Microbes of Power (Wallace of the Secret Service Series) by Alexander Wilson

are not out for trouble, believe me. They probably wish for nothing more than to be allowed to live in peace.’
    Wallace made no comment to this. He had different ideas, but he did not feel called upon to expound them.

CHAPTER FOUR
    Painters’ Jackets
    Major Brien and his assistants arrived at the beginning of Brook Street, Kennington, where they left the car in the charge of a police constable whom Foster found in the vicinity, and who, at sight of something shown to him by Maddison, became immediately very attentive and very much on the alert. Brien took a small attaché case from the Vauxhall, and walked along to Number Seventy-Two, the others following some yards behind. He rang the bell of the house, the door being opened to him by a dark-visaged youngster of about ten.
    ‘Is your father in?’ asked Brien.
    ‘No; he’s out,’ was the reply.
    ‘Then may I see Mrs Wright? She will do just as well.’ The boy turned away to call his mother, and the Deputy Chief of the Secret Service stepped into the little narrow hall. Almost at once Maddison and Foster entered after him; Willingdon remaining outside to keep watch. They had ascertained that there was no rear exit. A stout, dark woman with sallow skin and black piercing eyes emerged from the nether regions, and confronted them.
    ‘What is this?’ she demanded in a shrill voice. ‘Who are you?’
    ‘I am an official of the British government,’ Brien informed her. ‘I wish to interview two gentlemen who, I believe, are staying here. There is some question concerning their permits.’
    She had clutched at the banisters of the narrow staircase as though for support; her face had gone pale. For a moment she was obviously very much disconcerted, but she recovered herself quickly.
    ‘Is it usual,’ she demanded loudly, ‘for officers of the British government to enter houses in a manner so impolite?’
    ‘I do not think we have been impolite, madam,’ returned Brien courteously. ‘Your small son opened the door, and we entered.’
    ‘My son should not have allowed you to come in. If it was not that he has been ill, he would have been at school with his brother and sister, and I would then have answered the bell. It would not have been so easy for men who may perhaps be thieves to enter. I would—’
    ‘We are not interested in what you would have done,’ interrupted Brien, who was becoming a trifle impatient. It seemed to him that she was striving to gain time, and perhaps, since she continued to speak in a loud voice, warn the men he was so anxious to meet. ‘You can look at our credentials, if you wish, and assure yourself that we are in fact officers of the government. But I am here to interview Messieurs Baltazzi and Padakis.’
    Her manner changed abruptly.
    ‘I am sorry, but there must be a mistake,’ she told him. ‘There is no one of that name here. Only I and my children and my husband, who is out, live in this house.’ Brien signalled to Maddison, who promptly ran up the stairs followed closely by Foster. ‘What is this?’ she screamed. ‘Where are you going?’
    ‘They are going to search the house,’ she was informed. ‘We know Baltazzi and Padakis are here or, at least, are living here, and we mean to see them. I regret the necessity that forces us to take such a step, but you have compelled it by your attitude. No harm would have come to them or you, if you had behaved in a sensible manner.’
    A stream of maledictions in the Greek language poured from her lips, and suddenly she threw herself on Brien, striking at him repeatedly with her clenched hands. He had much ado in avoiding her blows and, at length, loath as he was to grapple with a woman, he grasped her wrists, though that hardly rendered her impotent, for she kicked out at him, catching him painfully two or three times on the shins. To add to his troubles, the little boy, thinking his mother was being maltreated, went to her rescue, and added to the din with his