The Case of the Threatened King Read online

  Sara looked at Maria again, smiling reassuringly, until she realized that with both of them gagged, Maria couldn’t see her mouth anymore than she could see Maria’s. Then she rolled over, twisted a little and, putting her feet down on the floor, managed to stand up. With a dancer’s agility and balance, she began hopping over to the attic’s west window. She was not sure what she intended to do when she got there—break the glass with her head or her elbow and hope someone would hear it?—but it was the closest she could get to any travelled thoroughfare, the only place where she could see anyone. At one point she lost her balance and almost fell, but she was able to catch herself and, even with her bound ankles, managed to reach the window.

  She stood there for a moment, breathing hard, and at first she could see nothing at all because the late afternoon sun was shining into her eyes. She moved to one side, leaning against the chest of drawers, and now she could see into the street beyond the roof to the west. Something had evidently just happened there for several people were standing about and looking up the street to the right. She could not see what they were looking at, and as she tried to, pressing her cheek to the glass, she knew that it had all become too much for her and that she was losing her mind, for it seemed to her that she saw Andrew.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath; and when she opened her eyes again, she could still see him. He was over to her left, just a short distance from the spot where the big building across the alley cut off her view of the street, and he had his back to her. But even if she hadn’t recognized his clothes—he was wearing an old jacket and Wellington boots for some reason—she would have known it was Andrew by the shape of his head, the color of his hair, and the way he stood.

  “Andrew!” she screamed silently. “Andrew!”

  She had heard of people who could read other people’s minds, knew what the other person was thinking even when they were miles apart, and it would have been wonderful if Andrew had heard her mute cry, but he didn’t, because he didn’t move or even turn around.

  Sara groaned again, wet with the sweat of effort and tension. To be so close—to actually see him and not be able to reach him in any way—was almost more than she could bear. She had to let him know where she was, for Maria’s sake as well as her own. She had to!

  She leaned hard against the window, as if that would help, and something next to her rattled. She turned and saw her face in the looking glass on the chest of drawers, her eyes narrowed and her brows drawn together with the intensity of her concentration.

  The looking glass. The looking glass! Her heart began pounding. Was it possible? She glanced down at Andrew again. He still had his back to her. Hunching over and gripping the top of the looking glass between her chin and her chest, she began to turn it around, being careful not to let it fall off the chest of drawers. She almost had it around—a little more—a little more … There. Now it was facing the sun and the street, but the angle was wrong—the reflected rays were hitting high up, near the roofs of the building across the street. Holding the stand in place with her shoulder, she began to push the top of the looking glass forward with her chin. The beam of reflected light moved down, down, until it reached the street just behind Andrew. But he still had his back to her.

  “Andrew!” she said silently but intensely. “Turn around!”

  Almost as if he had heard her, he did turn, and making a last adjustment, she flashed the sun’s rays into his eyes.

  She saw him blink, raise his hand to shield his eyes and look up to find the source of the disturbing flash.

  “It’s me, Andrew,” whispered Sara. “Me, Screamer!”

  His hand still shielding his eyes, he scowled in annoyance and went striding up the street to the right, in the direction that the passersby had all been looking.

  Sara felt her strength ebb with her hopes. She did not faint, but her knees gave way and she sank to the floor and remained there, lying on her side, unable to rise, to crawl back to her cot or even to turn over to a more comfortable position.

  A short time before this, Wyatt, Tucker and Count Milanovitch had come out of the embassy. Wyatt was not sure how much the count had guessed after their talk that morning, but he did not seem at all surprised to see the inspector when he returned to the embassy. And though he was clearly ready to accompany the king to Buckingham Palace, for he was wearing a formal frock coat and dark striped trousers, he agreed at once to go with Wyatt—and this completely on faith, for Wyatt did not tell him where he was taking him. Wyatt did not know what the count said to the king—he was still upstairs when they arrived and the count went up to talk to him—but he must have had as much faith in his charge d’affaires as Milanovitch did in Wyatt, for the count was down again in just a few minutes. Putting on his gleaming top hat, he indicated that he was at the inspector’s disposal.

  As they went out, the embassy carriage drew up, a dark maroon brougham with the Serbian coat of arms on the door and a footman as well as a coachman in the box. Andrew was waiting in front of the embassy, and he and the count bowed to one another.

  “Are we going far?” asked the count as they started north on Claverton Street.

  “No,” said Wyatt. “Just to that house there.” And he nodded toward number 169.

  “Oh?” said the count with grim interest, and he said nothing more until they paused in front of the building. Then, looking searchingly at Wyatt, he said, “We are going in?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have not told me who or what we will find there.”

  “No. Because though I think I know, I am not absolutely certain.”

  “And you have no instructions for me?”

  “No. I want you to be completely natural, and I know I can rely on your discretion as well as your intelligence.”

  “Thank you.”

  He stepped aside and let Wyatt go up the three steps to the door and rap the brass knocker vigorously against the strike plate. Looking back down the street, Wyatt saw that Andrew was walking toward them slowly and tentatively. After waiting a moment, Wyatt rapped at the door again and a bolt was drawn, the door opened and a large, heavily-bearded man in a coachman’s uniform frowned out at them.

  “Yes?” he said in a guttural voice. “What you want?”

  “Zerko!” said the count before Wyatt could answer. Then, as the bearded man’s eyes widened in surprise, Milanovitch said something—or asked him a question-in their native language.

  “Who is it, Zerko?” asked another voice as the bearded man hesitated.

  Pushing him aside, the count opened the door all the way, revealing a middle-aged, broad-shouldered man with a shaved head who wore a single eyeglass.

  “Milanovitch!” he said, staring at the count through his monocle. Then he too said something—or asked a question—in their own language.

  “I hate to be insular,” said Wyatt, “but would you mind very much if we carried on our discussions in English?”

  “Not at all,” said Milanovitch with great restraint. “First of all, do you know this man, Inspector?”

  “No. I think I know who he is, but we’ve never met.”

  “Then permit me to introduce you. Inspector Wyatt and Sergeant Tucker of the Metropolitan Police. Colonel Kosta, late of the Serbian War Ministry.”

  “Colonel,” said Wyatt, bowing.

  Kosta, who had regained his poise, returned Wyatt’s bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Inspector. May I ask if this is an official visit?”

  “It need not be. I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes, ask you a few questions. May we come in?”

  Kosta looked at him sharply, and Wyatt was aware that a very keen mind was weighing a whole series of possibilities.

  “Of course,” he said, making a decision. “I’m not alone, but … Do come in.”

  He stepped aside politely, and when Wyatt, Tucker and the count had entered, he opened one of the large double doors that led to the front parlor. The entrance hall had been empty except for a c
onsole table and a single chair, and the parlor was sparsely furnished also. However the few pieces that were placed here and there about the large room were quite good. Sitting in a gilt chair near one of the windows that looked out onto the street was a woman in her late middle age, whose face was heavily powdered and who wore a rather ornate red wig.

  “We have some unexpected guests,” Kosta said to her. “Count Milanovitch of the Serbian Embassy just down the street, Inspector Wyatt and Sergeant Tucker of the Metropolitan Police. Mrs. Barnett.”

  “How do you do, Mrs. Barnett?” said Wyatt, bowing. “I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting either you or the late Mr. Barnett, but of course I’ve heard a good deal about you both.”

  “Only good, of course,” she said, studying him with hard, dark eyes.

  “Of course.”

  “I heard Colonel Kosta ask if you were here on official police business, and you said no.”

  “That’s not quite accurate. He asked if this was an official visit, and I said that it need not be. That, if I might, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “Me or the colonel?”

  “Both of you.”

  “Well, seeing that the colonel is a foreigner and doesn’t know as much about England and English law as me, why don’t you start with me, and I’ll decide if we’ll answer your questions or not?”

  “Fair enough. First of all, would you care to tell me what you’re doing here?”

  “You mean here in this house?”

  “Yes.”

  “The colonel had business to take care of here in England. He got in touch with me and asked me to help him with it and to begin by finding him a house. I found this one for him.”

  “You know, of course, that the house is quite close to the Serbian embassy.”

  “Of course I know it. The colonel said he wanted to be near the embassy so that he could talk to the people there if he needed to.”

  “Then how is it that he never has?” asked the count. “I did not even know he was in England until a few minutes ago.”

  “I have only been here a short while, and I have not had a chance to pay my respects,” said the colonel.

  “You still haven’t told us what this is all about, why you’re asking us these questions,” said Mrs. Barnett.

  “Because I still have a few more questions to ask,” said Wyatt. “Did you know that King Alexander was coming to England? That he was going to be staying at the embassy?”

  “Of course we knew it,” said Mrs. Barnett. “One of the reasons I came here today was because I hoped I might be able to see him.”

  “Well, you should be able to in just a minute. Because the carriage is waiting in front of the embassy now to take him to see the queen.”

  “No kid! Is that the truth?”

  “It is.”

  “Hear that, Colonel?” Mrs. Barnett looked fixedly at him. “Sounds to me like this is a real occasion. Why don’t you ring for Sam and have him bring up some bubbly?”

  “Splendid idea.” He went over to the bellpull that hung down the middle of the far wall. “You say he’ll be along soon, Inspector?”

  “He was getting ready to go when we left the embassy.” Wyatt strolled over to the window and looked out. “Yes. He’s coming out now, getting into the carriage.”

  “Let’s see,” said Mrs. Barnett. She got up, leaning on her silver-headed cane, and stumped over to stand next to Wyatt. “’Strewth! There he is.”

  She watched the footman close the door of the brougham and climb up into the box, and Wyatt saw her lift a finger. As she did, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the colonel tug once on the bellpull.

  With a clatter of hoofs, the brougham rolled by, and as they caught a fleeting glimpse of the young king, a little pale but very splendid in a full-dress uniform, she raised her finger again, and the colonel tugged on the bellpull for the second time.

  Even Sargeant Tucker, standing in the doorway on the far side of the room, could feel the growing tension. Then, as the brougham went on up the street, as Mrs. Barnett lifted her finger again and the colonel tugged on the bellpull for the third time, both of them became rigid, crouching slightly as if waiting for something. Milanovitch, his lips a thin, tense line, stood in the middle of the room, frowning as if he did not understand what was going on.

  They remained that way, all of them as rigid as wax figures at Madame Tussaud’s for a long moment. Then Mrs. Barnett, her eyes wide and incredulous, turned and looked at the colonel, who was looking as astonished as she was.

  “Is anything wrong?” asked Wyatt politely.

  “Wrong?” said Mrs. Barnett, her voice hoarse and uncertain. “What could be wrong?”

  “I think I can guess,” said Wyatt. He nodded to Tucker, who went striding across the parlor to the dining room behind it. Zerko tried to stop him, but he shoved him aside, went around the screen at the end of the dining room, through the butler’s pantry and pushed open the green baize door that closed off the back stairs. He paused there, looking down at the little man who crouched over a large storage battery, holding a wire to one of the terminals.

  “Hello, Sam,” he said. “Playing Hide and Seek?”

  “What?” The small man looked up at him blankly, as uncomprehending as the colonel and Mrs. Barnett had been.

  “Never mind. There’s someone inside who wants to see you.” And picking him up by the back of his jacket, Tucker hustled him through the pantry and the dining room to the parlor.

  “What was he doing?” asked Wyatt.

  “Sitting on the back stairs, fiddling with the biggest blinking battery I’ve ever seen,” said Tucker.

  “Now will you tell us what this bobbery’s all about?” said Mrs. Barnett.

  “Why, yes,” said Wyatt. “It’s about an attempt to assassinate King Alexander by exploding a cache of dynamite in the sewer up the street.”

  “I knew it!” said the count. “At least, I began to suspect it after you came to see me this morning. Gradowsky is in it too, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was that what they were waiting for just now, when Kosta pulled the bellpull?”

  “Yes. Three rings was evidently his signal to our friend here to set it off.”

  “But that’s ridiculous!” said the colonel. “Why would we even try such a thing when you were here in the house?”

  “An interesting question,” said Wyatt. “And I wondered whether you would try. But of course you didn’t know how much I knew and, being a pair of sporting types, decided to gamble on it. Your ace was probably the thought that when the dynamite went off, it would do so much damage, create so much confusion, that you could slip out the back way and scarper. But—” He broke off as Sam slid a hand inside his jacket and whipped out a long, slim knife. But, quick as he was, Tucker was just as quick.

  “Now, now, none of that, Sammy,” he said, clamping a hand on the small man’s wrist. “You could hurt someone playing with that.”

  “We’ll want that as evidence,” said Wyatt as the knife fell to the floor. “It’s undoubtedly the knife that killed Ernie the tosher and almost killed young Harry the bootblack.”

  “My daughter,” said the count. “Do they have her?”

  “Yes,” said Wyatt.

  “Where is she? Is she here in this house?”

  “I’m not sure. She may be, but I doubt it.”

  Milanovitch walked over to the colonel. His face was expressionless, but his smoldering eyes were enough to make a very brave man draw back from him.

  “Where is she, Kosta?” he said in a flat, uninflected voice. “Tell me, or I’ll kill you.”

  The colonel was brave, there was little question about that, but there was uncertainty in his face as he looked at Addie Barnett, at Wyatt, and then at the count again.

  “Don’t look at them,” said the count. “Look at me. You know I mean it. If you don’t tell me where she is—or if she’s been harmed in any way—I’ll kill you as surely as I stan
d here. I may not be able to do it right away, but I’ll do it—and you know I will.”

  Perspiration suddenly beaded the colonel’s forehead, and again he looked at Addie Barnett. She looked thoughtfully and speculatively at the count.

  “She means a lot to you, eh?” The count did not even bother answering. “All right,” she said, turning to Wyatt, “we’ll do a deal with you. You can have Sam here. He did kill the tosher and the boy—at least he was supposed to—”

  “What?” said Sam. “Why, you pongy, po-faced Judas!”

  “Cut it. They got you, ain’t they?” she said without emotion. “But, no matter what we tried, we didn’t really do nothing. So, like I said, we’ll do a deal with you, Inspector. Let us go, and we’ll tell you where the girl is.” Then, as Wyatt studied her, “Make your mind up fast, chum, because—this is gospel—if you don’t get her right away, she’s a goner!”

  As Wyatt hesitated—and it was obvious that, much as he hated the idea, he was about to agree—the outside door burst open and Andrew came running into the room, followed by two panting policemen.

  “Come on!” he said to Wyatt. “And hurry! I know where they are!”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” said one of the policemen to Wyatt. “You said no one was to come in, and I tried to stop him, but—”

  “Stow it!” said Andrew, interrupting him. Then to Wyatt. “Didn’t you hear me? I said I know where they are!”

  “I heard you,” said Wyatt. Then, to the two policemen, “Watch these four. They’re under arrest. Come on,” he said to Tucker and the count, and as Andrew went running out, they followed him. Tucker paused only long enough to wave to two additional policemen, who were waiting at the corner, indicating that they were to go into the house and help their colleagues. Then he went pounding up the street after Andrew, Wyatt and the count.