‘Mr Linton?’
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘Be quiet!’
‘Yes, Sir! Of course, Sir!’
‘On the count of three. One… two… three!’
He stepped out into the courtyard, and started marching in the most perfect military step I had ever seen. In his brilliant red uniform he looked the picture of a handsome young soldier. I stared after him, an odd tugging sensation in my gut.
‘Come on!’ Karim growled from beside me. ‘Or do you wish to stand around here gaping for the rest of the night?’
With a hurried shake of the head I started forward.
The moment I stepped out from behind the shed, I could feel them on me: the gazes of the hidden gunmen who were stationed all over the roof. I could feel their eyes boring into me, probing me, as Lord Dalgliesh’s eyes had probed me, searching for truth and purpose.
My eyes fixed themselves on Mr Ambrose’s back, a few yards in front of me. Please, I thought, desperately. Please don't let them guess the truth about him.
Would you even see blood on that red coat? Or would there just be a bang, and he would crumple silently to the ground? I didn’t know. All I knew was that I didn’t wish to find out.
Get a grip, I snapped at myself. The gunmen aren’t watching you. They are watching the outside for intruders, not the inside for their own soldiers, and that’s what you are now. It is just your imagination running wild!
If only I had been better at convincing myself.
Beyond Mr Ambrose, the gigantic double-winged front door loomed. I was just wondering once again how the dickens we were going to get it open, when suddenly, one of the wings swung open with a creak. Two soldiers stepped out. My heart almost stopped. What would we do? What would we say?
Mr Ambrose gave the soldiers a curt nod. He didn’t say anything. They gave him a curt nod back. They didn’t say anything.
And then we were past them and inside the hallway.
‘H-how did that just happen?’ I asked, my voice unsteady.
‘What?’ Mr Ambrose enquired. He wasn’t paying attention to me. His eyes were sweeping over the different doors that lead from the hallway in various directions.
‘Our getting past them!’
‘I nodded, they nodded, we walked past. It’s not that complicated.’
‘But… why didn’t they stop us? Question us?’
‘That’s why we are wearing a disguise, Mr Linton. So people won’t know who we are. Come on. This is the right door.’
And he set off towards a door in the left corner of the room. It opened without resistance, and the three of us entered a narrow corridor, dimly lit by the occasional gas lamp on the wall. Mr Ambrose neither slackened his pace nor altered his brisk gait. I marvelled at how authentic he looked. He could have been a general, or a lord leading his army into battle.
Which maybe he was, in a way.
Shaking my head, I quickened my pace to keep up with him. We passed a door on the left, and Mr Ambrose didn’t stop. Again we passed a door, and again he didn’t give it a glance. We passed many doors on our march down the narrow corridor, some on the right, some on the left. From behind some came raucous laughter, from behind others came the sounds of swords being sharpened, from behind yet more we heard only silence. Mr Ambrose did not deviate from his straight course once until we reached a bend in the corridor. There, he stopped dead and, without turning, said: ‘Around the corner, there is a straight corridor. It should lead directly to the door of Dalgliesh’s office. In case we encounter someone, we cannot speak or discuss our route anymore. The closer we get to Dalgliesh’s office, the more soldiers we will meet. Karim? Another look at the map, to make sure.’
The Mohammedan fished the map out of his bag, did a quick check and put it back. ‘Yes, Sahib. You have it correct.’
‘I see. Remember. Straight ahead and through the door. Don’t speak. Look as though you know what you are doing.’
He started moving again, and we followed. With a few steps we were around the corner - and before us, there was a little room with the corridor splitting off into two different directions.
Lion’s Den
‘This,’ Mr Ambrose said, gazing coldly at the two doors, ‘is inconvenient.’