Saturday, September 28, 2024

the purloined parure 10

 

Chapter 10

 

“Yessir,” said Munday. “Freddy drifted into the Penny Flyer pub, in Ealing, and talked to a couple of individuals known as ‘Pooch’ Robson and ‘Odds’ Pleasance. They’re involved in illegal dog racing. Freddy disappeared in a car with three or four other people at the pub. I couldn’t find out where it was, but that sort of thing goes on all afternoon and evening.”

“And criminalises something the working man enjoys to satisfy the narrow moral opinions of a minority. I realise why we have licensing laws, it was to make sure people on the production lines building shells and the like weren’t drunk and risking the lives of our lads in France, but you know what? As far as I can see, the average man sees the licensing laws as a way of jamming as much drinking as he would do over a whole day into the hours when the pubs are open, which means worse intoxication, and a greater chance of accidents at work or on the roads.”

“You don’t see me arguing, sir,” said Munday.

“Well, what can we poor coppers do about the great and the good, eh?” said Alexander. “Still, at least we haven’t gone for anything as stupid as the Volstead Act.”

“It’ll come back to haunt them,” agreed Munday. “But I’m sorry I lost them.”

“No, no, you did well, and explained why Freddy refused to name anyone and said he’d made a promise. But if he won’t co-operate with me, I can release him after his forty-eight hours are up, and re-arrest him on grounds of being involved. Now, what did Mary mean by ‘all’ rather than ‘both?’

Munday went dull red.

“Well, I tracked down Mr. Eric’s movements, too,” he said. “He did go to see Peter Pan, and picked up the ice-cream girl, but he left her flat at around one ack-emma not two.”

“Well, now, that’s interesting,” said Alexander. “Again, though, I somehow doubt he would have had time to torture and kill his cousin.”

“Nosir, but he might have had time to meet with anyone he had hired to do so,” said Munday.

“He might,” said Alexander. “Too many loose ends and spare time.  Very well, lad, you’ve done well; same night, see if you can track down a pair of minors on the razzle, in night clubs and jazz bars. Very difficult, very unlikely. Here... I’m not an artist like my fiancĂ©e and her brother, but hold this photo up against the window... Eric is the closest.”  He put a piece of paper over Eric’s face to trace the salient points,  and took two likenesses, then added Charley’s untidy, too-long hair over the  first face, and Joseph’s schoolboy cut on the second.

“Yessir!” said Munday, galloping out.

 

oOoOo

 

Alexander spent the evening at the Kensington House Hotel, where he dined with Ida, and spent a long  time outlining exactly what he wanted from her on the morrow.

“And a bit more to see if anyone speaks up about now it looks certain that the old lady was poisoned,” said Alexander.

“What are we going to do about raising the hopes of these poor people?” asked Ida.

“Pay them a week’s wages for their trouble,” said Alexander. “I suspect it will be Gladys and Campbell who get the most out of them, in common gossip, but you never know.”

“It won’t do me any harm to practise interviewing staff for when we get married, and to help with police work, too,” said Ida.

“You’re a good girl. I know you’re shy.”

“But I want to help you, more than I’m shy,” said Ida.

He left her with a lingering kiss, and made sure to make enough noise to disturb Gladys and Campbell, who were having a cuddle in the back seat of the car.

“Back to the flat,” he said to Campbell.

“The place you ’ope they haven’t got people lurking to do you over, because you fink they’re gwine to blame Freddy,” said Campbell.

“That’s right,” said Alexander. Campbell sighed, and manoeuvred the car through narrow streets to the garage at the eastern far end of Gower Mews. The garage had once been a stable, and the rooms above it store for grain and housing for stablehands.  Alexander liked his small space, but was considering purchasing the apartment next to his, to have married quarters in London, if it came up for sale. It was not the most salubrious part of Bloomsbury; his own apartment backed onto commercial buildings, and the north side of the mews was slum property, though there were rumours that it was to be done up to raise the tone of the area.

Alexander waited for Campbell to follow him in the narrow door by the garage door, and ran up and down the first stair quite noisily for the count of thirteen stairs to the first floor. Then he went up the stairs on his elbows.

He came upright, and felt round the door into his kitchen-sitting room to turn on the light, dropping immediately to a squat. He walked forward in the squat, something which impressed Campbell. The breakfast bar which separated the small kitchenette at the back from the living room at the front concealed nobody.

Silently Alexander signalled to Campbell to watch the stairs up to the upper level as he opened the door to the space under the stairs, which provided a toilet and washbasin.  Then he went up the second set of stairs on his elbows, and the same trick to turn on the light in the bedroom. With Campbell back to back with him, Alexander circled the bed, opened the large closet, and the door to the bathroom, a room which extended over the bottom of the stairs.

Nobody was lurking.

“Awrright, major, you does know ’ow to be cautious,” said Campbell. “Good job the doors was open.”

“I left them open on purpose and next time I leave the place I will do the same with the closet, bathroom, and toilet,” said Alexander. “And what’s more, we can shift furniture to quickly push in front of them to stop them being opened from inside if they have been shut.”

Campbell nodded; he liked it when his officers took proper precautions, even if they insisted on being insanely brave as well.

“Sofa for me?” he asked.

“Afraid so,” said Alexander. “It’s fairly comfy. Did you and Gladys have a good meal?”

“Yes, fanks, you did us royal,” said Campbell, who had been gratified by the largesse to take Gladys out. “We went to Princes, an’ watched the cabaret floor show.”

“Any good?” asked Alexander, busying himself making tea, after turning on the gas heater.

“Tolerable,” said Campbell. “Not sure I’d pay for it on its own, but when eating it was entertaining enough.”

“Ah, the jaded appetites of the zeitgeist,” said Alexander.

“It ain’t the spirit of the age nowise, just that I saw better in France,” said Campbell.

“Oh, well, they are specialists at that kind of thing,” said Alexander. “There’s bedclothes in that cupboard there, and if you reach under the sofa, there’s a spring thing which should release a bed you can unfold... yes that’s it.”

“Handy piece o’ kit,” said Campbell.

“Indeed,” said Alexander. “Now, don’t go trying to run downstairs because I’m going to set tripwires. With bells on.”

“Fanks for the warning,” said Campbell.

“I’ll use the bathroom first and sort out breakfast whilst you use it; no point trying to shave in that cupboard under the stairs,” said Alexander. “Bath or shower as you wish.”

“Thanks,” said Campbell.

The start would be early, so they went to bed.

 

oOoOo

 

Constable Munday was waiting in Alexander’s office before he got going. He looked tired.

“Have you been to bed yet?” asked Alexander, sharply.

“Nossir, but I’m keeping going on coffee,” said Munday.

“Report, and then take the day off,” said Alexander.

“The doorkeeper remembers them at Domino’s,” said Munday. “But he won’t swear to any particular day.  Only that they’ve been there, and it’s not his job to check birth certificates.”

“Which proves only that they’ve been there not which day; but it’s grounds for reasonable doubt as an alibi.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, it was well done. We may have to shake the doorkeeper a bit harder but it’s enough for now to know that they are well enough known for dates to be hazy.”

“Yes, and they started going regularly in the first week of the month.”

“When they got out of school and university; Joseph’s school has long holidays,” said Alexander.

“Oh, I was hoping it was suggestive of building up a non-alibi,” said Munday, disappointed.

“It might be, but it also has a logical explanation,” said Alexander. “Don’t hang theories on anything that can be explained any other way, or you’ll end up being shredded in court by clever lawyers, even if you’ve jumped to the right conclusions.  Use hunches as guides, not evidence.”

“Nossir,” said Munday, chastened.

Alexander clapped him on the shoulder.

“You’re doing well, lad, but you have a lot to learn. Eagerness is good, but an eager beaver who gnaws down the tree so it lands on his head has a lot of ground to make up building his case. Or his lodge.”

“Yessir, I can see that,” said Munday.

 

oOoOo

 

Ida was nervous and excited to be helping properly with an enquiry; this was different to helping find out who had killed her beloved brother and the sister-in-law she had been fond of. It was none of her business, really, but Alex valued her enough to ask her to take an unconventional approach to helping him. It was only recently that Ida was getting used to not being intimidated by servants – or rather, by those servants who had been, essentially, her jailors, for having been manipulated by the evil Gloria, when she had wormed her way into the household. Gladys had always stood by her, though Ida had not realised so at first, and Gladys would be there to get something of a view of the servants, and bring them to the room chosen to interview them, the library, being likely to be the most intimidating room in the house. The servants were to have fifteen minutes or so to chatter amongst themselves first, and Gladys and Campbell to be listening, covertly at first.

The house was fitted with a dumb waiter, a service hatch up which food might be sent to a vestibule off the dining room to then be served by hand; but a hatch also opened directly through to the servants’ dining room, which was where the servants would foregather. With the kitchen side of the dumb waiter hatch open, it was possible to hear any conversation not pitched in low tones, and Campbell lurked at the door the other side to eavesdrop on any conversation, using a stethoscope. A fire burned merrily in the grate of the servants’ hall, and a kettle sat on it, a table with teapot and coffee pot and a plate of biscuits inviting the servants to refresh themselves, putting them at their ease, and suggesting generous and indulgent employers.

Gladys and Ida had already worked out that Gladys might pass messages to Ida from behind those she led to the study, by tapping morse on her hand; having both been Girl Guides, they were both well-versed in morse, semaphore, and the language of the deaf. Ida wished she had learned to lip-read properly; she had learned enough to know that if someone said ‘the girl’ it was time to make herself scarce.

It had been enough to survive Gloria’s tenure, and her ruthless control of the household for her own ends, so she should not complain.

And what fun it had been, treating Gloria like a servant, and one in need of censure, at that, with Alexander’s support, knowing that he would take her away to safety. But of course, real servants deserved more courtesy, albeit as much firmness. It was a delicate line to tread between the sort of condescension servants despise, equally, too much familiarity, save with old retainers; a distant courtesy without moving into being autocratic.

 

It was time.

Ida rang the bell.

Alexander, lurking in the library nearby, gave her a reassuring smile; but this was her show.

 

Gladys came in with a middle-aged couple.

“If you please, madam, Colworth and Mrs. Colworth, former cook and housekeeper,” she said, dropping a curtsey. Her finger on her palm said ‘keen to return.’

“Good morning; please be seated,” said Ida. “A cook-housekeeper couple is less usual than a butler-housekeeper; I’ve been used to a housekeeper who also oversees the cooking. May I ask what advantages you bring to me, bearing in mind that I would also need a butler?”

Colworth flushed slightly.

“Mrs. Beauchamp engaged us on the strength of my versatility in cooking, madam,” he said. “I am also familiar with the range in the kitchen, which is a trifle... crossgrained.”

“I was considering replacing it.”

“A nice, modern gas-stove to supplement it would be nice, but a range makes the best bread and pastry,” opined Colworth. Ida made a note.  It was a memo to herself more than for Alex; such tips were worth knowing.

“What dishes did Mrs. Beauchamp like?” she asked, curiously.

“Well, up until the last few weeks, she liked a good curry, or moroccan food,” said Colworth. “But her stomach became very delicate, though after trying bland food, she said, ‘oh, the hell with it, the little buggers have poisoned me, and it’s going to cause problems, give me a good biryani, I might as well enjoy it going down, however it comes out.’”  He then flushed, and put his hand to his mouth. “The lady had a ripe vocabulary.”

“And apparently believed she was being poisoned; at least she did not blame you, by the sound of it.”

“Well, madam, we did not know what to think, she was old, and ill, and sometimes the elderly get odd ideas. But she did call for more hot food to ‘scare it through,’ as she put it.”

“Her grandchildren visited her assiduously, nice, I call it, and a shame she thought they were poisoning her,” said Mrs. Colworth. “Mr. Freddy had a nasty temper, but then, what he’d been through in the war didn’t bear thinking about, and Mr. Eric too, though he was more douce. Mr. Thomas was polite enough, and Mr. Marty was a real caution! He could make a cat laugh. And those two boys were as sweet as could be, and it can’t be easy for young boys to dance attendance on an old woman!  But you don’t want to hear about the old family, madam; I might not cook, but I could act as butler if need be, women do branch out these days.”

“That’s an interesting thought to consider,” said Ida. “Do you have any problems making male servants obey you? A butler must be the lord of his domain.”

Mrs. Colworth flushed.

“I am sure I could manage,” she said.

“Very well, you’ve both given me a lot to consider; will you wait?” asked Ida.

“Very good, madam,” said Mrs. Colworth.

“I’ll see Sunderland next,” said Ida.

 

the purloined parure 9 weekend bonus

 

Chapter 9

 

Presently a distinguished looking man in a doctor’s white coat came in.

“What’s all this nonsense about Scotland Yard needing to talk to me?” he opened without preamble.

“You were the doctor to Mrs. Gertrude Beauchamp, I believe?” said Alexander.

“Yes, an elderly lady who died, essentially, of old age, as all death can, in broad, be laid down to heart failure,” said Whitlaw.

“And you never thought to question symptoms of internal problems, anaemia, joint pains, memory loss, and, I suspect, though it was not mentioned, kidney failure, and death described by a nurse as following a seizure which did not resemble a heart attack?” said Alexander.

Whitlaw froze.

“All symptoms could be attributed to old age,” he said, unhappily.

“And no blame could be attached to a doctor who thought so,” said Alexander. “But if that’s making you think what I thought, in conjunction with the old lady thinking that one of her grandsons was poisoning her, an agreement to exhume would go a long way towards avoiding a scandal for you.”

“Yes, indeed; though I don’t know how lead could be introduced into her diet.”

“Sugar of lead, in the medicine, I suspect,” said Alexander.

Whitlaw blinked.

“I brought away the last bottle of sleeping draught, as one is supposed to; I believe it might still be in my bag. It slipped my mind.”

“Or providence slipped it from your mind,” said Alexander.

“What, you believe still in an outmoded religion?”

“Science is too rich and wonderful for me not to believe in God,” said Alexander. “But I don’t care what you believe in; it’s your loss if you’re a modern atheist. God knows, with the nonsense of some of the so-called moralists, it’s enough to drive any man to atheism. And look at America; banning booze is only going to drive it underground, and encourage criminality.”

“Oh, we agree on that sort of thing, anyway,” said Whitlaw, relieved. “I was afraid you were some sort of dour moralist policeman.”

“I’m a moralist in that I don’t think anyone has the right to deprive a fellow being of life, means to live, or enjoyment of life,” said Alexander.

“Well! I’ll hand over the bottle to you and endorse the autopsy,” said Whitlaw. “Not a common form of poison, and usually chronic.”

“But it crystalises out in the bottom which would make it more concentrated,” said Alexander.

“Good point. It’s a bit exotic these days.”

“Easy to make, though, from readily available commodites,” said Alexander. “I can see if there have been any thefts from local sources; you could get two ingredients from any medical facility or from a hair salon.”

“And I suppose from any roof,” said Whitlaw.

“Yes, or a plumber’s supplies,” said Alexander. 

“Let me get that bottle,” said Whitlaw.

He was gone from the room a minute or two, and Alexander admired a painting on the wall.

“You own a Basil Henderson,” he said, when the doctor came back.

“Yes, I was looking into the possibility of having prosthetics fitted for him,” said Whitlaw. “He’s not that well known.”

“He was a friend of mine; I’m going to marry his sister,” said Alexander.

“Poor child, he consulted me about her, their brother would not permit her to see me, is she still....?”

“Oh, no, she managed to get herself off it on her own, with Basil’s help,” said Alexander. “She’s not strong, but I’m sending her on a cruise after Christmas.”

“Best thing for her,” enthused Whitlaw.  “There are crystals in this bottle.” He unstoppered it and sniffed, and frowned. “Acetic sort of smell.” He tipped it and caught a drop on one finger and licked it. His eyes widened. “Sweet!” he declared. “By George, sir, you’re right. Someone used my medicine to kill her.”

“Well, if you will place that into this paper bag, and sign it beside my signature...” said Alexander.

 

oOoOo

 

“From a murdered sneak-thief to exhuming an old woman who died of old age? Really, Armitage?” said Superintendant Barrett.

“I have the proof she was murdered already, the autopsy will confirm it,” said Alexander. “The manner of her degeneration and death as described by the nurse, who was with her all the time; and the test the doctor did on her last medicine.”

“The hell! That puts a different complexion on things,”

“Believe me, sir, I don’t want to dig up bodies willy-nilly, but when they’ve been buried without proper investigation, yes, I do. The doctor made an honest, and reasonable at the time, diagnosis because the nurse was too diffident to discuss her concerns with him, or to tell him that the old woman believed she was being poisoned. It’s perhaps a side issue, but....”

“Murder is never a side issue, Armitage!” barked Barrett. “Damn you, boy, you have me violently agreeing with you.”

“The primary case is the torture and murder of Marty,” said Alexander. “That the little sod, whichever little sod it was, killed his grandmother – or mother, we can’t rule out that Gertrude was wrong in accusing the younger generation – is merely additional evidence to his ruthlessness. Or hers, if we include the daughters-in-law.”

“You have one grandson in custody.”

“He took a few swings at me and tried to kick me. I fell over a footstool trying not to hit him back and get accusations of police brutality,” said Alexander.

“Is he chummy, do you think?”

“I doubt it,” said Alexander. “He’s more likely to have beaten Marty to a bloody pulp, not to have pulled out teeth and fingernails.  It takes some brute strength, but it’s more... cold. Nastier.”

“Yes, I take your point. Poisoning an old woman is rather nasty too.”

“Yes, poor old dear, and worse than that, clouding her mind with the poison chosen.”

“And what was that?”

“Lead acetate. You might know it as ‘sugar of lead.’”

“I’ve heard there have been a few accidental poisonings with that.”

“Yes, and it’s been used in a couple of suicides, and proving murder without it being in the bottle of medicine would be bloody difficult, because a clever counsel would have it that the old woman liked her wine in a pewter mug or something to suggest accidental death from the wine leaching the lead out of the pewter.”

“Yes, I see.  And the doctor is ready to swear his medicine was poisoned? That makes him a rare breed.”

“He also knew my late brother-in-law to be,” said Alexander.

“Late brother-in-law to be? What an excruciating mix of tenses,” said Barrett.

“I know. But I can’t figure out a better way of putting it.  My Ida is prepared to go on a cruise, by the way. Her top choice would be Egypt and a trip up the Nile to poke her nose into Howard Carter’s diggings.”

“I... I’ll ask Alma.”

 

 

oOoOo

 

“And what precautions, Major, ’as you taken agin bein’ set on in your sleep to nick the parure?” asked Campbell, as he drove Alexander to Liverpool Street Station to pick up Ida.

“None whatsoever; beyond nicking Freddy,” said Alexander.

“Well, wot if ’e ain’t chummy?” asked Campbell.

“Oh, I don’t think he is chummy,” said Alexander.

“You’ll be the ruddy death o’ me... sir,” growled Campbell. “If ’e ain’t chummy, what good does locking ’im up do?”

“It provides him with a water-tight alibi,” said Alexander. “Think about it.”

Campbell thought about it.

“Oh!” he said. “While ’e ’as an alibi, chummy can’t blame it on him.”

“Indeed,” said Alexander. “Pick up anything from chauffeurs?”

“Nothin’ I couldn’t of told you from ’earin’ about them off of you,” said Campbell. “There was a bit of a domestic over you nickin’ Freddy; Mr. Alec was all for getting some bit o’ ’aybybush corpus, and Mrs. Alec, Mrs. Penelope that is, said Freddy was best left where ’e was, and Mr. Alec slapped her, and she put a knitting needle in his nostril and said it wouldn’t take much force to shove it into his brain, and most doctors would sign a death certificate as brain embolism caused by stress. They would too,” he added.

“Well, well! A mother’s defence of her young is always fierce, but it shows the lady has ruthlessness,” said Alexander.

“Because she understands why you have Freddy,” said Campbell.

“Yes, and the term is ‘a writ of habeus corpus’ a demand to have the body – live, that is, produced and not thrown into jail without trial.  I fancy Freddy will accept protective custody unless he’s denser than I think he is.”

“Which he may be,” said Campbell.

“But I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, if indeed I do,” said Alexander. “Tell me more.”

“Well, the servants fear Freddy; they reckon he’s half crazy. Mr. Thomas can be a demon he’s drunk, which is to say, most of the time. Mr. Eric is reckoned the best of the bunch. The servants reckon that Mr. Thomas was all over blood for walking through a French window. He’s done something of the sort before, apparently. Mr. Eric has knocked dahn both his brothers in the past. Mr. Alec’s idea of discipline is flogging tied to the flagstaff in the back garden.”

“Lovely people. Did you get to the Arthur Beauchamps?”

“Yes; ’imself is a nothing sort of man; it’s the missus you have to look out for.”

“Violent, is she?”

“Naow. Not as such. They call her the Icicle, but she’s done things like stubbed out a cigarette on a maid’s face for being late back on her day off, so that nobody’ll want to keep ’er out late again. But she don’t lose her temper. She just suddenly lashes out. The boys... well, Mr. Charley isn’t a boy, really, he’s at university, and both of them have always cheered to be going back to school.”

“Does she abuse them?” asked Alexander.

“There’s a cupboard the maids aren’t allowed to open,” said Campbell. “Mind, the boys aren’t averse to being nasty, to each other. They all closed up after that.  The family has no pets but there’s a kennel in the garden, and an old bird cage in a loggia affair used for lumber out back.”

Alexander nodded, and then saw a trim black head which he knew, under a ridiculous confection which could not, in any man’s language, be called a hat. Behind her was the tall, neat figure of Gladys, Ida’s maid.

“There’s Ida, just off the train; give her a toot. She knows morse, you can tootle her name,” he said.

Campbell parped out ‘pip pip parp pip pip pip parp’ and Ida came running.

“Now, that was clever, to spell me out,” she said, throwing baggage into the back seat as Alexander got out of the front seat to open the back door for her. She wound herself around him and he kissed her, hard.

They got in the back seat and Gladys got in the front.

“Bertram’s Hotel, Pond Street,” said Alexander.

“Not the Ritz?” said Ida.

“You wouldn’t like it, poppet,” said Alexander. “It’s pretentious. I’ll take you dancing at Claridge’s sometime; they have live jazz.  Did you prefer Kensington House?[1] It’s not far from Gertrude’s house; I just thought Bertram’s is nice and quiet.”

“Kensington House Hotel, please, Campbell,” said Ida. “And yes, partly to exert my stubborn streak, but also I want to be near the centre of it all.”

“Bertram’s is a bit off the beaten track,” said Alexander. “Nothing ever happens there. Full of old fogeys, like the Bellona Club.”

 

oOoOo

 

Having seen Ida ensconced in the hotel, Alexander went back to Scotland Yard to catch up on paperwork.

Mary looked up from typing up a report.

“Here’s a lad who managed to run to earth all your persons of interest,” she said. Alexander’s eyebrow went up.

“Joe Munday, did I remember that right?”

“Yessir,” said Munday.

“I issued the photos to different groups, how did you manage to run them all down?” asked Alexander.

“One of the chaps looking for Mr. Freddy’s movements took ill, sir, so I took his photo as well,” said Munday.

“Watch it, lad, you’re bucking for promotion,” said Alexander. “We’ll have you after my job next.”

Munday flushed.

“I wouldn’t mind being in the detective division,” he said.

“Well, let’s hear how you did, how you got your information, and I’ll go through what you did right, anything you could have done better, and I’ll add you to my notes as a bright lad to keep an eye on. Don’t be pushy, mind, but make sure you’re indispensible to whoever’s running a case you’re used in. If you volunteer for mine, I’ll always listen. If you volunteer for some people, speaking up will get you a black mark and your nose snapped off, and you didn’t hear it from me, but one of the least tolerant is an Inspector Morrell.”

“Oh, yes, sir, I’m aware of him,” said Munday.

“Well, stay out of his way,” said Alexander. “Now, what have you uncovered?”

“My initial assignment was the movements of Mr. Thomas Beauchamp,” said Munday.

“Henceforth, just Thomas, for convenience,” said Alexander.

“Yessir,” said Munday. “Mr. ... uh, Thomas was to be found in the Bull and Bush from lunch time, whence he was ejected at closing time. He managed to find an off-licence which sells Sunday magazines, and intimidated the storekeeper into selling him a couple of bottles of whisky. I said it wouldn’t be official; was I right?”

“The trail is more important, but keep your eye on that store. He might not need much intimidating. Frankly, there are more important things in life than the licensing laws, but I never said so, and if someone will buck the law in one thing, he might be ready to buck the law in other things.”

Munday nodded.

“I’ll remember that,” he said. “Anyway, by the time the cinemas opened, he must have been totally bladdered; he drank both bottles. I found some witnesses, they described it as disgusting.  He went into a Regent Cinema, and snored through the main feature, the news, and the management threw him out.  I found the projectionist, who saw which way he went, and he found another pub until closing time. Then he went in search of an off-licence, which was, of course, already shut. He found a private party, and gate-crashed it, and kicked up a shindy because it was a Church Sociable and they were drinking lemonade. He walked out into the night through their conservatory, which, one may assume, is when he got cut.  He was nicked on the embankment at about two, and managed to elude the constable who was trying to run him in and legged it. That’s the last I have. I furnished his name to the people with the conservatory so they can sue him. Was that right?”

“Morally, if not necessarily inside your purview,” said Alexander. “So, we have the time between the private party and the embankment unaccounted for, and the shorter time between that and his reaching home.”

“Unless he’s looking to upstage Rudolph Valentino and Michael Fairbanks, he wasn’t in a fit state to do anything violent, let alone cross London,” opined Munday.

“But you have to assume the possibility that he is, and keep him open as a suspect even when saying that in the balance of probabilities he is innocent.  You manage to get about smartish.”

“I have a pushbike,” said Munday.

“Good man,” said Alexander. “And now, Freddy.”

 



[1] Now The Milestone Hotel