The More Deceived (27 page)

Vansittart had appointed an earnest young man called Alfred Caddick to run the department and take over Lyall’s work. However, Caddick had not yet taken up his position and Edward commandeered his office to interview the staff.

Harry Younger was complaining about the extra work. ‘It’s all very well, you know, but it’s not fair, sir. We were working flat out as it was and our work is important.’

Edward liked the young man rather less than he had the first time they had met. He was still the clean-limbed, ex-public schoolboy but there was something in his tone of voice which grated on Edward’s ear. Still, he reminded himself, Younger was a cricketer so he couldn’t be all bad.

‘You live at home?’

‘I do. My mother’s a widow and I’m . . . you know, her favourite. Anyway, it’s easier and cheaper to live at home.’ He giggled nervously. ‘I don’t have to worry about my washing and she’s the best cook in the world.’

‘But it must be difficult to see girls – socially, I mean?’

‘It’s a bit of a bind, I grant you. To tell the truth, I don’t see many girls. I go down to the pub most nights.’

‘So, no girls?’ Edward felt he was prying and tried to sound as if he were one of his pub friends.

Younger sounded annoyed. ‘I didn’t say that. I get my oats, though I don’t see what it’s got to do with you.’

‘You’re quite right,’ Edward responded hurriedly. ‘I apologize.’

‘That’s all right,’ Younger said huffily.

‘I suppose I was just trying to get a feel for the department’s social life. You don’t seem to see much of each other outside the office.’

‘McCloud’s all right but I don’t go much for art. As I told you last time, we sometimes have a pint together after work though. He’s stuck on Miss Williams but she won’t have any of it. She’s got a steady. In the RAF, she told me once.’

‘She seems a nice girl.’

‘She’s a doll. Quite a looker but she don’t look in my direction, worse luck. Talks a bit too much though for my taste. Women should be seen and not heard, eh?’

He gave Edward a rather sly look which he could not quite interpret.

‘Miss Hawkins rules you all with a rod of iron?’ Edward smiled to show whose side he was on. Younger responded with a dry laugh.

‘We call her the Hawk. You can see why – we can’t get away with anything. Mind you, she had a soft spot for Lyall. I don’t think he noticed but talk about slavish devotion.’

‘So how could Westmacott have had papers in his briefcase that Miss Hawkins knew nothing about?’

‘Did he? I thought he only had . . . Well, if he did, he must have got them somewhere else. What papers were they, anyway?’

‘It’s easy to get hold of secret papers, is it?’

‘I didn’t mean that. I just meant if Westmacott had taken a secret file on Bawdsey Manor, he must have got it from somewhere else. Savvy?’

‘Bawdsey Manor?’ Edward asked sharply. ‘Why do you say that? What do you know about the place?’

‘Nothing,’ Younger said quickly. ‘Lyall told me about it. I saw a file on his desk and asked him.’

‘Well, he ought not to have told you. It’s top secret.’

‘Of course,’ Younger looked chastened, ‘I wouldn’t say anything to anyone outside this office.’

‘Nor inside either, I hope,’ Edward said grimly.

‘No, certainly.’

‘How’s the flying going?’ he said as he showed Younger out.

The boy looked at him, startled and, Edward thought, almost frightened. He pulled himself together.

‘The flying? Yes, I told you about that, didn’t I? Haven’t done any recently as a matter of fact. Overworked – don’t have the time.’

McCloud was louder than ever and his body odour more noticeable, even above his foul-smelling pipe. Edward wondered if it was because he was nervous. He was altogether too obvious and Edward was reminded of what Adrian had said about him the previous night while they were eating shepherd’s pie.

‘He’s clever – no doubt about that. He was a wiz at crosswords. I’m not surprised, now I think about it, that he ended up at the Foreign Office making sense of statistics.’

‘But . . . ?’

‘But he was a rotten painter. I know I’m no great shakes but at least I’m me, if you understand what I’m driving at. McCloud could imitate well enough . . . turn out a passable Monet or Whistler. I remember him doing a copy of a Sargent – an aristocrat – riding boots, breeches, coloured waistcoat, riding crop. It was brilliant.’

‘I know the picture you mean,’ Edward said. It was a painting of his father and hung at Mersham Castle but he was not going to mention it. McCloud must have seen it when it was shown at an exhibition of Sargent’s work at the Tate some years back.

‘In a funny sort of way, he was likeable – a pet monkey or perhaps more like an ape. He got a lot of women because he could make them laugh but they didn’t stay. Women are better at spotting fakes than we are and he was a genuine fake.’

‘Mr McCloud,’ Edward began, ‘sorry to bother you and all that. I gather from Younger that you’re pretty busy.’

‘That’s right. Van hasn’t really got down to reorganizing the department. Between ourselves, I don’t think this man Caddick’s going to be up to the job.’

‘You know him?’

‘No, but people talk,’ he said, tapping the side of his nose with his finger.

Edward was certain Sir Robert would object to the familiarity of ‘Van’ but, if McCloud wanted to show off, he would let him.

‘So might they put you in charge of the department?’ he asked, feigning wide-eyed innocence.

‘Not quite the right type,’ McCloud said, taking the pipe out of his mouth. ‘Van wants pinstripe suits not artistic types like me. Too creative, I suppose.’

‘Shame. You don’t mind me asking a question or two? I know the police have been through it all with a fine-tooth comb but there are just a few things . . .’

‘Carry on, old boy. Anything I can do to help.’

‘You found Lyall dead?’

‘No, Miss Hawkins did. I was just leaving the office – had my hat and coat on – when I heard her call out.’

‘You telephoned the police – why?’

‘I don’t know. It didn’t look right somehow. Lyall had clearly died in pain but that wasn’t it. It was just something about the body . . .’

‘There was no smell or skin discoloration?’

‘Not that I noticed. He always looked yellow . . . too many smokes.’

‘And the chrysanthemum . . .?’

‘Yes, I moved the cigarette box and there it was. I thought it was odd.’

‘You didn’t put it there yourself?’

‘Of course not! What are you suggesting . . .?’

Edward ignored the outrage in McCloud’s voice. ‘Could anyone in the department have slipped the poisoned cigarettes into Lyall’s box?’

‘I suppose so. Or a visitor – though he didn’t have many of those. Yes, we were always popping our heads round the door to ask him something or make our reports.’

He seemed either unworried or unaware that Edward was implying Lyall must have been murdered by a member of his department.

‘And you had weekly meetings, I gather?’

‘Yes, on Mondays, but that’s by the by, isn’t it? It wasn’t just a question of access to Lyall’s office. You would had to have been there alone for at least a minute to give you time to take the cigarettes out of your pocket and slip them into the box on his desk.’

‘True. So that lets you out?’

‘Hard to say. I don’t remember being left alone in his office. I mean, it would be quite difficult to engineer. It might happen that Lyall would slip out to fetch something from Miss Hawkins’s room but you wouldn’t have known when that would happen. After all, he would normally use the buzzer to summon Miss Hawkins if he wanted anything.’

‘What about Younger? Was he ever alone in Lyall’s office?’

‘I wouldn’t know. You’d have to ask him that but, I say, who is likely to tell you the truth? You’re hardly going to admit you had the opportunity of murdering him, are you? And what about visitors? As I say, he didn’t have many, ours being a secret operation and all that, but he had some.’

‘There’s no record of his having had visitors in the two days before he was killed.’

‘Apart from his son, of course.’

‘Apart from James, yes. Did you meet him?’

‘Never met the boy, I’m afraid. Can’t help you there but people say they weren’t on good terms.’ He coughed. ‘Not that I’m saying he murdered his father but, look here, Corinth, what motive could either of us – Younger or me – have had for killing Lyall? I don’t suppose either of us liked him much but that didn’t mean we were going to kill him.’

‘Quite true! And I wasn’t suggesting any such thing. It might have been, as you say, some visitor from outside the department we don’t know about.’ Edward put on a ‘chummy’ voice. ‘McCloud, you’re a bright fellow. I’m sure you’ve been turning all this over in your mind. Does nothing suggest itself?’

‘About who murdered Lyall? I don’t know that it does. I suppose the only person who had every excuse for being alone in his office was his secretary but the idea of Miss Hawkins murdering Lyall is absurd. Marrying him, possibly – I always thought she had a
tendresse
for him – but not murder.’

Jane Williams was delighted to be questioned by Edward again. He had a nasty feeling anything he said to her would be repeated throughout the office and beyond but he could hardly blame her. She must find it exciting to be involved in a murder investigation and be questioned by Lord Edward Corinth.

‘Miss Williams, or may I call you Jane . . . ?’

‘Call me Jane, my lord, if you wish. I am sure Mervyn would understand.’

‘Mervyn?’

‘Since we last met, my lord, I have become engaged . . . to Mervyn Last. He’s in the RAF,’ she said proudly.

Edward kicked himself. Jane had indicated to him last time they met that she might become engaged to an RAF pilot and he had dismissed it as fantasy. In fact – he would have to look up his notes – hadn’t she admitted it was a fantasy?

‘Is Mervyn a pilot?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she admitted. ‘He’s an engineer. He works on the engines, you know.’

Her eyes pleaded with him for reassurance and he gave it to her gladly. ‘Well, that’s very good news. Where would the RAF be without engineers – a vital job. You must be very proud.’

‘I am, my lord.’

‘So this happened before Mr Lyall was found murdered?’

‘Such a shock it was. As it happened, we got engaged the day Miss Hawkins . . . you know . . . found the body. Miss Hawkins was kind enough to give me an afternoon off as Mervyn only had a day free before he went back to the base.’

‘Where is that?’

‘He says it’s a secret, my lord. He’s not allowed to tell me.’ She opened her eyes wide to signify that she understood how important it was to keep a secret.

‘Have you seen him in his uniform?’

‘Not yet, my lord.’ She seemed to find some comfort in intoning ‘my lord’ whenever possible. ‘He says it’s a surprise for the wedding. I thought that was ever so romantic.’

‘Has he been to the office?’

‘Oh no, my lord.’ The girl sounded shocked. ‘Miss Hawkins doesn’t allow us to bring . . . friends to the office.’

Edward had a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach. Could it be that Jane was being taken for a ride? Was Mervyn not quite what he pretended to be? Not to have told his fiancée where he was based . . . that did not smell right. He would ask Ferguson to check up on him.

‘So what did you do on your afternoon off?’

‘We went to Kew. I had never been. Miss Hawkins recommended it. She said Kew was very respectable and it was.’

Edward thought he detected a note of disappointment in her voice but he was mistaken. She was merely battling with herself about how much to tell him about the day’s events. She surrendered to her desire to share her pleasure. ‘I shouldn’t really tell you, my lord but at Kew he gave me this ring.’

Edward peered at a piece of what he was almost certain was coloured glass. ‘Very nice, Jane.’

But she had not finished. She blushed and the words came tumbling out.

‘It was in the tropical pavilion. He was perspiring so I said, “Is it too hot for you, Mervyn?” and he said no, he was just nervous because he had something special to say. Then, right there, in front of . . . oh, I don’t know how many people, he got down on one knee and put the ring on my finger. I went all weak at the knees and people started to clap. The ring . . . But there I go chattering on, my lord. You ought to have stopped me. My dad says I’m worse than the wireless, the way I talk.’

‘The ring is perfectly splendid,’ Edward said at his most avuncular. ‘What did you do for the rest of the afternoon?’

‘We went to a Palais de Dance he knew at Hammersmith and then Mervyn had to go back to base.’

‘He took you home first?’

‘Oh yes. He’s very much the gentleman. It was very late, almost eleven. He had to rush to catch the last train.’

‘Well, that’s very good news. Do your parents know about your engagement?’ He felt a cad asking. Jane looked uneasy.

‘Not yet. They’re rather old-fashioned. I couldn’t say I was engaged to a man they had never met.’

‘Of course,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I quite understand.’ Jane smiled at him uncertainly and he saw how very young she was. ‘Have you told them about Mr Lyall being killed? ’

‘I did and my mother was horrified. She said I ought to resign at once and that it wasn’t suitable for her daughter to work in a place where people got murdered all the time and might I not be next, and I said, “Oh, mum!” because who would ever want to kill me?’

‘And your father?’

‘He was quite excited – upset, of course. He knew Mr Lyall – I told you, didn’t I? When I was looking for a job – after I had left school and taken my Pitman course – my dad wrote to Mr Lyall and he very kindly gave me an interview.’

‘How had your father met Mr Lyall?’

‘At one time my father was a messenger at the Foreign Office. That was years ago. He’s been retired for ten years at least.’

‘So your father wasn’t worried you might be working in the same office as a murderer?’

‘Ooh! If you put it like that . . . But I can’t believe anyone here would . . .’

‘No,’ Edward said, wishing he had not alarmed her. ‘I’m sure you have nothing to worry about, Jane. So, your father was excited when you told him Mr Lyall had been murdered? That seems odd.’