Free India Black by Carol K. Carr Page A

stranger who had disposed of Archibald Latham’s body was at the sideboard, pouring a stiffish peg for himself. He didn’t bother to look round, which was just as well as I was in no mood to smile and say hello. By this time, I’d regained my usual sangfroid, reasoning that I wasn’t likely to be murdered in the office of the prime minister, and settled down to enjoy what promised to be an interesting evening. So I sipped my whisky demurely and waited for Dizzy to expound, which didn’t take long, of course, as he could no more be silent than an Irishman can be sober.
    “I hardly know where to begin,” he said, and promptly launched into speech. “Two days ago, a representative of this government died rather precipitously, and somewhat unfortunately, at your, er, establishment. Also unfortunately, Sir Archibald Latham carried with him a case that held certain documents, containing rather sensitive information.”
    “Vital information,” Endicott interposed. He’d screwed a cigarette into an ebony holder and was puffing away, the smoke dribbling out his nostrils. “Information of the greatest importance to this government.”
    “As you are aware, Miss Black, the case has gone missing.” As if Dizzy weren’t sure I’d gotten his point, he added: “From your, er, establishment.”
    The whisky was first-rate, but it was time to make known my position. “I didn’t take the case,” I said. “French was there when I searched Lotus House. He can tell you that I found nothing.”
    “We know the case is not in your possession,” Endicott said. “We know where it is.”
    “Well, then. Why don’t you just go and fetch it while I trundle back to Lotus House and attend to my business?”
    “It’s a complicated matter, Miss Black.” Dizzy rose briskly and strode over to the fireplace, where he leaned against the mantle. “The case will soon be in the possession of Count Vladimir Maksimovich Yusopov, the head of military intelligence for Tsar Alexander II.”
    “If the case belongs to Her Majesty’s government, why don’t you tell Count Yusopov to hand it over? If he doesn’t give it back, you can always boot him out of the country.”
    Dizzy sighed. “Dear me. I wish it were that simple. But for any number of reasons, we cannot make a public issue of the matter. It must be handled with the utmost discretion.”
    The faintest of lights had begun to dawn. “You mean, no one must know that the documents are missing.”
    Endicott frowned into his glass. “Precisely.”
    “Cause for embarrassment?” I asked. “Senior government official pops off in a whorehouse, losing state secrets to our bitter enemy along the way. Is that it?”
    Dizzy looked unhappy. “You have summed up the situation quite succinctly. We cannot afford a public scandal; it would bring down the government.” Endicott shot him a quick glance. In the shifting, uncertain light from the fireplace, I could have sworn it was laced with malice. But from the corner of his eye, he caught me studying him, and his expression smoothed immediately into the seamless mask he’d been wearing since I arrived.
    “You said this count fellow would have the case soon. Where is it now?”
    French spoke for the first time. “In the possession of one Major Vasily Kristoforovich Ivanov, Count Yusopov’s most trusted agent. He is in London at the moment, awaiting Count Yusopov’s return from Paris, where he has been for the past week.”
    “And how did this bloke Ivanov get his hands on the case?” I asked.
    “Ivanov’s men have been shadowing various officials from the War Office for several months.”
    “Including Bowser, I presume.”
    Endicott and Dizzy looked puzzled.
    French’s lip twitched slightly. “Sir Archibald Latham,” he explained.
    Dizzy had been silent for all of a minute, which must have been a terrible strain. “One of the destinations to which he was followed was your, er, establishment. We assume that the agent must have waited