Read Think of England for Free Online

jacket and those appallingly tight trousers. Curtis wondered why a fellow would want to draw attention to himself so. “Well, you should know,” he retorted.
    “Oooh. Harsh.” Da Silva sounded unruffled. “Restore your offended sensibilities with the view.” He indicated the astonishing vista over the Pennine slopes. “The single advantage of this ridiculous building. It helps that while one is in the folly, one can’t actually see it.”
    That was quite enough of architecture, Curtis felt. “Let’s get to brass tacks. I want to know what’s going on.”
    “I’m not inclined to tell you that yet.”
    Curtis drew a breath. “Listen—”
    Da Silva swung to face him, dark eyes intent. “Who are you working for?”
    “What?”
    “I said, who are you working for? It’s not a difficult question.”
    “I’m not working for anyone.”
    Da Silva exhaled dramatically. “Let us not beat about the bush. You’re a gentleman, not a player. You’re not a habitual thief. And you are the nephew of Sir Maurice Vaizey, chief of the Foreign Office Private Bureau. Did he send you here?”
    “What? No, he did not. How the devil do you know he’s my uncle?”
    Da Silva’s perfect eyebrows contracted into a frown. “We’ve limited time, don’t play the fool. Just tell me, are you here on Vaizey’s behalf? About the blackmail, or anything else?”
    “What blackmail?” Curtis was hopelessly confused now. “I don’t know what you mean. I don’t know anything about any blackmail and I don’t suppose my uncle has any idea I’m here.”
    Da Silva’s dark eyes were on his face, reading it. He said, slowly, “If you aren’t here about that… You were wounded at Jacobsdal. Lafayette’s business collapsed because of what happened there, and Armstrong made a fortune. Is that it? Something to do with Jacobsdal?”
    Curtis took a stride forward, fist clenching. “If you know anything about that—”
    “Nothing whatsoever. I’m here about something else.”
    “Then why did you say our interests might coincide?”
    Da Silva shrugged with some irritation. “I was wrong. It was one o’clock in the morning. Forgive me for not divining your purpose on the spot.”
    Curtis glowered at him. “Well, what’s your purpose? What’s this about blackmail?”
    Da Silva didn’t answer that. He was watching Curtis, weighing something up. When he spoke, it was with care, but little trace of the mannered drawl. “Mr. Curtis, I need, probably more urgently than you, to get into the private rooms and papers here. It is of some importance that you do not get in my way or arouse suspicion. Two of us playing the same game will double the risks for us both. Could I persuade you to enlighten me on dealing with the alarm, and then leave this business to me?”
    “No.”
    “I can look for information as well as you can, and probably with rather more subtlety. Suppose you tell me what you’re after, and I pass you whatever I find—”
    “What do you know about armaments, or sabotage?” The banked rage that never stopped smouldering leapt into life. “What do you know about war?”
    Da Silva pressed his lips tight. “Granted, I’m not a military man—”
    “I lost friends at Jacobsdal. Good men. If Armstrong was responsible for sabotaging British guns for British troops—”
    “Then he committed murder and treason,” da Silva interrupted. “For which the penalty is a short drop and a lengthened neck. This may be a matter of life and death, Mr. Curtis. You will need to proceed with great caution.”
    “The only thing I’ve to be cautious about is you. What do you know, and what the devil are you up to? And what’s this about blackmail? Someone’s blackmailing you?”
    “Oddly enough, no.” Da Silva paused, considering, then spoke with sardonic precision. “There was another victim. A man with, ah, unusual tastes. He was bled dry with the threat of arrest and exposure, and when he had nothing more to give, he took the