The Wellington Bureau: A Quartermain Mystery
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met, might she not come up with something interesting?
In accordance with this idea, Monday morning saw two private investigators from the Wellington Bureau at a discreet distance from the pair of houses belonging to the Parry’s and the Furnival’s so as to make a note of the car which Warren Parry drove and his usual route to work. In fact, the first person to leave for work was Sir Angus, who drove a black BMW and left his house at six-forty, a detail which confirmed Anna’s belief that he possessed an unusually sound constitution. Warren appeared just after seven-thirty and drove off in a red Peugeot 205 GTi, registration number noted. He then joined the Prince Albert Road, skirted round Regent’s Park, followed Marylebone Road eastwards to City Road, went down Moorgate with the Bank of England and the Stock Exchange to his left, and on to his place of work in the City. On subsequent days, Ben and Anna waited for Warren’s car in Prince Albert Road so that the inhabitants of Regent’s Park Terrace did not remark the presence every morning of a white Jaguar very like the one belonging to Lady Quartermain.
Once Warren had entered the office in which he worked not a whisker was seen of him until lunchtime, when he took ten minutes to buy himself a sandwich at a sandwich bar. After that he re-incarcerated himself until six. He then drove straight back to his parent’s home and did not venture out again that evening. The only visitor was Philip Gurney.
This pattern was repeated on the following days, with the exception of Philip’s visit. On the Thursday, however, instead of returning home after work, Warren set off on foot in the direction of Covent Garden. Anna hopped out of the Jaguar and followed him, elated by the expectation of catching him in a clandestine meeting with some shady character or another. Perhaps the diamond necklace would be slipped across a table under the cover of his copy of the Financial Times, and a bulging envelope returned in the same manner. She was disappointed to see him meet up with the inevitable Toby and Philip. The three of them took a tube to the Barbican, had a meal in the wine bar, and then went into the centre in time for Handel’s Messiah.
Anna, by this time, was heartily fed up. She had spent a large proportion of the preceding days hanging around in the street adjacent to the one in which Harold Gurney had his office, just in case Warren appeared and slunk off to do something mysterious. Since Tuesday, they had followed a set procedure. Ben left Anna after they had tracked the young man safely to his place of work. She then stood about all morning getting cold, often wet, and always cross, ready to hail a taxi and take up the pursuit if need be. Just after two, when all hope of any exciting lunchtime activities had been abandoned, Bill and Ben turned up in the car. Bill was then left on duty during the quiet hours until five, armed with a detailed description of the young man, his clothes, and his car, and instructions to pursue him if he emerged. At about five Ben, Anna and the car would return to await the reappearance of their prey.
Friday morning saw an unwilling and dispirited Ben and Anna taking up their station by Regent’s Park.
“Perhaps he does whatever he does at weekends,” suggested Ben, drumming his fingers on the dashboard.
“He certainly must do something, sometime to spice up his life a bit. Nobody can spend their time locked up in an office all day and in deepfreeze at their parent’s home all evening without making a break for liberty at some point. The more I see of this young man’s routine the more I can believe that he has a psychological need to be a jewel thief or a bank robber – Oh! Sorry.”
Ben gave the endearing toothy grin which the twins shared.
“Mind you. I’m assuming that his life is as boring to live as it is to watch. Commodity broking is probably most stimulating. I must ask a commodity broker sometime.”
“Here he comes. Bang on time!” Ben started the engine.
“Wait a minute. We may as well keep our distance. We know where he’s going and we don’t want him to spot us. Frankly I’m amazed that he hasn’t caught on yet. We should have a different car for each day of the week. Or at least something less conspicuous.”
“A Jag’s OK in London. Mind you, a motorbike would be good if you had to chase someone. Good for nipping in and out of traffic,” said Ben hopefully. “Hang on! He’s pulled in. Do you think he’s seen us?”
“Carry on past him and when we are out of sight pull in. We’ll see how he reacts. If you don’t mind, I’ll keep my head down. I don’t want him to see me or it will confirm his suspicions. Bother! We were being so careful too.”
After about five minutes Ben said, “He can’t still be waiting. He’d just have driven on again and watched to see if we followed.”
“Perhaps he was trying to shake us off. He might have done a U-turn and gone. We should have pulled in behind him so that we could have seen what he did.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Goodness knows.”
“There he goes...” The red GTi went past.
“Did he look at us, Ben?”
Ben shook his head. “I couldn’t tell. Shall I follow?”
“You might as well. We’ll gain nothing from giving up. He might have stopped to find a tape to play or something.” After a few minutes, Anna commented, “Well, at least he’s taking a new route. Variety is spice of life.”
“A mystery tour,” said Ben. Then he added, “Maybe he’s still watching to see if we follow. He might be driving in circles.”
“Then we’ll both waste a lot of petrol. Where are we heading?”
“I’m not sure. Westminster? St. James's Park?” After a while Ben said in disgust, “He is just driving in circles.” They were outside the Houses of Parliament.
“Keep following.”
“He’s pulling over!”
“OK. Take a spin round St. James’s Park if you can. See if he is still here when we get back.”
Ben obliged. “He’s gone!” he exclaimed, when they got back to the Houses of Parliament.
“No he hasn’t! He’s doing another turn. This is musical cars!”
“He’s pulled in by the Abbey.”
“Take another turn around the Park.”
When they were back to the Abbey, Ben said, “He’s still there."
Anna became thoughtful. “Do you know, I don’t think these games have anything to do with us. He could have shaken us off, flashed his lights, or simply made a rude sign, if it was us that he was interested in. Keep on doing the James’s Park circuit. Stop on the other side for a while if you can. We’ll see if this chap is waiting for someone. I just hope we don’t get stopped by the police for kerb crawling.”
Ben drove round to the other side of the park, waited about five minutes, and drove back past the Abbey again. The red car was still there. He repeated the procedure. This time, as they came within sight of the Abbey and the Houses of Parliament, Anna exclaimed,
“He’s driven off. Look!” she pointed at the car moving away in the traffic. “Can you follow?”
Ben nodded and followed the car down St. Margaret’s Street, parallel to the Thames. They passed the Tate Gallery and drove on to Chelsea Embankment.
“Do you know,” Anna said, “if I didn’t know better, I would say that he is preoccupied with following someone rather than being worried about someone following him.”
“The Mercedes?” questioned Ben.
“That’s the one.”
Once they were in Chelsea they slowed down, watching the two cars from a distance. The Mercedes pulled in outside a smart brick built house with a white door. The driver got out and went to the door and was quickly let in. He did not glance round.
“Do you know the man?” asked Ben.
“I couldn’t tell. He had his back to us. Maybe when he comes out again.”
“That could be hours.”
“I wonder if our friend will wait. How very extraordinary. We were following him following someone else. Perhaps he’s a part-time private investigator! But, you know, whoever he was following came from the Regent’s Park area. I have a funny feeling it was his father. I jus
t want a good look to see if the chap who went into that house has a moustache. But why on earth should Warren be following his father?”
They had to wait over an hour to see the moustache. The red car waited as well.
“Yes! That’s Lady Parry’s husband. I saw him at the Furnival’s.”
The Mercedes drove off. After nearly five minutes Warren Parry drove past them, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they had been giving him the treatment that he had given his father.
“Let him go now,” said Anna. “He has obviously seen what he wanted or he would have followed his father rather than waiting until he had gone before driving off. Well! I don’t know what to make of that. Why should he want to keep an eye on his father? I wonder who lives in that house? What was his father doing at the Houses of Parliament? It seems to me this business raises more problems than it solves. Time we went and had some lunch.”
Six
Anna was lying flat on the floor with her hands behind her head listening to Mozart’s Requiem yet again, as it fitted her melancholy mood. It was the Wednesday of the week following her vigil in the City and she was contemplating the fact that it was a nonsense for her to pretend that she was doing anything like real work. She had lost all interest in the doleful-eyed Warren and was quite sure that he was incapable of robbing Timothy Furnival’s piggybank let alone contemplating the more spectacular role of jewel thief. And without a connection between the strange behaviour of Lady