"And how, sir, do you know?"
"I've investigated Rudwick's murder."
"You think Rudwick's death was linked to his American activities?"
"I know that to be the case."
"Before we go any further, I must be sure where we stand, Mr. Oliphant. When you say 'activities,' what exactly do you mean? Speak plain, sir. Define your terms."
"Very well." Oliphant looked pained. "I refer to the official body that persuaded you to smuggle repeating rifles to the American savages."
"And the name of this body?"
"The Royal Society's Commission on Free Trade," Oliphant said patiently. "They existofficiallyto study international trade-relations. Tariffs, investments, and so forth. Their ambition, I fear, over-reaches that authority."
"The Commission on Free Trade is a legitimate branch of Government."
"In the realm of diplomacy. Dr. Mallory, your actions might be construed as clandestinely arming the enemies of nations with whom Britain is not officially at war."
"And shall I conclude," Mallory began angrily, "that you take a very dim view of"
"Gun-running. Though it has its place in the world, make no mistake." Oliphant was watching for eavesdroppers again. "But it must never be undertaken by self-appointed zealots with an overweening notion of their role in foreign policy."
"You don't care for amateurs in the game, then?"
Oliphant met Mallory's eye, but said nothing.
"You want professionals, then, Mr. Oliphant? Men like yourself?"
Oliphant leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "A professional agency," he said precisely, "would not abandon its men to be eviscerated by foreign agents in the very heart of London, Dr. Mallory. And that, sir, I must inform you, is very near the position you find yourself in today. The Commission on Free Trade will help you no longer, however thoroughly you've done their work. They have not even informed you of the threat to your life. Am I wrong, sir?"
"Francis Rudwick died in a brawl in a ratting-den. And that was months ago."
"It was last Januaryfive months only. Rudwick had returned from Texas, where he had been secretly arming the Comanche tribe with rifles supplied by your Commission. On the night of Rudwick's murder, someone attempted to take the life of the former President of Texas. President Houston very narrowly escaped. His secretary, a British citizen, was brutally knifed to death. The murderer is still very much at large."
"You think a Texian killed Rudwick, then?"
"I think it almost certain. Rudwick's activities may be poorly known here in London,
but they're quite obvious to the unhappy Texians, who regularly extract British bullets from the corpses of their fellows."
"I dislike the way you paint the business," Mallory said, with a slow prickle of anger. "If we hadn't given them guns, they wouldn't have helped us. We might have dug for years, if it weren't for Cheyenne help "
"I doubt one could make that case to a Texas Ranger," Oliphant said. "For that matter, I doubt one could make it to the popular press "
"I've no intention of speaking to the press. I regret having spoken with you. Clearly you're no friend of the Commission."
"I already know far more about the Commission than I should have cared to discover. I came here to convey a warning, Dr. Mallory, not to request information. It is I who have spoken too openlyhave been forced to do so, since the Commission's blundering has very obviously endangered your life, sir."
There was force in the argument. "A point well taken," Mallory admitted. "You have warned me, sir, and I thank you for that." He thought for a moment. "But what of the Geographical Society, Mr. Oliphant? What is their place in this?"
"An alert and observant traveler may serve his nation's interests with no prejudice to Science," Oliphant said. "The Geographical has long been a vital source of intelligence. Map-making, naval routes"
Mallory pounced. "You don't call them 'amateurs', then, Mr. Oliphant? Though they too muck about with dark-lanterns, where they oughtn't?"
A silence stretched. "They're our amateurs," Oliphant said dryly.
"But what, precisely, is the difference?"
"The precise difference. Dr. Mallory, is that the Commission's amateurs are being murdered."
Mallory grunted. He leaned back in the chair. Perhaps there was real substance to Oliphant's dark theory. The sudden death of Rudwick, his rival, his most formidable enemy, had always seemed too convenient a stroke of fortune. "What does he look like, then, this Texian assassin of yours?"
"He is described as tall, dark-haired, and powerfully built. He wears a broad-brimmed hat and a long pale greatcoat."
"He wouldn't be a ratty little race-track swell with a protruding forehead"Mallory touched his temple"and a stiletto in his pocket?"
Oliphant's eyes widened. "Dear heaven," he said softly.
Suddenly Mallory found he was enjoying himself. Discomfiting the suave spy had touched some deep vein of satisfaction. "Had a nick at me, this feller," Mallory said, in his broadest Sussex drawl. "Derby Day, at the races. Uncommon nasty little rascal "