Authors: David Roberts
‘But that’s not why you are so sad?’
‘No, not just that. In Spain, I’ve . . . I’ve seen what you describe.’
‘Idealism perverted by ruthless men?’
‘Yes,’ she said shortly. ‘My friend, Mr Griffiths-Jones . . . he says the ends justify the means and I tried to believe him. But you’re right, I have seen such terrible
things in Spain . . . ’ She was suddenly unable to continue.
Inna Benyon put out a hand and laid it on Verity’s shoulder. ‘My dear, you are in mourning. The sadness you feel is grief – grief for the death of your hopes and expectations.
The pain will always be with you, like the pain of an old battle wound, but your grief is also . . . what shall I say? . . . the education of your soul. You must not despair. You can look at the
world – all the horror and the despair – and see not the end of hope but the real meaning of our struggle here on earth.’
Verity looked into the woman’s lined but still beautiful face and thought, I don’t understand what she means but she’s right about grief. I do feel as if I am in mourning,
though I hardly know why. She said out loud, ‘Mr Gollancz wants me to turn the articles I wrote for the
New Gazette
into a book, but there’s something which always seems to stop
me. I have tried looking at them again but, you know, I can hardly read them.’
‘How exciting to be asked to write a book. It could be just the opportunity you have been waiting for to get your thoughts in order.’
‘But the articles don’t seem to belong to me any more. It’s as if they were written by someone else.’
‘I know what you mean, my dear. You have outgrown them. You know so much more now than you did when you first went to Spain. If I might suggest, you shouldn’t even try to read them.
You must start afresh. Begin with Toledo – tell us what it was like to be there and then go back and explain why it happened.’
‘But the Party won’t like that. They want me to write about the victories, not the defeats.’
When she looked at her again, Verity saw that Lady Benyon had said whatever she had wanted to say and her eyes were beginning to stray towards her husband. Before she brought their conversation
to an end, she said, gently but firmly, ‘You must do what you feel is right, my dear, but you have to be honest. If you are not honest, you will never be able to live with
yourself.’
Lord Benyon came over to his wife, whispered in her ear, nodded and said, ‘You must forgive us, dear Charlotte, but Inna has not been feeling very well of late and I must take her home. It
has been such a pleasure meeting you again, Lord Edward, and you, too, Miss Browne. Please remember me to your father. He is a man of principle in an unprincipled world.’
When the Benyons had left, Charlotte said, ‘So, what do you think of that?’
‘Think of what?’ Verity inquired, feeling that she had missed something.
‘Of course, V, you were closeted with Inna, weren’t you? Edward, you tell her what Lord Benyon told us.’
‘He said that Daphne Hepple-Keen had lost one of her gloves – a white glove – and that Leo Scannon had found it. Leo could never resist passing on gossip and he had told Benyon
what he had seen. He also said that he had it on good authority that Sir Geoffrey had been a policeman – a particular type of policeman. He had been in Ireland but something had gone wrong
– Benyon didn’t quite know what – and he had left the police and attached himself to Oswald Mosley. He thought it was highly likely
he
had stolen Mrs Simpson’s
letters.’
Dr Davidson raised his head from the diary and gestured to Edward to look through the glass. The powerful instrument made legible several lines on the seemingly blank sheet of
paper.
‘Whoever tore out those two pages would have been well advised to remove two or three more. It’s quite clear – see?’
Edward read as easily as if the words were in ink rather than mere impressions from the pressure of a pen on the previous page: ‘Daphne told me she had no idea how her glove had found its
way into Molly’s bedroom but, when I pressed her, she said her husband had borrowed them because he had been searching the room. I didn’t quite believe what she told me and said I would
talk to Geoffrey. She begged me not to and said he would kill her but . . . ’
‘And there’s nothing else?’
‘You mean, did Scannon turn over the page? He may have done but it’s impossible to “read” anything. My own feeling is he broke off there and never completed the sentence.
By the way, have you read the rest of the diary? It’s explosive stuff.’
‘Indeed! But, as far as I can see, not relevant to Molly’s death – or his own.’
‘He’s poisonous about the Prime Minister and he has some spiteful things to say about your friend Lord Weaver.’
‘I know,’ Edward said, grimly. ‘I’m rather glad he never got to write about me. I fear he would have had some fairly choice words of abuse about my part in all
this.’
‘You’ll take this straight to the police, Corinth?’ Davidson said anxiously.
‘I will, I promise, and I won’t say a word about you having looked at it for me. Really, I am most awfully grateful.’
‘Oh, by the way, have you noticed the smell on the diary? There’s the soot, of course, which is explained by where you say it was found, but I’m rather puzzled; there’s
another scent – to put it crudely, one would think it had been dropped in a cowpat!’
‘But why did Scannon stop when he did?’ Verity said, when Edward came round to report on what he had learned from the diary.
‘He was obviously interrupted and never went back to it. Diarists don’t always write everything up at the end of each day. Some wait until the end of a week or even
longer.’
‘So you want me to come with you to see Inspector Lampfrey?’
‘You don’t have to but . . . ’
‘You go. I really must write this book. There was something Lady Benyon said which has helped. She said not to try and rejig my articles for the paper but to write from scratch. Start with
Toledo and . . . well, anyway, I think I know how to do it.’
‘Oh well,’ said Edward, slightly put out, ‘you must get on with the book, I see that. Shall I ring you when I’ve seen Lampfrey?’
‘Of course! Edward, you do understand don’t you? This is really important to me.’
Edward melted. ‘I understand. You get on with it and I’ll telephone you tomorrow.’
Verity got up and kissed him on the lips. ‘Dearest Edward, I’m such a bitch and you’re so patient with me. I do care about all this, you know. I just need to do this damn
book.’
Edward, feeling the warmth of her lips on his, wanted to pursue his advantage but something warned him it might spoil things. She gave him what she could and, if he asked for more now, like
Oliver Twist, it might end in tears. He contented himself with what he hoped was a manly nod of his head and made a dignified exit. But his heart was racing. He promised himself that, when it was
all over, he would damn well ask her to marry him.
Inspector Lampfrey was not in the police station when he bowled up in the Lagonda and, to his acute discomfort, he was ushered into the presence of Chief Inspector Pride who
greeted him with a smile Robespierre might have envied.
‘Lord Edward, you again! Have you come to give yourself up?’ Only the teeth snapping shut, as sharp as a guillotine, indicated that the Chief Inspector was being humorous.
‘No, indeed, but I do have some information for you.’
‘If it’s concerning Mr Scannon’s murder, you are too late. I am happy to tell you that we have completed our investigations and made an arrest.’
‘Good lord! I hadn’t heard.’
‘No, the arrest was only made this morning.’
‘Many congratulations, Chief Inspector,’ Edward said insincerely. ‘Am I permitted to know whom you have arrested?’
The policeman stroked his chin and then, unable to resist celebrating his triumph, said, ‘I don’t see why I should not tell you. The press will be told later this afternoon and it
will be in tomorrow’s papers. We have arrested Miss Ruth Conway for the murders of both Mrs Harkness and Mr Scannon.’
Edward drew a breath. ‘I hope that was wise, Chief Inspector.’
Pride looked at him with loathing and restrained himself with an effort. ‘In what way might it have been unwise, Lord Edward? You may be unaware that Miss Conway stood to inherit the bulk
of Mr Scannon’s estate and that she had reason to resent his treatment of her over many years. She was his half-sister – the daughter of old Mr Scannon’s mistress.’
‘I know, but what possible motive had she for killing Mrs Harkness?’
‘I am not yet certain, but I believe she feared Mrs Harkness might marry Mr Scannon and do her out of her inheritance.’
‘You must be aware Scannon wasn’t the kind of man who was interested in a woman . . . sexually?’
‘Maybe, but perhaps Miss Conway did not know that.’
‘But that’s quite absurd, Chief Inspector. The reason why I came here . . . ’
‘Is to sneer at the efforts of the police,’ Pride hissed, unable to hide his fury any longer.
‘Not at all,’ Edward said calmly. ‘I have the greatest respect for the police and I apologize for saying the arrest of Miss Conway was absurd. She certainly had a motive for
killing Mr Scannon and the opportunity. She was best placed to put rat poison in the whisky but I am convinced she did not do it.’
‘And what reason have you, Lord Edward, for saying so? Or is it just “a hunch”?’
‘Not at all. When we dropped in on Haling the other day, Miss Conway was kind enough to let us look round the house and talk to Mr Pickering and the gardener – both of whom had
access to the poison.’
‘You said “we”?’
‘My friend, Miss Browne, was with me and it was she who . . . ’
The Chief Inspector went red in the face and then white. For a moment Edward wondered if he was going to have a seizure. He had wanted to keep Verity’s name out of the conversation because
he was aware that, if Pride disliked anyone more than him, it was her. They had crossed swords the previous year when Pride had all but accused her of being an enemy of the state.
‘Miss Browne? I thought she was in Spain. What was she doing at Haling, might I ask? Though now I think of it, she invited herself to Haling with you previously. There was some story of
her taking a rat to bed?’
‘The rat was put in her bed by some joker and she did not invite herself to Haling. She was invited by Mr Scannon. His friend, Miss Dannhorn, wished to meet her.’
Edward immediately regretted bringing up Dannie’s name when he saw a leer cross the policeman’s face.
‘Now, there is something you can put me right about, Lord Edward. I see from your statement – your second statement – ’ he said, meaningfully, ‘that Miss Dannhorn
is your mistress. Inspector Lampfrey informs me that Mrs Harkness was also your mistress and Miss Browne . . . ’
Edward stood up, rattling his chair so that it almost fell backwards. ‘Chief Inspector, if you are determined to insult me, I shall leave and you will hear from my solicitor. You know
perfectly well that Miss Browne is a friend and Mrs Harkness was never my mistress. As for Miss Dannhorn, as I admitted to Inspector Lampfrey, I did return from my talk with Mrs Harkness to find
her in my bed – not, I would emphasize, at my invitation. To my great regret, instead of turning her out of my room, I allowed her to stay. I ought to have guessed she was just using me to
obtain access to Mrs Harkness’s room – but this is all in my statements.’
Pride realized he had gone too far but he had at least achieved what he had set out to do – namely to disturb that infuriatingly smug look on the man’s face.
‘I apologize, Lord Edward,’ he said stiffly, ‘I had no wish to insult you. I was merely trying to make sense of your relationship with . . . the ladies in this case.’
‘But Miss Browne is not, as you put it, a lady in the case.’
‘But you have just told me that you and she went to Haling recently and looked round the house.’
‘We were riding past the house . . . ’
‘Riding? On horseback?’
‘On motor bicycles. Miss Browne had a puncture and so we called in.’ Edward was aware how thin it sounded and he wished now he had taken more trouble with his excuse.
‘I see. You were riding a motor bicycle past the house,’ the policeman said with studied irony, ‘and you had a puncture. What a coincidence. So what did you discover that the
police search had missed?’
‘This,’ Edward said, passing Leo Scannon’s diary across the desk. ‘Two pages have been torn out, no doubt because the murderer was mentioned, but it would be possible, I
believe, to read something from the impressions left on the blank sheet following the torn pages.’
He saw no reason why he should divulge that he had already been to Hendon and had the blank page ‘read’.
‘Where did you find this?’ Pride said roughly, opening the book.
‘Miss Browne found it on a ledge inside the fireplace in Mr Scannon’s bedroom.’
‘Why did she look there?’
‘There is a similar ledge in the fireplace of the room I was in. If you read my statement, it was there that I foolishly hid the bag I took from Mrs Harkness’s room before handing it
over to Inspector Lampfrey.’
‘I see. So you have had this . . . what, three days? Why did you not pass it to the police immediately?’
‘I am giving it to you now,’ Edward said shortly.
‘I could have you arrested for impeding my investigation.’
‘I think that would be rather ungrateful, don’t you, Chief Inspector? I would hate Miss Browne to tell the
New Gazette
how she found what you had overlooked. It might bring
down criticism on the police and that’s the last thing we want, isn’t it?’
‘My men made a very thorough search. Perhaps the diary wasn’t there then? Perhaps you put it there?’
‘Please, Chief Inspector,’ said Edward wearily. ‘My aim is the same as yours: to put the murderer, or murderers, behind bars. I find it quite extraordinary that you won’t
recognize that simple fact. Good day, Chief Inspector. You know where to find me if you want me.’
Edward was not pleased to find, when he left the police station, a constable marking the Lagonda’s tyres with chalk. ‘I say, officer, hang on a moment! I’ve just been with
Chief Inspector Pride. Surely I can park here on official business?’