When they’d set out, Marmion had hoped that the journey would give them time to sift carefully through all the details of the murder. Out of the blue, however, he was confronted with the fact that Keedy had been looking for another job so that he could supplement his wage. Since he’d surely have discussed the idea with Alice, it meant that both of them had been – as Marmion now saw it – plotting behind his back. Wounded by what was, in essence, a minor conspiracy, he was hurt even more by Keedy’s reference to union action. What had started out as the John Syme League in 1912 had expanded in two years into the National Union of Police and Prison Officers. Marmion regarded it as anathema.
‘Have you actually joined NUPPO?’ he demanded.
‘I’ve been thinking about it, Harv – especially after those reports about the French army.’
‘What the hell have they got to do with it?’
‘They got together and fought for their rights.’
Marmion was baffled. ‘You’ve lost me, Joe.’
‘Don’t you remember? Conditions were so bad in the trenches that French soldiers had a series of mutinies. They’re a people who’re used to taking on authority, as you know. That’s what they did with the French Revolution and they tried something similar with the army.’
‘The soldiers didn’t try to overthrow the government,’ Marmion contended. ‘They simply drew attention to the fact that they were expected to fight in what they claimed were inhuman conditions.’
‘The point is that they won their argument. Instead of putting the mutineers up against a wall and calling for a firing squad, they had the sense to realise that the soldiers had a valid complaint. As a result, they made the improvements that were being demanded.’
‘That’s not how I see it.’
‘Use your eyes. The generals yielded to concerted pressure. There’s a lesson in that for us.’
‘Yes – don’t join the French army.’
‘If we all stick together, we can achieve anything.’
Struggling to contain his irritation, Marmion took a deep breath.
‘Have you forgotten the regulations to which you subscribed when you first joined the police?’ he asked. ‘Being part of a union is strictly forbidden.’
‘And we both know why, don’t we? It was to stop us speaking up for ourselves. We simply have to do what we’re told for the money they decide to pay us. It’s not right,’ affirmed Keedy. ‘That’s why John Syme fought to establish a union that could speak on our behalf.’
‘Syme is a madman.’
‘He talks a lot of sense, in my opinion.’
‘He’s been to prison two or three times.’
‘It’s only because he had the courage to tell the truth.’
‘You obviously don’t know the full story,’ said Marmion. ‘As it happens, I once worked with Syme. I was a constable at Gerald Road Station in Pimlico when he was an inspector there. Syme was a wild Scottish Presbyterian with a belief that he was always right. Dealing with someone like that is a real trial.’
‘He sounds like Chat – only with a kilt and a funny accent.’
‘Oh, he was far worse than the superintendent. Chat knows the importance of keeping on the right side of the commissioner. John Syme couldn’t do that. When he was transferred to another station,’ said Marmion, ‘he protested to Sir Edward. He was then suspended while his complaint was investigated. The Disciplinary Board recommended that he was reduced to station sergeant.’
‘That was cruel. No wonder he turned to the Home Secretary,’ said Keedy. ‘The Police Review supported Syme and there was quite a lot of sympathy for him. When he appealed to Churchill, the Home Secretary considered the case and offered him reinstatement – though not as an inspector.’
‘And what did that idiot do?’
‘He refused the offer on principle.’
‘No, Joe, he let his pride get in the way of common sense.’
‘You’d have done the same if you’d been reduced to a sergeant on grounds that were obviously unfair.’
‘I wouldn’t have let myself get into that mess in the first place,’ said Marmion, vehemently, ‘because I’d have been careful to consider the consequences. Syme never did that. Simply because the commissioner didn’t do what he wanted him to do, he went over his head to the Home Secretary and did actually get his suspension reversed.’ He leant closer to Keedy. ‘Can you hear what I’m telling you, Joe?’
‘Yes – you just don’t like Syme.’
‘Given the choice between him and Sir Edward Henry, I know which one I’d choose. When Syme got that offer from Churchill, he had, in a sense, won his case. Had he accepted reinstatement, he’d have been able to wear a police uniform again and the commissioner might have been forced to resign.’
Keedy gulped. ‘Was it that serious?’
‘Yes, Joe.’
‘Sir Edward would have been a terrible loss.’
‘Syme wouldn’t care about that. His only interest was in himself. And now he’s no longer in the police force, he has the gall to agitate against it. How did you get involved in NUPPO?’
‘Someone gave me a copy of their advertisement.’
‘Throw it away.’
‘But it made me think.’
‘NUPPO consists of a couple of hundred officers with a grievance against the police. In Syme’s case, there are lots of grievances. He’s one of those self-appointed martyrs. Forget the union, Joe. They’re all hotheads. Don’t get mixed up with them.’
‘But I support their policy of demanding higher pay.’
‘We all want that,’ said Marmion, raising his voice, ‘but most of us realise that we have to win a war first. You said earlier that unity is strength. I agree. We must all pull together. It’s the only way to defeat the Germans and save this country from being run from Berlin. Isn’t that a far more urgent need than putting a couple of pounds a week into the pockets of the bobbies of Britain?’
Keedy needed only a few moments to think about it.
‘Yes,’ he said, shamefaced, ‘I suppose that it is.’
‘Then let’s hear no more about the union.’
‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘Well you did, so let’s leave it there. You may not like the wages we get,’ said Marmion, forcefully, ‘but while they exist, we must get back to the case in hand and earn them.’
Arms folded, he turned away. Keedy was thoroughly sobered.
Griselda Fleetwood was both glad and relieved that she’d been able to reassure her husband that nothing untoward had ever occurred between her and her fiercest rival. When her husband had stormed into her suite, she’d been taken completely by surprise. Relations between the couple were usually harmonious and Fleetwood never had cause to shout at his wife the way he’d done earlier. It had rattled her. When he’d apologised for misunderstanding what Fraser Buchanan had told him, the two of them had a companionable drink together.
As soon as he’d finished his whisky and soda, he excused himself to go off to a meeting at his club. Pleased that they were now on good terms again, Griselda was nevertheless glad that he had to leave because she was conscious that she had not been entirely honest with him. Keen to make sure that he was no longer in the hotel, she went to the window and looked out. Her husband soon came out, got into his car and was driven off. She was about to turn away when she noticed a figure on the other side of the road. Dressed in a fur-collared coat and a Homburg hat, a man ambled along the pavement opposite. He stopped to take out a silver case, remove a cigarette from it and slip it between his lips. Putting away the case, he took out a lighter and ignited the cigarette. After taking a first puff, he glanced up at the hotel and saw Griselda framed in a first-floor window. He gave her a dazzling smile.
Raising his hat to her, Fraser Buchanan strolled calmly off.
The Master of the Old Berkshire Hunt lived just over the border in Oxfordshire. When they turned into the drive, the detectives could see a stable block to the right of what
was a substantial Regency house. The car scrunched to a halt on the gravel forecourt and they got out. A servant opened the door to them and, when they identified themselves, he conducted them to the library and asked them to wait while he informed Major Garroway of their visit. Marmion and Keedy hardly had time to admire the painting above the fireplace before Garroway came marching in. He was a striking man in his sixties, tall, distinguished, straight-backed and with flowing grey locks. When introductions had been made, Garroway looked from one to the other.
‘How did you know where to find me?’
‘We’re detectives, sir,’ explained Keedy, smiling.
‘We simply rang the chief constable of Berkshire,’ said Marmion, ‘and he kindly provided us with this address. I gather that you and he are good friends.’
‘Yes, that’s right. Hector rides out with us occasionally.’
‘We won’t intrude on you for long, Major. We’re anxious to trace a lady who attended your hunt ball some four years ago.’
‘Why?’ asked the other, chortling. ‘Didn’t she pay for her ticket?’
‘It’s rather more serious than that.’
‘Really?’
Marmion showed him the photograph and indicated the mystery woman. ‘Do you by any chance recognise this lady?’
‘No, but I recognise Sir Godfrey and Lady Brice-Cadmore. If you want to know who this lady is, why not ask Sir Godfrey?’
‘That’s no longer possible, I fear. He’s been rushed to hospital and is in no condition to answer any questions. Besides, it was he who gave me this photograph,’ said Marmion. ‘I’m wondering if someone has the guest list for that particular ball.’
Garroway was curious. ‘What exactly is going on, Inspector?’
‘We’re here in connection with a murder at a London hotel, sir.’
‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed the other. ‘Are you telling me that this lady in the photo was the victim?’
‘She might or might not have been a victim.’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘I’m afraid not. Another lady was found dead at the hotel and this one disappeared. You can see why it’s vital for us to find her.’
‘I can indeed and, yes, there is someone who might be able to supply you with a name. She’s been organising the ball for years and is frighteningly efficient. Don’t be surprised if she’s committed the names of all the guests at that particular ball to memory.’
‘What’s her name?’ asked Keedy, taking out his notebook.
‘Bunny Hassall.’
‘Do you have her address, please?’
‘I certainly do,’ said Garroway. ‘If anyone can help you, Bunny will. She’s a remarkable woman. You’ll see what I mean when you meet her.’ He crossed to a desk and took out an address book. ‘She lives no more than a few miles away. She’ll soon point you in the right direction …’
Sorry to see her daughter go, Ellen Marmion stood at the open door and waved her off. Hours earlier, she’d been afraid to answer the door, but those fears had now disappeared. Thanks to Alice, she was no longer oppressed by demons. They’d been put to flight by some straight talking from her daughter who’d been appalled at the state that her mother was in. Ellen closed the door, came into the living room and picked up the book she’d borrowed from the library, certain that it would keep her absorbed for many untroubled hours.
Before she started to read it, however, she thought about Alice’s future as the wife of a Scotland Yard detective. It would consist for the most part of a succession of lonely evenings, wondering whether her husband was safe and when he’d come back home. During the day, there would be no problem because Alice had a career of her own in the police. At the end of her shift, however, she’d be acutely aware of Keedy’s absence. In order to have company, she might well decide to have a baby sooner rather than later. Ellen would have to take on a new role as a doting grandmother. She couldn’t wait for that to happen.
She was still musing about her daughter’s visit when she heard a noise. It was too distant to recognise. Even when it got slowly closer, she couldn’t be certain what she was listening to. Ellen strained her ears. There was an eerie silence for a few seconds followed by a noise that she’d come to know only too well. It was the sound of enemy bombs being dropped on the capital. Another German air raid was taking place.
All of a sudden, the claims of William Le Queux and Quentin Dacey took on renewed credibility. Ellen blenched.
Could they be right, after all?
Lena Gosling was walking across the lobby when she saw a familiar figure coming into the hotel. She was surprised to see him.
‘You’re early,’ she said.
‘We have a crisis on our hands,’ said Rogan. ‘I want to do my bit to help. Also, I know that Mr Chell will be finishing early. It’s important to have one man on duty here.’
‘After what’s happened, I couldn’t agree more.’
‘How is Millie?’
‘She’s still as nervous as a kitten. If truth be told, so am I but I’m not going to show it. Someone has to be calm and collected around here.’
‘Have the police been back?’
‘Inspector Marmion came to see Mr Chell about something. I don’t know about the sergeant.’
‘I do,’ said Rogan, sourly. ‘He came to see me at home.’
She was astonished. ‘Why did he do that?’
‘There’s only one reason – I’m a suspect.’
‘I can’t believe that he’d think you were involved, Len.’
‘Well, he does. Sergeant Keedy didn’t put it into words but I could read that look in his eyes. He made me go through my statement line by line. I was dying to go to bed but he kept on and on at me.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘I hope he hasn’t said anything to Mrs Fleetwood. I need this job, Lena. If she knows I’m under suspicion, she might lay me off.’
‘Mrs Fleetwood knows how reliable you are,’ she said. ‘And so does the manager. He spent the whole night here with you. Your job is safe. Mr Chell would speak up for you, I’m sure.’
‘I’m glad that somebody would.’
‘Cheer up, Len. You don’t need to look so miserable.’
‘That’s exactly how I feel.’
‘Then there’s one way to put a smile on your face.’
Before she could tell him what it was, she caught sight of someone out of the corner of her eye. She turned to see Griselda Fleetwood coming down the stairs as fast as she could. Lena and the night porter greeted her in unison. Ignoring them completely, she brushed between the couple and went out through the front entrance.
Lowering his voice, Rogan spoke to Lena Gosling.
‘What the hell’s got into her?’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Though they’d been warned to expect a remarkable woman, they were not really prepared for Bunny Hassall. Still in her fifties, she had a face that looked twenty years younger and had an almost youthful bloom on it. With sparkling eyes and a permanent smile, she seemed to radiate joy. The moment they met her, Marmion and Keedy felt inspired by the woman. Bunny was sitting in a wheelchair and, as soon as they’d been introduced, she went out of her way to explain that she bore the horse that had thrown her from the saddle no ill will even though it had led to her being paralysed from the waist down.
‘It was my own fault,’ she said, blithely. ‘I asked Tosca to jump a fence that was far too high for her. She did try – God bless her – but the pair of us took an almighty tumble. Tosca recovered. I did not.’
They were in the living room of a rambling cottage with a thatched roof and overhanging eaves. Applewood was burning in the grate. The walls were adorned with paintings of horses. On the mantelpiece was a photograph of Bunny about to join the Boxing Day Hunt.
When she was told why they were there, she was delighted.
‘You want me to help with a murder investigation?’ she said with childish excitement. ‘That’s wonderful!’
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‘I’d like you to take a good look at this photograph,’ said Marmion, handing it to her and pointing to the woman beside Sir Godfrey. ‘We need to find out who this lady is and where we might find her.’
‘I can tell you who’s on the other side of dear old Godfrey,’ she said. ‘It’s his late wife, Diana, such a delightful creature in every way. As for this other lady, I can’t put a name to her, but I do recognise two other people here.’ She picked each of them out with a delicate finger. ‘This is Maurice and Gwendolyn Farrier. With a surname like that, you’d expect them to love horses yet neither of them has any interest. Their hobby is dancing so they never miss a hunt ball. How many years ago was it?’
‘Four,’ said Keedy.
‘Then there’s your answer.’
‘I don’t follow, Mrs Hassall.’
‘I remember it clearly. The Farriers brought a guest with them and she is the lady standing next to Godfrey.’
‘She’s doing more than simply standing beside him,’ Marmion pointed out. ‘She’s gazing intently at him.’
She tittered. ‘Godfrey always was something of a charmer.’
‘Had you ever seen this woman before?’
‘No, Inspector. She was a complete stranger. But since I know who brought her, I’ll be able to tell you her name.’
Without warning, she spun round in the wheelchair and propelled herself out of the room. Marmion and Keedy watched her go, amazed at her energy and total lack of self-pity.
‘If a horse had done that to me,’ said Keedy, ‘I’d have wanted to kill, roast and eat it.’
‘You can’t blame the animal, Joe. Mrs Hassall doesn’t. She knows that she was partly to blame, and she’s come to terms with her disability. In her place, I wouldn’t go near a hunt ball but she’s happy to go on organising it as if nothing happened.’
‘That takes guts.’
‘It also takes a real love of horses. Even though it crippled her, she won’t turn her back on that world.’
The Unseen Hand Page 13