Free The Dark Palace--Murder and mystery in London, 1914 by R.N. Morris Page B

insisted Macadam with slow, deliberate emphasis. He could no longer keep his appeal to Quinn mute: ‘Sir?’
    Quinn let out a sigh. ‘I do not believe that an application for additional equipment will meet with success. We have been fortunate to get what we have. We must make the best of it.’
    â€˜With respect, sir, I hardly think that using a Zeiss lens is making the best of it. ’
    Quinn pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Macadam, you have your camera. You have your lens.’
    â€˜Bleedin’ German lens,’ muttered Inchball.
    Quinn stood up decisively, although he did remember to bow his head at the last minute. ‘Perhaps we can now give some thought as to how we are going to employ this equipment in our current operation?’
    They were now committed to keeping the barber shop under surveillance, as far as the limited resources of the department allowed. Quinn had to accept that Inchball’s first instinct had been tested and proved sound. His description of the man who had come to the door – ‘He was as bald as a bleedin’ coot, I’m tellin’ yer!’ – somehow clinched it. So too had the detail of the green writing on the envelope. When Inchball had told him about this, he had immediately thought back to his interview with Lord Dunwich. ‘What does it say about a man if he uses green ink? ’
    Quinn tried to remember where he had seen green ink. He searched through the old correspondence on his desk until he found the card from the film production company. There it was in the top left-hand corner: Quick-Fire Quinn and guest.
    He had meant to throw it away, having no intention to accept its invitation:
    You are cordially invited to the world premiere of
    THE EYES OF THE BEHOLDER
    The main reason he discounted the possibility of going, or so he told himself, was his annoyance at being addressed as Quick-Fire Quinn . But he had found the addition of ‘and guest’ after his name troubling in a different way. Whom would he invite? Of course, he fantasized about taking Miss Latterly. But what he was really frightened of was that in a moment of weakness he would ask Miss Dillard.
    But now, the mention of green ink by Lord Dunwich and the green ink on the package handed over in the barbershop … was there some connection between the film company, the barber’s and Lord Dunwich’s spies?
    He scanned down the type: Written and directed by the renowned maestro KONRAD WAECHTER.
    The name sounded German. Perhaps there was something here after all.
    He knew that Lord Dunwich was holding something back. His sort always did. But surely it didn’t follow that his lordship was in league with foreign spies? Perhaps the question about green ink had been prompted by a completely unrelated matter. Had Lord Dunwich received an invitation to the premiere too?
    He made a mental note of the date of the event before returning the card to its place in his pile of correspondence.
    Could it be that the spy operation was a red herring, designed to divert the department from something even more nefarious? Quinn had noted a hunted quality to Lord Dunwich’s eyes, a way they had of simultaneously seeking out and shying away from any questioning gaze. Those were not innocent eyes. They were eyes that longed to reveal the secrets that burdened them. It was a quality he recognized. He saw it every time he looked in the mirror.
    Whatever was the truth, Quinn felt a bridling of resentment. It would not be the first time he had been sent into the field without being afforded the courtesy of full disclosure.
    He experienced a momentary flash of Miss Dillard’s eyes. He had to admit, he did not always tell his men everything that he knew, and sometimes his reasons for withholding information were obscure even to himself.
    â€˜Inchball, you are the one who is most familiar with what’s going on at the German’s.’
    â€˜Yes, guv. I’ve