The roadway was just as congested here with wagons and vans, workers departing and arriving, along with shipments of various pieces of machinery. The signage before one of those enormous, raised tents indicated that we had arrived at B-10.
Berth 10, I thought from my travels that had included sea travel. It was obviously a construction site by the activity that we saw, butwhat precisely? I thought.
What was important about B-10 that three men had been secretive about when they met at St. John’s Wood, and had ended in murder?
Brodie had asked the driver to remain, as I waited for an opportunity to enter that enormous structure. Obviously, a woman, perhaps other than the Queen, would be an unusual sight in such a place.
I stepped into the shadows behind one of those enormous sliding doors at the entrance. The opportunity arrived as a half-dozen workers emerged, talking amongst themselves as they left.
Brodie glanced my way as I gathered my skirts in one hand and quickly slipped inside, then suddenly stopped at the sight before me.
The dry dock was much like the others we had passed, except for the vessel that lay within it.
It was almost the full length of the dock, sleek, made of what appeared to be steel, fully enclosed with a tower that rose from mid-deck—far different from the masted, wood-hulled ships of the Royal Navy that we had seen upon arriving at Portsmouth.
As ridiculous as it seemed, it reminded me of a metal cigar tube, not unlike something I had read about...
“It’s a submarine!” I exclaimed. Brodie had followed me inside.
“Wot is a submarine?”
“It’s meant to navigate underwater. I’ve read about it, but had no idea that it actually existed.” Or almost, as it was obviously under construction.
A sign at the dock nearest was painted HMS-B10.
It was beautiful and at the same time terrifying, and far different than any ship of the line, or any other, for that matter, at Portsmouth.
We had discovered B-10. But what did it mean?
“We obviously were not meant to see this, but it could be important to our inquiries,” Bordie said in a low voice beside me.
“We should leave now.”
“Right, you are," a deep voiced startled me. "Now, slowly turn around with your hands raised.”
It did seem as if the‘admiral’I had boasted of had found us. Or, at the very least, a half-dozen uniformed men with firearms aimed at us.
Ten
There isan old Chinese proverb I had learned in my travels, that the best defense was a good offense.
I thought of that now as I sat across from Brodie in an anteroom outside the office of Sir Avery at the Tower of London. Where we had been delivered under armed supervision after being discovered in what was obviously a secret, secured area at Gosport.
We had been detained, telephone calls had been exchanged, along with the intervention of Sir Laughton, the family attorney, and someone else whose name was not mentioned, but who I strongly suspected might be the Prince of Wales.
We were then transported back to the rail station at Portsmouth and escorted onto the next train returning to London, where a police van waited to bring us to an emergency meeting with the director of Special Services.
The door to his office, deep within the ancient and imposing walls of the Tower—ironically built by my ancestor some eight hundred years before—was suddenly wrenched open. Sir Laughton appeared, features drawn due to the late hour of the night.
I did wonder what our offense was to be as we both stood.
“I have presented the facts as you gave them to me regarding your presence at Gosport. You should know that his Royal Highness has spoken on your behalf, due to special circumstances.”
“Are we to know wot those circumstances might be?” Brodie inquired with his usual calm.
“It will be explained to you both. My suggestion is to be straightforward. Answer the questions, tell the man what you know. Not speculation.” His next comment was for me, with a weary smile.
“However, my advice would be ‘the less said the better,’ on behalf of your present client.”
