Jowett had gripped his mouth and chin in his right hand and was twisting the flesh without regard to appearance.
Cribb continued, ‘After that I returned to London and went to Mr Simon Allingham’s chambers in Bell Yard. There was a possibility that Mr Cromer had contacted his solicitor.’
Jowett managed to nod.
‘I don’t know if you have met Allingham, sir. He is a forthright young man. Arrogant would not be too strong a word. I asked him whether he had seen Mr Cromer in the last twenty-four hours. He tried to evade the question by asking what right I had to inquire into Cromer’s movements. He wanted to know whether a warrant had been issued. I told him there were certain questions I wished to put to Mr Cromer-’
‘Yes, yes, Sergeant, I’m sure you acted properly,’ broke in Jowett with a sudden shift of emphasis. ‘Did he tell you anything of significance?’
‘He eventually admitted he spoke to Cromer at about noon, sir.’
‘And …?’
‘He was not prepared to disclose the subject of their conversation.’
‘Deuced impertinence! We could have him on an obstruction charge.’
‘I think he knows his rights, sir.’
Jowett spluttered contempt.
‘When I told him Cromer had skedaddled he said he wasn’t in the least surprised considering the way he had been treated by the police.’
‘What?’ Jowett turned from crimson to white. ‘What’s this-intimidation? Cribb, you haven’t used violence on the man?’
Cribb gave Jowett a withering look.
‘I should like to know what the devil has been going on,’ said Jowett, the colour rising again.
‘So should I, sir,’ said Cribb with no attempt to conceal his anger. ‘Things have been happening that I know nothing about. I think I have a right to be informed when another officer is sent to interrogate a witness.’
‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘Allingham told me a man arrived yesterday afternoon at Park Lodge and gained admission on the pretext of wanting his portrait taken. From his manner and the interest he took in the details of the crime it was damned clear to Cromer that the man was a detective. Now Cromer has taken fright and cleared off.’ Cribb planted his hands on the edge of Jowett’s desk and leaned over it. ‘I spend a week patiently building up my case, foot-slogging round London, talking to God knows how many insignificant witnesses, all to prepare the ground for a face-to-face with Cromer, and what happens? This nincompoop’-Cribb pulled a photograph from his pocket and tossed it in front of Jowett-‘goes out to Kew and puts the fear of God in him.’
The Chief Inspector picked up the picture. ‘Who gave you this?’
‘Allingham. It’s a print from the plate Cromer made.’
Jowett studied the portrait of James Berry. ‘Sergeant, this man’s face is vaguely familiar, but I cannot place him. I know nothing of this.’
Cribb knew when Jowett was speaking the truth. ‘Someone must have sent him. If it wasn’t you, it must have been the Commissioner.’
Jowett’s hands rose like grouse from cover. ‘Wait, Sergeant. We cannot leap to conclusions. Terribly unwise. I feel quite certain that Sir Charles would not … ’ He covered his eyes and released a huge sigh. ‘Well, if he did, it is not for us to question his decisions. He may be privy to knowledge that we are, er … It will be justified in the fullness of time, I am confident.’
The fullness of time? Cribb shook his head and drew back from Jowett’s desk. Was the man totally insensitive?
‘The question to be decided is how to proceed,’ said Jowett, piling words on his evasion. ‘If Cromer proposes to leave the country we must obtain a warrant. We shall need a charge-something to detain him.’
‘What do you suggest, sir?’ Cribb quietly asked.
Jowett rubbed the back of his head. ‘It’s not so simple when you put it like that. Sergeant, the more I look at this, the more conscious I am that we are dealing with a very resourceful criminal.’
‘He could be across the Channel already.’
‘Then we shall extradite.’
‘On what charge, sir?’ Cribb knew as well as Jowett that an extradition order was obtainable only for serious crimes.
There was an awkward silence.
‘We can’t charge the man with murder when his wife is already convicted of the crime,’ said Jowett. ‘Not unless we can prove they were jointly responsible. No, by Jove, we can’t charge Cromer unless his wife is pardoned. Once the fellow gets to the Continent, he’ll be clean away. What is to be done, Sergeant?’
‘Is the Commissioner in his office?’
‘Yes, but-’
‘I want permission to question Miriam Cromer,’ said Cribb for the third time.
SATURDAY, 23rd JUNE
‘That solicitor is here. Him that goes red to the tips of his ears when you call him Simon.’
The prisoner stopped. For twenty minutes she had been circling the exercise yard with her bed-blanket round her shoulders. It was cool in the small quadrangle bounded by cell-blocks. The sun penetrated there for four hours a day, between eleven and three. This Saturday morning it had just begun its slow descent down the granite wall.
‘He is waiting in the cell,’ Bell told her.
‘Alone?’
‘Miss, if you please.’
‘Miss,’ the prisoner tonelessly repeated.
‘Who else did you expect-the blooming Home Secretary? Yes, he’s on his own.’
Without hurrying, she crossed the cobbles to the arched doorway leading up to the condemned cells, Bell and Hawkins following.
The young solicitor jerked to his feet as if it was the Queen. Today he was in green tweeds. Each day it was different. When he smiled, boyish creases formed at the corners of his mouth.
‘Miriam.’
‘No touching,’ Bell cautioned.
The prisoner gave him a faint smile and guided her skirts round the table to her stool.
He remained standing while the wardresses found seats. He was a charmer, this one.
‘My dear, how are you this morning?’
‘Impatient for news, as usual,’ she answered.
He nodded. ‘And you shall have some. There has been a development. If it had not kept me so busy I should have come to tell you last night.’ He paused, measuring his words. ‘My dear, Howard is missing. The police want to question him.’
Bell caught her breath at the news and looked at the prisoner. She had widened her eyes a fraction, but she passed no comment.
‘I reminded the officer who informed me, of course, that Howard is under no obligation to notify the police of his movements,’ Allingham went on. ‘From the way I was questioned, you would think he was wanted on some criminal charge. Oh, they had learned from the servants at Park Lodge that he took a portmanteau with him. Scotland Yard seems to interpret that as tantamount to fleeing from justice.’