Minute for Murder

by Nicholas Blake

  “What’s the idea of that?” he asked at last. “One of your subtle manœuvres?”

  “Yes and no. A check of the Q files certainly must take place as soon as possible.”

  “But, damn it, man, not now. The Division is understaffed as it is; and if you’re dragging off one of us this evening for Jimmy’s——”

  “You’ve only got to announce the check. At present. It may be that M.I.5 will do it for you.”

  The Deputy Director eyed Nigel thoughtfully.

  “Oh, it’s like that, is it? Well, I wish them luck. You know that PHQ Secret File Jimmy has been fussed about? It’s still missing. And it contains the complete list—the only complete list—of the Q.W. tray of canned photographs. They can’t very well check them without it.”

  “Yes, I know that. You must say that the file has been found.”

  Seeing Hark’ee still looked rather unco-operative, Nigel added

  “We’re seeing Jimmy this afternoon, early. If necessary I shall ask him for a chit requesting you to check the Q files to-morrow morning.”

  “My dear Nigel, there’s no need to jump me like this. Of course I’ll announce it. I’d be glad to have a note from Jimmy about it, though. I take it he’s on the road to recovery, then?”

  “Yes.”

  Jimmy Lake was lying in bed, his shoulder heavily bandaged, his face still as pale as the bandages, but evidently in full possession of his senses, when Blount and Nigel turned up at his house. The nurse said they might have fifteen minutes’ conversation with him, and left the room with a brisk glance at her wrist-watch. Alice Lake was sitting at the bedside. Blount first asked the Director to tell him what had happened the previous night. Jimmy said he had not made an appointment with any one to see him then. When the door had opened, he had not looked up instantly (this, Nigel could well imagine: when Jimmy was deep in a piece of work, you could often come into the room, sit down and light a cigarette before he looked up to see who it was). The next instant, said Jimmy, the lights had gone out. He sat still for a few moments, supposing it to be Hark’ee back from the canteen. He said something like, “Turn ’em on again, you silly ass.” Nothing happened. So he got up and moved over to the switches. Yes, he had thought there was someone in the room, but still assumed it to be Hark’ee. When he was near the door, he felt a hand fall on his shoulder from behind. Then the blow came, pitching him forward on to the floor. He was dimly aware of someone gliding out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He did not call out, for fear his assailant might return, but dragged himself to the door, turned on the lights, and then managed to get Hark’ee on the telephone before he passed out.

  All this seemed to fit in with Nigel’s reconstruction of the scene. But Blount’s further questions proved that Jimmy could give no clue at all to the identity of his assailant; and there was the awkward though not unexpected fact that he had made no appointment to see any one that night. How could the attacker have relied on his being there? This was easily answered. Both Brian Ingle and Edgar Billson had rung him up in the afternoon, asking to see him about certain jobs of theirs he had on his desk for approval. He had told them both that he hadn’t dealt with them yet, but hoped to get them done that night, and have them ready in the morning.

  Nigel studied the Director’s face while he gave this evidence. Jimmy Lake looked innocent, defenceless, irresponsible, as people do lying in bed. The square, handsome head; the voice weak, but collected; the familiar mannerism of running his tongue round against the inside of his lips before he spoke, as though it were an aid to deliberation: all this was unchanged. Yet Nigel seemed to perceive an unwonted air of anxiety behind it. Jimmy Lake, he obscurely felt, was straining to catch some implication from the Superintendent’s questions at the same time as he answered them at their face value. From time to time Jimmy’s eyes turned to his wife; and then a different sort of anxiety seemed to come into them. It was as though he were in a dream, trying to grope his way to her, but unable to reach her, thought Nigel. Alice Lake, for her part, was cool and quiet as ever. Her husband’s condition, so frail and appealing, did not modify her air of detachment. She sat at his bedside more like a nurse than a wife. When his right hand went out to her affectionately, Nigel almost expected her to take his pulse.

  Blount was now asking about the missing Secret file. Nigel had already explained to the Superintendent the general procedure of the PHQ files. Throughout the war, photographs from every theatre of operations, at home and abroad, poured into the Ministry. Every photograph was submitted to the appropriate censor—Naval, Military or Air; if necessary, to all three. All photographs passed by the censors were filed and indexed under subject headings in the Photographs Library, whence they could be issued to the Press or drawn upon for the Ministry’s own productions. Any photograph stopped by the censors was put away with its negative, in a special department of the Library. These stopped, or “canned” photographs were the subject of the PHQ files. Each file contained a list of canned pictures numbered, indexed and keyed to the number of the trays in Q Department, where negatives and specimen prints were put away, together with a brief note on their subject, date of receipt, date of censorship, etc., and any internal correspondence about them. Such photographs had usually been censored on security grounds: it might be that a picture gave away information about the position of an unexploded bomb in London, or of bomb damage, or the number of a ship or the shoulder-flash of a Division, or some secret apparatus such as radar.

  It sometimes happened that these canned photographs were more dramatic, or of better quality, than the sets on any given subject released for general publicity purposes. And it could also happen that the original reason for their being stopped was no longer valid. So it was the custom of Nigel’s editorial unit, when collecting photographic material for a new production, to examine the Q files for any relevant pictures; and if an exceptionally good photograph was found there, he would re-submit it to censorship. A year ago, browsing through the Q files, he had made a note of a most sensational picture, Q 5339, taken in the Pacific theatre. When he had recently got to work on his new production in the Pacific series, he had remembered this photograph and put through an order for six rough prints, in the hope that the censors might now be prevailed upon to release it. This was the picture which had caused his row with Billson on the morning of Nita Prince’s death.

  Now Nigel was painfully aware that, if the Secret file relevant to any group of canned photographs were missing, it would be extremely difficult, if not quite impossible, to check the originals. Each group of prints, it is true, was numbered in serial order. But, very occasionally, a print proved to be too dangerously revealing to be kept even in the locked files of Q Department, and the censor requested that it should be destroyed, together with its negative. In the absence, then, of the relevant Q file, it would be very difficult to prove that a given photograph had not been thus destroyed; and, but for Nigel’s having taken a note of Q 5339, there would have been nothing to indicate that this photograph and negative were in existence a year ago, and therefore had not been destroyed by official request.

  Nigel, it now transpired, was not the only person who had worried about this. On the day of Nita Prince’s death, file PHQ14/150 had been sent up to the Director from the Registry, but had never reached him. He had sent for it, he said, that morning, wishing to discuss with Merrion Squires some changes in the lay-out for the Pacific job and hoping that the list of canned photographs in the file might give them some ideas for new material. The Ministry’s Investigations Officer had traced the file as far as the In-tray in the Director’s ante-room. A Messenger had placed it there—he remembered it because of the red Secret tab on the envelope—just before eleven o’clock, when the senior officers of the Division were assembling in Jimmy’s room to greet Charles Kennington. From that point, it had been seen no more. It was unlikely that it could have been abstracted after the party had assembled, for a typist was in the ante-room all the morning from then on
, and she protested stoutly that she would have noticed any one tampering with the In-tray. But there had been a period of five minutes, just after eleven o’clock, when she had left the ante-room.

  Jimmy Lake had been too preoccupied the rest of that day to draw conclusions. The following day, however, he remembered how Charles Kennington had asked Nita to invite Edgar Billson to the party. This had been just after eleven o’clock, when the rest of them were already met in Jimmy’s room. Theoretically, it would have been possible for Billson to take the file from the In-tray then and conceal it in his room, without being seen, before coming to the party. At Jimmy’s suggestion, the Investigations Officer had been making tactful inquiries round the Division, with a view to testing this theory, during yesterday—the very day when the Director was attacked. Jimmy remembered, as did Nigel, how, less than an hour before Nita’s death, Jimmy had asked her to ring Mr. Billson and tell him that he must supply within twenty-four hours the Q.W. prints requested by the Editorial Unit, over which he had been so queerly obstructive. Did all this link up, the Director wondered. Had Billson somehow lost the negatives in question? Or had they been damaged? How else could one account for his recalcitrance over providing prints from them, or his making away with the PHQ file—supposing it was he who had done so?

  Jimmy now agreed that all the Q files must certainly be examined the following morning, and scribbled a note to the Deputy Director, instructing him to put this in hand, signing it with his initials.

  “And now, Mr. Lake,” said Blount, “that nurse of yours will be turning us out any moment. But I must ask you one more question. You spoke of these photographs as having been lost perhaps, or damaged. Did no other possibility enter your head?”

  Jimmy frowned. An expression of anguish came over his face.

  “I cannot believe that any member of my Division would——”

  “It is vairy painful for you, sir. Don’t think I don’t appreciate that. But those photographs, or their negatives, might have been of the utmost value to an enemy power. And—e’eh—let us suppose that the poison Miss Prince took was intended for you, as the knife certainly was—you see what a motive we have now for the criminal?—a man will go to great lengths to protect himself from a charge of high treason, Mr. Lake.”

  CHAPTER VII

  FROM: MR. BILLSON

  TO: DEPUTY DIRECTOR

  THE PROGRESS MEETING was in full blast. Sitting at his desk, the Deputy Director ran his finger down to the next item on the Production Schedule.

  “This job seems to be very sticky,” he said. “Went to the Studio on the 20th of last month, and we still haven’t got an approved lay-out. It’s a scandal. Merrion?”

  “The Director didn’t like two of my double spreads,” said Merrion Squires, sitting astride his chair and contemplating Hark’ee ruminatively over the back of it. “So he bunged the job back to me, and I’ve been trying to find some new pictures.”

  “It’s absolutely scandalous. Here’s a job in a standard format—no technical difficulties about it. The Admiralty are clamouring for it. And you talk to me about new pictures. What about the captions?”

  “Oh, they’re d-done,” stammered Brian Ingle eagerly. “And Nigel has p-passed them. All except for those two openings, I mean.”

  “Finance?”

  “That’s cleared,” said Mr. Oddie, the officer who was responsible for printing costs.

  “Well, there seems to be only one bottleneck. In the Art Work Unit. Let me see, delivery is scheduled for the 31st of August. And it’s now—my word, we’ll have to get cracking! The Controller gave Priority A. for this job, and it’s got to be delivered on schedule. That’s basic. Nigel, you’re supposed to push the work through every stage quickly,” he rapped out at the apparently unconscious figure in the deep leather arm-chair, Miss Finlay busily taking notes by its side.

  “We’ve been held up by Photographs Library. I ordered some new pictures for Merrion over a week ago. One of them, from the Q files, hasn’t turned up yet. Billson’s girls have lost it, I suspect.”

  “I take exception to that remark,” said Mr. Billson frigidly, his pasty face set in an expression not unfamiliar to his colleagues. “I queried with Mr. Strangeways the necessity of supplying six prints of the photograph in question. It is a matter of principle. Mr. Strangeways does not seem to grasp, even after five years’ experience of Civil Service procedure, the necessity for economy. I am responsible to the Treasury for——”

  “Yes, we know all that,” interrupted Harker Fortescue. “I also know this is a rush job and the Budget won’t unbalance itself if a few extra prints of one photograph are made. What did you want them for, Nigel?”

  “Submission simultaneously to the three Service censors.”

  “Very well. Let him have them double-quick, Billson.”

  “Mayor cuts red tape,” murmured Merrion Squires, very audibly.

  Edgar Billson gave the Deputy Director a queer look.

  “Are those definitely your instructions? Six prints of Q 5339?” There was some undertone in his voice which Nigel could not interpret.

  “Yes,” snapped Hark’ee. “And while we’re on the subject of the Q files, they are to be checked to-morrow morning, Billson.”

  “Oh, no, I’m afraid that’s out of the question. Several of my staff are away on leave, and I can’t waste my time just now with routine checks.” Billson’s white face looked as obstinate as a mass of dough that refuses to rise.

  “Can’t help that,” said Hark’ee. “I’ve a note from the Director giving firm instructions. Like to see it?”

  He passed the piece of paper to Edgar Billson, who took off his glasses and wiped them before reading it.

  “I cannot accept this,” he said at last. “I must come back at the Director with a firm request for postponement on the score of—h’rrm—lack of staffing facilities.”

  “Oh, God, now we’re off!” came another stage whisper from Merrion.

  “I’m sorry. It’s got to be done,” said the Deputy Director coldly. “So there’s an end of it. The missing PHQ file has been recovered, by the way. And it’s not a routine check, Billson. I understand that a representative of M.I.5 may be present.”

  Nigel opened his eyes wide. He had not intended Hark’ee to come out with this extra piece of bait: but, seeing the consternation on Billson’s face, he was quite glad of it. A little hum of surprise and interest had started in the room, soon silenced by Hark’ee saying:

  “Well, that’s the lot, as far as the Production Schedule goes. We’ll turn now to the Commissions Pending sheet. Where’s my sheet, chump?” he called to his secretary at the far table. While she was taking it out from a folder, Hark’ee went on:

  “Commissions Pending. Yes. I’m afraid, in the Director’s absence—you’ll be glad to hear he’s out of danger, but he’ll not be back for a week or so—some work will have to be redistributed. And there’s another thing. The police inform me that they will be making an arrest any moment now for the attempted murder of Jimmy. Let us hope,” said Hark’ee bleakly, “it isn’t one of our number. If it is, we shall be still more short-handed. On the other hand, the Superintendent promises to withdraw his men from the building as soon as this arrest has been made: so at least those of us who are left will be able to get on with our work in peace.”

  There was a shocked silence in the room. At last, Brian Ingle said:

  “Does that mean that—that, well, N-Nita’s death will be cleared up at the same time? Was it the same p-person who did it, I mean?”

  “Couldn’t say. I’m not that far in the confidence of the police. Now, item 368 on the sheet,” Hark’ee announced, in the manner of a parson giving out the number of a hymn.

  “‘Lead us, Heavenly Father, lead us,’” murmured Merrion Squires.

  The meeting got down to the discussion of work commissioned by other Departments but not yet at the stage of production. They were engaged on it ten minutes later, when Superintendent Blount came in
, a uniformed sergeant behind him. He advanced formidably to Hark’ee’s desk, bent over, murmured a few words in his ear. Hark’ee was seen to nod. Blount turned to the rest of them.

  “I must ask you to come with me, Mr. Squires,” he said.

  Watching Edgar Billson covertly, Nigel saw his body relax and beads of sweat starting from his forehead. No one spoke. They might have been the guests at the feast when Perseus flashed the Gorgon’s head at them. Merrion Squires cast one look of infinite reproach upon Nigel; then, without a word, strode to the door, Blount at one elbow, the sergeant at the other.

  The Deputy Director raised his eyebrows interrogatively at Nigel.

  “Yes,” Nigel said, “I’m afraid so.”

  “I think, ladies and gentlemen, we’ll end this meeting,” said Hark’ee.

  As he went out, Nigel looked round. The Deputy Director’s head was buried in his hands. . . .

  Five hours later, at ten o’clock that night, Blount and Nigel were sitting in the latter’s room at the Ministry. They were sitting in the dark and speaking in whispers. Blount had removed the disguise he had used to enter the building again undetected by any eyes that might be on the look-out for him. The door was slightly ajar, so that they could hear any footsteps that might pass along the passage to the Photographs Library on the other side.

  The telephone rang. Blount took up the receiver, listened a moment, said “O.K.”

  “That’s my man,” he said to Nigel. “Billson has left his house in a car.”

  “Let’s hope he’s not off to Dublin or somewhere.”

  “Don’t you worry. I’ve got a mobile patrol out there. They’ll be following him now. If he bolts, we’ve got him. If he comes back here, we’ll get him. He’s in a cleft stick.”