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Silence.
A long, long empty silence.
Finally, Mr Ambrose lifted one shoulder high enough for a shrug of a corpse in rigor mortis. ‘Perhaps he was a very bad assassin.’
‘Per’aps.’ The minister’s stare became even more intense. ‘Or perhaps he was a very smart assassin, sent ‘ere by an even smarter man.’
‘Or woman,’ I piped up from the floor.
They both ignored me.
‘Perhaps,’ Mr Ambrose allowed.
‘It seems,’ the minister mused, ‘that, miraculously, the political situation has shifted to my advantage. The attack of a revolutionary will silence my critics. All those who ‘ave been railing against an alliance with England will be eager to support my efforts now, or will at least be too cautious to speak up against it.’
‘Indeed.’
A smile tugged at one corner of Guizot’s thin mouth.
‘It occurs to me that maybe I should thank you, Monsieur Ambrose.’
‘Maybe you should.’
‘It also occurs to me that maybe I should ‘ave you arrested for meddling in state affairs.’
The room temperature sank several degrees. ‘Indeed?’
‘Unfortunately, I do not ‘ave sufficient evidence for the latter.’
Mr Ambrose’s right hand shifted slightly, coming to rest over the place where I knew, beneath his tailcoat, he kept his trusted revolver. ‘Or fortunately, depending on how you look at it.’
‘Quite so.’
The two men stared at each other. On the one hand, the French Foreign Minister, a man of power, experience, and with eyes as sharp as his mind—on the other, Mr Rikkard Ambrose, cold, implacable, as immovable as the Colossus of Rhodes. Silence expanded between the two as they measured each other. Long moments passed. And some more of them. And more.
I cleared my throat. ‘Are you quite finished?’
Mr Ambrose’s little finger twitched. I got the feeling he would have dearly liked to give me a cool look, but he couldn’t very well do that without being the first to end the staring contest.
‘I believe the lady has a point,’ Monsieur Guizot said.
Well, well, look at that. A sensible man. And I only had to travel a few hundred miles from home to find him.
‘I myself shall retire for the evening. I would appreciate, Monsieur Ambrose, if you were to call on me at the ministry tomorrow. I would like to discuss this matter further with you.’
Mr Ambrose gave a curt not. ‘So would I. There are things you need to know, Minister.’
‘I shall look forward to hearing them. Au revoir, Monsieur Ambrose. Au revoir, Mademoiselle Linton.’
The minister turned and walked towards the door. He was just stepping outside, when…
‘Monsieur Guizot?’
At the sound of Mr Ambrose’s voice, the minister froze. ‘Yes?’
‘Be cautious of Dalgliesh. He is not all that he seems.’
The minister gave a dry laugh. ‘Personne n’est, Monsieur!’ Then, with a final nod he strode out of the box.
