fire. The doctor’s special scientific service perhaps? Almost all these entries in the ledger…’ he lifted the sheets, ‘… can be matched to some misfortune aboard one of our ships or in a munitions factory. May the tenth:
‘Yes,’ Wiseman frowned. ‘Rintelen’s been busier than we thought, and for longer.’
Gaunt dumped his hands on the table, leant forward to speak but changed his mind, content instead to glare at them defensively.
‘And the source at the bank?’ Wolff enquired.
Wiseman said, ‘Working on that, aren’t we, Norman? Friend of a friend on the board of the National City, you know — he’s making discreet enquiries. One of the clerks churning out munitions purchases — Irish or German, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Agent B-1 in Albert’s ledger,’ Thwaites chipped in. ‘He should be easy to spot because he’ll be wearing the best suit in the bank.’
The audit trail was pretty straightforward. It wandered up and down the East Coast, to Canada and even to someone with an Irish name in San Francisco. ‘No limit to the fellow’s ambition, really,’ Wiseman remarked with admiration. ‘And this chap Hilken in Baltimore — know anything about him?’
Wolff said he didn’t.
‘Norddeutscher representative in America,’ Wiseman declared. ‘Father before him too. Rich it seems, and Norman’s newspaper pals say he’s thick with the German smart set. So why is he picking our friend Albert’s pockets, eh? Tea, anyone?’ Half turning to the door, he shouted: ‘Do the honours, would you, White?’
‘He’ll be paying for German sailors caught by the blockade,’ rumbled Gaunt. ‘Look, what are we going to do —’
‘That’s what I thought at first,’ interrupted Wiseman, lifting his hand apologetically, ‘but it seems not. My banking friend tells me those payments come from an account in the company name. Is it possible…’ he paused, his moustache playing above a clever smile, ‘…well, that he’s our Delmar — if not — the contact to Delmar? We’ve talked about another show, two networks with the same old woman holding the purse strings. Albert counts everyone else’s coppers, why not Delmar’s too?’
‘Delmar, Delmar, Delmar.’ Gaunt pushed his chair back impatiently. ‘Could be nobody! Just a code word — let’s talk about Rintelen. I think it’s time we told the Ambassador. He can take it to the President.’
The kitchen door opened and White reversed through it with the tray.
‘Over here, yes, on the table,’ said Wiseman with a sigh of what may have been exasperation. ‘Clear those photographs, old boy. Sugar?’ he asked, chin raised enquiringly to Gaunt.
‘Two.’
Gaunt sat forward again and the table instantly felt smaller.
‘I’m sure you’re right, Captain,’ Wiseman cooed, ‘only, our masters do have a bee in their bonnet about old Delmar. Won’t let me rest. I think we should take a little look at Mr Hilken. Keep ’em happy, what? No lemon, I’m afraid. Here we are,’ he presented Gaunt with a china cup; ‘damn it, no cake either — what were you thinking, man?’
White said he was very sorry.
‘As for Rintelen,’ Wiseman continued, ‘I’m sure the President has more pressing concerns. No. We thought, drip, drip the story to Thwaites’ newspaper pals and the city police.’
‘Once they’ve got it you’ll lose the bugger.’ Gaunt had turned a high colour. ‘You must…’
‘Politics,’ said Wiseman, pushing a cup in front of Wolff. ‘Bound to go down badly — Huns blowing up factories and ships, interfering with commerce. Public won’t like them turning the country into a battleground — politicians won’t like it with an election round the corner. Small steps, Captain, let’s help America make up her mind which side she’s on — nudge her in the right direction.’
If the police arrested the Dark Invader, things would become messy, he said, glancing at Wolff. He wasn’t the sort to blab under pressure but the city’s finest could be very persuasive. Putting him out of business mattered the most.
‘Enough here to see off old Gache and his business, Scheele, Koenig and those rogues in the detective agencies,’ he remarked, stirring his tea slowly. ‘As for the Irish — well, it ain’t a crime to take German money — look at all the fellows on Wall Street — the best we can hope to do is embarrass them, there’s nothing we can magic up here,’ he waved his teaspoon over the table, ‘nothing that will put more than the foot soldiers away. And we mustn’t drag you into all this,’ he said, turning to gaze at Wolff; ‘you might look like a provocateur. We’ve got to keep our hands clean. Don’t want the President thinking we’ve been flaunting the laws of his country too. Besides,’ he paused, stroking the end of his moustache thoughtfully, ‘we need to keep you in play.’
Wolff didn’t reply. His first thought was the body of the little spy; Rintelen would surely know by now. Strangely, his second was of Laura.
‘Sebastian,’ prompted Thwaites.
‘You look tired,’ said Wiseman, oozing sympathy. ‘Your leg? Must let a doctor have a look at you. Accident?’
Wolff lifted his eyes to the ceiling for a second. ‘I had to kill one of their men,’ he said, dropping them to Wiseman’s face.
‘Oh?’ the baronet returned his gaze impassively.
‘Messy business. He stabbed me. I stabbed him. Anyway, if they’ve found his body the game’s up for de Witt.’
For a few seconds no one spoke, Thwaites shuffling his papers, Gaunt swilling the dregs of his tea. They must have killed, thought Wolff, just not a man in a bowler hat, not close enough to smell his breath or feel it hot on your cheek.
‘Can we move him?’ Gaunt asked at last.
Wolff said he didn’t think so; it was probably too late.
‘And von Rintelen, have you seen him since?’
‘To drink champagne;’ and he told them of the risk he’d taken in making the rendezvous with McKee, of the dockyard and boarding the ship, and the meeting at Martha’s. While he was speaking, Gaunt rose from the table to prowl the sitting room like a caged bear. ‘What were you thinking, man?’ he blurted at last, unable to contain his anger. ‘Isn’t one enough!’
‘You mean the ship?’
‘Of course I mean the bloody ship,’ he shouted.
Thwaites intervened: ‘Steady on…’ but he was swept aside as Gaunt’s pent-up resentment broke in a torrent. ‘You gave Wolff too much rope,’ he declared, addressing himself to Wiseman. ‘Now this — another ship, another bloody…’
‘It hasn’t exploded yet,’ the baronet observed calmly.
‘But he shouldn’t have put us—’
Wolff slammed the palm of his left hand on the table: ‘It won’t explode.’ He rested his head in his right hand. ‘Look, that’s why I did it. I couldn’t trust you…’ the words tumbled wearily from him, ‘…not after the
Thwaites touched his elbow gently. ‘Sorry, old boy, don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.’
‘I pierced the end of the detonator.’
‘The cigar bomb?’
‘Drained the acid, so if you want some evidence for the police, you can arrange for the detonators to be found on the ship — she’s the
No one spoke for a few seconds, Wiseman easing back from the table, his languid gaze settling on Gaunt.
‘Jolly clever of you, Sebastian,’ said Thwaites, slapping him heartily on the back; ‘clever and — well, bloody brave.’
‘Hear, hear,’ Wiseman chorused.
