The Black Crow Conspiracy by Christopher Edge

Author:Christopher Edge [Edge, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 9780857630551
Publisher: Nosy Crow
Published: 2014-01-09T00:00:00+00:00

FIRST LORD OF THE TREASURY

“My God,” Monty breathed, peering over her shoulder. “This is 10 Downing Street.”

XV

Penelope sat primly in her chair, nervously smoothing the folds of her skirt as Monty fidgeted on the seat next to her. In front of them, Inspector Drake was pacing the room, his shabby shoes wearing a path across the lush green carpet. With his threadbare suit, the detective seemed somehow out of place amid the dark oak elegance of the small outer office. At a desk by the window, a hawkish-looking man glanced up from his papers, a look of irritation flashing over his features at the inspector’s incessant perambulation.

The shrill ring of the telephone on the private secretary’s desk caused both Monty and Penny to jump in alarm. Lifting the handset, the secretary held the telephone close to his ear, listening intently as the voice of the person speaking squawked through the receiver.

“Yes, of course, sir,” he replied, nodding his head in earnest. “I’ll send them in straight away.”

Reverently placing the receiver back in its cradle, the man looked up to meet Drake’s expectant gaze.

“The Prime Minister will see you now,” he said, gesturing towards the green baize door. Inspector Drake turned back to Monty and Penelope, motioning for them to follow him with a chivvying gesture. Rising from her chair, Penny followed his instruction, a nervous sensation tying her stomach in knots. When Inspector Drake said his superiors had some urgent questions for them, she hadn’t imagined that he meant the Prime Minister. With his hand on the door handle, the detective turned back to face her.

“Remember what I said, Miss Tredwell. You had better be telling the truth.”

His warning given, Inspector Drake opened the door, ushering them both into the Prime Minister’s study. With a sense of awe, Penelope cast her eyes around the room, quickly taking in her surroundings with an authorial gaze.

Along the entirety of one wall, floor-to-ceiling bookcases stretched, their dark oak shelves filled with thick leather-bound volumes, whilst on the other walls gilt-framed portraits of past prime ministers were hung: Sir Robert Peel, Pitt the Younger, Benjamin Disraeli. But the room was dominated by a large mahogany desk, behind which the current occupant of this post was seated: Lord Salisbury. Prime Minister of His Majesty’s Government.

Glancing up from the papers scattered across his desk, Lord Salisbury’s eyes blinked myopically as he focused his gaze on his visitors. His bald head shone in the sunlight slanting in from the window, whilst behind his unkempt beard, a troubled expression haunted his features.

“And who are you?” he growled, staring pugnaciously at the detective.

“Inspector Drake, Your Lordship. I have been investigating the theft of the Crown Jewels. It was after I took Mr Montgomery Flinch into custody that I learned—”

“Yes, yes.” The Prime Minister gruffly waved the inspector into silence. He turned towards a second man, who was standing by the window, his slicked-back hair and drooping moustache revealing the profile of his nephew, the First Lord of the Treasury, Arthur Balfour.

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