The Blood Royal(55)

‘Are we thinking Winston is the next one on the list then?’ Chappel asked.

‘No. This organization, if organization it is,’ Bacchus added with a concessionary glance at Hopkirk, ‘would seem to be going for that moment of weakness, that chink in the armour offered by a person who finds himself – temporarily – both socially and geographically disoriented.’

They all frowned, trying to work out what he meant.

‘You mean – General Lansing was just back off the boat from Ireland and making his way home down his own street, whistling “Rule Britannia”, when he was accosted and shot at? Admiral Dedham, ditto, and had got as far as his own doorstep … I see …’ Inspector Chappel gave voice to all their fears. ‘Oh my Gawd! You know, don’t you?’ He glowered at Bacchus. ‘Who and when. Who’s going to cop it next and when it’ll happen. You bloody know!’

Joe noted the foreboding that descended suddenly on the four-in-hand as the name of the target burst on them, but in an effort to change the mood and move the meeting on to the next and all-important stage he spoke lightly. ‘And I want this operation … um …’ He hesitated then smiled round the table. ‘Let’s play Boy Scouts for a moment and give it a name! Why not? I think we can allow ourselves a little frivolity, in view of the unpleasantness that would appear to be waiting to bite us in the bum. I’m reaching for a female name … Operation Morrigan – that’ll do. What do you say?’ He looked round the table, gathering the assenting nods and smiles. ‘I want Operation Morrigan to get under way at once.’

‘It’s all in hand, I think you’ll find, sir,’ Bacchus assured him smoothly. ‘Fanshawe has the details somewhere. Go and get them, will you, Rupert? We left them on the side table over by the window. Semper paratus as we say in the Right Royal Cock-ups. The Scouts don’t have all the best sentiments. We’ll be delighted to show the CID how to prevent a killing. We don’t want to leave them with any more “murders” to clear up.’ His smile faded. ‘And if we get it wrong, we’ll all be for the chop. We’ll have on our hands the most infamous political assassination on English soil since King Rufus got it in the eye in the New Forest.’

‘Lung. I think you’ll find it was an arrow to the lung, Bacchus,’ Hopkirk corrected. ‘I’ve never been able to decide whether the guilty party was his friend Walter or his brother Henry. Whichever it was, they left an unsolved mystery and a body lying on the forest floor. Fascinating! I’d love to have done the scene of crime stuff on that! But none of us wants to see the next name on that ruddy list of yours lying dead on the streets of London. I’ll gladly forgo the chance of solving the crime of the century to preserve the life of any one of the three fine Britons on Bacchus’s list,’ he concluded, with an unaccustomed show of patriotism that was rewarded with curt nods from the Branch.

Inspector Chappel leaned to Hopkirk under cover of the stir-about that occurred as the detailed planning with its accompanying maps and charts began to be laid out. ‘Who the hell’s Morrigan, when she’s at home?’ he hissed in his ear.

Hopkirk snorted and shot a glance at Sandilands. ‘Deity in the Celtic pantheon, you’ll find, Bert. Seat at the gods’ top table. Specializing in mischief and mayhem – she’s the flame-haired Irish goddess of terror,’ he murmured. ‘And she’s in our back yard.’





Chapter Seventeen




Applying the handbrake, Albert tipped back the brim of his bowler hat like a visor and squinted a challenge at the mock baronial flourishes of New Scotland Yard. He was not overawed. Any of Cromwell’s Ironsides sizing up King Charles’s palace would have shown the same derision and loathing. And intent to take by storm, Lily thought, admiring.

Boldly, he’d driven Jacob’s Buick in through the Derby Street entrance into the courtyard and pulled up by the grand public entrance.

The duty constable hurried forward at once, impressed and alarmed by the ostentatious motor car. ‘May I help you, sir?’ he asked stiffly. ‘Vehicles belonging to the general public are not authorized to park here,’ he added. ‘I shall have to ask you to move on.’ He eyed Lily, puzzled to see a woman in evening stole and lip rouge in the confines of the Yard.

‘We’re not general – we’re very particular public,’ growled Albert in his basso profundo. ‘And, yes, you may help us, Sunny Jim. Go inside to reception and tell Commander Sandilands his date for the evening is waiting below.’