‘Perhaps, perhaps,’ said Edward abstractedly, still watching Verity out of the corner of his eye. ‘How fast does it go? I don’t suppose Lord Weaver has allowed you to stretch it, has he?’
‘No,’ said the chauffeur regretfully, ‘but it moves so strong at sixty-five I don’t doubt it could do seventy-five if pushed.’
‘I like the body style, Hudson. Did Lord Weaver consult you at all on the choice of coach builder?’
‘Yes, my lord, his lordship was good enough to ask me to advise him. We had it built in Crewe, of course,’ said the chauffeur, becoming proprietorial, ‘and we chose the teak . . .’
At that moment Weaver and Verity came up, having finished their confabulation and Hudson touched his cap. Weaver took the cigar out of his mouth and said to Edward, ‘I see you admire my automobile, Lord Edward.’
‘Indeed, I do, Weaver,’ said the other. ‘It is quite magnificent but I shall wait a few years before I go that way. For the present I shall stick with my Lagonda.’
‘It has recovered from the –’
‘Oh yes,’ said Edward hurriedly, ‘it has been completely repaired – good as new.’ He glanced at Verity. He did not want her to have any excuse for not letting him drive her to London. ‘I thought I would telephone Amy when I get back home. There’s a show on at the Palace she might enjoy. I suppose she could manage a matinée? Where is she staying? With you and Lady Weaver?’
‘Oh no, Lord Edward, did she not tell you? She’s in New York.’
‘New York! But I only saw her a few days ago.’
‘Well, not New York yet. I guess she must still be on the Aquitania. A theatrical agent, Mort Gagenau, a friend of mine as a matter of fact, was over here from the States and I took him to see Amy at the Cocoanut Grove. He liked her so much – he was “nuts about her”, he said – he got her an audition for a new Gershwin show coming on Broadway in the fall. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you, but then I guess you were all over the place and maybe she wasn’t able to reach you.’
Edward, slightly dazed by the news that Amy had put the Atlantic Ocean between them, caught sight of Verity, who was having difficulty keeping her face straight.
‘Well, goodbye, Lord Edward. I hope to see you soon. You must come and lunch with me at my club.’ He turned to the Duke: ‘Goodbye, Duke. And thank you, Connie, for all your kindness. Next time I hope we will meet on a happier occasion.’
John the footman, under Hudson’s watchful eye, put the last of the luggage in the Rolls. ‘Goodbye, Joe,’ said the Duke, pressing the tycoon’s hand warmly. He had admitted to himself that over the past fortnight his feelings for the man had changed from respect to affection. They had known each other for three years; they had in fact been introduced by no less a personage than the Prince of Wales at a dinner at Fort Belvedere and they had immediately taken a liking to one another. Although the Duke had refused to believe that the General was anything but a man of honour, he had been shocked by what Weaver had told him about his old friend’s attempt to pressure him – he would not call it blackmail – and he admired Weaver for the dignified way he had dealt with the matter. The Duke had hoped to bring the two men together at Mersham but he now realized Craig was too embittered ever to have recognized in Weaver a man of honour and a potential ally. The Duke considered that his old friend’s mortal illness, the pain and loneliness he had suffered since his wife’s death, had disturbed the balance of his mind. He had admired the General ever since he had first met him before the war when he had been his brother’s superior officer. His courage and patriotism had impressed the Duke even then, long before the disaster of 1914 and his brother’s death. He had never for one moment held the General to blame for that. It was just one of the many tragedies of that appalling conflict and why he had dedicated himself to preventing another war which could only be more savage than its predecessor.
The Bishop had taken an early train as he needed to be in Worthing by midday, and now Edward and Verity, despite Connie’s urging to stay a little while longer, prepared to take their departure. The Duke shook his brother by the hand and asked him to come and see them again soon. When he came to Verity, Edward thought for one minute he was going to kiss her on the cheek but in the end decorum prevailed and he shook her hand too. Connie did kiss Verity, even though she had not fully forgiven her for the subterfuge which had brought her to the castle. She now feared that this girl was going to make her brother-in-law unhappy, but she felt she owed it to Edward to try to like her. She did admire Verity: she represented modern woman determined to make her mark in a man’s world. She admired her enterprise even if she did not altogether approve of her methods of getting what she wanted. She instinctively believed in the girl’s basic honesty. Despite the trick she had played on her, Connie was prepared to accept that Verity was well named. As for her politics, she and the Duke had discussed them and come to the conclusion that they were a young girl’s way of showing her independence and would soon change. In this belief they were quite wrong but it allowed them to make sense of the fact that someone as ‘normal’ as Verity – patently ‘one of us’ as the Duke had said, who dressed and spoke like any of the girls they met in society – was devoting herself to bringing about a revolution which would destroy everything they valued and which Verity seemed to have no hesitation in enjoying. It was a paradox but then, as Connie said to the Duke as they lay in bed that night with the lights off waiting for sleep, ‘I feel a generation older than that girl even though I’m only a few years her senior. I just don’t understand what makes her tick.’
‘Nor do I,’ said the Duke sleepily, ‘but she’s a damn fine filly all the same and Ned’s a lucky man.’
‘Don’t count his chickens for him,’ said Connie, but the Duke was already asleep.
On the way back in the car Edward could not talk to Verity about her plans – how long would she be in Spain, was she going to be with Griffiths-Jones, did she like David better than him? In fact, he doubted whether he could ever ask the latter question and he knew that if he needed to ask her, he already had his answer. So they talked of the inquest.
‘How did you think it all went, Verity?’
‘All right, I suppose. It wasn’t the truth but what is the truth?’
‘You’re bally right it wasn’t the truth. After the inquest I had a word with Jeffries. The General was murdered by someone at that dinner-party, and all my ideas and theories are complete balderdash. I am a fool, a damn fool, a very damn fool.’
‘For goodness sake, Edward, what did Jeffries tell you?’
‘There was a simple question I didn’t ask which I should have asked. Pride didn’t ask it either. There was an important fact Jeffries hid from us. He only vouchsafed this information when I talked to him after the inquest.’
‘Was this after you talked to Dr Best?’
‘Yes, and then I had a few words with that frightful fellow, Pride. He was his usual patronizing self but I got the feeling he did not really believe the General’s death was an accident. He said, with what I considered tasteless jocularity, “I trust you have not stumbled over any more dead bodies?” “No, Inspector,” I said, “and may I ask you if you have made any arrests? Have you penetrated the Triads yet and broken up their drugs network?” It was a silly cheap thing to say, I know, but I was riled. He said, “We are working on it. Captain Gordon has given us some useful information.” I asked if he would be charged with drug dealing. Pride said there wasn’t enough evidence.’
‘But he confessed, didn’t he?’ said Verity scandalized.
‘Yes, but Pride said he doubted that the confession would stand up in court. It had been made before he was cautioned. Anyway, I suspect they have done a deal with him. If he helps them track down the top men they won’t charge him. Not that they ever will catch the heads of the dope ring if Gordon is right, and I expect he is, that the Triads run London’s drug world. The British policeman will never penetrate their organization. How would they ever get anyone to tes
tify against them? No chance.’
‘But you said you thought Pride did not believe the verdict was right?’
‘Yes, he was gnomic – I think that’s the word. He said, “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” Then, he asked me what my theory was. I said I agreed with the coroner’s verdict and then we were interrupted by the coroner himself, who wanted to speak to Pride.’
‘So you think we are all part of a conspiracy to keep the ugly truth out of the press?’ said Verity. ‘We are all happy to have a verdict of accidental death in order that there should be no dirt flung about?’
‘Yes, a typical conspiracy among the upper classes to keep the people ignorant of the real truth about the goings-on of their superiors,’ Edward agreed sarcastically.
‘What did Dr Best say to you?’ said Verity, taking no notice.
‘Oh, he’s such a nice man. I think he suspects something. He asked after my knee and then he said, “A terrible business! Did you know, I am retiring next month? Seeing that poor man after the agony of his death shook me more than I can say and it made me aware that I am not fit to practise medicine in this brutal modern world.” He said that when he bought the practice immediately after the war Mersham was a quiet place – boring even – a typical rural community. The children had croup or measles, the old had arthritis and occasionally someone fell off their horse or had a baby – that was all. There were times, bless his heart, when I remember him complaining to us he was bored, but now look at it: death and destruction. That’s what he said to me, Verity: “I see only death and destruction.”’
‘Then you spoke to Jeffries?’
‘Yes, I saw him standing by himself looking miserable as usual so I went up to him and said, “I expect you are glad all that’s over, aren’t you, Jeffries?” “Yes, my lord,” he said gloomily. I put on my hearty voice and said, “Cheer up, man! You’re going to live with your sister and your mother, are you not?” “I was,” he replied, “but we have had words, my lord.”’
‘Words?’ Verity said.
‘That’s all he would say. I expect it was about money or maybe he just couldn’t face living in a small house with two old women. He’s a solitary soul. Anyway, I asked him if he was all right for money as tactfully as I could. “Yes, thank you, my lord,” he said. “The General made generous provision for me.” “Good!” I said as cheerfully as possible. “So you can find somewhere nice to live?” He supposed so, and then I asked him how long he could stay at Cadogan Square. He said the lawyers had given him permission to stay until the house was sold, as caretaker.’
‘So that was all right?’
‘Yes, but it was then he dropped the bombshell under my feet. He was just turning away when he said, “I thought you said, my lord, that you were going to find who had killed the master.” “What!” I said. “You heard the verdict, Jeffries: the General’s death was an accident.” “But what about the cyanide capsule then, my lord?” he said.’
‘What did he mean, Edward?’
‘That’s what I asked him. Then he told me. He said he was packing up the General’s clothes to take everything back to London when he found the cyanide capsule still in the pocket of his waistcoat, the fob.’
‘He found the cyanide after the General was dead?’
‘That’s right. You see it all now, don’t you, Verity? I am the biggest fool on earth. All the time I was working out my theories they were based on the wrong assumption. I am the most priceless ass, I really am. All that stuff I was telling everyone last night about the General wanting to murder someone was so much balderdash – pure bunkum. The poison belonged to someone else. The General was murdered and the killer is out there somewhere, probably laughing fit to burst.’
‘Hang on,’ said Verity, worrying they might have an accident if Edward did not calm down and stop hitting his head with a flailing hand. ‘Why didn’t he tell Inspector Pride or us when we went to see him?’
‘He doesn’t like Inspector Pride, apparently. He thinks he’s “common”.’
‘But why not tell us then? I may be common but you aren’t.’
‘Don’t be silly, Verity! He says we just didn’t ask him. It’s quite true; I knew there was a question I ought to ask him but I couldn’t think what it was. I should have asked him if the General had two cyanide capsules – he didn’t, as a matter of fact – and if Jeffries had found the capsule in his clothes after his death. I just took it for granted that the capsule had been the source of the poison, fool that I am.’
‘So why did Jeffries really not tell us?’
‘I don’t think he trusted us.’
‘Me, you mean,’ said Verity. ‘He would have trusted you, but he knew I had spilled the beans in the Daily Worker of all places! Why didn’t I let you go alone? I knew I was hopeless with valets. Look at Fenton!’
‘Oh, don’t blame yourself. Jeffries is a confused man. He loved the General and would like his murder to be avenged. On the other hand, the accidental death verdict means he can go to his grave without any slur, any stain on his escutcheon.’
‘Where is the capsule now?’
‘He says he is keeping it safe.’
‘Keeping it safe! What did you say?’
‘I said I would come and talk to him in the next day or two.’
‘Golly, what a turn-up for the books,’ said Verity. ‘So who did murder General Sir Alistair Craig VC?’
‘I think . . .’ said Edward slowly, ‘I think Connie was quite right as usual and I have known it all along.’
‘But you are not going to tell me?’
‘Forgive me, Verity, but I have made such a bally pig’s dinner of all this, I want to be sure this time before I sound off.’
‘Well,’ said Verity, a little huffily, ‘don’t forget I’m going to Spain tomorrow.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Edward sombrely, ‘but with any luck all this will be cleared up before you go – or not at all. Ah, here we are: Hans Crescent – home sweet home.’
18
Friday Evening and Saturday
Verity stopped outside the ground floor flat and rang the bell. ‘This won’t take a second, Edward,’ she said. ‘I’ll just pick up Max. Mrs Parsons is a dear but I don’t like her to have to look after my naughty dog a minute longer than she has to.’
There was a noise of shuffling and then bolts being drawn and the door opened on the chain. ‘It’s only me, Mrs Parsons,’ said Verity brightly. ‘I have just come to pick up Max.’
‘Is that you?’ said the old woman peering at Verity suspiciously. ‘Oh yes, it is you.’ As she struggled to open the door, Edward thought he saw that she was crying. When she finally appeared in carpet slippers and with an embroidered shawl pulled over what looked like her nightdress they could see that the old woman was in some distress.
‘Whatever is it, Mrs Parsons?’ Verity said in alarm.
‘Miss Browne, I have such terrible news. I have been trying to tell you but I lost the telephone number you gave me where you were going to be. I haven’t slept a wink.’
‘Please, Mrs Parsons, tell me what has happened,’ said Verity, now thoroughly alarmed.
‘It’s Max.’
‘Max?’
‘Yes, you see I was just taking him out for a walk yesterday afternoon, it was about three I think, yes it was because I had just listened to that programme on the wireless about –’
‘Please, Mrs Parsons, what has happened?’
‘I’m trying to tell you, Miss Browne,’ the old woman quavered.
‘Yes, I’m sorry,’ said Verity. ‘I didn’t mean to shout at you.’
‘As I was going out of the front door I bumped into this nicely spoken young man. He was such a gentleman. He held open the door for me and he stroked Max and said what a nice dog he was, and of course he is, and he asked if he belonged to me and I said no, I was looking after him for Miss Browne who lived upstairs. And the man asked what his name was and I said Max. And then he said he was a great friend of
yours, Miss Browne, and I said oh, but you were away for the night but you would be back tomorrow. And he said what a pity to have missed you but he would come back in the morning but in the mean time would I like it if he took the dog for a walk. And well, I said – and I know it was wrong of me but he seemed so nice and my leg was playing up – well I said “Would you?”, and he said he would take him round the gardens and knock on my door in half an hour and give him back. He seemed such a nice man so I . . . oh I’m so sorry, Miss Browne . . .’ Mrs Parsons began to cry in earnest. ‘I said yes.’
‘And he never came back?’ said Edward. Mrs Parsons nodded miserably. ‘Look, Verity,’ he said, ‘don’t worry, I’m sure we can find Max. Let’s take the bags upstairs and then we will plan our campaign. Did you tell the police, Mrs Parsons?’
‘No, I thought he would come back before . . .’
‘Never mind,’ said Verity bravely. ‘Don’t get yourself too distressed, Mrs Parsons. We’ll just take the luggage up to my flat and then come back and see what’s the best thing to do.’
When they reached the flat Verity took out her key to unlock the front door but, as she touched it, it swung open. ‘Let me,’ said Edward firmly, putting down the suitcases and gently moving Verity to one side. He went into the narrow hall and then pushed open the door of the living-room. There was nothing out of the ordinary to be seen. He opened another door and looked into the kitchen which again was undisturbed. Then, with Verity behind him, he opened the bedroom door. The sight that met his eyes made him cry out, and he immediately turned to try to prevent Verity from entering and seeing what he had seen, but he was too late. Verity gave a high-pitched scream and ran into the room. Someone had taken a kitchen knife and with it had hacked off the head of the little dog and then taken the trouble to lay the corpse against the pillows on the bed. The sight of the obscene arrangement parodying the teddy bear which might have been there on the counterpane was something he was never to forget. On the other side of the room, a swastika had been scrawled on the dressing-table looking-glass in what Edward assumed was the dog’s blood.
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