by Carola Dunn
Daisy nearly pointed out that Sir Patrick might have private business to discuss, but if she was going to attend their confrontation with their father, she was in no position to throw stones.
Actually, she wasn’t at all sure that she wanted to be present when the girls advised the general to confess to having committed some blackmailable misdeed. Carradine was liable to be not only embarrassed but astounded by their effrontery, and still more astounded by hers, especially given her relationship with the police. She had no business in the middle of what, if it occurred at all, should be a private family affair.
As if reading Daisy’s mind as easily as her sister’s, Fay linked her arm through Daisy’s and squeezed it. “We’re so glad you’re backing us up,” she murmured.
Too late to escape! Ah well, however furious, the Resident Governor couldn’t order the Yeoman Gaoler to take his axe and chop off her head. The question was, had the Resident Governor taken someone else’s partizan and made a bungled attempt to chop off the Yeoman Gaoler’s head?
17
General Carradine looked surprised at the mass invasion of his study, but not very. No doubt he was resigned to possessing two insubordinate daughters. To Daisy’s surprise, though, he appeared to be relieved to see her. She couldn’t imagine why.
Webster presented his usual impassive mask to the invaders. He’d probably look just the same if a troop of Prussian cavalry trotted up the stairs.
If anyone was made uneasy by the ladies crowding into the room, it was General Sir Patrick Heald. Daisy couldn’t blame him. But he braced up and bit the bullet. “Carradine,” he said, “I told you, did I not, that I must get away to Kent for my wife’s do this evening? I find the gates are still locked. Is there to be no end to our incarceration? Have you no word on when we shall be released?”
“My dear fellow,” said Carradine, “I’m as anxious to hear as you can possibly be. I’ve had the Constable on the telephone wanting to know when the public can be admitted again. At this moment, I’m waiting for Chief Inspector Fletcher to come and give me some answers, but whether he’ll provide the answers we want, I can’t tell you. It’s all up to Scotland Yard, you know. You’re very welcome to wait here with me until Mr. Fletcher brings the latest report.”
Brenda and Fay exchanged a glance of dismay, but they needn’t have worried.
Sir Patrick muttered something about letters to write. “You will let me know as soon as you have word?”
“Certainly, Sir Patrick. You’d better send a telegram to Lady Julia, however, to warn her you may be unavoidably delayed in town.”
“I suppose I’d better. It really is most inconvenient.”
Daisy waited until the door closed behind him before she said, “Alec can’t actually prevent Sir Patrick’s leaving if he insists, General.”
“It won’t hurt him to be put to some inconvenience for once in exchange for his free residence in town.” Carradine sounded slightly malicious. He worked for his residence.
“He seems very anxious to go.”
“Doesn’t want to upset his wife. She’s the one with the money. Keeps him firmly under her thumb, too, which is why he’s so glad of his ‘pied-à-terre,’ as he insists on calling it. You’re not to repeat that, girls,” he added sternly.
Brenda and Fay stifled their giggles. “We won’t, Daddy.”
“We wanted to talk to you.”
“Before Mr. Fletcher comes.”
“About what Aunt Alice said this morning.”
“There’s no need for you to trouble your heads about that.” Carradine frowned at Daisy. “You haven’t been bothering Mrs. Fletcher on the subject, have you?”
“We needed advice.”
“And she did offer to teach us modern etiquette.”
The Governor sank his head in his hands. “You told her all about it.”
“We don’t know all about it, Daddy.”
“Only what Aunt Alice said.”
“Recollect, sir,” said Webster, “even I don’t know the subject of Rumford’s unfortunate insinuations.”
“No, that’s true.” Clutching at this straw, Carradine raised his head.
“But we think Aunt Alice is right.”
“You should tell Mr. Fletcher.”
“Not everything.”
“Just that he was blackmailing you.”
“And Mrs. Fletcher agrees.”
“She says he probably doesn’t need to know more than that.”
“And if you tell—”
“The police are less likely to believe you murdered Crabtree,” said Brenda encouragingly.
Carradine surged to his feet, leant on the desk with his fists, and roared, “I did not murder Crabtree!”
“Oh, we know that, Daddy.”
Subsiding, the Governor looked at Daisy.
“I shan’t tell Alec what the girls told me. He’d only object that it’s nothing but hearsay. However, I should warn you that he already has a fair notion of Rumford’s doings, and that you’re one of his victims.”
“If I admit to your husband that Rumford is blackmailing me, is it true he won’t ask what about?”
“I can’t guarantee anything,” she admitted, “but I do know that the police abhor blackmailers almost as much as murderers, and they do their best to keep their revelations quiet.”
“Yes, that’s all very well, but if Rumford is arrested for extortion, what’s to stop him blowing the gaff?”
“Daddy, did you do something truly awful in Mesopotamia?” Fay asked apprehensively.
“I don’t know where you got that idea, my girl,” Carradine said, his face grim, “and it’s none of your business anyway. Off with the pair of you. I want to talk to Mrs. Fletcher.”
For once, the girls obeyed without argument. As they left, Fay cast a look of appeal at Daisy.
“I’ll come and find you in a little while,” Daisy promised. Once again, she wished fervently that she hadn’t come. What on earth could the Governor want to ask her that she hadn’t already told him?
“Why the deuce did I invite Alice to come and live with us?” he groaned.
Neither Daisy nor Webster attempted to reply to this rhetorical question. Before the beleaguered general could say another word, the door opened again.
“Oh, sir, here’s the Chief Detective. He wouldn’t wait downstairs. . . .”
Alec walked in. His policeman’s imperturbability failed to withstand the shock of seeing his wife. “Great Scott, what the deuce are you doing here, Daisy? I beg your pardon, sir. Good morning.”
“Is it still morning? I feel as if I’ve aged several years since the sun rose. Good morning, Mr. Fletcher.”
“You wanted a report, sir, but I’m afraid—”
“I know, I know, you want to ask some questions. Sit down, do. But before you start, I have something to tell you.”
“I’m sure you’d prefer Daisy to leave.”
“No, no, she already knows everything—everything I’m going to tell you, that is—thanks to those dashed girls of mine. The plain fact is, Rumford’s been blackmailing me. If, as I assume to be the case, you have come to the conclusion that Crabtree was killed by mistake because he was taken for Rumford—”
“Why, exactly, do you assume that?”
“My elderly but shrewd cousin, Mrs. Tebbit, worked it out,” said Carradine dryly. “I’d be very surprised if you hadn’t. Mrs. Fletcher made the acquaintance of both men and no doubt passed on her equally shrewd judgement of their characters.”
Alec’s dark look forbade her commenting on Carradine’s assumption that she had set him on the right track. She wondered whether she ought to take notes of his interview with the Resident Governor. Better not unless he asked her to.
“Before we get to your involvement, sir, I’d like to clear up one or two points. First, as I approached, a gentleman was hurrying away from your house. He ducked down the side steps—I was coming round the other way, from the hospital—and his hat hid his face
, but I think it was Sir Patrick Heald?”
“I expect so. He was here just before you, wanting to know when he’d be permitted to leave the Tower. I’m surprised he didn’t stop to ask you. He has some engagement in Kent this evening that he’s anxious not to miss. May I send to tell him he’s free to go?”
“No, I’d better talk to Sir Patrick before he goes. I don’t want to have to chase after him down to the wilds of Kent, which would probably embarrass him, besides.”
“I hope you’ll see him next, then, or I’ll have him coming round to pester me again, though I keep telling him it’s not for me to decide.”
“We’ll see. Now, Mr. Webster was kind enough to provide a good deal of helpful information about the organisation of the Tower. Am I correct in thinking that Crabtree took orders only from you, sir, and from Mr. Webster acting in your name?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Carradine looked at Webster, who nodded. “You want to know whether either of us sent him on an errand that would have taken him to the steps in the middle of the night. I did not, and Jeremy has no authority to give orders except those passed on directly from me. The last time I saw the poor fellow was when he handed me the Keys, as usual, precisely at ten. Mrs. Fletcher was present and, I’m sure, will confirm that I gave him no instructions.”
“Not that I recall,” said Daisy. “I remember you were anxious about Brenda and Fay because they hadn’t returned with me. Otherwise, I might have mentioned—” She stopped as Alec sent her a warning glance, then went on without mentioning what she hadn’t mentioned. “But as it was, I didn’t say anything about it.” Alec would guess she was talking about the meeting with Rumford.
“You’re certain?” Alec asked.
“Quite certain.”
“Well,” said the mystified Governor, “I have no idea what you didn’t tell me, but I suppose you understand each other. Have you found out what time poor Crabtree died, Mr. Fletcher?”
“Midnight,” intoned Webster. The others stared at him, and he went slightly pink. “Wasn’t it, Chief Inspector? It’s the only time that makes sense. Since you told us that Rumford is in the hospital—”
“Of course!” said Carradine. “Rumford and Dixon, the Chapel Clerk, take it in turns to pop down at midnight and check that all’s well with the Byward watchman and in the Warders’ Hall. That night must have been Rumford’s turn.”
“It was, sir,” Webster confirmed. “I checked the schedule as soon as the Chief Inspector said Rumford was ill, and I also checked what time he was admitted to the hospital, which was shortly after the Keys were handed over. My theory is—”
“I see you’ve been doing my sleuthing for me, Mr. Webster,” said Alec, torn between amusement and dismay. “You’re right so far, and I may want to get back to you later for your theory, but at present I must get on with the subject of blackmail. Have you by any chance kept any of Rumford’s demands, General?”
“ ‘Kept’? Oh, letters, you mean. He didn’t write any.”
“None? Not even the first time?”
“What need, when he lives so close? We see each other practically every day. Not that he was next door when I first came here. His first demand, couched as a request, was that whenever there might be a vacancy for any of the special positions, he should be considered. They all draw extra pay, you know, Chief Warder, Yeoman Gaoler, Raven Master, Chapel Clerk.”
“Chapel Clerk!” Daisy exclaimed, drawing a heavy frown from Alec. “Just so, Mrs. Fletcher. I couldn’t in good conscience have made Rumford Chapel Clerk, so it’s fortunate that Dixon is a healthy chap. Not that I should, in the normal way of things, have considered Rumford for any distinction. He’s not at all popular among the men, you know. But when, not long after, the previous Yeoman Gaoler retired, he came to me privately and threatened to . . . er . . . to make public a certain matter if he didn’t get the post.” Carradine took out a silk handkerchief and mopped his forehead. “A matter that is no one’s business but my own.”
His loyal secretary sprang to the rescue. “I wonder now whether perhaps Rumford was responsible for Abercrombie’s retirement. He was fit and not so very old, and he hadn’t a great deal to look forward to, just going to live with a sister and her husband. I remember he seemed uneasy when he asked me for an appointment with you, sir.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. That’s water under the bridge. What I wonder is whether he’d have pulled up short and dropped the whole idea if I’d stood firm. I take it he had victims other than myself, Mr. Fletcher?”
“So we believe,” Alec said cautiously. “My people are talking to some of the others now.”
“He was damned—dashed—clever about it, you know. He never asked for more than I could easily afford, and as often as not, it was some favour he wanted, something that cost me nothing, such as giving guided tours to visitors who looked as if they might tip well.” He noticed Daisy’s nod. “Ah, Mrs. Fletcher, you guessed. No journalist could overlook my daughter’s comment.”
“Luckily, I’m just writing a story for travellers and would-be travellers, not looking for scandal.”
“I’m afraid I’m pretty sure Rumford does skim something off the top before handing on gratuities to the chapel fund.”
“But otherwise, he’s an excellent guide,” Daisy assured him.
This earned yet another repressive frown from Alec, who said, “I’m surprised he hasn’t used his . . . influence to get out of the midnight assignment.”
“Oh no, darling, it gives him the perfect opportunity for snooping.”
“Daisy!”
“Sorry! I shan’t say another word.”
“Insofar as regulations allow, he does pick and choose his duties,” Carradine confirmed, “but he’s never asked to avoid that one, so Mrs. Fletcher may be right.”
“You’re quite sure you’ve never received a written demand?”
“Never.”
“Has he ever told you exactly what he knows?”
“Nothing but hints,” Carradine said curtly.
“So he may, in fact, not know any particulars.”
“Put about in the wrong quarters, hints would be bad enough. If he’d demanded enormous sums, I might have chanced it, but for a little here and there, the price of a bottle of scotch—it wasn’t worth the risk, let alone murder.”
“And this has been going on for years?”
“Four years. It looks as though he must suddenly have got greedy, doesn’t it? Pushed someone too hard.”
“It’s possible.” Alec was noncommittal. He stood up. “Thank you for your cooperation, sir. I hope I shan’t have to ask for . . . more explicit candour, shall we say, but there will very likely be further questions.”
“I have one for you.” Carradine mopped his forehead again, but his tense shoulders had relaxed somewhat. “What am I to report to the Constable?”
Alec smiled. “You may tell him that the police are making definite progress. Coming, Daisy?”
It was less an enquiry than an order. With a graceful apology to the Governor for barging in, Daisy meekly followed Alec out.
“I should have known better than to hope you would stay away,” he said resignedly, “but just what do you think you’re doing here?”
“I didn’t want to come, darling.”
“Pull the other one; it has bells on.”
“I’m serious! I had no intention of coming, but—”
“It was our fault, Mr. Fletcher.” Carradine’s daughters appeared from nowhere.
“We telephoned.”
“We were in despair.”
“Mrs. Fletcher was our only hope.”
“Aunt Alice made this tremendous pronouncement.”
“She told our father to confess.”
“We were afraid she might tell you he killed Mr. Crabtree.”
“And then you’d arrest him.”
“You haven’t, have you?”
“No, I haven’t. I must talk to Mrs. Tebbit, though. Do you know if s
he’s available now?”
“I expect so.”
“But we have something to tell you first.”
“At least Fay does.”
“Fay, I don’t think it’s really necessary,” said Daisy. “After what the general has told Alec—”
“But I want to,” said Fay.
“It might help,” her sister said, supporting her. “You never know.”
Alec sighed. “Very well, then. Can you tell me right here?”
Fay cast a look at the door of her father’s study. “Oh no, not here.”
“The aunts are in the Council Chamber.”
“Would you mind coming into our sitting room?”
“It’s a bit of a mess, but the chairs are quite comfy.”
“You’ll come too, won’t you, Mrs. Fletcher?” Fay begged.
A large gramophone cabinet dominated the small sitting room. Decorated in bright, jazzy colours, the room was awash in gramophone records, magazines, scarves flung over the backs of chairs, and an open, half-eaten box of chocolates. Fay hastily removed a laddered stocking from one seat.
The window opened onto the balcony. Alec went over to look out. “A nice spot to sit in summer,” he said.
“We’re not allowed out.”
“It’s not safe.”
“Daddy put his foot through.”
“They patched it up.”
“But some of the beams need replacing.”
“The railing’s rickety, too.”
“It takes forever to get things done here.”
“Daddy says there are dozens of layers of bureaucracy between him and the roofers.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it.”
“Do sit down,” Brenda invited.
“We’re not supposed to have men in here.”
“But it’s all right—”
“Because you’re a policeman—”
“And Mrs. Fletcher is here, too.”
“Would you like coffee?”
“It must be just about time for elevenses.”
“Not for me, thank you,” Alec said with a touch of impatience.
“Later perhaps,” said Daisy. Just visible from the corner of her eye, the box of chocs tantalized her. On her own strict instructions, Alec never bought her chocolates, because she tended to scoff the lot. She’d never have a boyish figure to suit the modish straight up and down look (surely the tide of fashion would bring back curves soon?), but there was no need to supply unnecessary temptation.
