The man had been half blinded. He would have been going into shock.
‘You remember anything, her mum’s the landlady at the King’s Stairs, on the island,’ Cook said. ‘Let her know.’
‘We can’t just give up,’ Burton said, as they left the doorman, took a side street back towards Shaftesbury Avenue, turned the corner.
A siren started up. Cook looked at the sky. Heavy clouds. Impossible for a bomber to aim.
Burton followed his gaze.
‘I don’t think they’re aiming any more,’ he said, reading Cook’s mind. ‘Just follow the river if they can see it then drop their bombs anywhere on the city.’
An ARP warden hurried past them, blowing a whistle.
‘Everyone to the shelter,’ he shouted. Shoppers turned to each other, unsure whether to carry on or obey. Nobody wanted to be the first to give in to the fear.
The ARP warden turned the corner and Cook heard his whistle again. He doubted the doorman would be persuadedto abandon his post. Probably considered himself immune, now he’d already been bombed.
‘Now what?’ Burton asked.
‘Back to the island,’ Cook said. ‘See if Gracie’s heard anything.’
‘I can’t go back there,’ Burton said. ‘The military police have been sniffing round.’
‘Keep an eye on the hotel, then,’ Cook said. ‘I’ll go to the island, let them know what we found out.’
Cook heard heavy footsteps. Somebody running. Others heard it. Soon everyone on the street was hurrying one way or another, ducking into buildings, following painted signs on brickwork, finding the nearest shelter.
The doorman rounded the corner. He slowed when he saw Cook.
‘I remembered,’ he said. ‘The word on the car. It wasn’t a word. It was letters.’
‘What was it?’ Burton asked.
‘ARP,’ the doorman said.
93
Margaret was back outside Room 814. She’d waited in the lobby for the American woman to leave. She’d heard her ask the doorman for a taxi to Maida Vale, so Margaret knew she had time for what she had in mind.
The hotel had been built in the 1890s. When they built the place they couldn’t have known how important it would become to international espionage – how many dignitaries and spies would make the place their temporary home. If they had, they might have sprung for better locks. As it was, the lock on Room 814 surrendered to Margaret’s somewhat ham-fisted technique in about twenty seconds. She made sure she hadn’t been observed, and slipped into the room.
The smell of the river was stronger in here, overlaid with the smell of soap. The last time they’d talked, Cook had mentioned a girl he was looking for. Hopefully the river trip was some version of Cook homing in on his prey.
Other than the large bed, there was an oak wardrobe and a chest of drawers. The same layout as Margaret’s room. The bed was flanked by two bedside tables, each with an electric lamp. No desk. No obvious place to put paperwork.
The wardrobe was full. More clothes than Margaret had owned in her lifetime. Too full for a suitcase. Margaret leafed through the outfits quickly, out of curiosity. There was a definite big-game hunter theme. Margaret blamed Hemingway – he’d set the tone for a whole generation of Americanwriters. She’d met him once in Paris. A long and tiresome evening fending off his advances.
She pulled out the drawers in the bedside tables. One of them was empty apart from the obligatory bible. The other had a collection of tissues, receipts, scribbled notes. Margaret read the notes.Aides-mémoire– ‘ask T about fishing quotas’, ‘Kennedy speech!’, ‘candy bars for C and L’. Not exactly the work of a disciplined spymaster, unless there was some kind of elaborate code.
Margaret stood in the room and looked around for inspiration. For a woman who was collecting intelligence and somehow feeding it to the Germans, there was precious little paperwork in the room. Perhaps Margaret had underestimated her. Not like she’d have left a neat file in her hotel room, all laid out ready to be discovered.
A quick check in the bathroom told her nothing useful.
A bust, then.
Margaret was on her way out, but paused. Better safe than sorry.
She checked the bedside table again. The empty one. Took out the bible. Held it upside down and shook. A leaf of thin paper fell out. Neat handwriting. Ten names and addresses. One of them had been crossed out.
