Shadows of the Dead

by Jim Eldridge

  ‘The famous?’ said Stark, incredulously.

  ‘Don’t worry, she said it sarcastically. She’s anti-royalist, so although she thinks what you did was brave, she’s not sure about saving the monarchy.’

  ‘I’m not sure which is worse, her being sarcastic or—’

  ‘Forget that. The point is, she told me about your father. Pneumonia, pleurisy, bronchitis.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s unethical, passing on information like that.’

  ‘She did it because she knows … how I feel about you.’

  ‘How does she know that?’

  ‘Because I may have said something when I first met you,’ Amelia admitted angrily.

  ‘May?’

  ‘Will you stop treating this like an interrogation! The point is, your father is seriously ill!’

  ‘Yes, I am aware of that,’ said Stark, wondering where this was leading.

  ‘And you and I both know that there is a division in this country when it comes to medical treatment. The rich get everything they want. The poor … struggle through. If they’re lucky.’

  Stark felt himself tense, felt anger towards her rising within him.

  ‘The thing is,’ she continued, ‘I’d like to help. If money’s needed …’

  He glared at her. ‘What is this? Lady Bountiful helping the deserving poor?’

  She stared at him, shocked.

  ‘We’re not poor!’ he snapped.

  ‘You’re always telling me you are. That’s why you’ve got such a big chip on your shoulder. You’re almost as bad as I am about social injustice. We both know it happens. That’s why I’m involved in politics.’

  ‘So my father’s a political cause now, is he?’

  She glared at him, and Stark felt that if they hadn’t been in a public place, she would have hit him. Immediately, he knew he’d gone too far. ‘I’m sorry …’ he began.

  ‘No, you’re not,’ she snapped. ‘You’re too bloody bogged down in your holier-than-thou hair-shirt anger. This was nothing to do with politics. It was to do with how I feel about you. Well, you can forget it. And don’t ask me how I feel about you, because you don’t want to know!’

  With that, she turned and stormed away from him, and out into the street.

  Noble approached him. ‘I couldn’t hear what was said, but I saw the body language. That was pretty fast, the way you turned someone who obviously liked you into someone ready to spit on your grave.’

  ‘It’s … complicated,’ said Stark.

  ‘It certainly is,’ agreed Noble. ‘Lady Amelia Fairfax. Widow of the victim of the murder we’re investigating.’

  ‘Divorced years ago.’

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ asked Noble.

  ‘No,’ said Stark. ‘It’s not an issue.’

  Noble shrugged. ‘If you say so.’ He regarded Stark quizzically. ‘Anything else I should know about?’

  ‘No,’ said Stark.

  TWENTY-ONE

  If Noble was impressed by the Danvers’ large house in Hampstead, he didn’t show it. But then, Stark reflected, these town houses were small beer by comparison with some of the grand houses in America he’d seen pictures of. America had its own aristocracy, although there it was based on money and political power. True, there were the ‘old families’, those who had gone to America with the Pilgrim Fathers, and those first plantation owners in the Southern states. But mainly it seemed to Stark that social prestige in America was based on money rather than a bloodline. And earned money, rather than inherited because, way back in time long gone, some ancestor had once given a king a particularly sumptuous meal.

  Bridges showed Stark and Noble into the drawing room, where they found Sergeant Danvers reading a newspaper, while his mother flicked through the pages of a magazine. Both stood up as Stark and Noble walked in. Stark did the introductions, and then they all took their seats while Bridges departed to the kitchen with orders for coffee and biscuits. Stark observed that, although Danvers still had a bandage wrapped around the top of his head, it was only a light one rather than the bulky turban-like one he’d worn the last time Stark had seen him.

  ‘I’m afraid the colonel’s out,’ apologized Danvers’ mother. ‘He’s got an appointment with his tailor. He tried to cancel it, but I insisted he keep it.’

  ‘Mother thinks that father dresses like a tramp,’ smiled Danvers.

  ‘I do not say that,’ his mother reprimanded him. ‘I just feel he should wear more than just the same clothes he always does.’ She turned back to her guests. ‘Letitia is here, but in her room. She’s being …’

  ‘Odd,’ finished Danvers. ‘She’s acting like the depressed heroine of some romantic novel.’

  ‘I think she’s just upset because of what happened to you, Robert.’ His mother hesitated, then admitted, ‘Although the fact that she hasn’t heard from Mr Cavendish this morning may be another factor. I’ve noticed that every time the telephone rings she rushes to answer it, and seems very disappointed when she discovers it’s mostly people asking how Robert is.’

  ‘And how are you?’ asked Stark.

  ‘Not too bad, thank you, sir,’ said Danvers. ‘I’ve still got a bit of an ache on one side of my head. The doctor said there might be a slight fracture, but he assured me it’s nothing to worry about and it will heal.’

  ‘A fractured skull?’ said Noble, concerned. ‘Nothing to worry about?’

  Danvers touched the bandage around his head. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks. This is mainly to remind me so I don’t go banging my head against things.’

  The door opened and Mrs Henderson, the housekeeper, came in bearing a tray with coffee and biscuits. Victoria Danvers got up.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Henderson. I’ll take my coffee in the library.’ She turned to the men. ‘I know you have business to talk about with Robert, so I’ll leave you to that.’

  Mrs Henderson put the tray down on a small table, then she and Mrs Danvers left.

  ‘Thank you for staying with me, sir,’ said Danvers. ‘My parents told me.’

  ‘It was the least I could do,’ said Stark. ‘You were there because of me.’

  Noble produced the copy of the Daily Target he’d brought with him.

  ‘The paper says you were attacked by a bunch of Jews,’ he said.

  ‘That’s not how I remember it,’ said Danvers. ‘I’m fairly sure that I saw one of the men who attacked me, inside the hall, showing people in, while I was waiting for Lettie to appear.’

  Danvers filled them in on what had happened the night before: being refused admission into the hall, arranging to meet Lettie and Cavendish at the Savoy at ten. ‘But then I thought it might be interesting to see how many names I could spot as people came out. I already had a few from earlier: two I’d been at school with – Reginald Worthington and Walter Bagshot – and Lord and Lady Monkton, plus some my mother had mentioned to me as members of the BUP – Lord Wickford, Sir Watkyn Keyes, Lady Mantle.’

  ‘A select crowd,’ growled Noble. ‘The crème de la crème of society.’

  ‘Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to get many more, because I was grabbed by this man and some others.’

  ‘And you’re certain the man who attacked you was part of the meeting?’

  ‘Yes, sir. It was only a fleeting glance, but I saw four men just inside the entrance acting as ushers when I was there before, in addition to the two men acting as security outside, and I could swear that one of the men who attacked me was one of those.’

  ‘It would be interesting to find out what was going on at that meeting that was so secret they needed to keep people out.’

  ‘I could try talking to Chuffy Worthingon or Walter Bagshot?’ suggested Danvers.

  ‘At the moment, Sergeant, I’d prefer it if you kept a low profile,’ said Stark. ‘At least until we know your head is feeling better.’ He hesitated, then said quietly, ‘There is one person in this house who was inside the Mitre Hall last night.’

  �
��Lettie?’ said Danvers. He thought it over, then nodded. ‘But you’ve seen how protective she is of Cavendish. She may have been told to keep quiet.’

  ‘And she may not have been,’ countered Stark. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

  ‘I’ll go and get her,’ said Danvers, getting up.

  He returned a short while later with Lettie. She looked nervous.

  ‘This is all so terrible!’ she said. ‘What’s going on? Why did those Jews attack Bobby?’

  ‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ said Stark gently. ‘It would help us if we could work out why they, or anyone else, would want to mess up the meeting. What sort of meeting was it?’

  ‘It was a talk,’ said Lettie. Her face lit up as she added, ‘Edgar was giving it.’

  ‘A talk about what?’

  ‘About the moving picture business.’

  ‘About the stars? Charlie Chaplin, Tom Mix?’

  ‘Well, I thought it was going to be about the stars, and things like that, but it was mainly about how it was run. I’m sure if you ask Edgar himself, he’d be happy to tell you all about what he said.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ nodded Stark, ‘but we’re trying to go as fast as we can to get to the people who attacked your brother.’

  ‘Oh, I see!’ said Lettie. ‘The Jews.’

  Stark saw that Noble was about to say something, so he cut in quickly and gently added, ‘Yes. Did Mr Cavendish – Edgar – mention anything about Jews in his talk? Anything that might make them want to turn up and interrupt it, as General Squires said?’

  Lettie nodded. ‘Yes. He was worried about what they were doing. He said that the Jews were infiltrating the moving picture business to try to undermine our way of life. The American and British way, that is. He said they were set on making films that sold Bolshevik and Jewish propaganda. He said there were a lot of Jews from Russia who’d come to America to make pictures to upset things without people realizing what was going on. He even mentioned the names of the people who were behind it.’

  ‘What were they?’ asked Stark. ‘Can you remember?’

  ‘They were funny names,’ said Lettie. ‘Jewish names. There was someone called Goldfish. Samuel Goldfish. Edgar said he’s changed his name to Samuel Goldwyn so no one would know he was a Jew. And another one called Mayer something.’

  ‘Louis B. Mayer?’ asked Noble.

  ‘Yes, that’s him!’ said Lettie. ‘Edgar said he had a different name in Russia, but he changed it when he came to America. Edgar said that’s what they all did to hide who they really were, and what they were after.’

  ‘And what are they after?’ asked Stark.

  ‘To take over,’ said Lettie. ‘He said that’s what the Jews are doing. Bit by bit, they’re taking over everything. All the factories. The banks. And now the moving picture business.’ She looked at Danvers. ‘Is that why they beat you up, Bobby? Part of their plan to try to break up the meeting. That’s what Edgar said they were trying to do.’

  ‘I don’t think it was Jews who beat me up, Lettie,’ said Danvers. ‘I think it was people hired by the BUP. The British Union of Patriots.’

  Lettie stared at him, stunned. ‘But … why would they do that?’

  ‘I think they thought I was spying on the meeting.’

  ‘But that’s nonsense! You were waiting for us!’

  Stark looked questioningly at Danvers, who hesitated, then admitted awkwardly, ‘Yes, I was waiting for you, Lettie. But I also wanted to find out what was going on at the meeting, and who was there.’

  ‘But all you had to do was ask!’

  ‘I did ask if I could come in, but Edgar said I couldn’t, if you remember.’

  ‘Because he had no say in the matter.’ She looked at Danvers, then at Stark and Noble with sudden suspicion. ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded accusingly. She turned on her brother. ‘What were you actually doing at the hall last night? Were you spying?’

  ‘Yes,’ admitted Danvers.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because, Miss Danvers, we don’t think that Edgar Cavendish is what he says he is,’ said Noble.

  ‘Who’s we?’ she demanded curtly.

  ‘The American Bureau of Investigation,’ said Noble. ‘Carl Adams was an undercover agent for the Bureau. He came to England to keep an eye on your friend Cavendish.’

  ‘But Edgar is a film producer!’ protested Lettie angrily. ‘He made The Birth of a Nation!’

  ‘He was a distributor,’ corrected Noble. ‘And I’m not saying he isn’t connected with the moving picture business. I’m saying he has a bigger and hidden agenda.’

  ‘Politics,’ added Stark. ‘Anti-Jewish politics.’

  ‘He’s a leading member of the Ku Klux Klan,’ said Noble.

  Lettie leapt to her feet, her face white with anger. ‘I don’t know who or what this Ku Klux … thing … is!’ she snapped. ‘And I know what this is about! You’ve been asked by Mummy and Daddy to turn me against Edgar! Well, I won’t!’

  With that, she stormed across the room and out, slamming the door behind her.

  Stark looked ruefully at his sergeant. ‘I don’t think we’ve helped the atmosphere in this house,’ he said.

  The door opened and Victoria Danvers came in, worried. ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded. ‘Letitia has just snatched her coat and stormed out of the house.’

  ‘I’m afraid I finally had that heart-to-heart talk with her about Cavendish,’ said Danvers. ‘I told her some home truths about him, which she didn’t like.’

  ‘We told her some facts about him that upset her,’ corrected Stark apologetically.

  ‘What sort of facts?’

  ‘The stuff you and Father wanted me to tell her about him,’ said Danvers, his manner slightly defensive. ‘That he’s a person who can’t be trusted.’

  ‘He’s here to stir up trouble against Jews under the pretence of getting money for film production,’ said Noble. ‘Your daughter unwittingly confirmed that, although we were pretty sure of it beforehand.’

  Victoria Danvers looked at them, bewildered, helpless. ‘But … what are we to do?’ she asked.

  ‘Be there for her,’ advised Stark.

  TWENTY-TWO

  As Stark and Noble headed back towards Scotland Yard, Noble said, ‘So, what’s our next move? Pick up Cavendish?’

  ‘On what grounds?’ asked Stark. ‘Yes, he’s promoting anti-Semitic views, but that’s not against the law in this country.’

  ‘For murder,’ said Noble. ‘You and I both know he was involved in the murders of Carl and Lord Fairfax.’

  ‘We suspect it,’ clarified Stark. ‘He’s an American citizen, and a prominent one at that. We can’t pull him in without evidence.’

  ‘He did it!’ burst out Noble.

  ‘I agree that he either did it himself, with others, or he organized it. But without firm evidence we can’t move against him.’

  ‘What sort of evidence?’

  ‘For one thing, finding out what Carl Adams was meeting Lord Fairfax about. That’s the key to this. Cavendish and his accomplices had to stop them talking, and stop Lord Fairfax from passing on whatever Adams told him.’

  ‘How do we find that out?’

  ‘We keep asking questions,’ replied Stark.

  ‘OK, I’ll start at the embassy,’ said Noble. ‘There are people there I knew back in the States. Cavendish would have used the embassy, that’s for sure. What about you?’

  ‘I have to meet a man who’s going to lie to me,’ said Stark.

  Even without being told, Stark was fairly sure the very large man sitting on one of the benches in the reception area of Scotland Yard, and wearing a tight-fitting blue suit, was Herbert Jolly. For one thing, he didn’t look happy. It wasn’t just the fact that his clothes were too small for him for comfort; it showed in the beads of sweat on his forehead, and the way he kept his head down, bringing it up now and then to dart suspicious glances at everyone. A man who definitely doesn’t want t
o be here and is only here under great pressure, but is worried that he might say something that will incriminate him, or others. Then there was the broken nose, one ear flattened, thickened skin around his eyes. A fighter. A tough doorman. However, it was worth checking. Stark didn’t want to be embarrassed by approaching someone who might turn out to be something completely different: a solicitor’s clerk rather than a client.

  ‘Is anyone waiting for me?’ he asked at the desk.

  The sergeant checked the register, then announced, ‘There’s a Mr Herbert Jolly. Says he’s been sent by a General Squires.’ He gestured towards the man in the blue suit. ‘He’s over there.’

  Stark strode over to the man. ‘Mr Jolly?’ he asked.

  The man looked up at Stark warily.

  ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Stark. Thank you so much for coming in.’

  ‘The General said for me to come,’ grunted Jolly, getting to his feet.

  ‘Indeed, he did,’ nodded Stark. ‘We’ll talk in my office. More private.’

  Stark led the way as Jolly lumbered along unwillingly beside him. Not light on his feet. Not agile. So, not a real boxer. A street fighter. Or more likely just another lump of muscle who gets put into a ring and beaten to a pulp to make the next up-and-coming championship contender look good.

  Stark wondered if it had been Jolly who’d beaten Danvers? There was one way to find out: call the sergeant in and let him take a look at the man, see if he recognized him. But would Squires or Cavendish take that much of a chance, to send the attacker to the Yard to spin the spurious story? Jolly didn’t look as if he had the kind of brain that could handle awkward questioning. It was more likely that Jolly was just a stooge sent to feed Stark a lie. But there was always a chance that Squires had overreached himself.

  They got to Stark’s office and Stark said, ‘Would you mind waiting here, outside, just for a moment, Mr Jolly? There’s a telephone call I need to make.’