“If I may venture an opinion, sir.”
“By all means.”
“I was surprised you went to such lengths.”
“I had to make sure the palace thought it the work of the Bolsheviks. Anything less, and they might have suspected Lord Hadshire of getting up to tricks. The palace sent a telegram just before we left, cancelling the king’s visit ‘for reasons of national security’. By the way, I was amazed to see Daisy Levine still in residence. Lady Rose appears to have made a pet of her. Does she eat with the servants?”
“Yes, sir.”
“They must make life difficult for her.”
“On the contrary, sir, Miss Levine is somewhat of a pet in the servants’ hall as well.”
“How did she manage that?”
“She sings very prettily and delighted the servants with impersonations of Miss Marie Lloyd.”
“Indeed! I trust they treated you well, Becket?”
“At first they were hoity-toity, you not being considered a gentleman.”
“Good heavens! Why not?”
“You are employed by the earl, therefore you work, therefore you are not a gentleman. But thanks to Miss Levine, I became popular.”
“How did you manage that?”
“I play the concertina, sir. I accompanied Miss Levine. The butler, Brum, declared we were both so talented, we should be on stage at the Gaiety Theatre.”
“Amazing. I have never heard you play, Becket.”
“I did not wish to disturb you.”
“Disturb me now. Got the instrument with you?”
“Yes, sir. That round box on the rack.”
“It’s a wonder you didn’t sell it when you were so poor.”
“I bought another when you paid me my back wages.”
“Let’s hear a tune.”
Becket lifted the box down and took out the concertina. He sat down and began to play ‘Goodbye Dolly’. Harry leaned back, the Boer War song bringing painful memories. “Play something else,” he said harshly.
Becket began to play ‘Down at the Old Bull and Bush’ while the train rocked and swayed on its way to London.
♦
At Stacey Court, Brum opened the doors of the drawing-room and intoned in a voice of doom, “Detective Superintendent Kerridge, my lord.”
“Come in. Sit down,” said the earl. “Something to drink?”
“No, I thank you, my lord. This gentleman with me is Detective Inspector Judd. He will take notes.”
Judd, a tall thin man with a black drooping moustache, carefully placed his bowler hat on a side table and took out a large notebook.
“Apart from yourself and the countess,” began Kerridge, “who else was there?”
“About twenty-five indoor servants.”
“Fll get to them later, with your permission. Did you have guests?”
“Just my wife’s cousin, Miss Durwant-Flint, and Lord and Lady Hedley.”
“Anyone else?”
“Let me think.” The earl screwed up his face like a baby about to cry. Then his face cleared. There was no harm in mentioning the captain’s name. It would mean nothing to Kerridge.
“Oh, yes, nearly forgot. Captain Harry Cathcart.”
“And is the gentleman still in residence?”
“No, he’s tootled off to London.”
“May I trouble you for his address?”
The earl tugged at a bell-rope by the fireplace, and when a footman appeared asked for his secretary to be sent to him. Matthew appeared. “Get Cathcart’s address for the superintendent,” ordered the earl.
“I may have lost it,” said Matthew cautiously.
“No, you haven’t,” said the earl, and winked furiously.
“Quite right, I haven’t,” said Matthew. “I’ll fetch it now.”
What was that all about? wondered Kerridge. He continued the interrogation but the earl said he had been asleep at the time, and as the bridge and station were miles from the house, he hadn’t heard a thing.
Later, Kerridge did not get any further with the servants, thanks, he thought, to the perpetual presence of Brum. He got only one thing. A little scullery maid said that the king was to come on a visit but couldn’t now and Brum had snapped at her and sent her from the room.
Kerridge wondered about the king’s proposed visit all the way back to London. Certainly a visit from King Edward, who would arrive with a retinue of servants, guests and hangers-on could mean a crippling amount of money to the unfortunate host, but the earl’s home and his estates showed no signs of penny-pinching. He shook his grey head. To think that the earl would blow up a railway station and a bridge just to put the king off was ridiculous. All Bolshevik sympathizers in London were being rounded up and interrogated. Still, he’d better see this Captain Cathcart and find out what he had to say.
The first motorized taxi cabs were beginning to appear on the streets of London and were regarded with suspicion by most, who preferred the horse-drawn variety. But as Kerridge was driven in the new Scotland Yard police car to Captain Cathcart’s address, he felt like a king. He wished he could take this splendid vehicle home to show his wife.
He had decided to interview the captain alone. He knew people were often intimidated by the sight of a policeman or a detective in the background, taking notes.
At the house in Water Street, Becket announced him and led him into the front room, where the captain was sitting at a desk at the window.
Kerridge’s first impression of the captain was that he was a dangerous man. His brooding saturnine good looks gave the impression of action and power.
Harry welcomed the superintendent and then sat staring at him vacantly.
“I have come about the bombing of Stacey Magna,” began Kerridge.
“Frightful, what,” commented Harry. He took out a monocle, fixed it in one eye and stared at the detective.
“Yes, it was indeed frightful. Now –”
“Caught any of these Bolshevik chappies yet?”
“No, sir, but we will…provided it turns out to be the work of the Bolsheviks. Have you known the Earl of Hadshire for long?”
“Don’t know. People come and go.” Harry let the monocle drop and fixed the detective with a vacuous stare.
“His Majesty was supposed to visit Lord Hadshire, but the visit had to be cancelled.”
“Pity.”
“Have you any reason to suppose the earl did not wish this visit?”
Harry laughed, an insolent braying laugh. Then he said, “I say, you think old Hadshire crept out during the night and blew up things to keep kingie away?”
“It is a flight of fancy, I admit,” said Kerridge. “Let’s take it further. The earl employed someone to blow up the bridge and the station.”
Harry grinned. “Go on. I’m enjoying this.”
“It is not a laughing matter, sir,” said Kerridge severely. “It was just fortunate that there was no one on the bridge at the time or in the station.”
“True, true,” said Harry. “Ask me some more questions.”
“During your stay at Stacey Court, did you see any suspicious people lurking around?”
“Only that cousin of Lady Polly’s. What a bore! I nearly fainted in my soup.”
“So you can tell me nothing to help me?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“What was the reason for your visit?”
Harry glared at him. “My dear sir, one goes into the country on many visits to many households. It’s what one does.”
“I forgot, sir. Of course it is what one does when one does not have to work for a living.”
“Oh, we aren’t all lilies of the field, y’know. Viscount Hinton has been wheeling a piano-organette around the streets these many years.”
“But he doesn’t have to. He’s eccentric.”
“What about the House of Lords?”
“What about it?” jeered Kerridge. “Waste of time, if you ask me. Half the house is absent and the other half’s nearly dead.”