Chapter 11 #2
“Good morning, gentlemen. To what do we owe the pleasure?” I asked with as cordial a smile as I could muster.
Hands were clasped and cheeks bussed in greeting before Sturgis got straight to the point. “I’m sure you’re wondering what we’re doing here and so soon after yesterday.” He turned to Anderson. “I’m afraid some new information has come to light.”
“Or rather, some information you provided us has caused us to see matters in a new light,” Anderson clarified.
Now that it didn’t seem we were about to be ordered back to the Castle or pestered to “get on with it” in our efforts to infiltrate the IRA’s intelligence operations, I was more willing to listen. “Oh?” I remarked, careful to temper my reaction.
“Aye.” Anderson settled deeper into the floral cushions of the sofa. “I did some digging of my own into Lord Ardmore and the connections you mentioned, and I must say, I was as much disconcerted by the things I didn’t find as by the things I did.”
I struggled not to react as I waited for him to continue, almost afraid to hope that someone in authority actually believed us. Someone other than C, that is, who had been waiting for us to present him with a smoking gun, as it were, being unable to do anything to Ardmore without proof.
Anderson cleared his throat. “There are a decided number of … let’s say, unlikely holes in his records. And the number of unfortunate events that have occurred within his proximity is … well, unnatural.”
“You can say suspicious,” Sidney replied. “Better yet, that it smells like fermented herring.”
Anderson’s stoic expression cracked, his lips curling at the corners.
“Aye, well, that’s a rather more poetic way of putting it, but you’re not wrong.
” He turned to me, sobering. “I’ve corresponded with Cumming via diplomatic wire.
” Which was supposed to be more secure. “And I believe I better understand your previous assignment here now.” His gaze shifted back and forth between me and Sidney. “We’d both like you to continue.”
I wasn’t entirely certain what to say. C’s hidden message to us had been to “trust no one,” and I was wary. But I also didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth when an opportunity presented itself. It seemed for the moment, there was nothing we could do but proceed with caution.
“Were you able to confirm Ardmore’s connection to the weapons company that supplied the phosgene cylinders?” I asked.
Anderson tapped his fingertips together where his hands were clasped before him, perhaps sensing my reticence. “Aye. But his alias is listed as an investor, not an owner, and his solicitors claim he had nothing to do with the operations.”
Sidney muttered a curse under his breath as I scowled, both of us struggling with the realization that he was going to be able to winkle himself out of culpability yet again.
“I can tell that you grasp the difficulty,” Anderson said. “With a man of Ardmore’s status, his position, we cannot even question him without incontrovertible evidence of his guilt.”
“Like the incontrovertible evidence you had against Verity?” Sidney countered in a biting voice.
Anderson tipped his head in acknowledgment of this bitter failure on their part. “I know you recognize the truth of what I’m saying.”
What I recognized was that men like Ardmore were considered innocent until proven guilty, while the Restoration of Order in Ireland Act, which had been enacted in August, had, among other things, given the authorities the power to arrest the Irish for any reason at any time, essentially treating them as guilty until proven innocent.
There was a reason the Irish press had dubbed it the Coercion Bill, much to the government’s irritation.
This island was quite familiar with such measures from centuries past.
“But we may have a solution,” Sturgis interjected, ever the mediator and optimist.
Anderson tipped his head back to stare down the length of his knife-blade-thin nose at us. “We may not be able to prove that Ardmore was involved with the phosgene, but that is not the only crime that could see him locked away.”
We already knew this. That’s why we’d been pursuing evidence from a number of incidents Ardmore was suspected of being involved in. Locating the phosgene cylinders and preventing their deployment had simply been the most pressing because of its repercussions.
“I assume you’ve something in mind?” I prodded, skeptical of the ability of whatever he was about to tell us to lead to Ardmore’s downfall.
He paused, glancing at the wall that separated the drawing room from the parlor. “Can your guests hear us?”
“No,” I replied. Whether it was true or not, Sidney and I would be telling them anyway. After all, they were nearly as deep down this rabbit hole as us.
Anderson’s expression conveyed doubt, but he continued, nonetheless. “Are you familiar with the particulars in the recent death of Lieutenant Benjamin Harlow?”
I shook my head. Sadly, the names of all the dead—on both sides of the conflict—began to run together. Sidney’s eyes had narrowed as if the name meant something to him, but he couldn’t recall why.