Free All Honourable Men by Gavin Lyall

tools or explosives?”
    â€œNothing that leaves a mark. It has to be an undetected entry.”
    There was a long silence, then Peters sighed. “Well, I can show you a few safes, explain the principles of the discs and the tumbler gate, point out the differences between different makes, but . . . I won’t try to tell you your business, but I suggest you concentrate on the owner of the safe. Open him, and maybe the safe’ll follow. Apart from that . . . Are you a regular church-goer, Mr Spencer?”
    Surprised, Ranklin said: “Er . . . I’m afraid not.” “Start today.”
    * * *
    Terence Gorman,
Pension Chaligny,
Paris 12e
    Dear Gorman
,
    You have been recommended to me by James Spencer Esq. as a loyal, sober and discreet manservant. I trust that Spencer did not exaggerate your qualities because I am offering you the opportunity to attend to my needs on a mission for His Majesty’s Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs which will take me to Constantinople and perhaps further into the Turkish Empire
.
    You will be engaged under the usual conditions at a wage of one sovereign a week, paid at the end of the week, but I am prepared to advance you a week’s wage upon your acceptance
.
    I assume that you will take this handsome chance to better yourself, and will present yourself clad in a fitting manner, and with your accoutrements suitably packed for immediate railway travel, at the Gare de l’Est at 2 in the afternoon on Tuesday next
.
    Yrs
    The Hon. Patrick Snaipe
    * * *
    Ranklin came into the Commander’s room just as another paper was burning out in the ashtray.
    â€œYou’re off to Constantinople tonight? – tomorrow?”
    â€œI’ve just got to pick up a diplomatic passport.”
    â€œThought you’d like to know: Scotland Yard’s pretty sure it knows who killed your chum van der Brock. A man suspected of being a professional assassin, name of – Bugger! I’ve forgotten.” He glared at the smouldering remains in theashtray. “Doesn’t matter, he escaped abroad the same day and they can’t prove it anyway.”
    â€œWhat does matter is who hired him.”
    â€œPossibly . . . I don’t want you wasting time on it, anyway. Give my regards to O’Gilroy.”
    * * *
    Fazackerley handed across the diplomatic passport with the cheering comment: “You understand that this confers only as much immunity as you can squeeze out of it? You can expect virtually no backing from us if you get yourself into any sort of trouble. If that happens, we’ll say that you misrepresented yourself as an old friend of Lady Kelso’s and we gave you the same sort of temporary protection we’re giving her, and we’re sorry we didn’t know what a fearful rotter you really were.”
    Ranklin nodded appreciatively. As alibis went, it should stretch to cover the Foreign Office if things went wrong. Just the Secret Service Bureau up to its slimy tricks again.
    He unfolded the document and was impressed despite himself. It might have little backing, but the least sensitive border guard could scarce forbear to cringe before the dignified imperialism of that passport.
    He checked the Snaipe personal details, then sprinkled the paper with drops of coffee, rubbed them in with a fingertip and began crumpling its edges. “Don’t want it to look as if I’ve only joined the Service today,” he explained.
    Fazackerley smiled. Hapgood prompted him: “You were going to mention travel arrangements.”
    â€œOh yes. The German Embassy said you’ll be met in Strasbourg tomorrow evening. It seems they’ve managed to borrow a . . . well, not quite a private train, but a couple of coaches from the Emperor Wilhelm’s one. It sounds as if the whole thing has Very High approval.” He frowned a little at that, and Ranklin himself wasn’t overjoyed. If the German Emperor was taking an interest,