James cleared his throat. He appreciated Sir Hugh’s attempt to put him at ease, but he was desperately anxious to get down to business. “I don’t think I will, sir,” he said uneasily. “Thank you all the same. I — er — I have an important matter to discuss with you . . .”
“Nonsense,” Sir Hugh said, pouring two staggeringly big whiskies into glasses he had also produced from his desk. “You’re as nervous as a young bride, James. Here, get this down you and relax. You don’t have to be frightened of me. Let me tell you I was far more frightened of my R.S.M. than I ever was of a visiting General.”
But James’s wooden face did not relax. He took the whisky, but placed it on the desk.
“Thank you, sir, perhaps later,” he said. “I’ve come to you because I feel you should be the first to be consulted. It’s police business, sir.”
Sir Hugh lowered himself into the padded leather chair behind his desk.
“But, surely, James, we’re not following the usual procedure, are we? Shouldn’t you make a report to Headquarters or have you done that?”
“No, sir,” James said. “I know it’s unusual, but the circumstances are unusual. Perhaps you could consider this interview as unofficial. I badly need your advice, sir.”
Sir Hugh rubbed his jaw, stared up at the ceiling. He had visions of an infuriated Superintendent at Headquarters. “Well, I don’t know what to say, James,” he returned. “Hadn’t you better put in a report? It might save a lot of trouble later. The Super won’t like you coming direct to me, you know.”
“I realise that, sir,” James said stubbornly, “but I honestly believe you are the only person who can help at this stage. It’s really a matter for the Military Intelligence.”
Sir Hugh stiffened. “What on earth do you mean?”
“Perhaps I’d better begin at the beginning, sir. It’ll save time in the long run.”
“Well, all right, go ahead. You can smoke if you want to. I do wish you’d look more at ease. I don’t bite, you know.” Sir Hugh grinned a little, shook his head as he saw James was still unbending. “Well, tell me what it’s all about.”
“Two days ago, sir,” James began, “that is on the 18th August, Rogers (he’s my assistant, sir, if you remember?) received a call from the Golf Club. The Secretary reported that the clubhouse had been broken into and that a number of articles were missing.”
Sir Hugh frowned. “But I know all about that,” he said. “What in the world has a little thing like that to do with Military Intelligence?”
“I’m afraid this is going to be rather a long and involved story, sir,” James said. “If you’d give me a clear field I’ll endeavour not to keep you.”
“You mean I mustn’t interrupt, is that it?” Sir Hugh said with a smile. “All right, carry on, James. I promise not to say another word.”
“Thank you, sir,” James said, pulling at his moustache. “Well, to go on, sir: Rogers had a look round and from footprints and marks found on the ground he reconstructed what had happened. He’s rather good at that kind of thing, sir, and I have every reason to believe that his reconstruction is the correct one.
Sir Hugh nodded, stifled a yawn and looked longingly out of the window at his Sultans of Zanzibar.
“It would seem, sir,” James went on, “that on the evening of the seventeenth, an unknown man and woman arrived at the golf course station. They were not seen, but their prints are easy enough to follow from the station. Half-way up the hill, they hid in a thicket. The Secretary tells me he was working late, and it may well be that they got out of his way as he walked to the station to catch a train home. After he had gone, these two went to the deserted clubhouse and the man broke a pane of glass and entered. He went to the front door to let the woman in, but for some reason or other, she ran away. The man followed her and they appeared to have spent the night in the trench on the fourth fairway. Later, possibly early in the morning, the woman returned to the clubhouse alone. Among the things stolen was a first-aid stretcher. The fact that Rogers could find no further footprints of the man after he had arrived at the trench suggests that he met with an accident and that the woman dragged him to the wood on the stretcher. I have been up to the course and have found marks in the grass which bear this theory out. Rogers is also convinced that this is what happened.”
Sir Hugh sipped his whisky, nodded. He still wasn’t particularly interested, but was listening more attentively now.
“This chap Rogers seems a smart police officer,” he observed. “Has he been with you long?”
“About two years, sir,” James said shortly. He wanted to get on with his story. “Rogers suggested to the Secretary that the woods should be searched and the Secretary agreed. They, and Mr Malcolm who was present, were about to go to the woods when they saw a young woman, dressed in a golfing outfit, appear above the crest of the hill of the fourth fairway and look in their direction. For a moment they thought nothing of it, but as soon as she saw them, she began to run in the opposite direction.”
“Drawing them away from the wood, eh?” Sir Hugh said, pleased that he had thought of this idea.
“It’s possible, but Rogers thought a bird in hand was worth two in a bush. (Begging your pardon, sir, no pun meant.) The girl could run, and he yelled to her to stop, but she kept on and succeeded in shaking Rogers off. When he did get on to her trail again, he was surprised to find her playing golf with Mr Richard Crane.”
Sir Hugh started, sat up stiffly. “With Crane? Are you sure?” He was now all attention, went on, “Then who the devil was she?”
“I’m coming to that, sir,” James said, not to be hurried. “Of course, as soon as Rogers saw Mr Crane knew the young lady he realised he had made a mistake, and he waited until the Secretary and Mr Malcolm came up. They handled the interview from then on.”
Sir Hugh sipped his whisky again.
“Go on, man, go on,” he said a little impatiently:
“Mr Crane introduced the lady as Mrs Julie Brewer: who, I learned later from him, is his married sister.”
Sir Hugh’s eyebrows went up. “He told you that, did he? I didn’t know he had a sister.”
“Mr Crane said she was his sister, sir,” James said quietly. “Further, he went on to explain that she was stone deaf and, although able to lip-read, her deafness had prevented her from hearing Rogers’s shouts. Rogers accepted the information and apologised.”
“From the tone of your voice Rogers shouldn’t have accepted the information. What are you getting at?” Sir Hugh asked, frowning.
“We’ll come to that in a moment, sir, if you please,” James returned. “Mr Crane also volunteered the information that he had seen a young fellow sneaking across the course and gave a detailed description of him. Rogers went off immediately in the direction indicated but failed to find any trace of him.”
“Is there much more of this?” Sir Hugh asked, glancing at the clock.
“I won’t keep you much longer, sir,” James said so quietly and seriously that Sir Hugh again looked sharply at him. “Rogers submitted a detailed report to me and I decided to call on Mr Crane.”
“What on earth for?”
“I wasn’t entirely satisfied with Mr Crane’s explanation about the young lady,” James said, avoiding Sir Hugh’s eyes.
“Good God!” Sir Hugh muttered, controlled himself and set down his whisky with a little bang on his desk. “Well, go on. You weren’t satisfied with Mr Crane’s explanation; so what did you do?”
Mr Crane happened to be out when I called, sir, but I did have a short interview with the young lady who claims to be Mrs Brewer. It wasn’t an entirely satisfactory interview, so I asked for her identity card.”
“A bit high-handed, surely, James?”
“I was very tactful, sir,” James said reassuringly, “and I was not satisfied that the young lady was Mrs Brewer. I thought she might be connected with the robbery at the clubhouse and that Mr Crane was giving her sanctuary, so to speak.”
�
��I’ve never heard such utter nonsense in my life,” Sir Hugh exclaimed, his face flushing. “Before you say anything further about Mr Crane I’ll have you know he is a personal friend of mine and I like him very much. He’s a fine boy, and I’ll tell you something else, only I don’t want this to go further for the moment; he is going to be my son-in-law. So please be careful what you’re saying, and for goodness sake stop indulging in wild and ridiculous theories.”
There was a heavy silence. James regarded Sir Hugh with blank, dismayed eyes. “Your son-in-law, sir?” he repeated stupidly. “I wasn’t aware . . .”
“Of course you weren’t, man. No one knows yet. They want to keep it quiet until the engagement has been announced. Don’t ask me why. Young people of today have all kinds of odd ideas. Anyway, Richard will be my son-in-law in about six months’ time, and a fine son-in-law and husband he’ll make too. You know his war record?”
James pulled at his moustache. “Yes, sir, it’s a very fine one,” he said miserably. He moved his long, thin legs, scratched his chin, looked anywhere but at Sir Hugh.
“Well, get on with your tale, man. I must say you’ve made a holy mess of things up to now. I’ll have to speak to Mr Crane about this — have to apologise to his sister,” Sir Hugh said, frowning. “For God’s sake don’t tell me you’ve put your foot into it further still?”
“I don’t think so, sir,” James said. “This is very awkward now I know your daughter. . .”
“Why should it be awkward? Unless, of course, you’ve well, go on, tell me. I may as well know the worst.”
“Well, sir, I took the liberty of obtaining the young lady’s fingerprints.”
Sir Hugh groaned. “My dear fellow . . .” he began, but James hurriedly broke in.
“It was done very tactfully. I persuaded her to handle my watch and obtained her prints that way. I’m sure she had no idea what I was after, but I have a shrewd suspicion that Mr Crane, who was present, guessed. I sent the watch to Headquarters to have the prints checked.”
“Bless my soul,” Sir Hugh said, getting up and pacing the room. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. It’s a wonder Mr Crane hasn’t been on to me. When did you say this happened?”
“Yesterday morning, sir,” James said and cleared his throats He wondered what Sir Hugh would say when he had learnt the whole truth. James was aware of a trickle of perspiration running down his nose and he took out his handkerchief and mopped his face. “There was no record of the prints, sir,” he went on gently.
“Well, of course there wasn’t,” Sir Hugh said angrily. “I could have told you that in the first place.”
“But there was a reason for that, sir,” James said. “The watch had been tampered with. The young lady’s prints had been removed and my daughter’s prints substituted. Naturally there was no record.”
Sir Hugh blinked. Your daughter? How does she come into this?”
“At one time, three or four months ago, sir, Mr Crane and my daughter were very friendly, I regret to say. I believe Mr Crane persuaded Daphne to wipe the watch clean of prints and then handle the watch herself.”
There was a long pause, then Sir Hugh said in a strangled voice. “I hope you realise what you’re saying.”
“I’m afraid I do, sir,” James returned unhappily. “I have tried to persuade Daphne to tell the truth but she denies everything, and yet her prints are on the watch.”
“I don’t give a damn about that. You have no right to say Mr Crane persuaded your daughter to do such a thing,” Sir Hugh said, anger in his voice. “This is a very serious accusation, James.”
“I believe Mr Crane was most anxious that the young lady calling herself Mrs Brewer should not have her prints checked, because her real identity would have been discovered. I am certain that Mr Crane, for reasons best known to himself, is sheltering this young woman. I’ve been to Somerset House, sir, and he has no sister. I’ve checked the records of his family.”
Sir Hugh sat down abruptly. His face was a study.
“But this is really fantastic,” he said. “If she’s not his sister, then who the devil is she?”
“You have seen the secret report that came in yesterday about the man Cushman, sir?” James asked.
Sir Hugh’s eyes widened. “Of course I have. What the devil . . . ?”
“You’ll remember this Cushman chap was last seen in the company of a woman, identified as Grace Clark, wanted for theft and an ex-convict?”
Sir Hugh nodded.
“I think the young lady with Mr Crane is Grace Clark,” James said and waited for the storm to break.
“You must be cracked,” Sir Hugh said, clenching his fists and glaring at James. “You say she . . . but, damn it, you’ve just told me her name is Julie Brewer and you’ve seen her identity card.”
“Julie Brewer is a prostitute, sir,” James said slowly. “I’ve gone into details concerning her and have learned that Mr Crane has been associating with her. She is now missing, but I think Mr Crane got hold of her identity card and gave it to Grace Clark.”
“What an abominable insinuation,” Sir Hugh said, now very angry. “I think you’ve said quite enough. Frankly, I don’t believe a word you say. I must speak to your Superintendent about you. The only explanation is that you’re heading for a nervous breakdown and don’t know what you’re saying. How dare you say that Mr Crane associates with a prostitute!”
“I’m very sorry, sir,” James returned, pale but determined. “I have all the necessary evidence otherwise I wouldn’t make such a statement.”
“I don’t believe it!” Sir Hugh barked. “And I’m not listening to any more of this. Return to your station immediately. I shall take this up with your Superintendent.”
James got to his feet. He stood before Sir Hugh and looked him straight in the eyes.
“There is one more thing, sir,” he said evenly, “and then I’ve finished. Rogers is missing. He went out last night, and I suspect he went up to Mr Crane’s place. He hasn’t been seen since. I’m drawing my own conclusions. Grace Clark was seen with Edwin Cushman. She is now with Mr Crane. Cushman may be there too. He is a dangerous man. If Rogers found him, he might . . . It sounds dramatic, I know, but he might have killed Rogers. Look at his record, sir. He’s a killer. Something has happened to Rogers. That’s why I’ve come to you. The responsibility rests with you now, sir. I want orders. What am Ito do?”
PART FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Where is he?” Ellis asked as Grace came into the room.
The light of the pink-shaded bedlamp accentuated the faint flush on her face. Her eyes were bright, and there was a radiance on her face that transfigured her: made her look beautiful.
“He’s finishing his cigar,” she said. There was a new note in her voice that conveyed to Ellis that she was even happier than she looked. “Is there anything you want?” she went on. “Or shall I turn out the light? You should sleep better now.”
“How happy she is,” Ellis thought bitterly. “To think a few hours ago she was a drudge, ready to accept what I threw at her, and now — look at her.”
“Won’t you talk to me for a few moments?” he asked, false humility in his voice. “I’ve been alone all day. It’s not much fun being lonely. But, of course, you have each other now.”
She came further into the room.
“I can’t stay long,” she said and closed the door. “What did you want to talk about?”
Ellis controlled himself with difficulty. It was no use showing his anger: she would only go away. He had to talk to her: reason with her: save her if he could.
An hour or so ago, Crane had said, “You must congratulate me. Grace has promised to be my wife,” and he had left Ellis alone, stricken, as if he had received a physical blow. He had lain in the bed listening to them talking while they had dinner; he heard the murmur of their voices, the sudden soft laughter, the sharp pop of the champagne cork as it came from the bottle.
Grace has promised
to be my wife. The sentence bit into his brain like vitriol. What did it mean? Crane wouldn’t marry a girl like Grace. Ellis was sure of that. He was leading her up the garden path; he was going to seduce her, and this promise of marriage had been made to lull her suspicions. And because she was stupid, uneducated and romantic she believed what he said: believed he loved her and would marry her even though they had met for the first time only a few hours ago.
But how could he warn her: save her from being hurt? She disliked him; distrusted him now. Crane would have poisoned her mind against him. Anything he said would be useless, but he had to try.
All right, admit it, he thought savagely. You’re in love with the girl yourself. For the first time in your life you’ve discovered someone to care for. You don’t want her to get hurt. That’s a joke after the way you’ve hurt her yourself in the past; after the beastly things you’ve said to her. Now, all of a sudden, you’re in love with, her, and you know unless you’re smart you’ll lose her. You’re in a panic. You’d do anything to keep her. And the joke is she doesn’t care a hoot for you; hates you. You can see the indifference in her eyes when she looks at you. It’s Crane she loves. Crane she’s thinking about now. She wouldn’t believe that you want to save her from Crane: wouldn’t believe, anyway, that Crane intended to hurt her.
“He says he’s going to marry you,” Ellis said slowly, watching her.
She looked away, a dark flood of colour rising in her face.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” she said, twisting and untwisting her hands. “It’s — it’s something between Richard and me . . .”
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