Not Hidden by the Fog

by John Creasey

  There was a tap at the door, and the policewoman came in, carrying a tea tray with cake and biscuits, and a bowl of minced meat for the terrier. I’ll leave her here and let them look after her, Gideon decided. He was on edge to get away. He smiled warmly at Miss Tudor, gave the terrier a tentative pat, said: “Good-night—and thank you,” and went out. A door farther along this passage was open and he heard Sharp’s voice on the telephone. He needed a little time to digest what he had learned from the woman, but it would be better to finish with Sharp, then get home: or he might indeed go to Scott-Marie’s home.

  Sharp was saying: “… you might have to go in the box, you know … All right, if you’re as positive as that I’ll tell the Commander.” There was a bang as the telephone went down, and as Gideon stepped into the doorway, Sharp was getting up from his chair behind a flat-topped desk. His expression was unmistakably one of excitement.

  “Got him!” he exclaimed.

  “The man downstairs?”

  “Yes! There is a section of his right hand forefinger tip on the weapon used to kill the man in Hobbs’s car; and two prints of his little finger on the steering wheel. Don’t know about his clothes yet the report isn’t in.”

  “And his name?” asked Gideon.

  “If he’s got a record, we’ll soon know it.” Sharp dropped back into his chair. “How did you get on, sir?”

  Gideon told him.

  “My God,” said Sharp. “I knew these Elsie people were pretty quick off the mark, but this is real organisation. Do you know this Lady Carradine?”

  “Slightly,” Gideon said. “She’s a well-known do-gooder and organiser for charity and social and community affairs.” Hobbs would know her, he thought fleetingly. Where was Hobbs? Was he alive? “Keep the name Carradine under your hat,” he went on to Sharp, “and tell Best and the policewoman to do the same. Can you put the old lady up for the night?”

  “We’ll fix something,” Sharp said. “Don’t want her charged, do you?”

  “Not at the moment,” Gideon said.

  He thought, but didn’t say, that it was possible Geraldine Tudor had fooled him. There was no way of being absolutely sure yet.

  It was half-past twelve when he was driven away from the police-station, and he had to decide what to do.

  Call Scott-Marie? There was a case for it, the Commissioner was on the same society footing as Lady Carradine – as was Hobbs. On the other hand, he could go and see her himself, and talk to her before consulting Scott-Marie. He could wait until morning – nonsense! Quite suddenly he knew what to do. Learn what he could about Lady Carradine, and then call on her. First, call Scott-Marie and tell him about the man they’d arrested – no. Check if the man was known to have a record.

  There was no traffic to speak of and soon they were at St. John’s Wood. Suddenly, Gideon leaned forward and said to his driver: “Take me through Regent’s Park.”

  “Right, sir.”

  Only the main gates were open, but that didn’t matter. A few lovers were still snuggled in the backs of cars; two couples were walking across the grass. Although it was winter there was beauty in the scene. The grass was well-kept, the bushes trim.

  “Pull in here,” Gideon ordered, and the driver did so. Gideon took the walkie-talkie off its hook and Information answered almost at once. “I want all you can give me on Lady Carradine in the next ten or fifteen minutes. Her address—“

  “40, Adderley Terrace, sir, Regent’s Park,” the man on duty answered. “I happen to pass there on my way home most nights. She—” He broke off. “Sorry, sir.”

  “No—what were you going to say?”

  “My wife’s a great believer in her, sir. She’s done some wonderful work for women’s causes, family planning, and so on. My wife’s on a local committee.”

  “A local committee of what?” asked Gideon, and held his breath, expecting to hear: “E.L.C.” But he breathed again as the man replied: “The Women’s Emancipation League – a kind of down-to-earth and less revolutionary women’s movement, sir. Lady Carradine is the president. Is that the kind of thing you want, sir?”

  “It is. Check Who’s Who and read what it says about her out to me when I call next,” Gideon ordered. “Now I want to talk to Sir Reginald Scott-Marie.”

  “Just a moment, sir—oh, there was a message from him earlier, to the effect that he would be out until after midnight, but it’s past that now.”

  In a few moments, Scott-Marie’s voice came through, distorted but clear. “Is there any news of Hobbs?”

  “No,” Gideon replied, “but we’ve arrested a man who will probably be charged with the murder of the man found in Hobbs’s car. He won’t talk, but may do so when he knows we have enough fingerprints to damn him.” Gideon decided then to mention Lady Carradine in passing, and he went on without a change of tone: “He was about to attack the woman who distracted the attention of the policeman at Hampstead.”

  “So you’ve got her, too.”

  “Yes,” Gideon said. “She’s a member of the group known as Elsie. I’m on my way to see a leading member of that group now, Lady Carradine. Can you brief me about her?”

  Scott-Marie did not answer at once. In fact the silence lasted for so long that Gideon wondered whether he should have mentioned the woman, after all. He heard the atmospherics, saw another couple drive off in a car a few yards away, yet another walking across the grass. This, on a night when the temperature was down to freezing.

  At last, Scott-Marie replied.

  “Yes, I can. She is a second cousin of the Home Secretary, a great social worker and a great puller of strings. She is also a convinced believer in women’s rights, and she will undoubtedly attempt to impress, and influence you, by a recital of her social and political associations. I need hardly advise you not to be influenced,” Scott-Marie added drily.

  “I’ll try not to be,” promised Gideon, relieved by the other’s approach.

  “Let me know during the night if you’ve word of Hobbs. Otherwise, we’ll talk in the morning. Good-night.”

  Gideon rang off more slowly than his chief, and very thoughtfully. Scott-Marie had told him a great deal in a few words; and characteristically, had not asked him why he was going to see Lady Carradine. It was as well to know what to expect. She would probably be resentful at being visited so late; she might even try to put him off.

  He said to the driver: “Number 40, Adderley Terrace.”

  “Right, sir.”

  “Did you get a snack at Hampstead ?”

  “Yes—I’m good for all night, if necessary.”

  “I hope it won’t be,” Gideon said.

  Five minutes later the white porticos of the houses in Adderley Terrace loomed out of the darkness. Gideon got out, and walked up the four imposing steps which stood between two massive pillars.

  But before he rang the bell, the door opened.

  Hilda Jessop, strikingly lovely in the half-light, stood in the doorway.

  Chapter Fourteen

  TRICKERY ?

  Hilda was obviously as startled as Gideon.

  After a moment, when he had recovered from the surprise, he decided that she was more than startled; she was frightened. She held the door tightly and Gideon deliberately waited for some seconds before he said: “Good-evening, Miss Jessop.”

  “Good-evening.” She was breathing quickly, too quickly for composure. “Can—can I help you?”

  “Can you tell me where to find Alec Hobbs?” The question came unprompted and yet was calculated to cause effect. She started, quite visibly. “What a ridiculous question to ask!”

  “It’s a question I ask everybody,” Gideon said, flatly. “I want to see Lady Carradine, please, on an urgent matter.”

  “Lady—Carradine?”

  “Yes, at once, please.”
<
br />   “But—you can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s in bed.”

  “Unfortunate, but it can be rectified,” Gideon said, in a no-nonsense voice. He moved forward, and Hilda Jessop stood aside, making no attempt to stop him. A single wall light cast a slanting glow over oil portraits and dark furniture. Once he was inside, he asked pleasantly: “This isn’t the address you gave at the Yard this morning, is it?”

  “No, I—I don’t live here.”

  “Are you a friend of Lady Carradine?”

  “Yes. We—we work together.”

  “On this work you discussed with me this morning?”

  “Yes,” answered Hilda, and Gideon thought she was relieved by the turn of the conversation. “Commander, can’t this business wait until morning?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Lady Carradine went to bed very tired.”

  “I won’t keep her a moment longer than I must,” Gideon said. “The sooner I see her the quicker I’ll be gone.”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Hilda said. “I’ll go and see if she’s awake.” She turned and started for the stairs.

  After a quick look round for something more comfortable, Gideon resigned himself to a carved oak chair. He was becoming accustomed to the dim lights, and took note of the fact that the paintings, four portraits, were of great quality. Everywhere was a sense of luxury; well, there would be in all of these houses.

  Where had Hilda Jessop been, before he arrived?

  Had she been standing looking out of a downstairs or a first floor window? They were positions from which she could have reached the door when she had; but of course it was just possible that she had been about to leave. He was not sure that it mattered; what did matter was her nervous manner and her attempt to save Lady Carradine from being interviewed.

  She had certainly been badly shaken when he had asked whether she could tell him where to find Alec Hobbs.

  Was it conceivable that E.L.C.—

  His train of thought was interrupted by a movement upstairs; and another light was flashed on, a chandelier. It shone just above and yet behind Hilda Jessop, and the effect was quite astounding. Her suit glittered a silvery colour; her blonde hair seemed to be filled with lights, too.

  She called: “Lady Carradine will see you, Commander. Please come up.”

  He went up slowly, ponderously, and yet with his heart beating faster than usual, keenly aware of the rare beauty of this young woman. She did not move until he was halfway up the stairs and did not look away from him. It was almost as if she was trying to hypnotise him: all outward signs of fear had left her. He was aware of her physical presence, and also aware of a question which gradually grew more persistent and compelling. How could a man such as Alec Hobbs be impervious to a woman of this beauty and this background? He pictured Penny beside her, then pushed the thoughts away angrily. He wasn’t here on Penny’s behalf; he was here to find the Deputy Commander for Crime, quite sure that unless he found him quickly there would be an ultimatum from his captors – an ultimatum which could lead to disaster.

  Hilda moved ahead of him; everything scintillated from her: clothes, eyes, hair. She motioned towards the front of the house with her left hand; it was a slim hand with slender fingers: and ringless.

  How could one separate personal hopes, longing, emotions, fears, from one’s work. He was not two men but one. “One man in his life plays many parts.” The same man played them, one was always oneself.

  He was aware of perfume; he was sure she had used this since she had opened the door for him. Now, she pushed open a door which must open on to a room overlooking the terrace, and called in her bell-like voice: “Commander Gideon is here.” He went in with heavy and deliberate tread, wanting to be thought of as a flat- foot; a man with no imagination.

  Lady Carradine was sitting up in a huge carved bed.

  She was a heavy-featured, heavy-breasted woman, and her wrap of pearl grey silk was loose about her shoulders and held very loosely at the front. Temptingly? She had a long, narrow face, which looked odd above that full body. Her hair, almost the same colour as the wrap, was loosely brushed and had a feathery effect; here was a combination of young woman and old; almost an elderly coquette. Yet there was nothing coquettish about her blue-grey eyes which held both purpose and determination.

  “Diana, Commander Gideon—” Hilda began.

  “I am acquainted with the Commander,” Lady Carradine interrupted. “We met on two—or was it three?—occasions some years ago.”

  “Two,” Gideon said. Outwardly he showed no surprise; inwardly he was astonished that she should have remembered. “Lady Carradine, this evening a woman was detained on suspicion of helping in the conspiracy to abduct my deputy, Mr. Alec Hobbs. She stated that she did so on instructions from a senior officer in the E.L.C. – of which you are a leading member. Were you aware of what the woman was ordered to do?”

  Quick as thought, the reply came: “I was not.”

  “How absurd,” interposed Hilda, in a voice which was only just audible.

  “Nothing absurd about it.” Gideon swivelled his gaze towards her. “She stated that she has often been given instructions to distract police officers from their duty. Is that true, Lady Carradine?” The woman could deny it. There was even the possibility, he reminded himself, that Geraldine Tudor had lied. But this time Hilda Jessop made no comment and the older woman looked at him very directly as she said: “Yes.”

  “That is a dangerous practice, and—”

  “Oh, nonsense!” interrupted Lady Carradine. “For some ridiculous reason the police have decided to persecute the harmless but very earnest members of a group which had the worthiest of objectives. The police have to be outwitted, that is all. It is surprisingly easy, Commander, I am sure the general public would be appalled if they knew how easy; and I am equally sure that some of my very good friends in Fleet Street would be glad to give the details ample coverage.”

  “Such as Jefferson Jackson.” The woman’s eyes had a wary expression. “I have no idea whom you mean. I do not deal with reporters, my influence is with the owners.”

  “Lady Carradine,” Gideon said, “there is no lawful reason why I should not make a statement, including your involvement, in—”

  “I am not involved.”

  “You have admitted involvement with an organisation which makes a practice of lying to, and misleading, the police in order to hold public meetings in places where they are forbidden. You—”

  “I would never have believed a man in a position of authority could be so pompous!”

  “I would never have believed a woman of such distinction and background would behave with such indifference to the law. I have some questions to ask you – are you going to answer them truthfully or not?”

  “I shall do what I wish in my own home. Let me remind you, Commander, that a police officer has no right to interview anyone without another officer present. And in doing so you are most ill-advised. Both Miss Jessop and I can testify to your aggressive, indeed belligerent manner, and I do not propose to be badgered by you on any pretext.”

  There was more than a touch of satisfaction in her voice, and out of the corner of his eye Gideon saw the smile of satisfaction on Hilda Jessop’s face. More: he was quite sure that the older woman was in earnest: the two of them could, and under provocation would, corroborate any story.

  He said pleasantly: “Let me put you right on the facts of life, Lady Carradine. A police officer is completely free to do what he thinks best. What he can’t do is use as evidence anything said to him if he is alone when it is said. As to any wisdom, ma’am – I have succeeded in satisfying myself that my informal approach was a waste of time, and that I must be much more formal. I require you to come with me to Scotland Yard for questioning.” He saw how utt
erly astounded the women were, held Lady Carradine’s gaze for a few tense moments, and then strode to the French windows which opened on to a balcony overlooking the park. Had Hilda been there when the car had driven into the private road? He stepped outside and called down: “Davies!”

  The driver was standing by the side of the car, reading an evening paper by the light from a porch. He peered up.

  “Sir?”

  “Have a car sent round with a woman officer,” ordered Gideon. “Then come up and join me here. The front door’s open. Turn left at the head of the stairs, you’ll see the open door.”

  “Yes, sir!” called Davies, just loud enough for Gideon to hear.

  Both women must have heard Gideon’s instructions. He waited only long enough for Davies to take the radio-telephone off its hook, then strode back into the room.

  Lady Carradine’s voice, when she spoke, had lost its vibrancy. She appeared to have some difficulty in getting the words out.

  “Ask your questions, Commander. I will answer them if I can, and they can be answered as well here as at Scotland Yard.”

  Stonily, Gideon said: “Right. I will make a start here. Whether we go to Scotland Yard will depend on your answers and how freely you give them. First and second, did you give instructions to Miss Geraldine Tudor to distract a policeman while he was on duty yesterday afternoon? And if you didn’t, do you know who did?”

  Lady Carradine did not answer immediately, but cast a swift, alarmed look at Hilda. Then she said: “To the first question – no, Commander. To the second question, a qualified ‘no’. I do not know who gave her these instructions but I might be able to give you some assistance. You see—” She drew a deep breath, and Gideon had no doubt at all that she was deeply worried; whether she was about to tell the truth or not there was no way of telling. “—I have trained a number of the members of E.L.C. to implicit obedience. I have trained them to accept without question the need to mislead the police. They, as well as I, feel completely justified, Commander. However, I have of late had reason to believe that someone not authorised has been giving them orders. That this weapon had been turned against us. Geraldine Tudor was most certainly a victim of this trickery.”