Thursday, 9th November—Morning.
Veronica sighed with relief when the doctor formally discharged her the next morning. Her headache had cleared up with the aid of aspirin. She displayed no other symptoms, and provided she took things easy for a week, she would be fine. She had to smile at the doctor’s advice. With little prospect of solving the murder and the loss of my job, I think I have a good chance of taking things easy.
Claire turned up to collect her from hospital. The weather had turned bright and clear, if cold. Claire put the top down on the Bentley, and Veronica found the breeze wonderfully refreshing on her face as they sped along.
Claire shot her a glance as they drove down St. Stephens Road toward the heart of the city. “That’s a nasty bruise on your forehead, darling. I shall have to lend you my pot of foundation cream. It works wonders for covering up blemishes.” She smiled. “You do look pale, but more relaxed somehow.”
Veronica tilted her head back against the seat. “Perhaps I am more relaxed, but I wouldn’t recommend a bang on the head to achieve it.”
Claire laughed. “At least your sense of humour’s still intact.”
Veronica sighed. “I’ve got to laugh, Claire. Tomorrow’s Friday. I’m out of a job, and I’m no nearer finding out who killed Sylvester Brooke. I should give up. The world’s my oyster once I do that.”
They had to stop at a junction where a constable directed traffic. Claire reached over and patted her knee. “Have you thought about where you’d like to go after tomorrow? My offer to come live with me in Chelsea is still open, you know.”
A faint growling sound came from above, the noise like a purring cat mixed with a bumblebee in a bottle. Veronica looked up into the blue vault of the sky to see an aeroplane, droning overhead, the early morning sunlight glinting off the silvery wings. She pointed. “I’d love to go up in one of those and fly and fly beyond the world. Just... leave all my troubles behind.”
“Are you quite all right, darling?” Veronica lowered her gaze to see Claire looking at her with a quizzical expression. “Did the hospital give you some sort of medicine this morning?”
“Oh, no, I’m fine.” She thought of the twist of cocaine hidden in her underwear drawer. I wonder if a sniff would help. That thought, in turn, led to Roddy’s intrusion, and what she could do about him.
Claire smiled and shook her head. The traffic started off again, and she headed for the hotel. “That horrid little tick, Fielding, is having kittens, by the way. That nice night manager told me in confidence. We both speak French, so no one understood what we talked about. Word of your being attacked has spread. Fielding thinks some sort of assassin is on the loose.”
“I hope he’s wrong.”
“So do I.”
They pulled up outside the hotel. The doorman recognised them and stepped forward to open the car doors. He gave Veronica a sympathetic smile as she alighted.
Once on the pavement, Claire pleaded, “Do stay in my room until you’re ready to move out, darling. I’m sure it’ll be much safer. I’m concerned for you, you know.”
Veronica chewed her lip. “Fielding wouldn’t like it.”
“Oh, Fielding be hanged!”
The doorman heard her and hid a smile as he turned away.
Claire took Veronica’s arm and guided her in through the main entrance. “What will he do, sack you?”
Fielding himself stood behind the reception desk, conversing with a customer. He straightened and went wide-eyed when he saw Veronica.
With a hasty apology to the guest, he hurried over. “Are you feeling better, Mrs. Nash?” His gaze fixed on the bruise on her forehead and stared at it in wonder. “Inspector Forester told me you’d had an accident.” He quickly glanced around and lowered his voice. “In fact, he implied you’d been attacked by an unknown assailant.”
Veronica touched the bruise, feeling self-conscious. “Inspector Forester is right, Mr. Fielding. Someone tried to kill me.”
Fielding shook his head. Apparently, the shock of having a member of his staff assaulted had rattled his usual haughtiness. “Such times we live in! Scruffy ex-servicemen all over the place, Communists causing trouble in the streets. Perhaps it’s just as well you’ll be leaving tomorrow.”
Veronica seethed. Well, thank you for that, you little twerp!
Perhaps Fielding thought he’d been less than tactful and rearranged his expression into one he obviously imagined to be conciliatory. “Of course, I don’t expect you to return to duty today. Please take the time off and make whatever preparations you need.”
“Thank you.”
As he made to return to the desk, he hesitated. “Actually, you might oblige me by taking care of one piece of business, if you would.” He went behind the desk and unlocked a drawer. “A letter came in this morning’s post, addressed to Captain Brooke.” He held it up. The cheap white envelope bore a bright orange German stamp. “You handled his affairs. I’d be obliged if you’d forward this to the captain’s next of kin.”
“Certainly.” He handed it over to her. She examined the stamp with the ridiculously high face value in hundreds of millions of Marks. “Although perhaps I should give it to Inspector Forester...” Speaking the policeman’s name gave her an idea. She waved Claire over and turned back to Fielding. “In fact, I’d like to telephone him now, if I may.”
He blinked at her sudden burst of energy. “Please do so. The office is free.”
Veronica took Claire’s arm and hurried them along.
Claire could barely keep up with her pace. “What’s wrong, darling?”
“I’ve had an idea.”
Once in the office, she closed the door. While Claire stood by keeping watch for eavesdroppers, Veronica dialled the police station and asked for Forester.
He answered within a few seconds. “Good morning, Mrs. Nash. I trust you’re feeling better?”
“Much better, Inspector. I’m back at the hotel.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I’m afraid we’re no further forward on finding out who pushed you in front of the tram the other day. I hauled Mitchell in to ask a few pertinent questions. He admits he was in the crowd at the demonstration but nowhere near you. We can’t find anyone who says different, so we’re nowhere nearer a conclusion.”
He sounded sincere in his regrets.
“That’s where my friend and I may be able to help you, Inspector.” Veronica glanced at Claire, who returned her gaze with a puzzled expression. “A letter from Germany came for Captain Brooke this morning. It’s the one he expected. It might contain information that’ll reveal the murderer.”
“That’s interesting.” Forester’s voice showed sudden animation. “I’d better come down and take a look at it.”
“Actually, I have an idea on how to use the letter. My friend offered to put me up in her room here for the night, for safety’s sake. My belongings will be taken away into storage tomorrow. If word was to go around the hotel that a letter arrived for Captain Brooke, and that it’s likely to be left in my room unguarded, it might coax the murderer out of hiding in an attempt to steal it.”
Forester was quiet for so long Veronica thought they’d been cut-off.
Eventually, he spoke. “Mrs. Nash, I believe you might be onto something there. Let me work out the arrangements, and I’ll notify you.”
Veronica put the phone down.
Claire stared with doubt plain in her eyes. “Are you sure about this?”
Veronica grinned. “I’m sure. If it works out, we’ll nab the murderer. If it doesn’t...” She shrugged. “We’re no worse off than we are now.”
Forester called back within a few minutes. “Mrs. Nash, if you’re well enough, I’d appreciate it if you’d pop up to the station and bring that letter with you. If we’re going to lay an ambush for this murderer or blackmailer, it’d be a good idea for me not to be seen there until we’re ready.”
Veronica smiled at Claire. “Agreed, Inspector. We’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
Claire smiled back. “The game’s afoot?”
“The game’s afoot. I think we’d better take the tram rather than your car. It’s quite distinctive. There’s a possibility the murderer might see it parked outside the police station and wonder what we’re up to.”
“If you’re sure you can face the tram again after what happened?”
“Quite sure.” Veronica headed for the door. “It’s a case of getting back on the horse. Let’s go.”
They reached the police station, and the desk sergeant sent them up to Forester’s office right away. He greeted them both with a handshake, and Veronica introduced Claire.
Forester invited them to sit before taking the seat behind his desk. Folding his hands on the desktop, he addressed Veronica. “I’d like to see that letter, Mrs. Nash.” He examined the envelope she handed over and whistled when he saw the price of the stamp. “Those poor devils!”
Claire nodded. “How beastly it must be for them, going to shop for food with a wheelbarrow full of notes, only to find it won’t buy so much as a penny loaf.”
“Quite.” Forester dismissed any further thought of Germany’s economic woes with a wave of his hand. “I’ve been in contact with Brooke’s sister, over in Ludlow, Shropshire. As his designated next of kin, she’s naturally the recipient of any post-mortem mails that may be destined for her brother.” He touched the envelope. “I pointed out to her this letter may contain information which bears on the nature of his unfortunate demise, and that I would like to look at it. Otherwise, I’d require a warrant to interfere with the mail, and time’s too short to seek one now.
“Happily, she agreed to let me open the letter, provided it was forwarded to her as soon as possible.” He cleared his throat. “It appears she also has doubts about her brother’s death and would be grateful for any further light we may shed upon it.”
Veronica empathized. “I hope we’ll bring peace of mind to her as much as to ourselves, Inspector.”
“I’m sure. Well...” Forester picked up the letter and reached for a paper-knife. “Here goes...”
Inspiration struck, and Veronica reached hurriedly across the table to clasp his hand. “Wait.” Veronica smiled when Forester’s eye widened in surprise. “I have an idea.” She glanced around the room. “Do you have a kettle handy?”
He frowned, nonplussed. “A kettle?”
She explained. “We need to preserve the appearance of this envelope, to make it look unopened, if we’re to use it successfully as bait.”
Claire grinned. “I think I know what you’re up to, young Ronnie.” She winked at Forester. “Call it the benefits of a boarding school education, Inspector.”
Forester chuckled. “Ah! I see now.”
He went to the door and called his secretary. Within a minute, she brought in an electric kettle and set it as directed on his desk. With a curious glance at Veronica and Claire, she departed, and Forester set to work.
The kettle soon produced a fine head of steam. Forester handed the envelope to Veronica. “Since you seem to have some expertise in this area, I’ll leave it to you.”
The old skill came back to her. One acquired as a Monitress at Fenton School when she’d had occasion to steam open letters belonging to other, junior girls. Carefully, she peeled back the flap. Luckily, the glue was a cheap kind and gave easily without tearing the envelope. With an air of triumph, she extracted three sheets of paper. “There!” She glanced at the neat writing. “I think I can read this, somewhat. My German has rusted since Fraulein Gutermuth taught us at school.”
“Poor Fraulein.” Claire sighed. “I rather liked her. She left Fenton Priory before the war began in earnest. I wonder what happened to her?”
Veronica shrugged. I didn’t care much for the German teacher and her strict Teutonic ways. “I dare say she’s alive and well.” She adjusted her spectacles and examined the letter. “Oh, bother. My German is all too rusty, I’m afraid. I can’t make much of this letter. Do you speak German, Inspector?”
He smiled. “As a matter of fact, I do. I learned it in the Military Police during the war. We often had to question German prisoners, and I became reasonably fluent.
“Very well, I think you’d better read this.”
She handed the letter to Forester, who put on a pair of glasses. Spreading the sheets on his desktop, he read them right through in silence. On one occasion, his eyebrows shot up, and he whistled. Before either Veronica or Claire could question him, he waved for silence and kept reading.
When he finished, he sat back with a gleam in his eye. “Here’s what this gentleman has to say.”
Herr Hauptmann Brooke,
My name is Gerhardt Krause of Stuttgart, former soldier of the 19th Württemberg Regiment in the Kaiser’s army. My old friend and comrade Rudolf Lange has told me of your quest to find the man who killed your brother. Having lost brothers of my own during the late war, I can sympathize and wish to help you.
As Rudi has told you, he and I were officers of Stosstrupen, engaged in the battles of March 1918 as part of the Kaiserschlacht offensive. On the 28th of that month, we took part in an attack on a British position near the French town of Arras.
There we encountered a British patrol, led by a senior officer, a major, with a young lieutenant under him. We caught our enemy unawares. Having become sickened by the slaughter we had seen during the war, we wished to avoid further bloodshed and called upon the Tommies to surrender. Their junior officer saw the situation was not in their favour and made to do so. The senior man drew his pistol and shot him in the back before running away.
A general firefight broke out at this. We were all of us very much on edge, and the pistol shot made us think resistance was offered. Of the British soldiers, I regret all died or were wounded before the skirmish was over.
The few wounded men were taken care of, but due to the fluidity of the situation during the offensive, sadly they died before they could be evacuated to our aid station. On questioning the survivors, we were told the cowardly officer’s name was Major Robert Chapman.
Veronica gasped. “Dear God! Those poor men.” Her skin felt as if iced water had poured over her. “That coward!”
Claire sought and clasped her hand. “Chapman’s new career as an MP is finished if word of this letter gets out.”
“Indeed.” Forester took off his spectacles and massaged the bridge of his nose. “It’s no better reading it through a second time. This...” He waved the letter. “This is political dynamite.”
“What shall we do?”
Forester set the letter down. “Since the alleged incident involved military personnel during wartime, it’s not for the civilian police to press charges against Chapman in this case. We will have to refer it to the War Office. I shouldn’t be surprised if it reached the Prime Minister either. I don’t doubt Herr Krause of Stuttgart can be persuaded to come over and take the witness stand in a court-martial. For now, we have to work out how to use it to catch whoever murdered Captain Brooke.”
Veronica nodded. “We needn’t use the letter itself, Inspector. I think our mysterious murderer already has the folder. It would be far too risky to let the letter out of our sight.”
“That’s a good idea.” Forester got up and went over to his office safe and locked the letter inside. He took the envelope and put three sheets of unmarked letter paper inside. Resealing the envelope, he showed it to them. “Can you tell if it’s been opened?”
Claire peered at it. “No. Ronnie was always a dab hand at opening letters in school.”
He held up a hand to cut her off. A ghost of a smile hovered about his mouth. “I don’t want to know about it, Miss. Now we come to Mr. Fielding...” He rubbed his jaw. “I can’t see him as a suspect in either murder or blackmail, ladies. He had possession of the letter before you even knew about it, Mrs. Nash. There was nothing to stop him simply taking it from the reception desk.”
Veronica nodded. “I must say I’m reluctant to let go of the appealing idea of seeing Fielding being taken away in handcuffs. Do you think he should be told of our plan?”
“I can’t see a way around it, quite frankly. He’s the hotel manager, after all.” Forester thought for a moment then picked up the telephone. “Doris? Put me through to the manager of Chesterton Hotel...”