‘Do you have an address for Mrs Prentice?’ he asked.
‘No, Inspector, she disappeared from the area and from our lives. There were rumours that she moved to more modest accommodation in Leicestershire, but I can’t confirm that.’
‘We’ll find her,’ said Marmion.
He did, however, have reservations about doing so. If the Prentice family had fallen on hard times, the woman would hardly be able to afford to stay at the Lotus Hotel. Besides, why would she steal the identity of someone who’d been so generous towards her? Marmion had the uneasy feeling that, in pursuing Cecily Prentice, he’d be going into a blind alley. He turned his attention to the second suspect. When Sir Godfrey found the other photograph, Marmion saw that it was taken at some kind of function and that a dozen or more people were standing in a line at the bottom of a sweeping staircase. After spotting that Sir Godfrey and his wife were in the centre, Marmion ran his eye slowly over the others. Of the six women, none struck him as being in any way like Lady Brice-Cadmore.
‘Who am I supposed to look at?’ he asked.
‘It’s the lady next to me,’ replied the old man. ‘My wife was on one side, as you can see, and this complete stranger was on the other. Never set eyes on her before or since. We were at the Hunt Ball. Even hermits like us used to go to that,’ he explained. ‘If people had friends staying with them over Christmas, they’d bring them along on the principle of the more, the merrier. That’s how this lady came to be there, I daresay.’ He looked at Marmion. ‘Are you a hunting man?’
‘It’s in the nature of my profession, Sir Godfrey.’
‘Is it?’
‘I don’t keep a pack of hounds, but I do have a number of detectives I can deploy to pick up a scent.’
‘Ah, I see,’ said the other, chortling. ‘I catch your drift, Inspector.’
Marmion studied the mystery woman beside Sir Godfrey in the photograph. Now that he concentrated his gaze on her, he could see that there was a likeness to the wife. What had stopped Marmion from noticing it at first was the fact that the woman was somewhat older than Lady Brice-Cadmore − ten years, at least. In fact, she was far closer in age to Sir Godfrey than to his wife.
‘How could I identity this lady?’ he asked.
‘I’m blowed if I can tell you, Inspector. My wife might have remembered the name – Diana was our memory bank – but I haven’t a clue who any of those people were, ourselves excepted.’
‘There must be a way to trace her, surely?’
‘She was somebody’s guest at that ball.’
‘Then whoever organised it might tell us who she was.’
‘It’s possible, Inspector.’ The old man sat back with a sigh. ‘Oh, I do wish my memory wasn’t starting to crumble. It’s strange, you know. I can remember every Three Choirs Festival I ever attended and can even tell you what I heard there. Yet I can’t remember the names of any of the people who organised the ball for the Old Berkshire Hunt. Isn’t that ridiculous?’
‘How long ago was this photograph taken?’
‘It must be almost four years.’
‘Do you recall who the Master of the Hunt is?’
‘I’m afraid not. We weren’t really part of the hunting set. We just bought the tickets and went along. Wine flowed freely at such events, so they tended to pass in a blur.’
‘When you went through your albums,’ said Marmion, pointing a finger at the photograph, ‘this lady stood out for some reason.’
‘Yes, she did.’
‘What was that reason, Sir Godfrey?’
‘That’s the trouble,’ replied the other, shrugging his shoulders. ‘I can’t remember.’
Griselda Fleetwood called on her husband in his office in the city. She was far too restless to accept his offer of refreshment and, while he stayed seated behind the desk, prowled around the room like a tiger in a cage. He was fearful.
‘I don’t like it, Harold.’
‘Everything will be all right, my love.’
‘Well, it doesn’t feel like it. The future of the Lotus is under threat. Guests have been checking out before they were due to leave. One of them – would you believe? – was Phyllis Carvington.’
‘But she was the person who gave you the idea of opening a hotel in the first place. Don’t you remember? Lady Carvington said that there was nowhere in London tailored specifically for people like her – in other words, for haughty, old, female snobs.’
‘Haughty, old, female, moneyed snobs,’ she corrected.
‘Yes, they do have one virtue.’
‘My first instinct was to ban her from the Lotus, but Mr Chell advised against it. That man has been a godsend,’ she went on. ‘Not only did he spend the night there, he refused a large amount of money to leak the names of our customers to a journalist.’
‘Thank goodness for that!’
‘If we lose our reputation for discretion, we’re dead and buried.’
‘What’s the mood like among the staff?’
‘It’s sombre, Harold.’
‘That will only change when the police actually find out what went on there. I’ve done my best to light a fire under them,’ he said, airily. ‘When I told them that Sir Edward Henry is a good friend of mine, the superintendent realised he was dealing with someone of consequence. The commissioner will keep him and Marmion on their toes.’
‘I’m more concerned with keeping the Lotus on its feet,’ she said, stopping in front of his desk. ‘I wouldn’t admit this to anyone but you, Harold – the hotel is tottering.’
‘We’ll prop it up between us, my love.’
‘Not if the Phyllis Carvingtons of this world turn against us.’
‘That ugly old turtle will come back, I guarantee.’
‘Meanwhile, Buchanan is rubbing his hands with glee. Do you know what he had the nerve to do?’
‘No – what was it?’
‘He sent me a bouquet of flowers as a gesture of sympathy.’
He was outraged. ‘I hope you sent them straight back.’
‘I had them thrown out.’
‘That man is despicable.’
‘It was clear proof to me that he’s behind this whole business.’
‘Unfortunately, it’s not the kind of proof that would stand up in court, so don’t rise to the bait. I’ve warned you before against making intemperate accusations. Buchanan wouldn’t hesitate to sue you for slander.’
‘He’s been dying to bring us down.’
‘But he’s not the only one. Bear that in mind. Other hoteliers would love to see you fail. I’ll make sure it won’t happen.’
‘Is that a promise?’
‘You have my word on it, Griselda.’ Getting to his feet, he came around the desk and embraced her. When they pulled away, Fleetwood grinned. ‘I’ve been saving up some good news for a time when it’s most needed,’ he told her. ‘This may be it.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘Nothing as yet, but I’ve caught wind of a rumour.’
‘Go on.’
‘My name may be put forward for inclusion in the New Year’s Honours List,’ he said, fingers in the lapels of his coat. ‘We may be going up in the world, my love. It might even be a knighthood. People in the realm of finance will have to call me Sir Harold and there’ll be a hotel in Chelsea owned and run by a certain Lady Fleetwood.’
She hugged him impulsively. ‘That’s wonderful!’ she cried. ‘Why didn’t you tell me when you first heard?’
‘I was keeping it as a surprise. Just think of it, Griselda. You will be able to mix more easily with all those titled ladies of yours and there’s another bonus.’
‘Is there?’
‘Yes – it will be one in the eye for Fraser Buchanan.’
Buchanan allowed himself the pleasure of reading the newspaper coverage of events at the Lotus Hotel once again. Having bought every morning paper, he was delighted to see that they all carried the story. It was bound to have an adverse effect on bookings. Who wo
uld wish to stay at a hotel where a murder had occurred? He was still chuckling to himself when he heard the toot of a car horn in the road outside. Gathering up his briefcase, he went into the hall, plucked his hat off its peg and left the house. He climbed into the rear of the vehicle and sat back.
‘Is it the usual, sir?’ asked the taxi driver.
‘Yes, please – the Roath Court Hotel.’
‘Did you find him, Joe?’ asked Marmion.
‘I picked him out because he was the youngest porter there,’ said Keedy. ‘My guess is that Maitland is also the brightest of them.’
‘Why do you think that?’
‘He’s bright, quick off the mark and tireless. Also, he clearly has a way with female guests. They seem to love him.’
‘His charm didn’t work on a member of the female staff at the Lotus. That’s why Mr Chell got rid of him.’
‘Maitland told a different story, Harv.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, he reckons that he got bored at the Lotus and left of his own volition. The Roath Court is much bigger. They obviously pay him more.’
‘And what does he have to do for the money?’
‘I had the feeling that he’d do anything he was told.’
They were in Marmion’s office, now vacated by Sir Godfrey Brice-Cadmore. Having first reported to the superintendent, Keedy had come to see the inspector. He gave him a brief description of what happened at the Roath Court along with his appraisal of Maitland. He then turned to his visit to Leonard Rogan’s home.
‘Chat was right,’ he conceded. ‘Going to his home, I saw a very different side to the night porter. He wasn’t quite so cocky there.’
‘Where does he live?’
‘It’s in a Paddington slum. He hated being caught in a vest and pyjama trousers, but I expect that’s what he wears most of the time he’s there. He went on the defensive immediately.’
‘Did you learn anything new?’
‘Yes, I discovered that Chell used to be deputy manager at the Savoy.’ Marmion blinked in surprise. ‘Mrs Fleetwood would have needed to offer him a lot of money to make him give up a job like that. The Savoy attracts the elite.’
‘That’s what the Lotus is aspiring to do, Joe.’
Keedy told him in detail what had happened when he met Rogan and how the man’s original account of the night of the murder had had to be modified slightly. It had made him suspicious of the man. Marmion listened patiently until the sergeant finished.
‘Describe him in one word, Joe.’
‘Shifty.’
‘What about Maitland?’
‘Calculating.’
‘Are they birds of a feather?’
‘They could be,’ said Keedy. ‘Both of them need money, especially Rogan. He’s got a wife and a disabled father to support. Their son has left home. He’s got a stall in Brewer Street Market.’
‘Well, they obviously know each other because they worked side by side at the Lotus until Maitland was booted out for pestering one of the maids. Are they still in touch, I wonder?’
‘It wouldn’t surprise me.’
‘Find me a link between them,’ said Marmion. ‘If we can establish that, we might start to get somewhere at last.’
It was late afternoon before Maitland came off duty. After changing out of his uniform, he left the hotel and walked off through a maze of streets. When the porter finally reached the Red Lion, someone was waiting for him at a table in the corner. He scowled at Maitland.
‘What kept you?’ asked Rogan.
CHAPTER TWELVE
When she got to the sewing circle that afternoon, Ellen was pleased to see that Rene Bridger was there. Making gloves, socks and scarves for British soldiers was also a social event, a time when the women could exchange gossip, console each other and form friendships. Though she’d never been close to Rene Bridger, she was anxious to speak to her now. As soon as the group started to disperse, Ellen followed the other woman out into the street.
‘I’ve been reading that book you mentioned,’ she said.
‘It scared me rigid.’
‘I can see why. It all sounds so real.’
‘That’s why it depressed me, Ellen.’
‘I found a handbill inside the book.’
‘It was there when I borrowed it from the library, so I left it there.’
‘Did you read what that man, Quentin Dacey, said?’
‘I was too frightened.’
‘He claims he knows where many of the German spies are hiding. I’m thinking of going to hear him speak tomorrow.’
‘Then you’re a braver woman than me.’
‘Don’t you want to know the truth, Rene?’
‘German soldiers killed my son,’ said the other, bitterly. ‘That’s enough truth for me. In a sense they also killed your son.’
‘Paul is still alive.’
‘Yes, but he’s not the lad you sent off to war, is he? Whatever happened to him over there, it changed him. Why else did he run away from home?’
‘He had his reasons,’ said Ellen, upset by the other woman’s blunt question. ‘Paul will come back one day. He just needs to … sort himself out, that’s all.’ She spoke with more certainty than she felt. ‘As for that talk by Quentin Dacey, you’re not interested in coming, then?’
‘I don’t believe what he has to say.’
‘But he’s an educated man – and he once lived in Germany.’
‘If they had so many spies over here, we’d have heard of it from the police by now. Well, your husband would surely have told you.’
‘He doesn’t deal with that kind of thing, Rene. It’s left to the secret service. Harvey only works on serious crimes.’
‘Have you told him about that book?’
‘No, I haven’t had the chance.’
‘When I showed it to my husband, he said it was rubbish and refused even to look at it. But, then, Bert isn’t a reading man. What about your husband?’
‘He never has time to read anything but police reports.’
‘Are you really going to this talk tomorrow?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Will you tell your husband about it?’
It was a question with which Ellen had been grappling and she still didn’t know the answer. After a few seconds, she heard herself making a decision.
‘No, Rene,’ she said, firmly, ‘I’m going to say nothing about it to Harvey. He’s far too busy.’
Clashes with the superintendent were not unusual and Marmion lost most of them because Chatfield could always pull rank on him, forcing the inspector to back down. This time, however, Marmion was determined to win the argument.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said, ‘but I disagree with you. What Sir Godfrey told me must be considered as crucial evidence.’
‘Paying the slightest attention to it is a waste of time.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we can’t solve a complex crime like this on the basis of the ramblings of a confused old man,’ said Chatfield. ‘You’ve admitted that his mind wanders and that his memory is unsound.’
‘It’s true,’ conceded Marmion. ‘Sir Godfrey spends most of the time in the past with his birdwatching and his visits to the Three Choirs Festival. They remind him of his late wife.’
‘Then let’s leave him to wallow in the past. My only concern is the present, where I have to attend a press conference very soon.’ He tapped the two photographs in front of him. ‘And when I do, I am not going to mention either of these women because they are wholly irrelevant to the investigation.’
‘I dispute that, sir.’
‘My decision is final.’
To reinforce that decision, Chatfield picked up the two photographs and handed them back to Marmion with polite contempt. They’d been left by Sir Godfrey Brice-Cadmore in the hope that they might advance the investigation. Of the two, only one really interested Marmion and that was the woman who’d attended a hunt ball where she’d not only bee
n photographed with Sir Godfrey and his wife, she’d looked as if she was very pleased to be standing next to him. Everyone else was beaming at the camera but her attention seemed to be fixed on the old man.
‘Have we had any response from the appeal?’ asked Chatfield.
‘Suggestions are starting to trickle in, sir. Sergeant Keedy is handling them at the moment. When the public become aware of the size of the reward, the trickle will become a tidal wave.’
‘It needs to be carefully filtered.’
‘That’s why I put the sergeant in charge. He has a nose for fraudsters.’
‘They should all be prosecuted for wasting police time.’
‘They will be, sir,’ said Marmion. ‘What do you propose to say at the press conference?’
‘I’ll release a few more details about the post-mortem but nothing too significant. There are certain things I’d like to keep from them for the time being. I’ll tell them about the reward money, of course. We need the public to know just how much is on offer.’ He stood up behind his desk. ‘What’s your next step, Inspector?’
‘I want to pay another visit to the Lotus Hotel, sir. I feel that there’s still a lot more to learn there.’
‘Keep clear of Mrs Fleetwood.’
‘After what I’ve heard of her, I’m keen to meet the lady.’
‘She’ll try to tell you how to do your job.’
‘Oh, I’m used to someone doing that,’ said Marmion, getting in a sly dig at his superior. ‘Mrs Fleetwood may criticise us, but she has the sense to let her manager run the hotel. Mr Chell is the person I’m really going to see this afternoon. He’s a key figure in this investigation.’
Even in his rare moments off duty, Rex Chell never relaxed. Still wearing morning dress, he was the personification of elegance. Lena Gosling was alone with him in his office, enjoying a cup of tea and a biscuit. Because he trusted her implicitly, she was the one person in whom he felt able to confide freely.
‘There’s a black cloud hanging over the Lotus,’ he said. ‘Unless we can get rid of it, we’ll be put out of business.’
The Unseen Hand Page 9
