A Dead Liberty by Catherine Aird

Author:Catherine Aird
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media

TEN

Vitrellae—Glass capsules

“Dr. Livingstone, I presume,” said Superintendent Leeyes grandly. “That’s who you think you are, I suppose, Sloan?”

“No, sir.”

“And then”—the superintendent glared across his desk—“I expect we’d have to send Crosby out into the jungle afterwards to look for you.”

“Not at all, sir.”

“Like that other fellow—I forget his name.”

“H. M. Stanley, sir.”

“On second thoughts,” said Leeyes, “perhaps not Crosby. He’d be bound to tread on a crocodile or something.”

“It wasn’t that sort of search that I had in mind,” said Sloan.

“He might even start a tribal war. If he upsets them like he upsets me …”

“Just a simple enquiry to Dlasa, sir, that’s all.”

“If it’s all so simple,” snapped Leeyes, “what’s the problem?”

“They don’t have a police force to ask.”

“What?” said Leeyes. “No men in blue?”

“None, sir.” He hesitated. “They don’t have any law, you see.”

Leeyes grunted. “No point in having the one without the other, I suppose.”

“Not really, sir.” Now he came to think of it, Sloan could only agree.

The superintendent looked up keenly. “Does that mean, Sloan, that they don’t have any lawyers in Dlasa either?”

“It does. The Dean of Cremond College explained to me that that was why Prince Aturu had read Economics even though he’d got a lawyer’s mind …”

Superintendent Leeyes’s expression was quite inscrutable.

“And a politician’s ambition,” added Sloan.

“A nasty combination.” The superintendent shook his head.

Sloan nodded. It was easily as effective a recipe for difficulty as economics married to activism.

“Can’t you talk to their high commissioner in London?” asked Leeyes briskly.

“They haven’t got one, sir,” answered Sloan. “I had wondered about the Foreign and Commonwealth Office …”

“White man’s burden and white man’s grave,” pronounced Leeyes sourly.

“Pardon, sir?”

“The Foreign and Commonwealth Office,” said Leeyes. “Between the two they cover the lot.”

“Er—quite so, sir.” Sloan took a deep breath. “I propose to get in touch with them.”

“They’ll be about as much good as the old Home and Colonial grocery store,” forecast Leeyes, “but there’s no harm in trying, I suppose.” He hitched his shoulders. “This Kingdom of Dlasa, Sloan, is it a friendly nation or was it a former British Protectorate?”

“Neither, sir,” said Sloan carefully. He’d done his homework as well as he could. “It appears to be what is known as non-aligned.”

“I see,” said Leeyes. “Rouge et noir.”

“No, sir, not exactly. Not Red … just non-aligned.”

“What I mean,” said Leeyes with dignity, “was that the King was playing both sides of the roulette table. Rouge et noir. Not noir and therefore rouge.”

“Sorry, sir. I understand.” The only sort of roulette that Sloan knew anything about was the Russian variety much favoured by those who could not even make up their own minds about suicide.

“Hedging their bets,” sniffed Leeyes, abandoning Franglais. “Can’t say I blame them.”

“No, sir.”

The superintendent lifted his head. “I take it, Sloan, that Dlasa is what it is fashionable these days to call underdeveloped?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Sloan. There were international standards that measured this. With or without laws and a police force Dlasa was underdeveloped.

“And are you trying to tell me, Sloan, that

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