‘Were the documents forged?’ The Inspector was on his fourth lemon cake.
‘I was told,’ Sammy Wilson was talking very quietly at this point as if even his own wife should not be privy to such sensitive material, ‘told by a source very close to the action, that they were forgeries. Clever forgeries, but forgeries none the less. Certainly that managing director, man by the name of Ibbotson, never admitted anything.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘Ibbotson? I knew you were going to ask me that. I don’t know, to be honest with you. I think he just dropped right out of the Square Mile altogether. Would you like me to find out where he is?’
‘I would. Very much so.’
‘My God, Inspector, you’ve got a very suspicious mind. Are you fitting him up already for the handcuffs and the rope?’
‘Certainly not. Far too soon. Inquiries, as my colleagues are fond of saying, will have to take their course. What of the other man, Sir Rufus Walcott? Let me tell you for a start that there are fifteen years or so missing from his life in Who’s Who. Any idea what that’s all about?’
‘You don’t want to pay too much attention to what’s in there, young man. They only print what their subjects tell them, those Who’s Who people, they don’t check anything out or do any research of their own. If I were compiling some of those entries they’d be a lot juicier than the ones that appear, I can tell you.’
‘But why do you think Sir Rufus left this great blank in his life?’
‘Could be any one of a number of things. Failed business ventures? Founder and managing director of Croesus Holdings, went bankrupt towards the end of the last century? I don’t think you’d want people knowing about that. He could have gone to the colonies or to America and gone bad rather than good, if you see what I mean. Failed gold prospector somewhere or other? I don’t think you should bother too much about those missing years. The thing about Sir Rufus is that in so many ways he was the exact opposite to Sir Peregrine. Sir Peregrine, you might say, is a rather slippery character, one or two doubtful episodes in his past. Sir Rufus was completely different. I doubt if there was even a small bone let alone a skeleton in his closet. He was a man of honour. He was known for his integrity. That’s why he ended up on so many boards and being appointed Lord Lieutenant of Norfolk. You’ve got to be clean as the driven snow to hold a position like that with its links to the monarchy. I doubt if anyone would appoint Sir Peregrine Lord Lieutenant of Wandsworth Prison even if there was such a post.’
‘How odd that two such different characters succeeded each other as Prime Warden of the Silkworkers.’
‘I spent a lot of time years ago on a story about the City of London School, Inspector. Fellow there told me that it is almost a tradition at the public schools that the man taking over is as unlike his predecessor as possible. Maybe that applied to the Silkworkers too.’
Inspector Devereux rose to go. ‘I am most grateful for your help, Sammy. If you could find out the name of the managing director supposed to have cooked the books, I’d be grateful.’
‘Would you like me to arrange a meeting with you if I find him?’
‘Yes please. And could you pass on my thanks to your wife for these lovely lemon cakes? I look forward to more of them when I return.’
‘They’re infuriating, Lucy, just infuriating.’
‘Who is infuriating you now, Francis? I haven’t seen you this furiated for a while.’ Lady Lucy smiled at her husband, pacing up and down the imaginary quarterdeck that masqueraded as a drawing room in their hotel in Fakenham.
‘Sorry, Lucy, it’s those secret service people. I told you I met one of them, a man called Arbuthnot, outside the Jesus Hospital. They don’t tell you anything. The late Meredith may have been a courier for them. Or he may not. Other silkmen in the hospital or elsewhere may also have been couriers. Or again, maybe not. They never give you anything concrete to work with. It’s the same as the time I worked for them before. They nearly drove me mad then. I suspect they’re going to do it again.’
‘Can’t you just ask the old men if they have worked for the government in the past, Francis? They can’t have been major spies, surely, just messengers or couriers.’
‘I don’t know, Lucy. Arbuthnot implied the dead man might have been turned round from being a British agent into a German one. If you wanted to hide the ace of spies away somewhere, you could do a lot worse than the Jesus Hospital.’
‘Is there nobody you can talk to, Francis? Are there any retired spies? People who have left the service and might be more able to talk?’
‘I don’t think there are any of those. The service has only just been founded. Hold on a minute, though.’ Powerscourt stopped by the fireplace and stared at Lady Lucy for a moment. Then he smiled. ‘I’ve just thought of something, Lucy. It’s a long shot, but it might just work. I’m going to go to Paris to see a man in the Place des Vosges.’
‘Who is this French gentleman, Francis?’
‘I met him when I was working on the death on the Nevskii Prospekt, my love. His name is Olivier Brouzet and he is the head of the French secret intelligence service.’
Inspector Grime swore violently when he heard the news of Roderick Gill’s meetings in the Farmers’ Arms. He despatched a young constable who lived round the corner from the pub and knew the landlord well for more information.
‘Bloody man Gill,’ he raged at his sergeant. ‘Why isn’t one woman enough for him? Why does he need to have two on the go?’
‘Don’t know, sir.’ His sergeant had long ago decided that the minimum number of words were the safest course of action on these occasions.
‘Do you suppose we would find yet more women if we went on a trawl round the pubs of Holt and Swaffham? Is the bloody man never satisfied? I’m beginning to suspect this womanizing may have been the death of him.’
Constable Parrish, all of twenty-four years old, returned from his trip to the Farmers’ Arms.
‘Well, Constable, what’s the news?’
‘The woman’s name is Lewis, sir, Mrs Maud Lewis. Widow, thought by the publican to be in her late forties.’
‘You don’t often hear them say they’re in their late fifties, do you?’ The Inspector was scowling at a picture of Queen Alexandra on his wall. ‘Some of these women have been in their late forties for years.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Constable Parrish carried on, ‘She lives in a huge house a couple of hundred yards from the pub. She only moved there about six months ago, sir. The publican thinks she lived in Birmingham before that. Plenty of money, sir. Kind to the servants apparently.’
‘Never mind whether she was kind to the bloody servants or not for now, did she have any family?’
‘She does, sir, sorry, sir. She has two sons in their early twenties. The publican believes they live in London now.’
‘Do they come to visit their mother? Devoted sons perhaps?’
‘Well, sir, this was one of the most interesting things. I should have mentioned it earlier. Two or three weeks ago the two boys were having a drink with their mother. There was a row. The publican wasn’t in the room himself at the time but one of the bar staff told him about it when they’d gone. They were arguing about the money in her will. The boys kept saying they couldn’t see why they should lose out in favour of somebody she hardly knew.’
‘My God,’ said Inspector Grime, ‘if that’s not a motive for murder I don’t know what is. Sergeant, take yourself off to interview the merry widow this minute. Don’t leave without an address for her sons.’
13
The old men of the Jesus Hospital had been summoned to a special meeting in the Maidenhead police station. Black police vans brought those thought unfit to walk the seven hundred yards from the almshouse. The silkmen were kept in the police canteen until it was time for their interview. Afterwards they were free to leave or to wait for the police to take them back home. Under no circumstances were the men who had been through the interview allowed to speak to those who had not. Inspector Fletcher had decided that the easiest way to obtain the information needed about their past lives and their past connections was to ask them. He dreaded to think what might happen if he asked them to write anything down. He had looked at the records of the old men held by Monk in his little office and decided to start again. The Inspector and Sergeant Donaldson were seated side by side at the table in the interview room.