The Mystery of the Clockwork Sparrow (20 page)

The unseen man cleared his throat and said something else, low and urgent, but the Baron interrupted him. ‘That situation has been dealt with this very afternoon. Jones is dead.’

There was an exclamation of surprise from the unseen man, but the Baron went on: ‘It was inconvenient that a guard had been placed at his bedside, but of course Gregson took care of that. Jones won’t be able to tell anyone what he knows now. Swaggering young fool – you must choose your associates a little more carefully in future, Freddie.’

Sophie was so shocked that she had to clutch at the curtain to steady herself. They were talking about Bert, she realised. Bert was
dead
and the men who sat before her now were somehow responsible. But before she had the chance to take it in, the Baron continued. ‘But never mind that, now,’ he said incisively. ‘We need to talk about tonight.’

The lights were going down again, and the orchestra had struck up a bright, lively melody: the second act was about to start. Sophie kept on listening, alert to every word.

‘I shall be joining you at the party later, as you know. The papers are being handed over a little after eleven. Once everything is taken care of, I’ll give you the agreed signal to confirm that you may proceed. Once we’ve left the building, you do your work. Do you understand?’

The other man, Freddie, spoke – this time more clearly. He had a lighter voice, with a sharpness that Sophie felt was vaguely familiar. ‘Yes, absolutely,’ he said.

‘Good,’ said the Baron, and there was approval in his tone now. ‘You should know, Freddie, that we were ready to trust you alone with this business tonight. But we think it wise to be seen amongst the guests – after all, our absence might be remarked upon. Besides, our friend from Berlin is expecting to meet us, and we must not disappoint.’

Freddie murmured his agreement. Then, ‘May I ask . . .’ he began in a more uncertain voice, ‘if it is not impertinent – what are the papers that will be handed over tonight?’

There was a long silence. The audience was laughing delightedly at the antics on stage, but in the Baron’s box, Sophie sensed a prickle of tension. The Baron said nothing. He was looking at the other gentleman, who had remained silent throughout their exchange. Some kind of unspoken communication seemed to flash between them, and then the other gentleman gave a brief nod, before leaning back in his chair.

The Baron turned back towards Freddie. ‘That’s not really any of your business, Freddie,’ he said. He waited a few moments, as if to allow his words to sink in, before he continued. ‘But you have proved your worth these last few months. We can use a man with your unique skills. As such, we shall make an exception for you. Not something we often do, as you well know.’

There was another long pause and then the Baron went on: ‘The papers we will be handing over to Berlin tonight contain confidential information about the British Navy. They include blueprints for their newest submarines.’

Sophie pressed a hand over her mouth. She had understood that the Baron was a criminal and a rogue, but this – this was far beyond anything she could have dreamed of. This man was passing Britain’s military secrets to another country! She leaned back against the wall, feeling unsteady. Beyond the curtain, she could dimly hear Freddie murmuring something in reply, whilst below, on the stage, the performers had launched into a comic song and dance routine.

‘Freddie, for such a clever fellow you are rather slow sometimes. Of course Berlin will pay well for this information, but there is a great deal more to it than that. Our relationship with them is long-standing, but now we are looking to strengthen it further. And, of course, we have Sinclair’s
sparrow
to thank for that.’

Sophie’s eyes widened. He was actually talking about the clockwork sparrow – and this, at last, must be its secret. But as her mind raced, trying to work out what he could possibly mean, Freddie said, in a voice full of breathless awe: ‘I must confess, I still don’t exactly understand the part that the sparrow has played.’

In front of Sophie, the other gentleman sighed, as though bored by the conversation. He shifted in his chair and lit another cigar. Beside him, the Baron was talking to Freddie: ‘You understand the basics of a cipher or a code, yes? A set of instructions is used to generate a text that looks, to the uneducated eye, like nonsense – but if we know the system that has been used, we can translate the text and reveal its meaning. In this way, we can communicate secret information to other parties, like our friends in Germany, for example. Even if the message is intercepted, it appears to be completely innocent. You follow?’

He did not wait for an answer but went on. ‘The disadvantage of this is that whilst most people would not be able to understand the message, a clever code-breaker – someone who knows what they are looking for – will be able to analyse it and crack the code, so it is not completely fail-safe.’

He paused for a moment. A drift of the gentleman’s cigar smoke floated in Sophie’s direction and she desperately swallowed a cough that was rising in her throat.

‘So now we come to the point. The only way to create a cipher that cannot be broken by these techniques is by using a
randomly generated number
as the basis for the code. As long as the receiver has this number, this
key
, they can work out what the text really says. But there is no pattern to it, no structure, nothing that even the cleverest code-breaker can use to work out what it says.

‘This method offers an unprecedented level of security. It overcomes all previous weaknesses. But true randomness is
essential
to the success of the system. You can’t simply make up a random number by . . . tapping a few keys on the typewriter or dreaming one up in your head.’

Sophie sensed the Baron glancing over at the other gentleman, as if to check whether he was listening, but he was still gazing out across the auditorium. ‘This is where the sparrow comes in. A musical toy, a mere trinket – but it plays a different tune each time it is wound. The clockwork mechanism is devised in such a way that the notes are played
entirely at random
. It is unique – there is no other device like it. Through acquiring the sparrow and understanding its secrets, it has been possible to develop a new system for generating completely random patterns and numbers, and thus an unbreakable cipher.’ He glanced over at the gentleman again, this time bowing his head slightly as though to acknowledge him. Was this silent man, then, the one who had created this cipher, Sophie wondered? But the gentleman said nothing.

‘Now, we can send messages anywhere in the world, using any network – telegraph, telephone, wireless – and no one will be able to decipher them, unless they have the key to decode them,’ the Baron continued ‘No one else – no government the world over – has anything to compare with it.’

‘So that’s why the clockmaker . . .’ began the other man.

The Baron nodded. ‘Mr Mendel had been working for us for a while. One of the best in his field once, poor old fellow, but even he couldn’t work out how to replicate the mechanism of the sparrow. It’s one of a kind. That’s why we had to lay our hands it. But all the same, Mendel was useful to us for a time. Then he grew anxious, and when people grow anxious, they’re apt to say things they shouldn’t – have you observed that, Freddie? The Boys had to take care of him in the end – though heaven knows how they almost managed to botch such a simple task. They’re a crude bunch, and not too bright, that’s why we need a more subtle fellow, like you, Freddie, for the important work – like obtaining the sparrow.’

He paused reflectively for a moment, before he went on. ‘We tried to buy it at first, you know – anonymously, of course – but that idiot Sinclair refused to sell at any price.
Sentimental value
, he said. The stubborn ass doubtless thought it no more than a keepsake from some sordid love affair.

‘Well, Sinclair has been a thorn in our side too many times. Tonight will ensure that he does not ever get in our way again. I must say, there is a neatness to this that pleases me particularly. What could be more apt than that we dispose of a troublemaker at his own party? It is very elegantly done. You might almost say it is like clockwork.’ He chuckled to himself, as if pleased with his own joke.

The smart gentleman spoke suddenly, without taking his eyes from the stage below. ‘Fitz, you talk too much.’ His voice was clipped and aristocratic, yet with a faint note in it that seemed unusual and which Sophie could not place. She watched, mesmerised and intrigued that after such a long silence, he had finally deigned to speak. Who could this man be, to address the Baron himself with such authority? And could ‘Fitz’ be a clue to the Baron’s real name?

The Baron fell silent and so all was still for a few moments, as though everyone was holding their breath. At last, the gentleman wafted a silk-gloved hand, as if to indicate he would say no more, and the conversation resumed.

‘Will the Berlin contact be given the system too?’ Freddie was asking in a low, eager voice.

‘No. We’ll be keeping our knowledge to ourselves. But Berlin will be given a set of keys – randomly generated numbers we have already produced using our system – which will allow them to decipher the messages we send in the coming months. It is, of course, absolutely vital that these do not get intercepted, which is why I will hand them over in person with the other papers. Once I give you the signal that everything has gone smoothly, and we have left the building, you will activate the infernal machine. It has been set for midnight exactly, so there will be plenty of time for you to trigger the mechanism and then leave the building.’

‘And are you certain it will work?’

The gentleman looked sharply across in Freddie’s direction. ‘The calculations are exact,’ he rapped out crisply. ‘There is no risk of failure so long as you play your part. Be sure that you do.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Freddie, sounding more nervous than ever.

‘With so many of the country’s most powerful at the gala, we’ll be wiping out a good proportion of the ruling parties. The chaos caused will be unprecedented,’ the Baron went on. ‘Some of the Society’s men will then be able to step in, fill the gaps and calm the turmoil: we will be perfectly placed to take forward the next stage of our plans. And we bid farewell to Sinclair and his preposterous gin palace in the process.’

In the stuffy darkness behind the curtain, Sophie felt lightheaded. Her mind raced to make sense of everything that she had overheard. She knew what an infernal machine was: it was exactly the kind of military terminology that Papa had loved to explain to her. It was a bomb with a fuse or mechanism that could be set so that it would go off at a particular time. Freddie was activating a bomb at the party at Sinclair’s, at midnight tonight. Horror ran through her: she longed to get away, but her legs were as cold and heavy as marble.

Far away from her on the stage, the second act was drawing to an end and the audience was applauding boisterously, and the chorus girls were back on the stage, bowing and kissing their hands.

The Baron and the gentleman beside him were on their feet too, smiling and applauding. But the Baron’s voice sounded ice-cold as he said in a low voice: ‘I don’t need to tell you, Freddie, that what I have revealed to you is of the utmost secrecy. The members of the Society are not forgiving people. Any breach of this trust would be paid for with the severest of penalties. I hope you understand.’

‘Of course,’ said Freddie, in a respectful tone. There was something in the formality of his manner now that seemed more familiar than ever to Sophie, and she shifted her position to try and catch sight of him. Before she could stop herself, a gasp escaped her lips. For Freddie – the Baron’s accomplice – was none other than Mr Cooper.

Small as it was, the sound was enough to make the Baron look round. She knew at once he had seen her. He called out in a low voice, and before she could move or do anything, the door opened behind her, and then an arm reached out and clamped her in a powerful grip, dragging her out from behind the curtain. She tried to scream, but a gloved hand holding a handkerchief was already pressed over her face. As she choked on the unbearably sickly sweet smell, she saw the men turn to look at her. Mr Cooper’s expression was one of pure shock, the Baron’s impassive, but it was the other man, the smart gentleman, who looked straight into her eyes, and she realised that he was smiling. His cold, amused gaze was the last thing she saw before darkness fell like a curtain all around her.

D
arkness. Hands seizing her roughly, jolting her out of herself. Her head slumping backwards, terribly heavy. Falling, falling, and her head thumping painfully in the void. Her body ached. It hurt to open her eyes.

She was lying against something shiny; she could feel its slipperiness against her skin. Where was she? Everything swam, distorted. She had been at the theatre, watching Lil pirouette on the brightly lit stage, and the audience had been laughing and clapping around her – all except for the man who sat in silence and smoked a cigar . . .

Sophie struggled to pull herself upwards, feeling groggy and sick. She was conscious of a sudden shudder of fear, although she wasn’t sure why. She was quite alone, after all, lying in a richly furnished room on a sofa covered in shiny leather, her little evening bag beside her. The lamps were lit, casting out a curious greenish light, but nonetheless the room seemed unusually dark. Glittering on all sides of her were strange clocks and devices, many of them displayed in glass-fronted cabinets, and twinkling with gold and silver. For a moment, confused, she thought she must be in Sinclair’s Exhibition Hall, but then she remembered the robbery. Besides, these objects were so different. Sinclair’s treasures had been beautiful and frivolous, but there was something sombre and serious about the whirring mechanisms that lined the walls of the Baron’s room.

The Baron. Of course. Slowly the memories started to unravel, and in spite of the stuffy warmth of the room, Sophie began to shiver. She had been discovered behind the curtain. She remembered the sickly smell that had enveloped her and how everything had turned upside down and disappeared. She had been
drugged
, she realised. And they had brought her here, to this room, and left her.