Page 38 of The Amsterdam Enigma (The Continental Capers of Melody Chesterton #3)
M elody and William were fortunate and hailed a cab easily, and ten minutes later, they pulled up outside the British Legation.
In their disguises, they found it harder to gain entry than they might otherwise have done.
It took a lot of persuasion and threats of dire consequences before the butler hesitantly opened the door and allowed them to wait in the drawing room.
“I will let Sir Alan know you are here,” the man said in a tone of great condescension that left no doubt of what he thought of them sitting on the expensive silk chairs.
Five minutes later, Sir Alan entered the room. He looked them both up and down rather dismissively. “Who are you and what is this about? I hope it’s no more hokum about German plots and bombs.”
Melody and William exchanged glances; this didn’t bode well.
“I am Captain William Somerset, and I work for the Foreign Office.”
Sir Alan’s expression softened slightly. “Somerset, you say? Any relation to Sir Edward’s private secretary?”
“Adam is my brother.”
“What ho!” Sir Alan said, his face breaking into a grin. “So, you’re George’s son, are you? Which one are you now? Five of you boys, if I remember. ”
“Six, actually. I’m the youngest.”
“Are you now? Your father and I were at Eton together. Fine cricket player.”
Melody felt relief at this unexpected turn of events, but was also eager for the pleasantries to end so they could focus on the matter at hand. She looked at William and raised her eyebrows slightly, hoping to prompt him to keep things moving.
William understood her point. “Sir Alan, we need your help.”
“Anything for Georgie Somerset’s boy.”
They explained what they needed. Sir Alan listened, shaking his head occasionally but saying nothing.
“So, the other day, I had two chappies from something called the Secret Service Office… wait, no, Bureau here. They were begging me to contact the Dutch authorities, and now you’re asking me not to. Do I have that right?”
“Yes. That’s correct. We had reason to believe a bomb was being planted in the Stadsschouwburg Theatre to explode when the Royal Family is there tonight,” William explained.
“Indeed. This is what those other two told me. Yet they had no evidence to support that, and I told them I wouldn’t do anything without something more concrete to go on.
Britain is walking on eggshells in the Netherlands.
The concern is that the slightest thing could tip them in Germany’s direction.
Certainly, making a big fuss and pointing fingers with no proof is hardly something anyone will thank me for doing. ”
“I understand, sir,” William said respectfully. “And if we had time, I would explain in more detail what we believe is happening. However, we don’t. So, please take my word for it that you may be asked to intervene, and I am asking you not to.”
“So, you are asking me not to do something I wasn’t planning to do anyway?” Sir Alan asked with a shake of his head. “I think I can agree to that.” His smile made clear that Sir Alan was nonplussed by the entire conversation.
Perhaps they needn’t have come, Melody thought.
It didn’t seem as if the man was inclined to do anything, anyway.
However, they had no idea how persuasive Rat and Alessandro had been during their conversation with the theatre director.
Perhaps they had found the bomb and explained the situation.
Perhaps the director suspected them of planting it, and they had pleaded with him to contact Sir Alan and ask him to ensure the Dutch authorities were alerted, as well as vouching for them.
Certainly, she could see they would be eager to have the British Legation firmly established as the ones who had saved the day.
“Is there anything else?” Sir Alan asked. “Perhaps a glass of sherry? You can catch me up on how old Georgie is doing these days.”
No sooner had Sir Alan asked this than there was a tap at the door. The butler entered and handed Sir Alan a note, which he unfolded, read, then refolded.
“Damndest thing, I have just been called to the Stadsschouwburg by the company director. Apparently, there is the threat of a bomb and two men who claim to be British and want me to vouch for them. If I can do that, then I should bring the Dutch authorities with me.”
Melody and William sighed with relief at having arrived before the note.
“Indeed, sir,” William said in a respectful but firm voice. “And I am asking that you don’t contact the Dutch authorities.”
Sir Alan shook his head. “I really do not know what to make of all this. If you weren’t George Somerset’s lad, I’d be inclined to wash my hands of all of you.”
“I appreciate that, sir. I believe it will be enough to reply to the note, vouch for Mr Sandworth and Conte Foscari, and request their release.”
“I suppose I can do that,” Sir Alan said with another shake of his head. It might be time for retirement, he thought, as he sat at the writing desk in the corner of the room to reply to the note. He gave the note to the butler, who presented it to the man waiting in the vestibule.
It seemed Sir Alan would have been happy to pour that sherry or order tea and sit and reminisce with them about his school days with William’s father. However, eventually, they managed to make their excuses and rush back to the theatre.
Melody and William returned to outside of the stage door.
What should they do now? Should they go back into the theatre?
As they considered their options, a large, out-of-breath man appeared.
He wasn’t dressed like one of the backstage workers, so they hoped he was the person who had brought the note and had now returned to the theatre .
The man entered the building, and William and Melody looked at each other.
Should they just wait? They stood there for a few minutes.
Finally, just as they worried that something had gone wrong, the stage door opened, and Rat and Alessandro were led out by the man who had delivered the note.
He said something forcefully in Dutch before slamming the door shut behind him, leaving the two men blinking in the sunlight.
When Alessandro realised that not only was Melody waiting for them but also that they were in the company of William, he snarled, “What is he doing here?”
“He is helping to save you both and, more to the point, trying to salvage something out of this situation for Britain,” Melody said indignantly.
“And how exactly is he doing that? With more of his nonsense? Is that what he’s been telling you, Melody?
That this entire situation was contrived by Germany?
The Foreign Office didn’t believe it when he first said it, and I doubt anyone will believe it now.
” Then, turning to address William, Alessandro said in the nastiest tone, “You should have slunk back to London with your tail between your legs while you had the chance, Somerset.”
“Enough!” Melody commanded. “And this is not the place to discuss this. Let us return to your townhouse, and Captain Somerset and I can explain everything to you.”
It seemed as if Alessandro was about to continue arguing, but Rat placed a hand on his arm. “She is right. We should not be discussing any of this here.”
“We just need to wait for Mustafa,” Melody explained. “He went inside to keep an eye out for what was happening to you. He is probably making his way out.”
Twenty minutes later, the boy still hadn’t emerged from the theatre.
Mustafa had survived enough time alone on the streets of Casablanca to know how to stay hidden when needed. He had no trouble sneaking through the theatre’s corridors, which were sufficiently dark to make the task much easier than it had been in the sunlit streets of the Medina.
Melody’s instructions had been clear enough, and soon enough, the boy found himself in the corridor she had described. He made his way to the door. Over the past few months, the boy had been learning to read in English and knew enough letters to recognise the word Directeur.
As he listened at the door, Mustafa heard Alessandro’s voice and then Rat’s.
The boy felt too exposed to stay there, so he moved to the corner where Melody had hidden earlier and waited in a dark shadow, crouching low enough that someone passing by might not notice him.
He sat there for some time, listening, watching, and waiting.
Suddenly, Mustafa heard someone walking down the corridor towards him and tried to make himself even smaller and less conspicuous.
As the footsteps drew nearer, Mustafa glanced up.
Not only could the boy remember any writing or drawing he was shown, but he could also recall any face he had seen, however briefly, and he realised he had seen this face before.
He immediately recognised it, but in a very different setting: the hotel.
This man had been at the front desk of the hotel when he visited Lalla Melody the other day.
Mustafa was a quick child and realised that something was wrong; a man working in a hotel didn’t suddenly appear backstage at a theatre.
While Mustafa didn’t know exactly what the adults were working on, he understood enough to know they were trying to prevent something terrible from happening.
The brief conversation he’d overheard between Melody and Somerset outside the theatre made that clear enough.