Read Online The Hansa Protocol by Norman Russell - Free Book Online
Authors: Norman Russell
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secure house for the purpose of this little transaction. As for what has happened in Lavender Walk – well, whatever our private feelings, it’s none of our business. The police will be there by now.’
Sir Charles placed the sealed memorandum carefully in an inside pocket of his greatcoat. He looked with genuine appreciation at the young courier, who had proved a staunch, and refreshingly unimaginative agent for the Foreign Office’s special services. He never questioned his instructions, and carried them out to the letter. Perhaps he would employ him to take the memorandum to von Dessau in Berlin when the right moment came to do so. He would wait a little while before making up his mind.
‘Lieutenant Fenlake,’ he said, ‘you never knew your fellow-courier, Stefan Oliver. I feel it’s only right to recall him here at this moment, with that hellish bonfire blazing away in Lavender Walk. He was half Polish, half French, brought to England in early childhood. His parents had fled from one or other of Europe’s vile revolutions. His is a long and complex history. Suffice it to say, that I was proud to know him. May he rest in peace.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Sir Charles Napier smiled to himself. Fenlake was a gem. Nothing ever distracted him from his duty. The only words he seemed to understand were words of command.
‘Fenlake,’ he said, in formal tones, ‘your day’s mission is now accomplished . Folio 6, of the 3rd January, 1893, is turned and sealed.’ Lieutenant Fenlake drew himself briefly to attention, then left the lodge, slamming the front door behind him. Sir Charles listened to the ring of his emissary’s boots as he walked quickly away into the bitter night.
Friday, the thirteenth …. Poor Seligmann knew more than most about the seething undercurrents of German politics, and he expected the great rally of pan-Germanists called for the thirteenth to give the signal to set Europe ablaze. Whatever he had written in this sealedmemorandum, it would be sensational enough, apparently, to stay von Dessau’s hand. He was a mob orator of the first water, but a shrewd politician for all that.
Sir Charles Napier took the package out of his pocket. He examined it, looked at its official seals and signatures, and for one disquieting moment he felt the temptation to open it. After all, poor Seligmann was dead. Surely it would be prudent to ascertain the nature of his secret hold over Baron von Dessau?
No. That was not the way. To open the memorandum would be to dishonour himself, and betray Otto Seligmann’s memory. He put the memorandum carefully back into his pocket, and left the secluded lodge.
4
The Smell of Evil
Detective Inspector Box hurried out of Whitehall Place and across the frosty cobbles fronting the complex of old buildings known as King James’s Rents. He noted that a heavy four-wheeler had drawn up in Aberdeen Lane, near the stables, and that a heavily muffled constable up on the box had seen him, but not saluted. As he mounted the steps to the front vestibule, a neighbouring clock chimed eight.
Ahead of him, across the sanded floorboards, the glazed swing doors of his office beckoned him invitingly. He could see the fire blazing merrily in the fireplace at the far end of the room, and Jack Knollys doing some vigorous morning exercise with the poker, while talking to a man in the uniform of an inspector. The man had his back to the door, so Box couldn’t see his face. No doubt he had something to do with the conveyance in Aberdeen Lane. He’d find out, in a moment.
Box had just returned the greeting of the constable on duty in the reception-room at the entrance, when he was stopped in his tracks by a voice from the landing at the top of the stone stairs that rose steeply from the vestibule to the floor above.
‘Is that you, Box? Come up here, if you please. I’ll not detain you more than five minutes.’
Superintendent Mackharness had evidently stationed himself on the upper landing to
Sir Charles placed the sealed memorandum carefully in an inside pocket of his greatcoat. He looked with genuine appreciation at the young courier, who had proved a staunch, and refreshingly unimaginative agent for the Foreign Office’s special services. He never questioned his instructions, and carried them out to the letter. Perhaps he would employ him to take the memorandum to von Dessau in Berlin when the right moment came to do so. He would wait a little while before making up his mind.
‘Lieutenant Fenlake,’ he said, ‘you never knew your fellow-courier, Stefan Oliver. I feel it’s only right to recall him here at this moment, with that hellish bonfire blazing away in Lavender Walk. He was half Polish, half French, brought to England in early childhood. His parents had fled from one or other of Europe’s vile revolutions. His is a long and complex history. Suffice it to say, that I was proud to know him. May he rest in peace.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Sir Charles Napier smiled to himself. Fenlake was a gem. Nothing ever distracted him from his duty. The only words he seemed to understand were words of command.
‘Fenlake,’ he said, in formal tones, ‘your day’s mission is now accomplished . Folio 6, of the 3rd January, 1893, is turned and sealed.’ Lieutenant Fenlake drew himself briefly to attention, then left the lodge, slamming the front door behind him. Sir Charles listened to the ring of his emissary’s boots as he walked quickly away into the bitter night.
Friday, the thirteenth …. Poor Seligmann knew more than most about the seething undercurrents of German politics, and he expected the great rally of pan-Germanists called for the thirteenth to give the signal to set Europe ablaze. Whatever he had written in this sealedmemorandum, it would be sensational enough, apparently, to stay von Dessau’s hand. He was a mob orator of the first water, but a shrewd politician for all that.
Sir Charles Napier took the package out of his pocket. He examined it, looked at its official seals and signatures, and for one disquieting moment he felt the temptation to open it. After all, poor Seligmann was dead. Surely it would be prudent to ascertain the nature of his secret hold over Baron von Dessau?
No. That was not the way. To open the memorandum would be to dishonour himself, and betray Otto Seligmann’s memory. He put the memorandum carefully back into his pocket, and left the secluded lodge.
4
The Smell of Evil
Detective Inspector Box hurried out of Whitehall Place and across the frosty cobbles fronting the complex of old buildings known as King James’s Rents. He noted that a heavy four-wheeler had drawn up in Aberdeen Lane, near the stables, and that a heavily muffled constable up on the box had seen him, but not saluted. As he mounted the steps to the front vestibule, a neighbouring clock chimed eight.
Ahead of him, across the sanded floorboards, the glazed swing doors of his office beckoned him invitingly. He could see the fire blazing merrily in the fireplace at the far end of the room, and Jack Knollys doing some vigorous morning exercise with the poker, while talking to a man in the uniform of an inspector. The man had his back to the door, so Box couldn’t see his face. No doubt he had something to do with the conveyance in Aberdeen Lane. He’d find out, in a moment.
Box had just returned the greeting of the constable on duty in the reception-room at the entrance, when he was stopped in his tracks by a voice from the landing at the top of the stone stairs that rose steeply from the vestibule to the floor above.
‘Is that you, Box? Come up here, if you please. I’ll not detain you more than five minutes.’
Superintendent Mackharness had evidently stationed himself on the upper landing to
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