Princes Gate

by Mark Ellis

  “The Ambassador does have some strong views on Stalin, I have to admit.”

  “Strong views indeed. Look. I’ve met Herr Hitler several times. So he’s a strong man and has done some things we don’t like. But my God, sir, we can and should do business with him. Isn’t that so, Douglas?”

  Douglas finished his glass of the inspiring Chateau Lafitte, which had accompanied the roast lamb, and set down his napkin.

  “As you know, Major, government policy at present is to work with all our might in assisting our French and other allies in Continental Europe in maintaining at least the status quo for the present, while we go about the serious business of rearmament. It is of course legitimate to question whether that will remain government policy. I, and I think I can say many of my colleagues at all levels of departmental responsibility, would certainly concede that there is an argument that instead of confronting Herr Hitler, perhaps we should consider reaching some sort of accommodation with him. Might Herr Hitler, if allowed to expand and consolidate his power in Continental Europe, be content to leave us and our Empire alone?”

  “Exactly, my boy. And I am certain he would take that view. Then perhaps we can join forces against Stalin and his red hordes.”

  Reginald Pelham cleared his throat loudly. “Gentlemen. May I advise care. Some might say this conversation was verging on the treasonous.”

  St. John’s hand banged down on the table. “With respect, my friend, it would be treason to waste this country’s resources on an unnecessary and futile battle against Hitler’s formidable armies. We should recognise reality.”

  Lady Dorchester nodded her head vigorously. “Absolutely. Nancy and I couldn’t agree more.”

  Norton could sense Nancy squirming on the seat to his right.

  “I’m afraid, aunt, you’ll have to speak for yourself there. I can’t believe that any sensible person would wish to be friends with Hitler. What about his cruelty, the lack of liberty, the fanatical hatred. Look at the way the Jews have been treated. Mr Churchill says that…”

  “Oh for goodness sake, Miss Swinton. Don’t talk about that warmongering charlatan. Look, Hitler dragged his country out of the mire. He had to have a firm hand. He had to deal firmly with agitators, socialists, communists, many of whom were Jewish. You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs you know. I’m sure Mr Chamberlain has the right perspective and will follow the sensible path. Eh, Douglas?”

  Douglas nodded at the Major and wiped his mouth with his napkin.

  “Perhaps that’s enough of politics for now, eh, Diana, at least until the port arrives. And so, Vivian, what’s new in your world?”

  “Oh my dears. It’s so tiresome. Last spring I made up a little party with the Oliviers and some other friends to go to Vienna and we were going to repeat the experience again this spring but,” he sighed, “another casualty of war I suppose. And anyway, Larry and Vivien are stuck in Hollywood. It’s all just so ghastly!”

  CHAPTER 3

  Tuesday January 30th

  Merlin finished the bun and pulled his chair a little closer to Tony’s electric fire. The paper had a story about volunteers joining up to help the Finns. This irritated him, prohibited as he was from contributing directly to the war effort by the A.C.’s injunctions. His irritation was compounded by his failure to make any meaningful progress with the Barnes case. Bridges had put in a lot of tedious spadework in identifying the flag of the boat seen by Colonel Trenchard and then tracking the boat down to a waterman’s boatyard in the Pool of London. It turned out that the boat owners had been employing casual labour on the boat that day, having unluckily lost their full-time crew of three all in one go to the call-up in the first week of January. They had names for that day’s replacement crew, who had been carrying a small load of agricultural equipment up the Thames to Maidenhead, but no addresses. The boatmen had been paid cash-in-hand at the end of the day’s work and had not been seen since.

  All this effort by Bridges proved to be wasted when, five days after the discovery of the body, they finally received Dr Sisson’s report. The doctor estimated that the body had been in the water for at least three days. The boat line of enquiry had been dropped and Bridges muttered something rude about to which orifice the good doctor’s snuff might be applied in future.

  The report did confirm, as expected, that they were dealing with a murder case. The gruesome absence of an eye had nothing to do with the girl’s death but was down to a scavenging fish. Death had been caused by a blow to the head and, in Sisson’s view, had certainly occurred before the body’s immersion in the water, as the lungs were empty. So the next question to resolve was the identity of the victim.

  They ploughed unsuccessfully through all vaguely applicable missing persons reports. Looking for missing persons in London had become a nightmare since the war started. The evacuation had relocated thousands of women and children to the countryside. Some had settled down in their new homes but many had quickly given up on the delights of rural life and returned to the city. These movements back and forth inevitably complicated police enquiries considerably.

  They looked into a few likely prospects, only to find that the girls reported missing had escaped their families to live with boyfriends in or out of London or, in one case, to work in a brothel.

  Things were not going well on other fronts either. Johnson was still struggling to make a breakthrough on the hit and run he was investigating. Little progress was being made with the dockers investigation. The preparation for the IRA trial was tedious and time-consuming and Merlin just couldn’t bring himself to get moving on the fingerprint report. Meanwhile, crime was a moving target, and new cases were coming in all the time to their undermanned and overworked office.

  Merlin left a couple of coins on the counter and headed out into the cold. The river in front of the Yard was now almost completely solid. He remembered reading somewhere about winter fairs held on the frozen Thames in the sixteenth or seventeenth century. He’d like to see that but somehow doubted that Londoners would be in the mood for such jollity this winter.

  Back at the Yard, Bridges caught up with him as he reached the top of the stairs. “We’ve had a break – I think we’ve found the Barnes girl, sir.”

  Merlin pushed through the door into his office, threw off his coat and fell heavily into his chair. “What have you got?”

  “Joan Harris. A Miss Edgar who works for the American Ambassador reported her missing yesterday. Apparently she hadn’t turned up at work for over a week. Miss Edgar, who is her boss, thought it was odd as she was a very reliable girl. Said she didn’t report it straight away as she assumed there must be some good explanation.”

  “That’s strange. If she was so reliable, I’d have thought it would be a matter of immediate concern that she hadn’t turned up. How do we know she’s our girl?” Merlin picked irritably at a loose thread on his jacket.

  “Just to finish the story, sir – apparently the girl lived on her own in lodgings in Hammersmith. Her family live in Gloucestershire and Miss Edgar thought there might have been some problem at home which required her to go back there at short notice. Something like one of her brothers being called up and her wanting to see him off, or such like. In any event, apparently one of her brothers turned up at the Ambassador’s home the day before yesterday looking for her. He told Miss Edgar that Miss Harris hadn’t been home to Gloucestershire since October. They hadn’t even seen her at Christmas as they had expected. In the light of that, Miss Edgar sent one of the embassy chauffeurs around with the brother to the girl’s lodgings. Her landlady said she hadn’t seen her for over a week and complained of being owed rent. Not a sympathetic sort, I understand.”

  Having resolved the problem with his jacket, Merlin turned his attention to the tie which he had knotted too tightly. “So we know this girl is missing but how do we know that she’s the Barnes girl?”

  “Well, the description from her brother generally fits. She was missing from almost exactly the
same time as our girl was killed. She’s not one of these evacuees about whom no one has a clear picture. She was a good worker with a good job and no apparent reason to go missing.”

  Merlin gave a small sigh of relief as he finally managed to loosen his neckwear. “She might have had a boyfriend to be with and that’s why she didn’t go home for Christmas and now she’s decided to run off with him. Still, it’s worth checking out. Let’s see if the brother can identify her. I suppose the body’s still in the Central Morgue?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where’s the brother now?”

  “One of the staff has taken him for a drink near the Ambassador’s house in Kensington – to calm his nerves.”

  Merlin ran his hand through his hair.

  “Better tell them we’re on our way.”

  Driving past Horse Guards Parade and into Trafalgar Square, they passed a team of police and firemen making further adjustments to the sandbagging. At the top of his column, a saviour from a previous time of danger stared out into the distance, scanning for any sign of invading Nazis.

  We could do with Nelson now, thought Merlin, and better throw in Marlborough, Henry V and Richard The Lionheart for good measure. He sighed. Well, we haven’t got them but let’s hope to God that the current batch of military leaders turn out better than the duffers of the last war. If we have the equivalent of Haig and Co again we won’t stand a chance. Of course, no one had really tested the German army yet – they’d had a very easy time of it, although the Poles had done their best with their brave but doomed cavalry brigades. Perhaps the Boche wouldn’t turn out to be as good as they were cracked up to be. One could only hope.

  As for the politicians, he couldn’t see Chamberlain being the man to inspire the nation. Who could? Halifax? He had been a prominent appeaser. Attlee? Too dull. Many people felt Churchill could be the man but his whole career so far had been one of bombast and unreliability. Merlin personally had a lot of time for Winston, who had been right all along about Hitler, as he had kept on reminding his sceptical brother, Charlie. Rolling these thoughts over in his mind, he leaned back in his seat as they made their way rapidly through the sparse traffic on the Mall, on up Constitution Hill to Hyde Park Corner and then through to Kensington.

  The Ambassador’s house was a lofty, imposing building within an elegant terrace of mansions facing Hyde Park. It was a short drive from the Embassy itself, which covered one side of Grosvenor Square. As they arrived at the residence, Merlin saw two men on the pavement engaged in what appeared to be a heated argument. One of the raised voices had a Welsh lilt.

  “You didn’t get it done, did you?” The older man waved his finger in front of the Welshman’s face.

  “Look, I’ll get what you want, just as I always do. It just didn’t work out this time, that’s all.”

  “But you promised me…”

  The men became aware that they had an audience.

  “Morning, gentlemen. Is there some sort of problem?”

  “No. No problem. Can I help you?” said the Welshman.

  “This is the American Ambassador’s residence, isn’t it? We’re police officers here to see Miss Edgar.”

  “Oh yes. You’re here about poor Joan. I’m Johnny Morgan, one of the Ambassador’s chauffeurs. I have been looking after Joan’s brother.”

  Bridges turned to the second man.

  “Mr Harris?”

  “Of course not. I am an embassy official and I have an urgent appointment for which I am already late.” The man turned on his heels and walked away hurriedly before hailing a passing cab.

  “Unusual accent he’s got, sir?”

  Morgan chimed in. “He’s a Boston Yankee, sir. Same as the Ambassador, Mr Kennedy.”

  Merlin followed the chauffeur up the steps.

  “I didn’t catch his name, Mr Morgan.”

  “Norton. Arthur Norton.”

  “Embassy bigwig is he?”

  “He’s an assistant to the Ambassador.”

  “Is he? So where is Mr Harris?”

  “He’s in the lobby, sir. Seems pretty cut up, not surprisingly. I think Miss Edgar is with him.”

  The three men walked through the Ambassador’s front door into a richly-furnished entrance hall. Portraits of previous Ambassadors, interspersed with landscapes or cityscapes of prominent American locations covered the walls. Large, ornate chandeliers hung down from the high ceiling. Four heavily-cushioned sofas lay to the right of the doorway. On one of these sat a prim-looking, middle-aged woman. Next to her was a young man, whose long and greasy hair hung down untidily as he leaned forward with his head in his hands. He wore a crumpled blue mackintosh which reached down to his shiny black, patent leather shoes.

  “Come on now. Let’s perk up. It may yet all be a dreadful mistake.”

  “No, it ain’t. I know it ain’t. Summin’ terrible has happened to our Joanie. I know it. She wouldn’ve missed Christmas wiv’us for all the tea in China.”

  “Now, now. We know that Joan was fine at Christmas as we saw her at work after Christmas, so Christmas has got nothing to do with it.”

  “Issa sign of sumfin’. Sign that trouble was brewing. I knows it. Not like her at all not to come home.”

  Miss Edgar rose to greet the approaching policeman. Merlin doffed the smart brown trilby his sister-in-law had given him for Christmas and made his introductions.

  “Philippa Edgar, Chief Inspector. I’m in charge of the administration of the Ambassador’s residence. This is Mr Joseph Harris, Joan’s brother. I am afraid he’s not in the best of shape.” She glared at Morgan who was hovering by the door. “Of course he would have been in a better condition had someone not decided to take him to the public house and pour several whiskies down his throat.”

  “Thought he’d be better for it, mam. He wasn’t in much different shape before the drinks as he is now.”

  “Mr Harris is clearly not much of a drinking man and you have not helped the situation.”

  Harris lurched unsteadily to his feet. “W’as appen’d to her? We told ’er not to come up to London. Should’a stayed at home with us. But not her, with ’er fancy elocution lessons and ’er sectarial training. No, she wanted to come up ’ere. Fat good it’s done ’er.”

  He subsided back onto the sofa.

  “I think perhaps before we talk to Mr Harris and take him, to er…” Merlin lowered his voice “view the girl, it might be wise to give him a cup of coffee.”

  “I’ll see to that now.”

  “And perhaps, while that’s being done, you and I could have a little chat.”

  “Of course. Give me a moment and then I’ll join you in my office. It’s on the first floor. Morgan will show you the way.”

  They followed the chauffeur up the richly-carpeted grand staircase and then down a wide corridor. Opposite a large print of San Francisco before the great earthquake, they were ushered into a snug room with blue patterned wallpaper and a roaring fire.

  “Sit yourselves down, gentlemen,” said Morgan. “If you need me, I’ll be down in the garage.”

  Merlin looked out of the window at the picture-postcard view of a white and frosty Hyde Park. In the distance a lively pair of energetic dogs scurried up and down the icy steps of the Albert Memorial.

  Their hostess arrived and seated herself behind a small desk near the fire. “An awful business. I do hope there’s some mistake.”

  “Of course.”

  There was a knock at the door and a striking, young, redheaded girl poked her head through the door. “Do you need anything, Miss Edgar?”

  “I’m not sure Kathleen. Do you want anything to drink gentlemen?” The policemen declined and the girl disappeared, oblivious to their appreciative glances.

  Merlin cleared his throat. “I’d just like to get an idea of what sort of girl Joan is, Miss Edgar.”

  “A pleasant but ordinary girl, Chief Inspector.”

  “Sociable? Does she have many friends? Girlfriends, boyfriends?”


  “She is a young, twenty-year-old girl up from the country. She appeared to be friendly and sociable. I am not aware of any boyfriends but I can’t keep tabs on the Ambassador’s staff once they leave the building.”

  “Does she have any particular friends amongst the staff?”

  “I suppose she is friendly with Kathleen, whom you saw a moment ago, and some of the other girls.”

  “Is she a pretty girl?”

  “In a common sort of way, I suppose.” Miss Edgar glanced quickly at her own profile in a mirror facing her desk.

  “What is her job exactly?”

  “The Embassy has a pool of typists of which she is one. The Ambassador does a lot of his work here in the residence and likes to have a few girls based here rather than at the Embassy. As I’m in overall charge here, I keep an eye on them. There are usually three or four girls based here at any one time. Joan is one, Kathleen is another. When they’re not required for pure secretarial work I use them for various errands. I like to keep everyone busy. Of course, the girls continue to support the rest of the pool at the Embassy as and when required.” A car horn sounded noisily in the street outside.

  “Is Miss Harris a good worker?”

  Miss Edgar carefully examined her fingernails. “She is a very proficient typist. Probably the quickest and most accurate in the pool.”

  “Do her typing duties cover all levels of communication?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Does she see top-secret documents?”

  “All the Ambassador’s personal staff naturally have security clearance from the US government but I can’t see how that…” A fly landed on the desk and Miss Edgar paused to brush it away. “But, yes. Yes is the answer to your question.”

  “How long has Joan worked here, Miss?”

  “About eighteen months, Sergeant. She joined us in the middle of ’thirty-eight, just after the Ambassador had arrived.”

  “Any problems with her during this period?”

  “None that I can particularly recall. She is very good at her job, keeps good time – at least she did up till now – and has a pleasing personality, although naturally she is a little, how shall I put it, er, gauche.”