‘We’ve got Winthrop all right,’ said Rudolph, ‘what about your two?’
Sophia was busy kissing Milly, who showed enthusiasm at the sight of her owner.
‘She looks a little bit all eyes,’ she said; ‘otherwise quite well. Oh, Milly, I do love you.’
‘Florence and Heatherley have scuttled themselves in the main drain,’ said Sir Ivor, ‘and I could do with a whisky and soda, old dears.’
15
Rudolph had only just been in time. He confessed that when he first read Sophia’s message on the handkerchief he had felt excessively bored. Every woman in London seemed to have some secret service activity on hand. Then he remembered that Sophia’s manner had been rather queer, and that, although she must have known who Mrs Twitchett was, she had not given him so much as a wink, even when they were outside the Post. She was looking white and strained and anxious, and the circumstance of her having the handkerchief ready to give him was peculiar. Finally there was something about the way she had worded her message that made him think this was, after all, no silly joke, but an affair which called for some investigation.
Accordingly, when he had divested himself of his Twitchett personality and was once more respectable in uniform, he hurried round to Scotland Yard with the handkerchief which he showed, rather deprecatingly, to Inspector McFarlane. The Inspector, however, so far from laughing at him, was exceedingly interested. He told Rudolph that for a long time now the authorities had suspected that the old ‘King’ was broadcasting in this country; that furthermore, Scotland Yard was on the track of three dangerous spies, the leaders of a large and well organized gang who were known to be in London and who so far could not be located. Quite a lot had been discovered about their activities, but nobody had any idea who they might be or where to find them. Rudolph told him about Florence, of how he had jokingly suggested that she was really a spy, and of the pigeon in her bedroom, and the Inspector, who was quite interested to hear all this, said that the Boston Brotherhood, or any such cranky society, and an American accent would provide an admirable smoke-screen for clever spies. He also said that the gang he was looking for certainly used pigeons, two of which had been shot down over the Channel quite recently.
The long and the short of it was that the Inspector told his two best men that they must somehow penetrate into the cellars of St Anne’s. He advised Rudolph on no account to make any attempt at communicating with Sophia until they knew more, as her life might easily be endangered if he did.
‘By the way,’ he said, glancing once again at the handkerchief, ‘who is Milly?’
‘Milly,’ said Rudolph angrily, for this made him look a fool, ‘since you ask me, is a blasted bitch.’
‘A friend of Lady Sophia’s?’
‘You misunderstand me, Inspector. No, her French bulldog. She is potty about the wretched animal, and certainly if anyone wanted to get Sophia into his power an infallible way would be by kidnapping Milly.’
‘I see. So my men must look out (unless the whole thing is a joke) for Sir Ivor King and a French bulldog. If it should prove to be a joke, you must in no way distress yourself, Mr Jocelyn. In wartime we are bound to explore every avenue, whether it is likely to be productive of results, or not. Every day we follow up false clues, and think ourselves lucky if something turns out to be genuine once in a hundred times. I am very grateful to you for coming round, and will let you know of course if there are any developments.’
Rudolph went to the Ritz from Scotland Yard, and here he saw Olga, who was telling quite a little crowd of people that she was hot-foot on the track of a gang of dangerous spies, and soon hoped to be able, single-handed, to deliver them over to justice. Mary Pencill was also there, assuring her admirers that Russia’s interest in Finland was only that of a big brother, not, she said, that she held any brief for the present ruler of Russia, who had shown his true colours the day he accepted the overtures of Hitler.
In the middle of the night, Inspector McFarlane sent for Rudolph to go and see him. He had some news. One of his men had actually seen the King of Song in his subterranean cubby-hole; not only that, he had managed to hold a short whispered conversation with him. Sir Ivor told him that the gang had now entirely dispersed with the exception of Florence, Heatherley and Winthrop. Florence was planning to leave for Germany, taking Sir Ivor with her, the following day at 8 p.m. An hour later, a time fuse, which was already in one of the cellars, would go off, setting in motion an elaborate network of machinery connected with the whole drainage system of London. Every drain would be blown up, carrying with it, of course, hundreds of buildings and streets; the confusion and loss of life would be prodigious, the more so as none of the bombs would explode simultaneously, and people hurrying to safety from one part of the town to another would find themselves in the middle of fresh explosions. London would lie a total wreck, and prove an easy prey for the fleet upon fleet of aeroplanes which would now pour over it, dropping armed parachutists. Taking advantage of the city’s disorganization, and led by Heatherley and Winthrop, they would soon be in possession of it. London would be destroyed and in enemy hands, the war as good as lost.
‘So, you see,’ remarked the Inspector, ‘it was just as well that you did not treat Lady Sophia’s message as a joke. Oh, and
