by Graham Ison
‘I’m head stable lad at Slade House,’ said O’Reilly proudly. ‘I caught the eye of His Lordship just after the war, me being in the North Irish Horse and looking for work.’
Bodkin laughed. ‘And you from the South, boyo. What were you doing in the North Irish Horse?’
‘I like horses,’ said O’Reilly, not wishing to get into a fight with a fellow Irishman about having fought for the English.
‘Well, I’ll not hold it against you. Now, will you have a short to go with the black stuff?’
‘I’ll take a Bushmills, God bless you. There are so many Irishmen about the place, what with trainers and jockeys and stable lads, that the landlord makes sure there’s always a case or two in the stockroom, especially now that the racing is coming back to England after the war.’
Bodkin signalled to the barman to pour a large Irish whiskey for O’Reilly but wisely did not order any more beer for himself and Wood.
‘And is it a good billet you’ve got with His Lordship?’ asked Bert Wood.
‘Well, yes and no,’ said O’Reilly, adopting a confidential tone. ‘Lord Slade’s more often across the water than in England but his son is always about the place when he’s not up in London town doubtless bedding some filly. That’s Captain Oscar Lucas. Now there’s the broth of a boy. He has the run of the place while His Lordship’s away and you’d be surprised at the parties he has there.’
‘Really? What sort of parties are they? I suppose they come down for the horse riding.’
‘Riding? Bless you no, Liam,’ said O’Reilly, laughing. ‘The captain fills the house with young fellows, all ex-officers from the war, and the prettiest colleens you ever did set eyes on. Oh, it’s a riotous time they’ll be having with young girls running about the house half-naked, laughing and screaming while the young blades chase ’em from room to room. Every weekend, so it is. And the drink flows like water.’
‘It sounds like great fun,’ said Wood. ‘Does the captain let you join in?’
‘That’ll be the day. Mind you, I’ve even come across them in the hayloft. I had to have a word with the captain about that on account of them frightening the horses.’
Bodkin nearly burst out laughing at O’Reilly’s naïve comment. ‘Does His Lordship ever join in, Padraig?’ he asked and, noticing that O’Reilly’s speech was slightly slurred now, ordered another Bushmills for him.
O’Reilly laughed. ‘If His Lordship was to see the goings-on he’d have fifty fits, so he would. No, when he’s in residence the house is as quiet as a grave.’
‘And is he there now? I’m not being nosey but I’ve never heard tell the like of this before,’ said Bodkin. ‘I never believed that things like this could go on in respectable houses.’
‘Well, the weekend before last,’ continued O’Reilly, warming to his subject now that he had a captive audience, ‘there was the usual party up at the house, all young fellows and girls as usual. I don’t know what was different about it but a week or so later we had the police down asking all sorts of questions about what went on. They spent about two hours with the captain,’ he said, exaggerating wildly, ‘and then they came down to the stables asking me all sorts of questions. I knew it was something serious because this inspector was talking about a criminal conspiracy, so he was. Whatever that is, but I didn’t believe a word of it otherwise I wouldn’t be telling you gentlemen all about it.’
‘I don’t see what’s wrong with a few youngsters enjoying themselves,’ suggested Wood, who only just stopped himself from defining a criminal conspiracy for O’Reilly’s benefit.
‘Nor I,’ said O’Reilly. ‘Not that I told the police anything, on account of me not liking them all that much.’ After a pause, he added, ‘And the same goes for the RIC back home. But he was a fierce-looking fellow, this policeman who came to the house. Said his name was Harlow or Harding, something like that. No, I tell a lie. It was Hardcastle. A terrible man, so he was.’
‘What did he want to know, then?’ Bodkin asked.
‘I don’t rightly remember now but he seemed to be interested in one particular lass, not that he told me her name, and I never knew any of their names anyway. But he particularly wanted to know if she’d been there. I told him there was a girl and that she must’ve gone home because I never saw her after Sunday afternoon when I saw her crying her eyes out in the garden of the big house.’
‘What was wrong with her, then?’ asked Wood.
‘I don’t know. I asked her if she was all right and she said she was, then she ran indoors but I never saw her again. Cook told me that she hadn’t been down for breakfast and, as I said, I never saw her again.’ O’Reilly took a turnip watch from his waistcoat pocket. ‘Glory be, will you look at the time. Thank you for the drinks, my friends, and I hope you find some mole-catching to do. God bless you, but I must be off.’
‘That was all very interesting, Liam,’ said Wood once O’Reilly had departed. ‘I’ll bet the guv’nor didn’t know anything about these parties and, what was it our new-found friend said, “girls running about the house half-naked”? I think I was born too soon.’
‘Me too,’ agreed Bodkin, his Irish accent once again hardly noticeable. ‘So what do we do now, Bert?’
‘There are at least four other pubs nearby but I’m not sure we’d learn any more by visiting them, especially as we’ve had the tale from the horse’s mouth, in a manner of speaking. I think it’s best if I find the local nick and telephone DS Marriott. See what the guv’nor wants us to do next.’
‘Why not telephone Mr Hardcastle direct, then?’ asked Bodkin.
‘Because he hates the bloody telephone, Liam, and is likely to lose his temper with anyone who tries to talk to him on it. It’s much safer to speak to Charlie Marriott, then he can have a word with the guv’nor.’
‘I’ve just spoken to DS Wood, sir,’ said Marriott.
‘Is he back, then?’
‘No, sir, I spoke to him on the telephone.’
‘Oh, have we still got those things?’
Marriott decided that there would be no profit in pointing out that Hardcastle had one on his desk. It had been placed there on the orders of higher authority but Hardcastle had no intention of using it.
‘They had a few drinks with Padraig O’Reilly in the Spread Eagle at Epsom, sir,’ said Marriott, and summarized what DS Wood had learned.
Hardcastle nodded. ‘I think we’re getting somewhere, Marriott. Where are Wood and Bodkin now?’
‘Standing by at Epsom nick, sir, waiting for further instructions.’
‘I don’t think they can learn any more by wasting their time down there. Tell them to come back and report to me.’
‘Did O’Reilly tell you how many people were at this party the weekend before last, Wood?’ asked Hardcastle when Wood and Bodkin were once again in his office.
‘No, sir, but I got the impression from what O’Reilly was saying that there were quite a few. I’d take a guess at probably eight or ten.’
‘Did he say whether Lily Musgrave was one of them?’ Hardcastle had been told by Lucas that Lily was there but as usual was comparing one story with another.
‘He’d no idea, sir,’ said Bodkin. ‘He didn’t know the names of any of the guests, except, of course, for Captain Lucas.’
‘Tell me again what O’Reilly said about this one girl he found crying in the garden.’
‘He said that there was one girl he remembered because he saw her on the Sunday afternoon crying her eyes out in the garden. He then said that she must’ve gone home because he never saw her after that. But he also said that he told you all that, sir.’
‘He told me about the girl not appearing for breakfast but he didn’t say if it was Lily who was crying in the garden. Either there’s a bloody conspiracy going on or half the people at Slade House are doolally tap.’ Hardcastle stared at Wood. ‘Did you get a description of this girl?’
Wood stared back and remained silent for a moment or two. ‘O’Reilly thought that B
odkin and I were mole-catchers, sir, not police officers. To have asked him for a description might have made even O’Reilly suspicious.’
‘What are you proposing to do next, sir?’ asked Marriott hurriedly. He realized that Hardcastle had posed a stupid question but hated being seen to have done so. In circumstances like that the DDI’s reaction was always unpredictable.
‘What I’m going to do next, Marriott, is go home and think about it. I’ll see you here at half past eight tomorrow morning.’
‘What about us, sir?’ asked Wood.
‘You can go about your normal duties, Wood.’
‘See me in my office before you go, Sergeant Wood,’ said Marriott.
When Wood and Bodkin joined Marriott in the detectives’ office, Marriott closed the door.
‘The DDI was very pleased with what you and Bodkin found out, Bert.’ Marriott was always conscious of the fact that Hardcastle never offered a word of praise when one of his officers did a good job, and tried to make up for it by pretending the DDI had mentioned it in their absence.
‘I’ve been too long in the Job to fall for that, Skip,’ said Wood. ‘Between you and me, the DDI isn’t bothered how hard we sweat our guts out so long as he gets what he wants.’
Marriott grinned but made no comment about Wood’s truism. ‘Leave the door open on your way out, Bert.’
FIFTEEN
Hardcastle arrived home at just after eight o’clock. As usual, he checked the hall clock against his half-hunter and then pushed open the door of the sitting room. Alice was seated in her own particular armchair near the fire, knitting a scarf, but to Hardcastle’s surprise, Walter was also at home. Normally, the family’s only son, who worked as a postman out of Lambeth Road letter office, would be on the last post walk, as postmen called their final round of the day. If, on the other hand, he was on the early turn, he’d be at a local pub with some of his workmates at this time of the day.
‘I’m surprised to see you at home, Wally,’ said Hardcastle as he poured sherry for his wife and a whisky for himself. ‘D’you want a Scotch or a beer?’
‘I’ll have a Scotch, please, Pa.’
Alice waited until Hardcastle had settled in his chair and taken a sip of his whisky before making her announcement. ‘Wally’s got something to tell you, Ernie.’
‘He’s got a tongue in his head, hasn’t he? He doesn’t need an introduction like a singer of comic songs at the Alhambra.’
‘Oh, for pity’s sake, Ernest, just listen for once,’ said Alice sharply. ‘You’re not at work now.’
‘Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly got engaged, Wally.’ Hardcastle ignored his wife’s jibe. ‘This marriage thing seems to be catching on. Still, at least we won’t have to pay for the wedding this time.’
‘No, I’m not engaged, Pa.’
Hardcastle leaned forward in his chair, a stern expression on his face. ‘You haven’t got a girl into trouble, have you?’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Ernest, d’you always have to see the worst in people?’ Alice was becoming increasingly impatient with her cantankerous husband.
‘No, Pa, nothing like that.’ Walter was finding that imparting his news was a struggle.
‘Well, what is this important information you wish to tell me about?’
‘I’ve joined the Metropolitan Police, Pa.’
Hardcastle put his whisky glass on a side table, almost spilling it as he did so. ‘You’ve done what?’ he exclaimed.
‘Don’t tell me you’re going deaf, Ernie,’ commented Alice drily.
‘But why didn’t you tell me?’ spluttered Hardcastle.
‘I just did.’ Wally paused, and then grinned at his father. ‘Sir!’
‘You can hardly blame the boy for wanting to follow in your footsteps, Ernie,’ said Alice, who sensed a row brewing. ‘But he knows how opposed to the idea you’ve always been and he didn’t know what your reaction was likely to be. Although, he could probably have guessed,’ she added as an afterthought.
‘But how come they accepted you, Wally? You’re supposed to be twenty to apply and you’ve only just turned nineteen.’
‘I don’t know, Pa. Perhaps they took one look at my name and decided that another Hardcastle in the Force would definitely be an asset.’
Alice burst out laughing. ‘There, Ernie, you’ve got no answer for that, have you?’
Then, to the surprise of both Alice and Walter, Hardcastle levered himself out of his chair and shook hands with his son.
‘Congratulations, Wally. It’s a hard life but a rewarding one. Have another Scotch.’
‘Good grief!’ exclaimed Alice. It was not often that she saw her husband accepting a controversial situation so phlegmatically.
‘Thanks, Pa.’ Walter was also surprised that his momentous announcement had been accepted so placidly by a parent known for his shortness of temper.
‘When d’you start training?’ Hardcastle settled back in his chair. ‘Have we got Peel House back from the Dominion Forces yet?’
‘Yes, but it’s being used to train women police patrols now.’ To stem the predictable outburst that the family knew would follow any mention of women in the police, no matter in what role, Walter said, ‘The men are being trained at Eagle Hut in the Aldwych. And I start on Monday.’
‘Dinner’s ready,’ said Alice.
After dinner, Walter announced that he was going down to the pub for a drink with his mates.
‘I thought you were going to bite Wally’s head off, Ernie,’ said Alice. ‘He was very nervous about telling you.’
‘I’m very proud of him, Alice,’ said Hardcastle, much to the surprise of his wife. ‘Despite knowing that I didn’t much care for the idea, he had the guts to go ahead and do what he wanted to do. He’ll make a good copper.’
‘It’s his future wife I feel sorry for,’ said Alice, and picked up her knitting again.
Hardcastle was in his office by eight o’clock the following morning. Marriott joined him at exactly eight thirty.
‘Good morning, sir.’
‘My Walter’s bloody well joined the Force, Marriott. What d’you think of that?’
‘He’ll do well, sir.’ Risking a reproof, Marriott grinned, and added, ‘If he’s anything like his father.’
Hardcastle looked up suddenly and stared at Marriott but made no comment about his sergeant’s unashamed flattery, although he was secretly pleased at the compliment.
‘What are we going to do about Lily Musgrave, sir?’
‘I intend to interview Captain Lucas one more time. And this time I’m going to get the truth out of him. If he buggers me about, Marriott, I’ll nick him for obstructing the police. For a start, you can get on that telephone thing you’re so fond of and find out if he’s at the In and Out Club or if he’s still at Slade House. A bit tout de suite.’
Marriott was back twenty minutes later. ‘Lucas is at the In and Out, sir. He returned to London from Epsom yesterday apparently.’
‘Good.’ Hardcastle stood up and put on his coat and hat, then seized his umbrella. ‘Now’s as good a time as any, and we’ll go and interfere with his leisurely breakfast. No doubt, being one of the gentry, he breakfasts later than us mere mortals.’
‘I’ll go down and find a cab, sir.’ Marriott was disturbed by Hardcastle’s mood of hostility towards Captain Oscar Lucas, particularly as it existed before the DDI had even started to question him. In Marriott’s experience, hectoring a witness usually produced the answers the witness thought his interrogator wanted to hear rather than the truth.
It was half past nine when Hardcastle and Marriott arrived at the Naval and Military Club in Piccadilly.
‘I believe he’s having breakfast, Inspector,’ said the club servant who opened the door.
‘What did I tell you, Marriott?’ said Hardcastle, and turned back to the servant. ‘Perhaps you’d fetch him out, then. I want to talk to him.’
‘But he may not have finished his breakfast yet, Inspector. The
members don’t like being interrupted at meal times.’
‘I don’t give a damn,’ said Hardcastle. ‘Just fetch him. We’ll be in the reception room.’ Without waiting for a comment, Hardcastle pushed past the doorkeeper and sat down on one of the uncomfortable settees with which the room was furnished.
Five minutes later, Lucas appeared, clutching a copy of The Times and clearly in a mood to match Hardcastle’s ill temper. ‘I take grave objection to this high-handed attitude, Inspector, and frankly, I’m getting a little tired of your harassment. What is it you want this time?’
‘Sit down, Captain Lucas,’ said Hardcastle, in such a manner that brooked neither refusal nor further argument. ‘I want the truth from you about what’s been going on at Slade House, and I want it now, otherwise I shall arrest you and charge you with obstructing the police in the execution of their duty.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ A tic in Lucas’s left eyelid began and he pressed a finger against it.
‘Well, let me put it to you straight,’ said Hardcastle. ‘I have learned that the weekend Lily Musgrave was at your house in Epsom, there were several men and women there, and that a riotous party was held where half-naked girls were being chased through the house. And I’d remind you she’s not been seen since.’ He said nothing further, but waited to see what Lucas would say.
‘That’s true. There was a party and it did get a bit out of hand.’ Lucas decided that Hardcastle knew too much about that particular weekend.
‘You seemed rather vague about Lily’s departure when I spoke to you at Slade House. When did she leave?’ Rather than upbraid Lucas for his previous mendacity, Hardcastle pushed home his advantage.
‘I don’t know exactly. I know she was there on the Sunday evening but I didn’t see her again after that.’ Lucas took out a cigarette case and lit a cigarette. He did not offer the case to Hardcastle or Marriott. ‘It tends to be like that. People come and go, more or less as they please.’
