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

your behaviour. However, that doesn’t matter. Where is your husband?’
    He thought he detected a look of relief on her face.
    Apparently she began to feel that her fears that Wright had been discovered at his nefarious work were unfounded. ‘He is out,’ she replied.
    ‘That is obvious. Where is he?’
    ‘How should I know? He goes out every morning for a little time after his duty is over. He is night watchman at the Colonial Office. Perhaps you know that?’
    ‘Yes; I know that. Is he there now?’
    She shot a look full of suspicion at him.
    ‘Why should he be there now?’ she snapped.
    ‘No reason at all, as he is a night watchman. I asked you if he is there now.’
    ‘No – that is, I do not suppose he is. There is nothing to take him there in the daytime.’
    ‘Not even a little microphone?’ he asked quietly.
    A cry broke from her; her face turned almost ghastly white. She knew then that it would be useless to pretend innocence any longer. He knew beyond a shadow of doubt that she was involved in the affair as much as anyone. She was not merely a passive spectator; a woman with perhaps a natural desire to protect compatriots of hers from the consequences of acts which she vaguely knew were unlawful. She was in the game of espionage up to the hilt, and likely, he reflected, to be more defiant than any of the others. He judged her to be a woman utterly unscrupulous, greedy, acquisitive, and dangerous. He heard her teeth grinding together.
    ‘Then you know?’ she asked after some time.
    ‘Yes. Your husband was caught red-handed. I have come here to discover for what reason he was sent to listen to conversations taking place in the Secretary of State’s private room.’
    She laughed harshly. The pallor had departed, leaving her expression challenging and hard.
    ‘You will be clever if you discover that,’ she declared. ‘My husband would have told you, if he had known, for he is a fool,and has no mind of his own, but no others will tell you. No,’ her voice rose to a shriek, ‘not if you threaten to kill us.’
    Brien shrugged his shoulders. He turned to see Willingdon standing in the doorway.
    ‘Keep an eye on this woman while I go upstairs,’ he directed. ‘Watch her well. You’d better keep the little boy in here also for the present.’
    ‘Very well, sir.’
    Willingdon stepped into the room, and planted himself in such a position that it would be impossible for either to make a sudden dash past him. Mrs Wright scowled at him. A glance at his stern young face assured her that he was not the kind of man with whom she could take liberties or from whom she could expect any consideration, if she tried any tricks. To Willingdon an order was an order; there were no elastic sides to it. He obeyed it as it stood.
    Brien ran up the stairs, and joined Maddison and Foster outside the door of the back room. The former told him that he had warned the men inside that, if they did not unlock the door within three minutes, it would be broken open. He had received no reply; a minute had passed, and he had uttered another warning. Brien looked around him. There was not much room on that small landing in which to operate, but the door did not look a very strong affair. A few blows should break it in.
    ‘One minute remains,’ called out Maddison. ‘I will not speak again. You had better unlock the door to save yourselves and us trouble. It will go easier with you.’
    There was again no reply. The seconds ticked away one by one as the small, grey-haired man conscientiously eyed his watch. Then, just as he was about to denote to Brien that the time was up, they heard a movement within.
    ‘The first man what break in,’ came in a threatening, foreign voice, ‘get himself shot. I am holding the gun ready.’
    Brien whistled softly.
    ‘The fools!’ he muttered. ‘They seem jolly desperate. They’re asking for it, behaving in this stupid manner. You are very foolish,’ he added aloud. ‘If you come out