No French uniforms here. These were all soldiers of the Presidency Armies, proudly proclaiming their allegiance in colours of blood-red and blue. They rolled crates around on mine carts, patrolled along the walls, or carried messages. All was a buzz of activity. And over the heads of the busy little underground kingdom hung the sign of their king: the two golden lions.
‘He’s not very concerned about concealing who is behind this, is he?’ I asked, staring up at the huge banner.
‘He doesn't have to be, Mr Linton.’ Mr Ambrose wasn’t looking at the lions. His eyes were already wandering over the crowds of soldiers, as if he could wrest the file from them by the pure force of his gaze.
‘There!’ Breath hissed through his teeth, and he made a sharp motion with his head, not daring to attract attention by lifting his hand to point. ‘There, do you see him?’
I looked, and I saw. Lord Dalgliesh was stepping out of a wooden building that had been erected on a higher level of the cave, only accessible via a single staircase, built on wooden supports along the stone walls.
‘There,’ Mr Ambrose whispered. His eyes were not following Lord Dalgliesh, but were fixed on the wooden hut. ‘That is where he keeps the file. It’s the ideal place. High up, easy to guard, difficult to reach.’
Like an arrow shot from a string, he started towards the stairs. I had a hard time keeping up with him as he wove through the maze of stalagmites and soldiers. We reached the bottom of the staircase in no time at all.
‘What if we meet Lord Dalgliesh on our way up?’ I hissed into his ear.
With his usual loquacious eloquence, Mr Ambrose made a jerking movement with his hand over his jugular.
‘Thank you so much for your reassurance, Sir!’
‘You’re welcome, Mr Linton.’
Truth be told, I had expected nothing less, but still, the thought made sweat appear on my forehead. Slowly, we began to ascend. We were about halfway up when my worst nightmare happened. I heard footsteps from above us. Mr Ambrose’s steps didn’t falter. He continued upwards as if nothing had happened.
A man appeared in front of us, in the uniform of a colonel. He stopped dead as he saw us.
What now? Is he going to offer us iced lemonade?
‘Hey! You two! What the blazes are you doing here?’
Apparently not.
‘Private Williamson and Private Jones, Sir. Change of guard, Sir,’ Mr Ambrose said, deadpan, and snapped to attention. Thank the Lord I had enough presence of mind to emulate him.
‘Really?’ The colonel frowned and took a watch out of his pocket. ‘I didn’t think it was time yet… No, it isn’t time yet! You are early. What is going on here?’ His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and I had to work hard to resist wiping the sweat of my forehead.
‘Really? Early?’ Mr Ambrose’s voice rang with honest surprise. ‘Are you sure, Colonel…?’
‘Colonel Townsend.’
‘Are you sure that we’re early, Colonel Townsend, Sir?’ Taking his own watch out of his pocket, Mr Ambrose let it snap open. ‘Sorry, Sir, but according to my watch we’re exactly on time. Look.’
The officer stepped up beside Mr Ambrose and looked over his shoulder.
‘Struth! You are absolutely right, soldier. It’s just time for the guard to change. How the time flies.’
‘And my watch is very reliable, Sir.’
‘Looks like it.’ Colonel Townsend glanced at the silver pocket watch with admiring eyes. ‘Mine is such a modern piece of trash. Yours looks like a much nicer piece. A family heirloom?’
A muscle in Mr Ambrose’s jaw twitched. Suddenly, he didn’t look nearly as much like the obedient soldier of a second ago. ‘Yes! Why?’
The officer seemed taken aback by such abrupt tones from an underling. ‘I just asked because the crest on the lid looks a little familiar.’
With an obvious effort, Mr Ambrose forced a polite mask on his face. ‘My… father gave it to me, Sir’
His father? I stared at him out of the corner of my eye. Mr Ambrose had a father? Did that mean he had actually been conceived in connubial congress, not hewn out of the rock of some mountain, as I had always suspected? Could it be true? Or just another lie to put the officer off?
‘I see.’ The colonel shrugged. ‘Well, you may continue, men. I’ll have to go and reset my watch…’
And he went off, mumbling about unreliable modern mechanics.
We continued up the stairs. I did my best to try and appear calm, ignoring the fact that my heart was pounding and my head was buzzing with a thousand questions.
‘How did you know when they changed the guard here?’ I demanded in a low voice, as soon as he was out of earshot.
And do you really have a father? Well, do you? And if so, how did your poor mother ever survive giving birth to a living rock?
‘I didn’t, Mr Linton. I knew from Warren’s report when the guard changed at number 97 East India Dock Road, and, based on the hypothesis that all the Presidency Army soldiers were likely to operate on the same schedule, I set my watch to local time before we went into the mine.’
I had to admit, he had brains, even if they were frozen. But that answer wasn’t enough. I itched to ask him just one more question.
Was the watch really your father’s? Why is there a crest on the lid? Does it really belong to a noble family, and if so, what the heck are you doing with it? You’re no nobleman, right?
All right, maybe that was more than just one question. To be honest, I had a mountain of questions about him, his somewhat scary plans for the domination of all the trade in the world, and his past, and his future. But none of these things were actually any of my business, and with us sneaking into the villain’s lair, this was certainly not the right time and place for curiosity. So I swallowed my questions and followed him up the stairs, until we reached a large landing at the top, hewn out of the rock floor of the raised plateau.
We had hardly set foot on the stone when, from up ahead, we heard voices. Among the echoing noises of the busy cave, they were too indistinct for me to recognize - but not for Mr Ambrose.
‘Get down!’
Grabbing my arm, he shoved me behind one of the wooden buildings that stood right beside the landing. Stumbling, I fell to my knees, and remained like that, cowering on the cold stone, while the voices drew nearer. Mr Ambrose appeared beside me, his whole body tensed like a panther about to spring.
We waited, in silence. I didn’t dare move a single muscle.
‘…the men made any progress so far?’ A familiar smooth, magnanimous voice came from the other side of the building. It sounded so charming, so relaxed. Even now, knowing what I knew, I could hardly believe this was Lord Dalgliesh, chief shareholder of the Honourable East India Company and close friend to the Crown, discussing criminal enterprises.
‘No, My Lord. The code of the documents in question seems to be well developed.’
‘I see. Please be so kind as to see to it that they are properly motivated, will you? I wish them to understand how important this project is to me and to the Company.’
‘Um, yes, My Lord. I shall think of a suitable motivation.’
‘Excellent. I’m sure I can rely on you.’
‘Yes, My Lord. Certainly, My Lord.’
‘And what about the diplomatic treaties that were not encoded? The secret agreements with Muhammad Ali Pasha? Were they genuine?’
‘Oh yes, My Lord. Every word.’
‘I see. Do we have an East Indiaman scheduled to go to Egypt?’
‘Yes, My Lord.’
‘How fortunate. Please send one of my agents on board and instruct him to courteously discourage His Highness the Khedive from any such further action. Tell him it would be unwise. He would not want to lose my good will, now, would he?’
The words were so soft, so friendly - not angry at all. And yet, I caught a glimpse of the other man, who walked beside Lord Dalgliesh as they passed by the building behind which we were hiding. At the words ‘lose my good will’, he flinched as if hit by a whip.
‘Certainly not, My Lord,’ he said hurriedly. ‘The Khedive will surely take that into consideration.’
Lord Dalgliesh smiled.
‘Yes. I’m sure he will.’
They began to descend the stairs, their voices fading into the distance. I continued to cower on the stone floor, my heart still hammering like an insane woodpecker. After a while, I tried to get up, but found I couldn’t get my legs to move.