India Black and the Shadows of Anarchy (A Madam of Espionage Mystery) by Carol K. Carr

Superintendent. “Fabricated that for the benefit of those impudent fellows in the press. Let the Dark Legion think they accomplished something with their bombs.”
    “Very clever of you to provide some sham injuries, Superintendent,” I said. “Perhaps that will distract the Dark Legion from noticing that the guardhouse was empty, the street closed to pedestrians and the meeting with the Russians cancelled. The whole project practically screams ‘We knew you were coming’ to any anarchist blessed with even a farthing’s worth of intelligence. I fear that in your zeal to ensure that Moreland House was deserted and the area safe, you may have compromised my position. Martine and her cohorts may suspect that with my connivance, Martine has delivered tainted intelligence to the group and that the members narrowly avoided being entrapped by the police. You may have placed me in some considerable danger.”
    The only sounds in the room were the faint rustle of Dizzy’s collar as his head revolved in search of an escape route, and a moist, sucking sound from the superintendent as he nibbled his moustache. After a lengthy chew and a think, he spat out the ends of his soup strainer.
    “Can’t very well kill a dozen Londoners just to make your story square.”
    “I agree that would have been an extravagance. But perhaps you could have planted a few dead bodies around the area. Surely you had some spare corpses in the morgues you could have pressed into service. In fact, you needn’t have gone to even that much trouble. Why not just create a poor widowed policeman, a year from retirement, with seven children, whose bad luck it was to draw guard duty today?”
    The superintendent sniffed audibly. “Can’t let these anarchists appear too successful. Cause a panic, it would. Then where would we be?”
    Dizzy was growing restless, no doubt because he’d been excluded from the exchange between the superintendent and me. “It is a delicate balance we must strike,” he murmured, staring at us over steepled fingers. “Any intelligence the anarchists glean through Miss Black must be considered by them to be both accurate and credible. Concurrently, Superintendent Stoke and I must consider the public welfare and avoid endangering innocent people.”
    “And how do we accomplish those two mutually exclusive goals?” I asked.
    “If Mr. French were here,” mused Superintendent Stoke, “he’d undoubtedly formulate a plan that would achieve our objectives.”
    I gave that notion the attention it deserved, which is to say, none at all.
    “As he’s not here, you shall have to rely upon me,” I said, with a serene smile at the superintendent.
    “May we count on you, Miss Black?” The old duffer must be taking fire from the press and his superiors at the Home Office; his tone was a trifle plaintive.
    “Of course.” I stood briskly and put on my gloves. “No more messing about with fake documents or fake Foreign Office chaps. It is time for me to join the Dark Legion.”
    Upon my return to Lotus House I wasted no time in summoning Martine to my study. She entered with her usual gravity and pose, but there was a flush on her olive cheeks, and her brown eyes blazed. I didn’t think it was gin that had given her such a celebratory air.
    “You asked to see me?”
    I picked up the newspaper I had purchased that afternoon. “Have you heard the news? About the destruction of Moreland House?”
    “I have. Such a tragedy,” she said, but her words were belied by the twitch of her lips.
    “The tragedy,” I said, “is that the whole affair was a shambles. Not a single politician or general killed.”
    Martine stiffened.
    “I assume that the information about the meeting between the government and the Russians came from Mr. Brown?”
    She nodded briefly.
    “And that you passed along this news to your friends?”
    She bit her lip. “Yes.”
    “And that this”—I waved the paper at her—“is their handiwork?”
    “It