“All right. I’ll stay. But mind you don’t get yourself into any trouble. I promised your wife I’d at least encourage you to behave.”
“I always behave,” Drew assured him. “In some way or other.”
Drew wasn’t surprised to find The Brassie and Cleek nearly empty on a Wednesday night. A pair of old duffers sat quarreling over their checker game in one corner while half a dozen young rowdies played darts in the back. Other than that, the place was subdued.
Drew went to the bar and ordered a mug of cider. “Not much trade tonight.”
“Early yet, sir,” the barman said, taking his money. “In an hour or so, we’ll fill up a bit.”
Drew nodded and turned, half facing the room, leaning one elbow on the bar. “So, did you know him?”
“Know who, sir?”
“The man who was murdered last night. Jamie Tyler.”
“Aye, I did that, sir. He was a regular here, you know,” the barman said. “And he was here last night. Right before he was killed.”
“Yes, I’d heard. Did he say anything in particular?”
The barman drew his heavy eyebrows together. “Not that I heard. As I told the police, I served him a mug of beer and then another. Then someone rang up for him. After that, he was off. That was the last of it. He wasn’t one to say more to a barkeep than ‘Give me a pint’ and ‘Let me have another.’”
“A telephone call?” Drew leaned closer. “Do you know who it was?”
The barman shook his head. “A woman is all I know. Sounded young, but not too young, if you know what I mean. Not too young for the likes of Jamie Tyler.”
“And he didn’t say anything about her?”
“Not to me. You might ask Jem over there. He and Tyler had a pint now and again. He was in last night, as well.”
He pointed to the dart players gathered there, and Drew recognized the fresh-faced young man who had pointed Tyler out to him at Muirfield. Drew thanked the barman and went over to the group.
“Jem?”
The young caddie turned, then broke into a smile. “Yes, sir. Good evening, sir.”
“You remember me from the course?”
“I do, sir. I never forget a gent who tips well, though I’m sorry I don’t believe I ever got your name.”
“Drew Farthering.” Drew shook his hand. “I understand you were in here with Jamie Tyler last night.”
The boy’s jovial expression clouded. “Not with him, no, but we had a drink. Professional courtesy and that, right? Bad business what happened to him. Not that we were mates, mind you, but it was a bad business all the same.”
“True enough. Look here, I’m trying to find out what happened to him. It would be quite helpful if you’d tell me what he said last night.”
“It wasn’t much,” the caddie admitted. “But I’ll tell you what I told the constable. I saw him come in and looking black as thunder. He ordered a pint and sat at a table by himself. Now me, I don’t like to leave one of the lads without someone to tell his troubles to, so I went over and sat down. He said that was all right, but he didn’t want to talk. I didn’t much care either way, so we just drank and didn’t say anything. After a bit, he shoved back his mug. I don’t know what the look was on his face. Maybe anger. Maybe a little bit of fear.”
“Fear?”
Jem shrugged. “Anyway, he told me he’d quarreled with his girl. I said I was sorry, but he didn’t say anything more. Then Mr. Bathgate over there came to tell him he was wanted on the telephone.”
“Did you hear any of what he said?” Drew asked.
“Nah. Harry and Will McGinty were rowing at the bar, and you’d never hear cannon fire over them.”
“I suppose he didn’t tell you anything about it.”
“No, sir, not a word.”
“Was he on very long?”
“Not more than a minute. Maybe half that. Afterwards he came back to the table and, not bothering to sit again, threw back the rest of his beer. I asked him if he was going, and he said he had to.”
“That was all?” Drew asked, disappointed.
Jem’s freckled face turned grim. “No, sir, though it didn’t seem much at the time. He said, ‘Did you ever think you’d hit straight for the green and end up in the middle of a hazard? Devil of a time getting out.’ Then he left eightpence for Bathgate and went.”
“He didn’t say anything else?”
“Not a word,” Jem said.
“What do you think he meant?”
“I suppose he meant his girl. She was well off, I understand, and they’d had a row. Maybe he decided she wasn’t worth the trouble. Anyhow, she must have been the one who telephoned.”
“Could be,” Drew said, and he couldn’t help but remember his conversation with Tyler just yesterday. “Anything for a few pence, eh?” Had he truly sold out his country to those who would destroy her?
He’d denied knowing Lisa Shearer, and yet Madeline and Carrie had seen them together at Muirfield. Yes, he and Joan had quarreled, but they were going to be married. Whether Tyler’s intentions were honorable or just mercenary, he had been planning to marry Joan no matter what her mother thought. Or at least he’d told her as much. So what was this “hazard” he’d gotten himself into? And who was it on the other end of that telephone line?
Sixteen
Drew thanked Jem with half a crown and swiftly made his way back through the village. It was getting rather late for a walk, but he needed to clear his head and think. He had to sort out all the half-formed suspicions that needled him but wouldn’t sit still long enough to be examined. He considered going back to the Hall to chat things over with Nick, but then he decided it would be a more attractive prospect to stroll over to see Madeline at the inn. She was always able to help him see a case from a different angle, past his own experiences and preconceptions. Truth be told, he missed having her with him.
And then there was that kiss . . .
He turned down the high street. She could have led him a merry chase, as mad about her as he was, if she had been the sort of woman to treat a man that way. But then again, if she’d been that sort, it was likely he wouldn’t be so mad about her, so it seemed to be sorted quite nicely just as it was.
He was soon at The Swan, standing beneath Madeline’s open window. He’d once seen Douglas Fairbanks as d’Artagnan climbing up to his lady’s window and clinging to the sill for a stolen kiss. Why not?
It took him only a minute to shinny up the ivy-covered trellis. He lifted his hand to tap on the window frame and then checked himself and made a swift count of the windows from the east corner of the building. It wouldn’t do to have reached Miss Holland’s window by mistake or, heaven forfend, the window of some elderly spinster who kept a cosh handy in the event Nazi spies should creep into her room. Assured that this was the fifth one along, he gave a discreet knock.
He waited for a moment and, getting no response, knocked again. There was a rustling inside the dark room. Then, without warning, something cracked down on his knuckles, almost sending him crashing back onto the street.
“Hey!”
Madeline peered out, a raised umbrella in one hand. “You,” she breathed, and she laid the erstwhile weapon on the writing desk she was leaning over. “What in the world are you doing here?”
“That’s no way to behave,” he said, swinging himself up onto the sill. “Here I’ve come all this way to compare your light to the east and you to the sun, and you don’t even have the consideration to have a lamp burning.” He rubbed his stinging knuckles. “We won’t mention your unconscionable behavior.”
She looked at him for a moment, a little pucker between her fine brows. “What’s going on? Why are you here?”
“No good trying to fool you, is there? All right then. I was thinking about what happened to Jamie Tyler last night and wondering about Mac and Lisa. You haven’t seen either of them about tonight, have you? In the inn or anything?”
“No. Why?”
“Y
ou and Carrie saw Tyler and Lisa talking that first day at Muirfield, right?”
Madeline nodded.
“But he denied knowing her. Why do you think that would be?”
“I don’t know.”
“I talked to one of the caddies over at the pub just now,” Drew went on. “Tyler had a telephone call last night, after he had quarreled with Joan. The barman says it was a woman. They’re assuming it was Joan. Maybe apologizing. Maybe asking him to come back. Who knows?”
“Sounds reasonable,” Madeline said. “But you don’t agree.”
“No, I don’t. The barman didn’t know and Tyler never said who it was, but what he did say, right before he left the pub, was that he’d hit into a hazard and it was deuced hard getting back out. Does that sound like a man talking about a girl? Especially this man? I could see him breaking off with a girl with never a look back, even if she were in trouble. No, this is something deeper, I’m certain of it.”
Madeline’s eyes widened. “You think he was in with Mac and Lisa, selling information or helping them some other way?”
“Could be. He told me it was all one to him, British or German.” Drew frowned. “Still, the way he said it, I don’t know. And the caddie I talked to recently, the one Tyler was drinking with last night, he said Tyler looked afraid. Why should he look afraid?”
Madeline thought for a moment. “Unless he was helping Mac and Lisa, maybe just a little bit, until he realized the seriousness of what he was doing. Joan said he always carried that medal of his father’s. It must have meant something to him. England must have meant something to him. Maybe he hadn’t really meant to betray his country. Whatever he’d done was so inconsequential and they paid so well, he didn’t see any harm in it. And then later he realized how dangerous it would be to try to get out.”
“And when Lisa called him, he went to tell her he wasn’t going to help them anymore, so she or one of her people—I’m assuming she has people somewhere—one of them shot him.”
“That’s terrible,” Madeline said. “I don’t suppose there’s any way to prove that.”
“Not yet, no.” Drew smiled at the anxiousness in her eyes and tapped the tip of her nose. “But we’ll figure it all out in time. For now, I want to know why you’d already gone to bed. That’s not much like you.”
“Carrie was tired, and you weren’t here.” She perched herself on the desk so they were facing each other and gave him a coy smile. “So I didn’t see any reason to stay awake, either.”
“And I’ve been finding it deuced hard to sleep without you beside me.”
She touched his cheek with the backs of her fingers. “I’ve missed you, too. I don’t like being apart like this.”
“Nor I.” He brought her hand to his lips and, holding it against his heart, leaned back against the window frame. “I’d chuck the whole thing if I hadn’t promised Joan. But I’ve just got to prove her mother isn’t guilty. And if there’s something with international consequence going on, I can’t just stand by and let it happen, can I?”
“No,” she said, and her eyes warmed. “Of course not.”
“You always understand.” He kissed her hand again, smiling despite the sudden tightness in his throat. “And that, my darling, is why I had to come see you. And why, should you ever decide to leave me again, I shall throw myself into the sea.”
“Silly boy, I didn’t leave you. I just had to keep Carrie from going home until Nick figures out what to say to her.”
“Yes, and he absolutely refuses to heave her over his shoulder and carry her off to the registrar as I advised him.”
She laughed softly. “You did not.”
“Well, it would certainly make it easier on us if he would.”
“And I’m sure that’s their first concern.”
“I suppose not, though it’s terribly selfish of them.”
“Terribly,” she agreed. “I don’t suppose Nick has actually come up with anything persuasive to say to her.”
He shook his head. “Has she shown any sign of wavering?”
“Not that I can tell.”
“Will she at least agree to come back to Hampshire for a visit?”
“She hasn’t said so yet,” Madeline told him, “but she hasn’t refused, either.”
“I suppose that’s a good sign. If we can get this business worked out without something else upsetting happening, maybe she’ll stop thinking the whole of Britain is overrun with homicidal maniacs.”
She sighed. “When are we going to be able to return home? I really do miss you.”
“Soon, darling.” He put his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, close enough to rest his forehead against hers, to feel the soft warmth of her breath. “We’ll figure out who’s being so nasty here and then soon we’ll be back at Farthering Place. In our own home. In our own room.” He touched his lips to hers. “In our own bed.”
She put her hands behind his head, bringing his mouth to hers again in a tender kiss. Then she pulled away and brought her lips close to his ear. “Are you coming in?”
“Why, Mrs. Farthering,” he murmured, “what would the neighbors say?”
“They’d say— What’s that?”
He huffed. “Well, that’s a fine way to talk.”
“Shh.” She squeezed his hand, her expression suddenly urgent, her voice hardly a whisper. “There’s someone in the street. He hasn’t seen us.”
They sat very still in the unlit window, watching as a tall, athletic-looking man came toward them, looking ahead and behind himself and into every close and alleyway.
“It’s Mac,” Drew murmured against Madeline’s ear. “What’s he doing out here at this hour?”
Madeline shrugged, shaking her head.
Then Mac was gone. He’d turned onto the street where the German lady had her bookshop.
Drew looked at Madeline, but before he could do more than open his mouth, her eyes narrowed. “You are not going after him.”
“Can’t just let him get away. I might actually find out who this Schmidt is this time.” He swung his legs out over the street. “I’ll be back as soon as I figure out what he’s doing.”
“At least tell me you have your gun with you.”
“Not on this outing. Sorry.”
“Fine,” she said, snatching up her robe. “I’m coming, too.”
“Oh, no. Not this time. If I get into trouble, I need someone back here to call for help.”
“Drew—”
“I’ve got to go, darling, otherwise I’ll lose him.” He lowered himself back to the trellis but still hung from the windowsill. “Kiss me goodbye?”
“Drew—”
“If I’m gone more than twenty minutes, send Shaw after me. He’s just a few doors down.”
She leaned down and kissed him fiercely. Then he dropped silently to the street and followed Mac toward Dunst’s. Drew could see him just up ahead, moving slowly, warily, obviously up to something he didn’t want known. Loyal Englishman, indeed. Drew wanted to kick him all the way to Berlin along with his Nazi friends. Well, time enough for that once he had the goods on him.
When Mac reached the bookshop, he looked furtively around and then disappeared into the narrow opening that ran between it and the shop next door. There were no lights on in the front, but when Drew crept along behind him and round to the back, he saw there was one in the rear, dim behind the drawn shades, but there all the same.
Drew pressed himself back into a shadowed doorway as Mac took one last look behind him and then gave a series of knocks, one long, two short. An instant later, the door was opened. Drew caught a fleeting glimpse of the old woman who ran the shop, and then all was darkness again.
He crept up to the window and was surprised to find that, despite the lowered shade, it was partly open. It was a pleasant night, but it was also June, and an unventilated room could grow close very quickly. An electric fan hummed just beyond the window, probably on a nearby table, jumbling the conversation inside
. He could hear MacArthur and then someone else—not the old woman but a man. If he wasn’t English, he certainly spoke the language without a trace of accent.
“This has everything?” he was saying. “Installations, roads, everything?”
Mac murmured something about elevations and other mapmaking terms. The other man asked several questions, his words sometimes unintelligible but his satisfied tone unmistakable. Well, he wouldn’t be satisfied for long, not if Drew had his own way. Once Inspector Ranald knew what he had overheard and—
“Shh.”
Drew started and then was perfectly still. He didn’t want to in any way inconvenience the owner of the little revolver that was currently pressed against his cheek.
“Don’t make a sound. Don’t move.”
He blinked, recognizing the voice even as soft as it was.
Lisa.
He waited for her to order him inside. Waited, worse, for the click of the trigger being pulled back. But neither of those things happened. Perhaps something would distract her. It would take only an instant to wrest the gun out of her hand. Why hadn’t he told Madeline just now how much he loved her?
“Anything else you want?” Mac asked. “For the present, anyway.”
“No,” said the other man. “This is good. Very good.”
There was the sound of a drawer sliding open and then closed.
“I wouldn’t take this if I weren’t in such a bind,” Mac told him. “Still, I think you chaps have it right. If we’re to keep England strong, we’d do well to follow the example of Mr. Hitler.”
He said something more, but the whir of the fan made all but the word soon unintelligible. The other man laughed and said something to the woman, and then there was the clinking of crystal. Clearly the bargain had been made, and to the satisfaction of both parties.
“Get down on your knees,” Lisa breathed into Drew’s ear, and she motioned with a handkerchief, white against the surrounding darkness. “Up against the wall, under the window.”
She shoved him down with her free hand, still with the revolver against his head. It was now or never. He tensed, ready to spring, and then froze when several men swarmed out of the shadows. Two of them, pistols at the ready, positioned themselves on either side of the window. Two at the back door. The rest went to the sides and, Drew presumed, to the front of the shop.
Death at Thorburn Hall Page 23