*
“Hello, my dear fellow.”
Evans’ eyes opened blearily to the sound of the familiar voice. His throat was still affected by the acrid smoke he had breathed in Savile Row and he whispered a greeting. Evans struggled to raise himself up on his pillow.
“Here, let me help you.” Anthony Blunt leaned forward and helped Evans to lever himself up on the bed. “There. That’s better.”
To Evans, there had always been something of Carroll’s Mad Hatter as sketched by Tenniel to Blunt’s features, with his protruding set of upper teeth. An attractive Mad Hatter though, as far as he was concerned. “How are you, Anthony?” he croaked.
“Fit as a fiddle, but more to the point, how are you, Francis? They tell me you are on the mend.”
“A lot of bruises, a cracked rib and a few other odds and sods. I guess I was lucky. I’ll survive.”
Blunt pulled up a chair and sat down. “Yes, you are a survivor, aren’t you? I must commend you on your bravery. I understand from the nurses that you were injured while searching for an ambulance for a police colleague in the midst of a bombing raid. I must admit that physical courage is not a trait I believe I have, though I do believe I have some moral courage.”
Evans raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, indeed, Francis, that was somewhat lacking when you suffered your little problem, I concede. I am sorry for my lack of support, although my response was coloured by some anger and jealousy that you could seek gratification with another man.”
Evans opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“Don’t trouble yourself to talk, dear chap. I can see it is painful.”
“Trubetskoi.” Evans managed to spit the word out.
“Ah, yes, Trubetskoi and his senior partner Voronov. I understand from certain friends that they were involved in various nefarious activities and finally came something of a cropper. I apologise if my involving you with him caused you any embarrassment. I just heard that he was looking for someone like you and thought you would appreciate the money. I had some dealings with Voronov over the years. Odd fellows, he and his amanuensis.”
Evans waved an admonishing finger.
“Yes, I know, Francis. I shall be careful with whom I deal. Now, I have bought you a present.” Blunt produced a slim volume. “This is a monograph I just had published on Poussin’s early work. I am sure you will enjoy it.” His friend managed a weak smile. “And once you are out of here, you are welcome to come to the country for some recuperation. I intend to make amends, dear fellow, to make amends!”
*
It was just after four and at the Chelsea AFS station Stewart’s team were preparing for another night’s hazardous duty when Sir Archie Steele strode through the door. “Ah, Jack, there you are, laddie.”
Stewart rose to shake Steele’s outstretched hand. “And Peter. How do. Where’s your young constable?” Johnson gratefully withdrew his hand from Steele’s iron grip. “Cole got injured, Sir Archibald. Took a bullet in the shoulder from a looter. He’s desperate to get back out there, but the docs say it will be a few days yet.”
The three men sat down at the communal table and Elsie poured out tea. Johnson brought Steele up to date with the events at the Burlington Arcade and with Evans’ information on the looters. “Maybe they’ll be out of the picture now, if this Russian boss of theirs has copped it.”
“Plenty more fish in the sea, I should think, Inspector, eh, Jack?” Sir Archibald reached out for the plate of biscuits Elsie had just laid on the table.
“Aye, sir, though I think it should be rats not fish. ‘Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats’.”
Steele frowned. “I’m not your friend Merlin, you know, Jack. If you want me to name the author, I haven’t a clue.”