The Shepherd File (15 page)

Smoke billowed out into the hall and was sucked upwards, warm air coming with it, creating a draught up the staircase. Down below in the cellar the fire had taken hold of the woodwork and the flames were beginning to roar; a deep wind-moving sound, getting louder. Holmes turned back into the smoke, shutting his eyes, groping on the floor. He caught hold of something soft and heavy and pulled. As he was pulling he was thinking of the fish in the tank in the cellar. He was confused and bewildered by the smoke, staggering under the weight of the woman, falling over and against things in the hall. Someone passed and screamed something at him. He was conscious of people and movement and shouting around him but only certain small things focused — a little old lady wearing a quilted dressing-gown, on which were embroidered raised patterns of flowers, went hurrying past with her mouth open, wizened, anxious, like a flurrying grouse, beginning to scream. He was glad that fish could not scream. The tank would be boiling, or boiled dry, cracked or split. It would be like an inferno in the cellar.

Tins, canisters, bottles, were exploding. Timber was cracking in the heat with sharp harsh noises.

Somehow he found the door to the terrace. It was open. People — he did not know who they were and they took no notice of him whatsoever — were fighting at the doorway to get out. He glimpsed the pattern of flowers on the dressing-gown. There seemed to be a continuous high-pitched screaming which again made him think of fish. He went staggering out on to the terrace. He could barely see. There was something the matter with his eyes. He was still supporting, half dragging, the limp body of Rosa Verschoyle with him but he was unaware that he was doing so until he felt the weight lifted off him and heard Morrison's voice.

Holmes was being shaken. There was a grip on his arms, urgent and demanding, and someone was shouting at him but for some time it was difficult to sort out the sound of Morrison's voice from all the other sounds that were buzzing in his head. He was busy gulping fresh air into his smoke-filled lungs. He could hear Morrison clearly but the words seemed to be of no importance, as though there was no need for them to have been said at all. ‘Holmes, are you all right … ?' Someone else was holding Rosa Verschoyle. Morrison was shouting. The terrace was full of figures, dim, smoke-wreathed, shouting and screaming moonlit figures.

Holmes shook off Morrison and turned, slipping back into the house. The hall was full of smoke. He could feel the draught, hot and dangerous, carrying glinting red sparks, coming from the kitchen. The smoke in the kitchen was shimmering with an ominous red and orange glow. He shielded his face with his jacket, found the kitchen door and shut it. Then he leapt, half staggered to the stairs. His eyes were smarting but at least he could see, if only dimly, through the steaming, swollen lids.

Upstairs it was easier. There was less smoke and it hung in drifts, like mist patches. The corridor stank of phosphorus fumes. Some of the doors were wide open. The occupants had fled. Two remained closed. He opened one. It was the massage room. He opened the next one. Monique Shepherd was lying on the bed, clutching the pillows. He saw the small glass bottle beside her with the blue-green capsules. Holmes shook her and shouted but she only stirred, lazily, in her drugged sleep, and turned over. Footsteps hammered in the corridor. Morrison had followed him upstairs. There were two other plain-clothes men with him.

Holmes had only a vague recollection of what happened. There was a shaking and his feet and legs felt limp, as though turning liquid. He could see blue stars flashing and exploding in front of his eyes, like an anti-aircraft barrage of miniature shells, exploding with tiny blue flashes. A number of people were shouting in his ears but he shrugged them off. He was being lifted. He was aware of heat and cold. There was a sudden and infinitely sweet sensation of fresh air. He was able to breathe. The windows were broken. Monique Shepherd was being lifted. The stairs were burning. He heard Morrison’s voice again but it was so mixed with the other voices that, for the moment, he could not tell who was speaking. That must have been an oil tank … probably the central heating … give me a hand with the girl … ’ Something singed his hair. There was a smell of hot metal, hot gas, burning wood, like the smell of a furnace, and the heat seemed to sweep over him in a great wind, a thrumming wind-roaring surge. They got outside on the terrace just before the staircase became a roaring incandescence.

There were dozens of police cars and hundreds of policemen — or so it seemed to Holmes, recovering his wind, wrapped in a blanket and being liberally dosed with whisky from Morrison’s hip flask. The number of policemen somehow irritated him. He felt that they should be doing something more useful than standing staring at the blazing house. The fire brigade had arrived but there seemed little they could do except to look after groups of refugees dotted over the lawn or taking shelter in the summerhouse under the cedar. There were other people too, who had nothing to do with the clinic or the police. Colonel Lamb and Pendlebury. Voices were becoming blurred. Things were going out of focus. The blue anti-aircraft shells were bursting behind the eyelids. He could hear a high and querulous voice saying: ‘Perhaps we might even be in a position to have an explanation and a barrage of blue shells exploded in his face.

Tirov
Elaborates

‘Exhaustion,’ said the doctor. ‘Couple of days in bed. Lots of fresh air. Nothing wrong with you. Too much smoke in your lungs. That’s all,’ he gave a cheerful nod and swept out to the next patient. The nurse gave a dimpling smile in Holmes’ direction and followed.

Lamb came in. He looked brisk and businesslike in his grey suit. He laid his bowler hat and umbrella across the foot of Holmes’ bed. In Westminster and St James’s he would have passed without notice. Here, in a hospital, he seemed elaborately over-dressed.

‘Morning,’ said Lamb. ‘Nice morning. You’re looking well. All fit? Eh? What do they say about you?’

Holmes moved idly in bed. He was pleased to see Lamb. ‘They say,’ he replied, ‘I’ve been smoking too much.’

‘Haw!’ said Lamb. ‘Very good. Filthy stuff, wasn’t it? Smelt abominable. Had to go home and change my clothes. Drenched in smoke, I was.’ Holmes was amused for some reason at the thought of Lamb going home to change. Lamb was undoing a paper parcel. ‘Hope you didn’t mind,’ he said. ‘Saw the state your clothes were in. Got some nasty burn holes. Thought I’d bring one of your suits. Couldn’t get in your flat, of course. Got one of my men in to burgle it. Fred Smith. The lock defeated him. What do you make of that, eh? He had to cut round the wood. Then the burglar alarm went off. Had half of Bow Street round in twenty seconds. Most embarrassing. Lots of explanations. Eventually got a suit and a shirt and tie and socks and things.’ Holmes was touched. Lamb must have gone to considerable trouble. Holmes said so and Lamb looked pleased and embarrassed and went slightly pink. ‘No trouble at all, m’dear fella! No trouble at all!’ He was quite overcome by being thanked. ‘Only too delighted. Any time. Next time let me have one of your keys,’ he laid out the clothes on the locker. Then he folded the paper and string and looked round for a place to put them. Not seeing one he put the paper under his arm, folded like a newspaper, and the string in his pocket.

‘About the troops — ‘ began Holmes.

Lamb, caught playing with the paper, blushed. Holmes had never seen him so embarrassed. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘The troops. Well — all is well. The Third Infantry Divison took off from Lyneham shortly after midnight. Nothing wrong. We sent Inspector Post and a couple of men to the barracks. Not heard from Post yet, by the way. Otherwise — all is well.’

There was other news. Mrs Wrythe had been taken to Reading police station for what Lamb described as ‘a long talk’. It was assumed, and Holmes agreed with the assumption, that Mrs Wrythe knew little or nothing of what had been going on.

Monique Shepherd had been taken back to her home wrapped in blankets and put to bed. ‘She wasn’t hurt,’ said Lamb. ‘There didn’t seem much sense in bringing her to hospital. Morrison wasn’t certain about charging her until he’d had a word with you. So he put her back at home with a nurse and a couple of plain-clothes men to look after her.’

‘And Mrs Verschoyle?’

Lamb jerked his head next door. ‘Morrison is with her now. She hasn’t come round yet. He’s hoping to get a lead on what happened when she does.’

‘Is she badly hurt?’

Lamb shrugged. ‘I think you got her out just in time.’

‘And the small boy?’

Lamb looked surprised. ‘Mrs Shepherd’s boy? I don’t know. Isn’t he with relatives?’

Holmes got out of bed. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not those kind of relatives.’ He began slowly and painfully to get dressed.

Lamb stared.

‘Heard from Colonel Tirov?’ asked Holmes.

‘No.’ Lamb was surprised. ‘Should we?’

‘Soon,’ said Holmes. ‘Pretty soon, I expect. Let’s go and see our friend Mrs Verschoyle.’

He led the bewildered Lamb from the room to the small ward next door. Morrison was seated by the bed. He nodded as Holmes came in but did not move, beckoning to Holmes to enter. Holmes went across to look at Mrs Verschoyle. She was sleeping peacefully.

Holmes’ first question was the one which had surprised Lamb so much.

‘Colonel Tirov arrived yet?’

‘Tirov?’ said Morrison. He was indignant. ‘Are you expecting him? Have you asked him?’

‘No,’ said Holmes. ‘I haven’t asked him.’

‘I should have thought this would have been the last place to expect Tirov.’

‘You would?’

‘Of course I would. The Russians don’t come into this. This is a matter of internal security. Nothing to do with them.’

‘The world is one,’ murmured Holmes, vaguely. He sat down in the chair, unaware that they were staring at him. He closed his eyes. He was still very tired. He felt that he could no longer be bothered with explanations. ‘The Russians,’ he said, ‘for once, are on our side.’

‘I don’t know what the devil you’re talking about,’ said Morrison. ‘The Russians, in any case, don’t know where we are. Tirov wouldn’t stick his nose into a British security investigation. This is our affair. He’d leave it to us.’

‘Of course he would,’ exclaimed Holmes cheerfully. He was seized with a mad vindictiveness. ‘Tell de Supreme Soviet,’ he said, ‘dot ve leaf id to de Bridish secred servid.’

‘You should be in bed,’ said Lamb.

A constable came in at the door and hesitated. He was nervous. Morrison’s reputation was known even to the local constabulary. The constable was only a boy and he was out of his depth. He stared miserably and saluted.

‘Come on,’ said Morrison. ‘What is it?’

‘There’s a car outside, sir,’ said the constable. ‘From the Russian Embassy.’

Lamb and Morrison looked at each other and then at Holmes, Lamb raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders at Morrison. Morrison was exasperated. He turned on Holmes. ‘Look here — ‘ he exclaimed ‘ — you knew he was coming, didn’t you?’

‘I was expecting him,’ said Holmes, unperturbed. ‘I said so. But I didn’t know.’

‘That’s a likely tale,’ said the irritated Morrison. ‘Damn it, I suppose we’ll have to see him now he’s got here. All right,’ he said, ‘send him in.’

Tirov seemed even larger, the heavy face, lined and grooved like a Roman emperor’s, more impressive. He saw Holmes and bowed his head slightly; then he bowed to Morrison, announcing his name: ‘Tirov.’

Morrison was embarrassed. He could visualize the face of the Chief Commissioner reading the report of a meeting between the head of the Special Branch and the head of Russian intelligence.

‘Well?’ said Morrison coldly. ‘What can we do for you?’

Tirov smiled. ‘Mr Holmes has not explained?’

‘Mr Holmes has not explained anything.’

‘He is a secretive man,’ said Tirov. ‘May I sit down?’ He looked round for a chair. Colonel Lamb seemed to come alive and made a convulsive movement. ‘Allow me.’ Lamb went out into the corridor and returned with a steel and canvas chair which he placed at the foot of the bed, so that Holmes, Morrison and Tirov formed a triangle round the patient. ‘Do sit down,’ said Lamb.

‘I think I must warn you,’ said Morrison stiffly, ‘that you are interrupting a police investigation, Colonel Tirov, and any unauthorized activity will not at this stage be particularly welcome. So far as this investigation is concerned there is no question of diplomatic immunity. I must warn you if there has been any investigation into this case by any member of the Soviet Embassy they or you are risking a charge of espionage.’

‘Dear me,’ Tirov stretched his huge bulk into the canvas seat and relaxed. ‘Is that so, Superintendent? A spy charge, eh? I shall have to be careful. I should not like to do anything that would affect the good relations that exist between our two countries.’ The irony of the phrase was not lost.

‘Between the peace-loving countries of the world,’ murmured Holmes.

‘As you say,’ said Tirov. His face was expressionless, like a graven image. ‘Just as you say. Between the peace-loving countries of the world. Between the countries of the world whose main interest at the moment is to have peace in Africa.’

‘Come to the point,’ said Morrison.

Tirov looked at Morrison thoughtfully. He pursed his lips and reached in his breast pocket. He took out a leather cigar case and began to turn it over and over, smoothing it with his fingers. ‘That,’ he said, ‘
is
the point, Superintendent Morrison. Do you see? That is the point. I hope,’ he said, ‘we shall have cooperation between our two sides. So far as I am concerned, this is an unofficial visit. It could be made official if you wish. We could make an official call upon your Mr Scott Elliot at the Foreign Office if you wish.’ He continued to smooth the leather with his fingers.

‘That’s up to you.’

Tirov nodded. ‘It would of course be done by the diplomatists, not those in charge of this investigation.’

‘As far as you are concerned there is no investigation.’

‘You make a mistake,’ said Tirov. ‘We started an investigation on the day Peter Shepherd asked Nina Lydoevna to meet him at Runnymede.’ He saw the shock on Morrison’s face before he went on: ‘The officials can be brought in if you wish, the long laborious process of the official channels can be started. Do you imagine we should get anywhere? You are aware of the process of bureaucratic delay.’

‘I have no authority to discuss this with you, Colonel Tirov.’

‘You have authority to protect the interests of your country.’

That has been done,’ said Morrison.

‘You don’t know how it has been done,’ said Tirov triumphantly and snapped the cigar case between his fingers as though playing a trump card.

In the slight pause which followed, the doctor came in. The staff nurse who followed had her arms full of chip boards and files and peered over the top of them like a faun in a paper jungle. The doctor glared round the room, at the three chairs and the three occupants and Lamb leaning against the bed locker. He exploded. ‘What the devil is going on?’

‘A police investigation,’ said Morrison gruffly. The doctor snarled. The doctor was irascible. The imponderable weight and authority of Morrison irritated him.

The doctor wagged his finger. ‘Do you realize this patient has lungs full of water, that she may well get pneumonia if she has not got it already, and that when I gave permission for police to sit by her bedside I meant one policeman and not four hulking great brutes taking the oxygen out of the air. I don’t know what the police are coming to. You may be able to do what you like outside a hospital but not here. I want all of you outside. At once.’

The nurse looked as though she was ready to sink through the floor.

‘Is there a room where we can talk?’ said Morrison.

‘You can talk in the corridor.’

To make it more confusing the patient began to come round. The eyelids fluttered and opened. She stared at the ceiling in the bemused apprehension of returning consciousness.

Holmes took the doctor’s arm. ‘My name is Holmes, of Downing Street,’ he said. ‘I realize we are breaking hospital etiquette but Detective Superintendent Morrison is acting under orders from the Prime Minister. In these circumstances, if we are disturbing you, I can only express my profound regret.’

‘You’re not disturbing me. You’re disturbing the patient.’

‘Perhaps you would be good enough to attend to the patient but I assure you that we must remain in the room.’ The doctor continued to glare. Holmes’ politeness was the deciding factor. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Nurse, get a screen round the bed. You gentlemen can wait in the room or in the corridor.’

‘Come, Colonel,’ said Holmes. He and Tirov went out into the corridor and Lamb, after a quick glance at Morrison, followed. Tirov put his cigar away and lit a cigarette. A passing staff nurse asked him to put it out and he did so. ‘I would not,’ he said amiably to Holmes, ‘disturb the routine of your hospitals. They are excellent hospitals. They perhaps lack some social amenities but they are nevertheless excellent.’

Holmes bowed. He was momentarily at a loss for anything to say. So was Lamb. They waited until the doctor came out. He came across to Holmes. It was his turn to take Holmes by the arm and lead him a few feet away. ‘It’s all right,’ he said, ‘you can go in now.’ His voice became soft. ‘What’s going on?’

‘A security case.’

‘Really?’

‘I am afraid so.’

The doctor’s lip twisted. He was good tempered now. He jerked his head towards the room from which he had emerged. ‘Female spy?’

‘No.’

‘A lot of fuss about nothing,’ said the doctor. ‘I know. Don’t kid me. People who work in the health service are used to the high flying concepts of bureaucratic privilege. Frankly, most of our work is unnecessary. Most of yours is too. You can stay with the patient for half an hour but I warn you if she has a relapse I shall blame it on you.’

‘Nothing could be more explicit.’

‘Good. You can now continue with your activities. I hope you discover the missing file.’ The doctor went away, pleased with his simple humour.

Rosa Verschoyle was resting against a pile of pillows. If she was surprised to see the four men she showed no visible sign. Perhaps she was still numb, dazed from the effects of the phosphorus fumes, wrists and ankles still throbbing. Holmes had the feeling that he should take charge. It would be simpler to explain it to them and yet it would be tactically wrong. Morrison, who would almost certainly be offended, liked to do things in his own way, to allow things to develop as he wanted them to develop. At this stage in the investigation he would not want anyone to interfere. Holmes remained silent. The nurse folded up the screen and placed it against the wall. She went out of the room closing the door carefully after her.