Messenger of Truth

And if bringing the piece into the country wasn’t completely illegal—she had no proof, but the conversation between Duncan and Quentin suggested something other than acquisition of art for financial gain—why was it being brought into the country at all?

Maisie took an index card from her knapsack and made a note of the identification markings she’d observed on the containers. Did the markings indicate ownership or possibly value? Could they be a clue to a route from the point of departure until the container reached its final destination? She considered these questions while making additional notes about the rough dimensions of each container. It was as she began to pack away her pencil and notes, that she ceased all movement, barely daring to breathe. Voices outside became louder, so she hurried toward the stairs again, but was only halfway up when the doors flew open and a long-haired Alsatian dog burst through. He made a beeline for Maisie, though the men who came behind the beast could not see his quarry. For her part, Maisie became still and silent, sitting down on the middle step and closing her eyes. She relaxed every muscle, as if to meditate, calming her mind and body so that she felt no fear. The bounding dog halted his gallop. Instead he stood before her, as if weighing instinct against training, then lay down at her feet, subdued. She used the moment to her advantage, slipping the index cards into the gap between two beams.

The panting dog was soon joined by a man. “And what have we here, Brutus?”

Another man, clearly more senior given his manner and tone of voice, was close behind. He was dressed completely in black, with a black pullover and cap, black trousers and black leather gloves. In fact, as other men came into the barn, Maisie noticed that they were all dressed for stealth at nightfall, with two men in uniform, but it was not the uniform of the police. She said nothing, though she recognized the second man immediately. He was the man who had been at the bar in the nightclub where Harry Bassington-Hope was appearing, who’d left to follow Stig Svenson and Randolph Bradley. She was beginning to understand who he was and knew that his powers far exceeded those of the police.

“If you’re mixed up with these little shenanigans, Miss Dobbs, you should be wrapping a worried look across your face.”

Maisie stood up, determined not to show any surprise that her name was known to the man. As she spoke, she reached down to rub the dog’s ear. “I am not involved in these little shenanigans, though, like you, I was curious to know what was going on here.”

“Jenkins!” The man called over his shoulder to a colleague, one of the men currently searching the barn. “Escort this young lady to HQ for questioning.” He turned back to Maisie and, as if he had forgotten something, addressed Jenkins again. “Oh, and while you’re about it, get this bloody useless specimen of a dog out of my sight and back into the training kennels. My wife’s Jack Russell’s got more gumption than this lug. Brutus, my eye!”

Maisie was silent while being escorted to a waiting motor car. It would not have done any good to complain about lack of warrants or any other required documentation. The powers of Customs and Excise officers were well known and predated the founding of the police. As Maisie knew well, they were of prime importance to the government, having been founded in times when all manner of revenue was crucial to a country saddled with outstanding war debts.

The officer ensured that she was seated securely, if not comfortably, in the van.

“Excuse me, sir, will you be able to bring me back here to collect my motor car?”

The man smiled, his grin eerie in flashes of light shed by torches and the headlamps of other vehicles. “The little red motor? No need, miss. We’ve already got an officer taking it in for you.”

“I see.” Maisie sat back in the van and closed her eyes. Even if she did not sleep, she must regain some energy for the inquisition that surely awaited her. She knew she would have to appear to be giving information, though she would, she hoped, with some subtlety be seeking facts to add to those already gathered. And she knew she would have to be very, very careful. Without a doubt these men were operating independently of Stratton and Vance, who were probably themselves being manipulated with some dexterity, so that their investigation did not interfere with that of the Customs and Excise. Maisie smiled. She had to be the one to pull the strings in the hours ahead.

Sixteen

Maisie was surprised. Instead of being led into a bleak whitewashed cell for questioning, she was shown into a comfortable sitting room where she was served tea and plain arrowroot biscuits. She was tired, which was hardly surprising, for it was now past three in the morning. Anticipating a long wait, she removed her shoes and lay down on the settee, pulling a cushion under her head for comfort.

“Nice little forty winks, miss?”

Maisie awoke with a start, as an officer touched her shoulder.

“Time to see the boss, if you don’t mind.”

She kept her silence as she leaned over to claim her shoes. Pushing her feet into the cold, mud-encrusted leather, she took time to tie her laces before standing to follow the officer, who was not wearing a uniform.

“Ah, Miss Dobbs, do come in.” The man held out his hand toward a chair, then flicked open a file from which he took several sheets of paper. “Now then, a few questions for you, then, all being well, we can let you go.”

“Where’s my motor car?”

“Safe as houses. Just needed to give it a bit of a once-over. Nice little motor car, cost a young woman like you a bob or two.”

Maisie did not rise to the bait, though she inclined her head and smiled at the man in front of her, who was clearly a senior officer. She lost no time, however, in demonstrating her knowledge of the department’s reach.

“I believe it’s not only my car that has been the subject of one of your once-overs, Mr….?”

“Tucker. The name is Tucker.” The man paused, gauging his response. “And you mean your office?”

“Yes, my office. Your men broke in and turned over my records with little consideration for my property.”

“Let’s just say that you were keeping company with persons who were subject to investigation. My officers and I decided that in the interests of the country, it was a good idea to see what you’d gathered, and we had to be quick about it. As you know, I do not have to explain myself to you.”

“You might have asked, instead of costing me a new lock.”

“And we might not.” He referred to his notes again and pulled a wad of folded paper from the file. “I think we should start with this, don’t you, Miss Dobbs?”