by Joan Smith
“That I couldn’t tell you. Harry was kind of close-mouthed about what he did and who he knew. Funny fellow. It was just a few evenings ago I met him as we were both leaving, asked him if he’d like to go out for a few wets, and he said he had to see this chap, Morgraine. I said ‘Let’s all go together.' He gave me a funny look and said it was business he had with Morgraine, not pleasure. I didn’t get the feeling they were friends. You don’t think this Morgraine killed him?”
“A bit early to say that,” Coffen said, rising. He had got what he came for and was eager to get back and tell Luten what he had discovered before he took Corinne calling on a murderer. “If you wouldn’t mind, Mr. McRaney, just keep all this under your hat.”
“Mum’s the word,” McRaney said.
McRaney rose and accompanied him to the door. “It’s been a real thrill meeting one of the Berkeley Brigade,” he said, still smiling. “If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know. Poor Harry. A shame. I wonder what Morgraine had against him. I wouldn’t think Harry was the kind to be up to anything illegal, or —" He shook his head in confusion. “Maybe there was a woman involved. Something like that.”
“Did Harry strike you that way? A womanizer?”
“He never had any women here, as far as I know. But we weren’t close friends. Just casual acquaintances. Harry didn’t seem to have many friends really. Kind of a solitary fellow. I’m sure the Brigade will figure it all out.”
They parted and Coffen caught a hackney back to Berkeley Square.
Chapter Nine
Since Corinne’s marriage, Coffen had become shy about dropping in for meals when Luten was at home. As it was possible he was at home today with the new case to solve, Coffen went to Prance’s house for lunch instead. The food would be good, but there’d be either a lecture on manners along with it or more boasting about his book. At least he had an excellent excuse, even a reason. Prance would want to know what was going on. Unfortunately Prance had been put to bed by his doctor, so Coffen went to his own house and dined on cold cuts and crusty bread. As soon as he had finished his modest repast, he went across the street to call on Luten.
He found the newlyweds still at the table having coffee and was invited to join them. When Corinne asked whether he had had lunch, he replied that he’d “had a bite”, in such a hungry-looking way that she asked Evans to bring him a large piece of apple tart and cheddar.
He wasted no time making his report. “Morgrave’s our man right enough,” he said. “The manager of the flats put me on to a fellow called McRaney who was about the only fellow in the building Bolton had anything to do with. They were about the same age and from the same rung of society — gentlemen but not well greased, to judge by where they live. He told McRaney he was meeting Morgrave one evening last week. McRaney wasn’t sure of the name, thought it was Morgraine, but he mentioned the Honourable, so it’s the same person right enough. Anyhow, when McRaney suggested they all go out for a drink together, Bolton refused. Said it was a business meeting. I figure he was on a spying mission and didn’t want company. What we’ve got to do is break into Morgrave’s flat and look for clues.”
“That won’t be easy,” Luten said. “The Honourable John Morgrave’s household will have a full complement of servants.”
“Yes,” Corinne confirmed. “I’ve called on Samantha before. The place is not large, but it’s run in the grand manner. We’ll have to go and call on them, Luten, and see what we can discover. I’ll give Samantha a box of invitations for the ball for her to address, since she offered. I can’t believe she knows what John is up to.”
“Be careful what you say, just in case,” Luten cautioned. “He’s not likely to tell us much but we’ll mention we’re working on the case and see how he reacts.”
“I’ll park my rig nearby and see if he comes running out after you leave,” Coffen said. “Follow him, see where he goes. It might be a clue. I want to see what he looks like in any case, since I wouldn’t know him to see him.”
“Don’t make it too obvious,” Luten said.
“I won’t. I’ll have Fitz get out of the rig and be poking around at the wheel, as if it’s broken.”
“You’re taking Fitz?” Corinne asked in alarm.
“He can’t get lost following your rig.” After a frowning pause, he added, “And Morgrave’s. If he gets lost coming home, it won’t matter. There’ll be no special hurry.”
“Well, shall we send for the carriage?” Luten said, rising. “I still have to put in an appearance at the House after the visit.”
“Right, I’ll just dash home and send for my rig,” Coffen said.”
When the two carriages arrived, they set out for the Morgrave’s flat. Coffen had ordered Fitz to draw to a stop a few doors down and wait.
The Lutens were admitted by a toplofty butler. Luten feared the trip had been in vain when he learned Morgrave was out and might not be home before dinner. Samantha was there, however, and welcomed them into an elegant drawing room not unlike Corinne’s former home, except for the colours. Samantha’s was done in blue to flatter her blue eyes and blonde curls. She was young and dewy-eyed, very pretty and friendly.
“Do sit down and have a glass of wine,” she said. “John may show up at any time. One never knows when he’ll be back. I think he’s becoming bored. He was going to the Horse Guards to see if there was a position for him. Harley, a family friend, works there and suggested it as John is so interested in the war, and knowledgeable about it too.”
Luten had a hard time controlling his expression at this telling speech. He feared Harley had been unwittingly feeding Morgrave information, and now Morgrave wanted to be closer to state secrets. Old David Harley was a fool, but not disloyal, so far as anyone knew.
“It’s good for a man to have meaningful work to do,” Luten said.
“And ladies too,” Samantha replied. “And if I judge that box you’re carrying correctly, Lady Luten, I expect you have some work there for me.”
Corinne passed the box over. Samantha called for wine which they accepted, and they settled in for a little social chit-chat. Corinne hated to leave without further spying. She knew exactly what Luten was thinking about Morgrave’s wanting to get into the Horse Guards and she wanted to see if she could find any corroboration.
They were about to leave fifteen minutes later when Morgrave returned. He didn’t express either surprise or dismay to find them there but did ask, “To what do we owe this rare honour, Luten?”
Examining Morgrave, Luten took note that he matched Hopley’s description of the man Bolton suspected of being the spy — young, tall, well built, dark-haired, quite handsome.
“Just accompanying my wife on a little errand,” he said, pointing to the box of invitations. “I hear you are thinking of taking a position at the Horse Guards, Morgrave. Congratulations.”
“Premature, I’m afraid. There doesn’t seem to be anything open at the moment. And what is the Berkeley Brigade up to these days, Luten?"
“As a matter of fact, we were handed a job this morning. A connection of mine, Harry Bolton, was murdered last night. His father asked us to look into it.”
“Another murder,” Morgrave said, shaking his head in dismay but showing no other emotion. “It’s becoming unsafe to go out at night. How did it happen?”
“He was killed in his own flat.”
“Ah, a robbery. He’d have been wiser to just let them take what they wanted.”
“We don’t know just what happened yet,” Luten said. “We were only called in this morning.”
“Harry Bolton, you say? I don’t I believe I know him. Do we know him, Sam?”
She frowned and said, “I don’t believe so, though the name’s rather familiar. Where would one have been likely to meet him, Luten? Did he go about in society much?”
“Not what one would call high society, the ton. I daresay he had his own set.”
The topic was winding down, and soon they would have to leave. Whe
n no one was looking at her, Corinne lifted her glass and tilted it on to her skirt, then jumped up. “Oh dear! I’m sorry, Samantha. I hope I haven’t stained your lovely carpet.”
“It’s all right, only a few drops. I’ll call a maid.” She rang a bell and a maid almost immediately appeared, to be instructed to sponge up the spill.
“It’s your own skirt that’s caught most of the spill,” Samantha said.
“Oh dear, and a new suit, too,” Corinne said, examining her skirt. “Could I just nip into your room and see if I can get it out? A little cold water and a cloth ...”
“Of course. I’ll help you.” Samantha rose at once.
“That’s not necessary,” Corinne said. “You’d best stay and make sure the maid gets the carpet cleaned. That’s more valuable than my skirt. If you’ll just steer me to your room and have someone bring some water and a cloth. I’ll take care of it.”
The butler was told to bring a basin of water and a cloth and show Lady Luten to the dressing room, which was just a few steps down the hall and reached through the bedchamber. Once in the room, Corinne didn’t waste a minute. The bedroom was elegant with hand-painted Chinese wallpaper and mahogany furnishings, but didn’t seem a likely spot for clues. No desk, just the big canopied bed and matching bed tables, an armoire, a pair of dressers and one comfortable chair by the window. On one bedside table sat a lamp and a copy of Byron’s Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, on the other was a matching lamp and Reggie’s gothic novel. Reg would be interested to hear that. She wondered which one of them was reading Reggie’s book. She darted through the door into the adjoining room.
It was a small dressing room used by both husband and wife, as the flat wasn’t large. There in the corner sat a mahogany desk holding a blotter, a calendar, a few invitations, an address book, an ink bottle, pens and some stationery.
One sheet lay on the blotter. She ran over to it and saw that Samantha was writing to her mother. She drew open the one drawer and the first thing she saw was a little book with a red leather binding, much used to judge by the dog-eared condition of the pages. It had no title, and when she opened it, she didn’t know what to make of it. It seemed to be just a confusion of numbers and letters that didn’t form words, but after studying it for a few moments, she realized it was a code book! She quickly rifled through the one drawer but could find no further evidence of decoding — or possibly coding messages for transfer to France.
When she heard a light footstep approaching from the hallway, she put the book back, closed the drawer, ran for the water basin, splashed some water on her skirt and was rubbing at it when Samantha came in.
“There, all done,” she said, setting the cloth aside. “So clumsy of me. I am sorry. Is the carpet all right?”
“It’s fine. Don’t give it a thought. And I’ll have those invitations written by tomorrow. Shall I bring them to you?”
“I’m going out. I’ll pick them up,” Corinne said, eager for another chance to get into the place and search for clues.
Luten was already standing when she returned. They took their leave and went to the carriage, glancing down the street to see Coffen was still at his carriage. Coffen saw them and spoke to Fitz.
“That was quick thinking, spilling your wine,” Luten complimented, as they drove off. “Any luck in the bed chamber?”
“He’s a spy, Luten,” she announced. “There was a code book in the desk.”
“Good God! So it’s true. I was suspicious about his trying for a position at the Horse Guards. Thank goodness he didn’t get it. Imagine the damage he could have done — a spy working for the French coding and decoding war messages.”
“A disaster! Will you report to Hopley?”
“I’m in charge of this particular case. Considering the way things are run at the Horse Guards, it might be better to keep it under our hats. I’ll wait until we catch him red-handed. Now that we know where to concentrate our efforts it won’t take long. We’ll have to keep a sharp eye on him to see he doesn’t do any harm in the meanwhile. Would you mind dropping me off at the House before you go home?”
“Of course. I wonder if Coffen will have any luck following Morgrave.”
“If there’s anything to learn, Coffen’s the man to do it. We’ll have this case solved in no time.”
Corinne just looked at him. Their cases never seemed to get solved that quickly or easily. “Optimist!” she said.
Chapter Ten
Since Luten would not be home for hours, Corinne paid a call on
Reggie. He had enjoyed his few hours of pampering in bed and was eager to show off the eye patch Villier had devised for him. With that swollen and discoloured nose there was no hope of looking elegant, so he had gone for a
rougher, tougher look. Examining himself in the mirror before going
belowstairs, he thought the black velvet patch looked quite dashing. He tried it first on one eye, then on the other and settled on the left eye. He allowed a lock of hair, no longer screwed into a curl, to hang loose over his forehead, adding another touch of diablerie.
Leaning on a hefty blackthorn walking stick, he limped into the salon to greet her. The blackthorn stick was chosen for its size and rough texture. All this manliness was a completely new style for him. Lady Luten blinked in astonishment but was too aware of his thin skin to laugh.
“Oh Reg, don’t you look — different,” she said. “How are you feeling today?”
“Fine, fine. Kind of you to inquire,” Baron Wolfried replied brusquely. Prance had found a new role to act, a manly hero named Baron Wolfried. The Prussians were now England’s allies so there was nothing unpatriotic in the Germanic-sounding name, and he liked the touch of the wild in the Wolf part of it.
“A man can’t let a mere sprained leg and a few bruises hold him back from doing his duty. I’m ready to join the Brigade in its latest battle. What is new with our case?” As he sat down he allowed a slight groan to show he was really in great pain.
“Your clue was a great help,” she said. “It is indeed John Morgrave who is the spy and murderer.”
“Really! I find that hard to believe.”
“Well it’s true. Luten and I called on the Morgraves. Samantha let it slip before John arrived that he is very interested in the war. He’s getting the information from David Harley, at the Horse Guards. He even applied for a position at the Horse Guards himself, but he was turned down. But the clincher is, I found a decoding book hidden in his desk!”
“How on earth did you get into his desk? Did you break into his flat in broad daylight? Give me all the details.” She described their visit and he listened, peppering her with questions.
“Pity about your skirt,” he said when she had finished, before remembering that such details were as nothing to a man of action like Baron Wolfried. “So what does Luten plan to do next?”
“He had to go to the House, but we’ll be meeting this evening to discuss it. Meanwhile Coffen is watching Morgrave. It is vitally important that he not continue with his work. You can imagine the harm he could do. We’ll let you know what is decided.”
“Let me know?” he asked, and uttered an ironic laugh. “I plan to be there. I told you, I’m back in action. And what exactly is Coffen doing to prevent further damage to state secrets?”
While she was still describing Coffen’s role of watching Morgrave’s flat, Coffen was announced. “By Jove, Reg, I didn’t think you’d be up and about so soon,” he said, coming into the room. “What happened to your eye?”
Reg shrugged and batted his hand. “Knighton says a few broken blood vessels or some such thing. Just temporary. I shan’t lose the sight in it.”
“And your nose — will it still work as well? It’d be a pity not to smell.”
“I trust I don’t smell! Never mind about my few scratches, why aren’t you watching Morgrave, now that we know what he’s up to?”
“Oh Coffen, you haven’t heard,” Corinne said and told him about the code book.
> “You shouldn’t have left him unguarded for a minute,” Prance said.
“How did I know he was working on codes?”
“Did he leave the flat? Did you follow him? Where did he go?” Prance demanded.
“He left not five minutes after Luten and Corrie. Headed straight to Arthur’s Club, I followed him in after a few minutes. He was sitting down with some fellows I didn’t recognize. Probably heavy betters. I heard them ordering dinner for six o’clock, so he’s safe there for now,”
“True,” Prance said, nodding. “Foul deeds are usually done under cover of darkness.”
“Daresay he’ll lose his shirt, dark or daylight,” Coffen said. “That’d be why he’s taken to selling our secrets to the Frenchies. He’s only a younger son. He can’t have much money to squander at cards.”
Prance listened, frowning. “His wife is well to grass, though. Samantha Sinclair had a dot of twenty thousand, if rumour is correct. They’ve only been married a few months. He can’t have run through all that so soon.”
“It might be tied up somehow,” Coffen said vaguely.
“One doesn’t go to Arthur’s to lose his shirt,” was Prance’s next objection. “White’s Club and Brookes’s are the places for that sort of game.”
“You can lose money any place if you know what you’re doing,” said Coffen.
Prance just shook his head. “I daresay a man of your genius could do just that, Coffen.”
“Why thankee, Reg.”
“Not at all. And Fitz managed to get you home all right, did he?”
“I took a hackney. I’ve no idea where Fitz is. There was no sign of my rig when I came out of Arthur’s.”
