Spies in St. Petersburg. Katherine Woodfine
Will you show it to me?’
Rupert was struck by a sudden prickle of anxiety. He’d forgotten for a moment that the Casselli dragon painting was supposed to be a secret. His father kept it hidden away in his safe, rather than hanging on the wall with the rest – though he’d told Rupert and his older brother Oliver that it was the most valuable and important work in his entire collection. ‘If anything should ever happen to me, you must make sure you take the utmost care of it,’ he’d said in a very serious voice.
‘I’ve never seen a Casselli painting before. They’re supposed to be perfectly magnificent! It would be such a thrill to see it for myself,’ the girl was saying.
Rupert frowned, battling with himself. He knew he’d said too much already, and he was about to try and explain that he couldn’t show her – but the girl was still talking: ‘And then – do you have a motor car? I’ve got rather a wicked idea! Why don’t we slip away together, and drive into town to go to the Café Royal? We’d be able to have a bit of real fun that way – and I bet we could be back before anyone noticed we’d gone!’
All thoughts of the painting fled at once from Rupert’s mind. ‘I say . . . could we really? That would be a lark!’ As a matter of fact, he didn’t have a motor car himself, but his brother did, and Rupert was pretty sure he could drive it just as well as Oliver. He could already imagine how marvellous it would be to roll into town in the fine new motor, and then pull up at the door of the glamorous Café Royal with a beautiful young lady at his side . . . He felt ready to charge out of the door at once, but the girl laid a restraining hand on his arm.
‘Don’t forget the painting,’ she said. ‘Do just let me have a quick peep before we go.’
‘All right,’ said Rupert, unable to resist. ‘But it’s supposed to be a secret – so you won’t tell anyone about it, will you?’
The girl looked even more excited by the prospect of a secret painting. ‘Of course I won’t tell a soul,’ she said breathlessly. ‘How perfectly thrilling!’
Feeling rather excited himself now, Rupert hurried over to the large mahogany cabinet in the corner which housed his father’s big metal safe. Luckily he knew the combination, and a moment later he had removed the leather folder stamped with the shape of the twisting golden dragon, which he knew contained the painting. He laid it on the desk and lifted the cover with awkward fingers. Beside him, the girl gave a gasp of admiration.
The painting was small – not much bigger than a notebook – and obviously very old. She leaned forward, her hand tightening on his sleeve, as she gazed at the sinuous shape of the dragon, painted in a rich crimson. Its snaking form was shown against a background of a dark stormy sky, and piled at its feet were a heap of bones and what looked like a human skull.
Rupert had only seen the painting once before, and truth be told, he’d not been very keen on it – it was so small and dark, and so jolly sinister-looking – but it was clear the girl felt differently. For a moment or two, she said nothing and only stared.
‘Do you like it?’ asked Rupert at last.
‘Oh, Mr Grenville,’ she sighed. ‘It’s absolutely marvellous!’
‘Do call me Rupert,’ said Rupert at once, thinking how debonair that sounded.
‘Rupert, then. Gosh – I’ve never seen anything like it! Thanks awfully for showing it to me.’
Rupert hurried the painting back into its folder, and away into the safe as quickly as he could. He most certainly did not want his father to know that he’d been showing his secret painting to one of their guests – though it had all been worth it to see the glow of admiration in her eyes. ‘Shall we go, then?’ he said, offering her his arm.
But just then the door of the study was flung noisily open. A young man came bowling into the room, followed by another young man and two laughing young ladies, who all flung themselves down into the big leather armchairs.
‘Rupert, old chap! There you are. What are you doing back here? We’ve found your hiding place, old thing. Your mama’s in a frightful tizz looking for you. She’s dreadfully keen for you to dance with Lady Cynthia, you know. I say – who wants a brandy? You’ll take one, won’t you, Hugo? And one for you of course, old fellow.’
Rupert found a glass was being thrust into his hand. He turned to smile apologetically at the girl – but then stopped in surprise. ‘I say – wherever did she go?’
‘Where did who go, old fellow? Cheers, everyone – bottoms up!’
But Rupert didn’t join in the toast. He was still staring around him. To his astonishment, and intense disappointment, the beautiful young lady with red roses in her hair had vanished. He strode to the door, but outside the hallway was empty. It was as if she had never even been there. ‘And dash it all,’ he muttered. ‘I still don’t know her name!’
Secret Service Bureau HQ, London
Lilian Rose had quite a lot of unusual talents. She could perform a perfect double pirouette, sing various amusing comic songs whilst accompanying herself on the piano, and recite screeds of Shakespeare from memory. She was also not a bad burglar, when occasion required it – which in her line of work, it quite often did.
It had taken her just seconds to slip unnoticed out of Sir Edwin Grenville’s study and into the darkened room opposite. Inside, she stood behind the door, peering through a crack as Rupert came out into the hall – looking all around him to see where she had got to – and then hurried off towards the ballroom.
She didn’t have to wait very long before the others followed him. As soon as they had all gone, Lil opened the door, and slipped soundlessly across the hall. A moment later, she was back in the now-empty study. The mahogany cabinet was open, and she was expertly twirling the dial of the safe with her white-gloved fingertips. Really, poor old Rupert had made it far too easy for her – he hadn’t even bothered to hide the combination.
Inside the safe, she found the leather folder stamped with the familiar symbol of the twisting gold dragon. She’d recognised it at once: after all, she’d seen a Casselli painting kept inside one just like it before, in circumstances she was not likely to forget. She grasped it and pulled it out – and then at last, the precious painting was in her hands.
Her skin prickled with the excitement and strangeness of it. She’d been hunting for The Red Dragon for a long time; it was hard to believe that the painting, which was supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago when a British ship was set upon by pirates, was really here, in this house in West London – and she had it at last! But she knew there was no time to hang about feeling pleased with herself. Quickly, she closed the safe and then the cabinet door: no sense in making it completely obvious that a burglary had taken place.
Silent in her satin slippers, she went back out into the long hallway. But before she could take another step, she realised that someone was approaching. Not Rupert but an older man with white hair and a bristling moustache, talking in a low voice to his companion, a middle-aged man in evening dress. Lil knew that the man with the white hair was Sir Edwin himself.
There was no time for her to get away, but Lil had done this kind of thing far too many times to panic. By the time Sir Edwin and his friend reached the study door, they saw nothing but a young lady examining her reflection in a looking glass, her fluffy ostrich-feather fan cast down on a polished table at her side.
She turned, as if startled, and bowed her head politely – her cheeks pink, as though she was embarrassed to have been caught preening before the mirror. Sir Edwin gave her an indulgent smile and said ‘Good evening’, before disappearing with his friend into the study.
The second the