‘WELL, WHERE ON EARTH IS HE?’ Helen Madden demanded. ‘He can’t have gone for a walk, not in this weather. And anyway it’s getting dark.’ She turned to her husband. ‘Didn’t Lucy say he was supposed to have got back on Monday from Hampshire?’
‘She did.’
Having returned from the Continent earlier on the cross-Channel ferry, Madden had rung their daughter from Waterloo station while he and Helen were waiting to set off on the last leg of their journey home. Alarmed by the heavy snowfall—and aware that it was expected to last for some time—they had both begun to worry about the chief inspector. He might well be trapped in his cottage, they thought, and Helen had decided it would be best if they had him to stay with them until the worst was over.
‘It’s not just for Angus’s sake, but for ours as well,’ she had pointed out. ‘It’ll be easier to look after him if he’s under our roof.’
Accordingly, soon after they got back to the house, Madden had walked down to Sinclair’s cottage expecting to see the lights on and smoke issuing from the chimney. Instead he had found the small dwelling in darkness with no sign of a footprint in the banked snow outside.
Worried now, he had hurried back to the house to find Helen—still with her coat on—anxiously awaiting his return.
‘I think I’d better ring the Bennetts in Fernley,’ she said after hearing what her husband had to report. ‘It’s possible Angus felt poorly during the weekend. He may still be with them.’
She returned to the sitting-room after only a few minutes.
‘Sir Wilfred’s just told me he put Angus on the train at Winchester two days ago. I asked him how Angus was feeling during the weekend and he said he appeared to be in good health. As far as he knew, Angus was heading back to Highfield.’
‘As far as he knew?’ Madden had caught the note of uncertainty in her voice.
‘He said Angus had got into a state while he was staying with them. That’s how he put it. Some woman living in Fernley had a fall recently while crossing a stream and died as a result. He said Angus had got it into his head that it might not have been an accident, as was assumed. “He’s got a bee in his bonnet,” was how Sir Wilfred put it.’
‘Oh, no!’ Madden clutched his head.
‘You can see what’s happened, can’t you?’ Helen’s glance was meaningful. ‘He’s playing at being a detective again.’
‘He can’t be.’
‘All we know is that he got on the train at Winchester. Who knows where he is now?’ She hesitated. ‘Do you think he might be ill?’ she asked.
Madden considered the possibility. ‘Why not call the hospital at Guildford?’ he suggested. ‘He may have been taken off the train.’
‘I’ll do that.’
She hurried out.
At a loss himself, all Madden could think to do was light a fire. The sitting-room was freezing. He was down on his knees on the hearth laying kindling and logs in the empty grate when Helen reappeared, her brow knit in worry.
‘He’s not there,’ she began, but broke off when she saw the look on her husband’s face. It was one she knew well.
‘I’ve just been thinking . . .’ Madden scowled. ‘That was the London train Angus was travelling on. He’d have had to get off at Guildford to change trains, and since it’s obvious he didn’t he must have gone on.’
‘To London, you mean?’ Helen watched as he struck a match. ‘But why would he do that? And how can we find out?’
‘I’m only guessing . . .’ Waiting for the fire to catch, Madden sat back on his heels. ‘But the most likely explanation is because there was someone there he wanted to speak to.’
‘About this business in Fernley, do you mean—about the woman who died?’ Helen studied her husband’s face.
Madden nodded. Dusting off his hands, he stood up.
‘And if I’m right, then I’ve a good idea who that might have been.’
‘I can’t credit it . . . and after I expressly told him not to exert himself.’ Helen shook her head in disbelief. ‘And who is this “war criminal” he thinks he’s chasing? It sounds like an old man’s fantasy to me.’
Expecting her husband to say something, she waited. They were sitting side by side on the sofa now in front of a crackling fire. Madden had poured each of them a drink. When he stayed silent, she sighed.
‘Didn’t he give Billy any hint of where he might be going next?’ she asked.
‘None at all.’ Madden shrugged. He had rung his former protégé at Scotland Yard and caught him as he was on the point of leaving for the day. ‘Angus said he was returning to Highfield, and the last Billy saw of him he was going off in a cab headed for Waterloo. But he must have changed his mind again. It’s obvious he went somewhere else, and if I had to bet I’d say it was probably Oxford.’
‘Why there?’
‘Billy got the whole story at lunch.’ Madden rose to put a log on the fire. Returning to the sofa, he repeated in detail the account of it he’d been given.
‘And now Angus has gone off in search of this mysterious man with the flat tyre?’ Helen shut her eyes as though to block out the image she had conjured up. ‘He’s taken it on himself to track down the supposed murderer, who may or may not be a war criminal. And what does all this have to do with Oxford?’
‘Angus told Billy the car this man was driving was hired from an Oxford firm. There was a notice to that effect pasted to the windshield. If I had to make a guess I’d say that was where he went after his lunch with Billy. He could have caught a train from Paddington.’
‘It’s insane.’ Helen shook her head. ‘Didn’t he realize how upset we’d be not to find him here?’
Glancing at Madden, she saw him put his hand to a scar that marked his brow near the hairline. It was a souvenir of his time in the trenches during the First World War and touching it was something he did subconsciously when he was thinking.
‘John?’
‘Angus knew we were due back today.’ Madden awoke from his trance. ‘And he also knew just how concerned we’d be if we found him missing. So why hasn’t he left a message with someone explaining his absence—with Lucy, for example . . . or Will Stackpole?’
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘I think he expected to be home when we arrived, or soon afterwards. Oh, he’d have some explaining to do—there’s no question of that—and to you in particular. But the last thing he’d have wanted to do was worry you. I think something unexpected has happened to him—today, I mean. And I wouldn’t be surprised if the snow hadn’t got something to do with it.’
‘Do you mean he’s stranded somewhere, out of reach of a telephone?’
‘It’s quite possible. But I’m still hoping he might ring us this evening. He wouldn’t have known what time we were getting back.’
Helen considered his words.
‘And if he doesn’t ring?’ she said.
Once again her husband was wordless.
‘My dear, I’m not exaggerating.’ She turned to him. ‘I only wish I were. Angus is in no condition to be behaving like this. Any sort of physical effort or stress might be dangerous for him. It could even put his life at risk. I tried to make that clear to him. But it seems I was wasting my breath.’
‘I think he knows, all right.’ Madden found his tongue. ‘And that tells me this must be important to him. But I’m not going to sit here doing nothing. Tomorrow I’ll ask Billy to see if he can get me a list of car-hire firms from the Oxford police. That way I can find the one that rented a car to this man.’
‘I don’t see how.’
‘It’ll be the one that had a car returned to them with a flat tyre. I can check whether Angus has been to see them.’
‘But even if he has, that won’t tell us where he is now.’ Helen seemed determined to see only the difficulties.
‘True. But it’ll be a start.’
‘Couldn’t the Oxford police do that for you?’
Madden shook his head. ‘It wouldn’t be right to ask them. This is not a police matter—or not yet. That was Angus’s problem, you see. He thinks a murder might have gone unnoticed, but he knows he doesn’t have enough to start an investigation. He made that clear to Billy. What he’s looking for is something he can offer them, something they’ll accept as real evidence that a crime has been committed. His reputation’s on his side, of course, and I’m sure the Oxford police will be helpful—but only up to a point. They can’t start a search for him, not without good reason. But I can.’
Madden smiled. He took her hand in his.
‘And if I get even a hint that he’s in Oxford I’ll go over there and track him down myself. There—will that satisfy you?’
‘So long as you can persuade him to come home.’ Helen was unyielding.
‘What if he refuses?’
‘Then do what you think fit. Clap him in irons if you think that’s necessary.’ She kissed him. ‘But bring him back.’