Hunting for Silence

15. New Arrivals

How do we stop him?

Mr Ambrose had answered the question only with silence. And really...I couldn't blame him. Morals aside, it was comparatively easy to shoot someone through the head, especially if you had Dalgliesh's kind of power. It was a lot harder to prevent someone from being shot through the head if you didn't know when the shot was coming and where it was coming from.

For days and days, while we quietly disposed of the corpse, cleaned the stage and tried to keep rumours to a minimum, we both brooded over this question.

Finally, inspiration hit! I had an idea. A brilliant idea!

Only...I was pretty sure it was one Mr Ambrose was going to detest.

Still, I had to try. We couldn't be sure that we had guessed Dalgliesh's plans correctly—but it all fit so horribly well. Mr Ambrose had told me the king and foreign minister were set to return from a trip to Versailles next month and, by all reports, the king liked to show his face in public whenever he came back, to be cheered along and reassure himself another revolution wasn't just around the corner. And, of course, his favourite minister would be there.

It might be possible that we had misread the situation. That Dalgliesh wasn't after Guizot at all. But with Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh, it was always wise to assume the worst. I had to tell Mr Ambrose what I'd come up with. If there was only the slightest chance to avert what we feared was coming, I had to let him know.

Marching up to his office door, I knocked.

'Enter,' came his commanding voice from inside.

I pushed open the door and stepped inside, finding Mr Ambrose pouring over thick piles of papers. They weren't bills or sheets of music for the next performance. Oh no. Even upside-down, I could spot words like 'surveillance' and 'report' before he hurriedly put the papers away.

'Yes, Mr Linton?'

'You're keeping an eye on Dalgliesh, aren't you?'

The look he gave me was so cold it was almost scary. Only almost, though, because of the words that next came out of his mouth. 'You stay away from Dalgliesh! He's dangerous.'

Warmth flooded my heart. He cared. He cared if I was in danger. The arrogant, chauvinistic asshole! He should know that I could very well take care of myself. How could any one person make you feel so mushy and pissed off at the same time?

Concentrate, Lilly!

Clearing my throat, I stepped closer to the desk.

'I may have an idea of how we can prevent Dalgliesh's plans, Sir.'

'Indeed, Mr Linton?'

'Yes indeed, Sir.'

I explained my idea to him. He listened calmly and patiently until I was finished, and then he nailed me to the wall with his cold gaze. By the looks of him, he was contemplating fixing me in place there permanently, if that could stop my crazy plans.

'No!'

'Just think about it!' I cajoled.

'You can't be serious, Mr Linton!'

'But it would work. I'm sure it would.'

'Dropping Dalgliesh into a volcano would also work. That does not mean it is a feasible plan.'

'But it would be a darn interesting one.' I tugged my ear. 'Are you sure there aren't any volcanos around here?'

'Mr Linton!'