The Unseen Hand

by Edward Marston

It was an unusually busy afternoon that left Alice and Iris little time for conversation. They were very happy to deal with so many incidents because it made the time fly past. When they got back to their base, they had a great deal to report. Inspector Gale was impressed with their work. Having dismissed Iris, she detained Alice for a private word. Fearing a rebuke, Alice was immediately on the defensive. Ever since she’d joined the Women’s Police Force, there’d been an underlying tension between her and the inspector and it had led to a series of uncomfortable moments.

  Thelma Gale directed her withering gaze at Alice.

  ‘Did I see you talking to Jerrold earlier?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, Inspector.’

  ‘Are you and she close friends?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ replied Alice, ‘but we get on well together.’

  ‘You do know that she’s talking about leaving us, don’t you?’

  ‘I do, Inspector.’

  ‘Has she discussed it with you?’

  ‘Jenny did mention it.’

  ‘Is her mind really made up?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘I feel that it isn’t,’ said the other. ‘Something is forcing her to go, yet I sense that she doesn’t really want to leave. I’ve questioned her about it, but she keeps saying that her parents disapprove of the sorts of things she has to deal with sometimes. Jerrold should have been hardened against all that by now.’

  ‘I’m sure that she is.’

  ‘So why did she decide to resign?’

  Alice hesitated. Having given her word to Jennifer that she wouldn’t divulge details of what had passed between them, she felt duty-bound to keep it. At the same time, she was tempted to tell the inspector the truth in the hope that she’d be able to solve her friend’s problem. At length, she chose to side with her friend.

  ‘I heard the same reason as you, Inspector.’

  ‘Were you convinced by it?’

  ‘I had no cause to disbelieve her.’

  ‘Jerrold has the makings of a good policewoman,’ said the other, seriously. ‘That’s why I hate to lose her. If you could persuade her to stay, I’d be very grateful. Let me be brutally frank,’ she went on, ‘there are one or two women under my command that I’d like to see the back of, but Jerrold is in a different class to them. She’s got real promise. That’s why I’d hate to lose her. Do you think you could ask her to reconsider?’

  ‘I’ll certainly try, Inspector.’

  ‘If she still insists on leaving us, at least find out the real reason for her desire to resign. I’m sorry to ask you to spy on a friend but it’s in the interests of this force. Jerrold could be an exceptional police officer,’ said the inspector. ‘In fact, she could be almost as good as you.’

  Thelma Gale walked off and left Alice in a complete daze.

  Sir Edward Henry was a man who never let friendship influence his decisions. Knowing the importance of impartiality, he judged every case on its individual merits and tried not to interfere. When he had a second visit from Harold Fleetwood, however, he could see how deeply upset his friend was at the way his wife was being treated. With the future of her beloved hotel in the balance, she was forced to learn significant facts about the investigation by reading the morning newspapers. That, the commissioner agreed, was indefensible. After placating his visitor with a promise of action, he went straight off to the superintendent’s office.

  Marmion and Keedy were still there and had the rare pleasure of watching Chatfield being criticised by the commissioner. Squirming in his seat, the superintendent admitted that he’d been at fault and that he’d apologised to Griselda Fleetwood earlier in the day. To deflect any further censure away from himself, he said that they were making headway in the case and signalled to Marmion that he should take over.

  The inspector was quick to do so. Instead of discussing his belief that the murder victim was in the hotel at the invitation of Vesta Lyle, he concentrated on another aspect of the artist’s life.

  ‘I have a theory that her husband was employed by the French secret service and that he might have recruited his wife to work as an agent for them.’

  Chatfield snorted. ‘That’s even more far-fetched than the sergeant’s conjecture about what happened in that room at the Lotus Hotel on the night of the murder.’

  ‘Let’s hear the inspector out,’ said the commissioner.

  ‘Vesta Lyle was an artist feted all over Europe,’ said Marmion, ‘and, as such, she was in a unique position to meet people of importance in a variety of countries. It would have been fairly easy for her to gather intelligence wherever she went, then feed it back to the secret service.’

  ‘Are you claiming that she’s another Mata Hari, using her charms to ensnare her chosen targets?’ asked Chatfield in disbelief.

  ‘No, sir, she was no exotic dancer. She didn’t need to use her body to gain what she wanted. Her paintings did that for her. They brought her admiration. Public figures came to her exhibitions. Wherever she went, she was trusted.’

  ‘I agree with the inspector,’ said Keedy. ‘It took me time to accept it, but I can see how it must have happened now. Vesta Lyle wasn’t trying to gather state secrets from foreign countries. She simply reported what she saw and heard, helping to build up files on respective nations.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ observed the commissioner. ‘Female agents are not uncommon. All nations make use of them, if they have any sense. Women often have access to people and places denied to men. Mata Hari was the most notorious and she paid the price for it. As you all know, she was shot by a French firing squad only last week.’

  ‘Quite rightly – she was a German spy.’

  ‘It’s a dangerous occupation, Sergeant. It requires bravery.’

  ‘No,’ said Chatfield, ‘I still can’t see the French government using a British artist to gather intelligence for them. They’d have female agents of their own.’

  ‘She was a very clever woman, remember,’ said Marmion, ‘and lived in France from the age of fifteen. She might even have a French passport. As for Dufays, I’m convinced that he worked in the secret service.’

  ‘That’s pure supposition, Inspector.’

  ‘It would explain how Vesta Lyle came to be used in that way.’

  ‘I have no difficulty in believing that,’ said Sir Edward, stroking his moustache. ‘A glance at history is instructive here. France was a proud and powerful country until it was defeated by the Prussian army in 1870. As a result, they suffered humiliation and had to witness the unification of their neighbours into what we now know as Germany. In the wake of the disaster, the Deuxième Bureau was formed.’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Keedy.

  ‘Its full title was the Second Bureau of the General Staff and it was the country’s external military intelligence agency. I wish that I could praise its success, but its record has not been illustrious.’

  ‘You’re thinking about the Dreyfus Affair,’ said Marmion.

  ‘Indeed, I am.’

  Keedy shrugged. ‘That was before my time.’

  ‘It was a shameful episode,’ explained the commissioner. ‘Captain Dreyfus was wrongfully arrested and found guilty of espionage and treason. Instead of being executed, he was sent to Devil’s Island, a prison in French Guiana. Because he was Jewish, a wave of virulent anti-semitism broke out in France. It took eleven years and a public outcry before his innocence was finally acknowledged and the charges against him were dropped.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Keedy.

  ‘Dreyfus was exonerated, promoted to the rank of major and given the Legion of Honour. It was a vindication of sorts, but imagine what eleven years in a hostile climate did to his health.’

  ‘I’m amazed that he came through the ordeal alive.’

  ‘My worry,’ said Marmion, ‘is that their secret service has gone on making mistakes like that. It’s a real cause for alarm because the outcome of the war depends on sound intelligence.’

  ‘O
h, things have improved markedly since then.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Chatfield, ‘they employ people like Vesta Lyle now.’

  ‘Don’t be cynical, Superintendent.’

  ‘We’ve no proof whatsoever that her husband was working for the secret service. He could just as well have been employed as an advisor to a cabinet minister or as an expert on road and rail transport.’

  ‘There’s one way to find out, sir,’ said Marmion.

  ‘I don’t see it.’

  ‘We could ask.’

  ‘That’s a ridiculous idea, Inspector. They wouldn’t listen to us. The French government is far too preoccupied with survival to answer casual enquiries.’

  ‘It’s an enquiry that may lead to the arrest of a killer.’

  ‘You’re taking us into the realms of fantasy once again.’

  ‘Is that what you think, Sir Edward?’ Marmion asked the commissioner. ‘If the superintendent tried to get the information we need, the likelihood is that he’d be turned down?’

  ‘It’s not a likelihood, it’s a certainty.’

  ‘Then the request needs to come from the top. Working through our own intelligence service, the commissioner might be able to get some cooperation from the French.’

  ‘That’s just possible,’ said Sir Edward.

  ‘Then please act on our behalf.’

  ‘What do you wish to know exactly?’

  ‘The most important thing is whether or not Alphonse Dufays worked for that organisation you mentioned earlier.’

  ‘The Deuxième Bureau?’

  ‘That’s right. Dufays died three years ago.’

  ‘It’s a waste of time,’ said Chatfield. ‘Intelligence agencies never disclose confidential information. Have you forgotten the trouble we had with our own secret service when we needed details of internees on the Isle of Man? It took us ages to get cooperation.’

  ‘We got it in the end, sir.’

  ‘The French will turn us down.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ said the commissioner, ‘we must try – even if I have to work through the Foreign Secretary. Unlike you, Superintendent, I believe that the inspector might well have found the key to unlock this baffling case. I say that with guarded optimism, mark you,’ he added, ‘because I know that he’s relying on a fair amount of guesswork rather than on hard evidence.’

  ‘It’s a mixture of both,’ said Marmion.

  ‘Then leave it with me.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir Edward.’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ said Keedy.

  Claude Chatfield remained resolutely silent.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Alice Marmion was so astonished at the unexpected compliment from Inspector Gale that she wanted to tell someone about it. The obvious person was Iris Goodliffe but, if she knew what Alice had been asked to do, she’d realise that her friend had lied to her earlier on. There was the additional problem that Iris’s already low opinion of herself as a policewoman would plummet even further. She’d be walking every day beside someone who’d actually been singled out for praise by Gale Force, who never stopped criticising Iris. It would destroy what little self-esteem she had, and Alice wanted to avoid that at all costs.

  The strange thing was that the inspector had asked her to do something that she’d already decided to do. What set them apart was their choice of method. Thelma Gale wanted Alice to use her powers of persuasion on another policewoman to convince her that she should stay in the force. Knowing the real reason behind Jennifer Jerrold’s resignation, Alice wanted somehow to get rid of the person who’d become such a menacing presence in her friend’s life. How she would manage to do that, she was unsure, but the obvious first step was to identify the man.

  She’d planned to get off early so that she was well ahead of Jennifer but the conversation with the inspector had delayed her. When they parted, therefore, she ran quickly down a backstreet so that she could rejoin the main road near the bus stop that Jennifer used. Alice had not told her friend of her intention because she knew it would make her uneasy and self-conscious. From a vantage point on a corner, she was just in time to see Jenny striding towards the bus stop and glancing over her shoulder from time to time. Alice pitied her. Feeling that she was under constant surveillance, Jennifer was patently on edge.

  Yet there was nobody else following her. Someone might be lurking in a house and watching from a concealed position, but Alice saw no curtains being tugged. Could it be that Jennifer was imagining the whole thing? Not long after they’d got to know each other, Iris had told Alice that she’d love to arouse enough interest in a man to make him follow her out of sheer desire. What appealed to Iris was quite terrifying to Jennifer – if indeed there really was a stalker. Alice was beginning to doubt his existence.

  She scolded herself for doing so. Jennifer Jerrold was a good, honest, intelligent young woman who’d volunteered to take on a daunting role in the Women’s Police Force. If she felt that she was being followed, then she was right. Someone had taken an unhealthy interest in her. It might be that he was now at work and unable to keep an eye on her. That was not a conclusion that Jennifer herself had reached. Alice could see how nervous she was. As far as her friend was concerned, the man was there.

  The bus eventually came, and Alice watched her get on. As it pulled away, she could see Jennifer peering apprehensively out through the window as if expecting someone to pop up and leer at her. Alice stepped out from her hiding place and asked herself what sort of man would watch Jenny week after week, even though it caused her visible distress. At what point would his fixation with her move from merely looking, to a desire to touch, caress, then grope at will?

  The face of Douglas Beckett suddenly came into her mind.

  The first phone call came when Rex Chell happened to be in reception. No sooner had he put down the receiver than he had to pick it up again as a second, then a third woman rang to give him the same information as the first. What was at first an irritation soon became something far more serious. A handbill was slipped through the letter box. Since she was passing it at the time, Millie Jenks picked it up and took it straight to the manager’s office. After thanking her and sending her on her way, Chell read the handbill with a blend of alarm and anger. It was time to summon Griselda Fleetwood from her room on the top floor.

  When she came into his office, she had no idea what to expect.

  ‘Is it good news or bad?’

  ‘It’s neither, Mrs Fleetwood, because it’s not news at all. It’s exactly what we’d expect of him.’

  ‘Buchanan?’

  ‘He got someone to deliver this.’

  He gave her the handbill and watched her face slowly change shape and colour as she read the neatly printed advertisement. It drew attention to the fact that a murder had occurred at the Lotus Hotel and made it a place to avoid because its security was defective. The Roath Court and the Unicorn were held up as examples of places that offered everything that the Lotus had, with a guarantee of safety for its guests because both hotels had retired policemen on patrol. Before she’d finished reading it, Griselda scrunched up the handbill and hurled it into the wastepaper basket. She turned angrily to Chell.

  ‘We’ve had three phone calls from regular guests of ours,’ he said, ‘warning us that they received this handbill today in the post. I fear that there’ll be several more before the day is out.’

  ‘This is deplorable!’

  ‘I can think of a stronger word than that, Mrs Fleetwood.’

  ‘My solicitor must see it immediately.’

  ‘The damage has already been done. It’s quite obvious that a copy of this has been sent to our regular clientele with the express purpose of denigrating the Lotus.’

  ‘There’s only one way Buchanan could have done that.’

  ‘Precisely – he somehow acquired the names and addresses of our guests. We have a traitor in our midst.’

  Griselda glowered. ‘Who the devil can it be?’

  Leonard Rogan s
at impatiently in the pub and nursed the remains of a pint of beer. When his friend eventually turned up, Rogan was curt.

  ‘I expected you half an hour ago.’

  ‘I was held up.’

  ‘That’s twice you’ve kept me waiting.’

  ‘Don’t make such a fuss about it,’ said the other. ‘I bring you glad tidings, Len.’ He took out an envelope and handed it over. ‘That’s half of what we agreed. I’ll give you the rest tomorrow morning when I get the rest of what he owes me. Meet me near the Roath Court.’

  ‘I will,’ said Rogan, counting the money. ‘I had to take chances to get what you wanted.’

  ‘Mr Buchanan was very grateful.’

  ‘Does that mean he has a job for me?’

  ‘There’s no hurry. We don’t want to give the game away.’

  ‘You promised me.’

  ‘Yes, I did, and I always keep my promises.’

  ‘When would I start?’

  ‘It’ll be when you’re told and not before. Mr Buchanan is pleased with me,’ said Maitland, airily. ‘He said that he’d remember my name. That means I can get you a job at the Roath Court any time I like.’

  After their discussion in the superintendent’s office, Marmion and Keedy went off to the canteen. They were still savouring the way that Chatfield had been routed.

  ‘Did you see the look on Chat’s face when the commissioner sided with us?’ said Marmion. ‘He was like a burst balloon.’

  ‘He’ll get his own back on us in due course.’

  ‘I know. He bears grudges.’

  ‘We can only hope that the French secret service cooperates.’

  ‘Keep your fingers crossed.’

  ‘It’s not been Chat’s day, has it?’ said Keedy. ‘He was obviously embarrassed when you came up with that explanation of what the murder victim was actually doing at the Lotus.’

  ‘That woman was there by invitation. I’m certain of it.’

  ‘And so you really think that she and Vesta Lyle …?’

  ‘It’s a strong possibility.’