by Carola Dunn
“Exactly. There could be another motive. Or Rumford could be another victim.”
Piper groaned. “If no one’s seen him, alive or dead, I s’pose we’re going to have to search the whole bloody Tower. At least we have plenty of searchers, and they know the place.”
Tom shook his head. “I dunno about that. If there’s ways out, there’s ways in. As you say, all your Special Constables know the place, and they’re all active men, or have been. You don’t get to be a sergeant in the army by sitting on your backside. That cuts the searchers to those with real alibis, not all those who live in the Outer Ward, or bailey, or whatever it’s called, and didn’t go in or out the inner gates.”
“A search will be the last resort,” said Alec. “Ross, go and present my compliments to Colonel Duggan and say I want soldiers patrolling the moat. It may be locking the stable door after the horse has been stolen, but I’d hate someone to get away over the walls while I’m in charge.”
Ross departed, reluctantly.
“In order to avoid searching the place for secret dungeons,” said Alec, “we’re going to have to use our brains. I, for one, don’t know much about Rumford. He lived next door to Crabtree. He is, or was—but I’ll use the present tense until we find a body—Yeoman Gaoler, second in command of the Yeoman Warders. Daisy seems to believe he is generally disliked, but I don’t think she mentioned why.”
“He’s a snooper,” Piper declared. “I didn’t ask about him, seeing it was Crabtree we were interested in, but I got an earful anyways. Rumford has to know everybody’s business, always poking and prying about. If anyone knows about secret dungeons, he will.”
“Ah,” said Tom. “We all know where sticking your nose into other people’s business leads, if you’re not too particular, don’t we.”
“Blackmail,” said Piper with relish.
“Blackmailers are more likely to be murdered than to murder,” Alec pointed out. “I wonder if Crabtree could have tried to kill him and had the tables turned on him.”
“Or maybe he saw someone else do Rumford in, Chief,” Piper suggested.
“Why would the murderer hide one body and not the other?” Tom pondered aloud. “He had half the night to do it, a nice foggy night. You know what, Chief, if I was you, I’d ring up Mrs. Fletcher and see what she can tell you about our missing Yeoman Gaoler.”
“Daisy—”
“Darling, I was just wondering whether I ought to ring you!”
“Oh?” said Alec guardedly. “What about?”
“You first.”
“No, I don’t want to waste time asking questions that you may answer before I ask them. At least, it is the case? Not the babies?”
“Darling, I wouldn’t call you at work about the babies unless it was a serious emergency, and if it was a serious emergency, I wouldn’t stop to wonder whether—”
“Daisy!”
“The babies are blooming. I was just thinking—I told you about Rumford?”
“Yes?”
How expressive a monosyllable could be, even over the wire. Daisy could tell Alec was pricking up his ears. “You suspect him, too.”
“There have been developments. . . .”
“What’s happened?”
“You know I can’t tell you that, especially on the telephone. But yes, we’re interested in him. You’ve remembered something else about him?”
“Not so much remembered as worked out. I don’t know if it has anything to do with the murder, but I think he might be a blackmailer.”
“Great minds think alike. Who are his victims?”
“I can’t be sure, of course. No one likes him.”
“But?”
“The people I noticed who particularly disliked him . . . I hate this bit.”
“I know, love. I can only remind you, as you’ve heard before, that he who kills once very often kills again.”
“Yes. Right-oh, let me think. When Rumford was giving me the full tour of the Tower, I noticed—”
“Wait a bit. Rumford was your guide? Why him? Who decided on him?”
“General Carradine told me he was very knowledgeable.”
“The general favours him?”
“I wouldn’t exactly say that,” Daisy said cautiously. Should she relay to him Mrs. Tebbit’s comment about the Resident Governor and the Yeoman Gaoler? “He chose him because of his knowledge. He’s also a good raconteur, especially in contrast to Crabtree. He made the stories come alive.”
“Was he paid extra to give the tour?”
“Not exactly. The general told me he’d expect a tip, and I already knew the yeomen are supposed to pass gratuities on to the chapel—Darling, what does ad vincula mean?”
“Is this relevant?”
“No. Sorry. One of the girls suggested that Rumford pockets his tips, and her father blew her up. He said she mustn’t say such a thing even as a joke, because a man can be dismissed for it.”
“The Carradine girls dislike Rumford?”
“They don’t care for him much.”
“Hmm. Perhaps Carradine knows that Rumford pockets the cash, and pays him off in part by giving him assignments that will earn him tips.”
“Darling, that’s the wildest speculation!” Daisy objected, although the possibility had crossed her own mind.
Alec laughed. “True. What was it you noticed during your tour?”
“How everyone seemed to try to avoid Rumford. It was most noticeable in the Wakefield Tower, where they keep the Crown Jewels.”
“Who was there?”
“A couple of warders on guard duty, the Keeper, who was condescending to show off the collection to me, and Webster. As soon as Rumford turned up, Sir Patrick and Webster and one of the warders hopped it. The other guard acted as if Rumford was a bad smell it was his duty to put up with.”
“I don’t suppose you know those warders’ names.”
“ ’Fraid not. Wouldn’t they be on some duty roster?”
“I expect so. What day and time?”
Daisy gave him the details, then went on, “When we left and were walking about the place, the other warders kept their distance, and some actively went out of their way to avoid coming face-to-face with us. I don’t think they were dodging me. The ones I met when I was with Crabtree were very friendly.”
“Crabtree showed you round as well?” Alec asked sharply.
“At first. He said Rumford was busy elsewhere but would meet me later. Darling, do you suppose Rumford blackmailed him into doing his job for him?”
“It’s worth considering. The other warders appeared friendly to Crabtree, you say?”
“Definitely. I’m sure they’re all rushing to say how much they liked him. I’d believe it. We didn’t meet all that many, but they all seemed genuinely pleased to see him.”
“No names?”
“Sorry. I do know the names of a couple of the officers.”
“Officers?”
“Hotspurs. Some of them seemed anxious not to meet Rumford, too, including two I’d met who really ought in common courtesy to have acknowledged my presence with more than a distant wave.”
“Shocking!” Alec’s voice conveyed a grin at her indignation. “Who were they?”
“Captain Devereux and Lieutenant Jardyne. They’re friends of the Carradine girls. That is, Jardyne is dotty about Fay, and Brenda makes a nuisance of herself to Devereux.”
“I’ve met Devereux. I wouldn’t have thought he’d put up with being mooned over by a would-be flapper.”
“Better than Dr. Macleod puts up with Fay, on the whole. Devereux finds it amusing. He’s—”
“Macleod? The Hotspurs’ doctor?”
“He’s not one of the Guards. He’s a captain in the Medical Corps and he runs the hospital for the whole Tower.”
“Does he, now! And Rumford was coughing last night?”
“Like billy-oh. Crabtree said he’d been gassed in the trenches, not badly, but enough for lasting effects. Alec, what do you�
��?”
“I’ll tell you later. Perhaps. I must go, love.”
“But what did you telephone for?”
“To ask you what you’ve told me.”
“Oh! That’s lucky. I’m glad you rang me before I rang you, or we’d be paying for this telephone call.”
“I’m at the King’s House. I imagine it will go on the King’s account. ’Bye, love.”
“Cheerio, darling. Glad I could help.”
She was reaching for the hook to cut off the connection when Alec said, “Daisy? It means ‘in chains.’ ”
“What? Oh, ad vincula? St. Peter in chains: very appropriate for the Tower. Thanks, darling. It might make a rather good last line.”
Alec hung up. He would have thought of the hospital sooner or later, he assured himself, even if Tom had not prompted him to talk to Daisy. She hadn’t really told him anything new. But he had to acknowledge, strictly to himself, that once she had got herself mixed up in an investigation, it was generally a mistake not to let her have her say.
There was something she wasn’t saying, though. Something about General Carradine, he thought, probably some sort of confirmation that Rumford had his hooks into the unfortunate man. The Resident Governor wasn’t at all the sort of suspect she tended to take under her wing, but she might well feel an urge to protect his daughters. He’d worry about that later. Time now to see if Rumford actually was under the doctor’s care.
Outside Carradine’s study, Webster waited impatiently.
“Are you finished?” he asked as Alec emerged. “I have several extremely important telephone calls to place, including one to the Constable and one to the Palace.”
“You haven’t notified them yet?”
“The Governor hoped to be able to report that you had found the regrettable incident to be an accident after all, or at least that the villain is about to be arrested, but he can delay no longer.”
“My apologies,” Alec said dryly. Aware that a door behind Webster, on the opposite side of the landing, had inched open, he was pretty sure he could guess who was listening. “We prefer not to be too hasty and find we have arrested the wrong person. Apologies also for keeping you from the telephone. Had anyone thought to arrange for the GPO men to be admitted, we’d have had a line to the Warders’ Room by now.”
Webster flushed, which, while not in itself an attractive sight, had the merit of reducing his likeness to Jeremy Fisher. “We had other things on our minds,” he muttered.
“Great Scott, I’m not blaming you. I ought to have thought of it myself, but I’ve never worked in such a well-guarded place before. My sergeant noticed that there’s a telephone wire to the Guard House. It’s more central than the Warders’ Room, so he’s going to ask Colonel Duggan to find space for us there, and run us in a field telephone if necessary.”
“I dare say that will be more convenient for you.”
“I expect so. I’m off to the hospital now. That’s . . .” He consulted the guidebook plan. “This building next to the Officer’s Quarters?” He pointed to the spot. Within the inner walls, he noted.
“We’ll show you the way, Mr. Fletcher!” The door swung open and the Carradine girls burst forth.
“Thank you, but I think I can probably—”
“It’s no trouble at all, honestly.”
“We’re going to see Aunt Christina anyway.”
It wouldn’t hurt to have another chat with them. What was it Daisy had said about one of the pair and the doctor? Fay was keen on Macleod, who didn’t reciprocate?
They were athletic young women, bounding down the stairs ahead of him. As they all went out of the front door, he cast a surreptitious glance at the balcony Tom had mentioned. He doubted Fay or Brenda would have much trouble descending thence to the ground. Suppose Rumford had seen one of them kissing an officer, in one of the corners with which the Tower was so copiously endowed, and threatened to tell her father.
But according to Alec’s observation and Daisy’s comments, though Carradine was presumably authoritative in a military setting, he was not the sort of authoritarian father whose daughters trembled at his frown. Indeed, they probably paid little heed to the poor man’s strictures.
Alec simply couldn’t see them as killers, either to keep their own secrets or to protect their father’s. They were more like bumbling puppies, sometimes a nuisance, even unintentionally destructive (of young men’s hearts), but irresistible.
“Why are you going to the hospital, Mr. Fletcher?”
“You don’t suspect Dr. Macleod, do you?” The anxious question came from Fay, younger than her sister but taller.
“You have to suspect everyone, don’t you?”
“But doctors swear to do no harm.”
“Crippen,” said Brenda.
“Sam is nothing like that horrible man!”
“Ethel le Neve fell in love with Crippen.”
Alec intervened. “I have no reason to suspect Dr. Macleod more than anyone else.”
“No more than our father?”
“Or us?”
“Or Aunt Alice and Aunt Myrtle?”
The idea of the Tebbit ladies as murderers made both of them giggle. They sobered as they reached the top of the fatal stairs, still guarded by Hotspur sentries.
“He’s not still down there, is he?”
“No, the body was removed hours ago,” Alec reassured them.
“Poor old Crabtree.”
“I shall never go that way again.”
“You don’t really think we might have done it, do you?”
“You’re near the bottom of my list.”
“Ooh!”
“We’re really on it?”
“Too thrilling!”
Volatile was the word, Alec decided.
As they turned the corner at the end of the wall, a large young officer came towards them. He cast a hostile glance at Alec, who, had he been ten years younger, would have guessed the youth was jealous.
Turning to Fay, he said eagerly, “I was just coming to make sure you’re all right.”
“Of course I’m all right.”
“There would have been more point in asking several hours ago.”
The young man glared at Brenda with a sulky look that was almost a pout. “If you want to know, I was on duty.”
“Hard lines,” said Brenda ironically.
“Mr. Fletcher, this is Lieutenant Jardyne. Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher, Ray. It’s simply spiffing—he’s Mrs. Fletcher’s husband!”
Jardyne looked a bit happier on hearing Alec was married. He turned to go with them as they went on across the Parade Ground, and he and Fay fell a little behind. What Alec heard sounded more like squabbling children than a lovers’ tiff.
13
Tell me about this doctor your sister is so concerned for,” Alec invited Brenda.
“He gambles.”
“How do you know?”
“The others tease him about it.”
Not a secret, then, so of doubtful interest for the investigation. “That’s a pity.”
“And I sometimes wonder . . .” She lowered her voice. “Mr. Fletcher, I don’t know much about dope, just what I’ve heard people say, but I know doctors can get hold of all sorts of stuff. I sometimes wonder if Sam—Dr. Macleod—is a dope fiend.”
“What makes you suspect that?”
“He’s so moody. Sometimes he’s frightfully bright and energetic, but sort of not naturally, if you know what I mean?”
Alec nodded encouragement. Drug use was a natural for blackmail.
“Sometimes he’s lethargic,” she continued earnestly, “and his tennis game absolutely falls to pieces, and sometimes he’s bitter and cynical and says really brutal things to my sister. Does that sound like a dope fiend?”
“It’s possible.”
“I thought so. It may be because he saw such horrible things in the War, as Fay says, but I don’t think that’s any excuse to take it out on her. She thinks it’s fr
ightfully romantic, and she’ll be able to reform him if he’ll only marry her.”
“Oh dear!”
“Fay is a bit young for her age,” said Brenda from the sage eminence of her year’s advantage. “Luckily, I don’t believe there’s the least chance of his ever asking her to marry him.”
“A fortunate escape. What about you? Have you a favourite among the officers?”
“Of course. I can’t let my little sister steal a march on me, can I? I pretend to mope after Dev, but it’s not serious. In fact, he never takes anything seriously. I think it may be another way to cope with the War. If you ask me, the War was a dreadful mistake.”
“You’re not the first to come to that conclusion. Dev?”
“Captain Devereux. I suppose you suspect him, too?”
“Naturally.”
“Oh well, I don’t suppose he’ll care. He’ll make a joke of it. He can be frightfully amusing and lots of fun. He’ll even cheat at croquet to let Fay and me win. It makes Ray Jardyne squirm.”
“Which, I take it, is the captain’s aim.”
“Of course. He wouldn’t do it just to please us. The thing is, Ray’s frightfully stuffy about playing by the rules, but he can’t make a fuss, as he’d like to, because of wanting to please Fay.”
He was not succeeding, to judge by the way Fay now hurried to rejoin them, leaving the disconsolate Jardyne behind. A backward glance showed the lieutenant red-faced, his mouth a tight line, his fists clenched.
An officer and a gentleman who was “stuffy” about playing by the rules was unlikely to push an old man downstairs, Alec thought. On the other hand, someone who had trouble containing his temper might find he’d done it before recollecting his principles. He’d have to be interviewed, as would all the other officers, and they could not be left to Tom.
With luck, Tom would be finding out a bit about the officers from the noncoms he was presently talking to.
They came to the northeast corner of the White Tower. Fay pointed to an unprepossessing building to the right of the Officers’ Quarters.
“That’s the hospital block.”
“It’s rather large for a thousand or so residents,” Alec observed. “Are you a sickly lot?”
“The upper floors are married men’s quarters,” Brenda explained. “Garrison, not Yeoman Warders.”
