Tarkowski blearily removed the bedcover from his face and slowly opened his eyes. His head throbbed. Another endless meeting followed by several rounds of Polish plum brandy with the general and his cronies had played havoc with his brain cells. He rolled onto his side and grimaced as his back creaked in sympathy with his head. The high ceiling above him shimmered in the distance as his ears began to register an unusual sound. His wife was not by his side, but, as he levered himself up on his elbows, he could see the back of her dressing gown in the bathroom facing him. Her shoulders were trembling, he could see, and the unusual sound was that of her crying. Maria had never been one for tears. Even during the worst moments of their flight from Poland, when it looked as if they would lose everything including their lives, she had never shed a tear. Not even when one brother’s death had been reported and then Karol’s capture had become known had she wept – not in front of him anyway.
He rose stiffly from the bed and walked to the bathroom. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “What is it, my darling? This is not like you.”
Maria’s shoulders fell for a moment, then she turned and melted into his arms. “Oh. Adam. Adam. I am so unhappy!”
“Please, darling. Tell me. Who or what is causing this?”
“It’s Karol. Voronov thinks he can help, but for a price. He knows or thinks he knows about—”
“What does that fat, jumped-up, Russian thing know? How dare he!”
“He says he has contacts who can help, if we…”
“Calm down, Maria. I doubt very much he can do anything for Karol and we must not succumb to blackmail.”
The Countess started to sob again. How could she begin to explain to her husband that for love she had already paid part of Voronov’s price?
*
Merlin drummed his fingers on the desk in irritation. He had had a frustrating night. Due to an unexploded bomb scare on the Embankment, he and Bridges had been confined to the Yard for three hours. When they had eventually arrived at the makeshift mortuary near Euston it was late, dark and raining. No one knew anything about a dead flyer. On their way home a raid had started up. The raiding party didn’t seem as vast as on some previous nights, but their targets seemed to include Euston Road and the Strand. Bridges had driven skilfully to avoid a couple of bomb craters, smoking and flickering with flames, and when they got back to the Yard they had decided to hole up there for the night.
There was a shelter at the bottom of the building, but they had some bedding to lay out in Merlin’s office and they had both dossed down there. Sleep had largely evaded Merlin, however. Bridges’ regular snoring didn’t help, but the ack-ack barrage was the main culprit. London’s defence forces had finally got their act together now and the guns rhythmically boomed out for hours. Eventually Merlin had nodded off for an hour or two.
“Sergeant. Get on to the ARP people and the Medical Corps people and try and track down someone sensible who can lead us to this body. The doctor who called me yesterday was a Lieutenant Ross.” Merlin’s fingers drummed some more. A firm knock on the door preceded the entrance of Constable Robinson.
Bridges had not yet tidied up the loose bedding and Robinson stepped gingerly between the blankets and sheets.
“Yes, Robinson. What have you for me this morning?”
“I had dinner with my brother last night. I went out to his house in Chiswick. He had a night’s leave. Anyway, as promised, he had done a little more research regarding the amulet. Here’s his report.”
Robinson put a brown envelope on the desk.
“Please summarise, Constable.”
“He’s done a bit more reading and thinks he’s actually identified the piece. There’s a reference in one of the books to an amulet with this design of intertwined snakes being worn by Montezuma himself.”