The Ways of the World Read online

  Appleby sighed heavily. ‘Yes. It wasn’t easy to arrange, let me tell you. But I managed to fix it with Zamaron.’

  ‘Thank you. When?’

  Appleby consulted his watch. ‘There’s no time like the present.’

  ‘Fine.’ Max gave a grim little smile. ‘As things stand, it’s probably the only time I’ve got.’

  LEAVING SAM TO get on with his move from the Mazarin to the Majestic, Max set off for Police Headquarters with Appleby. Sam’s parting shot was a pained comment on the rattly note of their car engine. ‘I’ll have ’em all running sweeter than that by next week, I guarantee it.’

  ‘He will too,’ said Max, glancing back at Sam’s receding figure on the edge of the broad pavement as they accelerated away across the Place de la Concorde.

  Appleby groaned. ‘If I had any sense, I’d veto his appointment. Allowing you to have an informant on the delegation’s payroll is plain reckless.’

  ‘This whole thing’s reckless, Appleby. And as far as I know I’m working for you gratis, so it seems only fair for Sam to draw a wage.’

  ‘Well, Twentyman’s employment isn’t high on my agenda, Mr Maxted, so—’

  ‘Why don’t you call me Max, like everyone else?’

  ‘All right. Max. Did Ennis give you anything to go on?’

  ‘Not really. But I’ve been thinking about the circumstances of my father’s fatal fall. I mean the exact circumstances.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Could le Singe be involved?’

  ‘Ah. You’ve heard about him, have you?’

  ‘A burglar who comes and goes by rooftops and high windows. He fits the bill, doesn’t he?’

  ‘A burglar isn’t generally a murderer. They’re very different lines of work.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Well, if you want to learn more about le Singe … Max … ask your friend Ireton. I have reason to believe he may have used le Singe to procure secret documents for him on several occasions.’

  ‘Really? Well, I’ll certainly do that.’

  Max considered what he knew of Travis Ireton as the car sped east along the Quai des Tuileries. He had supposed Ireton was on no one’s side but his own. Could he have misread the man, though? Ireton had certainly contrived to obstruct Max’s enquiries while claiming to want to help him. Was he covering someone’s tracks – perhaps his own? Max was going to have to find out. Soon.

  Zamaron was not available at Police HQ, but he had left word that Max was to be allowed to visit Corinne Dombreux. His permission came with a condition attached, though – one Appleby had chosen not to mention until now.

  ‘You can’t see her on your own, Max. I have to be there as well. Apparently, Léon doesn’t trust you not to engage in some form of criminal conspiracy with Madame Dombreux.’

  ‘Are you sure this isn’t your condition, Appleby? It gives you a chance to question her.’

  ‘That’s true. But, no, it was Léon’s idea.’

  ‘Or so you let him think.’

  ‘You’re getting very suspicious, aren’t you?’

  ‘I need to be suspicious.’

  ‘Well, I won’t disagree with you there.’

  The room they were taken to was a small, bare chamber buried in the dank basement of the building. Chairs were arranged either side of a table nearly as wide as the room: two on one side, one on the other, closer to the door. They took the two and waited.

  A few minutes slowly elapsed, then Corinne arrived, escorted by a grim-faced policewoman. Corinne was wearing a shapeless grey dress. She looked pale and anxious. The smile she gave Max was a fragile shaft of hope. He rose to greet her and the policewoman barked out, ‘Ne pas toucher’. Meekly, he sat down again.

  ‘I’m so sorry about all of this, Corinne,’ he said, looking directly at her.

  ‘Commissioner Zamaron insisted I be here, madame,’ said Appleby.

  Corinne glanced at Appleby, then sat down in the chair facing them. She gazed soulfully at Max across the table. ‘I’m glad you came, Max,’ she said softly. ‘But you should forget me and leave Paris. I’m beyond your help.’

  ‘I don’t accept that. And I’m going nowhere until you’re free.’

  ‘Have you been mistreated, madame?’ Appleby asked.

  She shook her head. ‘Not in the sense you mean.’

  ‘I’m getting closer to the truth all the time, Corinne,’ said Max. ‘If I’m successful, they’ll have to release you.’

  ‘Have charges been mentioned to you?’ asked Appleby.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you seen a lawyer?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you asked to see one?’

  Corinne looked at him witheringly. ‘It’s been made very clear to me that under wartime regulations I have no rights, Mr Appleby. I assume le Deuxième Bureau are pulling the strings.’

  ‘I think that’s a sound assumption, madame. Your marriage to a known traitor—’

  ‘Was he a traitor, Corinne?’ Max cut in. ‘Do you really believe Pierre betrayed his country?’

  ‘It’s what they told me. I’m not sure what to believe about where Pierre’s loyalties truly lay.’

  ‘For what it’s worth, madame,’ said Appleby, ‘I don’t think you killed Raffaele Spataro.’

  ‘But your influence on le Deuxième Bureau or the Ministry of Justice is … what?’

  ‘Negligible, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Then I will remain here until they decide to charge and try me. And then …’

  ‘It won’t come to that,’ said Max. ‘I won’t let it.’

  ‘If you cause them enough trouble, Max, they’ll deal with you much as they’ve dealt with me.’

  ‘Commissioner Zamaron is a conscientious police officer,’ said Appleby. ‘He won’t ignore hard evidence that serves to exonerate you.’

  ‘But there isn’t any, is there?’ Strangely, Corinne seemed harder-headed than her visitors. ‘Motive, means and opportunity. I believe they’re what the police look for in these matters. And I appear to have had all three.’ She looked at Max. ‘You’ve been to the apartment?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You saw his paintings?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Of course you did.’ She looked away then. ‘I’m sorry I posed for him. If I’d known …’

  ‘You have nothing to apologize for.’

  ‘Henry really would be proud of you, you know.’ Tears glistened in her eyes. She wiped them away with the sleeve of her dress.

  Max longed to reach out and comfort her. A guilty memory came into his mind then of his night with Nadia Bukayeva. The guilt was multi-layered, for there had been a moment when he had begun to call Nadia Corinne. He had stifled the word and Nadia had been too absorbed in her own pleasure to notice. But he knew. He knew and he could not forget.

  ‘Don’t take any risks on my account, Max. Please. I’m not worth it.’

  ‘Did Pierre – or my father – ever mention a man called Fritz Lemmer?’

  ‘No. Who is he?’

  ‘F.L., Corinne. The initials on the list.’

  ‘I know about the list, madame,’ said Appleby.

  Corinne registered mild surprise at that, but did not dwell on it. ‘I’ve never heard the name before,’ she declared. ‘Is he … responsible for Henry’s death?’

  ‘He may be. But—’

  ‘Fini,’ the policewoman interrupted, gesturing at a watch she had pulled out of her tunic.

  ‘No one told me there was a time limit,’ Max protested. ‘Appleby?’

  Appleby shrugged. ‘Rules and regulations. There’s nothing I can do.’

  ‘He’s right, Max,’ said Corinne. ‘There’s nothing you can do either. Please—’

  ‘Le temps est épuisé,’ the policewoman announced, advancing to Corinne’s shoulder.

  Corinne stood up, holding Max’s gaze. ‘The only thing that could make this worse is if I hear you’ve come to harm, Max. If you won’t agree to leave Paris—’<
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  ‘Allons-y,’ snapped the policewoman, leading her away by the arm.

  She did not resist.

  ‘I’ll be careful,’ Max called after her. But he did not intend to be careful. He never had been. And he knew he could not help Corinne by changing now.

  Max could find nothing to say to Appleby after Corinne had gone. And Appleby had the decency to let him stay silent as they made their way upstairs and out into the courtyard where the car was waiting.

  ‘I’ll walk from here,’ Max announced.

  Appleby looked unsurprised. ‘Apart from giving Madame Dombreux something to worry about – your safety – what do you reckon that visit accomplished, Max?’

  ‘I don’t judge everything I do by what it accomplishes, Appleby. Sometimes I just … do.’

  ‘And what are you going to do next?’

  ‘Keep pushing. Until I can see who’s pushing back.’

  MAX PURGED SOME of his anger and frustration by walking so fast other pedestrians on the darkening streets made way for him with alarmed looks on their faces. He suspected his expression told its own story. The time had come to demand of Travis Ireton some direct answers to some direct questions.

  But at 33 Rue des Pyramides Malory Hollander had bad news for him. ‘Travis said you might call by, Max,’ she said, treating him to her knowing smile. ‘I’m afraid he’s had to leave town.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘An influential personage is arriving from New York to join the American delegation. Travis is anxious to meet him when his ship docks at Brest tomorrow morning. His train should have left’ – she adjusted her glasses to study the clock – ‘about forty minutes ago.’

  Max shook his head morosely. ‘Damn the fellow.’

  ‘I’m sorry. It was a last-minute decision.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure it was.’

  ‘Settle for a word with me, Max?’ came Morahan’s voice, floating into the room from the open doorway. ‘We can help ourselves to some of Travis’s Scotch and stoke up his fire, provided Malory swears not to split on us.’

  ‘And I do so swear,’ said Malory. ‘Provided I get a nip of the Scotch too.’

  Morahan delivered a small glass of the strong stuff to Malory, then ushered Max into Ireton’s office, where he closed the door and poured distinctly larger measures for the two of them. Then he tonged a few knobs of coal on to the fire and pokered it back into life.

  ‘Travis told me what happened at the Crillon,’ he said, leaning back in Ireton’s chair with his long legs stretched out before him. ‘I guess it looks to you like he’s made himself scarce to dodge having to answer any of your questions.’

  ‘Well, hasn’t he?’

  ‘It’s not just you. Carver’s been here as well. You met him, right?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘Travis reckons Ennis is your man, based on his behaviour when you challenged him – and his subsequent bolt. But the scene you made risks Travis’s contacts with all levels of the American delegation getting more attention than he’d welcome right now. So, he thought it best to take himself out of the picture for a while.’

  ‘Has he really gone to Brest?’

  ‘I doubt it, since that’s where he has Malory telling everyone he’s gone. Deauville, maybe? Or Monte Carlo? He likes to keep his hand in at the baccarat table.’

  ‘I need to find out as much about Walter Ennis as I can as quickly as possible, Schools. Whether he’s one of Lemmer’s spies or not, he’s certainly up to no good.’

  ‘I don’t doubt you’re right about that.’

  ‘And Travis knows him well, doesn’t he?’

  Morahan nodded. ‘Better than most. They go back a long way.’

  ‘And now they’ve both gone to ground. What do you make of that?’

  ‘Not what I get the feeling you make of it. Travis isn’t in cahoots with Walter Ennis, Max. He just doesn’t want Carver prying into his business and reckons being unavailable for a grilling is the best way to prevent that. He calculates Carver will lose interest in him as soon as he tracks Ennis down.’

  ‘Maybe so. But that doesn’t help me.’

  ‘No. And I’m sorry for that. But if Ennis was responsible for your father’s murder, Carver will be better placed than you to extract a confession from him.’

  ‘So, you suggest I just sit back and wait for Ennis to be apprehended and Travis to return to Paris?’

  ‘It might be the safest thing to do.’

  ‘But you’re assuming he will be apprehended and that he really was responsible for my father’s murder. I can’t afford to assume anything, Schools. That’s the other thing I want to discuss with Travis, you see: who the third person was he spoke to on my father’s behalf.’

  Morahan drained his glass and lit a cigarette, frowning thoughtfully as he did so. ‘Travis said I was to tell you he’s convinced, based on what happened at the Crillon, that Ennis is the man you’re looking for. That being so, he sees no merit in naming the third person he approached.’

  Max sprang to his feet to expend some of his irritation. He leant on the mantelpiece, swore heartily and took a kick at the fender, dislodging a coal into the grate, where it blazed and sputtered.

  Morahan rose slowly from his chair, grasped the tongs and returned the coal to the fire. He stood where he was then, one foot on the edge of the grate, and aimed his level gaze at Max. ‘What do you want to know, Max?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘The name of the third person Travis spoke to.’

  ‘I can’t give you that.’

  ‘More than your job’s worth, is it?’

  ‘Travis doesn’t employ me, Max. I work with him, not for him. I think I explained that to you before.’

  ‘With or for, it still means you keep his secrets.’

  ‘If I promise to stay silent about something, I stay silent. As it happens, I genuinely don’t have the name to give you. You have my word on that, which I hope you’ll accept.’

  Morahan’s earnestness brooked no challenge. Max was forced to acknowledge as much. He took a deep breath. ‘All right, Schools. I believe you.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Do you have any idea who he might be?’

  ‘No. But I can tell you this. Travis said he thought Carver would be able to identify him eventually if he sought help from Appleby.’

  ‘Appleby?’

  ‘The implication’s clear, isn’t it? The man you’re looking for must be a member of the British delegation.’

  FATIGUE AND FURY made for strange companions. Max left 33 Rue des Pyramides as wearied by the events of the day as he was enraged by them. At every turn he was blocked, delayed or deflected. He trusted what Kuroda and Morahan had told him. For the rest there was only a torrent of doubt. Ennis’s escape and Ireton’s departure stood as rebukes to his foresight. And then there were the messages from whoever had commissioned his father’s murder. Leave Paris. Final warning. He would not allow himself to be intimidated. He would not flee the city. But, if he stayed, what could he actually accomplish?

  Max’s intention was to speak to Appleby as soon as possible. The phone call Ennis had made from his room at the Crillon proved he was part of a conspiracy of some kind. The member of the British delegation Ireton had contacted might also be part of it. In Ennis’s absence, his was the more promising trail to follow. And Appleby was the man to guide Max along it, preferably before he did the same for Carver.

  But Max was flying on little more than fumes. He needed a hot bath and a good meal. The water at the Mazarin was seldom more than lukewarm and the food indifferent, but they would have to suffice. He found a taxi in the Place Vendôme and asked to be taken straight there.

  ‘There’s a gentleman waiting for you in the writing-room, monsieur,’ the clerk announced as he handed Max his key.

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘I regret, monsieur, he did not give his name. He is English and known to you, he said. That is all I can tell you.’

  Max was in no mood to be trif
led with. He strode into the writing-room with no clear expectations of who might be waiting for him. But at the sight of his visitor he pulled up sharp.

  Lionel Brigham. Of all the people Max would have preferred not to meet again, this handsome, cocksure, smooth-mannered roué was surely the one he wanted most of all to avoid. An irksomely frequent guest at Gresscombe Place during Max’s youth, Brigham had been too close to Lady Maxted for too long to ignore. There was no doubt in Max’s mind that they had been lovers. And he believed there was cause to suspect Brigham might actually be his father. It was a possibility he had spoken of to no one. It was a possibility, indeed, that he had done his level best to put out of his mind, though it was undeniable that it had tainted his relationship with his mother. Unvoiced resentments were ultimately, he had discovered, the most poisonous kind.

  ‘James,’ said Brigham, rising a touch stiffly to his feet and extending a hand. ‘It’s good to see you.’

  ‘Brigham.’ Max accepted the handshake coolly. ‘What brings you here?’

  ‘To Paris, you mean? Or to your hotel? As to the former, I’m here with the delegation.’

  God rot the man, thought Max, cursing himself for his failure to anticipate that Brigham might be in Paris. He could always be relied upon to insinuate himself into a gathering of the great and the good, even though he was neither. ‘I suppose I thought you’d retired,’ Max said, with a hint of disparagement.

  ‘No such luck.’

  ‘And what are you doing for the delegation?’

  ‘Oh, nothing very interesting.’

  ‘To what do I owe this visit, then?’

  ‘I wanted to offer you my condolences on Henry’s death. Such a terrible thing.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘I was surprised not to see you at the funeral.’

  God rot the man twice over, thought Max. Why could he not just leave the Maxted family alone? ‘I was detained here.’

  ‘So I gather.’

  ‘And I’m really rather busy, so—’

  ‘We need to talk, James, you and I.’

  There was a faintly menacing twinkle in Brigham’s blue-grey eyes. Max ignored it as best he could. ‘We do?’

  ‘A confidential talk. I drove myself here. Would it be asking too much for you to step out to my car? I won’t keep you long.’