The Cutthroat (Isaac Bell 10)

“Vere ist der muny?”

“Where are the fire control plans?”

Mapes patted the strongbox. “In der buks.”

“Open it.”

“Show der marks.”

Bell passed him an envelope. “Give me the key.”

Mapes pulled a key from his pocket but held on to it and used it like a letter opener to slit the envelope. Suddenly a shadow loomed out of the fog. The driver knocked a warning, but he was too late, and the shadow took the shape of a constable’s helmet. A truncheon rattled the window.

“Ist der trick!” Mapes shouted. “Schweinhund!”

Bell snatched the key from his hand, but Mapes held on to the envelope as he pushed open the opposite door. Bell lunged for him, blocking Abbington-Westlake’s attempt to trip him with his walking stick. Mapes tumbled out, eluding Bell’s grasp, and ran into the gardens of Berkeley Square.

The constable lumbered after him, blowing his whistle. Abbington flung open his door.

Bell pinned his arm. “Let him go.”

“He’ll escape.”

“We have his strongbox,” said Bell. “There’ll be coppers all over us.” He called to the driver, “Get us out of here!”

The horse galloped onto Fitzmaurice Place, rounded the curve into Curzon Street at a speed that caused the top-heavy growler to careen on two wheels. The driver regained control before it fell on its side. Cracking his whip, he wove in and out of lanes. Suddenly they emerged into the flurry of Piccadilly traffic just west of the Ritz, where they blended in with a hundred other growlers, hansoms, and petrol motor taxis. At the edge of Green Park, he pulled under a streetlamp haloed by the fog. It cast soft light on Bell’s and Abbington-Westlake’s faces.

“Why is he stopping?”

“To give his horse a breather,” said Bell.

“Shall we have a look in the box?”

“Be my guest,” said Bell. He handed over the key.

“Wait!”

“Why?”

“Funny feeling,” said Isaac Bell. He leaned in and studied the box carefully. “I think it’s a trick.”

“What trick? I fail to see a trick. I see a strongbox filled with priceless information.”

“Let’s see your torch.”

Bell switched on the flashlight and played the beam over the lock and the keyhole.

“What do you see, Bell?”

“Give me your walking stick.”

24

Gingerly, Isaac Bell inserted the key partway into the strongbox lock.

Then he poked at the key with Abbington-Westlake’s walking stick.

“What the devil are you doing?”