Ellen was entranced. She looked down at the dates of his lectures and noted their venues. The Invasion of 1910 had had a real impact on her. Quentin Dacey might be able to explain how true its unnerving claims really were. Her eyes had been opened.
Ellen wanted to know more.
CHAPTER NINE
After learning of the crisis at the hotel, Rex Chell had quickly adapted to the emergency. There was no whiff of panic about him. He was calm, controlled and resourceful. With oil needed to pour on troubled waters, he seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of it. His example helped to steady the nerves of the staff and, in her own way, Lena Gosling did the same. She rallied her charges. Anyone entering the lobby would have seen hotel employees going quietly about their usual business. To the naked eye, nothing was amiss.
Griselda Fleetwood was less adept at concealing her emotions. When she entered the Lotus, she was still throbbing with indignation. The manager escorted her swiftly into his office.
‘I’ve already had the locks on the relevant doors changed,’ he said. ‘Someone must have had a key to one of our three exits. Well, it won’t be any use to them now.’
‘We must tighten security in every way.’
‘Everything is in hand, Mrs Fleetwood.’
‘What of the guests?’ she asked. ‘Have any of them left?’
‘That was inevitable, I’m afraid. I managed to soothe most of them at first, but a few had second thoughts and checked out. It was the sight of detectives flitting about that upset them. Talking of which, Inspector Marmion popped in here again. He brought some disturbing news.’
‘We’ve already had enough of that.’
‘I suspect that there’s more to come,’ he warned.
‘Why?’
Chell told her about Marmion’s visit to the former home of Lady Brice-Cadmore. When she heard that a guest had been brazenly impersonating a dead woman, she was flabbergasted. She simply couldn’t believe that anyone would dare to practise such deceit at the Lotus.
‘It’s so uncivilised,’ she said, wrinkling her nose in disgust.
‘I suppose that one has to admire the barefaced audacity of it.’
‘Don’t ask me for admiration. I despise the creature.’
‘The odd thing is that she resembled the real Lady Brice-Cadmore.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘The inspector borrowed a photograph of her from her husband.’
‘That was enterprising of him. I commend his initiative.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I can’t speak so well of his colleagues. They were floundering.’
‘What happened at Scotland Yard?’
Taking a deep breath, she launched into an attack on Chatfield and Keedy for refusing to take her accusations seriously. Their ignorance of the hotel trade, and the dog-eat-dog culture at the heart of it, meant that their investigation was bound to be flawed. It was only by cracking the whip over them that she’d achieved a concession.
‘They finally agreed to confront Mr Buchanan.’
‘His name was bound to come to mind,’ he said, choosing his words with care, ‘because we know that he’s been casting covetous glances at the Lotus ever since it opened. But there are easier ways to put pressure on us than by stooping to murder.’
‘Oh, he wouldn’t do the deed himself,’ she said, contemptuously. ‘He’d hire some thug. I just know that he’s involved somehow.’
‘We don’t as yet have any evidence of that.’
She tensed. ‘Are you disagreeing with me?’
‘Not at all, Mrs Fleetwood,’ he said, hastily.
‘I spent years planning this hotel. Nobody is going to steal it.’
He ventured a smile. ‘I sincerely hope not. It’s a joy to work here and to provide unparalleled service to our guests. As it happens,’ he continued, ‘I may have stumbled on something that supports your theory about Mr Buchanan.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, we’ve always been able to rely on the loyalty of our staff. There’s a constant change of personnel in other hotels but not at the Lotus. That’s because every single applicant was carefully scrutinised before any offer of employment was made. I underwent the process myself,’ he recalled with a smile. ‘It was the most rigorous interview I’d ever faced.’
‘You passed with flying colours,’ she reminded him.
‘Only four members of staff have left this hotel. One of them was clearly unable to stand the pace. Two left in order to get married and had to forfeit their jobs as a result.’
‘I want no married women here. It complicates matters.’
‘I agree, Mrs Fleetwood. That brings me to Maitland.’
‘Who was he?’
‘Maitland was – or so I thought – a promising young man. When the war started, he tried to enlist but was refused on medical grounds. He was more intelligent than the average porter and worked hard when he first came to us. Then the trouble started.’
‘Trouble?’ She was peevish. ‘Why wasn’t I told about it?’
‘There was no need to bother you, Mrs Fleetwood. I dealt with the situation promptly and dismissed Maitland.’
‘What had he done?’
‘He’d been pestering one of the waitresses.’
‘Did she encourage his attentions?’
‘Quite the opposite,’ he said. ‘She was very distressed. When Mrs Gosling alerted me, I sacked Maitland on the spot.’
She frowned. ‘I can’t see how any of this supports my theory about Mr Buchanan’s culpability.’
‘Sergeant Keedy asked if any former employees left here with a grudge. I told him that none had done so. I’ve had second thoughts.’
‘Do they concern this young man, Maitland?’
‘Yes, Mrs Fleetwood. I did a little detective work of my own. The first thing I did was to recruit Mrs Gosling. She’s worked in the business for most of her life and has an encyclopaedic knowledge of who is at which hotel and what position they hold.’
‘Did she remember Maitland?’
‘Very well.’
‘Where is he is now?’
‘He’s working at the Roath Court Hotel,’ said Chell, ‘and that could be significant. Maitland has been there since he left here. In short, Mr Buchanan is employing someone who holds a grudge against us and who knows every inch of this hotel.’
Griselda smiled grimly. ‘We’ve got him.’
The first thing that Keedy did when he left Buchanan’s house was to buy a copy of the Evening Standard. On the drive back to Scotland Yard, he flicked through it. As it had done since the first shots were fired, war dominated the news. There was extensive coverage of the Battle of Passchendaele, which had now become a virtual stalemate. Losses were high on both sides and gains were minimal, often measured in mere hundreds of yards of muddy terrain. Passchendaele – the third battle of Ypres – had come to symbolise the futility of armed conflict. It had now been going on for two months and those who peered cautiously out of their bunkers could see no end in sight.
On one of the inside pages, Keedy found a brief mention of events at the Lotus Hotel. A single paragraph had been inserted at the last moment before the newspaper was printed. The citizens of London would have to wait until the following morning before a longer account of the crime, and a description of the murder victim, were available in various newspapers. Keedy turned the pages until he came to the one that really interested him. He was soon working his way through a long list of advertisements. Taking out the pencil from his notebook, he used it to encircle a couple that interested him.
When he got back to Scotland Yard, he first reported to Chatfield and was amazed by what he was told. As soon as he’d finished with the superintendent, he rushed off to Marmion’s office. The inspector was collating all the information they’d so far gathered.
‘Ah,’ he said, breaking off, ‘I was hoping you’d come back soon.’
‘Chat has just told me about Lady Brice-Cadmore being dead.’
‘I can co
nfirm that, Joe. I stood beside her grave.’
‘Somebody stole her identity?’
‘Unfortunately, she was in no position to protest. Her husband, however, is and he’ll be doing so very soon. Sir Godfrey is going to leave his rural retreat for once and come to London. When I first met him,’ recalled Marmion, ‘he struck me as a mild-mannered old gent, living out his final years in the comfort of his manor house. By the time I’d left, he was starting to breathe fire through his nostrils.’
‘Mrs Fleetwood did that,’ said Keedy. ‘The only way to appease her was to agree to confront the man she’s named as the prime suspect.’
‘Chat told me about Buchanan. How did you get on with him?’
‘It was a waste of time and a bad tactical move.’
‘Why?’
‘We showed our hand too soon, Harv. I think that Buchanan could be a possible suspect, I suppose, but we should have done covert investigation about him before making a direct challenge. To be honest,’ admitted Keedy, ‘I left his house with egg on my face.’
‘What about the other hoteliers mentioned by Mrs Fleetwood?’
‘I persuaded Chat that we should leave them alone until we’ve deployed officers to make discreet enquiries about them. For once, Chat agreed with me.’
‘That’s a triumph, Joe.’
‘The only trouble is that he’ll claim it was his idea.’
‘Ah, well,’ said Marmion with a sigh, ‘we’re used to him doing that. He steals our good ideas then blames us for mistakes that he made. But tell me about Fraser Buchanan. What’s he like?’
‘He’s one of those rich, smug, two-faced businessmen who pretend to be your best friend to catch you off balance. To be fair, he clearly knows his trade and thinks that Mrs Fleetwood is a raw newcomer who simply doesn’t belong in it. Buchanan has a greasy charm,’ said Keedy, ‘but he’s as hard as nails underneath.’
‘Someone should hire a boxing ring and put the two of them in it.’
Keedy laughed. ‘I’d pay money to see that fight.’
‘Who would you bet on – Mrs Fleetwood or Buchanan?’
‘Buchanan – he’d resort to dirty tricks.’
‘Is that what he’s done at the Lotus?’
Keedy shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t rule it out,’ he said. ‘But what’s this latest information about the murder victim? Chat says she’s French.’
‘She was wearing French clothing, it seems, but that doesn’t mean she is French.’
‘No, I suppose not. Her husband wouldn’t be the first Englishman to bring back underwear from Paris for his wife.’
‘If she has a husband, that is.’
‘She was wearing a wedding ring, Harv. We both saw it.’
‘That means nothing.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘When I popped in to see how the post-mortem was going on, they were able to give me some more detail. In addition to the poison that killed her, she had a considerable amount of alcohol in her blood. And there’s one other discovery.’
‘What is it?’
‘The woman found dead at the Lotus was a virgin. Whether British or French,’ said Marmion, ‘there are very few wives like that.’
When she first joined the Women’s Police Force, she’d found the idea of spending so much time on her beat quite daunting, but Alice Marmion had soon learnt to cope with being on her feet so long. It was only when she and Iris finished their shift that she felt a touch of fatigue in her legs.
‘I’m exhausted,’ said Iris, blowing hard. ‘You’re so much fitter than me, Alice.’
‘We both need a sit-down.’
‘In my case, it’s a lie-down in a hot bath that I need. My feet are like balls of lead.’
‘The feeling will soon wear off.’
‘We need more resting places in the course of our beat.’
Having signed off, they adjourned to the canteen for a cup of tea. Being able to flop down on a chair was a bonus for both of them. Iris bent down to rub her calves while Alice undid some buttons of her uniform. After a first sip of her tea, Iris sighed.
‘I should have been more honest with myself,’ she admitted. ‘The simple truth is that I’m big, fat and ugly. I should have realised that no man would take a serious interest in me.’
‘That’s nonsense,’ said Alice, hotly. ‘You were unlucky to attract the wrong man, that’s all.’
‘I don’t believe that I attracted anybody, Alice.’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘Doug only pretended to like me. I’ve got a horrible feeling that he was egged on by his friends. They probably bet him that he’d never get me to …’ She grimaced. ‘He came very close to winning that bet.’
‘It was nothing to do with a bet,’ insisted Alice. ‘PC Beckett has his faults, but he’d never sink that low. I saw the way that he reacted when he caught sight of you. The guilt on his face was obvious.’
‘And so it should be.’
‘He knows what he did was unforgivable.’
‘All I ask is that he keeps out of my way.’
On the verge of a reply, Alice noticed that Inspector Gale was coming towards her. She stiffened instantly. Relations between the two women had always been tense and Alice felt that she was being deliberately picked on by her superior. Because she was such a disciplinarian, Thelma Gale had earned the nickname of Gale Force. Alice had felt its impact many times. On this occasion, however, the inspector was more subdued. She was carrying an envelope.
‘This came for you by hand,’ she said, giving it to Alice. ‘You might remind Sergeant Keedy that we are not a post office. I have a major police operation to run here. He knows the time of your shift. Please ask him to contact you when you are both off duty.’
‘Alice is off duty now,’ Iris interjected.
‘Keep out of this, Constable.’
‘It’s a fair point.’
‘I won’t tolerate insolence,’ warned the other, causing Iris to wilt under her fierce glare. ‘Hold your tongue.’
‘Thank you, Inspector,’ said Alice, keen to save her friend from further reproach. ‘It won’t happen again.’
‘I should hope not.’ Her voice softened. ‘There’s no news of your brother, I take it.’
‘No, there isn’t.’
‘How is your mother coping with the situation?’
‘It’s … causing a lot of stress.’
‘That’s understandable.’
‘If only Paul would tell us where he is and how he’s managing.’
‘He must have his reasons for not doing so.’
‘I’m sure that he does, Inspector.’
‘Right,’ said the other, ‘I’ll get on and leave you to read your letter. Don’t forget to warn Sergeant Keedy. Oh, and do up those buttons on your uniform. You know my rules.’
Alice obeyed then watched the other woman walk away. As soon as the inspector disappeared from sight, Alice tore open the letter and read it. Her face fell.
‘Bad news?’ asked Iris.
‘Yes,’ said Alice. ‘Because we haven’t seen each other for a fortnight, Joe promised to take me out for a meal this evening. It’s had to be cancelled because he’s just been assigned to another murder investigation.’
‘Oh dear! What rotten luck!’
‘I was so desperate to see him.’
‘Look at it from another point of view, Alice. It shows how highly thought of he is at Scotland Yard. Joe and your father always get to handle the most important cases. It’s a compliment, really.’
‘I want to be with the man I love.’
‘Then bring forward the wedding. You’ll see him every night.’
‘Not if he’s working on a complex investigation,’ said Alice, dejectedly. ‘When there’s a crisis, he and Daddy seem to be on duty around the clock. They’ve spent nights at Scotland Yard before now.’
Iris was realistic. ‘That’s not going to change, is it?’
‘No, I’m afraid it isn’t.’
‘I suppose I will,’ said Alice, folding the letter. ‘I’ll have to do what Mummy does.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘Take up knitting and borrow lots of books from the library.’
Ellen Marmion had read an endless number of romantic novels. While they’d given her pleasure of varying degrees, none had stayed in her memory. She couldn’t even remember the authors of most of them. William Le Queux was different. His name was etched into her mind for eternity. He’d not only provided her with a thrilling narrative, he’d educated her about the war. She discovered that it was not fought entirely by armed soldiers. German spies and British traitors had played their part unseen. They were still doing it. What Ellen had always thought of as an impregnable country was riddled with enemies.
All of a sudden, she felt under threat. Putting the book aside, she ran to the front door and pushed the two bolts into place. She then checked the back door and every window in the house. Even then there was no sense of safety. Out in the darkness, someone might have the house under surveillance. From now on, she vowed, she had to be suspicious of everyone.
When she returned to the living room, she saw the book on the arm of her chair. There were still several chapters to go. It took minutes before she could muster the courage to pick it up again. The Invasion of 1910 had frightened her so much that she hesitated to read on. At the same time, she wanted to know the full truth about the German menace. Was the country really destined to lose the war? Did the book offer truth or fantasy? Whichever it was, she told herself that she must find out.
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