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

is.” She was on the defensive now.
    “What a waste of bloody intelligence,” I said.
    “The Dark Legion struck,” Martine said coldly. “But for some unfortunate circumstances, many would have died.”
    “But they didn’t, did they? A perfect opportunity, gone to waste. The Dark Legion, eh? Is that what you call yourselves?”
    “It is the name we have chosen.”
    I regarded her coolly. “Do you know why I hired you, Martine?”
    “Mr. Birkett-Jones—”
    “Birkett-Jones be damned,” I said. “I’ll accommodate a customer from time to time, but only if it’s in my interest to do so.
I
decided to take you on because I thought you might prove useful to me. You know my feelings about the buffoons who run this country. I brought you to Lotus House because I thought you might have some contacts among the radicals who could make good use of the morsels of information that fall into my lap from time to time.”
    She squared her shoulders. Her eyes were luminous with passion. “And we have done so. We have acted upon the knowledge I gained from Mr. Brown.”
    “Well, you’ve made a hash of the whole business.”
    “It wasn’t our fault the meeting was postponed. It’s almost as if—”
    “It was bloody bad luck,” I cut her off. I didn’t want Martine to devote much time to speculating about the reason Moreland House had been deserted when the bombs exploded.
    “Tell me something, Martine. Do you trust your comrades in the, what is it, the Dark League?”
    “The Dark Legion,” she corrected me. “Yes, I do. They are all committed to the cause. And despite our failure at Moreland House, we will continue our work until the rich and powerful are cut down.”
    “Your enthusiasm is splendid, my dear. But zeal is not enough. You must be effective. If the Dark Legion cannot deliver the goods, I don’t see why I should continue to hand you the scraps of intelligence I gather here at Lotus House. You would agree, wouldn’t you, that your employment here has been of benefit to your anarchist friends?”
    “Certainly,” said Martine.
    “Well, perhaps I’m being too harsh,” I said, tilting my head and giving her a forgiving smile.
    She let out a breath and smiled tentatively back at me.
    “After all, your brothers in arms clearly know how to construct a bomb. Three of them in fact.”
    “We have an excellent bomb maker,” she said as if she were recommending the family dressmaker.
    “I should like to meet him,” I said.
    Martine’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, no. I do not think that would be possible.”
    “Why not? It seems to me that if you are to rely upon me to supply information to your friends, and I am relying upon them to use it wisely, then we all have to trust each other. To put it bluntly, I wish to meet your companions so that I may evaluate whether the Dark Legion is suited to carry out the kinds of activities I have in mind, utilizing the information I provide.”
    She gnawed her lip and then one of her fingernails. “There might be difficulties,” she said eventually. “Our members are cautious.”
    “As am I. It’s difficult enough to keep the police out of my business. I certainly don’t need to get involved with amateur anarchists who might lead the Yard directly to my door.”
    We stared at one another for a time, with her mulling over my suggestion and me wishing she’d make up her mind so that I could attend my first meeting of the Dark Legion.
    She gave a Gallic shrug. “Your concern is valid. I will arrange a meeting.”
    “I shall look forward to it. You may return to your duties now.”
    She paused at the door and looked back at me. “I would not take this risk for just anyone, you understand. You have been a good friend to me.”
    Gad, I hoped she wasn’t becoming sentimental. That could make things deuced awkward when I handed her over to the police.
    * * *
     
    The anarchist brigade didn’t muck about. The next afternoon, I followed Martine through the