Allenby called Lucas to ask for a meeting. His voice over the telephone sounded grim and urgent.
They agreed to meet near Wyndham Hall at three-thirty. Lucas had time to spare, so he drove a slightly longer route, where he could enjoy the rich beauty of the countryside in the afternoon sunlight.
Allenby had contacted him sooner than he had expected. In fact, Lucas would not have been surprised if Allenby hadn’t gotten in touch with him at all until after he had left the house party at the Hall.
Allenby was there already, waiting for him at the side of the road. He was casually dressed, but like a country gentleman on a Sunday. He would fit right in at Wyndham Hall, Lucas thought—in fact, even better than he had hoped.
Lucas pulled onto the shoulder. Allenby opened the passenger door and climbed in. As soon as the door was closed, Lucas pulled back onto the road. “You thought it best not to bring Elena?”
“She would not have been happy if I told her of this meeting. I nearly mentioned it moments before I left, but decided against it.”
Lucas did not pursue this. Allenby was in charge, and Elena would have to understand that, whether she liked it or not.
“Something has happened so soon?”
“Geoffrey Baden has proposed to Margot, and she has accepted him. They are natural, they seem happy together.”
Lucas let his breath out silently. He had expected this, but not for a while. He needed time to absorb it. Was he wrong in his suspicions about Geoffrey Baden? It was not the first time he’d hoped he was wrong. “Does Elena see that?”
“Of course,” Allenby replied. “Margot looked radiant, so young and hopeful. I think everyone will be happy for both of them. Certainly, Griselda Wyndham will be positively delighted. Margot’s going to fit into the family perfectly, at least it appears so from the outside.”
“And from the inside?” Lucas pressed.
“God knows,” Allenby said so quietly that his voice was almost swallowed by the noise of the engine. “I think she is more vulnerable than she looks. She’s created the perfect image of the sophisticated woman. Nothing like Elena, who is so very much tougher than she ever seems to be.”
“No, she isn’t,” Lucas argued before he considered the wisdom of it. “Elena is—” He stopped abruptly, having thought better of it. What did he want Allenby to think of Elena? That she was clever, resourceful, and self-disciplined, as an agent for MI6 should be? How far did he trust Allenby with the young woman Lucas had known and loved for all her life?
Allenby answered the question before Lucas could ask. “Elena can be hurt. God knows I’ve seen it. I’ll never forget Washington. But she’s a survivor, Lucas. I don’t know about Margot. Who she is falls outside my knowledge. I’ve only met her this once.”
“Is Geoffrey Baden a bad one?” Lucas asked. It was a simplistic question, but he already knew Allenby would understand what he meant.
“Bad men can change,” Allenby replied. “I like David Wyndham. I think he’s a decent sort.”
Lucas gripped the wheel. “That wasn’t what I asked. What did you want to tell me that prompted this meeting? Anything about John Repton, poor devil?”
Allenby described the late-night search, the discovery of blood, and then the camera with the film removed. “Conclusive,” he confirmed.
Lucas nodded. His emotions were relief that this part of the puzzle had been solved and increased concern and fear for his granddaughters. “And?”
“The little I’ve gathered so far makes it look like Repton knew he was on to something,” said Allenby. “He was staying at a local inn. He had a key to the front door and had made friends with the landlord. He took on the persona of a quiet man, shy and interested in birds, especially owls.”
Lucas glanced over and saw Allenby smile wryly, aware of the reference. “The Owl” had been Lucas’s code name during the war, as he had been the leader of secret nighttime operations in enemy territory.
“A good way of explaining his comings and goings,” Allenby went on. “I know he took some damn good photographs. Owls! The interest was more than just a cover.”
“It was,” Lucas agreed. The mention of John Repton’s interest in birds brought back sharp memories of the man. When he had talked to Lucas about owls, there had been excitement in his face, and his mind had always been searching for words to describe the magic of silent flight and how owls’ huge eyes could see in even the dimmest of light. These old emotions crowded Lucas’s mind, alongside others shared a long time ago, when everything had been utterly different.
Repton had, in fact, been a quiet man, but he had been intensely alive. He had seen tiny things other people missed in the intricacies of life, the seasons, the interdependencies of nature. And he had shared these thoughts with Lucas.
Lucas glanced again at Allenby, then back at the road. He was satisfied to believe that Allenby also felt something of Repton’s unique character and grieved for him.
“So, what did he learn?” Lucas asked. “Did you find out anything?”
“Whatever it was, he was excited about it,” Allenby answered. “He was on to something. That’s what the landlord said. He liked Repton, and he’s angry that he’s been killed, even though the police are still saying it was possibly an accident.” After a moment, he added, “And this same landlord says that he entered Repton’s room and there were only a few articles of clothing, nothing more.”
“So, either he stored everything in his memory, or his notes were taken,” Lucas deduced.
“From what I know of him, he relied on his memory. Safer than jotting down something that could find its way into the wrong hands.”
“Repton’s death was no accident,” Lucas said firmly. “What kind of accident would it be if the perpetrator just happened to be wandering around at night with a loaded rifle, shooting at moving things—like people?” His voice carried the anger and the grief he felt.
“Do poachers often carry rifles?” Allenby asked skeptically, but there was no conviction in his voice either.
“Rifles? Rubbish! What was the shooter after? Deer? You certainly don’t shoot a rabbit with a rifle, poor little beast,” Lucas scoffed.
“It’s a lot more comfortable for the police to think it was an accident than to start pulling people out of the big houses ’round here and questioning them.”
“Why the big houses?” Lucas wondered. “And did the killer have to live around here? Why not anywhere within a dozen miles? Or a hundred, for that matter!”
“I don’t know, Lucas. I haven’t met the chief constable yet, but I gather that he isn’t a man who goes looking for trouble.”
“What is he looking for?”
“My guess? To fit in as a reliable chap who knows which side of his bread is buttered, knows who is doing the buttering, and knows better than to drop it butter-side-down on the carpet.”
Lucas smiled in spite of himself. He knew exactly what Allenby meant. It was time to approach the other side of the subject.
“What about Elena? What is there for her to do now? This engagement of Margot’s is nothing to do with her, is it?”
“Everything,” Allenby replied. “The fact that Margot is engaged to Geoffrey, and that the family welcomes her, is going to make it technically easier for Elena to dig into the family, but harder for her to hide her feelings about them. Wyndham’s own sister, Prudence, is here with her discreet and charming husband, Landon Rees. I think perhaps he is very clever indeed, and expresses very few opinions—which certainly doesn’t mean he has none.”
“And Wyndham?”
“Also a very charming fellow. Looks like he’s exactly what he purports to be: a good man, very rich, a well-bred aristocrat with all the grace of good breeding and none of the arrogance. I have no idea what he’s like behind it all. You could say the same of the Prince of Wales, who, by the way, is an acquaintance of the Wyndhams. At least, he is of Griselda, who seems to have hit it off with that set rather well.”
“And Griselda?” Lucas asked. “What is she like, apart from the society woman whose photograph is in Tatler and other fashionable magazines?”
“I don’t know, but I need to find out. Which I can do,” he added, “with Elena’s help.”
“But she doesn’t know her.”
“Yes, she does,” Allenby contradicted him. “Your granddaughter is not as vague as she sometimes looks!”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” Lucas felt unreasonable anger rising up inside him. He resented this smooth young man speaking familiarly about Elena, without knowing or caring who she was behind that professional mask. “You’ve known her only a few months.”
When Allenby spoke, his voice was quiet, unruffled, but there was an emotion in it that Lucas could not read. “More like five days, and a bit more. And I respect anyone who can keep their mind sharp and their judgment acute, in spite of their emotions, and also retain their courage and the total concentration that was required during those few days.”
Lucas had a sudden need to reveal a degree of the truth to young Allenby. “I’m too old to go out into the field with her; that’s your job. But if you want to survive, you had better do it well!”
Allenby was smiling, but it was a crooked smile, and surprisingly gentle. “Yes, sir.”
They drove in silence for several minutes. Then Lucas pulled the car up under a large group of trees and parked. He turned off the engine and swiveled in his seat to face Allenby.
“What about the social connections? Are they just amusement? Or do they mask something a lot bigger? If you could get into one of those parties and speak to someone candidly, I’d like to know whether they’re genuinely pro-Hitler, pro-Nazi, or just along for the social ride, the money, the fashion, the connections, and so forth. Whatever it is, all are real political dangers. Or perhaps it’s something else. I can understand these ‘never again’ people. God knows we don’t need another war! There’s always the chance that we wouldn’t even survive it this time.”
“Possibly,” Allenby said, so quietly that he was barely audible. “But there’s a difference in nature between surrendering and being beaten. I’m not sure at what point it’s too late to change your mind, in terms of what you’re going for.”
“Could Margot get caught up in this?” Lucas forced himself to face that at last. “I mean, on the wrong side?”
“Yes,” Allenby answered, his voice both steady and sad. “She has many of the qualities the pro-Nazis look for. She speaks fluent German. And far more than that, she’s an ex-ambassador’s daughter. She knows many of the powerful people in Berlin, knows them well, without having to work at it. And…” He stopped.
“And what?” Lucas demanded.
“And her grandfather used to be head of MI6,” Allenby went on. “And is still highly influential. And her sister is an active agent for MI6. I don’t think Margot knows either of those things, nor do the others, but I can’t be sure.”
It was the truth, and Lucas knew it, but he had not faced it before so brutally. “Then you must find out,” he demanded. “That is, find out what they know. Who is making a deliberate choice and who is only blind, not seeing what they cannot bear to acknowledge? I know Margot desperately wants to be happy, and Elena knows it even better than I do. So, you must do what you can, Allenby.”
Allenby looked straight at him but said nothing.
“If every man made an exception for the ones he loves,” Lucas went on, “we’d have no war. It’s the excuses we give to justify ourselves that corrupt us. The beginning of the pressure we put on one another.”
Again, Allenby’s assent lay in his silence.
“What do we know for certain about Repton’s death?” Lucas asked. “Anything that could not be interpreted as something other than murder?”
“He was shot in the chest by a single bullet from a rifle,” Allenby told him gravely. “The distance was about ten feet, at a guess, but no closer. No powder burns anywhere. The bullet entered his heart, so he must have died instantly. And it’s now certain that he was killed in one place and his body dumped in another.”
“Could some gamekeeper out to find poachers have shot Repton by mistake?” Lucas asked. “But let’s not forget the camera and the missing film.”
“Someone would have to be out of his head to murder a man for poaching and then empty his camera. Why shoot Repton, steal his film, move him from where he was killed, and then leave him in a ditch?”
“What are the police thinking as a motive?” Lucas asked with curiosity.
“So far, the best they can come up with is a quarrel with persons unknown. Their first thought was suicide, but as soon as they saw the bullet, that became pretty far-fetched. Not easy to shoot yourself with a rifle.”
“So, are they calling it unsolved?”
“Yes. And Repton never owned a rifle. At least, not that anyone knows of. As for the camera…We found it, but that only confirms the place where the murder took place.”
“The missing film,” Lucas said thoughtfully. “I wonder what the killer found on that film.”
“We need to find it!” Allenby declared.
“Hold on a minute,” Lucas said, his voice sharper. “Don’t you do that. I’ll get somebody. Either the killer took the film or a thief came upon his body and stole it…from a ditch late at night, which doesn’t seem likely. Or was he killed for the film? What could he have been photographing that was worth taking his life for?” He waited a second, then said bitterly, “What did he know that was worth dying for?”
“I don’t know,” Allenby answered somberly. “But it gives us something specific to look for, and a warning that this matters very much indeed.”
Lucas thought about this, then said with a quiet, deep anger, “If Elena has her camera with her, tell her not to photograph anyone without their permission. Not anything or anyone else at all! Do you hear me?”
“I do.” Allenby nodded.
And from the tone of his voice, Lucas knew that this was a promise James would keep.