Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence #1) - Robert Thier Page 0,80

document in question is, we have little hope of catching the thief.’

Mr Ambrose stayed silent for one moment longer - then he nodded curtly.

‘Number two,’ he stated.

I frowned. What was he talking about? ‘Excuse me?’

‘Number two,’ he repeated. ‘The second possibility you outlined. There are no banknotes in the file. It is an important document.’ Taking a deep breath, he added: ‘More important than you can imagine.’

‘Now we’re getting somewhere,’ I sighed.

‘Can he sell it to anyone, Sir?’ Warren inquired.

‘Only to the right people. And by right I do not mean “right” as in “right and honourable”. I mean people with limitless cash and little conscience.’

I almost said, ‘Oh, you mean people like yourself?’ But I held my tongue. My natural tendency to bad manners was not well placed here if I wanted to keep my job.

‘These people,’ I asked, ‘are they here in London, or could they be anywhere in the country?’

‘Theoretically, they could be anywhere. But it is most likely that they would be here. This is the centre of the British Empire, the power-hub for a fifth of the earth’s surface - the best place to transact any kind of business, whether legitimate or otherwise.’

‘But we had better make sure, hadn’t we?’ I said with a sweet smile. ‘Somebody told me once it’s better to always verify.’

Mr Ambrose gave me another one of his cold stares. ‘That must have been a very wise person.’ Turning, he nodded to Karim. ‘Go, take a few of the men and check Euston station. I want a description of all the passengers who left in the last few days and don’t care how you get it. If there’s anyone there who fits Simmons’ description - find him, grab him, hold him. I do not care if it should happen to be the Prime Minister.’

‘Is Simmons easy to recognize?’ I asked as Karim marched out of the room with seven henchmen at his heels.

Mr Ambrose nodded grimly. ‘Oh yes. That is the one piece of good luck in this mess. He’s tall and gangly, with a long nose, long blonde hair and a thin moustache, and a scar over his right eyebrow. If anyone saw him, they’ll remember him.’

‘He might have altered his appearance,’ I pointed out doubtfully.

Beside me, Warren nodded. ‘That’s very likely, Sir.’

‘No, it isn’t. He’s always been a vain fellow. Clever, but with a too good an opinion of himself and his looks. No doubt he thinks we have no hope of catching up to him.’

‘And do we, Sir?’ Warren wanted to know. ‘Assuming he has not left the city - and I for my part think it likely that he is still here - how are we going to find one man hidden in a labyrinth of a city among three million people?’

‘The task is not as impossible as you might think, Warren.’ Mr Ambrose tapped the map on the table. ‘Most of those three million people are working-class folk. I doubt very much Simmons would hide out in one of their miserable little sheds. Oh no. He did this for money, and he would want to live in style.’

In quick succession he pointed out various buildings on the map, marking them with pushpins.

‘These are the best hotels in town. I do not approve of such frivolous behaviour as betting, but if I did, I would bet my top hat that he is staying in one of them under some alias.’

‘Just… staying in a hotel?’ I asked, incredulously. ‘Isn’t he afraid of the police?’

‘He knows my affairs,’ was the curt reply. ‘He knows I cannot involve the police in this. The results would be…’

His voice trailed off into nothingness. We all waited with bated breath, but not a word came. So the results would be too terrible to speak aloud, would they? What in heaven’s name could be in this infernal file?

‘The police are not an option,’ Mr Ambrose eventually continued, ‘so Simmons feels confident and secure.’ For a moment, lightning flashed in his dark eyes. ‘Very soon he will learn of his mistake.’

‘This is all very well, but these are over a hundred hotels,’ I pointed out. ‘How are we to find out in which one he is staying?’

‘I can take care of half,’ said Mr Ambrose. Without further explanation, he strode to the pneumatic tube at the wall, wrote a message in his meticulous handwriting, and pulled the lever. Shortly after, the answer came. He checked it and returned to the desk.

‘You can cross these-’ pointing