Free Your Royal Hostage by Antonia Fraser Page A

not have risked his smart remark or anything like it but would have confined himself to the nod.
    'Given the state of the city, I'm inclined to think that it was done on purpose to annoy us,' went on Pompey, giving Vaillant a malevolent look. 'To coin a phrase as you would put it. Certainly someone did something on purpose. To put it another way, a good many people did a good many things on purpose, leaving us poor critters to figure out who did which to what."
    Vaillant knew better this time and merely nodded.
    'For example the late Mr Schwarz-Albert did a good many things on purpose. Including painting Cumberland Palace red.'
    'We're sure of that, are we, sir?' enquired Vaillant in his most sympathetic manner. Pompey ignored him.
    'So what was he doing stone dead with a souvenir paper-knife in his back in the corner of the lounge of the Republican Hotel?'
    Pompey spoke in a tone remarkably close to a groan, something that Vaillant ascribed to his physical condition rather than to any faintheartedness over the case. 'Answer me that one. Was he about to transfigure the lounge with violent red pleas for animal rights when he was struck down by someone with an even more violent dislike for Animal Rights activists? He was struck down -' as Vaillant leant even more sympathetically forward - 'and with one of these. Sharp little buggers.'
    Pompey reached in a drawer and drew out a paper-knife similar to those presented to the avid Royalty-observers at the Press Conference. At the time the knife, surmounted by Princess Amy's cypher in blue, had seemed yet another example of royal journalistic kitsch; now, looking at it, Vaillant felt that the strong slender blade had assumed an altogether more sinister aspect.
    'Here's one of them. Masses of them about, of course. A thousand manufactured. Quite a job tracing them. At the same time, shouldn't be allowed, should it, giving something as sharp as this to a lot of journalists.'
    'They're not children -' murmured Vaillant. Pompey merely cocked an eyebrow.
    'At least we know the murder weapon. Although we've kept quiet about the weapon for the time being to the Press. The hotel cooperated: they didn't want any bad publicity. We'll release that titbit when its suits us, not before. We also know the approximate time. But who and why: that, my boy, is what we are here to find out. At the moment it's strictly person unknown.'
    'What do we know about him, sir? Beyond the fact that he had a valid Press pass to the conference?'
    'Give me that bit of paper.' Pompey stretched forward. The movement made him wince. He stopped. 'Go on then, read it out, boy.'
    'Jean-Pierre Schwarz-Albert, journalist. A.k.a. Animal Rights activist. Known to have joined several Animal Rights movements, most recently Innoright - Innoright? Reason to believe he was part of the Innoright cell that made the red-paint raid on Cumberland Palace last -' Vaillant stopped.
    'Reason to believe, sir?' he enquired delicately. 'Information received? You don't mean - we've got a source around that neck of the woods?'
    Pompe y grunted. 'Something of the sort. As you know, we've all been scared silly about these Animal Rights loonies ever since the Westminster Square incident. Yes, loonies. I said loonies and I meant loonies. They're insane in other words. Terrorists and insane. You can't begin to predict what they'll do. Far be it from me to call for the return of your wandering Irish terrorist, let alone your friendly neighbourhood Arab -' Pompey grunted again and then coughed to show it was one of his jokes.
    Vaillant, alerted, gave a discreet smile.
    'But these fellows,' went on Pompey, 'men and women, the women being among the worst by the way, you've no idea what they'll think of next. So many amateurs getting into the game, too, none of them on our books already. Not playing the game by the rules, because they don't know what the rules are.'
    Perceiving this was not a joke, Vaillant asked: 'Has terrorism got rules, sir?'
    'The