the party,” Major Ramsey said. “It would have been an unnecessary risk. I don’t entirely discount it for one reason, which I will address in a moment. However, I believe Harden had an accomplice, and that it was this person who double-crossed Harden, possibly to claim whatever compensation they were offered for himself. That accomplice no doubt knew about the meeting and will keep it in order to pass off the information as originally planned.
“Frankly, we’re not as concerned with who the killer might be as to who he contacts,” the major went on. “One of the people at the party is planning to pass the documents off to the Germans. We need to discover who that person is and substitute the false documents if possible. Or stop them at the very least.”
“A ‘party’ is a big group,” Uncle Mick said. “You say you’ve narrowed it down a bit?”
“Yes,” the major answered. “There are five people we suspect may be involved.”
Uncle Mick settled into his chair. “Give us the rundown, then.”
The major hesitated, as I was beginning to realize he usually did before revealing a new piece of information. He liked to get it settled in his head first, I supposed, to organize what and how much information he was going to give up. I suspected he’d be a marvel at cards.
“The dead man, Harden, and the suspected German collaborators all belong to the same collector’s club. We believe that it may be a front for a pro-German group that has been operating in this country since before the war. It is, after all, an excellent way for a disparate group of people to meet without attracting too much attention. As I mentioned, there’s Sir Nigel himself. You know he owns The Old Smoke?”
“Yes. And he wasn’t exactly subtle about his associations with Germany,” I said, drawing on what I knew of the man’s politics.
The major nodded, that glimmer of approval I was beginning to recognize in his expression. “He agreed with Chamberlain on appeasement, and has made no secret about his dislike of Churchill, both in and out of print. We’ve had our eye on him for some time, due to some of his prewar German connections, but, for such a vocal man, he’s been very careful not to go too far, not to do anything that might incriminate himself or push him beyond the pale.”
“The cleverest ones are always the best at that sort of thing,” Uncle Mick said. “And Sir Nigel is clever, to be sure.”
“Nevertheless, it’s only a matter of time before he makes the wrong enemies in our government. It’s possible he’s lining things up with the Germans in the event he needs to leave the country.”
“Or in case the Nazis arrive here,” I said vaguely.
“They won’t,” the major said. He sounded very sure of himself, and for once I found comfort in his confidence. I thought of my cousin Colm, working on RAF planes in Torquay, so close and yet so far. Like so many other valiant Englishmen, he’d fight to the death before allowing our shores to be overrun. But I didn’t know how I’d bear it if I lost him, not when Toby was already missing.
I pushed these thoughts away, rallying inwardly. We had a job to do, and focusing on doing it well was in the best interests of those I cared about as well as my country. I turned my attention back to the major.
“I mentioned one reason why it’s possible the contact might have killed Harden,” he went on. “There is a man in Sir Nigel’s employ by the name of Jerome Curtis. He functions as a majordomo of sorts for Sir Nigel, but his main duties are ensuring Sir Nigel’s safety and making sure people comply with his will, by violent means, if necessary.”
“An enforcer,” Uncle Mick said.
“Precisely,” the major said. “There’s precious little background information to be found on the man, but he ran with a racketeering gang for a while in his youth, had a short and exceptionally brutal boxing career, and there are rumors he was something of a mercenary before he joined Sir Nigel’s permanent employ, selling his services to the highest bidder.”
“Then it’s possible he may have killed Harden for Sir Nigel,” I speculated. “Which is why you think the documents may be in Sir Nigel’s safe.”
The major nodded. “It’s certainly a possibility. One we need to rule out.”
Uncle Mick gave a whistle. “It’s shaping up to be a fine group of miscreants.”