'Nothing I can do about those, I'm afraid. They have to heal themselves.' 'How long does that take?'
'At your age? Five or six weeks.'
'Marvellous!' sighed Goodchild, gingerly trying the arm. 'Does anyone know where his Lordship is?'
'They've got him penned in his rooms,' said a constable. 'If they want to blow him up there, they'll have to slaughter half of Special Branch.'
'Not much loss,' grumbled Ronald Grant, who had belatedly sought treatment for a sprained wrist.
'I've got most of them, I think,' said the doctor's nurse, removing another splinter from Felix's neck. She dropped it in a kidney dish with a small clink. 'You may find little bits working their way out later. You're lucky you were facing away from it.'
'Any reason why I can't continue working, Doctor?' asked Felix.
'I don't see why not. You'll probably feel a bit shaky though. I should keep the bandages on for a day or two, if only to preserve your collars. Get your wife to bathe it. Iodine in the water.'
'Continue working at what?' demanded Grant.
'My job, Mr Grant. Interviewing witnesses, getting a picture of what happened.'
'Why you?'
'Because it's what I'm here to do.'
'Perhaps I can be your first interviewee,' said Goodchild. 'I was going to speak to poor Curren before this happened. Ouch!'
'Sorry,' said the doctor. 'You can put your shirt back on now. Let's have a look at that wrist, Mr Grant. Did you know your ear was bleeding?'
Chapter Eight
Glad to be free of the other agencies, they'd assembled in a small room assigned to them.
'Are you fit to carry on, Felix?' said Polly. 'I can get someone else in.'
'I'm all right, sir. Do we know if Curran had any family?'
'Wife and two daughters. I telephoned his Super. I don't envy the poor devil his next job.'
Recalling the many letters he'd sent in the war, and the mothers and widows he'd visited, Felix nodded grimly. 'Did you find much out, about the bomb?'
'Not really. Benyson and the experts arrived within minutes so we left them to it. I just wanted to stop people interfering until they did. There was nothing much large enough left to dab but such as there was, it's done and photographed. The second bomb seems to have been much as the first — lots of steel shrapnel about. The way the table was flipped over suggests the blast was from one side, but that's just a layman's view really. There's a cupboard incorporated in the wall there. Doors reduced to matchwood. We'll soon know anyway.'
'Before you go, sir,' said Felix. 'Ronald Grant.'
Polly rolled his eyes heavenwards. 'Was there ever a more tiresome fellow? You know he went to the A/C? Wanted to take over the investigation?'
'No I didn't. What happened?'
'I'd like to say he sent him away with a flea in his ear, but instead he had me in and told me to collaborate with him. Collaborate! I told him we'd still had no information from Grant's side on the Pacelli's case, which might well be crucial now, but it didn't cut any ice with Timpson. Thank God the man's retiring.'
'When does he go?'
'Last Friday, in theory. He only stayed on for the meeting. He's still on the premises unfortunately, chucking his weight about. Probably making sure of his knighthood.' He glanced at the door. 'You didn't hear me say that.'
'Who's the new man, sir? Do you know?'
Polly gave the ghost of a smile. 'Not allowed to say. I've met him and you'll approve, I think. I'm hoping he'll be here tomorrow or Wednesday. Or at his desk rather.'
'And talking of desks, where do we . . .'
'Use this room. It's got all you need. If Grant gets impossible, ring me. He's the senior MI5 man here, unfortunately, so there's no-one higher up to appeal to. His boss will probably turn around and go home, if he hasn't already. I can't see them having their meeting now.
'What shall we do, sir,' said Nash, when Polly had gone.
Felix considered this. 'A roving commission, I think. Wander about and get to know people — servants, other officers, see what you can find out, especially from those who might get overlooked. Take it in turns; the other one can go and grab the witnesses. John, I haven't forgotten your problem, but I'm sure you'll understand it isn't easy. I don't want to make things worse, and with the mood he's in I might easily do that. Don't for goodness' sake attempt to approach him yourself. Come in!'
A young constable stood in the doorway, smartly to attention. 'Constable Saunders, sir, Surrey force. Your Super's arranged for me to be seconded to you. I know my way about the place a bit, and some of the staff.'
'Ah! Excellent,' said Felix. 'Welcome to the team, Saunders.' Introductions were made all round. 'Tell me, first things first, do you know how to get a cuppa here?'
'Leave it to me, sir.'
'And see if you can rustle up some aspirin.'
He was doing quite well in the circumstances, he thought, though as usual he wasn't fooling Rattigan. His neck and hand were sore as hell, he was bruised here and there where he'd hit the floor, his head was thumping in time with his heartbeat and he was still a bit deaf. He'd been blown off his feet twice in the war, but this was the closest he'd come to not getting up again. Murdered by a bunch of bloody Bolshies in his own country, his wife widowed and his unborn child orphaned! And then there was Curran. He'd known him for ten minutes but he'd seemed a good sort. Out of nowhere came some lines of Yeats':
"Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold/ Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world/ The blood-dimmed tide is loosed/ and everywhere, the ceremony of innocence is drowned."
He couldn't remember the rest. He felt he wanted to cry.
'Sir.'
'Yes?'
'Your tea, sir. And a cheese sandwich.'
'Sorry Constable, wool-gathering, I'm afraid. Did you know Chief Inspector Curran?'
'Yes, sir. Very popular man. Terrible loss, sir.'
'It is indeed. However, we must get on. Can you find me Mr Goodchild please? I believe he wanted to see me.'
'He's with Lord Coneybrook, sir. I can see if he's free.'
'No, don't disturb him. He'll find his way here eventually. Well now. Who . . . er?' His mind was suddenly blank and he looked in slight desperation at his deputy.
'We might have the Head Butler in, sir,' suggested Rattigan. 'He'll be able to suggest other people as well.'
'Good plan, Sergeant,' he said. 'Produce the Head Butler please, Constable.'
'Not feeling so good?' said Rattigan when they were alone.
'Bloody awful to be honest.'
'Have that sandwich, then, and your aspirin.'
'Yes, Nanny.'
'Your name is Arthur Bollington you are sixty-two and you are head butler to Lord Coneybrook,' reiterated Felix. 'Been here long?'
'Forty-two years, Chief Inspector,' said Bollington; managing to convey, with exquisite subtlety, that respect for his betters scarcely extended to policemen, however elevated. It also seemed that he was not one to elaborate on his answers.
'And may I ask you if you harbour any suspicions as to the perpetrator of this outrage?'
'I can only say that I have no suspicions with regard to the servants at Coneybrook, sir.'
'Any newcomers?'
'None has served here for less that two and one half years, and most for far longer.'
'And has any of them ever shown an interest in communism or left-wing politics?'
'I am not aware of their doing so.'
'Is it possible that people not employed here may have entered the committee room at some time? Tradesmen, perhaps?'
'Not recently, no.'
'Care to put a date on that?'
The butler considered this. 'The house was wired for the electricity in 1924 and 1925. That is, to my knowledge, the last time.'
'And is, or should I say was, the room much used?'
'It was used twice a month regularly and occasionally at other times.'
'By his Lordship?'
&nbs
p; 'No. His Lordship seldom used it. It was most often used by Her Ladyship for formal meetings.' 'When was the last time?'
'Last Wednesday: the parochial church council.'
'Hmm. Tell me, was it your custom to oversee the servants in their activities in that room? Cleaning, for example, or laying out the table?'
The butler was silent for a moment. 'I normally depute such work to Mr Crawford, the First Footman.'
'Capable man?'
'I've had no complaints about him.'
'Where were you when the bomb exploded?'
'I was in the front hall, waiting to welcome our guests.'
'Had none of them arrived at that point?'
'Two motor cars had just arrived but the passengers had not disembarked.'
'Where did they go?'
'It was judged best that they return whence they came, which I believe they did.'
'All right, Mr Bollington, that will be all for now. Thank you.'
The two policemen smiled at each other. There was something comfortingly normal about supercilious Head Butlers. Anarchy deferred, perhaps.
Constable Saunders put his head round the door. 'A Mr Crawford wishes to speak to you, sir.'
'Then show him in, Constable.' He waited while a dark-haired, good-looking man in his late twenties nervously entered. 'Good afternoon Mr Crawford, do sit down. You are, I believe, the First Footman. Did Mr Bollington send you?'
'No, sir, it was my own idea to come.'
'Then how may I help you?'
'I wanted to tell you about myself, sir, before anyone else . . . before Mr Grant did.'
'You've spoken to Mr Grant?'
'Yes, sir. He told me he was aware of my background and not to leave the premises. Not that I was intending to.'
'And what is your background, Mr Crawford?'
'I'm a member of the CPGB, sir, the Communist Party of Great Britain.'
'I see. Fully paid up?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Well, the obvious first question is: did you plant the bomb?'
'No, sir, I didn't. But I found it; the first one, that is.'
'You found it? I was told it was an MI5 man.'
'No, it was me. How it happened, I'd just come in to see everything was just so, and was doing that, when Mr Grant arrived with this other fellow. I assumed he was Special Branch but he might have been MI5, I suppose. They're as thick as fleas between the lot of them and you can't always tell which is which. I hung on and watched them poking about and I guessed they were looking for a bomb or some such thing. What else would it be? We all knew what the meeting was about by then, and who was going to be there. And of course we knew about the Russians on the loose; it's been in the papers. They finally finished and I realised they weren't going to look in the table drawer, so I did. It's not that obvious there is a drawer. The table's made so you can shorten it and there's a space where could fit one, so I suppose they thought they might as well. We keep a few spare mats and napkins in it. Anyway, there was the bomb.'
'What happened then?'
'Well, then Grant went off and came back with some other fellows and had a bit of a conference over it and finally they took it away. You could see the time on its clock thing and it was set for today so I don't suppose there was much risk in moving it.'
'It didn't occur to you there might be another?'
'No, sir, it never crossed my mind, to be honest. We'd searched pretty thoroughly between us all, and there are not all that many places it could be hid really; not quickly anyway.'
'And were you accused of planting the bombs?'
'No sir, and I still haven't been, not in so many words, but it's pretty clear to me that Grant thinks I did. He didn't seem to know about me being a communist until this afternoon. He was perfectly all right until then. After that he was pretty aggressive.'
'Why do you suppose I'd think differently?'
'Because you're a proper policeman, sir; you'd look at the evidence. That bomb was a big object. How was I supposed to sneak it in there in front of other people — in my pocket?'
'Thank you, Mr Crawford, for your confidence in the police. But someone did, you know. Not once but twice.'
'Well it wasn't me!'
'All right, we'll go through it step by step. But first, what on earth are you doing working here; in the heart of the establishment, so to say?'
'I don't see why not. One has to do work that suits one's talents. Anyway, there are many sorts of communism. I happen to be a libertarian Marxist and a gradualist. It's a theoretical position. I'm not advocating revolution and I'm certainly not working for the Bolshevists. I wouldn't know how to start. Nor would I ever kill an innocent man. It's against everything I believe in.'
'Hmm, I see. Well it's brought some trouble on you I'm afraid. Give me an account of your Sunday.'
'I got up and had breakfast in the servants' hall. After which I went to Mr Bollington for orders. He told me to get the committee room ready for today. That was in addition to my regular duties. I served breakfast to Lord and lady Coneybrook, it being my turn, and then I went to church with the others. When we got back I set the other footmen to work on the committee room and checked the state of the silver for them to lay out. Oh yes, and there was a dispute between two of the maids, which I had to deal with. You don't want to hear about that, do you?'
'No, I don't think so. They'll confirm it, I dare say. What were the other footmen doing in the meantime?'
'A last clean and polish, straightening the under-cloth, spreading a fresh cloth and putting out the place mats. Then they got on with the silver while I did my stint on the front door. Finally I went back to check on what they'd done, which is when Grant and his man turned up.'
'Did anyone see you on the front door?'
'Yes, sir, there was a maid cleaning the lower smoking room. She had the door open. We were chatting.'
'So at no time where you alone?'
'Only in the silver room, sir. Five or six minutes, that's all. And moving between one place and another.
Felix sighed. 'What about before breakfast, Mr Crawford?' What about the night-time? What about the day before? And what, for that matter, about this morning?'
'I . . .'
'You see my problem? If you were determined to plant either of those bombs, you could probably have done it.'
'Then how am I to prove I didn't?'
'Unless you can account for every minute of that time, I don't think you can. It's up to us to prove who did. Can you think of anyone who might have done it?'
'No, sir, I really can't. It's not easy for people to get into the house unnoticed but I dare say it could be done. It was certainly none of my fellow servants. Do you believe me, sir?'
'You are innocent until proven guilty, Mr Crawford. My job is to establish the facts.'
'Intelligent, articulate, foolish, naive,' said Rattigan, summing him up.
'Dangerously so. He's the sort the system lets down, unfortunately. Let's have footman number two.'
'I'm not interested in politics, sir. I suppose I'm a liberal, if anything,' said Mr Watts.
'Well, that's comforting to know anyway. Let's start with yesterday. I understand you'd been laying the committee room table when the first bomb was discovered?'
'Yes, we'd just finished and were talking to Mr Crawford when Mr Grant came in with this other bloke. He said they had to check the room, so Mr Crawford went back in with them and we hung around in the anteroom until they'd finished.'
'That's you and the third footman?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Anyone else?'
'No, sir. Then Mr Crawford said, "Here, look at this!" And it was the bomb. And Grant said – excuse my language, sir, but he said – "bloody hell!" and they all came out sharpish. Then the other bloke went away – to get advice, he said – and came back with someone else, and we all had a look. And I said, joking like, "you want to stick it in a bucket of water." Anyway they took it away and later on we heard that they h
ad stuck it in a bucket of water, or that was the story. But it wasn't any of us done it. Of course, after that they went through everything with a fine tooth comb and messed it all up again, so we were still straightening it out this morning, and hadn't long left when the second one went up. Well, you know about that, sir. I'm very sorry to hear about the other gentleman, sir; we all are. And poor old Mr Goodchild. I could see he was worried yesterday when I saw him, because he never said anything when I spoke, and he doesn't normally ignore you.'
'Thank you, Mr Watts. I'll pass on your condolences. When did you see Mr Goodchild?'
'It was when I arrived to start work, sir, after breakfast. He was in there, bustling about and he just walked past me.'
'In the committee room?'
'Yes.'
'And then what did he do? Did he leave?'
'Yes, sir. He left as I came in.'
'Are you sure about this?'
'Yes, sir, totally. You don't think he did it, do you?'
There was the sound of angry voices in the corridor and the door burst open. 'Where is Crawford?' demanded Ronald Grant.
'I'm sorry, Chief Inspector,' said Constable Saunders. 'He just pushed in here.'
'Mr Grant, said Felix, 'I'm interviewing a witness. Kindly wait a few minutes and I'll be with you.'
'Never mind that! Why didn't you arrest him? He's a bloody communist!'
'Mr Grant, I'm not prepared to discuss this while I'm interviewing. Kindly come back later. I shan't be long.'
'Right! I've had enough of this.'
Looking savage, Grant turned on his heel and left.
'Mr Watts, my apologies. I think under the circumstances we'd best continue with this later.'
'You want to watch him,' advised the footman, departing. 'He's got a temper on him, that one.'
'If I thought I had a bad head before . . .' groaned Felix.
*
'If anybody should be complaining, sir, it is I, ' said Felix crossly. 'Mr Grant burst in upon us while I was interviewing one witness and peremptorily demanded the whereabouts of another.'
The Assistant Commissioner's sour expression did not change. 'I understand the man in question is a communist.'
Death and a Snapper (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 6) Page 6
