Free A Thief in the Night by Stephen Wade

I’m sure.’
    By four in the afternoon she was gone, with Glazin, on board a ship bound for France. No doubt she will be seen and adored on her journey north, across the continent. But I am left alone here with only card-games and dull old history books for amusement.

    Harry put down the journal and read no more. He knew his friend as he had never known him before.

    At Richmond Street, Maria de Bellezza had not failed to avail herself and friends of the company of the celebrities in town, and had invited Irina Danova and Paul Dalevy to her next salon. The world knew Irina, but Monsieur Dalevy, the tenor, was a rising star and little known outside France. At two, Mr Danilo Bruzov was admitted into the parlour, followed by his two singers. In minutes they were ushered into the broad, well-lit room and announced. The cluster of guests clapped politely and Maria began to introduce them to her friends.
    ‘Now everyone, as I promised, we have in the room with us now Mr Bruzov, who is the agent and manager of many famous performers in Europe, and in his care, Miss Irina Danova and Monsieur Dalevy. Mr Bruzov, I rashly promised my friends that we could allow a few questions to your good self and your singers. I hope that is agreeable?’
    Both new arrivals were large men. Dalevy was barrel-chested and had a solid, square frame, running to fat even at his young age of thirty. He wore a dark topcoat and shoulder cape and a hat with a wide brim: everything else was a melancholy black and his moustache was waxed and pointed. He did not smile easily, and appeared to be preoccupied, although he was the perfect gentlemanly guest.
    Bruzov was an immense man, so broad and solid that he had to make a special effort to turn and address people across the room. He was bald, squat, with a red, pockmarked face, and had to cope with an immense stomach which was held in check by a belt and a cummerbund. Somehow, a waistcoat had been found or made to stretch across his belly. As he spoke, his chin quivered, but his voice was commanding and firm.
    ‘Of course Madame Bellezza, we are here to entertain. Please ask.’ He waved an arm across the front of the dozen guests who were all standing in adoration. Most eyes were on Irina, who was stunningly attractive, a woman now of twenty-six, in the full flowering of her beauty, dressed in a skirt of creative lines and ruches, with a white blouse, puff-sleeved and laced on neck and cuffs. The first question was for her.
    ‘Miss Danova, is this your first time in England?’
    ‘Yes indeed, though I have heard much about London, and Mr Bruzov is a new manager. My former manager met with an illness in Paris last week and had to stay there.’
    ‘Do you have friends here?’
    There was a short pause, as if she was about to answer but then changed her mind. ‘No …, no. But I soon will have!’
    The assembled guests applauded. Maria, who was well aware that her female celebrity was the cause of George’s heartache, was by no means merely a hostess. Every party she arranged was also an occasion for gathering information for her contacts in Special Branch, and she had been asked to check on Bruzov. As the big man enjoyed his third brandy, Jemmy Smythe, who was acting as butler for the day, was searching the Russian’s greatcoat on the hook in the hall. Jemmy enjoyed playing the role of servant – being the Society’s eyes and ears, unobserved, when investigations were being made.
    When the party dispersed for the day, and everyone had been invited to the Steinway Hall that night, Smythe reported.
    ‘Nothing definite, Maria, except that I heard the Frenchman say something very odd – that Irina would do as she was told . Bruzov has only two days ago taken over as her manager and already he – and apparently the French singer – control her. Why?’
    ‘I wish we knew. But go on.’
    ‘There was also a letter, possibly related to why he is really here.’
    ‘ Really here?’ Maria asked.
    ‘He is