'When I began this job, I took over from a man called Arnsley Drennan, who subsequently found employment selling his services to the highest bidder. He is a man of the greatest violence and the smallest morals. His history has been one of war, and deceit, and killing. He is an American.'
'Go on.'
'I know relatively little about him. No one does. He is in his fifties and was once a soldier in the Civil War. It was there, I believe, that he began to acquire his skills as a murderer. Certainly he is an expert in his profession. He is able to slip unnoticed behind a man and slit his throat as quickly and as quietly as a mouse. His virtue for many people is that he has no allegiance and so is difficult to find, or follow.'
'And what was Her Majesty's Government doing by employing such a man?'
'They no longer do so. But it may well be that they employ someone similar in his place. As do the Government of France and the Government of Russia.'
He bridled noticeably at this statement, and began to deny it.
'You know quite well it is so. Six months ago a pair of Estonian nationalists drowned in the Danube. Do you really think they just fell in when they were drunk? A revolutionist was found with his throat cut last month in Rotterdam. Again, do you really think this deed was committed by an argumentative comrade? That such people are dealt with through the courts alone?'
He looked decidedly uncomfortable at this, but also I could see the glimmerings of a thrill in the way he sat. All people – all men, I should say, as I have discovered that women are by and large impervious to the charms of the occult – can be easily fascinated by such tales. They like the idea of possessing hidden knowledge. Only the very sensible truly prefer not to know. Only the saintly are truly appalled. With luck, I could exploit this weakness and go some way to solving two pressing problems at one and the same time. If I was careful and if I was lucky.
'Go on.'
'His current employers are people who have no love of Russia. You are aware, I am sure, that the various revolutionist groupings have had very little success in fomenting any trouble inside Russia itself. They make a great deal of noise, but accomplish little. There are so many informers inside their ranks that they manage little before they are discovered. Anarchists of various sorts manage to blow up a restaurant or a bar every now and then, but there is little real point to what they do.'
'Yes. I know all this.'
'Good. Let me be blunt then. A group of Russian exiles have engaged the services of Mr Drennan to effect an atrocity against Russia in France.'
This statement was greeted with silence, as the Count stared at me, the atmosphere suddenly dark and serious.
'And you know this how, might I ask?'
A difficult question to answer, as I didn't know; in fact it was a tissue of lies from beginning to end.
'Russia is not the only country which keeps an eye on these people,' I said airily. 'And I have been keeping an eye on Mr Drennan. That was for my own protection as he resents my existence considerably, and I did not wish to become his next victim myself.'
'And this atrocity . . . ?'
'I am afraid, sir, that I must interrupt here, and rather ruin my reputation. I must exchange this information, not give it.'
His handsome countenance darkened.
'Don't concern yourself,' I said gently. 'Even if you are not able to oblige me, I will still tell you all you need to know to prevent a catastrophe. But I would like your word that you will assist me, if you can do so. I desire no more than that.'
His eyes narrowed as he considered this offer, and I could see that he was calculating possibilities. He was not, I thought, quite so direct and straightforward as his manner suggested.
'Very well,' he said. 'Why don't you tell me what you want, then we will see if we can do business. Please bear in mind that I have noticed you have given me no proof whatsoever of what you say.'
'That will come. I hardly expect you to act on the unsubstantiated word of a total stranger. Very well, then. You have heard, I imagine, of Barings Bank?'
He looked totally astonished at the sudden change of direction, but nodded.
'In a few days' time, Barings is going to get into considerable difficulties. It has to make a payment and does not have the funds to do so. It will, as happens in these circumstances, apply to the Bank of England for assistance. News of the problems will seep out, and many people will wish to convert their funds into something more substantial than paper. Other houses will also want gold from the Bank of England's vaults.'
He nodded, but cautiously. It was clear he only just understood what I was talking about. 'The Bank does not have enough. One does not have to be an expert to understand the difficulties that arise when a bank does not have enough money to meet its obligations.'
'I do not see . . .'
