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

high-pitched voice, while his small fists kept up a continual tattoo on Brien’s body. The latter grew tired of the business. He pushed the woman into a tiny little room, furnished most flamboyantly and probably known to the family as the parlour. There he forced her into a chair, whereupon she ceased screaming, and dissolved into tears. He took out a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead; an expression of embarrassment was on his face. The small boy continued bravely to fight on his mother’s behalf, but was presently lifted up, whereupon he kicked and struggled fiercely until he also was planted in a chair.
    ‘You leave my mummy alone,’ he cried. ‘She ain’t done nothing to you.’
    ‘I wouldn’t hurt your mummy for the world,’ Brien assured him solemnly.
    ‘What was you holding her for?’
    ‘I suppose through a natural objection to being buffeted about. She was a bit rough, you know.’
    ‘So was you; I saw you.’
    ‘That is a prevarication, my son.’
    The eyes of the dark-skinned child opened wide.
    ‘What did you say?’ he asked in an awed voice.
    ‘Never mind.’
    Brien turned his attention to Mrs Wright, who was sobbing and moaning in a lamentable fashion. A few seconds’ survey assured him that she was merely acting. There was no sign of tears, and once he caught her eyes glaring malevolently at him from between her fingers. She was simply trying to gain time, while her brain was probably busy thinking out a story to tell him. She obviously guessed that he and his companions were there on a more pressing and serious matter than a question concerning passports. A dangerous woman, he decided, and began to feel a little sorry for the man who had married her. A loud knocking could be heard going on upstairs. Brien concluded that Baltazzi and Padakis had locked themselves in, and were declining to open the door. An unwise proceeding on their part, for it proclaimed guilty consciences.
    ‘If you and those two men had only behaved with ordinary common sense,’ he observed to the moaning woman, ‘you would have found that everything would have been made easy for you. As it is, you are only heaping up trouble for yourselves.’
    She suddenly removed her hands from her face; glared viciously at him.
    ‘Show me your warrant!’ she snapped.
    He smiled.
    ‘I don’t need a warrant,’ he returned. ‘Whatever I or my men do is done on the responsibility of my department.’ He held a card in front of her. ‘Read it, and note the signature!’ he ordered.
    She obeyed, and into her eyes dawned a look of great fear.
    ‘His Majesty’s Intelligence Department,’ she muttered. ‘That is the same as the British Secret Service, is it not? And he—’
    ‘You apparently have heard of the department and – of him,’ commented Brien drily. ‘Perhaps you will decide now that your attitude is absurd.’
    Into the room hurried Foster.
    ‘Mr Maddison believes the two men are in a back room on the first floor, sir,’ he reported. ‘We heard the door lock as we went up the stairs, but they have not answered our demands to open. I have searched all the other rooms, sir, but they are empty.’
    ‘Give them a minute or so longer to decide,’ ordered Brien; ‘then break down the door. Wait a minute,’ he added, as the young man was about to leave the room again. ‘Go and bring Willingdon to me.’
    ‘What have we done,’ whispered the woman, ‘that you should come into our home like this?’
    ‘You are making it appear as though you and the men upstairs have committed a very serious crime. I came here to ask certain questions. If you had behaved in a sensible manner, you would have answered them and not made all this fuss.’
    ‘I wish my husband was here,’ she snapped with a momentary return of her old spirit. ‘He would teach you to treat me in proper manner.’
    ‘I don’t think you can complain of my treatment of you,’ he retorted, ‘while on the other hand I might complain quite a lot of