‘Hired? No, not hired. I’m what you might call a Regional Manager. I travel to where the fun is and manage little projects like this one for the organization.’
‘Aren’t you a little young to be so high up in your little gang?’ she said.
‘In your world, perhaps,’ he said. ‘But Autumn Wind has always been a progressive society; we promote purely on merit, not age or background.’ He all but spat the last word.
Mr Craine looked very uncomfortable. ‘You can’t go telling them these things, Brookfield. Think of the Code.’
‘I’m reasonably certain that I told you to hold your tongue, Craine. You really can be a wet nelly sometimes. No wonder your wife cuckolds you with such eagerness.’
Mr Craine reddened, but once again said nothing further.
‘I take it we’re not long for this world,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘As perspicacious as always,’ said Brookfield. ‘Herr Ehrlichmann here spoke very highly of your abilities but I dismissed his worries and reassured everyone that I’d be able to keep you off the trail. But you kept on coming, didn’t you. And even now, you clever old thing, you’ve managed to work out that we really do have to kill you.’
‘Now wait a moment–’ began Mr Craine, but a stinging backhand slap across his face from Brookfield silenced him mid-sentence. He sat in stunned silence, not even wiping the trickle of blood that ran slowly down his chin from his split lip.
Brookfield stood. ‘Well, we can’t sit here gossiping all day – things to do, busybodies to kill, you know the drill. Up you get, Craine.’
Craine stood at once.
‘Now then, Herr Ehrlichmann, if you would be so kind as to conduct our guests out through the back door, we can pop them in the van and take them somewhere a little quieter for disposal.’
‘Please place your hands behind your head, Lady Hardcastle,’ said Ehrlichmann, gesturing with his automatic pistol. ‘And you, Miss Armstrong… well I suppose you must use your crutches.’
Lady Hardcastle raised her hands and placed them behind her head, resting them on her new hat. Ah, yes, the new hat. I really am most dreadfully sorry but I have once again neglected to mention an important detail. I have form for this, having done it in an earlier volume of these stories, and I really can’t apologize enough. I should like to be able to promise that it shan’t happen again, but I think we both know that it almost certainly shall.
You remember, of course, that Lady Hardcastle had commissioned an absurd holster hat. It had been delivered to her at Lady Bickle’s residence and she was wearing it that morning for our meeting. As she placed her hands behind her head, she reached inside the concealed compartment and carefully drew the Derringer. Having adjusted her grip, she brought her arm down in one swift, smooth motion and before Ehrlichmann had even registered what was happening, she had shot his hand, forcing him to drop his own pistol.
He was in sufficient pain that he was too distracted to stop me as I used one of my crutches to sweep the fallen pistol towards Lady Hardcastle, who stooped to pick it up while keeping him covered with the Derringer. She kept hold of his automatic and passed me her own tiny gun, which still held one round, and I turned to point it at Brookfield.
Brookfield, meanwhile, had not been idle. He was armed with a revolver of his own, but seeing how the game had suddenly changed, he had grabbed Mr Craine and was using him as a shield. He spoke to Ehrlichmann. ‘You’d better get going, old chap. That popgun will likely get the rozzers round – no point in us all getting pinched.’
Ehrlichmann eyed Lady Hardcastle warily and made no move to leave.
‘Don’t worry about her; she’d have shot you already if she were going to. I rather think that she’s the sort who would prefer to see you hanged by the Crown than get her own hands dirty meting out justice.’
Ehrlichmann knew better what Lady Hardcastle might be prepared to do, and hesitated a moment longer before hurriedly opening the door and scuttling out, clutching his shattered hand to his chest as he bolted for freedom.
‘And that just leaves the matter of my own safe exit,’ said Brookfield, edging towards the door, careful to keep Mr Craine between himself and the pistol which Lady Hardcastle had now aimed directly at his head.
He crabbed towards the door, his eyes locked on Lady Hardcastle and the threat she posed, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I was even there. As he turned to pull the door open a little further, I saw my chance. I had a clear shot at his legs and I prayed that what little practice I had managed in the garden with the tiny gun would be enough. I squeezed the trigger and was at once both horrified and immensely relieved when I saw the spreading blood stain on Brookfield’s trouser leg and the look of pained horror on his face as he realized what had happened. He levelled his pistol at me but his leg gave way as he fired and the shot went high and wide.
Lady Hardcastle leapt upon him, and with a stamp of her elegant boot to his wrist, persuaded him to relinquish his gun. She was bending to pick it up when we heard a police whistle in the street, and within moments a rather horrified constable was standing in our midst.
‘What the devil...?’ he began, but then he just gaped as he took in the tableau.
‘Ah, Constable, how wonderful to see you,’ said Lady Hardcastle, taking control of the situation as usual. ‘Now then, dear, you’ll be wanting to arrest these two gentlemen for being accessories to the murder of Nathaniel Morry and the kidnap of Lady Bickle. If you can get a man out on the street, you might want to look for a tall, blond man with a German accent and a bullet wound to the hand – he’s the chap who actually committed the murder and organized the kidnap. Then–’
‘Just a moment, madam,’ said the constable as he regained his wits. ‘I rather think I’ll be the one issuing the orders if you don’t mind. The first is that you two need to hand me those guns. And then I think that when my colleagues arrive, you shall all accompany us to the station.’
We obediently handed the constable the three guns and said no more until three more bobbies arrived and led us all out onto the pavement. Even Mr Craine, whom I had expected to huff and bluster, remained silent. An ambulance was summoned to take the injured Brookfield to the nearby Bristol Royal Infirmary, and before long Mr Craine, Lady Hardcastle and I were being questioned at the city police station.