Off the Record

by Dolores Gordon-Smith

  ‘I . . . I’d like to, yes,’ said Ragnall. ‘Yes, I’d enjoy that. Why don’t I meet you there in twenty minutes or so?’ He tapped the letters on the desk. ‘That’ll give me time to clear away here.’

  ‘That sounds like a good idea,’ said Jack, and would have said more when the door opened and Stephen Lewis, holding a telegram, walked into the room.

  ‘Ragnall, I’ve had some news . . .’ He broke off as he saw Jack. ‘Hello, Haldean. I didn’t know you were here.’ He looked curiously at Ragnall. ‘I didn’t realize you knew each other.’

  ‘We’ve only just met,’ said Jack easily. ‘I hope you don’t mind me barging in, but Inspector Rackham mentioned Mr Ragnall knew an old friend of mine, so I thought I’d look him up.’

  ‘I see. Is there any news of Ferguson, by the way? I was horrified when I heard he’d been arrested. The police made a real bloomer there. Ragnall told me that he’d seen Ferguson at the hotel at the time but it never occurred to either of us that he could be suspected. Least said, soonest mended and all that, especially when Ferguson denied being there. I know why he did it, but he’d painted himself into a real corner, hadn’t he? When we got the news I said Ragnall better tell the Inspector what he’d seen. I hope it’s going to be all right.’

  ‘I think so, yes. But I’m sorry, I’m interrupting your work,’ said Jack, glancing at the telegram in Lewis’s hand. ‘I was just leaving.’

  ‘It’s not work, I’m afraid,’ said Lewis, seriously. ‘It’s bad news.’ He held out the telegram to Ragnall. ‘I’ve been expecting it for a while, but that doesn’t make it any better. Uncle Maurice died this morning.’

  Jack was surprised at the effect of the news on Ragnall. He took the telegram and, as he read it, his shoulders sagged and his face fell in what seemed genuine distress. He read the telegram in silence and handed it back with a sigh. ‘My word, Lewis, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘He was such a splendid character, a real fighter. I know he was difficult sometimes, but he was a grand old boy.’

  Lewis stiffened and Jack realized, with the shock of the unexpected, that he hadn’t liked Ragnall saying that. Once before he had likened Steve Lewis to a wary guard dog. Ragnall had stepped over the invisible, possessive line of kinship and Lewis’s voice contained a warning growl.

  ‘It’s not really your place to comment, is it?’

  Ragnall jerked his head back and met Lewis’s eyes. ‘No,’ he said, dropping his gaze. ‘No, I don’t suppose it is. I’m sorry.’

  His authority restored, Lewis relaxed. ‘Poor old beggar,’ he said. ‘I’ll miss him.’ He sighed deeply. ‘I suppose I’ll have to think about the funeral.’

  Ragnall swallowed. ‘The funeral?’

  ‘Yes. I should have considered it before, but I’ve been putting it off. I was hoping he’d pull through, I suppose. I could do with a hand to get everything sorted out.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Ragnall. ‘Yes, it’ll have to be arranged.’ He broke off for a moment. ‘Will Mrs Lewis attend the funeral?’

  ‘We’ll discuss it between ourselves,’ said Lewis, adding, in a fairly obvious hint that Jack should depart, ‘It can’t be of much interest to you, Haldean.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Jack. ‘I don’t want to intrude. I met your uncle, though, Lewis. Please allow me to offer my sympathies.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Lewis absently. ‘Yes, you went down with Gerry, didn’t you? It’s just as well he did go. I warned him Uncle Maurice didn’t have long left. I’m only sorry to have been proved right so soon.’

  Ragnall cleared his throat. ‘I think in the circumstances, we’d better postpone our drink, Major. We were going to the pub,’ he explained to Lewis. ‘We’d better leave it for the time being.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lewis, looking once more at the telegram. ‘Yes, that might be as well.’ He was silent for a few moments then looked up briskly. ‘It seems a shame, though. What did you say? That you had friends in common? Why don’t you come here, Haldean?’ He smiled. ‘With any luck, Ferguson will be able to join us and I know both Ragnall and my wife would like to talk to you about your stories. They’re both regular readers.’ His smile widened. ‘And, ever since you got him off the hook, Gerry’s been singing your praises, so I think I’ll invite him, too. You can be assured of a very warm welcome. Shall we say the day after tomorrow? Half seven for eight for cocktails and dinner. Will that suit you?’

  ‘That’s very generous,’ said Jack. ‘I’ll accept with pleasure.’

  Lewis ushered him into the hall. ‘I must say I was surprised to see you, Haldean,’ he said as he showed him to the door. ‘You’re welcome, of course, but did you really look up Ragnall on the strength of having a mutual friend?’

  ‘More or less,’ said Jack easily. ‘Talking of old friends, I’m glad that Hector Ferguson seems to be cleared. Ragnall might not have thought his evidence was particularly important, but it’s got Ferguson out of a hole.’

  ‘It never crossed my mind that a chap like Ferguson could be in any danger.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Jack. ‘After all, he’d said he’d been at work all afternoon. You knew that wasn’t true. Didn’t you have any suspicions?’

  Lewis shook his head. ‘Not really. Mind you, I knew what Ragnall had seen, so I knew he was in the clear.’

  ‘But both you and Mr Ragnall knew the police had considered Mrs Dunbar. It wasn’t really fair to her.’

  ‘Considering Mrs Dunbar had no compunction about accusing me, I can’t say I lost any sleep over it,’ said Lewis grimly. ‘I didn’t think she could be serious but it stung, all the same. Look, Haldean, what was I supposed to do? I didn’t see Mrs Dunbar or Ferguson; Ragnall did. Both of us thought if Ferguson wanted to tell the police he’d never been near the Marchmont, it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. Ferguson might have bent the truth a little, but the point was that whoever had bumped off Dunbar, it wasn’t him. I was in a position to know that was true, so I advised Ragnall to keep schtum and I did the same. Besides that, you must remember that the police had arrested Gerry. It seemed to be an open and shut case.’

  Jack paused by the door. ‘And you didn’t disagree with them?’ he asked softly.

  Lewis looked at him with a hunted expression. ‘What do you want me to say?’ he demanded. ‘The man’s my cousin, after all. It seemed so cut and dried. I didn’t want it to be true, but we can’t have the world arrange itself to our liking simply because we don’t care for the way things turn out.’ He dropped his voice. ‘You see, I know Gerry. He’s a brilliant scientist but, just like his father, he wants everything to be black and white. He hates it when things don’t go his way.’

  ‘So you found it a credible accusation?’

  Lewis met his eyes squarely. ‘I don’t think I’d better answer that. Gerry’s free. It’s all turned out for the best.’

  THIRTEEN

  ‘One of the things that’s getting to me, Bill,’ said Jack, giving a final tweak to his white tie in front of the mirror, ‘is the calm way everyone – including you – seems to take on board that Gerry Carrington is a murderer but doesn’t seem to want to do anything but pat him on the head and say “There, there, never mind, don’t do it again. Off you go and play.”’

  ‘That’s a bit of a low blow, Jack,’ complained Bill. He had called in to see Jack before he left for the dinner party at the Lewis’s and, glass of gin and lime in hand, was going through the case. It seemed, he said, to have completely stalled. Ferguson had been released and Rackham had drawn a predictable blank at the British Museum when he had enquired after Mr Patrick Mullaney. ‘If Gerard Carrington’s guilty, I’d like to see him in the dock. I’ve got no intention of patting him on the head, as you put it. I wasn’t sure about Carrington. It’s an odd thing, but I’ve become more convinced as time’s gone on, even though you did produce the evidence about the letter.’

  Jack picked up his gin. ‘I’ve given myself a headache brooding about that damn letter,’ he said seriously. ‘If it
was a trick, I’m blowed if I know how the trick was done.’

  ‘So you’re beginning to wonder as well?’ asked Rackham shrewdly.

  Jack plumped down heavily in an armchair and sat for a while without speaking. ‘Yes,’ he said eventually. ‘It’s not surprising, is it? Carrington’s a likable sort, but he’s a clever man and, I think, a determined one. He seemed oblivious of the letter but perhaps he has enough brass neck to keep it up his sleeve. If he’d produced that letter in court, he’d be laughing. Maybe all I’ve done is save him the trouble of being tried. Naturally he had to appear to welcome my help. Maybe he did welcome it when he worked out there couldn’t be a case brought against him.’

  ‘D’you think that’s the truth of it? I still believe Carrington’s far and away the most obvious suspect.’

  ‘He’s blindingly obvious, which, of course, bothers me.’

  It suddenly struck Rackham that there were dark shadows under Jack’s eyes. ‘Go easy on yourself,’ he said gruffly. ‘I asked you to look into the case as a favour. You can hardly blame yourself for uncovering the evidence that was there.’

  Jack drained his gin. ‘I could almost wish I hadn’t, Bill. If he’s not guilty, I don’t know if the poor beggar will ever be free of suspicion, but if he is guilty, I haven’t made any difference at all.’ No, he hadn’t; and Carrington, that dishevelled yet oddly precise man, with a mind full of equations, was essentially a lie. ‘Carrington’s free and that would have happened with or without my help. But if he is guilty, not only has he really got away with murder, everyone – Stephen Lewis, Hugo Ragnall, Molly Lewis, Mrs Dunbar and Ferguson too – is telling him it doesn’t actually matter. And that’s a very dangerous state of mind.’

  ‘I see what you mean,’ said Bill, his forehead creasing in a frown. ‘And now Colonel Willoughby’s dead, that’s murder, too. We have to get to the bottom of this, Jack.’

  Stephen Lewis, thought Jack, as Lewis showed him into the flat, was worried. The sound of music and chatter from the drawing room was clearly audible in the hall but Lewis seemed far too distracted to be in the mood for a party.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ asked Jack, handing him his coat and hat.

  ‘Yes,’ said Lewis, hanging up Jack’s things in the hall wardrobe. ‘That is . . .’ He sighed in a harried sort of way. ‘It’s Gerry,’ he dropped his voice. ‘I haven’t said anything to the other guests, of course, but you know so much that it’s silly to pretend that everything in the garden’s lovely. To be honest, I’m expecting a few fireworks. When you rang the bell I thought it might be him. Never mind. Hopefully it won’t amount to anything.’

  The door of the study opened and Hugo Ragnall looked out. ‘Oh, it’s you, Major Haldean,’ he said, his shoulders sagging in relief. ‘I thought it might be Mr Carrington.’

  ‘It can’t be anything but a misunderstanding,’ said Lewis, assuming a painfully synthetic heartiness. ‘You mustn’t worry. I’m sure it’ll all be sorted out. The fact is, Haldean, that Gerry’s written a very peculiar letter to Ragnall here, and we’re not sure what to make of it.’

  Ragnall’s lips thinned. ‘You may think it’s merely peculiar, Lewis, but I call it downright offensive.’

  ‘Gerry’s got the wrong end of the stick, somehow,’ said Lewis pacifically. ‘I said as much before. Anyway, Ragnall thought he’d better have a word with him in private before dinner and see what it was all about. It’ll be something and nothing, I’ll be bound. Gerry’s overstepped the mark a bit, but he’s done what he always does. He’s heard half a story, invented the rest, and gone off at half cock.’

  The doorbell rang and Lewis and Ragnall exchanged looks. ‘That’s probably him now,’ said Lewis. ‘Relax, Ragnall. You mark my words. He’ll be all apologies after a few minutes, you wait and see. Haldean, just wait a minute to say hello, will you? He can’t be too over the top if he sees you’re here.’

  ‘Right-oh,’ said Jack agreeably, as Lewis went to answer the front door, adding in an undertone to Hugo Ragnall, ‘I hope you get it sorted out.’

  ‘I want an explanation,’ said Ragnall grimly as he went back into the study. ‘It’d better be a good one, too.’

  Gerard Carrington came into the flat like a tornado. He took no notice of Jack but greeted Lewis curtly then, without taking off his hat or coat, stood with his fists clenched, radiating anger. ‘Where the devil’s that blasted secretary of yours?’

  ‘Calm down, Gerry,’ said Lewis, indicating Jack. ‘We’ve got guests in the flat.’ Carrington nodded to Jack in a restrained way, then whirled as the study door opened and Hugo Ragnall came into the hall. ‘So there you are!’ snarled Carrington.

  ‘Yes, Mr Carrington,’ bit back Ragnall. ‘Here I am. I’ve been waiting to see you.’

  ‘I bet you have,’ said Carrington.

  ‘Gerry,’ said Lewis, harshly. ‘Get a grip on yourself. I don’t know what’s wrong, but you and Ragnall had better get it sorted out between yourselves and quickly, too. I’ll be in the drawing room.’

  Lewis heaved a distracted sigh, giving Jack an expressive glance as they walked towards the drawing room. ‘I hope to God those two get it sorted out. The last thing I want is a row, particularly with guests around.’ At the door he straightened his waistcoat and squared his shoulders with a tired smile. ‘Let’s pretend there’s nothing wrong, shall we?’

  In the drawing room, Hector Ferguson was standing by the gramophone, listening with earnest interest to That’s My Hotsy Totsy Bon Bon. He glanced up as they entered and gave Jack a rather sheepish look.

  Molly Lewis who, cocktail in hand, was sitting with an older woman and three girls, got up with a worried air. ‘Was that Gerry at the door, Steve?’ she asked Lewis quietly.

  ‘Yes.’ Lewis gave her a warning frown. ‘Least said, soonest mended, eh?’ He raised his voice. ‘Let me introduce you, Haldean. These are neighbours of ours, Mrs Soames-Pensford and her daughters, Barbara, Ethel and Phyllis.’

  ‘Major Haldean, I just loved The Secret of the Second Shroud,’ said Babs Soames-Pensford. ‘It was too enthralling for words.’ She was a remarkably pretty girl and, if Jack’s mind hadn’t been on the quarrel in the next room, he would have been more than happy to give her his undivided attention. ‘When Molly said you were coming to dinner we were thrilled. We’ve all read it and my mother’s reading it, too. We can’t wait for her to finish it so we can talk about the ending.’

  Jack recalled himself to his social duties. ‘I won’t give anything away,’ he said with a smile, taking the cocktail Stephen Lewis offered him. ‘That’s very kind of you.’

  The music came to an end. The flat was solidly built and he could hear nothing from the next room. Maybe the quarrel would come to his aid. He wanted that talk with Ragnall and, if things went badly, Ragnall would probably be looking to enlist sympathy. Not tonight, not with Lewis there and – if things were patched up – Carrington as well, but tomorrow, perhaps. Bill said that he was sure Ragnall was holding something back. Not only that, but Ragnall thought Carrington was guilty. Real or imagined, Ragnall might have some actual knowledge. If it had got to Carrington’s ears, it would account for his furious letter.

  ‘Put another record, on, Ferguson,’ said Lewis. ‘I’ve had a half a dozen new pressings from the factory today. They’re in the box by the side of the machine.’

  ‘New records, Captain Lewis?’ said Babs Soames-Pensford. She sighed wistfully. ‘What an exciting life you have. I expect you know all the band-leaders, don’t you?’

  ‘Some of them,’ said Lewis. ‘Why don’t you help Ferguson choose a record?’ he added gallantly, to her obvious pleasure.

  ‘There’s not a bad selection here,’ said Ferguson, opening the box and looking through the records with Babs Soames-Pensford. ‘All single-sided, I see.’

  ‘Yes, they’re new,’ said Lewis in an abstracted way. He was clearly thinking about what was happening in the next room, too. ‘Just play one, Ferguson, will you?’

&nb
sp; ‘Now this is the stuff to give the troops!’ Ferguson drew a record from its paper sleeve. ‘Jack Hylton. Mama’s Doing It Now!’

  ‘I do like Jack Hylton,’ said Babs Soames-Pensford happily. ‘He’s too shattering for words.’

  Ferguson jerked That’s My Hotsy Totsy Bon Bon from the turntable and put it on the piano. Jack winced. For someone who was so positive about the joys of recorded music, Ferguson was horribly heavy-handed with the disks.

  ‘Jack Hylton,’ said Ferguson knowledgeably over the music, ‘knows how to get a true jazz sound. It’s all a question of technique. What it needs is the singer to stand close to the microphone and sing into it, rather than bellowing away like someone at a Sunday concert, trying to get his voice to carry to the back of a hall—’

  He stopped short as a loud crack rang out. The Soames-Pensfords gave a squeal of surprise. Jack Hylton played on, loud in the listening silence.

  Molly Lewis made a little noise in the back of her throat. She looked at Lewis, her eyes wide and her face suddenly pale. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing, I expect,’ said Lewis, in a blustering let’s-pretend-everything’s-fine way that was more alarming than any amount of honest concern. ‘It must have been a backfire from a car. I’ll just take a look and see how old Gerry’s getting on.’ Jack made to follow him to the door but Lewis stopped him. ‘Keep an eye on things in here, old man,’ he muttered.

  ‘These dreadful cars,’ said Mrs Soames-Pensford to Molly Lewis. ‘It sounded exactly like a gunshot, didn’t it? Why, you look quite upset, my dear. It’s too bad. Something really should be done. Only the other day, I was crossing Piccadilly and a car made such a frightful bang I honestly thought my last moments had come. I was so shaken the policeman on point duty had to catch hold of my arm to steady me.’