‘It’s correct.’
Maude smiled. ‘Which part of my statement are you agreeing with?’ he asked. ‘That there are so many of us? Or that we’re young and arrogant?’
‘Both parts,’ Blackstone said, flatly.
‘I would have expected no less of you,’ Maude replied. He paused, to take a sip of his pink gin. ‘Where was I? Ah yes! You thought no more about us until you learned — as you were bound to do — that we were here in St Denis. And then the wheels started to turn in your brain, which I’m sure, incidentally, is a very fine one — given its obvious limitations. “If they’re here now, what were they doing in the trenches last night?” you asked yourself. “They can’t have been on active duty, can they?” And that thought led to another — that if we were not on duty last night, the chances were that we had been on duty the morning Charlie Fortesque was murdered. Am I following the way your mind was working?’
‘Perfectly. And were you in the trenches on the morning Lieutenant Fortesque was murdered?’
‘We were. Though we were not all on the front line.’
‘No?’
‘No. Fortesque and Soames were on duty in the fire trench, but Hatfield and I were in the reserve trench.’ Maude took another sip of his drink. ‘But to continue — the next stage in your mental process was to ask yourself why we were in the command dugout last night, and you reached the inevitable conclusion that we knew you were due to arrive, and were there to get your measure.’
‘And is it a false conclusion?’
‘Not at all. That’s precisely why we were there.’
‘You’ll have to tell me more,’ Blackstone said.
‘I won’t have to tell you anything,’ Maude shot back at him, with a sudden flash of anger. ‘You should not think, Inspector Blackstone, that because I have a healthy respect for your obvious intelligence, that is enough to make me consider you anything like my equal.’
On the pitch, Soames took a spirited swipe at the ball, and sent it hurtling towards the boundary.
‘Well done, Roger!’ Maude called out. He turned his attention back to Blackstone. ‘I will tell you why we were there, Mr Blackstone — but only because I feel inclined to,’ he said, in a much softer tone than the one he had used earlier. ‘Roger Soames has an uncle who, purely for his own amusement, works in New Scotland Yard. Roger’s uncle might, I suppose, even be called a colleague of yours — although, of course, he’s much higher up the ladder than you are.’
‘Assistant Commissioner Soames,’ Blackstone said.
‘The very man,’ Maude agreed. ‘At any rate, we thought it might be interesting to ask Roger’s Uncle Arthur all about you.’
Blackstone said nothing.
‘Aren’t you curious to learn what he told us?’ Maude asked.
‘Why should I be interested in what a dilettante assistant commissioner has to say about me?’ Blackstone wondered.
‘Dilettante!’ Maude repeated, with obvious delight. ‘That’s a big word for a humble policeman like yourself.’
‘Yes, isn’t it?’ Blackstone agreed. ‘For a humble policeman, I probably know enough big words to keep you amused for hours. “Marmalade” — that’s another one. But I’m still not particularly interested in AC Soames’ opinion of me.’
‘I think I’ll tell you what he said, anyway,’ Maude replied, sounding a little disappointed. ‘He said you have a reputation for being something of an agitator — possibly even one with Bolshevik leanings.’
‘I have no interest in politics,’ Blackstone said.
‘Perhaps not, at least in specific terms,’ Maude agreed easily. ‘But your record shows that you do seem to take a great deal of pleasure in pulling down your betters from their pedestals.’
‘If a man’s guilty of a crime, I don’t care what his background is,’ Blackstone said stonily.
‘That’s probably true,’ Maude conceded. ‘But you do prefer it if he’s high-born, don’t you?’
‘No, I don’t,’ Blackstone said — though he realized he did not sound entirely convincing, even to himself.
‘At any rate, we reached the conclusion that, given your prejudices, there was a greater chance you’d suspect an officer than there was that you’d suspect an enlisted man. Were we right?’
‘You’re right, but you’re also wrong,’ Blackstone told him. ‘I came here with a completely open mind, but the more I learn, the more I’m inclined to think that Lieutenant Fortesque was killed by an officer.’
‘Well, there you are, then,’ Maude replied. ‘Suppose I gave you my word — as an officer and a gentleman — that Charlie Fortesque was not murdered by any officer in this regiment. Would you believe me?’
‘No — but that wouldn’t be based on any particular prejudice against you. The reason I’d refuse to accept your word is that unless you’d actually seen the murder yourself, you’d have no basis for giving it.’
‘Ah, now you’re being tactful,’ Maude said, with some amusement. ‘And that really doesn’t sit well with you, you know.’
‘All right,’ Blackstone said. ‘I wouldn’t believe you because I think there’s something that’s much more important to you than your word as a gentleman — something even more important than seeing that your friend gets the justice he deserves.’
‘And what might that be?’ Maude asked interestedly.
‘Preserving the status quo,’ Blackstone said. ‘If you thought, for example, that your mate Roger Soames had killed Lieutenant Fortesque, you wouldn’t tell me about it, because that would mean admitting to one of the lower orders that a gentleman is capable of such a horrendous crime. Far better, from your point of view, to let Fortesque’s murder go unavenged.’
‘What a cynical view you do seem to have of us,’ Maude said. ‘I could take great offence at that, you know.’
‘Yes, you could,’ Blackstone agreed. ‘But it wouldn’t do you any good — and I might quite enjoy it.’
There was a loud cry of ‘Howzat!’ in the background, and Blackstone turned to see Lieutenant Soames flinging his bat down furiously on the ground.
‘Well bowled, sir!’ Maude shouted.
He held out his glass, and his servant took it from him. He clapped briefly, then held out his hand again, and retrieved the pink gin.
‘Well, that’s our team all out, but I suppose we can’t complain — we’ve had a good run,’ he said to Blackstone.
One of the enlisted fielders was already retrieving the bat from where Soames had flung it, while Soames himself — with Hatfield, his batting partner — walked slowly away from the wicket.
‘Roger’s just spotted you,’ Maude drawled. ‘Now we should see some fireworks.’
Blackstone examined the two men as they approached. Soames was large and beefy — a natural for the rougher sports in which brawn, rather than brain, was at a premium.
Hatfield was taller and slimmer, and carried himself without either the intellectual assurance of Maude or the physical assurance of Soames.
He was the weakest link in the chain — the runt of the litter — Blackstone quickly decided.
Soames scowled at Blackstone, then turned to Maude.
‘What’s that man doing here?’ he demanded.
Instead of answering directly, Maude turned to watch the batsmen from the opposing team walking on to the pitch.
‘You knocked up a good score, Roger,’ he said, after a few moments, ‘but that may not necessarily be to our advantage. The other side are the underdogs now, and that might just give them the push they need to best us.’ He swivelled to face Blackstone. ‘What do you think, Inspector?’
‘I’d never underrate an underdog,’ Blackstone said.
‘I asked you what this man was doing here, William,’ Lieutenant Soames said impatiently.
‘Mr Blackstone?’ Maude replied, as if fielding a question he’d never expected to be asked. ‘Oh, he’s here because he suspects one — or all — of us of killing Charlie Fortesque.’
‘He does what!’ Soames demanded, outraged.