I almost said, ‘Oh, you mean people like yourself?’ But I held my tongue. My natural tendency to bad manners was not well placed here if I wanted to keep my job.
‘These people,’ I asked, ‘are they here in London, or could they be anywhere in the country?’
‘Theoretically, they could be anywhere. But it is most likely that they would be here. This is the centre of the British Empire, the power-hub for a fifth of the earth’s surface - the best place to transact any kind of business, whether legitimate or otherwise.’
‘But we had better make sure, hadn’t we?’ I said with a sweet smile. ‘Somebody told me once it’s better to always verify.’
Mr Ambrose gave me another one of his cold stares. ‘That must have been a very wise person.’ Turning, he nodded to Karim. ‘Go, take a few of the men and check Euston station. I want a description of all the passengers who left in the last few days and don’t care how you get it. If there’s anyone there who fits Simmons’ description - find him, grab him, hold him. I do not care if it should happen to be the Prime Minister.’
‘Is Simmons easy to recognize?’ I asked as Karim marched out of the room with seven henchmen at his heels.
Mr Ambrose nodded grimly. ‘Oh yes. That is the one piece of good luck in this mess. He’s tall and gangly, with a long nose, long blonde hair and a thin moustache, and a scar over his right eyebrow. If anyone saw him, they’ll remember him.’
‘He might have altered his appearance,’ I pointed out doubtfully.
Beside me, Warren nodded. ‘That’s very likely, Sir.’
‘No, it isn’t. He’s always been a vain fellow. Clever, but with a too good an opinion of himself and his looks. No doubt he thinks we have no hope of catching up to him.’
‘And do we, Sir?’ Warren wanted to know. ‘Assuming he has not left the city - and I for my part think it likely that he is still here - how are we going to find one man hidden in a labyrinth of a city among three million people?’
‘The task is not as impossible as you might think, Warren.’ Mr Ambrose tapped the map on the table. ‘Most of those three million people are working-class folk. I doubt very much Simmons would hide out in one of their miserable little sheds. Oh no. He did this for money, and he would want to live in style.’
In quick succession he pointed out various buildings on the map, marking them with pushpins.
‘These are the best hotels in town. I do not approve of such frivolous behaviour as betting, but if I did, I would bet my top hat that he is staying in one of them under some alias.’
‘Just… staying in a hotel?’ I asked, incredulously. ‘Isn’t he afraid of the police?’
‘He knows my affairs,’ was the curt reply. ‘He knows I cannot involve the police in this. The results would be…’
His voice trailed off into nothingness. We all waited with bated breath, but not a word came. So the results would be too terrible to speak aloud, would they? What in heaven’s name could be in this infernal file?
‘The police are not an option,’ Mr Ambrose eventually continued, ‘so Simmons feels confident and secure.’ For a moment, lightning flashed in his dark eyes. ‘Very soon he will learn of his mistake.’
‘This is all very well, but these are over a hundred hotels,’ I pointed out. ‘How are we to find out in which one he is staying?’
‘I can take care of half,’ said Mr Ambrose. Without further explanation, he strode to the pneumatic tube at the wall, wrote a message in his meticulous handwriting, and pulled the lever. Shortly after, the answer came. He checked it and returned to the desk.
‘You can cross these-’ pointing to about half of the hotels on the map, ‘-off the list.’
‘How on earth can you check the guest lists of more than fifty hotels with just one message?’ I demanded.
He fixed me with his dark glare.
‘Because I own them.’
‘You own fifty per cent of all the hotels in London?’
‘No. I own seventy per cent of all the hotels in London. But the remaining twenty per cent are too expensive even for an escaped criminal with a bag full of ready cash to afford.’
Of course. I should have guessed.
‘Well,’ I asked sweetly, gesturing to the remaining hotels on the map, ‘do you plan on buying the rest of them to make things easier for us?’
‘That would not be making things easier, Mr Linton. Unfortunately, such things take time - time which we do not have.’
‘You could always bribe someone in the hotels,’ I suggested, raising an eyebrow. ‘You have enough cash, don't you? And you don’t seem to be above bending the law a little.’
The room went deadly quiet.
Before I knew it, Mr Ambrose was at my side, and his hard hand was gripping my arm. Slowly, he leaned down towards my ear until I could feel his breath there, tickling me in a delicious threat.
‘I am perfectly well aware that you are no real lady, Mr Linton. There is no need to prove the fact further by impugning my honour in front of my associates. I will let you be a part of this only if you can behave yourself properly. For a start, when you speak to me, you will show me proper respect. You are to address me as 'Mister Ambrose' or 'Sir'. Is that clear?’
I smiled at him as sweetly as I could manage.
‘Sir! Yes, Sir, Mister Ambrose, Sir!’
His eyes narrowed infinitesimally, but he didn’t say anything. He just stepped back and looked down at the map again.
‘So how do we deal with the remaining hotels and determine whether or not he is there?’
‘We could simply ask,’ suggested one of Warren’s men. But Warren shook his head.
‘No, Jim. We could if we knew the alias Simmons is using; that wouldn’t appear too suspicious. But we can’t if we only know his description.’
I nodded. ‘That’s right. I mean… How do you think a receptionist is going to react if you come marching into his hotel demanding to know if a man with long blonde hair is staying there, without offering any explanation as to why you’re looking for him. He would throw you out.’
‘He would not throw me out,’ stated Mr Ambrose darkly.
‘Err… probably, Sir. But he wouldn’t answer the question either, would he?’
