The Scandal At Bletchley

by Jack Treby

  ‘Doctor Lefranc here thinks the Colonel was responsible for Mr Hargreaves’ death,’ I said. ‘Can you believe that?’

  Townsend did a double take. It was the first time I had ever seen him looked surprised. ‘The Colonel, sir?’

  I nodded. ‘The doctor thinks Harry was a hired assassin brought here by your master. What do you say to that?’

  The valet took a moment to consider this. ‘I don’t believe the Colonel would ever condone any form of murder, Sir Hilary. With respect, Doctor Lefranc, I’ve been his valet for some years now. He is one of the most upright and honourable men it has ever been my pleasure to serve.’

  I nodded vehemently. ‘Just what I was trying to tell him. It’s ridiculous. The Colonel commissioning Harry Latimer to assassinate his own secretary. It’s absurd.’

  Townsend nodded in agreement.

  ‘Alas, we can never be one hundred per cent certain,’ Lefranc admitted. ‘It is possible that someone else paid your friend to kill Miss Kilbride. But that Mr Latimer murdered her I do not think is in any doubt.’

  Townsend was inclined to agree. ‘I have to say, Sir Hilary, speaking as a former police man, that does seem the most likely explanation. It’s the silencer that clinches it, sir. He obviously came to Bletchley Park expecting trouble.’

  I bit my lip. There was nothing I could say to that. It made sense, damn it, even if I couldn’t really bring myself to believe it.

  A small voice spoke up from behind us. Samuel Jenkins had been following the conversation closely. ‘What about Mr Sinclair?’ he enquired nervously. ‘Who killed my master?’

  Doctor Lefranc smiled sadly. ‘Ah, that is a much easier question to answer, alas.’ He looked me straight in the eye. ‘Mr Sinclair was killed by Sir Hilary Manningham-Butler.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  There are times in life when bare-faced denial is the only option. A choice between confessing to a particular action or denying it outright can often be no choice at all, if the consequences of that action are sufficiently severe. Jenkins was staring at me in horror but I was hardly about to confess the truth to him in front of Townsend and Doctor Lefranc. Admitting privately that I was a murderer to my man Hargreaves was one thing, but I couldn’t afford the whole world to find out. Not if it meant I ended up in prison, or worse still, on the end of a hangman’s noose. Unfortunately, I had not been given the time to prepare a convincing riposte. ‘That’s...preposterous!’ I exclaimed, with a palpable lack of conviction. ‘I wouldn’t...I didn’t have....’

  Doctor Lefranc lifted a hand to forestall my protestations of innocence. ‘Please do not lie to us, Monsieur. You are not very good at it and I’m afraid there is no doubt of your guilt.’

  I stared at him in disbelief. Over his shoulder, I could see Townsend nodding gravely. In ordinary circumstances, I pride myself I am quite an effective liar, but these were not ordinary circumstances.

  ‘You were the only person who could be responsible for Mr Sinclair's death, Sir Hilary,’ the valet explained, apologetically. ‘Everyone else was accounted for at the time the incident took place. Miss Jones was seen upstairs on the landing by Miss Young and most of the other guests were in the ballroom.’

  ‘What about Harry?’ I asked. He had not returned to the dance until some minutes later.

  ‘He had the opportunity,’ Doctor Lefranc conceded, ‘but he would not have had time to move the body. Miss Jones spoke with him in the library shortly after her argument with Mr Sinclair. Mr Latimer returned to the ballroom almost immediately after that. But alas, it is not these details that are conclusive, Monsieur. It is the nature of the crime itself.’

  That sounded ominous. ‘What do you mean?’

  Lefranc’s moustache twitched gently. ‘Professor Singh was correct in deducing that the murder of Anthony Sinclair was not a premeditated act. It was a violent altercation resulting, I believe, from a simple argument. I do not think it likely that Harry Latimer would kill a man in anger. Nor would he hide the body in such an unprofessional manner. The murderer must have panicked. He did his best to cover things up, but in such a poor and ill-thought out way, that of the possible suspects, only you could have been responsible. I am sorry, Monsieur.’

  ‘And I did see you, sir, shortly afterwards,’ Townsend added, unhelpfully. ‘Coming out of the servants quarters. I thought at the time you looked rather distressed. It was only later that I connected the two events.’

  I sighed, reaching for the bottle of whisky. ‘And the Colonel?’ I asked, pouring out a final measure.

  ‘I believe he is coming to the same conclusion,’ the valet confirmed.

  The calmness of the two men explaining all this to me was rather galling. It was all so matter-of-fact. Any denials now would sound completely absurd. I gulped down the whisky and stared back at them, my lips pursed tightly together.

  ‘Did you do it?’ Jenkins asked softly. ‘Did you kill my master?’

  What could I say? It was clear that I had been suspected for some time and now they knew the truth. I nodded quietly. There was no point pretending any more. ‘It was an accident,’ I explained, in half-hearted mitigation. ‘I didn’t...you were right. I lost my temper. There was a fight. I didn’t mean to kill him.’

  Jenkins was starting to tremble. He had probably never been in the same room as a murderer before. He didn’t know how to react. Townsend found him a chair and he sat down at the far end of the table, shuddering gently but doing his best to keep himself under control.

  ‘I thought he had seduced Felicity Mandeville Jones,’ I said, unable to stop myself gabbling. ‘I assumed he had beaten her up. But it was a misunderstanding. I thought I was defending her honour, but it turns out that’s what he was doing with Harry. God, what a mess.’ I buried my head in my hands. Three murders now. And it was all my fault. If I hadn’t come to Bletchley Park, hadn’t brought that damn gun in Harry’s holdall, then none of this would have happened.

  ‘What...what will happen now?’ Jenkins asked Doctor Lefranc.

  ‘We must find Mr Latimer,’ he said. ‘And discover the truth about Dorothy Kilbride.’

  ‘You really think Harry killed her?’ I asked, looking up.

  ‘I really do, Monsieur. I am sorry.’

  I pushed back the chair and rose to my feet, wobbling slightly as I struggled to reorientate myself. The alcohol was beginning to have an effect. It was making me reckless. ‘I’m going to find him,’ I announced brashly. ‘I brought him here. He’s my responsibility.’

  Townsend eyed me warily. ‘I don’t think we can let you leave, Sir Hilary.’

  ‘You killed my master,’ Jenkins added, unnecessarily.

  ‘I have to,’ I insisted, my hands clasping the back of the chair as I moved it to one side. ‘I have to find out the truth.’

  Doctor Lefranc was apologetic. ‘Mr Townsend and Mr Jenkins can conduct a search of the grounds, Monsieur. It is better for you to remain here, where we can keep an eye on you.’

  That was no good. I needed to talk to Harry myself. But nobody here was going to let me wander off on my own. I couldn’t really blame them for that. There was already one murderer running free and they couldn’t allow another one to slip through their fingers. But neither could I afford to be constrained. I moved back slowly and reached into my jacket pocket. Townsend started to move towards me, his broad, stocky frame an intimidating sight, but the man stopped when he saw the revolver in my hand.

  ‘There is no need for this, Monsieur,’ Doctor Lefranc reassured me, rising to his feet.

  ‘I just want to talk to him,’ I said. ‘They can’t have gone far.’

  Townsend and Jenkins raised their hands. My own hands were shaking. I had never held a gun on anyone before. But I needed time to find Harry and the Colonel and there was no other way of getting it. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘The three of you. Over into the butler’s office.’

  The men did as they were instructed, moving swiftly across the corridor into the room where poor
Hargreaves was lying dead. I don’t know what I would have done if they had refused to go. I certainly wasn’t about to shoot anybody.

  Luckily, nobody felt inclined to call my bluff.

  I examined the room quickly from the doorway. There was a window at the far end but it was fixed shut and had a metal frame. Townsend could easily break the glass, but there would not be the room for any of them to clamber through. I could lock the door and be fairly sure the three men would not be able to get out, though there was nothing to stop them screaming for help. It didn’t matter. With luck, I would only need a few minutes to locate the Colonel.

  ‘I’m sorry about this,’ I mumbled, awkwardly. ‘I’ll send someone to let you out in a little while.’ Then they could do what they liked. ‘The keys, if you please.’ This last was directed at Townsend.

  The valet reached into his pocket and threw a bundle of keys across to me. I caught them awkwardly with my left hand but made sure the Newton remained steady in my right.

  ‘Both sets.’

  Lefranc took the second bunch of keys from the hook above the bureau and handed them over. The three men stood well back from the door as I made to close it up and imprison them. Jenkins had not taken his eyes from me all the while.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ he asked me, breathlessly.

  ‘I’m going to find out the truth,’ I said. ‘And if Harry did kill Dottie...if he did strangle my man Hargreaves.’ My hand gripped firmly on the handle of the revolver. ‘Then I’m going to kill him.’

  Lettie Young was sitting by the large bay window on the far side of the billiard room. Felicity Mandeville Jones was to her left, her short blonde hair framing a now sombre face. The midday sun was glittering through the window, bathing the two women in a harsh autumnal glow. They had given up practising billiards and were now engaged in what looked like a rather animated conversation. They had put the murders out of their mind for a few moments, in order to discuss a far more important topic: men.

  ‘You’re never going to marry him,’ Lettie was saying. ‘He ain’t the type. And you’re dad won’t let you anyway. So just enjoy it while it lasts, that’s what I say. Better to regret what you have done than what you haven’t.’

  Felicity Mandeville Jones grinned. ‘I never expected it to happen like this,’ she gushed. ‘It really was the most wonderful thing. Not like I imagined at all. It didn’t feel the least bit sordid. If only all this other business...’ She cut herself off as I rushed unexpectedly into the room.

  Lettie swung her head around and the two women rose to their feet at once. Lettie knew immediately that something was up.

  ‘Where’s Harry?’ I demanded, before she had a chance to speak. ‘Have you seen him?’ I grabbed hold of the billiard table to steady myself. All that whisky had gone straight to my head. The revolver was out of sight in my jacket pocket. I had bundled it away before leaving the kitchens. The Colonel’s man had told me where I could find the two girls.

  It was Felicity Mandeville Jones who answered my question. ‘Not recently, darling. Not since he went in to see the Colonel. That must have been... what?’ She glanced at a nearby clock. ‘Over an hour ago.’ Her face was a picture of concern. ‘Is everything all right, Sir Hilary? You do look frightfully worried.’

  Lettie stepped towards me. She could see I was a bit tipsy. I was gripping rather too tightly on the edge of the billiard table. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ she asked.

  There was no easy way of answering. ‘There’s been another murder. My man Hargreaves...he’s dead.’

  Felicity let out a sob. Her hand went to her mouth.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Lettie stepped towards me and placed a hand on my shoulder. ‘You poor bugger.’ She knew what Hargreaves had meant to me, probably better than I knew it myself. She was a bright girl, for all her lack of education. I stiffened, though, when she moved forward and took me in her arms. I have never much liked hugging. It is a vulgar foreign custom better suited to hot-blooded continental types. But the gesture was well meant, so I accepted it gracefully. In truth, I wasn’t quite sure who was comforting who. Lettie held onto me for some moments. Rather tightly, I have to say.

  Felicity Mandeville Jones had fallen back onto the window seat and was starting to shudder. The Colonel was right, she really was very young. Lettie broke off her embrace and redirected her maternal instincts to her younger friend. Miss Jones had taken out a handkerchief and was dabbing away the tears. Lettie pulled up a chair in front of her, leaned forward and quietly embraced the young woman.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry, Sir Hilary,’ Felicity said, sniffing loudly. ‘What must you think of me, blubbing away.’

  ‘That’s quite all right, my dear.’

  Lettie looked up at me. ‘How did he die? Your valet, I mean.’

  I couldn’t think of a polite way to answer. ‘Strangulation,’ I said. That yielded another sob from Miss Jones. ‘Doctor Lefranc thinks Harry Latimer may have been responsible for his death.’

  Felicity’s head jerked up in astonishment. ‘That’s absurd!’ she exclaimed, wiping away the tears from her reddened eyes. ‘Harry wouldn’t kill anybody. He’s the kindest man I’ve ever...’

  Lettie squeezed the girl’s shoulder tightly. ‘What do you think?’ she asked me. ‘You must know him better than anyone.’

  I shrugged. ‘I honestly don’t know. The evidence is...look, Miss Jones, I’m sorry to be indelicate, but...’ There was no easy way of putting this. ‘You spent the night with Harry, didn’t you?’

  Lettie shot me a warning glance.

  ‘I don’t have a choice, Lettie. I need to know the truth.’

  Felicity Mandeville Jones was not about to deny it. She held her head up proudly. ‘Yes, I was with him last night.’

  ‘Did he leave the room, at any point?’

  The girl frowned. ‘No. We were together all night. Until about half past six, I think. He never left my side. He couldn’t possibly have killed Miss Kilbride.’

  ‘But did you fall asleep at all during that time?’ Had Harry slipped one of those sleeping pills into her glass? Or at least a small chunk of one?

  Felicity considered for a moment. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps for half an hour or so. I don’t remember.’

  That was not good enough. ‘Did you or didn’t you?’

  ‘I...yes, I did,’ Miss Jones admitted. ‘Briefly.’

  That clinched it. ‘So Harry could have left the room at the time of the murder.’

  Felicity sighed. ‘I don’t know. I suppose he could have done. But...’

  ‘Right,’ I said. That was all I needed to know. The man had the means, the motive and the opportunity. I clenched my fists together.

  Lettie looked up at me warily. ‘You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?’

  ‘That remains to be seen.’ I picked up a billiard ball from the table and spun it angrily across the green. ‘I’m going to talk to Harry and find out the truth.’

  Lettie rose to her feet. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Her face was a picture of concern.

  I shook my head. ‘I need to do this myself, Lettie.’

  ‘I understand.’ She stepped forward, rested her hands on my shoulders and gave me a gentle kiss on the lips. I confess, I blushed. I was more used to being kissed by men than women. ‘Be careful, lover boy. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.’ She squeezed my hand gently.

  ‘I won’t.’ I tried to give her a reassuring smile.

  ‘And don’t jump to conclusions neither.’ She released her grip. ‘You know what the Colonel says: innocent until proven guilty.’

  I felt my body tense. ‘I’m guilty,’ I blurted out suddenly, unable to stop myself. I didn’t want to lie any more, not to people I cared about. Lefranc already knew the truth. Better Lettie should hear it from me. ‘I killed Anthony Sinclair.’

  She flinched, as if I had slapped her.

  ‘I killed him. And I think Harry killed my valet.’

  Lettie shrank bac
k from me. It was painful to see the change in her, but there was nothing I could do about that.

  ‘Now I have to find out the truth.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Professor Singh was returning from a walk around the lake. The academic raised a hand in friendly greeting as I skidded out onto the carriage turnabout. His benign smile spoke of a man completely unaffected by the events of the last few hours. It was infuriating. Bloody academics. They live in a world of their own. I didn’t want to talk to him just now, but Harry was not in the house and it was possible the professor might have bumped into him somewhere in the grounds.

  ‘I hope you are refreshed from your sleep, Sir Hilary,’ Professor Singh droned. The last time he had seen me I had been dozing off in one of those leather armchairs in the library. ‘It is most important to ensure that our bodies are sufficiently rested.’

  ‘Er...yes. Look, you haven’t seen the Colonel, have you?’

  The professor had been walking back along the path opposite the croquet lawn. He stopped now in front of me, his cheeks a little flushed. ‘I believe he was intending to visit the stable yard.’ At last, a simple answer. ‘It was most unexpected. The interviews had not yet concluded, but after Sir Vincent had finished speaking to Mr Latimer, the two gentlemen left the house together. They did not give a reason. But as it appeared I would not be required for questioning, I thought I would take a turn around the lake.’ He smiled. ‘I find that contemplation of the natural world, even artificially sculpted as it is here, can often provide a calming influence, enabling people to transcend even the most troubling of events.’

  My mouth opened and closed. There really was no answer to that. ‘Good for you,’ I mumbled, anxious now to get away. ‘The stable yard, you say?’

  Professor Singh inclined his head. ‘There is a small cottage there belonging to the head groom. I believe Sir Vincent wished to make use of the telephone.’

  The telephone? ‘Why didn’t he use the one in the hall?’