The Dark Palace

There were moments when the darkness rattled and seemed about to fall apart. But then the darkness boomed terrifyingly. He cowered down and back, away from the heavy pounding on the top of the darkness.

All he could do was scratch and snarl and whine. But the darkness was not touched by anything he did. The darkness held him.

The darkness filled and echoed with his whining. His whining wrapped itself around him. His whining pierced his ears. His hairs stood up and a shiver took hold of him. His shiver set the darkness rattling.

Then the deafening boom-boom-boom sent him cowering into the corner of the hard darkness.

THIRTY

‘So … what do we know?’ Qui

Inchball yawned and blinked. His eyes were red with exhaustion. Even the soft reflected glow from the blank wall that faced the skylight seemed to be too much for him. He held his hands in front of his face, rubbed vigorously into his aching sockets, then glared, a bewildered, ravaged wreck of a man. ‘We know where Hartma

‘Forest Hill?’

‘Yeah, Forest bloody ’Ill. I will need you to sign off the taxi fare, guv. Four shillings and sixpence.’

‘Of course.’

‘I waited outside the ’ouse all bleedin’ nigh’ and then followed him back into town this morning. Fortunately, he took the train and I was not obliged to splash out on another bleedin’ taxi. I would have been in a pickle otherwise, I can tell you. I can also tell you that he did not return to Cecil Court. He took the train to London Bridge, and from there he proceeded on foot – my poor achin’ legs! – across the river to an address in the City. On St Swithin’s Lane, to be precise. You want the number, do ya?’ Inchball sighed monumentally. He then tried each of his pockets in turn until at last he found his notebook. His bemused expression seemed to suggest that he had been unaware of the very existence of that particular pocket until that moment. He leafed through the pages. ‘A ’undred and nineteen, St Swithin’s Lane. A number of businesses is located at this address.’ Inchball read from his notebook. ‘Palgrave ’Oldings. Jacobs and Jacobson, Solicitors.’ Inchball paused as if he was going to make a comment but thought better of it and continued reading the list. ‘Imperial Trading Consortium. London Nitrate Company. The Colonial Financing Corporation. The Panamanian Investment Syndicate – parenthesis London, close parenthesis. The England and Continental Finance Bank. That’s it.’

‘And which of these offices did he enter?’

Inchball rolled his eyes at Qui

‘Of course, Inchball. I understand. This is excellent.’

‘The way I see it, he either went into one of the offices on the ground floor, which would be the Panamanian Investment Syndicate – parenthesis London, close parenthesis – or the England and Continental Finance Bank. Or, ’e went into the office what was on the second floor, that is to say, the London Nitrate Company.’

‘How do you figure that out?’ asked Macadam.

‘I ’eard the lift come to a halt above. I took the stairs and found it on the second floor. Where this London Nitrate Company is.’

‘It is more likely that he had business with the Finance Bank on the ground floor,’ suggested Qui

‘Parenthesis London, close parenthesis,’ added Inchball.

‘I would imagine that they are concerned largely in raising investments for Panama specifically, and perhaps for Central and South America more widely. It is possible that Hartma

‘We can’t assume that any of these set-ups is legitimate, guv,’ objected Inchball. ‘Any one of ’em could be a cover for his nefarious activities.’

Qui

Qui

Dunwich had tried to steer them away from the barbershop. Perhaps this was out of loyalty to his friend Hartma

Macadam shook his head. Inchball had actually dozed off.

‘Oh, there was one thing came for you.’ Macadam handed over an envelope. Qui

Qui

Also enclosed was a brief note on stationery headed ‘Visionary Productions’, handwritten and signed in the same green ink by Hartma

My Dear Inspector Qui