Sowerbutt's Manor

As the government Daimler sped along Fleet Street, Churchill said: "Halifax informs me that he has received a formal letter of protest from Ambassador Maisky.”

Bracken snorted: “What, one of our backbenchers telling the truth about Uncle Joe, the kulak killer?”
“Two large men, stark naked and badly beaten, were found chained to a lamppost near Toynbee Hall. That’s our Deputy Prime Minister’s hobby-horse, I am led to believe. Their bodies were daubed with some sort of dye and rotten fruit and mud had been splattered all over them.”
Bracken smiled: “We cannot be held responsible for public acts of sado-masochism, Prime Minister. A matter for the Metropolitan Police and the courts. Were they close friends of Ambassador Maisky?”
Churchill puffed his cigar. “Members of the Soviet Embassy with diplomatic immunity, as Maisky points out. Accuses our security services of an unprovoked attack on his innocent staff. Claims it will threaten our cordial relations unless we find and punish the culprits immediately.”
“Probably Finnish sailors or Poles, someone with a grudge against the Reds,” Bracken said. “The Bolsheviks should worry about their cordial relations with the Jerries, not with us.”
“Quite so,” Churchill nodded. “Your brothel-keeper, Sorbay, might have knowledge of the event. He runs that part of our Empire’s capital, doesn’t he?
“I am informed the two Bolshevik thugs - clothed, I trust - have returned to Moscow or wherever it is that Aeroflot takes those fallen from favour.”
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