by Jim Eldridge
‘Yes, sir. By the way, before we do, I believe we’ve uncovered the identity of the person who sent you that anonymous letter naming Lady Amelia Fairfax as the murderer.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, sir. Lady Ambleton.’
Benson stared at Stark, his mouth dropping open. Then his jaws snapped shut and he barked, ‘Nonsense! I know Lady Ambleton! This is preposterous!’
‘That may be, sir, but I’m basing it on three things: one, the deduction by a handwriting expert at the British Museum, Sir Bernard Wallis; two, I visited Lady Ambleton and saw a note in her handwriting, and it was the same as in that letter; and three, she was informed about the murder soon after seven o’clock on the morning it happened. She was one of only a handful of people who knew Lord Fairfax had been murdered in time to send that letter.’
‘But … but … what would be her motive?’
‘Jealousy, sir. We’ve established that she was in a relationship with Lord Fairfax, but he was still enamoured of Lady Amelia, and his feelings for Lady Amelia had most likely prevented him from marrying Lady Ambleton.’
‘No, Stark! I can’t believe this.’
‘If you like, sir, I can bring in Sir Bernard Wallis to examine both pieces of paper and you can talk to him. And I can bring in Lady Ambleton for questioning.’
‘No, Stark! Absolutely not! It’s obvious that the anonymous letter has no bearing on this case!’
‘But you felt it did, sir. You said—’
‘That was before this … preposterous suggestion. Which, if true, can only be the result of the deep grief felt by Lady Ambleton, which caused her to strike out at … whoever.’
‘Lady Amelia Fairfax, sir.’
‘It’s irrelevant, Stark. This goes no further.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Benson headed for the door. ‘I’ll take you to see Mr Noble.’
Stark followed the chief superintendent along the corridor, then up a flight of stairs to the next level, before finally halting at a door marked Interview Room 3. He opened the door and strode in.
A man was sitting at the desk, on which newspapers and magazines were stacked in neat piles.
‘Special Agent Noble, allow me to introduce Detective Chief Inspector Stark,’ said Benson.
The man put down the newspaper he was reading and got to his feet, his hand outstretched. He was short and stocky, neatly dressed, his hair cut very short, almost cropped, in a military style. ‘Chief Inspector,’ he greeted.
Stark shook the hand. It was a firm handshake. No smile, Stark noticed; Special Agent Noble was a serious man on a mission.
‘Agent Noble,’ returned Stark.
‘I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,’ said Benson. ‘I’m confident that Inspector Stark will be able to answer all your questions.’
With that, Benson withdrew. Noble looked at the door as it closed, waited a second, then commented wryly, ‘I don’t think your superintendent likes me. He thinks I’m an interloper trespassing on his territory.’
‘I wouldn’t take it personally,’ commented Stark sagely. ‘The chief superintendent doesn’t like many people.’
‘I don’t think he likes you,’ observed Noble. ‘He seemed pretty annoyed when he found you weren’t in the building.’
‘My point, exactly.’ He gestured at the door. ‘Let’s go to my office. We can be more comfortable there, and I’ll introduce you to my sergeant. Have you been offered any refreshment?’
‘The chief superintendent offered me tea, but I asked for coffee.’ He grimaced. ‘It was lousy.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid it is,’ agreed Stark ruefully.
He opened the door and Noble followed him out of the interview room and along the corridor.
‘When did you arrive?’
‘The boat docked about five hours ago. Fortunately, there was a good train service from Southampton. Though, my God, your carriages are small after what we’ve grown used to in the States!’
‘So far it doesn’t seem as if your trip to this country has been a roaring success,’ said Stark.
‘No, it hasn’t,’ agreed Noble. ‘From the moment I docked and got the message from the embassy telling me that Carl had been murdered.’
‘Can I ask how you knew him?’ asked Stark.
‘He was a special agent, like me. We were working together on an operation. I’ve been looking after the American end. At least, I was until I got a telegram from him last week saying I needed to join him here.’
‘What was the operation?’
‘What do you know about the Ku Klux Klan’ asked Noble.
Stark shook his head. ‘Absolutely nothing,’ he said.
He saw Sergeant Danvers approaching along the corridor from the opposite direction and halted outside their office.
‘My sergeant,’ he explained to Noble. Stark did the introductions. ‘Sergeant Danvers, Special Agent Noble from the American Bureau of Investigation. He’s just arrived from America. He’s going to be working with us on the murder investigation.’
‘A pleasure to meet you, sir,’ greeted Danvers, shaking Noble’s hand. He looked towards Stark. ‘I’ve just been talking to Ted Bell in Records about Gallipoli, sir. Getting his story. He was there.’
‘Gallipoli!’ grunted Noble disapprovingly. ‘What an unholy mess!’
‘I think there are few people who’d disagree with you, Mr Noble,’ said Stark. ‘Except, perhaps, the Turks.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ scowled Noble. ‘They lost about a quarter of a million there, as I recall.’
‘True,’ agreed Stark.
He opened the door and the three men entered the office. ‘Carl Adams was an agent with the American Bureau,’ Stark told Danvers.
‘He was working undercover,’ said Noble.
Stark gestured Noble to take a chair, then said to Danvers, ‘Agent Noble was just asking me what I know about something called the Ku Klux Klan. I admitted it means nothing to me. How about you, Sergeant?’
Danvers shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, sir. It means nothing to me, either.’
They both looked questioningly at Noble.
‘It’s an organization,’ explained Noble. ‘One promoting white supremacy. The current Klan is the second incarnation. The first was set up by former soldiers of the Confederate army in Tennessee after our civil war, but that sort of died down. This latest confederation sprung up in Georgia about six years ago, and at first most people thought it would go the way of the first and fade away. But this year it’s seen a surge in membership, mostly in the Southern states – Alabama, Georgia, Arkansas, Tennessee, Texas, California – and it’s been spreading north and gaining in popularity. Detroit, Michigan, even parts of Massachusetts have become Klan strongholds. Right now the strongest Klan base is in Indiana.’
‘Which, as I understand, is where Edgar Cavendish is from.’
Noble nodded. ‘Correct. Edgar Cavendish is a Klan member, and a very important one. I believe he called on you, Chief Inspector.’
‘Yes, he did,’ nodded Stark.
‘What did he tell you?’
‘That he was shocked at Carl Adams’ death. That he believed it must have been a tragic accident, a case of Adams being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that the real target must have been Lord Fairfax.’
‘Trying to put you off the scent,’ grunted Noble.
‘You think that Cavendish was involved in the murder of Mr Adams?’ asked Stark.
‘I do,’ said Noble. ‘He may not have carried it out himself – he’s too sharp for that and you can bet he’ll have had an alibi for when it happened – but I’d bet his fingers are on this somewhere. He must have got wind that Carl was working for us and decided to silence him.’
‘He’d only do that if Adams had found out something new, something your people didn’t know already,’ said Stark. ‘Otherwise, all he’d be doing is bringing a more stringent investigation on himself and his organization.’
‘Yes,
that’s what I thought, too,’ said Noble grimly. ‘So the question is: what did Carl discover that’s so dangerous to Cavendish that he had to silence him?’ He paced the room in thoughtful silence, then said, ‘It has to be something that’s connected to the visit here. To England.’
‘Involving Lord Fairfax?’
‘Who knows? Maybe. Maybe not. The thing is, we suspect that the Klan have ambitions beyond domestic politics in the States. From talk we’ve heard, we believe they envisage some kind of global connections.’
‘World domination?’ smiled Stark. ‘We’ve heard that sort of thing before, down the centuries, from the Romans onwards.’
‘This is no laughing matter,’ said Noble sourly. ‘These people are serious. We’re pretty sure that’s why Cavendish is here in London.’
‘Under cover of doing business deals. The motion picture industry.’
Noble gave a harsh laugh. ‘Let me guess, he told you about his great triumph. The Birth of a Nation.’
‘He did indeed,’ said Stark.
‘Have you seen it?’
‘No,’ said Stark. ‘As I told Mr Cavendish, when it came out in the cinemas here, I was otherwise engaged.’
‘It was a pile of white supremacist crap!’ snorted Noble. ‘All about how noble the Ku Klux Klan is and how all blacks – played by white actors wearing blackface – are mad and dangerous.’
‘Thank you,’ said Stark drily. ‘You’ve saved me from spending my money if it returns to my local cinema.’
‘So Cavendish was telling the truth – he really is involved in the motion picture business?’ asked Danvers.
‘As a front,’ growled Noble. ‘Cavendish’s main business is Klan business. Like I said, he’s trying to set up a world-wide confederation of similar-minded groups.’
‘White supremacists?’ mused Stark.
‘Not just white supremacy,’ said Noble. ‘They’re also opposed to Jews and communists and Catholics.’ He scowled. ‘Hell, they’re against everything that ain’t white and Protestant.’
Jews. The word struck Stark. What had Hammond said? There have been attacks on Jews lately.
‘Are you saying that Cavendish – or this Ku Klux Klan – is seriously trying to set up some kind of global conspiracy?’
‘Absolutely,’ nodded Noble. ‘It seems that since the war different organizations have sprung up across Europe, as well as in America, that have the same aim. Putting blacks back into slavery to serve the white race, and especially getting rid of Jews.’
‘Like the British Union of Patriots?’ asked Stark.
Noble shook his head. ‘Sorry, the name means nothing to me. But then, I’ve only just landed here.’ His eyes fell on the clock and he got to his feet. ‘You’ll have to excuse me, Chief Inspector. I need to get to my embassy and update them on what’s happening. Perhaps we could meet later – say, at my hotel? To compare notes and put our heads together. I believe we have a common interest here.’
‘My pleasure,’ nodded Stark. ‘Where are you staying?’
‘The Claremont in Baker Street. Do you know it?’
‘I can find it,’ said Stark.
‘Shall we say seven?’ asked Noble.
‘Eight would be better,’ said Stark. ‘I have a visit to make first.’
‘Eight will be fine. You’re invited too, Sergeant. If you’re free.’
‘Thank you, sir, but I’m afraid I have a family engagement this evening.’
‘No problem,’ said Noble.
‘I’ll walk you down to reception,’ offered Stark.
‘No need, I can find my way,’ said Noble. ‘I had time to explore while I was waiting for you.’ He held out his hand, and Stark and Danvers both shook it. ‘See you at eight,’ said Noble, and left.
After the door had shut on the American, Stark turned to Danvers. ‘A family engagement?’ he asked.
‘If I don’t have a heart-to-heart with Lettie soon, I’m never going to hear the end of it from my parents,’ said Danvers unhappily. ‘I might as well grasp the nettle this evening, rather than later, especially in view of what Agent Noble told us about Cavendish.’
‘Yes, it does throw a new light on Mr Cavendish. And I think we can accept what Noble says; his outfit have obviously been keeping tabs on Cavendish and his actions for a long while.’
Stark frowned thoughtfully, watched by Danvers. ‘Let’s make an assumption, Sergeant. Let’s say that Adams discovered something going on here which alarms him enough to send a telegram to Noble asking him to come to England urgently. But it will take Noble a week to get here. So Adams decides he needs help. He’s a stranger here, knowing no one except the people he’s met through Cavendish. Which means he can’t trust just anyone. So he turns to someone he met while in action in France in 1918 – Lord Fairfax. Why choose Lord Fairfax?’
‘Because they’re fellow warriors. The comradeship of battle.’
‘That’s not enough. Lord Fairfax might have changed his political views in the last three years. He could be an associate of Cavendish.
‘When I tried to get details of Lord Fairfax’s actions in France during the war, I assumed the reason I got nowhere was because some jumped-up bureaucrat at the War Office was just being difficult because that’s what they do. But think about it. We have an experienced, older soldier, well respected, who is in an administrative role, but now and then is sent to where the action is. And the War Office is reluctant to give out any information about him.’
‘Military intelligence!’ exclaimed Danvers.
‘Exactly,’ nodded Stark. ‘Adams was in American intelligence. I bet he was already part of the organization in 1918. So when he and Fairfax met in France during the war …’
‘It was as intelligence officers,’ finished Danvers.
‘The question is, what did Adams discover here in England that was so important that he urged Noble to come, and about which he felt he had to inform British military intelligence through Lord Fairfax?’
‘I’m still puzzled why he had to confide in Lord Fairfax?’ frowned Danvers. ‘Surely, as an American government agent, he could have gone direct to British intelligence – Special Branch, or someone.’
‘Because, as I said, he didn’t know whom he could trust. Which suggests that there is top-level involvement here. Certainly threads through the official organizations. People sympathetic to Cavendish’s views.’
‘This British Union of Patriots you mentioned?’
Stark nodded. ‘Their name has come up twice in the last twenty-four hours. Once in relation to Lady Ambleton, who we know sent that anonymous letter naming Lady Amelia. And today, when I went to see Superintendent Hammond at Finsbury Park. According to DS Hammond, there have been quite a few incidents lately where properties owned by Jews have been attacked. And this latest incident he asked me to look into concerns a Jewish factory owner who claims he’s been framed for a murder.
‘In the light of what Agent Noble said about the Ku Klux Klan trying to set up a European conspiracy, I think this British Union of Patriots is worth a look. And while I’m doing that, I’d like you to check with the stations in areas where there’s a sizeable Jewish community and see if there have been any similar attacks lately. Especially any noticeable increase in such attacks.’
‘Right, sir. By the way, I did try to find out if the War Office had received any angry letters about Gallipoli.’
‘And?’
Danvers gave a rueful shrug. ‘Exactly as you said it would be, sir. They refused to give me any information at all.’
‘It’s not a campaign they remember with pride,’ said Stark. ‘Although they should. The campaign failed, but it was a failure of the people in charge, not the men who fought in it. Too many brave men died in the Dardanelles.’ He was quiet for a moment, then added reflectively, ‘Too many brave men died in the whole bloody war.’
‘Yes, sir. So Ted Bell said,’ nodded Danvers awkwardly. A part of him still felt guilty because he’d never got the ch
ance to fight. ‘Where will you be, in case I need to get hold of you?’ he asked. ‘In case the hospital calls with a message.’
‘To begin with, Records, to find out where this BUP is based. And afterwards, their offices. I’ll call you from Records when I find their telephone number.’
SIXTEEN
According to Records, the headquarters of the British Union of Patriots was in Warren Street, just a stone’s throw from University College Hospital. Stark checked the time. Two thirty. Perfect for three-o’clock visiting, and then the short walk to Warren Street afterwards. Stark telephoned Danvers and gave him the address and phone number of the BUP.
‘Just in case you need to get hold of me,’ he said. ‘But I shall be calling on my father first.’
‘I hope he’s getting better, sir,’ said Danvers.
‘So do I,’ said Stark.
Stark half expected to find his mother at UCH when he arrived, but there was no sign of her. He expected she was waiting at the school gates to collect Stephen.
She’s doing too much. Looking after Stephen, visiting Dad, walking everywhere at her age, and in the winter. She’ll be the next one in hospital. I have to get her some help. But would she accept it? She accuses me of being stubborn, but she’s the most stubborn of all of us. If we were a titled family, that would be our motto, he reflected. Stubborn and pig-headed.
Henry was lying in bed, propped up on a pile of pillows, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling. His laboured breathing, the painful wheezing, made an ominous rattle. A spittoon was on the bedside table.
Stark sat down beside his father’s bed. Henry’s face had become skull-like, his eyes sunk into their sockets, his cheeks hollowed, the skin on his face almost transparent.
He’s dead, but he refuses to die, realized Stark.
Henry must have become aware of his presence, because his eyelids flickered and then opened, and Stark found himself looking into the black pin-points of his father’s angry gaze.
What’s he angry about? Is he angry at me? Why? At this stage?
‘You look better than you did last night, Dad,’ said Stark.
