The Dark Palace--Murder and mystery in London, 1914 by R.N. Morris Page B

constant war-footing.
    He was shown into a high-ceilinged room that for all its daunting scale still managed to seem gloomy. The walls were covered in dark oak panelling worked into elaborate mouldings. The heavy brown field was relieved in places by monumental oil paintings of sea battles in the age of sail. The colours were muted and sombre. The action, static and timeless. Sea foam frozen in a wall of spray. Sharp tongues of rigid fire, sculptures of smoke cast around silent cannons. Immense charts and maps mounted on boards and stuck with coloured pins were propped up around the room, in a surprisingly haphazard way, giving an air of improvisation and confusion. The blinds were drawn over the windows, presumably to keep out prying eyes.
    The room was shared by a number of officials, seated in silence at massive desks. From the solemnity of their expressions, they gave the impression of conducting the most momentous and onerous of tasks. There could be no doubt, they were engaged in nothing less than steering the Empire. One or two looked up as Quinn came in. All those who did, frowned.
    Quinn was led to a desk in the far corner of the room, partitioned by a Japanese lacquered screen. The civil servant who escorted him rapped on the screen to attract the attention of the thin, rather anxious-looking man with receding hair and greying temples behind the desk. The man looked up and regarded Quinn through half-moon spectacles, which he pushed up his nose as he lifted his head. His expression was mild, not without kindness.
    â€˜Inspector Quinn to see you, sir,’ said the civil servant. He bowed and retreated into the room.
    â€˜Ah, yes, please do sit down, Inspector.’ Lord Dunwich’s voice was deep and richly toned. His expression relaxed somewhat as he spoke, as if he too found the sound he emitted reassuring. He closed the folder he had been studying, revealing the official stamp of CLASSIFIED on the front of it. He smiled encouragingly at Quinn. There was something undeniably sympathetic about the man. He was not entirely successful at suppressing the weighty matters that troubled him, and yet he clearly took pains to put others at their ease. ‘I understand from Sir Edward that your department is now engaged in counter-espionage work? And that you require some further guidance as to how to conduct your operations?’
    â€˜This is all rather new to us, your lordship.’
    â€˜Please … you may simply call me “sir”. I don’t stand on my dignity here.’
    Quinn nodded in gratitude. ‘I do not have a large department, sir. I am naturally concerned about squandering what little resources I have at my disposal. Sir Edward seemed to suggest that it was simply a matter of looking out for suspicious foreigners. But I am at a loss to know what we are to do should we find any.’
    â€˜Have you not read Spies of the Kaiser , Inspector?’ Quinn could not be sure, but he thought that Lord Dunwich’s expression was wry, not to say mischievous.
    â€˜That is a work of fiction, is it not, sir?’
    â€˜Is it? Is it really, Inspector? Or is it a polemic?’ Lord Dunwich paused for a moment to give the question due consideration. ‘I think there was a time when that book, and others of its ilk, were dismissed as nonsense. But I have to tell you that they are taken increasingly seriously within the Admiralty.’
    â€˜And so …?’
    Lord Dunwich was fingering the classified folder on his desk, as if impatient to get back to it. He looked up at Quinn in some confusion.
    â€˜Would it be permissible to ask for more specific instructions, sir?’
    â€˜Instructions? It’s not a question of instructions, I’m afraid. One either has a talent for this kind of work, or one does not. One has to keep one’s eyes and ears open. If I were you, I would start small. Focus on one specific target.’
    â€˜But how do we identify this