Death and a Snapper (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 6)

by R. A. Bentley

'Mr Crawford is a CPGB member, sir; which he came to tell me entirely voluntarily.'

  'Then why is he still at liberty?'

  'Because, sir, I have no evidence whatever that he has committed an offence. It's not a proscribed organisation, as far as I'm aware.'

  'Chief Inspector, this man could strike again. Do you want us to lose another valuable officer?'

  'Sir, I don't believe Mr Crawford was responsible for the bombing, or in any way involved in it. He is a naive and foolish young man to whom communism is simply an intellectual exercise, a kind of hobby. There are many such, as I'm sure you are aware. They get together in cellar bars and talk revolution, and that's as far as it goes. In fact, I have it from another witness that it was Mr Crawford who found the first bomb and drew Mr Grant's attention to it; something I don't suppose Mr Grant troubled to mention to you.'

  'That could have been a feint, if he feared discovery.'

  'I doubt it, but that is beside the point. Arrest on suspicion is a matter of judgement. In this case I judged it not warranted. What I don't do is arrest people at the behest of a relentlessly hostile member of another agency. If you want Mr Crawford arrested you will have to instruct another officer to do it. Good afternoon to you.'

  'At which I flounced out,' said Felix. 'The worst of it is, I'm not even sure I was right. Would you have arrested him?'

  'I probably would have, since you ask,' said Rattigan. 'Better safe than sorry in my book. However, I doubt he can do much to you; he's retired after all. I suppose he might bend the ear of the new chap if he's feeling especially vindictive. Did he mention your injuries?'

  'Humph! Not he.'

  Rattigan shook his head in amazement. 'Bandaged from chin to collarbone and he never mentions it! Anyone else would have realised the strain you were under. Anyway, I'm taking you home before you get into deeper trouble. And I'm driving.' he went to the door. 'Saunders, can you find Sergeants Nash and Yardley? We're pushing off.'

  *

  'Oh my goodness! What have you done to yourself now?' cried Connie. 'And your poor hand as well!'

  Felix took her in his arms. 'Let's just say I've had better days. How was yours?'

  Chapter Nine

  'He's waiting to see you,' said Detective Superintendent Polly grimly. 'Come on.'

  'How did he seem?'

  'You'll find out soon enough.' And opening the A/C's office door, he all but propelled him into the room. It was not, however, Timson awaiting him but a tall, long-faced man who rose beaming from his desk and stretched out a hand. 'Hello Felix, old chap. Been a while, eh?'

  For a long moment, Felix was lost for words. 'Major Longhurst, as I live and breath!'

  Polly quietly closed the door behind him and returned to Rattigan and the others. 'I think you gentlemen can stop worrying about him now. Tell him I want you all back on the job as soon as you can get there. We've got a bomber to catch.'

  *

  'And then he kept me in suspense for two whole hours,' said Connie. 'I didn't even know if he had a job any longer. Anyway, it turns out he was this Longhurst fellow's adjutant in the war. They were quite pals apparently, so that's all right.'

  'What a slice of luck!' said Lavinia Felix. 'But what a worry for you, dear. He's all right is he? I mean, with being knocked over and everything? He used to ring me if he was poorly, but I don't suppose he'd bother now.'

  'I think he's all right. Anyway, if he wasn't I'd ring you. He was all aches and pains this morning, and probably more shaken up than he cared to admit, but he doesn't seem to have damaged anything important, just ruined his clothes. His hat and overcoat were absolutely peppered with bits of glass. It's lucky he was still wearing them, especially the hat. And he didn't tell me about the other poor chap until hours later. Daisy all right?'

  'Yes, counting the days until Ian comes home.'

  'And Clare?' She sensed Lavinia hesitate, picturing her looking down the hall to see if anyone might be listening.

  'To be honest,' said Lavinia, 'I'm a little worried about her. She was several inches off the ground when he proposed, but she's gone rather quiet now. It's probably nothing.'

  'Cold feet?'

  'No, I don't think so.' She paused again. 'No, I'm sure it's not that. I think actually she's frightened.'

  'Of Grant?'

  'Yes. It can only be that, can't it? She doesn't go out much any more, except with us, and spends a lot of time in her room. Yesterday she asked me if we locked the door at night. I said we did, but I admit we don't always remember to. I will now though.'

  'But you're still happy to have her there? You must say if you're not.'

  'Oh yes, completely. After all, that's why she's here. She's very sweet and no trouble at all, although perhaps a bit head-in-the-clouds with her photography, as if nothing else in the world matters. I can well imagine her getting involved with that man without really meaning to. Has anything happened about him?'

  'I don't know. It was he who got Miles into trouble, unfortunately, so they're not going to be best friends, are they?'

  *

  'Good morning, Mr Goodchild. How are the ribs today?'

  'About as sore as your neck I should imagine, Chief Inspector,' said the secretary. 'I find myself harbouring most unchristian sentiments towards the perpetrator, as I'm sure you do. You will be pleased to hear, however, that His Lordship, ever practical, has made provision for Mrs Curran, though he wouldn't wish it generally known.'

  'Really? That's excellent news. It's very kind of him. Mr Goodchild, please don't misunderstand me, but Mr Watts, the Second Footman, claims to have found you leaving the committee room when he arrived just after breakfast yesterday morning. He says you seemed preoccupied and didn't respond when spoken to. Can you explain that?'

  Mr Goodchild shook his head. 'I wasn't in the committee room yesterday morning until I helped search it with Grant and Curran; much good it did us. Then not again until you and I converged upon it just before the explosion.'

  'Hmm, I see. And where were you when you are supposed to have been seen? Can you remember?'

  'Just after the servants' breakfast? I was taking my orders from His Lordship, which no doubt he'll confirm.'

  'So you were definitely not in the committee room at that time?'

  'No, but you will remember that I asked to speak to you yesterday, and that is why I came to you as soon as you arrived today. The fact is, I earlier saw a suspicious character, who may well have been that person. As it happens, I was then on my way to see His Lordship. I was in a bit of a hurry and found myself catching up with someone who at least from the back could perhaps be mistaken for me. He was about my height, he hadn't much hair, which was white, or perhaps white-blond, and he was sporting the sort of dark pinstripe I habitually wear. He was also carrying a black leather attache case like mine. He turned away and I momentarily caught sight of his face. It didn't greatly resemble mine but it was thin – bony, even – and pale. My cadaverous appearance has often been remarked upon, so it was rather a good match.'

  'You think he might have been impersonating you?'

  'Well, it's possible, isn't it? The nature of my work takes me all over the place, so my presence wouldn't be particularly remarked.'

  Felix glanced at Rattigan, who was scribbling furiously. 'Have you told anyone else about this?'

  'No I haven't. I contemplated telling Mr Grant, but I don't find him very sympathetic, I'm afraid.'

  'You thought he might ignore or disparage it?'

  'Well, perhaps. One doesn't know what to expect from him. That's why I was so keen to speak to Curran.'

  Felix nodded his understanding.'Where did this man go?'

  'He turned off down the northern corridor. You can get out of the building that way if you know how. I suppose I should have spoken to him and asked his business, but as I say, I was in a hurry. It's easy, alas, to be wise after the event. I later asked one of the Special Branch men if he resembled any of their number but he thought not. They are all big cha
ps, while this fellow was quite thin. Again, like me.'

  'Photograph, sir?' said Rattigan.

  'Yes, the sooner we put that in hand the better. Any objection to a glamour shot, Mr Goodchild? No? Then I'll just summon our photographer. Ah! He's here. Hello, you two. Nash, can you take a good likeness of this gentleman, please. He appears to bear a resemblance to a suspicious person, seen about the place.'

  Nash studied Goodchild intently for a moment or two, causing him to smile and raise a questioning eyebrow. 'I can do better than that, sir. I've seen someone very similar. And so have you.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Have you got a copy of Clare's photo, sir?'

  'Yes, it's in my case.'

  They all clustered around the picture taken in the restaurant.

  'I don't see —' began Rattigan.

  'I do,' said Goodchild, and Yardley nodded.

  'Well I'm blowed!' said Felix. 'They're right, you know.'

  'Ah! I see it now — the woman!'

  'Our link to the Bolshevists!'

  'That's one in the eye for bloody Grant anyway,' said Nash, then coloured in embarrassment. 'Sorry, sir.'

  'My apologies, Mr Goodchild,' said Felix. 'Interdepartmental rivalry, I'm afraid.'

  'It's all right, Chief Inspector,' smiled Goodchild. 'We all know about your spot of bother. Is there anything else I can help you with?'

  'A man, or woman, dressed as Goodchild and carrying a bomb-sized attache case, who knows his way about the place sufficiently to come and go unremarked,' mused Rattigan. 'Clever! And suggests inside knowledge.

  'Yes, it does. But how did he arrive here – let us call him "he" – and leave again? It's a country district; he couldn't just melt into the streets.'

  'The gang's driver, perhaps? Dropped him under cover of darkness.'

  'Saunders,' called Felix.'

  'sir?'

  'Can you get onto your people and tell them to keep their eyes peeled for an Austin Mayfair Saloon, dark colour, registration unknown. Could be the bombers' car.'

  'Now, sir?'

  'If you will.'

  'What about the others,' said Yardley. 'The other woman and the little bald chap?'

  'Would the latter be a match for anybody here, do you think?' said Felix, 'if he shaved his tache off? Assuming,' he added, 'that it wasn't a false one to start with.'

  'I shouldn't think so,' said Rattigan doubtfully. 'He was really quite short.'

  'Wouldn't work,' agreed Nash. 'He'd be spotted a mile off.'

  'Oh Lor!' exclaimed Yardley, leaping to his feet. 'His Lordship's chauffeur!'

  'That would work,' said Nash.

  'The car!' cried Felix. 'Come on!'

  Pounding down the corridor, they found a maid coming out of a room. 'Police! This is an emergency. Where is Lord Coneybrook this morning?'

  The maid looked frightened. 'I don't know, sir. I can find out.'

  'Do so. As fast as you can. It's essential he doesn't go out in his car.'

  'Her Ladyship is going out this morning, sir. I do know that.'

  'Then she must be stopped!'

  'She'll be picked up from the front door, sir.'

  'They arrived in the main hall in company with a number of the quicker-witted servants. 'Crawford! Stop Her ladyship from using the car. There could be a bomb!'

  'Mr Bollington is putting her in it now, sir.'

  They dashed outside and down the steps. The butler was even then closing the rear door of a gleaming Rolls Royce. A Special Branch man was settling himself beside the driver, and a fur-clad Lady Coneybrook was just visible, reclining in the back seat. The next moment she was dragged, screaming, from it by Rattigan and borne away, though not very far. For a moment the world seemed to hold its breath, then with a deafening report the car disintegrated, hurling debris in all directions and bursting into flames.

  For the second time in two days, Felix found himself on the ground; this time in company with the butler, one very lucky bodyguard, Her Ladyship, and most of his men. 'Are you all right, My Lady?' he asked, helping her and himself up. He winced as a wing of the car toppled from the portico, landing nearby with a crash. Other scraps tumbled and fluttered down around them, some not inviting close examination.

  'I appear unharmed, thank you,' said Lady Coneybrook, with remarkable aplomb. 'I don't believe I've had the pleasure?'

  'Detective Chief Inspector Felix, madam. Scotland Yard'

  'Ah yes.' She nodded and turned to the portly, purple-faced man also struggling to his feet. 'And to whom am I indebted for saving my life?'

  'Detective Sergeant Rattigan, My Lady,' panted Rattigan.

  Her Ladyship smiled and offered a hand. 'Well I'm glad,' she said, 'that I landed on top of you, Mr Rattigan, and not the other way round.' And with consummate dignity she marched into the house.

  All around them, people were rushing about, some offering help to the fallen, some trying ineffectually to douse the flames.

  'Sand!' cried someone. 'Bring sand.'

  'And a broom and a bucket. God in heaven, look at this. Not you, Edna!'

  'Eeugh, that's horrid. I think I'm going to be sick.'

  ''Can someone fetch a stretcher for this gentleman please?' called Felix, kneeling over the prostrate butler.

  'I think I've broken my nose.' said Yardley, gingerly fingering it.

  'Look over there,' said Nash.

  It was Ronald Grant, his hands in his pockets, surveying the chaotic scene from the top of the steps. After a moment or two he turned away.

  They found the real chauffeur locked in one of Coneybrook's many cellars. He'd managed to get his gag off by snagging it on a nail but the ropes had defeated him.

  'I bin yelling for ages,' he said tearfully. 'I was that worried about Her Ladyship. I thought they was going to kidnap her or something. I don't like the dark neither,' he added. There's things down there.'

  Felix explained what had happened. 'The man blew himself up along with the car. There was nothing left to firmly identify him. Did you see him at all?'

  The chauffeur had turned a distinctly green colour. 'No, I never saw none of 'em. They come up behind me and threw a sack over me 'ead. Then they gagged me. I couldn't 'ardly breath!'

  'Do you know how many there were?'

  'At least two, 'cos they 'ad 'old of me arms.'

  'Did they say anything?'

  'They didn't say nothing to me but they spoke foreign a bit to each other. Whispered it, like. Can I go now? I'm filthy, an' I got cobwebs in me 'air.'

  'That leaves four of them,' observed Rattigan, 'counting the driver.'

  'And there could be more we don't know about,' said Felix. However, I think we can assume there's only a limited number of suicidal fanatics. We're looking for an average height, dark-haired woman next I suppose. Maybe posing as a maidservant. Seen anyone like that, you two?'

  'There seems to be an inexhaustible supply of them,' said Yardley, still exploring his swollen nose. 'We'd need to line them up and compare them with the photo. What do you think, John?'

  Nash merely grunted absently, his expression venomous.

  I don't care for that look, thought Felix. He's brewing up for a storm. 'I think we'd best organise a roll call,' he said.

  An hour later saw some thirty staff and servants paraded for inspection in front of the house, the women and girls separated from the men and boys. The MI5 and Special Branch men having familiarized themselves with the woman in the photograph – not, unfortunately, a very good view of her – solemnly progressed along the line in the footsteps of the detectives, pausing occasionally to study someone of vaguely similar appearance. All eventually agreed she wasn't there. Then they repeated the exercise with the men.

  'All right, ladies and gentlemen, thank you very much.' said Felix. 'It appears she's not here. Keep your eyes peeled though and report anything suspicious. Could be either sex, remember.'

  *

  'Hello my darling,' said Felix. 'You're looking remarkably smug t
onight. What's to do?'

  Connie dodged a kiss. 'Smug! I do not look smug; I look triumphant, if anything. Smug indeed.'

  'Sorry I'm sure. Triumphant, then. Over whom or what, pray, have you triumphed?'

  '"Katinka Vasilievna. Not trust other." I think I know what it means, some of it anyway.' She stooped awkwardly for a book lying on the sofa and brandished it. 'Russian grammar. I got it from the library. Do you know about patronymics?'

  'Yes, of course. They have a middle name, taken from the father, or the mother presumably, as appropriate. They seem to use it as a sort of surname almost. I presume that our mysterious female's second name is one such.'

  'But do you know how it works? You don't seem to.'

  'No? What have I got wrong?'

  'Well I'll tell you. Take me, as an example. If we had patronymics in this country, I should have been christened something on the lines of Constance Henryevna Harrisonova, after my father. Note that for a daughter the family name is feminized.'

  'Not after your mother then?'

  'No, she doesn't come into it. For once. And you would be Miles Rogerovich Felix, and Daisy would be —

  'No, don't tell me. She'd be Daisy Rogerova Felixova.'

  'Well, not Rogerova; they seem to keep the ova for the feminizing bit. Rogerevna, perhaps.'

  'I see. So our mysterious Katinka, is the daughter of this Vas somebody, her father.'

  'Yes. Her first name is the equivalent of Catherine, as it happens, and she's the daughter of Vasily; which, you will be interested to hear, is the Russian equivalent of Basil It surely can't be coincidence.'

  'Well it can, but I agree it's not very likely. The daughter of Basil Cadogan! Hmm, interesting.'

  'Which shouldn't be a surprise, when you think about it. Whom do you think of when you're dying? The one you love the most.'

  'Not your spouse?'

  'Well, it depends I suppose. Maybe she's dead or they're separated. Anyway, it means he's probably married, or has been, and is preoccupied with his daughter Catherine. That ought to get us somewhere, surely? You may kiss me now, and tell me how clever I am.'