sam heard the telephone behind the desk ring. The clerk answered it. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, sir,’ Sam ventured, ‘who’s been killed?’

‘A young fellow I had high hopes of. Found dead this morning, not far from here. Throat cut from ear to ear. Your Mr Maxted could have been the last person to see him alive.’

‘Wouldn’t his murderer have been the last person to see him alive, sir?’

‘You’re a sharp one, aren’t you, Twentyman? You’re quite right, of course. But maybe Mr Maxted and the murderer are one and the same. Now, where is he?’

‘I already—’

‘
Mr Appleby!
’ the clerk shouted. Appleby whirled round and looked at him. ‘This call is for you. From the Majestic.’

Appleby leant across the counter and took the telephone. As he did so, the illogical fear formed in Sam’s mind that Shuttleworth was on the other end of the line. Sam might be about to lose his job before he had even started it. But the caller was not Shuttleworth.

‘Appleby here … Yes, Jones, what is it? … What? … At the Crillon? … He did what? … What was he thinking of? … No, no.
I realize you don’t know…. I’ll go straight there … Yes. Thank you.’

Appleby thrust the phone back at the clerk and rounded on Sam. ‘Your Mr Maxted’s been a busy boy, Twentyman. Caught roughing up a member of the American delegation. What have you got to say to that?’

‘I expect he deserved it, sir.’

‘You do, do you? Well, let’s go and find out. You’re coming with me.’

THE CLAUSTROPHOBIC ATMOSPHERE
in one of the basement rooms of the Hôtel de Crillon was largely due to the number of occupants. In a space appropriate to a large store cupboard, four men were seated around a shabby desk, while two more men, dressed in US military police uniforms and built like the foothills of the Rockies, were stationed outside in the corridor, either side of the doorway itself.

Max was the one holding a bag of ice against a tender spot behind his left ear. Despite this encumbrance, he was smoking a cigarette and looking strangely at ease. The same could not be said of Sam, who was also smoking, but with transparent nervousness. The haze of their smoke had been turned to a deep fug by the effluvium of Appleby’s pipe. He was on the other side of the desk from them, seated next to an intimidating slab of a man with short-cropped blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He was Frank Carver, Appleby’s opposite number at the American delegation. And he alone was not smoking. Instead his prognathous jaws were champing rhythmically on a stick of gum.

‘You’re in a tight spot, Mr Maxted,’ Carver said, with no apparent irony. ‘I advise full cooperation. Unless you want us to hand you over to the French police.’

‘If you decide to do that,’ said Max, ‘I want you to remember Sam here knew nothing about my visit to Walter Ennis. He has no share in the responsibility for what happened.’

‘We’ll be the judge of that,’ said Appleby. ‘He’s your alibi for when Lamb was murdered and therefore inherently suspect.’

‘I’m sorry about your man, Appleby,’ said Max. ‘I had no idea you were having me tailed.’ That was not actually true, of course, but he and Sam had had to do some judicious editing of the facts on a nod-and-a-wink basis. ‘It’s not just Sam’s word, though, is it? If the poor fellow had his throat cut, his murderer would have been covered in blood. I’m sure the clerk at the Mazarin would have noticed that when I called there.’

‘With Lamb dead, I have no independent verification of your movements since yesterday afternoon.’

‘That’s hardly my fault.’

‘They say Paris is a hotbed of crime with this conference going on,’ Sam contributed. ‘Maybe Mr Lamb just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

‘No. That’s you, Mr Twentyman,’ said Carver. ‘Keep it in mind, won’t you?’

‘Are you sure you chose the right man for the job, Appleby?’ Max asked provocatively. ‘It seems clear Lamb was out of his depth.’

Appleby’s teeth ground into the stem of his pipe as he stared at Max. ‘Leave me to dwell on that question when I write to his parents.’

‘I am sorry. We both are, aren’t we, Sam?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘The war’s inured us to sudden death, I’m afraid.’

‘This might go easier if you explained to Mr Maxted why you were having him tailed, Horace,’ said Carver.

Max smiled faintly at Appleby. They were on treacherous ground. Carver wanted to know all that lay behind Max’s fight with Ennis. But Max felt sure Appleby did not want to tell him.

‘I was concerned for your safety, Mr Maxted, in view of the unexplained circumstances of your father’s death and that of Raffaele Spataro,’ said Appleby.

‘The police have Corinne Dombreux in custody for that, don’t they?’ queried Carver.

‘I’m not convinced by the case against her.’

Carver absorbed Appleby’s reply with a twitch of one eyebrow, then looked across at Max. ‘Why did you come to see Ennis, Mr Maxted?’

‘I found his name on a list written by my father. I wanted to know how they were acquainted.’

‘Was Travis Ireton’s name also on the list?’

‘Yes. It was. I asked him to arrange the meeting.’

‘Good of him to oblige. I’ll be seeing Mr Ireton, you can be sure of that. It’s unfortunate he’d already left the hotel when we went looking for him.’ Unfortunate, perhaps, Max reckoned, but entirely characteristic. ‘Why did you go up to Ennis’s room?’

‘It was clear to me from his reaction to my questions that he was hiding something. I followed him out of the restaurant to see what he might be willing to say without Ireton sitting next to him. I saw him taking the lift up to his room and I decided to catch up with him there.’

‘Where there wouldn’t be any witnesses.’

‘I wanted to talk to him alone. I don’t deny that. I caught him making a phone call. He was demanding that whoever he was speaking to get me off his back.’

‘So you say.’

‘Doesn’t your switchboard operator have any idea who he was calling?’

‘There are calls being made and received here all the time, Mr Maxted. We installed a lot of extra lines to cope with the traffic when we moved in. No one knows who Ennis called, if he called anyone, apart from the guardroom when you started threatening him, that is.’

‘Have you asked him?’

‘I haven’t had the chance. He slipped out after you’d been taken away. When he comes back, I’ll ask him for a full account of what took place.’

‘Are you sure he’s coming back?’

‘Why wouldn’t he be?’

‘Because he’s running scared. I might have been able to find out
who
he’s scared of if I’d had longer with him.’

‘One of the other people named on your father’s list, maybe.’ Carver stared at Max challengingly. ‘Who are they, Mr Maxted?’

‘Kuroda. Ribeiro. Norris. I’ve spoken to them. None of them reacted the way Ennis did.’

‘So, what it comes down to is that you reckon Ennis was mixed up in your father’s murder.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Have you given me the name of everyone on that list?’

‘Yes.’

‘Could I see it?’

‘I destroyed it.’

‘Why in hell would you do that?’

‘I thought it might be something it was dangerous to be found in possession of.’

‘Well, that’s a reasonable assumption, considering danger seems to hover round you like flies round horse shit – which I’m thinking is what you’re serving up here today.’

‘You don’t believe me?’

‘I don’t believe you’re telling me the whole story, Mr Maxted. Not anything close to the whole story.’ Carver looked round at Appleby. ‘Maybe we should have a word in private, Horace.’