much as others might utter a particularly apt Greek or Latin quotation. ‘And brought him up with a round stern,’ he added. ‘Would you have a knife, at all? This string is really not worth the saving.’
‘How did you do that, sir?’ asked Beck, passing a pair of scissors.
‘I cut his throat,’ said Maturin, shearing through the string. Major Beck was used to bloodshed in open and in clandestine war, but his visitor’s everyday, unemphatic tone struck a chill to his heart, the more so as Maturin happened to take off his spectacles at this moment, glancing at Beck with his expressionless pale eyes, the only remarkable thing about him.
‘Now, sir,’ said Stephen, the documents unwrapped at last, ‘you are no doubt acquainted with Mr Harry Johnson’s role in American intelligence?’
‘Oh yes, indeed.’ Beck could not be unaware of his chief opponent’s activities in Canada: from the first days of his appointment he had been struggling against Johnson’s well-organized, well-supplied network of agents.
‘Very well. These are papers that I took from his desk and strong-box in Boston. The Frenchmen were consulting them when I put an end to their machinations.’ He laid them one by one on the Major’s desk: a list of American agents in Canada and the West Indies, with comments; ciphers to be used on various occasions; letters to the Secretary of State containing a detailed account of the past and present relationships between the French and American intelligence services; remarks on his French colleagues’ characters, abilities, and intentions; projects for future operations; a full appreciation of the British position on the Great Lakes…
By the time the last document took its place on the desk Dr Maturin had reached and surpassed the heroic stature expected of him. Major Beck gazed over the heap of papers with deep respect, with something not far removed from awe. ‘It is the completest thing,’ he said, ‘the completest thing that ever I heard tell of. A clean sweep, by God! This first list alone will keep a firing-squad busy for weeks. I must digest the whole mass. These will be my bedside companions for many a night.’
‘Not these documents themselves, sir, if you will allow me. Sir Joseph and his cryptographers must have them –’ the Major bowed at Sir Joseph’s name, ‘ – and I propose carrying the greater part to London by the first ship that offers. Copies, by all means, although that raises certain problems too, as you know very well. However, before we discuss the copying or indeed anything else, I have an observation to make: an observation and a request. Have you heard of Mrs Villiers?’
‘Diana Villiers, Johnson’s mistress, a renegade English-woman?’
‘No, sir,’ said Stephen, with a cold, unwinking look. ‘No, sir. Mrs Villiers was not Johnson’s mistress: she merely accepted his protection in a foreign land. Nor is she in any conceivable way a renegade. Not only did they disagree most bitterly when he attempted to enlist her in the war against her own country, but it was owing to her that I came into possession of these documents. I should be sorry to hear her name used lightly.’
‘Yet, sir,’ said Beck after a moment’s hesitation, ‘and I speak under correction, without intending the least disrespect to the lady, it appears that she took out papers of naturalization in the States.’
‘That was a thoughtless act, one that she regarded as a trifling formality without the least real effect upon her natural allegiance. It was very strongly represented to her, that the process would facilitate Mr Johnson’s divorce.’ Stephen observed a certain knowingness or fellow-feeling or even connivance in the Major’s eye; he frowned, and went on in a colder tone, ‘But since she is technically an enemy alien, sir, I wish to observe – I wish to state it as my considered opinion, that the usual certificate should be made out in her favour, as to one of our people; although at the same time I may point out that she has little or no notion of my connexion with the department. I have brought her with me, and apart from all other considerations it would not be fitting that she should be molested, or made uneasy in any way.’
‘Directly, sir,’ said Major Beck, ringing a bell. ‘I am glad you told me,’ he said. ‘Archbold would certainly have laid her by the heels before nightfall. We have had any number of females – however, the lady in question belongs to quite another category.’ His assistant came in, a man quite as ugly as Major Beck, with rather more of that indefinable appearance of hidden deformity, but with much less of his apparent intelligence. ‘Mr Archbold,’ said the Major, ‘an X certificate in the name of Mrs Villiers, if you please.’ The paper came, Beck completed it with an official wafer and his signature and passed it over, saying, ‘But you will allow me to observe, sir, that this is valid only for my own region. If the lady were to return to England, there might be very considerable difficulties.’
Stephen could have retorted that he intended to do away with these difficulties by marrying Diana and making her a British subject again; but he preferred keeping his own counsel. In any case, he was very, very tired, both from the extraordinary exertions at the time of his escape and from his almost continual surgical activity aboard both ships ever since the battle. He made no reply, therefore, and after a short silence Beck said, ‘I believe, sir, you mentioned a request?’
‘I did. It is that you will authorize the paymaster to accept a draft on my London banking-house. I have an immediate and pressing need for money.’
‘Oh, as for money, Dr Maturin,’ cried Major Beck, ‘I beg you will not trouble with the paymaster and his seven and a half per cent and all the paper-work. I have funds here at my disposal that can deal with any difficulty of that kind at once. They are intended to procure information, and for a single one of these documents, I should be fully justified in…’
‘You are very good, sir,’ said Stephen, ‘but I must tell you that from the very beginning of my connexion with the department I have never accepted a Brummagem ha’penny for anything that I was able to do, or to produce. No. A note to the paymaster will answer perfectly, if you will be so kind. And perhaps you would let me have a couple of discreet able-bodied men: the frontier is no great way off, and until you have dealt with the agents named in Mr Johnson’s list, I should not choose to wander about Halifax alone.’
Preceded by one discreet man, six foot tall, followed by another, and accompanied by a third, Stephen walked to the paymaster’s office, transacted his business, came out with a comfortable bulge in his pocket, and stood for a while in thought. Then, followed by his companion, he took a few irresolute steps down the street before stopping at a corner. ‘I am at a stand,’ he said.
‘Sir?’ said his guardian.
‘I am at a stand. I do not know where I lodge.’
The street was almost empty, since all those who could get away were down at the harbour, staring at the Shannon and the Chesapeake: in this virtual desert the two other men did their best to be inconspicuous, loitering in negligent attitudes, quite detached; but they soon caught their colleague’s nod, and joined him on the corner. ‘The gentleman is at a stand,’ he said. ‘He does not know where he is staying.’
They all looked at Stephen. ‘Has he forgot the name of his hotel?’ suggested one.
‘Have you forgot the name of your hotel, sir?’ asked the first man, bending down to speak in Stephen’s ear. Stephen ran his hand along his bristly jaw, deep in thought, trying to overcome his weariness of mind.
‘He is probably staying at Bailey’s,’ said another. ‘That is where most of the physical gentlemen put up.’
‘Is it Bailey’s, sir?’ asked the first, bending again.
‘White’s?
