in the House of Commons now, William Gladstone, had been one of these, Master of the Mint from 1841 to 1845.) The greatest of these Masters had been Isaac Newton, who held the post for nearly thirty years, until his death.
Yet now what a threat it was under! Lenox had assumed even after he began to suspect Barnard’s nefariousness that the Mint was the one sanctified aspect of his life, his own fortress of immortality.
It seemed, however, nothing was inviolable.
Lenox had some idea of what it was like inside; he had never entered it himself, but when he had asked Graham to do his research on Barnard, Lenox had conducted his own about the Mint’s building and the Master’s place in it. At the Devonshire Club he had asked old Baron Staunton, a distinguished Liberal politician who had sat in Parliament for many years but had once been Master himself, about the place — all ostensibly in the guise of polite interest but in fact with keen attention to Staunton’s rather rambling and sentimental reminiscences. Thus Lenox knew that the machines and the money they made were kept in the lower floors, under heavy guard, and that the upper levels of the building contained the Mint’s offices. He had also learned that the Master’s office itself had a view of the Thames, which meant it would be situated toward the western part of the building.
Then again, Staunton had been Master twenty years ago, and as he walked Lenox felt a twinge of anxiety; it could be that all of his information was out of date.
At last he concluded that there was nothing for it but to shimmy up and over the gate. He had in his right hand a doctor’s kit bag, the one he had asked Graham for, a battered pebbled leather case with an ivory handle that unclasped in the middle. It was light but spacious, and he had had it since he was twenty-four.
He set this down beside him and pulled from it a long, stout piece of string, which he tested by quickly jerking it in the middle with both hands. Satisfied, he made a loop at one end and after several attempts managed to hook it on one of the (unpleasantly sharp-looking) spikes that lined the top of the fence. He tossed his bag over the fence and with a deep breath pulled himself over.
It was sweaty work, and he slipped back to the ground twice, but eventually he just managed to make it to the other side. He quickly pulled the rope down (he had loosened it when he was coming over the fence) and packed it carefully away in his kit before stealing across the empty courtyard to the grand, dark building itself.
At the front of the building was a series of heavy black doors, but Lenox knew he stood a better chance of gaining access through a side door and, trying to minimize the clack of his shoes on the stones, began to look around the perimeter. About halfway around he found something promising — a white door marked CARETAKER that had a window at eye level. If worse came to worst, he could break the window, but he didn’t want to make the noise.
Instead he opened his case again and took two small tools from it. Fortune was on his side; it was an old- fashioned lock, and within about a minute he had managed to jiggle it open. As he had expected, it wasn’t impossibly hard to break into the building (and a good detective, as he had once said to Graham, always needs to be in some small part a good housebreaker, too).
He imagined the vaults would be a different story.
With slow, careful steps he walked up the stairway in front of the door, ignoring the caretaker’s closet to the left. At the top of the stairway was another door, and opening it he found himself in a wide, marble-floored corridor, which he saw in the dim moonlight was of regal bearing, with busts of past Mint Officials and portraits of past monarchs along the walls.
He paused, suddenly slightly discouraged. He hadn’t any clue how many night guards there were here, or what their beats were, and he hadn’t any clue either where he would find George Barnard. Or
Now, however, it all seemed insubstantial, even implausible.
His nerves on edge, Lenox stepped into the hallway. He had worn his soft-soled boots, which were much quieter than his others, but he still made noise. Walking west down the corridor, toward where he knew the Master’s office to be, he stopped to examine the brass nameplates on each of the doors of the nicest offices. None of them bore a name he knew, and he decided to turn left at the corner.
Suddenly, he heard a soft whistling.
He froze and then pressed himself tight up against the wall. The sound drew closer and closer, coming toward him, and soon he saw coming from the corner he had meant to turn a guard, clad in black.
Just as this guard was about to discover the Mint’s intruder, however, he abruptly stopped. Lenox saw him check his watch and turn on his heel to walk in the other direction.
His heart blazing, the detective forced himself to gulp deep breaths of air and steady his frayed nerves. He let one minute pass, then two minutes, then three. Finally he decided to go.
Just as he stepped away from the wall, an arrogant, cultivated voice spoke.
“Charles Lenox!” said the voice with a smile in it. “Now what on earth could you be doing here?”
Lenox turned, his hands raised.
The security guard stood there — and beside him the man who had spoken. George Barnard.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Couldn’t sleep,” said Lenox with the hint of a smile, his hands still raised. “Thought I’d go for a walk.”
“I can’t congratulate you on the place you chose for it,” said Barnard, hands clasped behind his back.
Lenox decided to speak to the guard directly. “I’m here on behalf of the police,” he said. “Mr. Barnard is wanted at Scotland Yard.”
The guard made no move, and Barnard laughed hollowly. “Who do you think hired this gentleman, Charles? Use your intelligence. Half of the people who work in this building owe their jobs to me.” He paused. “It’s disappointing that you’ve found me so soon. I thought I had several weeks.”
“You should have had your horseshoes changed after you pretended to go to Geneva,” said Lenox.
Barnard didn’t respond to this. “Well, we shall speak soon enough. Westlake, take this man up to my office. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. If you want any tea, Charles, let Westlake know.” He chuckled. “Must maintain the civilities, eh?”
Barnard’s office was small and graceful, with a beautiful view of the Thames, exactly the sort of office — second best in the building, perhaps third — that an emeritus director would have wanted. There were coinage charts on the walls, and a long bookcase was full of volumes on recondite subjects: a history of the shilling coin, the memoir of an old currency designer.
Lenox had time to examine all of this as he and the crooked guard sat in the office, which was lit only very dimly by a single, muted lamp. He wasn’t tied up, and he still had his bag at his side. If he could get into it, then perhaps…
Barnard appeared in the doorway and dismissed Westlake to the hall. He sat in the chair behind his desk and poured himself a stiff Scotch. He offered Lenox a glass, which was declined.
Barnard was a bluff, large man, with pink coloring and a bristle of the straw-colored hair older men who have been blond in their youths develop. He had a strong chin and eyes that seemed slightly too small for his head but were undeniably sharp and intelligent. His dress tended to be pompous, if not showy, and at the moment he had on an immaculately tailored suit, which managed nonetheless to look secondhand and lived-in, comfortable. He was usually the liveliest and loudest man in the room, with a blunt, bullying manner, but now he seemed suddenly sunken, diminished.
There was a long, long silence, during which the two men very frankly observed each other — rivals and enemies for more than a year, though only one of them had known it all that time, now finally face-to-face, both in full cognizance of the stakes. Their lives.
Finally, after a great, heaving sigh, Barnard asked Lenox, “How did you know?”
Lenox didn’t know what to say; he could play his cards close to the vest, or he could tell Barnard everything. Did it matter? If he did the latter, he might make time for Jenkins to come. For he felt certain Barnard planned to
