CHAPTER ▪ FIFTEEN

“BILLY, WAKE UP, WE are almost there!”

I had been stretched out in the backseat sawing logs when I awoke to Kaz hollering up front. I sat upright and rubbed my eyes. We were in the country, driving down a tree-lined lane with green fields and low rolling hills on either side. The sun was out for a change, lighting up the sky to a deep blue and reflecting off clumps of white puffy clouds moving swiftly above the landscape. It was a beautiful day.

“Here we are,” said Daphne as she turned the staff car onto a gravel driveway. Ahead, a fair-sized stone cottage sat on the left side of the road. A line of white fence came from behind the cottage and ran down the length of the driveway beyond.

“Nice place, Daphne,” I said.

Kaz turned and smiled at the look on my face.

“Yes, it is, but that’s the gatekeeper’s house. Closed up for the duration right now.”

“Daphne, are you a princess or something?” I asked as we passed two horses on the other side of the fence running or galloping or doing whatever horses do out in the country.

“No, silly,” she answered. “You won’t find any royalty here. Father has his knighthood, but that’s not hereditary.”

“Your father’s a knight?” Images of a man in armor riding one of these horses floated through my mind. The Black Knight galloping across the pages of a picture book Danny loved to look at with me.

“Sir Richard Seaton,” Kaz explained, “was knighted for his lifelong service to king and country. He was a captain in the Royal Navy in the Great War, now retired.”

“If your father’s a knight, what does that make your mother?” I asked.

“Mother died when we were quite young. Father raised all of us here, taught us how to ride and shoot, and tell right from wrong. It’s been too long since we’ve all been together, Diana, Thomas, and I. I do miss them terribly.” Daphne trailed off into silence and I decided to follow her example rather than ask another stupid question. The gravel crunched beneath our tires as I watched Daphne in the rearview mirror, her eyes staring at the road and maybe beyond, to images of children at play, when the world had been a far safer place.

We slowed to cross a stone bridge arched over a small stream and through the trees I could see a house up ahead. “Seaton Manor,” Kaz announced, as if he had produced it from thin air. The house was long, whitewashed brick, two stories high, with a slate roof and tall chimneys at either end. Around the left side a low gated wall encompassed a courtyard with a stone barn at the opposite end. The white fence ended at the barn, and there were more horses gathered there, standing with their necks craned out over the fence, staring at us as we pulled up to park.

It was a warm day and I left my uniform jacket in the car. As I got out, I checked my reflection in the window and tightened up my tie, made sure it was tucked into my shirt properly, and adjusted my fore and aft cap at the jauntiest angle possible, just teetering on the edge of falling off. I knew I was no Beau Brummell, but with Daphne’s father being a knight and a captain and all, I figured a little extra effort was required.

“Daphne!” A high-pitched scream came from the barn, followed by a figure running out with arms widespread. “Daphne!” she repeated as she flew through the gate, long blonde hair falling down past her shoulders as a tweed cap hit the ground.

“Diana! Oh my goodness!” The two sisters embraced, laughing and clinging to each other.

“I didn’t know you’d be here—”

“—just for a couple of days . . . how long?”

“—pick up the Imp. . . .”

“You look wonderful!”

“How’ve you been?”

“. . . the same. Father?”

“Fine. Working terribly hard. . . .”

It went on like that for what seemed a long time. Bits of sentences, phrases and expressions, laughter and arms intertwined, the shorthand of close siblings. My kid brother and I could catch up with each other after a month with a few mumbled exchanges and a punch to the shoulder. It was like that with Daphne and her sister, just more genteel, English, and feminine. It made me homesick.

“Oh, Piotr,” Diana exclaimed, finally noticing us leaning up against the car. “It’s so good to see you!” She grasped Kaz’s hands and kissed him with genuine affection.

“Diana,” Daphne said, taking her sister by the arm and turning her toward me, “This is Lieutenant William Boyle. Billy—my dear, sweet, quite impetuous younger sister, Diana.”

I held out my hand and looked into her eyes. They were deep blue, and a shock of her bright blonde hair draped itself down one side of her face. She was wearing blue coverall with the sleeves rolled up and rubber Wellingtons, probably for working in the barn. There were beads of sweat on her forehead. Horse manure and straw were stuck to her boots, and the general odor was of, well, a barnyard.

She took my hand and I felt her soft, warm skin, as well as the strength in her handshake, almost like a man’s. I could see a faint ripple of muscle in her forearm and I held on to her right hand as she wiped her forehead with the other.

“Please forgive me, Lieutenant, I’ve been shoveling a mountain of horse shit for the last hour.”

“Diana! What did I tell you about foul language?” an angry, stern voice said from behind the gate.

“Father!” Daphne said as she ran over to him. His sternness dissolved as she kissed him. “Is Diana still cursing like a trooper?”

“Yes, she is. A terrible affliction in an otherwise wonderful daughter. Now, tell me, what are you doing . . . ah, Baron, so good to see you!” Sir Richard walked over to Kaz and extended his left arm. His right sleeve was empty, pinned up at the shoulder. He had a full head of white hair and a short white beard, very neatly trimmed. He was tan and looked in good shape for a one-armed retired naval officer. He was wearing the same outfit as Diana and had also obviously been at work, one-handed.

“Sir Richard,” Kaz said, with a slight bow as he shook his hand, acting every inch the aristocrat. “Allow me to present my associate, Lieutenant William Boyle.” For a second I didn’t know what to do, whether to bow or which hand to shake with. Then I noticed I was still holding Diana’s hand. I could feel myself redden as I let go. She smiled and Daphne laughed. Sir Richard’s forehead wrinkled up as his eyes darted between Diana and me. I tried to gather what few wits I had.

“Very glad to meet you, sir,” I said as I gripped his offered left hand somewhat clumsily. “Most folks just call me Billy.”

“You see, Father,” Diana said, obviously picking up the thread of a previous argument. “See how informal Americans are, offering their first name right off. Billy probably feels more at home having someone curse around him, don’t you, Billy?”

“Well, we don’t shovel much horse . . . manure in South Boston, Miss Seaton, and not every American is as friendly as I am.”

Diana’s smile vanished, her attempt to rally me to her side having failed. She tossed her hair back and turned toward the barn.

“I just need to finish up a few things. Daphne, dear, come chat with me while I clean up. Father, will you show our guests inside?” Without waiting for a response, Diana and Daphne went off, arm in arm, whispering to each other, ignoring the three of us.

“Well, gentlemen, I am glad to welcome you to Seaton Manor,” Sir Richard began, “but would you mind telling me the reason for this unexpected visit?”

“Daphne wants to take the Riley Imp out,” said Kaz. “I need to get to London and Daphne has to drive Billy up to Southwold. It is a matter of some urgency—”

“The Imp hasn’t been driven in months,” Sir Richard cut in, “what with rationing and the petrol shortage. I put her up on blocks and drained the crankcase. She’s under a tarp in the barn, waiting for better times.”

“These are hardly better times, sir,” I said, “but it would really help us out to have the use of another vehicle.”

“I take it this is a military matter?” Sir Richard asked Kaz, cocking an eyebrow in my direction.

“It is indeed, Sir Richard. Perhaps we should explain—”

“Explanations can wait,” Sir Richard said, the authority of a former captain easily asserting itself. “We need to get to work on the Imp. Follow me.”

Within minutes Sir Richard had us in coveralls and was pulling the tarpaulin off the Imp. It was a bright red two-seater sports car, slung low to the ground and as sleek as a Spitfire.

“It’s a beautiful car,” I said.

Sir Richard smiled. “Yes, she is. Ships and fast cars, they have their own certain beauty, don’t you think? Now man that jack, will you?”

We worked for an hour or so, mounting the tires and adding engine oil. Sir Richard brought in a can of gasoline and we poured it into the fuel tank as he ran a clean rag over the hood where we had left some fingerprints.

“Well, shall we start her up? Baron?” Sir Richard handed him the keys. Kaz slid into the driver’s seat as Sir Richard walked to the barn door to swing it open. The Imp started up smartly and Kaz shifted into first gear, rolling forward toward the door, the engine rumbling with a low, sustained growl.

“Switch off, Baron!” Sir Richard held up his hand, as heavy raindrops started to splat across the dusty courtyard. Kaz cut the engine and we watched as thick, gray clouds blew across and obliterated the blue sky.

“Looks like a storm blowing in from the northeast, probably a North Sea front. Could be nasty. Just leave the Imp there for now. I must see to the horses. . . .”

His eyes scanned the fenced fields beyond the barn as we heard the growing sound of hoofbeats coming toward us. Daphne came into view, dressed in one of the blue coveralls that seemed to be the uniform of the day at Seaton Manor, astride a brown horse—chestnut, I think they called that color at the racetrack. She was leading about a dozen horses, or ponies maybe, by their size, to the safety of the barn. We walked over to the fence and watched them draw near, satisfaction showing on Sir Richard’s face. I saw Diana riding a jet black horse at the rear of the little herd, when suddenly a thin slash of bright light seemed to hurl itself into the trees to our right, followed by a loud crack of thunder that split the sky above us. I jumped. The horses began to swirl in an agitated mass. One of them reared up on his hind legs and let loose a terrifying sound, all teeth and wide fearful eyes. He took off from the herd crazily and ran back the way they’d come, tail flicking wildly in the electric air. Diana turned her horse on a dime, pulling down on the bridle with her right hand, leaning in the direction she wanted to go, kicking her heels into him at the same time. The horse responded as if he knew exactly what she wanted. Diana galloped past us after the stray, her long blonde hair flowing behind her, as another bolt of lightning arced through the sky. She turned her head for a split second and smiled at me, so fast that I wasn’t sure it had happened. I climbed the fence and watched her vanish over a rise, her horse’s hooves sending clumps of dirt and grass flying as if a machine gun was chewing up the ground behind them. My heart was pounding. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Everything about the moment—Diana, the black horse, her hair, the lightning—was burning itself into my mind. I stepped down from the fence and saw Sir Richard fixing his gaze on me as the rain began to beat down harder. Kaz was shaking his head wearily.

“The girls will finish up with the horses. They’re quite capable. Let’s get ourselves indoors and cleaned up,” Sir Richard said. He turned and walked toward the house, Kaz talking long strides to keep up with him. I followed, since it sounded more like an order than a suggestion, but I did it with my head turned toward the field, where that black horse still ran with a vision on its back.

By the time we got inside it was a real downpour. We shed our boots and coveralls in the kitchen, while the cook brewed up a pot of tea. She was a stout, white-haired matron with ruddy cheeks. She stood with arms akimbo and held a wooden spoon in one hand like a field marshal’s baton. Her eyes narrowed sternly as she watched us doff our wet and dirty garments, as she had warned us not to venture any farther into her kitchen before they were hung properly on the hooks near the doorway.

“It’s right nice to have both girls back home, isn’t it, Captain?” she said to Sir Richard as she eyed our progress.

“Indeed it is, Mrs. Rutledge. Do you think you could accommodate three more for dinner tonight?” he answered.

“Sir,” I interrupted, “we need to be on our way—”

“Young man!” Mrs. Rutledge thundered, “you will not drive in here for the afternoon with Miss Daphne and then drive out before eating at least a proper meal, you hear me?” She shook the wooden spoon at me and I was instantly reminded of my drill instructor.

“And specially not in a rainstorm like this, not in that little red automobile, you aren’t. Right, Captain?” She looked to Sir Richard, daring him to contradict her.

“I believe Mrs. Rutledge is correct, gentlemen,” he said diplomatically. “You could leave in daylight but you’d both soon be driving in darkness, and rain, if this keeps up. With the black out restrictions that could be dangerous. You’ll stay here tonight and get an early start in the morning. Right, Mrs. Rutledge?”

“Right, Captain, quite right indeed.”

 

 

“Kaz, she’s incredible!” I half whispered as we walked down the wide hallway to our rooms.

“You looked like lightning had struck you when she rode by,” he said.

“That’s what it felt like. I’ve never met anyone like her before.”

“Don’t get carried away, my friend,” Kaz said. “We’re only here for one night, and remember, Diana is in the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry. She could be assigned anywhere, anytime.”

“I don’t care. I have to see her.” I felt like nothing else in the world mattered. I didn’t know what FANYs did or where they went, and I didn’t care.

“As I said, don’t get carried away. She may not be as interested as you are, Billy. And you have to deal with Sir Richard.”

“First, she smiled at me. That’s all I have to go on, but it’s enough for me. Second, why would I worry about him? He seems to think you and Daphne are an OK item. What’s wrong with me?”

“Well, first, I didn’t jump up onto a fence to stare at his daughter’s behind bouncing on a horse the first time I met him. . . . That’s your room, I believe.” Kaz leaned on his doorknob and pointed to the room opposite.

“Thanks, buddy.”

“Billy, seriously, some advice. Sir Richard is very rare among upper-class Englishmen. He does not seem to have a built-in bias against all foreigners. There are many men in his position who would not want a Pole to court their daughter, even if he is a baron. They would also not look kindly upon a young American of Irish extraction. But do not depend on his liberalism. He is very protective of his daughters. Especially Diana, who seems to have no fear.”

“No fear of what?”

“Fast horses, cars, whatever attracts her fancy. Perhaps you are now in that category.”

“One can only hope.”

 

 

I was in my room, dressing after a hot bath. My uniform had been brushed and pressed while I soaked. So far, except for stray bullets and dead bodies, life in fancy English houses wasn’t too bad. There was a knock at the door, and a servant told me that dinner would be served in an hour, and that the captain had asked if I would be so kind as to have sherry with him in the library, first. Again I could tell this was no suggestion, and said I’d be right there. I walked downstairs, hoping to bump into Diana on the way. No luck. I found the library, and Sir Richard walked in a minute later. He was dressed in a dinner jacket, and I tried to picture everything in black and white, like in the movies, which was the only place I had ever seen anyone in a tux, outside of a wedding or the mayor at the policeman’s ball, and dollars to doughnuts those had been rentals.

“Lieutenant Boyle, I’m pleased you could join me,” he said as he poured out two glasses of sherry from a decanter. No first names between us, I guess. He replaced the stopper on the decanter and it settled in with that nice glassy clunk that said real crystal.

“Glad to, Sir Richard . . . or do you prefer Captain?”

He handed me a glass and gestured toward a chair. We sat. Books lined the wall in front of us, some of them really old, their faded leather bindings thick on the shelves. Others were new, with bright-colored covers showing off among the fading tones of the older books. I wondered if he had read them all. And if he had any Sherlock Holmes.

“‘Captain’ suits me better,” he said. “I feel as if I’ve at least earned that title. The knighthood, well, that’s so much politics. As a military man, perhaps you understand.”

“My military experience as an officer is really measured in weeks, but I think I do. My father and uncle were in the last world war. They lost their older brother in France.”

“The shared experience of death. It tends to stay with you.” He shook his head sadly, and I wondered what else we were going to talk about. I figured more small talk was in order.

“What sort of ship were you on, Captain? I’m afraid I don’t know much about the Royal Navy.”

“A cruiser. She went down in the Battle of Jutland. The captain is supposed to go down with his ship, but all I could manage to send down was one arm.”

He smiled to himself at what was now probably a well-worn joke.

“It must’ve been tough.”

“Losing the arm? No, that was easy, compared to losing my ship. And my men. Very difficult to come to grips with. You probably have yet to meet the enemy in combat, Lieutenant?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Once you do, you will need to keep all your wits about you. You must be totally focused on the job at hand.”

I nodded. I waited. I couldn’t disagree with him, but I also didn’t know what he was getting at.

“You work with Daphne and Baron Kazimierz at the U.S. headquarters?”

“Yes.”

“She seems to be quite happy these days. With the baron, with her post there.”

“Yes. They seem quite devoted to each other.” Thunder boomed, a distant, low sound. Rain pelted the windows as the winds blew it sideways against the house. I wondered what in hell we were talking about.

“It is ironic that people in wartime find each other who never would have met otherwise. For some it can be very good, having a relationship forged during time of war. For others, it can be . . . dangerous. It may entail a loss of focus.”

“You mean, like thinking of loved ones back home when you’re dodging bullets?”

He took a drink, keeping his eyes leveled on me over the rim of the glass. He set the glass down, still gazing at me. “Yes, that sort of thing. It’s why the commandos don’t want men with families. On a dangerous job, one shouldn’t be thinking about anything but the objective.”

“Well, at HQ the most danger we ever face is a paper cut.” I couldn’t very well brag about almost getting shot by accident to a guy with one arm at the bottom of the North Sea.

“Every job has its rigors. More sherry?”

I drank a second glass of the stuff and we talked some more. About Eisenhower, U-boats, London, lots of idle chitchat. Maybe this was how the swells entertained a guest. Tiny glasses of liquor my grandmother might drink and lots of small talk. It went on until a butler, in a swallow-tailed coat even fancier than the captain’s, announced that dinner was served.

I followed the captain out of the library and down the hall, thick carpeting deadening the sounds of our footsteps. We passed portraits of two men in naval uniforms from the last century. I wasn’t introduced.

We turned a corner and came to the main staircase at the front, the formal entrance to the house. Diana was waiting at the bottom. She looked a lot different than she had earlier. The absence of horse manure on her shoes was nice. She wore her FANY uniform, a light gray outfit that wasn’t designed for fashion, but she looked like a movie star in it anyway. Her hair was brushed and gleaming, falling over her shoulders like sunlight.

“Billy, there you are,” she said. “I thought you might have gotten lost.”

“The captain invited me to the library for sherry,” I said, trying to sound cheery about it.

“Oh, how nice of you, Father,” Diana said, falling in beside me and taking my arm.

The captain bowed his head. “No trouble at all, my dear.”

Daphne and Kaz were already in the dining room. I walked with Diana to the table to pull out her chair, but the captain had other plans. He seated his daughters to his left and right, and put me next to Daphne. There were only five of us at the table, but somehow I ended up as far away from Diana as possible. Out of footsie range, anyway.

The dining room was wood paneled, a dark cherry color. It was lit entirely by candlelight, candlesticks on the table, sideboard, and flickering in wall sconces. It produced a mellow, golden light, reflecting off the polished wood and giving the room a sense of age and dignity. A brisk fire in a huge fireplace behind the captain kept the damp chill from the rain outside from creeping in. Firewood snapped and sparked as wine—claret according to our host—was poured. He raised his glass in a toast.

“To our American allies. Lieutenant Boyle, I hope you are the first of many more to come.”

“They’re on their way, sir. You can depend on that.”

We clinked glasses, and there were smiles all around.

“We are depending upon it,” Captain Seaton said. “After fighting alone for two years, 1941 was a godsend to us. First, Hitler attacked Russia in June, taking the pressure off England, and then America came into the war in December. Made us breathe a little easier over here, I can assure you.”

“When will the Americans get into the fight?” asked Diana. “It’s been over six months since Pearl Harbor was attacked, and we’re just beginning to see you Yanks over here.”

“Diana!” barked the captain. “Don’t be rude!”

“That’s OK,” I said, trying to avoid an embarrassing moment. “Miss Seaton may not understand how difficult it is to mount a military campaign.” I took another swig of wine, warming to my subject. I was on Eisenhower’s staff, after all.

“You see, there’s the matter of strategy, logistics, target selection—”

“Billy,” Daphne interrupted, “I think you can spare us the lecture. Diana actually has more experience with military campaigns than any of us, excepting Father.”

“Diana was with a FANY detachment that served as switchboard operators with the British Expeditionary Force in France,” Kaz said, jumping to my rescue. “In 1940.”

“Well, Belgium at first anyway, Baron.” Diana cocked an eyebrow at me while she took a drink. She had a look that said she was about to enjoy humiliating me. “We were in Brussels, at BEF headquarters with Lord Gort. Supposedly safe behind the lines, working the switchboard and freeing up men for the fighting units. Although nobody told the Germans.”

“Especially Rommel.” The captain said this gazing between my eyes. I could tell I was getting a message.

“Yes,” Diana went on. “Rommel and his Ghost Division, they called it. Kept showing up in our rear areas. Quite a nuisance. We abandoned headquarters, fell back. Bombed, strafed, and otherwise inconvenienced for most of the month of May. We were among the first to be transported out of Dunkirk, with the wounded.”

“Are you a nurse?” I asked.

“No, although I did learn a few things about caring for the wounded. They call us the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry, but one doesn’t need to be a nurse. It’s rather a catchall organization, providing support in various ways. Working switchboards, clerking, that sort of thing.”

“Well, I’m glad you got out OK.” This was greeted with silence.

Finally the captain spoke. “The destroyer Diana was on was sunk by Stukas. The wounded were packed like sardines on deck. Most of them didn’t survive a night in the water.”

More silence. Kaz dropped a knife and the dull thud of silver hitting the table filled the room. I looked at Diana, trying to visualize her bobbing in a life jacket in the cold channel water, dead and dying men all around her. She gave her father a look that said, Please, don’t say anymore. She started to speak, stopped, and then seemed to rally. A smile crept back onto her face. She speared an asparagus and looked at me.

“So, Lieutenant, you were telling us about the difficulties of military campaigns?”

I could feel my face redden. I was glad to see she wasn’t so upset she stopped needling me. I raised my glass.

“To our English allies. They still have a thing or two to teach us colonials.”

I drained my glass. Daphne smiled approvingly, in a silent message of goodwill.

There was more wine, and several courses of good country food. The captain explained that the farm provided for most of their own needs, so rationing didn’t hurt them too badly. It was a working horse farm, and even with mechanization, there was still a big demand by the army for horses. He was evidently doing OK. After the servants cleared away the last of the dishes, the brandy and cigars came out. I had never been a big smoker, but I thought I ought to give it a try, since they were on the house. I put the cigar in my mouth before I noticed there was no hole at the end to draw the smoke through. I took it out quickly when I saw Kaz snip the end off his with a little cutter that had come with the box. For the second time that night I felt my face redden. I sincerely hoped they hadn’t noticed. Then I saw Daphne dabbing her mouth with a napkin, hiding a grin none too well.

I gave her a glare as Kaz handed me the clippers. At least Diana wasn’t laughing.

The captain was puffing on his cigar already, getting it going. Finally he exhaled. “Daphne tells me you’re a criminal detective, Lieutenant,” he said.

“Yes sir, Boston Police Department, now U.S. Army.” Criminal detective sounded a little fancier than cop, but I kinda liked it so I let it go.

“Apparently, you are conducting some kind of investigation? Anything you can tell us about?” I looked at Kaz and then Daphne. I wasn’t too sure about who should know what at this point.

“Father is actually very well informed about a number of military matters, Billy,” Daphne said. “He’s a frequent visitor at Chequers.”

The blank expression on my face must’ve said it all.

“Chequers is the prime minister’s country residence,” Kaz explained.

“Oh.”

“That would be Winston Churchill, dear,” added Daphne helpfully. I ignored her as she tried to stifle another bout of laughter.

“Father is too modest to explain,” Diana said, “but during the thirties, when Winston was trying to warn the government about the Nazi threat, he was only a member of Parliament, without much of a following or resources. A small group of influential men, some on active duty and some retired, advised him. Father was one of those. Still is, actually, when Winnie wants to sound out ideas and that sort of thing.”

“Winnie?”

“Oh yes,” Daphne added. “He’s quite a dear. He used to tell us stories of his adventures in Africa when we were children.”

“Suffice it to say, Lieutenant, I know all about Operation Jupiter. I helped Winston work out the naval logistics when it was an entirely British operation. I can only assume that’s why you’ve been consulting with the Norwegians at Beardsley Hall. As for Diana, she already has a top-secret security clearance. MI-5 cleared her before she went over with the BEF.”

Kaz gave a little shrug and nodded his head toward me. I guess we weren’t in a nest of German sympathizers.

“Do you know Knut Birkeland, sir?”

“I’ve met him in London. He advised the Royal Navy on coastal defenses and likely landing spots. Owns a fishing fleet over there, I believe, knows the coastline like the back of his hand, if I remember correctly. Decent chap.”

“Yes, he was. He’s dead.”

“It was supposed to look like suicide, Father,” Daphne broke in eagerly. “But Billy thinks it was murder! We’re helping him investigate. It’s all very exciting.”

“How was he killed?” Diana asked.

“Defenestrated,” Kaz said. “Pushed, thrown, or jumped out a fourthfloor window. Which one depends on whether or not you believe the suicide note.”

I went over the note, the gold coin, the accusations by Vidar Skak, and those who we had identified as being up and about during the early morning hours: Skak, Captain Jens Iversen, Major Anders Arnesen, Lieutenant Rolf Kayser, an unidentified female in the company of Iversen, and of course, the king.

“So,” the captain said slowly, thinking out loud, “if it wasn’t suicide, it was probably one of those individuals? Certainly you can’t suspect the king?”

“A cop . . . a criminal detective should never assume someone is incapable of murder. But leaving his royal status aside for the moment, King Haakon is one of the least likely suspects. Rolf Kayser is the other. They were out very early, hunting. The timing doesn’t work, based on the condition of the body.”

“Rigor mortis, that sort of thing?” the captain asked.

“Yes. Lividity, too.” I described the condition of the body as I found it.

“But you sound certain that the suicide note was actually written by Mr. Birkeland?” Diana asked, puzzled.

“Yes, it is in his handwriting.”’

“His handwriting, no signs of a struggle inside a locked room,” Diana said as she ticked off these points on her fingers. “How can you say it wasn’t suicide?”

“He wasn’t the type. We found the room key in Arnesen’s room later that morning. How did it get there? Someone may have planted it, or maybe Arnesen thought no one would search every room for the key, but I doubt it.”

“So who does that leave as a prime suspect?” Diana asked.

“Skak had a motive. He and Birkeland were rivals for the position of the king’s senior adviser.”

“Yes,” the captain said, “I seem to remember a difference of opinion about the role of the underground in Norway. Birkeland was dead set against it, right?”

“Absolutely. Skak was just as adamant that they be used in an uprising. Birkeland favored commando raids, even though that meant his fishing fleet was a prime target.”

“Ah, nitroglycerin!” the captain said. “The commandos have been destroying fishing boats and processing plants.”

“Correct,” said Kaz. “I am going to London to try to find out if anyone stood to gain financially by halting those raids. Someone in England, that is.”

“So, Skak has a political motive, and you’re looking for someone who might have had a financial motive,” Diana said. “What about this mystery woman?”

“I have no idea,” I admitted. “Until we find her, anyway. Daphne and I are going up to the Southwold base to talk to Rolf Kayser. He left the hall soon after Birkeland’s death and we haven’t had a chance to question him. I’m hoping he and the king saw something, or somebody, that morning that will give us a lead.”

“It sounds like you’ve gotten nowhere,” said Diana, her blonde eyebrow arched and her eyes aimed at me, drilling me right through the heart.

“That’s not fair!” Daphne protested.

“Unfortunately, it is,” I admitted. “At this point in an investigation, the only thing to do is to go over everything again, carefully. They always make a mistake somewhere, it’s just a matter of patience.”

“But are you a patient man, Lieutenant Boyle?” asked Diana.

I tried to think of something suave to say, something that Franchot Tone or maybe Cary Grant would have come up with. The captain cut that short, as if he read too much into Diana’s question.

“I suggest we turn in. It will be an early start for you all in the morning. Mrs. Rutledge will have a breakfast ready at six o’clock.”

He stubbed out his cigar, grinding it in a glass ashtray with his left hand as he watched us get up and leave. I thought I could feel his eyes on my back.