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'A month?'

'Then he came back here and she went to take the waters in Germany.'

'Baden-Baden.'

'Yes, I believe so.' He paused and looked puckish. 'Aha! You are wondering how you will do without her for such a long time. I told you, you know. I tried to warn you. But she is quite irresistible.'

'I wished to consult her on a matter of importance . . .'

'And so did I! So did I! But here we are, abandoned and forlorn. Ah, well. We must make the best of it. Have some of this excellent coffee. I didn't want it, but Lady Ravenscliff has her servants so well trained that the wishes of visitors are quite irrelevant.'

He gestured to the tray on the table, then poured, delicately and without spilling a drop.

'How are your researches? I gather you have been to Newcastle. Were you impressed?'

I looked at him. 'How did you know that?'

'Good heavens, Mr Braddock! How can you even ask such a thing? Lady Ravenscliff begins to act in a very unusual fashion, hires someone who is quite unsuited for the task she gives him, and you expect someone like me not to be curious? Of course I have tried to find out everything I can about you. It's not as if you are very good at hiding your tracks.'

'I didn't realise I was supposed to.'

'Of course you didn't!'

'I found Newcastle very interesting.'

'And Mr Steptoe? Was he interesting as well? Poor man.'

The shock of the question quite threw me. Naturally it did; I was perfectly unprepared for it, and in any case was hardly trained in dissimulation. It was not really necessary as a journalist. I was clever enough to know that Xanthos was trying to frighten me, clever enough to acknowledge to myself that he was succeeding, and above all, quick enough to realise that my best response was not to play on his terms. I looked enquiringly.

'Terrible accident, so I hear. Run down in the street by a horse and cart. Went right over him, broke his back. Dead, poor fellow.'

He smiled sadly. I stared, horrified.

'I do wish Elizabeth was a little more generous with the cake,' he said, waving at an empty platter. 'I've eaten it all. I hope you don't mind. A curious way of writing a biography, when you haven't even written a letter to his family in Shropshire.'

I concentrated on my coffee, trying to stop my hands from trembling. 'My editor advised me that, when researching someone's life, it is best to start at the end and go back to the beginning. I always take his advice.'

'Have you ever travelled, Mr Braddock?'

'Not really.'

'You must. It broadens the mind. And it is good for the health.'

'And staying here isn't?'

'Violent place, London. Street crime. Innocent people attacked and murdered, just for their wallets, not even for that. It happens all the time.'

'Not so very often,' I said. 'You forget, I was a crime reporter.'

'So you were. I mention it only because I need a contract taken to Buenos Aires for signature. A trustworthy person to take it would be well paid.'

'Really?'

'Seven hundred pounds. The boat leaves from Southampton in a few days' time.'

'Otherwise I will meet the same fate as Mr Steptoe?'

'A strange thing to say, but I suppose it is a risk we all face. Good heavens, is that the time? I must run.' He stood up, brushed non-existent crumbs from his jacket, straightened his tie and looked at himself in the mirror.

'Where is the bowl?'

'What bowl?'

He gestured at the mantelpiece.

'Oh, that. It got broken.'

He stared at me.

'It was just a pot.'

He paused, then recovered. 'Of course.' He took an envelope out of his pocket and placed it on the table, then left. It was addressed to me. It contained a cheque for £700, drawn on the Bank of Bruges in London, and a ticket for the Manitoba, sailing from Southampton in two days' time.

CHAPTER 27

It goes without saying, I imagine, that I was agitated, disturbed and very frightened. This was all so far outside my experience that I had not the slightest idea what to do. Xanthos had given me money and said that if I did not take it, he would kill me. Or have me killed. Not in so many words, but even I could grasp his meaning. Poor Mr Steptoe was already dead. So was someone else at the works. So was Ravenscliff. And with such people dying who was I to think I was safe?

I needed time and I needed somewhere I could put aside the nagging feeling I had that I was being watched and followed. This wasn't madness on my part; I used all of George Short's skills in reverse and discovered it was true. Two people, in fact; for the first time I wondered how long they had been behind me without my even noticing. They tailed after me all the way down Piccadilly, but I led the way into my territory, not theirs, into a land where I knew every little alleyway and many of the people on the streets. Every step made me feel safer, less alone. They weren't that good, and this made me feel stronger and less helpless. I went down the Strand, carelessly, as if I had not noticed them, then into Fleet Street and into the Duck – always nearly empty at that time of day, so I could be sure I would not be surprised. I bought a drink, which I needed badly, and settled into a quiet corner. Peace. I needed that as much as a whisky.

Both in combination slowly had their effect. I calmed down, then became positively angry. How dare he? Not a sensible response, as it was obvious that he dared only too readily, but it brought me back to myself, and put to a temporary rest the quivering, frightened and somewhat shameful creature which had taken over my mind. Xanthos had threatened me, damn him. Why then? He could have said the same at any stage over the past month or so. Was it because his scheme at the shareholders' meeting had gone awry and he was planning another way of getting what he wanted? And where was Elizabeth? Had she really gone to Cowes, or was she . . . ? The thought struck horror into my mind. He was trying to take control of Ravenscliff's companies, and she was Ravenscliff's heir . . .

Curiously, it was the thought of the little Greek sitting so calmly on her settee which made my mind up. I would like to say it was courage, or patriotism or chivalry or some other manly virtue which aroused me, but it was not. It was the feeling of being supplanted, of having the image in my mind spoilt, which fired my determination. I would be damned if I was going to Southampton, at least to get on a boat to South America. I was all alone; so be it. I could not go home, so I wrote a letter to McEwen in the pub, and left it with the barman to give to him when he came in. It set out, as fully as I could, everything I knew, and left it to him to decide what to do about it. Then I sent a message for the runners. For five shillings each, they agreed to follow the followers, and also make sure they were distracted while I left the pub by the back entrance. One, I believe, was hit in the face by a large stone, sending him to hospital. The other had his wallet stolen, the lad involved dancing down the street, waving it above his head and tossing the contents on the ground until the pursuit got too close and he was obliged to show how fast he could run.

By which time I was far away, threading my way through dark alleys and back streets down to the river. Then west, but not home; I dared not go there. Instead I went to Whiteley's department store in Bayswater, bought a suitcase and some clothes (what a wonderful thing it is to have money), then to Waterloo Station and caught the 1.45 to Southampton. By this time I felt almost comfortable in my new role. I knew what I was doing, and why I was doing it, for the first time in weeks. I was also completely certain that I was not being followed, as the runner I'd paid to tag behind me signalled that all was well.