India Black by Carol K. Carr

taper. “The prime minister prepared a memorandum to the secretary of war. The memorandum expressed the prime minister’s concern and displeasure at the change in numbers. It also contained a detailed description of the potential loss of funds to the government and certain British investors if Britain were to attack the Porte and the Turks default on their debts. The memorandum was dispatched, along with the original documents containing the troop estimates, to the War Office by messenger on Sunday afternoon. The messenger took a detour. The documents never reached the War Office.”
    “Bowser,” I said.
    “Sir Archibald Latham,” French confirmed.
    “And the documents are now at the Russian embassy, waiting to be opened by Count Yusopov,” I said.
    French nodded. “So our sources tell us. Count Yusopov is returning tomorrow from Paris. We must recover the case before it reaches him and the weakness of the British forces is revealed. Once the Russians have that information, they’ll be on the Bosporus before you know it.”
    “So you see, Miss Black,” Dizzy went on, “the very future of England depends upon the retrieval of that missing case. Find the case, and we may prevent Russia from marching into Constantinople.”
    “I still don’t see how I can be of help.”
    The three men exchanged a look, and I felt my heart sink. I might not have had any idea what I could do, but those gents clearly had a scheme in mind, and since I hadn’t had a hand in making it, it was a sure bet I wouldn’t like it.
    Dizzy bestowed another dazzling smile on me, the kind he no doubt gave his publisher when he persuaded him to publish that dreadful novel Tancred. “We want you to get the case back for us.”
    “Me?”
    “You,” said Endicott.
    Vincent leaned toward me and muttered, “I got a bad feelin’ ’bout this, India.”
    “How would you suggest I go about doing that?” I demanded. “Waltz up to the door of the Russian embassy and ask Yusopov to hand it over?”
    “I don’t think he’ll give up the case quite that easily,” said Endicott. “But we’ve no doubt you’ll be able to find an opportunity to collect it for us.” The same smirk he’d displayed earlier was now pasted across his face. “Count Yusopov is rather susceptible to feminine charms.”
    “Something you have in abundance, my dear,” said Dizzy, in a blatant attempt to worm his way into my good graces.
    “And where will I meet the man? Strolling through Hyde Park? Buying a beefsteak at the local butcher’s shop?”
    French looked impatient at this frivolity. “We’ve made arrangements, of course. Tomorrow evening you’ll attend a gala ball at the embassy. Yusopov returns from Paris just in time to attend the function. His first opportunity to review the documents will be immediately after the ball, but we propose to delay his doing so by creating a diversion and stealing away with the case.”
    “What kind of diversion?” I asked.
    “Not to put too fine a point on it,” said French, “you.”
    “And who’s going to steal the case?” I asked, with a sinking heart.
    “You.”
    From his pocket, French produced a small envelope. “Here is your invitation. If you’ve nothing suitable to wear, please avail yourself of the services of Monsieur Gaspard. He’s expecting you.”
    Reluctantly, I took the envelope from his outstretched hand. “Precisely what sort of diversion did you have in mind?” I was certain I wouldn’t like the answer.
    Dizzy had the grace to look abashed, something I thought him incapable of doing. “You see, that’s how we can be assured that you will gain access to Yusopov. He has certain, er, proclivities.”
    In my line of work, that could mean anything from primates to pineapples.
    Dizzy extended his hand and gave me another dazzling smile. “Mr. French will tell you more,” he said, and thus ended my audience with the prime minister.
     
     
     
    Mr. French did, as he escorted me back to Lotus