19

Benjamin Roosevelt Washington
and Aunt Mabel

Davidson’s report was negative and Hammond looked disappointed.

Washington had left the Queen’s Gate house not long after Livesey and his daughter had returned and almost immediately after young Catesby had arrived by taxi, looking washed-out but excited. Apparently oblivious of the fact that he was being followed Washington had left without haste and gone straight to Scotland Yard.

‘And that’s my story,’ said Davidson. ‘Anything your end, Bruce?’

Hammond nodded.

‘Plenty, one way and the other. Afraid you’ll have to wait for it though.’

‘I am patience personified,’ Davidson grinned lazily. ‘What happened to the Errols? They left the house after the Liveseys—Mike after Olivia and Mark after her old man. They didn’t come back.’

‘They were held up,’ Hammond told him, briefly. ‘Will you go round the back, Wally? I’ll keep an eye open this side. I don’t want Washington to get out without being followed.’

Davidson gave a resigned shrug.

‘Confound you!’ he said, mildly. ‘You want to make sure you get the cake. One day, my son, your conscience will smite you hard.’

Hammond grinned at his departing back as he ambled off across the courtyard to the Embankment entrance. Then he himself went up the small turning which led to Parliament Street and watched the main gates closely.

He did not see Washington for some time. But he did see a large, mannish-looking woman in tweeds striding along from Parliament Square, her good-natured face set hard. There was a distinctly purposeful air about her, as if she was prepared to make an issue of anything with any man. Hammond was at first surprised; but when Garth’s ‘Aunt Mabel’ turned into Cannon Row instead of the Yard he thought he understood.

Probably Craigie had telephoned Mrs. Parmitter, suggesting that Aunt Mabel took an interest in her nephew’s incarceration. Aunt Mabel was probably going to raise hell’s delight with the police for being so woolly-headed as to arrest her beloved David.

After she had disappeared into the police-station, he lit a cigarette and smoked it. Then another. He was beginning to feel hungry. Big Ben chimed one o’clock as he glanced at his watch. No wonder!

He strolled across the entrance to the side-street—and his interest quickened. Washington was coming sedately down the steps of the Yard. He was so intent on the man that he did not at first see Aunt Mabel, who had emerged from Cannon Row at the same time. But he could not avoid seeing her as she and the little American drew nearer each other.

Hammond watched with sudden amusement. She and Washington indeed, were on a collision course. Then, just when they would have knocked into each other, Aunt Mabel raised indignant eyes from the ground and stepped aside.

Hammond drew a sharp breath.

As Washington drew back, Aunt Mabel looked at him—no longer in annoyance, but in recognition! Obviously, she was astonished to see him there. And as obviously, the recognition was mutual.

Washington recovered first. Raising his neat black Homburg, he inclined his head politely and waited for her to proceed. She looked away quickly and flushing, marched towards the gates and turned in the direction of Parliament Square. Washington appeared to take no further interest in her, but Aunt Mabel stopped not far from Hammond and looked round.

The American was heading towards Trafalgar Square and from the woman’s expression, Hammond judged that she was tempted to follow Washington. If so, she conquered the temptation and went on, striding purposefully along as before, apparently ready to do battle.

Hammond turned in Washington’s wake.

In his eagerness to see what transpired between the two he had lagged too far behind. The American’s short figure was already lost among the people crowding the pavement. He quickened his pace and caught a glimpse of the black Homburg; Washington was walking fairly rapidly.

Then two women, with three children in tow, got in Hammond’s way. He moved to one side as the women tugged the children in the same direction. Swallowing his annoyance, he apologised briefly, broke through the cordon and hurried on.

He was just in time to see Washington step into a taxi.

There was another coming behind and Hammond hailed it, but the driver shook his head: the flag was down. And Washington’s cab was already moving by then.

Hammond swore roundly—then was suddenly cut short in mid-breath, as he saw Wally Davidson’s lugubrious face at the window of the second cab. Wally raised a languidly disdainful hand to indicate that he, at least, had the little man in his sights, then permitted himself a deliberate wink. Hammond chuckled aloud.

Not bad at all! he thought. Obviously, Wally had seen Washington reach the gates near Parliament Street and had grabbed a passing cab to come and check that Hammond was on his trail, before reporting to Craigie. He chuckled again: The beggar won’t let me forget this in a hurry!

Another cab came along, this time an empty one. Hammond decided against going to see the Errols at this moment. He told the man to drive to Greek Square, then sat back to smoke another cigarette and conclude that Wally’s move had been singularly fortuitous. He was very anxious indeed to learn why Aunt Mabel had been so affected by the chance encounter with the little American.…

He passed her on the way to Greek Square.

He preferred it that way. He would reach Number 11 first and she would not suspect that her encounter with Washington had been observed. He had no doubt of his welcome at Mrs. Parmitter’s even though it would be in the middle of lunch: meals were always punctual at Number 11. The white-haired servant admitted him and he was shown straight into the dining room.

Mrs. Parmitter sat at the head of the gleaming refectory table Fay Oundle was on her left, and there were two other places laid.

‘Good afternoon, Bruce!’ Mrs. Parmitter smiled up at him: he was an old favourite of hers. I’m so glad you’re in time for lunch. Marshall, tell cook Mr. Hammond has arrived, will you?’

‘Sure I’m not making a nuisance of myself?’ Hammond demurred, as Fay patted a chair next to her.

‘Don’t be foolish,’ said the old lady. ‘Whatever else is rationed, we refuse to deny ourselves the pleasure of good company. Mabel is late,’ she added to Fay. ‘She did say she would be in to lunch, did she not?’

‘She did,’ Fay agreed, smiling. ‘But have you ever known her punctual?’

‘I’m afraid dear Mabel hasn’t a tidy mind,’ admitted Mrs. Parmitter.

‘I passed her striding along the street,’ Hammond told them. And lied unashamedly: ‘I didn’t realise who it was until I was too far away to offer a lift. She looked, by the way, as if she were at loggerheads with the world.’

Mrs. Parmitter smiled.

‘Doesn’t she always? You know, Bruce, she is absolutely delighted at being able to help you, even in so small a way. It has irked her for a long time that she could do nothing—or next to nothing. She is one of the really live wires in the W.V.S., you know. To look at her you wouldn’t think that a year ago she was given up as an incurable case, would you?’

‘Incurable?’ Hammond looked his surprise.

‘Consumption,’ murmured Mrs. Parmitter. ‘And now she is back in England and as fit as you or I. Thank you, Marshall,’ she added, as the butler came in with a generous helping of game pie and piping-hot vegetables.

‘Where was she, at the time?’ asked Hammond, as the man retired.

‘In America. She was having treatment in that wonderful valley of the sun, where all the sanatoria are. I can never remember what state.

‘Arizona,’ supplied Fay.

‘Oh, yes. She was absolutely furious that she couldn’t get back to England during the worst of the blitz. And then when she finally did manage to get back, the ship she was on was torpedoed. She spent three days in an open boat.’ Mrs. Parmitter’s eyes danced : ‘And instead of having a relapse, she positively thrived on it!’

They dropped the subject at that point as they heard her let herself in, stride past the door, and stamp up the stairs. When she reached the landing, she appeared to realise that she was late and called down to say she would not be long.

Mrs. Parmitter turned the talk to her surprise at hearing that the charming Mr. Garth had been arrested, and Hammond dissembled skilfully.

The household was a convenient rendezvous but none of its members knew much of what went on or in what they were helping, although Craigie, he knew, had made it clear from the start that there was a measure of danger in what they were doing. The fact had been accepted placidly by Mrs. Parmitter and with actual eagerness by Ned Oundle’s dark-haired wife.

As he ate, Hammond pondered on the fact that Aunt Mabel had spent so much of the war—and so recently—in America. Craigie had not mentioned that, but doubtless he knew it. Which meant that he had kept the fact to himself for some good reason. Possibly because he wished his agents to consider her without any kind of bias.

Craigie himself had ‘discovered’ her, and had called upon her to pose as Garth’s aunt.

Hammond felt a vague disquiet, which did not fade when Aunt Mabel came in, glowered about her, then stared at him with obvious anger.

Her forehead, he noted, was damp with perspiration.

‘Did you see him, my dear?’ asked Mrs. Parmitter.

‘Yes!’ Aunt Mabel glowered at Hammond. ‘What fool trick are you up to, now? First you want me to help Garth, then you turn round and arrest him—it’s absurd! The poor boy doesn’t know what he is doing. He says he thought you were his friend. A fine friend, I must say!’

Hammond smiled at her soothingly: Garth had clearly done well.

‘Not I, Aunt Mabel! The police did the arresting.’

‘Haven’t you any influence?’ she demanded, hotly. ‘What are you doing about it—that’s what I’d like to know? I always thought you had some kind of standing at Scotland Yard.…’

‘Mabel, dear …’ began Mrs. Parmitter.

‘I won’t be shushed!’ snapped the big woman. ‘It’s intolerable! I know I promised to do what I was asked and raise no questions—there are limits. I just can’t understand it!’ She glared at him. ‘A charming young man like Garth, kept in a miserable cell—and a positive scoundrel walking away from Scotland Yard as if he owned the place!’

Hammond, adjusting his mind to the apparent fact that Aunt Mabel had not been sent to the Yard by Craigie but had learned of Garth’s arrest and gone of her own free will—and, what was more, succeeded in interviewing him—contemplated her without any great show of interest. But the emphasis on that ‘scoundrel’ showed, he thought, the real reason for her bad temper: she was coming to the subject of Washington. And what she knew of the American clearly did not please her.

‘Mabel, my dear.…’ Mrs. Parmitter tried again.

‘I said scoundrel and I mean it!’ snapped Aunt Mabel.

‘Who is this dreadful fellow?’

‘It isn’t funny!’ she snorted. ‘I came out of the police station—and there was this awful little man, coming from Scotland Yard! I met him in America—three years ago. And Herbert said he was the trickiest customer in America. Why, Herbert was sure he was deliberately trying to stop deliveries on lease-lend!’

So Sir Herbert Grey had thought that, had he, mused Hammond.

‘Perhaps he took too much for granted,’ suggested Mrs. Parmitter, placidly. ‘I liked Herbert very much indeed—but he did rather jump to conclusions at times, my dear, you must admit! Do get on with your lunch, Mabel: it’s quite cold and spoiled.’

‘Herbert was a fine judge of a man,’ declared Aunt Mabel, defensively. ‘This little … tick! … visited him a number of times. Raising all manner of difficulties.’ She swung round, her earlier abuse apparently forgotten: ‘Before he died, Mr. Hammond, my husband was in America, making arrangements for lease-lend materials. Mostly food. And … I never believed that he died by accident! It was all so wicked. Nine of them …’ She grew a little incoherent and there were suddenly tears in her eyes. Sniffing them back, she dug savagely at her food, already trying to regain her composure.

There was an uncomfortable silence; then she went on, quietly and stubbornly:

‘I always did say it and I always shall. That plane was sabotaged! And the fire …’

She dropped her knife and fork and pushed back her chair, no longer able to control her sobs. Fay Oundle sent a strained, commiserating glance at Hammond, and Mrs. Parmitter touched her lips with a table-napkin as Aunt Mabel stumbled through the door on her way upstairs.

‘I know you’ll forgive me,’ said Mrs. Parmitter, and Hammond half-rose as she followed Aunt Mabel out.

He sat down again, his mind automatically supplying the relevant data. Sir Herbert Grey, an important member of the British Lease-Lend commission, had been killed, along with seven or eight fellow-members of the commission and the crew, when their aircraft had crashed near Colorado Springs after a long conference with farmers of the Middle West.

Fay Oundle was plainly embarrassed, and to break the tension he asked:

‘Does she often break down like this?’

‘I’ve never known it happen before,’ said Fay. ‘Of course, she hasn’t been here long, you know. Only about four months.’

‘And how long has her husband been dead?’ he enquired, solicitously.

He knew quite well: the crash had been in May, 1941. And he had tremendous difficulty in disguising his excitement as a mental file snapped open and he was seeing again one of the mass of reports he had studied away back when the Department had first interested itself in this business.

Only one member of the crew had escaped alive—and he had died before the Court of Inquiry was held. But two people had just missed the plane—owed their lives to their too-late arrival. And now, he was seeing again with vivid clarity the two names written on that report:

Arnold K. Livesey and Benjamin Roosevelt Washington!

‘Getting on for three years, I think,’ Fay was saying.

Hammond guessed how she must be feeling. She, too, had given an undertaking to ask no questions and make no attempt to discover what Craigie and his men were doing. But her curiosity then, must have been overwhelming.

With a quiet smile, he said;

‘I can’t tell you much, Fay. But you might be able to tell me something … not now. After you’ve seen her again when she’s more composed. If I ask questions, she’ll probably either jump to the wrong conclusions or else refuse to answer me.’ He grimaced drily: ‘As a Roland for the Garth Oliver! Anyway … will you remember all she says about the crash and what her husband thought of the little man? And tell me—word-for-word, if you can—what she says?’

Fay nodded quickly:

‘Of course! Is it important?’

‘It might be. Very.’ Hammond pushed back his own chair. ‘And now I must be off.’

‘You haven’t had your sweet,’ she protested.

‘Sorry! But I mustn’t stop. This gives a new lead—and possibly extra urgency—to the job. Apologise to your mother for me, won’t you?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘And encourage Aunt Mabel to talk very freely,’ he urged. ‘Thanks, Fay!’ He smiled briefly and went out. And a moment later all else was forgotten as his mind gnawed at that fascinating item from the crash report: the fortuitous tardiness of Arnold K. Livesey and Benjamin Roosevelt Washington.

It struck him suddenly that very possibly, this whole affair had started right then. And that Craigie, suspecting the truth, had for that reason decided to get in touch with the widowed Lady Grey.