The God of the Hive

I’d caught him going out, he said, but before I could apologise, he told me to wait a minute. Footsteps crossed the floor, and I heard his voice and those of two females, one older and one young. I heard him say that they were to go ahead, he’d join them as soon as he’d finished this telephone conversation.

The voices retreated, a door closed. The footsteps came back.

“That’s better,” he said.

“I’m sorry to keep you from church,” I said. “I was only wondering if you’d found a telephone number or an address for Mr West?”

“It took some time, the gentleman doesn’t appear to want casual callers. The telephone number’s more difficult, that has to wait until tomorrow.”

“Whom did you have to ask?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, “my wife has an old friend who works with the voters’ registration lists, she popped into the office for me and looked him up. She’ll say nothing.”

He gave me an address across the river from Westminster. I wrote it down, and remarked, “That doesn’t seem very likely.”

“I know, there’s not many houses down there, but you’ll always find one or two residences even in that sort of district.”

“I’ll try it,” I said, and told him I hoped he enjoyed the sermon. A glance at the solicitor’s clock told me I had plenty of time to stop at West’s address before the funeral.

But first, another telephone call, this one to Richmond.

The butler answered. After a minute or two of silence, Javitz’s loud American accents were assaulting my ear.

“Yeah? Is that Mary Russell?”

“Hello, Captain Javitz, I thought-”

“You gotta get us out of here,” he said sharply. “Like, now.”

Cold air seemed to blast through the stuffy office, and I found I was on my feet. “Why? What’s happened?”

“You know who your crazy hermit Goodman is?”

“I know whose house that is, but-”

“But you don’t know who he is?”

“No, who is he?”

“I’d have thought-oh, look, I really can’t go into it here. Just, how soon can you come get us?”

“Hours. I don’t know the train schedule.”

“Then the kid and I are setting off now, we’ll be at Waterloo when we can.”

“Wait! You can’t set off on crutches, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“I’m not staying here. Get a car and come.”

“For heaven’s sake, what is going on?”

“One hour, we leave.” The instrument went dead.

I swore, and looked at my wrist-watch: It had to be twenty-five miles, even if I left this instant… But first, one last call.

“The Travellers’ Club,” the voice answered.

“I’m looking for Captain Lofte.” Lofte was my last hope, this fleet-footed traveller from Shanghai, Mycroft’s man who had given us key information about Brothers. No one working with Brothers would have given us what Lofte did.

“I’m sorry,” the smooth voice said, “Captain Lofte is no longer with us.”

For a horrible moment, I thought the man meant-but he went on. “I do not think he will be returning for some time.”

“Has he gone back to Shanghai?”

“I am sorry, Madam, but The Travellers’ does not divulge the destination of its members.”

“This is terribly important,” I begged.

Something in my voice must have taken him aback, because after a moment’s silence, he said, “He left a week past. I believe the gentleman had a message on the Friday, directing him to return to the East.”

Rats, I thought; Lofte would have made a resourceful colleague. Billy was beyond reach, Holmes was gone, none of Mycroft’s other agents were beyond taint. I should have to make do with what I had. Namely, myself.

I thanked the person at the club, put up the earpiece, and scurried back into the bolt-hole to cram a valise with everything I thought I might need.

Goodman had not returned. I thought of leaving him another note, but couldn’t decide what that should say. So I shut off the lights and stepped into the corridor-and then I stopped.

My hand went to the pocket in which I was collecting all the bits concerning the case, and thumbed through the scraps until I found the notes I’d made in Richard Sosa’s flat.

A number jumped out at me, because I’d just rung it. Sosa had written down the number of The Travellers’ Club on Thursday, on the diary page beside the telephone. And, I thought, he rang the number, either then or on the Friday, to send out of the country the only person apart from Holmes and me who could link Mycroft to the investigation of Thomas Brothers.

I hoped to God he’d only sent Lofte away. I did not want that valiant individual on my conscience as well.

Somewhere in the building, a clock chimed the quarter. I woke with a start, and hurried down to the street to hail a taxicab.

Chapter 49

Javitz was standing outside the gates of the house on the quiet and dignified road, a large, bruised man looking very out of place with a small girl on one side and a white-haired housekeeper on the other. He leant heavily on his crutch, the child kicked her heels from the top of the low wall, the woman was wringing her hands. He had acquired an elderly carpet-bag, now lying at his feet; his hand was on the taxicab’s door-handle before the hand-brake was set.

“Come on, ’Stella-my-heart,” he said, sounding more like a father than a man on whom a stray had been pressed. She hopped down and scrambled into the taxi, Dolly in hand, to stand at my knees and demand, “Where is Mr Robert?”

“I don’t really know,” I told her. “Mr Jav-”

She cut me short. “But he was with you. When will he come back?”

“He didn’t tell me,” I said. “Mr Javitz, do you need a hand?”

By way of answer he threw his bag and crutch inside and hopped against the door frame to manoeuvre himself within.

“I want to see him,” Estelle persisted.

“But sir,” the housekeeper was saying.

“I’ll do what I can,” I said to Estelle. “Here, let’s pull the seat down for you.”

“Terribly good of you to put up with us,” Javitz was saying to the woman. “We have to be away, see you around.”

And then both his legs were inside and he was shutting the door in her face.

The driver slid down the window to ask where we wanted to go, and I merely told him to head back towards London while we decided. He slid up the window. I turned to Javitz.

“What on earth was all that about?”

He cast an eloquent look at Estelle, who blinked her limpid eyes at me and said, “That means he doesn’t want to talk in front of me. Papa looks like that sometimes.”

“I imagine he does,” I said. “Does your Papa also tell you that you’re too bright for your own good?”

“Sometimes. I don’t think a person can be too bright, do you?”

“Certainly too bright for the convenience of others,” I said, then told Javitz, “I’m not sure where to take you. They could be watching my friends’ houses. For sure they’ll be keeping an eye on the local hotels. I even tried to reach Mr Lofte, who struck me as a valuable ally in any circumstances, but he’s gone back to Shanghai.”

“Do you know yet who this mysterious ‘they’ is?” he asked.

It was my turn to cast a significant “not in front of the children” glance at the small person on the seat across from us. She rolled her eyes in disgust and looked out of the window.

“What about a park?” Javitz suggested in desperation.

A park it would have to be. It had the advantage of being one of the last places any enemy of Mary Russell’s would expect to find her on a Sunday morning.

I paid the driver, unloaded my crew, and we set off slowly across the manicured paths on what was surely one of the last su

“Not too far,” I agreed.

She turned away with a soft sigh, but I dropped the carpet-bag and said, “Estelle?”