Free India Black and the Shadows of Anarchy (A Madam of Espionage Mystery) by Carol K. Carr Page B

how—”
    I interrupted her. “It is not necessary that you know how I came to possess them. I want only to know if you can make use of them.”
    “Make use of them? But what are these papers?”
    “It appears to be a confidential memorandum from some bloke at Scotland Yard to his superiors, discussing his plans for the penetration of various anarchist cells.”
    She lifted her eyes to meet mine, chewed the inside of her lower lip and then thrust the papers back at me. “I don’t understand why you are showing me these papers. I know nothing of any anarchist, what do you call them, cells.”
    I ignored the outstretched papers. “Look here, Martine. I know you’ve been living amongst those Communards in Seven Dials. I read the newspapers. I know the entire area is overrun with radicals. I’ll be hanged if you don’t know a few of those chaps.”
    She looked at me warily. I didn’t blame her for not trusting me. Why should she? This girl had learned the hard lessons well. I’d have to be patient with her, which was bloody inconvenient. Especially with Superintendent Stoke breathing down my neck.
    I took the document from her outstretched hand and placed it on my desk. “I’d have thought,” I said slowly, “that among your acquaintances there might be someone who would like to know about the Yard’s plans.”
    “Why should you want to give these plans to people who want to bring down your government?”
    I feigned surprise. “My dear girl, this government is not mine. It belongs to the rich and the powerful. To the aristocracy and to the men who visit this brothel. Do they care what you or I think or want or need? Do they spare a thought for the starving children while they enjoy their champagne? Certainly not. We’re invisible to them. I’ll take their money, but don’t think I like the buggers. Why, I don’t give a tinker’s damn for the whole pack of them. If a few brave men and women are willing to eradicate some of these useless predators, then I’d be pleased to offer them what assistance I can. Right now, that assistance takes the form of this document.”
    I’d worked myself up over the inequities of this world, and I was afraid I might have been a touch histrionic, but Martine proved susceptible to a bit of passion, as the French are prone to be. She held out her hand. I placed the papers into it.
    “I have a friend who may be interested,” she said. “I shall take the memorandum to him.”
    I nodded, looking very dignified and grave, as though we’d sealed a bargain of some sort, which, in a way, I suppose we had.
    “If I leave now, I should be back in time for the customers this evening.”
    “See to it,” I said, reverting to the role of madam and business owner. Well, it wouldn’t do for Martine to think she could take liberties just because we had become co-conspirators.
    A few minutes later I heard the front door close and stepped to my window. Drawing back the curtain, I watched Martine stride purposefully away through a thin drizzle that coated the pavement with a nasty glaze. A moment passed, and then a disreputable youngster padded after her, dodging among the pedestrians who recoiled in horror at the smell as he passed, which is quite an accomplishment considering that this is London. Vincent was on the case.
    Of course it wasn’t a real memorandum I had given to Martine. I’d drafted it up one night in my study, firing my imagination with a tumbler of brandy and a review of the background material Superintendent Stoke had provided me about the Dark Legion. You can be sure I did not disclose any plans to infiltrate anarchist cells by hiring young bints and masquerading as a radical madam. I included some rather anodyne prescriptions for chatting up mysterious foreigners in pubs known to be frequented by revolutionaries, following newly arrived immigrants from Russia, Germany and Italy, and attending public meetings of antigovernment organizations. Useless drivel, of course,