‘Explicit orders from Nicholas Warren. I did the necessary, delivered the goods, and received a handsome payment for my trouble. In cash.’
‘So Nicholas Warren’s behind it all?’
‘Come, now, Inspector, I’m not going to do all your work for you. That’s up to you to find out.’
Webb said, ‘Tell me one thing: why in the name of heaven did you sometimes ignore the equivalent of the Crown Jewels and take some worthless trinket?’
Hardy shrugged. ‘It was immaterial to me what we took. We stole directly to order — no more and no less. And the payment was as good for the trinkets as for the more expensive items, so who was I to quibble?’
‘You said “we”. Miss Budd was in on it with you?’
‘This is where I should be gallant and deny it, but there seems little point. Of course she was. She’s petite and agile and could get into small spaces that I couldn’t. She was invaluable.’
‘And I presume,’ Ledbetter said quietly, ‘that it was she who killed Lord Cleverley?’
‘I gave that away, didn’t I? But it was an accident, as I said. I was across the room looking at that shepherdess and wondering, I admit, why anyone should pay such a tidy sum for me to nick it, when suddenly the door opened and the old man came in in his dressing-gown. We got the fright of our lives, I can tell you. And Caro, who was behind the door, picked up a candlestick and hit him with it. He went down like the proverbial ton of bricks. It was a purely instinctive gesture — self-defence, really.’
‘Except that he had to be stopped from identifying you.’
‘Caro didn’t know that at the time — that we’d met, I mean. When we heard he’d died, she went completely to pieces. Coming on top of her father’s illness, it knocked the stuffing out of her.’
There was a short silence, while the three of them thought over what had been said. Then Webb asked, ‘How did it all start? Did this Warren ring you up out of the blue and invite you to embark on a series of burglaries for him?’
‘Not exactly.’ Hardy paused to massage the back of his neck with one hand. It occurred to Webb that he too had had a long day. ‘We were at school together,’ he went on, ‘though I was a year or two younger. I had a somewhat notorious reputation, always in hot water for breaking some rule or other. I was hooked on the Raffles books — “the gentleman thief”, you know — and I started practising stealing from people. Only as an exercise, I hasten to add; I always returned what I took; it was just to prove that I could, though it didn’t always go down too well, and eventually, what with one thing and another, I was expelled.
‘Well, the years rolled on, and the next time our paths crossed was in South Africa. We met at a party and exchanged the time of day — we’d never been close friends. Then, to my surprise, he phoned a couple of days later and suggested we met for a drink.
‘The root of it was that a diplomatic crisis was brewing; the wife of a government official had had a piece of jewellery stolen, and swore she knew who’d taken it. But this other woman’s husband was also a high-ranking official, and all hell would have broken out if she’d accused her publicly. And having just met me again, Nicholas remembered my doings at school, and asked if I’d be prepared to try to steal it back.
‘Well, of course, I was delighted, and nicked it with the greatest of ease. And the beauty of it was that the woman couldn’t make a fuss, because she wasn’t supposed to have it in the first place. Nicholas sent me a case of champagne and returned the brooch to its owner to the acclaim of all concerned. It did his career no harm at all, I can tell you; he became quite a folk hero in his clique.’
Ledbetter stood up, stretched, and went to the door to request more coffee.
‘So when you both came back to this country,’ he said as he sat down again, ‘you dreamed up the country house scam?’
‘Again, not exactly; I had no part in dreaming up anything. But as you say, he contacted me again, and asked how I’d feel about trying my hand on a larger scale. I was intrigued — life in the City can be pretty dull and I’m all for a bit of excitement. And because I moved in well-heeled circles, I was able to case the stately joints without arousing suspicion. Raffles again. It worked like a dream.’
‘And you have no idea what Nicholas Warren did with the spoils?’
‘Not a clue, though if it’s any help, I’m damn sure the substantial payments didn’t come out of his pocket.’
The fresh coffee arrived and they drank it in silence. ‘Warren’s brother-in-law writes horoscopes for the Evening News, doesn’t he?’ Ledbetter said then.
Hardy raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Does he? Good Lord!’
‘You didn’t know that?’
‘No; any reason why I should?’
Ledbetter did not reply. Hardy had nothing to gain from lying at this stage, and Mrs Campbell said they were sensitive about the column. It was possible they didn’t mention the connection, even to friends.
So although the Seven Stars was up to its neck in all this, no direct connection had yet been made with the horoscopes, which were what had roused Mrs Campbell’s suspicions in the first place. Perhaps he’d know more when he had Steve Pembury’s report.
He looked at Hardy. ‘Anything you’d like to add to your statement?’
‘Come, come, Inspector; you’ve already got jam on it!’
Ledbetter couldn’t help smiling. In other circumstances, this was a man he could have admired.
‘In that case, interview terminated at three-twenty.’ He switched off the tape. ‘Your statement will be typed in the morning. I’ll see you then.’
They waited till Hardy had been led away to the cells. ‘Right, home, James, and don’t spare the horses. The guest-room bed’s made up, and knowing Janet, she’ll probably insist on cooking us bacon and eggs before we crash out.’
‘Sounds great,’ Webb said, getting stiffly to his feet. ‘My round of sandwiches at eight-thirty seems a long time ago.’
Together they went out into the cold, starlit night.
*
Some seven hours later, five police cars drew up outside the Seven Stars. Ledbetter and Hopkins approached the door, the other officers remaining in the vehicles.
Their ring was answered by a tall, red-haired woman. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ she demanded, before they could speak.
‘SB CID, ma’am. Detective Inspector Ledbetter and DS Hopkins. And you are —?’
‘Stella Cain.’
‘We’d like a word with you all.’
Stella’s eyes went past him to the vehicles lined up on the gravel. ‘Five cars? But what —’
‘The others are in, I hope?’ Ledbetter interrupted.
‘Yes,’ Stella admitted hesitantly, and after a moment held the door open for them to enter. ‘My sister and brother-in-law are in their apartment.’ She gestured towards one of the wings which extended on either side of the front door.
‘Perhaps you’d tell them we’re here.’ Though, Ledbetter thought, they could scarcely have failed to notice their arrival. Sure enough, at Mrs Cain’s knock, the door to the wing opened immediately and a tall, grey-haired man came out, closely followed by his wife.
‘Nicholas Warren?’
‘Who wants to know?’
‘Inspector Ledbetter, Steeple Bayliss CID. And you, ma’am: could I have your full name?’
She stared at him with unflinching dark eyes. ‘Katherine Warren.’
‘Nicholas and Katherine Warren, I’m arresting you on suspicion of conspiracy to burgle and handling stolen goods. You’re not obliged to say anything, but anything you do say may be taken down and used in evidence. Do you understand?’
The man looked stunned. His wife, clutching his arm, stood immobile.
‘Do you both understand?’ Ledbetter repeated.
They nodded.
‘You’ll be taken separately to the station for questioning.’ He nodded to Hopkins, who opened the front door and signalled to his colleagues.
&nb
sp; As the Warrens were escorted out of the house, Ledbetter turned to Mrs Cain, still standing like a mesmerised rabbit in the middle of the hall. ‘Now, ma’am, where’s your husband?’
‘In his study,’ she answered mechanically.
He gestured to her to lead the way and they walked in silence through the large kitchen, where preparations for the evening meal had been interrupted by their arrival, out of the back door and across the courtyard to the mews buildings. Mrs Cain pushed open a door and called up the stairs, ‘Gordon! Can you come down?’
There was the sound of a chair being pushed back and Cain appeared at the top of the stairs, stopping short as he saw the detectives. Slowly, resignedly, he came down, to be arrested with his wife on the same charges as the others.
As they walked back to the house, Stella said anxiously, ‘Will we be back this afternoon? We have guests, who’ll be expecting a meal.’
‘Arrangements will be made,’ Ledbetter answered enigmatically. ‘In the meantime, I have a warrant to search the premises.’
‘Now look here —’ Cain burst out angrily, then broke off with a helpless shrug of his shoulders. Two officers were waiting in the hall to accompany them, also in separate cars, back to the station.
‘And now,’ Ledbetter said with satisfaction, ‘they can all kick their heels while we see what we can find here. Tell the rest of the lads to come in, Happy.’
*
At Melbray the Old Masters lecture was in full swing, amply illustrated by colourful slides. It should have been one of the highlights of the week, but Helen was finding it hard to concentrate.
Had the police found what they were looking for last night? Was Dominic really involved with the Stately Homes break-ins? If so, was it her conversation with Inspector Ledbetter that had led them to him? And how would Andrew react at her involvement in what he’d regarded as his private investigation?
And Michael. Time and again she went over what had been said in his room. If things didn’t work out with Andrew, would she contact him? Did she want things to work out, or, having made this tentative break, would she prefer to extend it indefinitely?
To none of these questions had she any answers, but the weight of them was bringing on a migraine. She gritted her teeth. She’d paid for this course, and it was laying the foundation of her future. She couldn’t afford to allow personal worries to affect her concentration.
But the worries intruded again at lunch-time, when, told someone was waiting to see her, she found a young woman in the foyer.
‘Mrs Campbell? I’m WDC Birch. Mr Ledbetter asked me to tell you that the two couples from the Seven Stars are at the station, and though they’re likely to be released later, he thought you might be uncomfortable staying on there.’
Helen swallowed. ‘You mean he told them I — ?’
‘No, no, but apparently you’d shown some interest in horoscopes, and when the subject was brought up, Mrs Warren immediately assumed you were involved. It seems they knew of your visit to the station.’
Suspicious Kate, and Terry, with his prying eyes. Well, if she was to be a — grass, was that the word? — she might as well go all the way.
‘I mentioned Mr Pike, one of the lodgers, to the inspector. I think he might be worth talking to as well.’
‘I’ll see he gets the message. In the meantime, if you would like to move, I can run you back to the Seven Stars and help you pack up your things before they get back. There are several good B & B places in town — I’m sure you’ll have no difficulty finding one.’
*
Webb had returned to Shillingham that morning to write up a report on a case he’d been dealing with. By mid-afternoon he’d finished it, and, curious to know how things were progressing, he phoned Ledbetter.
‘Dave — I was just about to ring you. We’ve had quite a profitable day, one way or another. Know what we found in a safe at the Seven Stars? One Nymphenberg shepherdess.’
‘That’s all?’ He’d been expecting an Aladdin’s cave.
‘Afraid so, everything else has been passed on.’
‘And the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question is,’ Webb said, ‘to whom?’
‘Yes, but unfortunately we don’t have the sixty-four-thousand-dollar answer. Look, it’s too involved to go into on the phone. Can you get over here?’
‘Should think so. I’ve been on to Regional Crime, by the way and put them in the picture. Shall I bring Brian Rigby along?’
‘Sure. You can both listen to the tapes if you like.’
‘Are the Seven Stars lot still with you?’
‘No, released on bail. There’s not much against the women, anyway, other than benefiting from the proceeds of crime. They haven’t been charged.’
‘Fair enough. See you in about an hour, then.’
*
Helen had asked at the desk for a copy of the accommodations list before leaving Melbray. There were three or four addresses in Steeple Bayliss; she picked one at random and rang to ask if they’d a free room, explaining she would need it for four nights. They had, and directions were given how to get there.
Now, feeling lonely and bereft, she stood in the middle of it and looked about her. It had nothing like the atmosphere of the poppy-and-cream bedroom at the Seven Stars, being small and dark, with a single, high window looking out on to a brick wall.
Still, she told herself, she would be spared the smouldering atmosphere and suspicious glances.
She’d left a cheque at the guesthouse covering the full fortnight, together with a brief note saying she was moving to be closer to her daughter. They’d know, of course, that was not the reason for her flight; doubtless it would cause sardonic amusement.
And Michael... She drew in her breath sharply, realising for the first time that he might take her precipitate departure as a direct result of their conversation last night.
She stood stricken, hands clasped in front of her. What could she do? Certainly not phone him at the Seven Stars, and she didn’t know where he worked. Oh, why hadn’t she thought to slip a note under his door? Though under the eyes of the efficient young policewoman, that might have been difficult.
It was the horoscopes that had brought her to this, she reflected; if she’d confined herself to handing over the button, Dominic would have been arrested (as the policewoman told her he had been) and no one would have connected her with the betrayal. But as soon as Ledbetter had mentioned horoscopes — and he must have placed more importance on them than she’d realised — Kate would have known she was behind it.
So here she was, displaced and alone and desperately in need of someone to talk to. But it was only two days since she’d seen Pen, and she mustn’t keep making demands on her time. She was still telling herself this as she went down to the public call-box and dialled the halls of residence.
‘Just to let you know I’ve changed my phone number,’ she said brightly, when her daughter came on the line. ‘In case you wanted to fix that meal.’
‘What do you mean, you’ve —?’ Penelope broke off and her voice sharpened. ‘Have you left the Seven Stars?’
‘Yes,’ Helen admitted, keeping an eye on the half-closed door to the kitchen, from which a somewhat unappetising smell of supper was emerging.
‘But why? Did they throw you out?’
‘Certainly not! I’ll explain when I see you.’
‘Mum, you can’t leave it at that! Did you go on poking your nose in and get their backs up? What happened? And where are you now?’
‘At a B & B in town, on one of the roads overlooking the river.’ She hesitated, but loneliness overcame her resolve not to make demands. ‘Could you possibly slip out for an hour?’
‘Of course I could. Shall we meet at the Barley Mow? It shouldn’t be far from you, and I can bike down.’
‘That would be lovely,’ Helen said gratefully. ‘Seven-thirty?’ She’d been informed that ‘tea’ was served at six, and the evening had stretched interminably ahead. There would be no inte
resting conversation over the dining-table here.
‘I’ll be there,’ Penelope said.
14
Brian Rigby was a small, sharp-featured man, with a penchant for telling old jokes. Webb, who liked him well enough, was nevertheless relieved when they drew up in front of Maybury Street police station and he was spared having to force any more laughs.
It was five o’clock, the rush-hour traffic was under way, and he wondered how it would feel to know exactly what time you’d be home each evening. Boring, he decided, pushing his way through the swing doors. It did not seem all that long since he’d arrived here in the early hours with Dominic Hardy. Now the case had moved forward again, though it seemed their principal quarry still eluded them.
‘So what had they all to say for themselves?’ Webb asked Ledbetter, when they were seated in his office.
‘I saw Warren first. Once he realised the game was up, he confirmed Hardy’s story of the stolen brooch. The circumstances of its recovery became quite a legend, and eventually reached the ears of the man he refers to as Q.’
‘Why Q?’ Webb asked.
‘It stands for “Query”, since Warren didn’t know his name. And,’ Ledbetter ended flatly, ‘I regret to say, still doesn’t.’
Webb slammed his hand on the arm of the chair. ‘You’re not telling me that even now we don’t know who’s behind it?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m telling you,’ Ledbetter said grimly. ‘Anyway, to continue. After he came back from South Africa, Warren had a phone call. The caller said he’d learned of his feat in retrieving the brooch and wondered if he’d like to put his expertise to further use. Warren explained he hadn’t recovered it himself, but agreed to contact his colleague.
‘And that was the start of it. Once Hardy agreed to come in, the operation took shape, but the damnable thing is that after all this time, Q is still an enigma and Warren has no way of contacting him.
‘He’s the sole instigator. Warren receives a phone-call — always on a Wednesday evening at eight o’clock — and is told what item is desired. Sometimes Q doesn’t even know where it is — he might just have read about it, or seen it illustrated in a magazine.
The Seven Stars Page 17