They all said goodbye to Captain Arnold, and while Boots settled the bill the others went up to their rooms to freshen up for the journey home. It would be midnight at least by the time they got there.
Mr Finch, having thought everything through and made up his mind which way to jump, composed himself and went to sleep. His guard, the senior man for this the second night, stared at him. The traitor to Germany had fallen asleep without an effort? Did he think, then, that they weren’t serious about getting him aboard the German merchant ship if he refused to cooperate, not serious about informing his wife of his origins and his years as a German agent? He would find out just how serious everything was when, after a secret trial in Berlin, he was due to be executed by a firing squad. Better for him if he did cooperate and went freely back to Germany in civilized companionship with them. Better for them too, for a cooperative return would please their immediate superior in the Nazi secret police.
The senior man showed a faint smile then. Here was a man, German-born, who, in falling calmly to sleep when his life was under threat, must be an asset to the new Germany. Perhaps, if he did refuse to cooperate, he would not be shot, after all. He was too impressive a man. Himmler, perhaps, would have someone go to work on him.
The woman came up.
‘Does he want anything?’ she asked.
‘He’s asleep, sound asleep.’
‘Blimey, what a character,’ she said in English, and the senior man looked at her in some distaste. She could not be left to her own devices. She was too fond of gin. She would have to be disposed of. They could fill her with gin and drown her in a horse trough when they left this place late tomorrow night. She’d been useful as a cockney woman ostensibly living with her husband and having his brother as a lodger. It had been a macabre gesture, using this particular house, although it had not had the expected disturbing effect on the renegade. He had accepted it as calmly as all else. It had disturbed the woman more. She’d complained there were noises. In her coarse inbred cockney way, she talked about bleedin’ things going bump in the bloody night. Drink less gin, they told her. Because of her German father and the way he’d suffered at the hands of an anti-German mob, it had been easy to recruit her services for the purpose of trapping a traitor and holding him until they could make him do their bidding one way or another. The original plan had been to first take a good look at his house, then for the woman to knock on his door just as darkness fell one evening. She was to ask to see him if he did not answer the door himself. No, she would not come in, she would speak to him on his doorstep and in private. And when he did appear they would appear themselves, and take him swiftly and silently. It was seeing him when they were looking at the house that caused the change of plan, the temptation irresistible. They followed him and his wife all the way to Farnham, waited by the Red Lion Hotel during lunch, hoping to eventually catch him on his own, and then shadowed them on a shopping expedition before following them to the Hog’s Back Hotel, where the opportunity of taking him occurred. They brought him to this house at well gone midnight, after motoring around for hours although they had hastened during the early stage of their departure from the hotel car park. The woman, who was an idiot whenever the sharpness of her mind failed her, had complained about leaving her parrot all day. That bird was due to have its neck wrung. It repeated things they had said to it in German.
Mr Finch slept on. The German lit a candle and turned out the gas lamp. Only a very faint light touched the drawn blind.
They were driving through summer darkness, and Polly was in a state of disbelief.
‘My God,’ she said, ‘you’re pinning your hopes on a woman because she was wearing a hat with two green feathers? There must still be fifty thousand hats with feathers in London alone. My stepmama has one that she refuses to throw away.’
‘It’s not the kind we’re talking about,’ said Boots. He had explained why he thought the woman in the car could be Mrs Harper, he had explained who Mrs Harper was and where she lived along with two men, one supposedly her husband. He had also talked about the murder that had taken place there in 1914, when Mr Finch lodged with the Adams in a house two doors away. Chinese Lady, from the back of the car, said she wished he didn’t have to mention that. Boots said the mention was to remind her that Mr Finch and Elsie Chivers enjoyed a quietly affectionate relationship, that he was a staunch witness for the defence when Elsie was tried for the murder, and that eventually he and Elsie disappeared.
‘Oh, yes, we all thought they’d eloped and gone to live where she couldn’t be gossiped about after she was found not guilty,’ said Chinese Lady. ‘But they didn’t get married, after all, and poor Elsie went out of her mind after a bit. It was very sad, Miss Simms.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard about it,’ said Polly.
Boots had said that if the woman was Mrs Harper, and if she and the two men had taken Mr Finch to the house of soul-destroying memories, it was probably because they felt it would have a demoralizing effect on him. Chinese Lady said she’d never heard anything more wicked, it would upset him enough to make him ill. Boots said he doubted that, but perhaps the men felt it would give them a mental advantage. In any case, the woman in the hat and costume had to be investigated. It was then that Polly expressed her disbelief in his conclusions.
‘And why would the men want a mental advantage?’ she asked. ‘What’s their quarrel with your stepfather?’
Boots, driving through an almost deserted Guildford, said, ‘My stepfather wasn’t always a civil servant.’
‘No, he was a river pilot for ages, wasn’t he?’ said Rosie. ‘And he sailed the seas as a young man.’
‘Boots, do you mean he may have made enemies?’ asked Polly. Out of Guildford, the car’s headlamps projected beams of light into the darkness.
‘It could have happened,’ said Boots.
‘I can’t take kindly to that,’ said Chinese Lady, who had never seen her second husband as anything less than a gentleman.
‘What exactly do you intend to do?’ asked Polly of Boots.
‘Raid the house,’ said Boots.
‘Oh, ye gods,’ breathed Polly. She smiled. ‘What fun, old soldier.’
‘Boots, stop talkin’ like you’re goin’ to raid it yourself,’ said Chinese Lady, ‘you know I don’t hold with hooliganism. I remember you once got into a fight with two boys at Peckham Rye on account of them messin’ about with Lizzy and Em’ly.’
‘Oh, did he do that, Nana, did Daddy set about them?’ asked Rosie, excitement and hopes as high as they could go.
‘I nearly died of shame at me only oldest son fightin’ with boys in public,’ said Chinese Lady, ‘and I came close to boxin’ his ears.’ Very much a new woman now because she had this maternal trust in Boots being right about his conclusions, she added, almost with a smile, ‘Still, Em’ly did go around saying he’d been very heroic. All the same, you listen to me, Boots, don’t you go into that house thinkin’ you can kick those men to death.’
‘It seems a suitable place to do murder,’ said Polly, tongue in cheek.
‘Miss Simms, I wish you wouldn’t say such things – oh, and must you drive so fast in the dark, Boots?’
‘It’s not fast, old lady,’ said Boots, ‘it only seems as if it is.’
‘Anyway, go, Daddy, go,’ said Rosie.
Boots drove on, mentally active. He was talking to himself.
I’ll hit yer, I’ll hit yer, I’ll hit yer.
He was trying to make something else of it, something he felt he would recognize as being relevant.
It happened when they were passing through Sutton.
I’ll hit yer, I’ll hit yer, heil hit yer, heil Hitler.
Bloody hell, he thought. Cassie, you dreamboat.
Chapter Nineteen
CHINESE LADY HAD been persuaded to go to bed. So had Rosie, due to return to school in the morning. Emily, out of bed and in her dressing-gown, was making a pot of tea. Polly, in charge of her own car again, was outside the
house in Red Post Hill, free to return home at last. Not that she was in any hurry, even though it was well past midnight. Frankly, her adrenalin had been high throughout the apparently hopeless search for clues and pointers. Now Boots was saying goodnight to her.
‘What a very good friend you are, Polly,’ he said.
‘You may think that, I think it’s a curse,’ she said, seated in her car. ‘Friendship’s platonic. I’m not made for that kind of stuff, not with you. You’ll find that out one day, and when you do you’ll think you need to call out the fire brigade.’
‘Sounds as if it might be fatal,’ said Boots, ‘but it’ll be a famous way to go.’
‘Oh, we’ll drop off God’s demented world together, darling,’ murmured Polly, ‘because where you go I’ll be right behind you. When are you intending to make this raid?’
‘Before the night’s out,’ said Boots.
‘Then I’m coming with you, you crazy man.’
‘You’re not. You’re going home. You’ve already been a tower of strength, and a very decorative one. The friendship we enjoy might have its frustrations—’
‘Might have? It does have.’
‘But I’d miss if it fell to pieces. Goodnight, Polly.’ Boots bent his head and kissed her, with the light of the nearest street lamp too distant to reach them. Polly, naturally responsive, kissed him back.
‘Do that again,’ she breathed.
‘Goodnight, Polly, all my thanks,’ he said and faded away from her.
‘Take care,’ she said. Strangely, she was smiling as she drove home. Well, he cared for her, which was something to treasure. It wasn’t enough, but it was something.
‘What’s the idea?’ Tommy over the phone sounded as if he still had sleep filling his mouth. ‘D’you know what the time is?’
‘Yes, close to one o’clock,’ said Boots. ‘Come to, Tommy.’
‘Wait a bit, me brain’s lightin’ up,’ said Tommy. ‘Is this something to do with Dad?’
‘Who else? Dress yourself and put plimsolls on. Then wait for me and Sammy to pick you up. Tell Vi you’ll be out for quite a while.’
‘If we’re all goin’ to be out for quite a while in the middle of the ruddy night,’ said Tommy, ‘I want to know why.’
‘Not now, Tommy. When we’re on our way.’
‘To where?’
‘To Walworth, to bring Chinese Lady’s better half home. I think.’
‘What d’you mean, you think?’
‘I hope,’ said Boots.
‘It ’ad better be more than hope,’ said Tommy.
‘Well, say a prayer, then,’ said Boots. ‘We’ll be armed, by the way.’
‘Armed?’
‘I’m bringing three cricket stumps,’ said Boots. ‘That’s all for now, Tommy. Stand by.’
‘Talk about the Lord of Creation,’ said Tommy, ‘but if – hello?’ No answer. Boots had hung up. He rang Sammy next, and Sammy left his legal wedded place in the marital bed to answer the call. He shook himself fully awake.
‘I’m guessin’ that’s you, Boots.’
‘Good guess, Sammy. I think we might be able to find our stepdad. Dress yourself and wear plimsolls. I’ll be picking you up in a few minutes. Then we’ll pick up Tommy. Give yourself a cold wash to get rid of any sleep. We all need to be wide-awake. Further, flex your muscles, we’ll probably want to use them. By the way, we’ll only be going as far as Walworth.’
‘If it’s not askin’ too much,’ said Sammy, ‘are we on to a cert?’
‘No, a hunch.’
‘I don’t like hunches,’ said Sammy. ‘Em’ly’s old dad, God rest him, used to get hunches on horses called also-rans.’
‘Don’t argue, Sammy, just get ready. I’ll bring you and Tommy up-to-date when we’re on our way. Plimsolls, don’t forget, not hobnails.’
‘I heard you first time,’ said Sammy, ‘and d’you mind not talkin’ like a sergeant-major?’
‘Sergeant-major? Watch your lip, Junior, that’s too much of a come-down from the Lord of Creation.’
Sammy grinned as the line went dead. You couldn’t get much change out of Boots, any more than out of a wedded female wife like Susie. But if he knew Boots, there’d be a good reason for acting on a hunch. He went back into the bedroom. Susie was awake, her bedside light, an electric boon, switched on.
‘Sammy?’
‘That you, Susie love?’ said Sammy, peeling off his pyjamas. ‘So it is. Bless me soul, don’t you look a charmer when you’re in bed? Beats all the cigarette cards I ever collected.’
‘Sammy, who was that on the phone at this time of night, and what’re you doin’?’
‘It was Boots on the phone, and I’m dressin’,’ said Sammy.
Susie sat up, loose hair a softly bright cloud of gold.
‘It’s my dad-in-law, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘I think Boots thinks he knows where he is,’ said Sammy, looking very athletic in his brief white pants and singlet.
‘You think he only thinks?’ said Susie.
‘Well, you know Boots,’ said Sammy, ‘he’s got a modest way of showin’ off. If he says he thinks he knows, he knows enough to make me dress meself seriously at this time of night.’ Sammy, trousers in place, pulled on his shirt, tucked it in and brought his braces up over his shoulders.
‘Sammy, are you dressin’ to go out?’ demanded Susie.
‘Well, Susie love, it seems that Boots, Tommy and me need to go to Walworth immediate if not sooner.’
‘That’s now, at one o’clock in the mornin’?’
‘Well, I’m not dressin’ seriously for anything but now, Susie.’ Sammy, socks on, fished for his plimsolls at the bottom of the wardrobe. ‘Boots’ll be here in a few minutes. You go back to sleep.’
‘How can I?’ said Susie, the bodice of her flimsy black nightie floating delicately about over her rounded turrets. Blow me, thought Sammy, is she worrying about me? Has me lawful wedded wife got a slightly agitated bosom? Bless her. ‘Sammy, are you and Boots and Tommy up to anything dangerous?’
‘Not on your Nelly, Susie. Chinese Lady wouldn’t stand for it. It’s just a short trip to Walworth on be’alf of your respected dad-in-law.’
‘Boots must know where he is, then,’ said Susie, ‘and if it’s not dangerous, why are all three of you goin’ and in the middle of the night?’
‘I’ll ask Boots and let you know soon as I get back, but if you’re asleep I’ll wait till breakfast,’ said Sammy, his plimsolls tied.
‘I don’t want any of your flippancy, Sammy Adams.’
‘Ain’t it curious?’ said Sammy. ‘There’s my Susie, fond daughter of Mother Brown, soundin’ just like my dear old Ma.’
‘I’m not laughin’, Sammy.’
‘Believe me, Susie, nor am I. Boots is comin’ the old sergeant-major stuff, and I’m havin’ to go down now to wait for him outside on our doorstep. I don’t want him ringing the bell and wakin’ our little man and our infant plum puddin’.’
‘Wait a minute, has anyone told Lizzy what’s happening?’ asked Susie.
‘I’m leavin’ that to Boots,’ said Sammy. ‘Lizzy’s been a bit fretful each time I’ve phoned her, imputin’ that him and me and Tommy’s been responsible for mislayin’ our stepdad. Well, that’s it, Susie love, like a kiss before I go?’
‘Boots, I’m scared,’ said Emily. They were in the hall, Boots about to depart. ‘I mean, if these people ’ave got hold of Dad for some peculiar reason, mightn’t they have guns or something?’
‘No, I shouldn’t think so, Em.’
‘What’s goin’ to happen if you’ve guessed wrong and Dad’s not there?’
‘I’ll feel like an idiot,’ said Boots. He kissed her and left, carrying three cricket stumps and a torch.
Mrs Harper, so-called, woke up again that night, conscious of those disturbing sounds. Such things coming on top of the trying nature of the day did her no good at all, and this time she went agitatedly upstairs to arouse the man who
was sleeping in one of the bedrooms. Shivering, she hissed there was a bleedin’ ghost walking about in the kitchen. The man said nothing, but he got up and went downstairs with her. Using a torch, he examined the floor of the kitchen and then the scullery.
‘Come here,’ he said eventually, and she joined him in the scullery. She was still agitated. ‘Look, woman,’ he said, shining the beam on the stone floor. ‘You’ve got rats, not ghosts.’
‘Me, I’ve got rats? They ain’t mine, and they’re bloody ’orrible.’
‘It’s because the house has been empty and because it now smells of food. Go back to bed.’
‘I ’ate rats.’
‘You won’t be here much longer. We’ll all be moving out late tomorrow night. Go back to bed.’
She went. Well, there was a bottle under her pillow with a small amount of gin in it. She’d spent the whole of yesterday without any. Very trying, that had been. But she’d done a good job putting on the style when speaking to the man Finch, the German traitor, in that hotel car park. She ought to have been given a drop of what she fancied after that, but there wasn’t any in the car. She took a couple of mouthfuls now to help her get back to sleep. The gin worked. It sent her back to sleep and it laid the ghost of the unfortunate Mrs Chivers.
* * *
Tilly was dreaming uncomfortably of a fat woman in spangles and tights dancing about like a stuffed balloon on a high wire. She fell off, and Tilly woke up.
‘Oh, me gawd,’ she breathed, ‘did I come ’ere to be haunted by that Gladys Hobday? No, I didn’t. I’m leavin’, never mind me soft heart. I’ll go lookin’ for new lodgings tomorrow. Well, over the weekend, say. Saturday afternoon, say. I’ll put up with the aggravations till then. I can lock me door at night in case cowboy Dan takes it on ’imself to try his luck at gettin’ into me bed. Oh, lor’, what’m I doin’? I’m talkin’ out loud to meself in the middle of the night. Tilly Thomas, this ’as got to stop. And so’s thinkin’ about them little gels, that’s got to stop too.’
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