by Graham Ison
A man in shirtsleeves and an unbuttoned waistcoat answered the door.
‘Yes?’ He glanced suspiciously at the two men on his doorstep. ‘We don’t buy goods at the door.’
‘We’re police officers,’ said Hardcastle. ‘We’re looking for a Mr Edward Drake.’
‘He’s not here,’ said the man.
‘D’you mean he’s gone out?’ asked Marriott.
‘No, he’s moved.’
‘How long was he here, then?’
The man scratched his head. ‘About a week, then he upped and left. Him and his missus took a room here while they were looking for somewhere permanent, so he said. We put a card in the newsagent’s shop on the corner saying we’d got a room to let. Now that our boy Len’s in the Royal Flying Corps it was going spare.’
‘Have you any idea where he went?’ asked Hardcastle.
‘No, sorry, he never said.’
‘Did he say if he was looking for work, Mr er—?’
‘Green’s my name, Harry Green. No, he never mentioned what he was doing. I don’t even know what his trade was. But him and Mrs Drake seemed very nice people. Perhaps he was down on his luck, but he settled the rent without a quibble. He was quite the gentleman, if you know what I mean.’
‘Yes, I do, Mr Green,’ said Hardcastle. ‘Thank you. If he should return for any reason, perhaps you’d ask him to contact me at Cannon Row police station in Whitehall. I’m Divisional Detective Inspector Hardcastle.’
‘Yes, I will.’ Harry Green paused. ‘He’s not in any trouble, is he?’
‘No, not at all,’ said Hardcastle. ‘I just want to follow up on something he told me the last time I spoke to him.’
‘I wonder where he’s gone, sir,’ said Marriott, once he and Hardcastle were walking back to Blackfriars Road in search of a cab.
‘He’s done a bunk,’ exclaimed Hardcastle. ‘That’ll be guilty knowledge, Marriott, you mark my words. There’s more to Mr Drake than I first thought.’ It was a rare admission on the DDI’s part that he might have underestimated the Naylors’ former butler.
‘So, what do we do now, sir?’
‘We find him, that’s what we do,’ said Hardcastle, as though the answer to Marriott’s question was obvious.
But Marriott knew how difficult it would be to find a man in London. Particularly, as he and Hardcastle were beginning to suspect, he did not wish to be found.
‘Fetch Wood and Carter in here, Marriott,’ said Hardcastle when he arrived at work on Friday morning.
When the two officers appeared, Hardcastle reminded them of his conversation with Lady Naylor the previous Monday.
‘She sort of hinted that Drake the butler might’ve had something to do with these two murders, Wood.’
‘Is that likely, sir?’ asked Wood.
‘I have to say I’ve got grave doubts about it, Wood,’ said Hardcastle, ‘but it don’t mean we don’t have to find out. There’s only one problem: Drake’s run. Leastways, after he got the push by Lady Naylor, he gave the local police in Kingsley an address in Lambeth. But when Sergeant Marriott and me went there the bird had flown, so to speak. And that makes me suspicious. So, Wood, I want you and Carter to find him.’
‘Have we any idea where he might be, sir?’ asked Wood.
‘No, but I suppose he’s somewhere in London. Might be a good idea to try the domestic agencies for a start, them as places displaced butlers, as you might say.’
‘Very good, sir.’ Wood responded calmly, but he was secretly horrified at the near impossible task that the DDI had just set him.
‘Perhaps I’ve been putting all my eggs in one basket, Marriott,’ said Hardcastle once Wood and Carter had left to set about their unenviable task.
‘How’s that, sir?’
‘It’s possible that we’re looking in the wrong direction, and that Sir Royston Naylor ain’t the murderer.’
‘Drake, then, sir,’ suggested Marriott, pleased that Hardcastle now seemed partially to have abandoned his fixation with Naylor.
‘Shan’t know until we find him, but in the meantime I think we’ll have a word with Naylor.’
‘Do we know where to find him, sir?’
‘Of course we do, Marriott. He arrives at Vauxhall Bridge Road at ten o’clock every morning. We’ll have a chat with him in his office, and if he ain’t in a talkative mood we’ll invite him round to the nick for a cup of tea.’
FIFTEEN
DS Wood and DC Carter started work on finding Drake as soon as they had left the DDI’s office.
‘I suppose we’d better take Mr Hardcastle’s advice, Gordon, and start looking for the Drakes at one of the agencies that places domestic staff.’
‘But where do we start, Skip?’ Carter was quite depressed at the enormity of their task.
‘I know of one in Chelsea,’ said Wood, ‘and if they haven’t got the Drakes on their books, they’ll know of other agencies. Then we keep on trying until we find him.’
‘But we could be walking for a month at that rate,’ complained Carter.
‘Look on the bright side, Gordon,’ said Wood. ‘It might only take a fortnight. Anyway, you get a boot allowance.’
As he had anticipated, the Chelsea agency had no butler named Edward Drake on its list, but referred Wood to another agency. After he and Carter had unsuccessfully approached a further four agencies, they eventually found that the unemployed butler’s name was on the books of a bureau in Elizabeth Street, Pimlico.
‘Yes,’ said the grey-haired principal, taking a small card from a drawer, ‘we do have a Mr and Mrs Drake on our register. Seeking vacancies together as butler and cook.’
‘Do you have an address for them, ma’am?’ asked Wood.
‘Our clients’ details are confidential,’ said the woman, returning the card to the drawer, and firmly shutting it.
‘This is a murder enquiry, ma’am,’ said Wood. ‘Mr Drake is possibly a vital witness, and we need to interview him without delay.’
‘Oh!’ The woman dithered momentarily. ‘In that case, I suppose I could let you have the details, but in the strictest confidence you understand.’ She took out the card again.
‘Of course,’ murmured Wood, who had no intention of treating the Drakes’ address with any degree of confidentiality.
‘Mr and Mrs Drake are currently employed as shop assistants at the Army and Navy Stores in Victoria Street. I am informed that they are living in the company’s hostel accommodation behind the store in Howick Place.’
‘Thank you,’ said Wood.
Wood and Carter made their way immediately to the Army and Navy Stores where they eventually located the company’s security officer, a retired policeman named Parry.
‘They’re at work at the moment, Skipper,’ said the security officer, a former Uniform Branch inspector whose last station had been at Walham Green in Fulham. ‘How seriously are they wanted?’
Wood gave Parry brief details of police interest in the Drakes. ‘To be honest with you, Mr Parry, I don’t think they’re strong suspects,’ he said finally, hoping that he was right.
‘Supposing I were to ask them to call at the nick to see your Mr Hardcastle when they’ve finished work? That’ll be at six o’clock this evening.’
Wood considered Parry’s suggestion for a moment or two. If the Drakes were alerted to police interest and absconded, he would be in serious trouble with the DDI. On the other hand to detain them while they were on the shop floor might create a greater problem than it solved. He took a chance.
‘I think that would be the best idea, Mr Parry,’ said Wood, secretly crossing his fingers.
‘I hope for your sake Edward Drake turns up,’ said Hardcastle, when Wood reported the arrangements he had made with the Army and Navy Stores security officer.
Wood hoped so too. ‘I don’t think there’s any doubt, sir,’ he said hopefully. ‘They were easy enough to find. It’s not as if they were covering their tracks.’
Much to Wood’s reli
ef, a constable appeared in Hardcastle’s office at half past six to report that Mr and Mrs Drake had arrived at the police station, and were in the interview room.
‘I understand that you wish to see us, Inspector.’ Edward Drake stood up as Hardcastle and Marriott entered the room.
‘Indeed, Mr Drake.’ Hardcastle nodded in Gladys Drake’s direction. ‘Mrs Drake,’ he murmured.
‘How can we help you, then, Inspector?’ asked Drake, resuming his seat.
‘I’m told you were dismissed from the Naylors’ employment, Mr Drake,’ Hardcastle began.
‘On Tuesday the twenty-sixth of September, Mr Hardcastle,’ said Drake. ‘It’s not a date I’m likely to forget,’ he added bitterly.
‘Were you given any reason for your dismissal?’
‘None. Her Ladyship appeared in the servants’ hall and told us she had no further need of our services, just like that. Any proper lady would have sent for me and given me my notice in the drawing room. I’ve never seen the like of it in all my forty-four years in service, but to come below stairs and give me the bird, just like that, well, it beggars belief.’
‘And you left immediately?’
‘We did. Those were Her Ladyship’s instructions. She didn’t even offer us transport to the railway station, even though Jesse Paxton, the handyman, could have taken us in the shooting brake. I had to fork out for a taxi for Gladys and me. Downright disgraceful, I call it. However, those of us in service have a loose sort of society. Well, it’s not a society as such, but butlers know each other, and the word’s gone out, if you know what I mean. I very much doubt that Lady Naylor will succeed in getting a replacement for me and Gladys. At least, nobody of quality.’
It was evident to Hardcastle that Drake bore a grudge against the Naylors, and from what he had been saying it was justified.
‘After your dismissal, Mr Drake, I went to Kingsley Hall and spoke to Lady Naylor. She told me that she had sacked you because you were absent from duty from the twenty-third to the twenty-fifth of September. That was the weekend of Sir Royston’s shooting party. She further said that it was when you returned on Tuesday the twenty-sixth, she dismissed you for that unauthorized absence.’
‘That’s preposterous, Mr Hardcastle,’ spluttered Drake.
‘It’s nonsense,’ agreed Gladys Drake. ‘We were there the whole weekend working our fingers to the bone. Ted was on the go from morning till night. And, I’ll tell you this much, Inspector, some of them stuck-up so-called gentry Sir Royston had down there didn’t know how to behave themselves, no more did their wives. From what I heard there were some strange goings-on during that Saturday night. People flitting from one bedroom to another, if you take my meaning.’
‘But Sir Royston was there the whole time, was he, Mr Drake?’ asked Marriott.
‘Yes, he was,’ said Drake, ‘but I told you that when you came down to the Hall.’
Mrs Drake laughed. ‘And he was running about after his influential friends like a sheepdog, Mr Marriott.’
‘What about Lady Naylor, Mrs Drake?’
‘She was there too, but she was took ill on the Sunday with the gripe in her belly, so we heard on the Monday morning. Never put in an appearance all day. What’s more she sent for me on the Monday afternoon and had the cheek to blame it on something I’d cooked. That damned woman – pardon my French – wouldn’t know a decent meal if it was put in front of her. I dare say she’d complain about the cooking even if she went to Buckingham Palace.’
‘When I came to see you both at Kingsley Hall, Mr Drake,’ said Hardcastle, ‘you told me that Lady Naylor was one of the best. An absolute peach and a lady in her own right, I think you said.’
Drake afforded the DDI a bleak smile. ‘It’s called loyalty to one’s employers, Mr Hardcastle,’ he said, ‘but between you, me and the gatepost, Lady Naylor was an absolute bitch. She had no idea how to behave, and she led poor Sir Royston a dog’s life. I think he rued the day he ever married her.’
‘One other thing, Mr Drake. When I spoke to you before, you told me that Sir Royston arrived at the Hall for that weekend on the Friday evening. That was the twenty-second of September.’ Hardcastle remembered that Ruby Hoskins claimed to have seen Naylor at nine o’clock that evening in Victoria, talking to Annie Kelly.
‘He arrived on the Saturday morning, Inspector,’ said Drake. ‘I’m sorry I misled you, but those were Her Ladyship’s instructions, that I should say he came down on the Friday.’
Hardcastle decided it was time to be more open with the Drakes. ‘Does the name Lady Sarah Millard mean anything to you, Mr Drake?’
‘I think I read something in the paper about her and Sir Royston. Didn’t Lady Sarah’s husband chase him out of their house and threaten to shoot him?’ Drake chuckled maliciously.
‘Indeed he did,’ said Hardcastle with a wry smile, ‘What’s more, it resulted in Lady Sarah’s husband being demoted to major, but Lady Sarah has since been murdered.’
‘Good God! What a dreadful business,’ exclaimed Drake. ‘I didn’t see that, but as I didn’t know the lady, I might not have noticed it in the paper.’
‘My task now is to find her killer, Mr Drake, but I don’t suppose you’ll be able to help me with that.’
‘I’m afraid not, Mr Hardcastle.’
‘Well, thank you for coming in, Mr Drake, and you too, Mrs Drake. I doubt that I’ll want to see you again, but perhaps you’d let me know if you secure a post, so that I can find you if I need to.’
Just before ten o’clock on Monday morning, Hardcastle and Marriott were waiting outside Sir Royston Naylor’s office in Vauxhall Bridge Road for his arrival.
‘Good morning, Sir Royston,’ said Hardcastle, as the Rolls Royce Silver Ghost drew into the kerb and Naylor alighted.
The clothing entrepreneur glanced apprehensively at the two detectives. ‘What the devil d’you want this time, Inspector?’ he demanded.
‘A few words with you, Sir Royston.’
‘Really? Well, it might interest you to know, Inspector, that I’m a very busy man working for the war effort.’
‘So am I,’ rejoined the DDI, ‘so I’ll not waste any more of my time than I have to. Now then, we can either have this little chat out here on the street, or we can go into your nice warm office.’
‘What exactly d’you want with me?’ demanded Naylor, showing no sign of complying with Hardcastle’s suggestion. ‘Haven’t you badgered me enough? I’ll have you know I’m seriously considering making a complaint to the Commissioner about you harassing me.’
‘Isn’t that fellow a reporter from the Daily Chronicle, Marriott?’ asked Hardcastle casually. He ignored Naylor’s little outburst and pointed at a man, to the DDI a complete stranger, who was leaning nonchalantly against the tram stop on the opposite pavement reading a newspaper.
‘I do believe you’re right, sir.’ Marriott had not seen the man before either.
‘You’d better come up to my office, Inspector,’ said Naylor hurriedly, and led the way into the building.
‘Good morning, Sir Royston.’ An elderly uniformed commissionaire saluted as Naylor passed through the entrance hall.
‘Morning, Darby.’ Naylor mounted the stairs, and swept into his office, ignoring his secretary’s greeting.
The office was carpeted and oak-panelled. Naylor settled himself behind a large desk that, Hardcastle thought, had been acquired to emphasize the man’s perceived importance of his own standing.
‘Well, what is it?’ Naylor opened a gold case and took out a cigarette without offering one to either of the policemen.
‘Lady Sarah Millard’s been murdered, Sir Royston.’
‘I saw that in the newspaper, but what has it to do with me?’
‘Where were you on Thursday the nineteenth and Friday the twentieth of this month?’
‘At Kingsley Hall, and as you’ve been there pestering Lady Henrietta I’d’ve thought you’d’ve known that.’
‘And was Lady Naylor the
re too?’
‘Of course she was. How else would she have known that I was there?’
‘Tell me about Drake, Sir Royston.’
‘What about him?’
‘I understand that he was dismissed.’
‘Yes, that’s correct. But why are you so interested in former members of my domestic staff?’
‘Lady Naylor told me that he absented himself for the weekend of your shooting party at the end of September.’
‘If that’s what she said, then that’s the case, but it was Lady Henrietta who dismissed Drake, not me. I’m far too busy to concern myself with the butler and his wretched wife.’ Naylor stared out of the window as he replied; it did not escape the DDI’s notice.
‘Have you any idea where he went when he left your service, sir?’ Marriott knew the answer, of course, but was curious to learn if Naylor knew, or would confess to knowing.
‘No, none at all, but why all these questions?’
‘Because the weekend that Lady Naylor said Drake was absent was the weekend during which Annie Kelly was murdered.’
Naylor laughed. ‘Are you suggesting that my butler had something to do with that, Inspector? Really, I think you’re wasting my time, and as I said earlier, I do have a business to run.’
‘Surely you must have noticed whether or not your butler was at Kingsley Hall that weekend, Sir Royston,’ said Marriott.
‘He might’ve been, there again, he might not,’ said Naylor airily. ‘I think I made the point that matters of staff don’t concern me. Apart from anything else, I was far too busy taking care of my guests. There were some very influential people at the Hall that weekend. A peer of the realm among them.’
It was, Hardcastle deduced, an implied threat, but it would take more than that to dissuade him from his duty. He stood up. ‘Thank you, Sir Royston, that’ll be all for now. I have further enquiries to make, and then I shall need to see you again.’
It was an empty promise; the DDI had no idea in which direction he should turn next in terms of his investigation. But, judging from the expression on Naylor’s face, the clothing manufacturer did not know that, and Hardcastle’s statement had clearly worried him.