by Graham Ison
‘Yes, sir.’ The constable took Villiers by the arm and led him away.
‘So far, so good, Mr Hardcastle,’ said Quinn, a satisfied expression on his face.
A few minutes later, the man identified by Villiers as Isaac Gosling was brought into the room.
‘Sit down, Gosling,’ said Quinn.
‘What makes you think that’s my name?’ asked the man, as he took a seat on the opposite side of the table to the two detectives.
‘Your accomplice Sinclair Villiers obligingly told us who you are,’ said Quinn. ‘He also told us that you murdered your father on New Year’s Eve, and Peter Stein at Bow Road on Friday the seventh of January.’
‘The bastard’s sold me down the river!’ exclaimed Gosling angrily. ‘But I didn’t murder anyone.’
‘Mr Hardcastle,’ said Quinn, glancing at the DDI.
‘It’ll do you no good to deny it, Gosling,’ said Hardcastle. ‘Your fingerprints were found in Villiers’s car and in various places in your father’s shop. We also found your prints in Stein’s room at Bow. And we found your fingerprints on the sash weight with which you killed your father; a sash weight that came from Stein's room in Bow. I’m quite sure that even further evidence will come to light.’
Gosling said nothing, confining himself to glowering at the detectives. But he was obviously resigned to the police having amassed more than enough evidence with which to hang him.
‘How was it that you used Sinclair Villiers’s car?’ asked Hardcastle.
At last Gosling saw a way to wreak some revenge on the man who had informed on him to the police. ‘Villiers told us to use it,’ he said. ‘And he knew exactly why we wanted it. He knew that Peter and I were going to murder my father.’
Hardcastle smiled a smile of deep satisfaction; Villiers had conspired with Gosling and Stein to commit murder. But how foolish of him to have lent his car to the murderers.
‘And I suspect that you also were involved in passing information to the enemy,’ said Quinn.
‘I would never do that. I swear it on my mother’s grave.’ Gosling’s denial was so vehement as to be credible.
‘As a matter of interest your mother’s still alive, and she’s been interviewed,’ observed Quinn mildly, without saying that Mrs Morgan had denied all knowledge of her son. ‘However, you knew that Stein was receiving military secrets by Morse code from France. And you knew that he was passing that information to Villiers who sent it to the enemy via the captain of the SS Carlson, the vessel you were attempting to board when we arrested you yesterday.’ Quinn knew that it was Villiers and not Stein who had been receiving that information, but posed the question to see if Gosling would confirm it.
‘Stein didn’t have that Morse code equipment,’ said Gosling. ‘It was Villiers who was receiving the information. But once he realized that the game was up, he put it in Stein’s room so as to implicate him.’
‘In that case, why were you trying to escape to a neutral country?’
‘Villiers told me that the police were on to me about the murders and that if I didn’t want to be hanged, I’d better get away.’
‘Mr Hardcastle?’ Quinn glanced sideways at the DDI.
‘Why did you murder your father, Gosling?’ asked Hardcastle. Although he knew what Villiers had said, he wanted to hear Gosling’s explanation.
‘He was going to peach on us to the authorities,’ said Gosling, confirming what Villiers had told the detectives.
‘And Mrs Wheeler?’ Quinn raised an eyebrow. ‘How well do you know her?’
‘I don’t know anything about her,’ said Gosling. ‘I’d never set eyes on her before today.’
‘How did you know that you should go to Shoreham yesterday?’
‘Villiers told me.’
‘How? Did he send you a letter or telephone you?’
‘No, I was staying with him and Mrs Wheeler.’
‘So you had seen her before today.’
‘Yes, but only for a few days. I didn’t have any idea who she was.’
‘Where was this that the three of you stayed?’
‘A house in Godalming.’
Quinn pushed a writing pad across the table and laid a pencil on it. ‘Write down the address.’ Shaughnessy had reported that Mrs Wheeler had hired a cab at Godalming railway station, but there the trail had ended.
Gosling licked the pencil and scribbled a few lines on the pad before pushing it back across the table.
But Quinn returned it. ‘And where were you living before that?’ he asked.
Gosling hesitated for only a moment. ‘I had a room in Wandsworth, over a butcher’s shop in Wandsworth High Street near the brewery.’ He wrote down the exact address.
‘Not very clever of you, dumping Villiers’s car close to where you lived,’ observed Quinn.
Gosling just shrugged, doubtless thinking, too late, that he had made far too many mistakes to fool these Scotland Yard officers.
Quinn tore off the sheet of paper and handed it to the Special Branch officer stationed outside the door. ‘My compliments to Inspector Strange and ask him to arrange a search of these properties forthwith. But before you do that, you can wait to take this prisoner back to his cell,’ he said, and returned to his seat.
‘Yes, sir.’ The detective took the piece of paper and resumed his post.
‘What did you do for a living, Gosling?’
‘I was a butcher at the shop I told you about.’
‘How very apt,’ commented Hardcastle drily. He produced a silver necklace, a wristwatch and an albert and set them down on the table. ‘We found these among Stein’s belongings.’ He added another albert to the collection. ‘And this was in Sinclair Villiers’s car when we examined it. Were they proceeds from your father’s shop?’
Gosling gave them but a cursory glance. ‘Could be,’ he said. ‘I told that stupid bugger Stein to chuck ’em in the river. We only took ’em to make it look like a robbery.’
Quinn opened the door. ‘Take him away,’ he said.
‘Yes, sir,’ said the SB officer, and escorted Gosling back to his cell.
‘I take it that you’ll wish to charge Gosling with the murder of his father and Peter Stein straight away, Mr Hardcastle,’ said Quinn.
‘If it doesn’t create any problems for you, sir.’
‘None,’ said Quinn, ‘but we’ll have a word with Fräulein Irma Glatzer once Mr Strange is back from Godalming.’ He paused at the door of the interview room. ‘I suppose you’ll have Gosling up before the beak at Bow Street tomorrow morning, Mr Hardcastle?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘In that case,’ said Quinn thoughtfully, ‘I’d better come with you. I think it would be better if we sought a hearing in camera, just in case Gosling decides to start talking about the espionage case that we have against Villiers and Irma Glatzer. The request will carry more weight coming from me.’
‘But it’ll only be an application for a remand tomorrow, sir.’ Hardcastle thought that Quinn should have known that.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Quinn. ‘In that case, I’ll wait until the full hearing.’
‘Very good, sir,’ said Hardcastle, a little piqued that the Special Branch chief thought him incapable of making an application for an in-camera hearing himself.
SEVENTEEN
Hardcastle lost no time in charging Isaac Gosling.
The station officer drew up the charge sheet and recited the necessary words that were a part of such proceedings.
‘Isaac Gosling, you are charged firstly that you did murder Reuben Gosling on or about the thirty-first of December 1915 at Westminster in the County of London, and that secondly you did murder Peter Stein on or about the seventh of January 1916 at Bow in the County of London. Against the peace. Do you have anything to say in answer to the charges?’
‘No,’ said Gosling.
‘Turn out your pockets,’ said the sergeant.
‘His belongings have already been taken from him, Sergeant,�
�� said Hardcastle.
‘Very good, sir.’
‘You’ll be appearing before the Bow Street magistrate tomorrow morning, Gosling,’ said Hardcastle. ‘In the meantime, you’ll remain in custody here.’
But between that little scene in the charge room of Cannon Row police station and Gosling’s trial, other damning evidence came to light.
Having sent Detective Sergeant Shaughnessy and other officers to Wandsworth, Detective Inspector Strange took two officers with him to conduct the search of the house at Godalming where Isaac Gosling claimed to have stayed.
It was a small well-kept villa set back from a secluded road. The front garden was immaculately tended, despite it being the depths of winter.
There was a board in the garden stating that the property was available to rent. Strange sent Rafferty to the agent, a few yards down the road, to obtain the key and explain why it was needed.
‘The house was rented by Sinclair Villiers on the fourteenth of November last year, sir,’ said Rafferty, when he returned.
‘That comes as no surprise,’ said Strange. ‘Open up, then.’
The inside of the house was neat and tidy, and it seemed that Villiers and company had been at pains to leave no trace of their residence. But, there again, they had not expected that police officers, skilled in finding evidence, would search the house.
Nevertheless, Strange was disappointed that he found nothing that was of evidential value, at least from a Special Branch point of view.
However, DC Rafferty, during the course of his search of the front bedroom on the first floor, examined the top of the wardrobe. And there he found a Webley revolver. Using his handkerchief to take hold of the weapon, he ensured that it was unloaded before taking it downstairs.
‘I found this on top of the wardrobe, sir.’
‘I wonder what that was doing there,’ said Strange.
‘It could be connected with the murder that Mr Hardcastle is investigating, sir,’ suggested Rafferty.
‘Quite possibly. But if it is, the murderer obviously didn’t think we’d be searching this place, or he thought he’d be in Sweden before we found it.’ Strange looked around. ‘Where’s Sergeant Colter?’
‘He said he was going to have a look round the back garden, sir.’
But at that moment, Colter came back into the house. ‘I’ve found some interesting stuff out back, sir.’
Strange and Rafferty followed Colter into a garden given over largely to lawn with a clump of trees at the end.
‘There’s been a bonfire here, sir,’ said Colter, pointing at a pile of ashes situated behind one of the trees. ‘And there’s what looks like some half burned fragments of material. It seems as though the previous occupants had set fire to some clothing. There’s clearly part of a jacket lapel among it. I wondered if it had anything to do with the murder on A Division’s patch that their DDI is investigating.’
‘I dare say,’ said Strange thoughtfully, ‘along with the revolver that Rafferty found upstairs. There’s a paper carrier bag in the kitchen, Colter; put some of that stuff in it and we’ll see what the laboratory makes of it. And the revolver can go to Inspector Franklin, the firearms expert.’ He thrust his hands into his overcoat pockets. ‘I’m beginning to think we’re doing A Division’s work for them.’
It was five o’clock that evening when Inspector Strange returned from Godalming and reported the result of his search to Superintendent Quinn. Quinn immediately crossed to the police station from the Yard, and walked into Hardcastle’s office without knocking.
‘Good afternoon, sir.’ Hardcastle stood up, surprised that Quinn was paying him a visit. In the past Quinn had always sent for the DDI whenever he wanted to see him. But that Quinn’s prisoners were being held at Cannon Row had undoubtedly prompted his visit.
‘Disappointing news with regard to Godalming, Mr Hardcastle. The house where Villiers and the others were living, not far from Charterhouse School, was rented by Villiers on the fourteenth of November last year. Doubtless it had been taken in case Villiers and company needed a bolt-hole. But, I’m sorry to say, Inspector Strange came back empty-handed. At least, empty-handed as far as my interest is concerned. One of his men did, however, find a revolver that had been hidden, although not carefully enough. I’ve arranged for it to be sent to Franklin for examination. I suspect that it might have been used in the murder of Stein.’ Quinn relaxed into one of the DDI’s chairs.
‘Mr Franklin already has the round taken from Stein’s body, sir, and if we’re lucky he’ll be able to match that to the revolver Mr Strange’s men found.’
‘Strange also found some burned clothing in the garden that you may care to have sent for examination.’
‘And Isaac Gosling was wearing good quality new clothing when he was arrested at Shoreham, sir,’ said Hardcastle thoughtfully. ‘I think it’s probable that Sinclair Villiers provided the cash for that; I doubt that Gosling could’ve afforded such a suit.’
‘Quite so. However, as I said just now, Mr Strange’s search of the property revealed nothing of value to my Branch. It would seem that Villiers, Gosling and the woman merely kept the place as a pied-à-terre until they could escape in the Carlson, should the necessity arise. And it did,’ he added, smiling.
‘I imagine that the burned clothing was Isaac Gosling’s cast-offs, sir?’
‘He’s already admitted that he was there, Mr Hardcastle, so I think that’s quite likely.’ Quinn gazed at the DDI, a slightly irritated expression on his face, as though rebuking him for not coming to that conclusion himself.
But Hardcastle sensed that the superintendent’s irritation was not so much with him as with the fact that the search of the Godalming house had revealed nothing of value to Special Branch.
‘I shall interview the woman now,’ said Quinn. ‘You may join me if you wish, but do not say anything unless I invite you to do so.’
Quinn and Hardcastle stood up when the bogus Mrs Wheeler was escorted into the interview room. She may well have been suspected of being a German agent, but neither man saw that as an excuse to abandon the conventional courtesies.
‘Please sit down,’ said Quinn. ‘You are Fräulein Irma Glatzer, are you not?’ MI5 had already confirmed that the document found in Sinclair Villiers’s briefcase was genuine.
‘That is correct.’ The slender blonde was perfectly composed. The fact that she was in a police station, and must have known why, did not seem to worry her at all. ‘May I have a cigarette, Superintendent?’
‘Certainly,’ said Quinn.
For a moment or two, Glatzer stared at Quinn. ‘My handbag and all my belongings were taken away from me when I was arrested.’ She seemed to accept that inconvenience as normal procedure.
Quinn crossed to the door and sent the constable to fetch the woman’s cigarettes, and waited in silence until he had returned.
Irma Glatzer opened the small tortoiseshell case, took a cigarette from it and waited until Hardcastle offered her a light.
‘Why are you in this country, Miss Glatzer?
‘I am a refugee.’
‘From where?’
‘From Germany, of course.’
‘Whereabouts in Germany?’
‘Hamburg.’
‘Why was it necessary for you to seek refuge in England, Miss Glatzer?’ Quinn knew that the German woman was playing a cat-and-mouse game with him, but he was a patient interrogator. And he had all the time it would take. ‘You’re no better off here than you would have been had you stayed in Germany.’
Irma Glatzer gave an expressive shrug. ‘You would not understand,’ she said. ‘The Jews are not popular in Germany.’
‘Why did you pretend to be Mrs Victoria Wheeler?’
‘I did not want to be identified as a German, not when your country is at war with mine.’
‘What made you select that particular name?’
‘It seemed like a very English name.’ She leaned forward to stub out her half-smoked cigarette i
n the tin lid in the centre of the table.
‘You speak excellent English, Miss Glatzer. Where did you learn?’
‘I had an English boyfriend in Hamburg. I’ve always believed that the best place to learn a language is in bed with your teacher.’ She stared at Quinn with a half-smile on her face, but showed no sign of embarrassment at her admission.
‘What was this boyfriend’s name?’
‘Leonard Wheeler. That’s what gave me the idea for my English name.’
‘Where is he now? Still in Germany?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Why did you select Victoria as a first name?’ Quinn suspected, not only that Leonard Wheeler did not exist, but that Irma Glatzer had undergone an intensive course in English at one of the language schools run by the German Intelligence Service.
‘Why not? It was the name of your famous queen.’
‘Do you have any questions for Miss Glatzer, Mr Hardcastle?’ asked Quinn.
‘The photograph in your house at Worthing, of a Scots Guards officer. Where did you get that from?’
‘I found it in a second-hand shop.’
‘So, your claim that the subject of that picture is your husband is not true.’
‘No, it’s not. I don’t have a husband.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Hardcastle, deferring to Quinn.
‘I think we’ve played this little game for long enough, Miss Glatzer.’ Quinn, tiring of the woman’s prevarication, opened his file again and took out a sheet of paper. ‘This document was one of several seized from your house in Worthing on the evening of the day you vanished. Government scientists have examined it and found that it bore details, in code and written in invisible ink, of details of troop movements in France. There was also a document in your briefcase detailing the movement of certain Royal Navy ships in and out of Portsmouth harbour.’ The SB chief did not say that that information was entirely false, and had been sent by British intelligence officers. ‘I am satisfied, Miss Glatzer, that you are a member of the German Intelligence Service and that you were sent here for the express purpose of carrying out espionage on behalf of the German government. Do you have anything to say to that?’