The Cutthroat (Isaac Bell 10)

“Competitors,” said Abbington-Westlake. “Not fellows.”

“Then what made you leap to the absurd conclusion that I am spying for the United States?”

“Or freelancing for German Kaiser Wilhelm’s intelligence service,” Abbington-Westlake shot back. “Can you blame me for being suspicious in a dangerous world? Why wouldn’t the Van Dorn Detective Agency go into the spy business? Pinkertons spied for your President Lincoln.”

“Don’t tar me with the Pinkerton brush,” Bell said coldly. “Van Dorns are not company cops and strikebreakers. Nor are we spies.”

“Bell, England is staring down gun barrels. The Hun is on the march. He’s building dreadnoughts faster than we are. Why wouldn’t I expect the worst?”

“Why didn’t you just ask what I was up to?”

“Would you have admitted it?”

“Of course. We’re on the same side.”

“What side? Your government is maddeningly neutral.”

“The United States steers clear of Europe’s squabbles. But when push comes to shove, we stand against tyrants. The British Empire is greedy, but the king of England is not a tyrant. The Russian tzar is a tyrant. So is the German kaiser.”

“Then tell me what you’re doing in London. And spare me your masquerade about Jack the Ripper. Really, Bell, it seems below you.”

“I’ll do better than tell you. I’ll show you.”

“Show me what?”

“Someone I found.”

“Whom have you found?”

“A German who wants to sell a secret.”

“What secret?”

“A new fire-control device.”

Abbington-Westlake’s eyes went opaque as Bell was betting they would. Naval cannon range and speed of fire were increasing rapidly, demanding radically improved methods for the dreadnought battleships to aim their big guns. “Why would you share your treasure with me?”

“You’re better placed in London to do something about it. And I have no doubt you will do the gentlemanly thing and share it with us.”

“No doubt,” Abbington-Westlake lied. “Where is this Hun?”

“He has promised to meet me in a cab at Charing Cross.”

“When?”

“Eight o’clock tonight.”

“Do you trust him?”

“He’s scared and greedy,” said Bell. “All he wants is to get his money and board the first boat back to Germany.”

Abbington-Westlake’s expression hardened. “So the reason you are sharing this is you expect me to put up the money.”

“I don’t need your money,” said Bell.

“Really? Oh— Well, I stand corrected . . . Bell, this is all quite unusual.”

It occurred to Isaac Bell that this was as enjoyable as fly-casting for trout. It was time to set the hook. He said, “I think I made a mistake. I thought this was for a Navy man. Now it strikes me I should speak with a fellow I know at the Foreign Office.”