Free Web of Discord by Norman Russell Page A

characteristic surge of excitement that always occurred whenever this subtle and rather sinister man crossed his path. They had worked closely together in the past, but Kershaw was not his official superior. He always asked Box to assist him, and had made it perfectly clear that he was free to decline. It was this freedom of association that added to the thrill of working with Kershaw.
    ‘And this brings me now, Box,’ said Kershaw, ‘to the mystery of Sir John Courteline. You ask where he was going on the day of his murder. The answer is, that he was going to see me. Courteline was one of my secret servants.’
    The secret servants…. Kershaw always referred to people like Fred Wilson and the old man who had secured the churchyard gate as his ‘nobodies’. Their great value lay in their socialanonymity. The secret servants, though, were salaried agents of Secret Intelligence, men and women who knew that their lives could be in danger when they went out to do Kershaw’s mysterious bidding. And the murdered Sir John Courteline had been one of them.
    ‘Sir John Courteline was of particular value to you, sir?’
    ‘Yes. He was my hidden eye on Russia. Mine, not the Foreign Office’s. He knew all kinds of people in Moscow and St Petersburg, high and low, good and bad. Courteline had all but retired from secret intelligence work, but if anything particularly odd seemed to be afoot in Russia, Courteline would come to see me. But I don’t know why he wanted to see me on this occasion. He never lived to tell me.’
    Kershaw made a little sound, which might have been a laugh, or a stifled sigh.
    ‘And this Captain Edgar Adams, sir: what’s become of him?’
    Kershaw shifted uneasily on the bench. He frowned with what Box thought at first was annoyance. He swiftly realized that the frown was one of anxiety.
    ‘I don’t know. I last saw Captain Adams in London, after we’d returned from Cornwall. He’s an officer in the Royal Navy, but decided that he’d follow a certain line of exploration by turning himself into a merchant seaman. This was in January. He set out on his travels almost immediately, and returned to London only a few days ago. But I’ve not been able to speak to him yet, because he’s been dogged by a very determined enemy.’
    ‘So you reckon he’s gone to ground in London somewhere?’
    ‘I do. I’m convinced that he’s found out certain things that will confirm a theory I have about the state of Europe at the moment. I can’t act decisively until I’ve talked to Adams face to face…. I’m sorry that I can’t be more forthcoming. I think you’ll know that it’s not for lack of trust in you, either as a man or a colleague.’
    ‘And what do you want me to do, sir?’
    ‘I want you to do something that at first sight seems to have nothing to do with what I’ve just told you. But appearances, asyou well know, Box, are frequently deceptive. This evening, Sir Charles Napier is attending a reception for members of the Diplomatic Corps at Sir Abraham Goldsmith’s house in Arlington Street, just off Piccadilly. I was wondering whether you could contrive to station yourself somewhere in the vicinity? It’s just that I feel something dramatic is going to happen at the reception tonight, and I’d value your presence there, if you’re agreeable. You might like to bear a particular name in mind: Captain Igor Andropov. Just bear it in mind, you know.’
    ‘Andropov. Very well, sir. And will you be there, Colonel Kershaw?’
    Kershaw smiled, and threw away the butt of his cigar.
    ‘I will, Box. I’ve not been formally invited, but I’ll be there, none the less. Will you agree to – to hover in the vicinity?’
    ‘I will, sir. And now, if I may, I’d like to show you a visiting-card that I took from near the dead body of Sir John Courteline. I believe that it was deliberately left beside him by his murderer. It may mean something to you.’
    Box took the bloodstained visiting-card from his