Chapter Nine

Out of the sitting room, I moved in the direction of the dark hallway that led farther into the flat, remembering to cough occasionally in case they could still hear me.

I pulled the pick from my pocket as I slipped into the shadows. It was Uncle Mick who had trained me to always carry my tools with me. You never know when you might need them, Ellie girl. It had proved useful on more than one occasion.

I probably didn't have long. Mr. Lazaro struck me as sharper than he gave the appearance of being. He was louche and cavalier, but that sort of persona made an effective diplomat. After all, when one isn't taken seriously, one is much more likely to learn things.

There was also the danger of running into staff. Thus far I hadn't seen anyone other than the disapproving butler, Cheevers, but I suspected there were more employees about somewhere. At least a maid or two for Lazaro to harass.

I didn't hear anyone as I slipped down the hall, trying doors as I went. There was nothing much interesting in the first two. They were both bedrooms, unused ones by the look of it. There were blackout curtains on the windows, so they were dark, but everything seemed untouched. If I were a thief—well, technically I was, but if I were a thief robbing this house—I'd pass these rooms by.

There was a bathroom, all marble and brass. I turned on the tap to give the illusion of getting myself a glass of water to calm my cough.

Then I slipped back into the hall. Another bedroom. This one seemed to be Lazaro's, from the overwhelming smell of cigarette smoke and aftershave hanging in the air. It would be the best place to find out more about our host, and I debated a quick look around, but that wasn't the focus of my search, and time was of the essence.

I encountered a locked door at the end of the hall, which I hoped was the right one. Inserting the pick into the lock, I was in within a few seconds. I slipped inside and closed the door behind me before switching on a light.

It was indeed an office of sorts. There was a large desk scattered with papers, shelves stacked with books, and not one but two telephones on the desk. It struck me that I had been correct about Mr. Lazaro. I suspected he cultivated his disreputable appearance. Not that I'd trust him to keep his hands to himself in a dark room.

The crate he had spoken of was sitting on the floor on one side of the desk. The cover had been prized off but was still resting atop the box at an angle.

I moved quickly to the crate and shifted the heavy lid slightly to the side. It was, I realized to my dismay, filled with large, wrapped items. There could be any number of things in here that might be the object the thieves were looking for, and I didn't know where to start.

There certainly wasn't time to go through them all now.

I wondered if now might be the time to level with Lazaro, but that would be up to the major. He would know better than I did whether we could trust the man enough to take him into our confidence. Somehow, I had the impression that the answer would be no.

If so, I would need much more time to break in and get a good look at the contents of the crate. Taking just a moment, I shifted some of the cloth as best as I could without disturbing it too much. There were at least three paintings as well as what seemed to be some kind of bust. Likely of a buxom woman, knowing Mr. Lazaro.

I didn't think the Germans would be interested in any of this art, not to the extent that they'd stage a burglary to steal it. Could the item, whatever it was, conceivably be hidden inside something else? It was a possibility to consider.

I left the crate as I had found it. Cracking open the door to be certain the coast was clear, I slipped out of the office, locking the door behind me, and made my way back toward the sitting room.

I could hear Lazaro still talking as I approached. Major Ramsey was answering in monosyllables.

I came back into the room with another apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry," I said. "I don't know what came over me. The cold weather has left my throat in such a state."

The major's flinty eyes narrowed. I was in for a scolding, but it wouldn't be the first time.

"I think we've taken up enough of your time," said the major, turning back to Mr. Lazaro. "Thank you for seeing us."

He rose and Mr. Lazaro rose with him, stubbing out his cigarette. His eyes flickered to me. "It was my pleasure to see you."

I cast my eyes down like a proper little secretary and prepared to follow the major from the room.

Mr. Lazaro's voice stopped me, however. "Miss Donaldson."

I turned.

"I'd love to see you again," he said. "You have rather exquisite proportions, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Lazaro…" Major Ramsey began.

Mr. Lazaro held up a hand. "Yes, yes, I know. One must observe the proprieties… especially with secretaries." His eyes met mine. "But you are not my secretary, Miss Donaldson."

Under other circumstances, I would have told him what I really thought of his tactless overtures. Instead, however, I offered a semi-encouraging smile. We wanted to keep him on our side, after all.

"I'm having a party on Saturday night at nine o'clock. Can't let the blighters win, after all. I'd love it if you could come."

"Come along, Miss Donaldson," the major said, taking my arm. He was doing a good job feigning just the right amount of jealousy. It would work with Lazaro, I realized. He enjoyed annoying people, and so the major had not bothered to hide his annoyance. Major Ramsey really was frightfully good at this sort of thing.

Mr. Lazaro chuckled like a practiced lothario and called out, "Pencil me in to your calendar."

I glanced over my shoulder at him, then made a show of flipping open my notebook and writing it down. Lazaro grinned at me.

Major Ramsey's grip on my arm tightened and he led me from the room.

Major Ramsey said nothing as we left the flat and took the lift back down to the gleaming lobby. I could, however, feel the irritation wafting off him like steam from a teacup. Whether it was directed at Mr. Lazaro or at me, I wasn't sure, though I suspected it might be a bit of both.

As we stepped outside, I got my share of it.

"I distinctly told you before we came into this building…" he began.

"I know," I told him. "But I couldn't resist the opportunity. It was clear he wasn't going to care about my absence, so I thought I should make a go of it."

"I don't know how many times I need to tell you to follow orders."

"Oh, don't be cross with me," I said, feeling conciliatory rather than provoking for once.

He looked over at me, and I could see the sternness of his face softening ever so slightly. He was used to my fighting him; I had caught him off guard with my change of tactics. I would have to remember this strategy in the future.

"Did you find something?" he asked.

I smiled. "There was an open crate in his office with several art pieces inside. But there were too many things for me to look at any of them thoroughly. I was concerned about being caught."

"Oh, were you? I was under the impression you thought you can do whatever you please with no consequence."

I frowned at him.

We reached the car, and he pulled the door open for me.

"Don't you think we could ask him to look at the objects?" I asked, when he had gone around to his side and slid in beside me.

"I had considered it," Major Ramsey said. "But I'm not entirely sure we can trust him."

"He's a lecher, of course," I said. "But you don't suppose he's spying for the Germans? After all, if he had whatever object they wanted, he could just hand it over to them."

"Perhaps. But I still don't know that we should lay our cards on the table. His mother was Italian. There's been some talk that he may have sympathies that lean that way. One thing about Lazaro, he's smarter than he looks."

"I don't doubt it."

"He does an excellent job of appearing useless, but he has a reputation within diplomatic circles of a man who gets things done. And in the business world, he's somewhat cutthroat. His nightclub is perhaps the most successful in the city after the De Lora clubs."

I knew he meant Leon De Lora, the American gangster. He'd opened a series of London nightclubs over the past decade, all of them a roaring success.

My family had never had much to do with members of the organized crime rackets, but Uncle Mick had played cards with some of De Lora's men over the years and said they were good enough fellows for rough American hoodlums. I felt an odd bit of pride by association that Lazaro's nightclub was not quite as popular.

Another thought occurred to me. "Do you think Lazaro is using his position as both a diplomat and nightclub owner to engage in espionage?" I asked. "The nightclub would be an excellent place to exchange information."

"I wouldn't put it past him, but only if the profit was substantial," the major said. "Nico Lazaro is not the sort of man to do anything that requires much effort."

"You disapprove of people who have too much fun, I think," I said. "You must remember that not everyone is as seriously minded as you."

"I don't expect people to think as I do," he said. "But clearly you can see that he's… not a man of high moral character."

I bit back a laugh and pretended to consider. "Yes. Although, one would think a man who claims to be so successful with women would not need quite so many naked images of them scattered about his house."

Major Ramsey shot a disapproving look at me, but I was certain there was a gleam of amusement in his eyes. He was not quite as prim and proper as he pretended to be.

"Well, perhaps his scandalous reputation will prove useful, too. He's taken a liking to me, it seems," I said. "That party would be an excellent opportunity to look around a bit more."

Major Ramsey turned to me, his features set. "That may well be, but you're not going to attend it. You will not interact with him on your own."

"Is that an order, Major Ramsey?"

"If it needs to be," he answered tersely.

He was not in the mood to be teased, it seemed. Well, we would argue about my attendance at the party if the need arose.

"Did you learn anything of value from him while I was out of the room?" I asked.

"He didn't confide in me his reason for being in Lisbon, but I have the feeling it was not related to the robbery. However, I'm certain he's hiding something."

"I had the same impression," I said. "Do you suppose he knows what they're looking for?"

"It wouldn't surprise me. He overdid his bafflement as to why they would choose to rob him a bit. As if a flat of priceless objects and a room full of people wearing valuable jewelry wasn't enough to commit a robbery."

"So, what now?" I asked.

He appeared to consider. "I'm going to speak with Colonel Radburn in the morning. I'll contact you when I've determined next steps."

It was unlike him to be working so closely with his superiors. He had always seemed to have been kept on a very loose lead in our other operations. Were they watching over him more carefully now that he had been injured? I knew he would chafe if wrapped too tightly in cotton wool. I had already seen how much he resented his sister's fussing.

"Is there anything I can do in the meantime?" I asked.

"You can consider if there are any of your connections who might have heard something about this. Perhaps your uncle can find out something."

I nodded. The thought had already occurred to me, and I had an idea of where I might go for information.