Hardcastle's Traitors (24 page)

‘That comes as no surprise,' murmured Hardcastle.

‘Did she take anything with her, Sarah?' asked Quinn.

‘She threw a few clothes into a suitcase, sir, and asked me to call a cab for her.'

‘Did you know where this cab was taking her?'

‘No, sir, she never said.'

Addressing Shaughnessy, who had now joined the group of police officers, Quinn said, ‘Get on to the cab company and find out where they took Mrs Wheeler.' He turned to the maid. ‘Tell this sergeant which cab company you called, young lady, and show him where he can find the telephone.'

Minutes later, Shaughnessy returned. ‘The cab driver took Mrs Wheeler to West Worthing railway station, sir. But he didn't know where she was going from there.'

‘Get down to the station, Shaughnessy, and see if you can find out where Mrs Wheeler went,' said Quinn. ‘Mr Hardcastle will give you a description. In the meantime,' he added, addressing O'Rourke, ‘I want this house thoroughly searched.'

The maid looked extremely worried at this turn of events. ‘What shall I tell the mistress when she returns, sir?'

‘I think it's safe to assume that she won't be returning, lass,' said Hardcastle.

‘Where d'you live, Sarah?' asked Quinn.

‘Why, here, sir. I live in.'

‘Yes, but where are your folks?'

‘Oh, I see. At Lancing, sir.'

‘The best thing you can do is to take your belongings and go home. And use the telephone to call a cab for yourself.' Quinn gave the girl half a crown. ‘That should cover the fare,' he said.

‘Oh, thank you ever so much, sir,' said Sarah, and bobbed a curtsy.

Hardcastle was amazed by this brief insight into Quinn's character. In his previous dealings with the Special Branch chief, he had always seen him as an austere and rather unforgiving individual.

‘But what about the house, sir?' asked Sarah.

‘There's no need for you to worry about that, lass.'

‘Are you sure it'll be all right, sir?'

‘Don't fret yourself now, Sarah,' said Quinn. ‘We'll make sure it's secure once we've finished here. One more thing, before you depart. Did your mistress ever go anywhere on a regular basis?'

‘Yes, sir. She went to Shoreham harbour about once a month, sir. I always had to call a cab for her.'

‘D'you know why she went there?'

Sarah looked embarrassed at the question. ‘I think she might've had a gentleman friend there, sir.'

‘Did she say as much?' asked Quinn.

Sarah looked down at the floor, a guilty expression on her face, and twisted her hands together. ‘No, sir, I just assumed she must've been seeing an admirer.'

‘What about Mr Villiers? Was he one of Mrs Wheeler's admirers?'

‘I think so, sir. Mr Villiers was often here. He used to come and stay the weekend, but only when the major was away.'

‘And was the major here last weekend, Sarah?' asked Hardcastle.

‘No, sir. In fact I've never seen him. The mistress said he was in the army and couldn't get leave.'

‘Off you go, then, Sarah,' said Quinn, ‘and don't tell anyone what we're doing here, even your family. It's secret government work.'

‘Of course not, sir,' said Sarah, seemingly much impressed by this latest instruction.

‘I'll leave you to oversee the search, Mr O'Rourke,' said Quinn, once Sarah had disappeared to start packing. ‘Mr Hardcastle and I will be in the drawing room.'

‘Perhaps my Sergeant Marriott could assist your officers, sir,' said Hardcastle. ‘I still have two murders to solve and he might come across something of use to me in my investigation.'

‘Yes, of course. In my line of work, Mr Hardcastle, one tends to overlook mundane things like murders.' Quinn walked through to the drawing room and seated himself in a leather armchair.

It was eleven o'clock that evening by the time that Chief Inspector O'Rourke's team of searchers had finished.

‘We found this, sir.' O'Rourke entered the drawing room holding a talcum powder tin, a pen and half a dozen sheets of paper. ‘The talcum powder tin was in the bathroom, and the sheets of paper were secreted behind several pictures on the upstairs landing.'

‘Sounds a bit amateurish,' commented Quinn, ‘if it's what I think it is.'

‘It is, sir, yes,' said O'Rourke.

‘It's a talcum powder tin converted to take invisible ink, Mr Hardcastle,' said Quinn, seeing the DDI's bemused expression. ‘And, if we're lucky, there'll be evidence of spying when we have the sheets of paper developed.'

‘I thought that was storybook stuff, sir,' said Hardcastle.

‘The simplest methods are often the best,' commented Quinn. ‘Truth is often stranger than fiction,' he added.

‘I'll arrange to have these sheets of paper examined immediately, sir,' said O'Rourke. ‘There might be something useful on them.'

‘We can but hope,' said Quinn. ‘Let me know the result as soon as you have it.'

‘I'll put it in hand the moment we get back to the Yard, sir.'

Quinn stood up. ‘I think we've done all we can do here,' he said, and walked out to the hall where the remainder of his team were gathered. ‘Colter, you and Shaughnessy, when he returns from the railway station, will stay here in Worthing and follow up what the maid told us about Mrs Wheeler's monthly visits to Shoreham harbour. Tell Shaughnessy to telephone me the moment he has any information about where Mrs Wheeler went after the cab delivered her to the station. I shall return to London with everyone else.'

‘Anything of interest to us, Marriott?' asked Hardcastle.

‘No, sir, nothing to indicate any connection with the murders of Gosling and Stein.'

‘I shouldn't be too sure about that, Sergeant,' said Quinn.

Superintendent Quinn and his team arrived back at Scotland Yard at gone midnight.

The moment Quinn entered his office, the duty inspector appeared. ‘Shaughnessy telephoned about half an hour ago, sir. He said that a woman matching Mrs Wheeler's description booked a first-class ticket to Godalming in Surrey.'

‘Interesting,' said Quinn. ‘Contact the police there and ask them to check with local cab companies. They might be able to tell us where Mrs Wheeler went from there, although I hold out little hope.'

‘Very good, sir,' said the duty inspector.

‘I'll see you here at half past eight tomorrow morning, Mr Hardcastle. I'll speak to the assistant commissioner and ask for you to be temporarily attached to Special Branch. Good night to you.'

‘I
believe that you've previously interviewed Sinclair Villiers's butler, Mr Hardcastle,' said Quinn, when the DDI reported to him on Friday morning.

‘Yes, sir, I've had several dealings with Henwood. He's an unsavoury character, and he has a previous conviction for larceny. He stole from his then employer in June 1912 and was sent down for three months.'

‘How then did he obtain his present post as butler?' Quinn raised a querying eyebrow.

‘By means of a false character reference, sir,' said Hardcastle.

‘Excellent,' said Quinn, rubbing his hands together. ‘Then I suggest you arrest him for that offence. And in the unlikely event that Sinclair Villiers is there, you can arrest him too.'

‘What charge do you suggest for Villiers, sir?'

‘Oh, something under the Defence of the Realm Act, I should think,' said Quinn airily. ‘That covers most things, and it'll do until we find something substantive that we are able to charge him with.'

It was half past nine exactly that morning when Hardcastle and Marriott arrived at Sinclair Villiers's house in Flood Street, Chelsea.

They mounted the steps to the front door and Hardcastle hammered loudly on the knocker.

Wilfred Henwood, immaculate in tailcoat and striped trousers, answered the door.

‘Oh, it's you, Inspector!' His face paled dramatically when he recognized the visitors. He knew instinctively that the DDI's arrival did not bode well.

‘Yes, it's me, Henwood,' said Hardcastle, ‘and I want a word with you.' The DDI took a step closer to the butler so that their faces were only inches apart. ‘Where has your master gone?' he asked, as Henwood retreated into the hall.

‘He's gone to Mrs Wheeler's house for the weekend, sir,' stuttered Henwood, severely shaken by Hardcastle's aggressive approach.

‘He might've done, but you know damn' well that he's not there now because yesterday you tipped him off that I was after him.' Hardcastle was furious with the butler and it showed.

‘I do have a duty to my master, sir,' said the whining Henwood plaintively. He had backed up against the large table in the centre of the hall and could not retreat any further.

‘Yes, and you'll have a duty to the prison governor by the time I've finished with you, my lad. That's if you don't have an appointment with the hangman. I've got a couple of murders to solve and you're coming dangerously close to the top of my list of suspects.'

The last threat struck terror into Henwood and he began to shake violently. It was as well that the table was supporting him or he might have dropped to the floor in a state of collapse. ‘What's Mr Villiers supposed to have done, sir?' he asked, only managing to get the words out in a sort of strangulated whisper.

‘You'll find out soon enough,' said Hardcastle. ‘In the meantime, I have a search warrant for this property and Sergeant Marriott and I are going to execute it right now. And we'll start with Villiers's study.'

‘I don't think the master would like that, sir, not being here.' Henwood, still white-faced and shaking, was in the unenviable position of being petrified at the prospect of his master's reaction to a search of his house, and the certainty that Hardcastle would arrest him if he attempted to impede that search.

‘I don't suppose he would, but I'm not expecting him to like it. So lead on.'

The study was a comfortable room with several armchairs and an oak desk.

‘See what you can find that might tell us where Villiers has gone, Marriott.'

After ten minutes of searching both the study and the bedroom, Marriott found a leather-bound address book in one of the drawers in a bedside cabinet and handed it to the DDI.

‘I suppose it might be useful,' said Hardcastle, thumbing through the book, ‘although I somehow doubt it. Take it with you, Marriott.'

The search revealed nothing else of value to the investigation. But Hardcastle had concluded from his previous dealings with Villiers that the man was far too shrewd to leave damning evidence for the police to find.

Returning to the hall on the ground floor, Hardcastle confronted the butler. ‘Where's the footman, Henwood?'

‘Downstairs in the servants' hall, sir.'

‘Fetch him up here.'

‘But why d'you want Frederick, sir?'

‘Just fetch him, Henwood,' snapped Hardcastle irritably, ‘and don't argue the toss.'

Henwood opened the door that led to the downstairs part of the house and shouted for Frederick.

When the footman appeared, Hardcastle said jocularly, ‘I've decided to appoint you the butler of this household, Frederick.'

‘But I'm the butler here, Inspector.' Henwood did not like the way in which this little scenario was being played out. It was a lame and formal protest, mildly made, but one that Henwood felt he should make. Especially in the presence of the footman.

‘Not any more you're not, Henwood, because I'm arresting you for obstructing police in the execution of their duty. That'll do for a start, but other charges will undoubtedly follow.' Hardcastle turned back to the footman. ‘And if you want to stay out of trouble, Frederick my lad, you'll call the police the moment Villiers gets back here.' Not that he thought that there was much chance of Villiers returning in the foreseeable future. ‘And do it discreetly, because if Villiers finds out you've told us and he scarpers again, I'll nick you an' all. Got it?'

‘Yes, sir,' said Frederick, now as cowed as Henwood by this inspector's bullying attitude.

Leaving the running of Villiers's household in the care of the bemused footman, Hardcastle and Marriott escorted Henwood into a cab.

‘Scotland Yard, driver,' said Hardcastle, and turning to Henwood, said, ‘Tell 'em Cannon Row, Henwood, and half the time you'll end up in Cannon Street in the City of London.'

Henwood did not seem to find the comment informative, but Marriott sighed inwardly; he had heard the DDI's little homily all too often.

It was half past twelve when Hardcastle and Marriott arrived at the police station with their prisoner.

‘You can lock this man up, Skipper,' said Hardcastle. ‘We'll let him sweat for a bit, and I'll have a word with him after I've had a bite to eat.'

‘Very good, sir.' The station officer dipped his pen into the inkwell and began the laborious task of recording Henwood's details in the large occurrence book.

‘All this police work's given me a thirst, Marriott. I think I deserve a pint,' said Hardcastle, and led the way to the Red Lion.

It was gone two o'clock by the time that Hardcastle and Marriott returned from imbibing their lunchtime refreshment.

‘Bring Henwood up to the interview room, Skipper,' said Hardcastle. It was a different station officer from the one who had been on duty when Henwood had been brought in; the changeover of reliefs always took place at two o'clock.

Henwood carved a sorry figure as he shuffled into the interview room. Although still wearing his morning coat, he was holding up his striped trousers. The station officer had wisely deprived him of his collar and tie, bootlaces and braces. If a prisoner hanged himself while in police custody, it would be the station officer who faced an enquiry and possibly disciplinary action, if not a criminal charge. Exoneration only followed proof that all reasonable precautions had been taken.