by Dawn Harris
He would appeal, of course. But that would fail unless we found evidence that proved Pratt or the Germans had paid Jones to kill George Crawleigh - and that he’d shot Peter first by mistake. Without such evidence Mr. Taverner would hang. And within a few weeks too.
But Pratt was dead, and Muller had been sent back to Germany. I couldn’t see how we were to find that evidence.
CHAPTER TWENTYNINE
After the verdict Monica was understandably in shock, and Jean drove the three of us back to my house where I persuaded them to stay for dinner. When we arrived there was no sign of Al or my Rolls, and I frowned in concern. I’d told him to wait for Jack Finch if he was out, but surely he ought to be back by now. Jean asked me what was wrong and when I explained, she sniffed, ‘He’s probably sold your Rolls and run off with the proceeds.’
‘No,’ I responded firmly. ‘Not Al.’
‘But you don’t know anything about him.’
‘I know enough.’ Monica didn’t speak, in fact I don’t think she’d heard a word we said.
Going into the house I asked cook to provide us with a light, simple meal, the kind where we could help ourselves to what we wanted. This she did, and I was trying to encourage Monica to eat a little salad when Lang came into the room. Having told him we did not wish to be disturbed, I raised my brows at him in surprise.
‘I beg your pardon, Mrs. York, but Black insists on seeing you.’ Lang was the only member of my household who called Al by his surname, but Al said it didn’t bother him. ‘I told him.....’
‘Then it must be important,’ I said, relieved that he was home. ‘I’ll see him in the library.’
Lang left the room and excusing myself to Monica and Jean, I followed and went straight to the library. My butler soon reappeared, announcing Al with unconcealed displeasure, his neck as stiff as the collar he wore round it. When Lang had shut the door behind him, Al ran a hand through his hair and said with a rueful smile, ‘I guess he still doesn’t approve of me.’
I laughed. ‘No, but that’s his problem, not yours. What is it, Al?’
He apologised for interrupting our meal, and explained, ‘Mr. Finch wasn’t home when I called, but I found him at the playing field, and I watched the boys play cricket while he went home to answer your letter.’ Taking the reply from his pocket, he handed it to me. ‘I got talking to the boys, and I showed them that photograph of Ebenezer Pratt, same as I showed everybody I’ve met today. And one of them told me where the man lived.’
I gazed at him open-mouthed. ‘Is he sure?’
‘He says so. His parents can’t afford newspapers, so he hadn’t seen the photograph before. His father’s out of work but his mother cleans for an old lady in an apartment in George Street, Stepney. The boy goes along too and runs errands for the old lady. He says Pratt lived in the same block, and had clouted him round the ear when he accidentally kicked a ball against his window. So I went there with the boy and spoke to the old lady. That’s why I’m so late. But she’d never seen the man. I tried the other apartments, only Pratt hadn’t been there long, and none of them had caught more than a glimpse of him. I thought you’d want to know at once.’
‘Quite right, Al.’ I jumped up and said, ‘I’ll ring the Inspector now.’
‘The boy might be mistaken.’
‘I know.’ And I went on, barely able to control my eagerness, ‘But if he’s right.......’
He grinned. ‘It sure would be great.’
Inspector Nabber was in his office, and when I repeated what Al had told me, he promised to get down there right away. Half an hour later dinner was interrupted again, although we were at the coffee stage by then. When Lang told me Inspector Nabber wished to speak to me on the telephone, I rushed to pick up the receiver. ‘The boy was right,’ the Inspector said at once, the excitement clear in his voice. ‘The key fitted the door perfectly. I’ll call on you first thing tomorrow, if that’s convenient, and let you know what we find.’
When I rejoined the others in the dining room and told them the good news, Monica’s eyes lit up with hope. ‘Oh Liddy, please God they find something to help Daddy.’
I explained Al’s part in finding where Pratt had lived, and Jean immediately threw up her hands in surrender. ‘Okay, so I was wrong about Al. I’m sorry, Liddy.’ And she sighed. ‘I can’t seem to get anything right lately.’
‘You will,’ I said with a smile. Never guessing how far she would be prepared to go to make sure she did the right thing when the chance came.
In the morning, waiting for the Inspector to call, I was so impatient I began to pace up and down the library. I prayed he’d found the evidence needed to set Mr. Taverner free. But it was Johnny my heart truly ached for. Surely there would be something in that flat to say where he was. There had to be, because if we didn’t find him soon, he’d die. Again and again I went over what Pratt had said. Johnny was in a place where no-one ever went now, which suggested it had been used in the past, but had since been shut up. The worst part was that Johnny was chained up in the dark. Without food or water. I couldn’t bear to think of it.
Marriage to Archie had made me so wary of making another mistake, I had determined not to rush into anything, even with Johnny. I wanted to be absolutely sure of my feelings, for his sake as well as mine. But his kidnapping had swept away every doubt. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Johnny.
When Inspector Nabber finally arrived he took one look at me and said in concern, ‘You look terrible, cariad. Couldn’t you sleep?’ I shook my head and he sat down opposite me. ‘Well, I do have two pieces of good news. The copper shot at the Corner House when he tried to stop Pratt shutting your car door, is out of danger.’
‘Thank heavens,’ I said, greatly relieved. ‘I’m so glad.’
‘The second piece of good news is that we’ve searched Ebenezer’s flat, and guess what we found?’
‘The address of the place where Johnny is?’ I blurted out.
‘No, cariad,’ he said with a sigh of regret. ‘I wish we had, believe me. But we did find copies of all Mrs. Carmichael’s letters to Mosley.’
‘Really?’ I said in surprise. ‘He actually kept copies for himself?’
‘Fortunately for us. The handwriting is definitely his. It matches with what we found in his desk.’
‘Were the copies hidden away?’
He nodded. ‘In a secret compartment in his desk. It wasn’t difficult to find.’
‘You’ve read them?’
He inclined his head. ‘I’d like to talk to Mrs. Carmichael. Here, if I may. Then her husband needn’t know about it. Not yet, anyway.’
‘Of course. I’ll telephone her now. When shall I suggest?’
‘This evening at eight, if that’s convenient to you both. Don’t tell her why.’
I knew Jean was having her hair done today and wouldn’t be helping Monica until after lunch. I telephoned straightaway, caught her before she went out, and made the arrangement. Jean and I often met for a chat, so she didn’t think it odd, merely saying there was a lot to talk about. As the Inspector got up to leave, he asked if I’d been bothered by the press. ‘I did my best to put them off the scent after that business with you and Pratt in the Lyons Corner House, but there aren’t many pretty young women in London with blonde curls, a Rolls and a black chauffeur.’
That made me smile. ‘Journalists were waiting for me when I got home, but I told them I couldn’t remember much because I fainted with shock after I got into the car.’
He grinned at me. ‘Did they believe you?’
‘Oh, I can act the frail woman, if needs be.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ He put his hand on my shoulder and urged kindly, ‘Try to get some sleep, my lovely. When we find Mr. Alverstone he’ll want to see you looking your best, you know. We’re concentrating on the area where Pratt lived. He couldn’t drive, so it’s unlikely to be far away.’ I just looked at him, unable to speak, and his eyes softened. ‘We will find him, you know.’
I wanted to believe him. Desperately.
I was also missing Tim badly. He’d been with Uncle Freddie for a week and in that time I’d seen him once. If only he was here, I thought. With Pratt dead and Muller back in Germany there was no reason why he couldn’t come home. A thought that made me feel so much better I telephoned Uncle Freddie, who understood perfectly, and pressed me to come for lunch.
First I went to see Monica, who continued to work, insisting it was the only thing keeping her sane. When I arrived she was showing Emily some of Oscar’s latest designs. The dark rings round Monica’s eyes matched mine, but she greeted me brightly enough. ‘Daddy will appeal, Liddy,’ she said, offering me a chair. ‘All the evidence is circumstantial and his barrister told me he believes Daddy’s story. He’s quite sure he’s innocent.’
Sitting down, I said, ‘He’ll do all he can then.’ I was trying to keep her spirits up, despite my fear that the barrister was, in his own way, doing exactly the same.
‘Is there any news of Johnny?’ she asked anxiously. Shaking my head I told her the police had found where Pratt had lived and were checking disused buildings in that area first.
Emily asked, ‘Where did he live, Mrs. York?’
‘In Stepney. He had a flat in George Street.‘
Emily gave an involuntary shudder. ‘That’s only about a ten minute walk from us.’ And she said, ‘I do hope they find Mr. Alverstone soon.’
I thanked her and stayed talking for a while, genuinely admiring Oscar’s wonderful new designs. Then Al drove me to Easing House, where I was greeted by an ecstatic Tim, and an ever cheerful Uncle Freddie, who gave me a wonderful lunch. Naturally he wanted to know what I had been doing, and I had to explain I wasn’t at liberty to tell him right now.
‘Secret, is it? Well, you be careful, my dear.’
I promised I would be. ‘I’ll explain when I can.’
Listening to Tim’s chatter on the drive home was a real tonic. Seeing how happy Al and Connie were to be together again was a pleasure too. That evening, after I bathed Tim and put him to bed, I read him his favourite story, about the adventures of a pig. He loved to make all the pig noises involved and it ended with us both having the giggles. The feel of his arms round my neck as I kissed him goodnight, the smell of his soft, newly washed hair, worked their usual magic, and I stayed with him until he fell asleep.
After Jean arrived that evening, we had hardly begun talking about the appalling situation Mr. Taverner faced, when Inspector Nabber was ushered into the drawing room. Jean jumped to her feet, the colour rapidly draining from her face. ‘Oh, Inspector, it’s you. Have you come to arrest me? I don’t have anything with me – will I need a coat or some clothes?’
‘Please sit down, Mrs. Carmichael. For the moment all I want to do is to ask you some questions.’
She sank back onto the sofa and admitted, ‘I am guilty. I did do it. I...........’
‘I know.’ Aware he wished to speak to her alone, I left him to it, and as I walked across to the door I heard him say, ‘Now, Mrs. Carmichael, I want you to tell me exactly how you came to write those letters.’
I went out into the garden and unable to sit still, kept myself busy by weeding all the potted plants, watering and dead-heading where necessary, then I tied up the rose on the trellis. When the Inspector came to take his leave I asked what would happen now, and he said, ‘I have to make my report, then a decision will be made. I’ve asked her not to tell her husband yet. He has enough on his plate at the moment with Mr. Alverstone being missing.’
I saw the sense of that, and so did Jean when I joined her again. I poured us both a much needed glass of wine, and we sat talking it over. 'It's such a relief not to have to tell Arthur yet,’ she said. ‘I mean, I know I’m going to have to, but as the Inspector said, this isn’t a good time. Inspector Nabber is very sensitive for a policeman, don’t you think?’
‘He is,’ I agreed. And very clever too.
I slept a little better that night, but woke up early, and my mind instantly latched onto Johnny. Inspector Nabber was doing all he could, but if the police didn’t find him he’d die a slow lingering death. Aware that I’d go mad if I didn’t put such thoughts out of my mind, I forced myself to think about Ebenezer. Why, I wondered, had he kept copies of Jean’s letters to Mosley? He knew that keeping proof of his spying activities could send him to the gallows, yet he’d still done so. Everyone had weaknesses. Perhaps his was an irresistible desire to revel in his success.
True, the copies of Jean’s letters proved only that he’d made them before passing the originals to Mosley. The police had not found any evidence in the flat to connect Ebenezer Pratt with Muller or Berlin. But that didn’t mean such evidence did not exist. He must have received his orders from the Germans, and if he’d kept Jean’s letters then I was willing to bet he’d kept those from Muller and Berlin too.
The more I thought about it the more convinced I became that these letters must be in the flat somewhere. But where? Jean’s were in a secret compartment in his desk, which any good detective would discover. If these other letters existed they would be dynamite, as Al would say, and concealed in a place no-one would expect. If he’d kept letters, there might even be a diary. And a diary could reveal where Johnny was imprisoned.
Tim was up early, as usual, and after we’d had breakfast together, I spent a happy hour with him before Connie and Al took him to the park. Once they’d left the house I telephoned Inspector Nabber, told him my thoughts and learned that he too believed Ebenezer would almost certainly have kept every communication he’d received from Berlin. ‘Unfortunately nothing has been found. My men have finished searching, but I mean to take a look myself.’
‘Could I come with you?’ I pleaded.
He didn’t answer for a moment. 'It's quite irregular, you know.’
‘Yes, I realise that. Please....... There might be a clue as to where Johnny is.’
After another hesitation, he eventually agreed. ‘I’ll pick you up in half an hour.’
‘I’ll be ready.’
Ebenezer’s flat was new enough to have a proper bathroom, as well as a tiny kitchen, a small living room, and two bedrooms. He’d used the second bedroom as a study, furnishing it with a desk and a chair. The walls were covered in book shelves from floor to ceiling, with each shelf filled to capacity with books of all shapes and sizes.
The Inspector smiled at me. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but every single book has been taken out, one by one. The pages have been shaken out, the spines and dust jackets checked for anything hidden. We found nothing. Except the odd bookmark. Check them again, if you want.’
I nodded. ‘I think I will.’ It took a very long time to do it thoroughly, which I did. By the time I got to the bottom shelf I was decidedly weary. And I was rather pleased when Inspector Nabber, who had been searching the other rooms for secret hiding places, tapping walls, checking floorboards and so on, also without success, suggested we stop for lunch.
'There’s a fish and chip shop down the road.’
I beamed at him. ‘Sounds great.’
‘I’ll go.’
‘Salt and plenty of vinegar for me, please.’
When I took out my purse, he said, ‘There’s no need for that.’
‘I’ll pay my share.’
‘Nonsense. You’ve been an enormous help in this case. I can afford fish and chips.’ I opened my mouth to protest. ‘Don’t argue. Or I’ll put you on a charge.’
I laughed, and after he left I found a tea caddy, put the kettle on and made us some tea, then sank onto the rather hard sofa in the living room and waited. He was soon back and as we hungrily scoffed the fish and chips, he told me, ‘Ebenezer covered his tracks well, you know. He rented this flat in the name of George Smith, and had nothing delivered. No milk, papers or groceries. No-one knew him at the local shops or pubs either.’
I looked across at him. ‘So, if Al hadn’t shown those boys the photograph you might never have found thi
s place.’
‘It wouldn’t have been easy.’ Once we’d finished our meal, he said, ‘Right, let’s get back to it. Or would you rather give up?’
‘I don’t believe in giving up.’
He grinned at me. ‘I would never have guessed.’
I started on the bottom shelf, which was full of thick, heavy books. To get at the ones behind his desk I had to move the chair. I sat on the floor and took out a large and very heavy encyclopaedia on flora and fauna, the only work Ebenezer had on that subject. He had a large number of books on Germany, the Nazis, the Jews, and both volumes of Hitler’s “Mein Kampf.” His interests otherwise involved guns and other weapons, politics, history, geography, science and literature. There were a surprising number of novels, including the Sherlock Holmes books.
The flora and fauna encyclopaedia had, I thought, been the first on that particular shelf, but as I put it back I saw it had been hiding a much smaller and thinner book. Which turned out to be a Book of Psalms. A volume without a dust jacket, which could easily be missed when dwarfed by the one on flora and fauna.
There were no other books on religion, of any persuasion, in his collection. And I wondered why a man who did not even possess a Bible, who in fact, appeared to have no interest whatsoever in the church, would bother to buy a book of psalms. Looking inside I saw it was a 1933 edition, which suggested he’d bought it after his long visit to Germany. This seemed such a strange thing to do I became seriously curious.
Holding it by the front and back covers so that the pages fell open, I gently shook the book, but nothing dropped out, nor was anything hidden down the spine. Thinking someone might have given it to him as a present, I checked to see if there was an inscription, but there wasn’t.
I studied page one. It was psalm number one. Slamming it shut in frustration, I was surprised by the lack of dust. Nor did I find any even when I ran my finger along the top of the closed pages, although there had been a little on most of the other books, despite the police search. Which implied Ebenezer opened it frequently. Getting up off the floor, I sat in the chair and stared at the book, convinced there was a secret here somewhere.
