“I can’t believe you would betray England this way, Peter,” Adele added. “You used to steal every waltz on my card and bring me punch afterwards. You even apologized to me when you got married, because you really wanted to marry me instead.”
“Then you ran off and married that commoner. The shopkeeper.” Peter sneered. “I shouldn’t have bothered apologizing at all. You clearly weren’t up to standard.”
Daniel’s face turned red.
Adele pressed her hand against her roiling middle. “Dry goods merchant,” she corrected Peter. “And he was a far better man than you. Hugh would never have betrayed England and his king the way you are.”
“Although,” Daniel said with an odd, conversational tone that belied the expression on his face, “I find a certain comfort in having Stroud’s gun against my head. It means the bomb is not close to going off. A man like you, Stroud, would ensure he’s miles away, long before the bomb exploded.”
“You always were a bad poker player, Bannister,” Peter said. “You never could read a man properly. In fact, the bomb is very close to going off. So close, that none of us has any hope of out-running it.”
“He’s lying,” Daniel said to Adele. “He’s not the sort to give up his miserable life for anything.”
Adele wet her lips. It was difficult to think. Only, she must think.
“I said you were lousy at reading people,” Peter told Daniel and gave him a little shake, which made Daniel wince. “The man who should have seen to this failed to arrive tonight.”
You can help Britain as no other woman can. The memory of Melville’s cool, certain assessment returned to her. Adele drew in a shuddering breath. Then another one. Then she took a small step toward the head of the bed, moving around Daniel’s strained figure.
“How extraordinary,” Adele said and took another small sidestep. “A German who isn’t punctual.”
Daniel’s gaze met hers.
“I’ve had to step in and adjust things on the fly. It would have been a complete disaster otherwise.” Peter’s voice whined.
“Adjust things? Like killing Ginny?” Daniel’s tone was outraged.
“An unfortunate side effect,” Peter said. “Relax, Bannister,” he added, his tone one of warning. “I have quite a bit of pressure on this trigger. I don’t know how much more I need to make it fire. Don’t tempt me to find out.” Peter’s gaze slid to Adele. “And where do you think you’re going?”
“I wanted to get away from that thing,” Adele said, pointing up at the wardrobe, and making her voice shake.
Peter Stroud laughed. “You poor little thing. The amount of dynamite in that case will blow apart this entire wing.”
“For the Kaiser, hmm?” Daniel said, his tone hard.
“Yes, exactly,” Peter said. “A modern thinker. A brilliant man, actually. A man well ahead of his time.”
“So is King Edward,” Daniel replied. “Something you haven’t bothered to learn.”
“Edward’s attitudes are his mother’s!” Peter cried, his own face working with fury.
Adele took one more step, which put her squarely in front of the bedroom door. Peter swung around to face her, his back to the window.
He didn’t seem to notice, though. He was too deeply mired in contemplating the King’s sins against him. “Do you know he flatly refuses to even discuss divorce when a woman is in the room? He is positively medieval!”
“That’s why you’re doing this?” Daniel breathed. “Because you can’t get a divorce?”
“My bloody wife won’t be coming to Germany with me,” Peter ground out.
“You won’t be going to Germany, either,” Adele told him.
Peter stared at her. So did Daniel.
“Jink left, Daniel!” she cried and dropped to the floor.
Daniel gave a grunt of effort. At the same time, Adele heard the glass in the window crack and drop, to shatter into even smaller pieces. There was a soft zinging sound and another coughed exhalation, right on the heel of Daniel’s.
Behind her, the door shivered in its broken frame. Wood splintered.
She looked up in time to see Peter drop to his knees, his eyes open and unseeing, just as Ginny’s had been. There was a horrible bloom of red on his forehead and grey matter she did not care to examine too closely.
Daniel slithered away from the man, scrabbling with his feet, his hands behind him. He was breathing hard. “What the hell?” he breathed. Then, “Watch out!”
They both scrambled out of the way as Peter fell face forward onto the threadbare rug. Daniel rammed himself against the bureau and Adele stepped onto the bed once more.
At the same time, the remaining panes in the window cracked and dropped. The middle frame splintered.
“Open the window, Adele!” Melville called. “Hurry!”
“The bomb!” she cried, stumbling over Peter’s body. “It’s here!”
“Yes, I know,” Melville said, as she shoved the lamp at Daniel and struggled to open the window.
Daniel put the lamp on the bureau, then pulled the whole washstand aside, as Melville threw his leg over the sill and slid into the room. He wore the uniform of the Royal Regiment of Scotland, the kilt flapping about his knees.
“On top of the wardrobe!” Adele cried.
Melville climbed onto the bedframe, then rained white undergarments down upon them in a small flurry, before peering into the suitcase. His head shifted as if he was reading the dynamite. Then he reached out and delicately plucked a wire. Then a second.
Then he sagged against the wardrobe.
“It’s done?” Adele cried.
Melville wore a huge smile. He lifted a bunch of the dynamite sticks. A pocket watch was attached to the end, its cover removed. “Three minutes to spare.”
From outside, in the corridor, a male voice said sharply, “I tell you, it was a shot. Heard plenty of them in my day. Someone just
