‘Now then, Joan darling, don’t encourage her.’
‘She’d never leave you, darling, never in a million years. You’ve been through altogether too much, you two. But let’s not get maudlin, what can I do for you? Have you finally come to take me up on my offer of a “backstage” tour?’
‘As a matter of fact, my darling,’ said Lady Hardcastle, ‘that’s exactly why we’re here.’
‘And it’s about time, too. Come with me, and I’ll show you where we do the magic.’
After a morning of Old Masters, seeing the work of the sculptors close-up was a joyous treat. We saw heads being modelled in clay, wax heads being finished with hair and makeup, and complete figures being dressed. They were working on a new tableau and it was utterly fascinating to see the care and skill that went into putting it all together.
We moved on into the public areas, including a free tour of the Chamber of Horrors, and the afternoon was an absolute delight. Call me shallow if you will, but I’ll take waxwork models of the famous and infamous over “A Doctor Tending a Patient’s Foot in His Surgery” (no, really), any day.
To close the day, and true to his word, Harry had managed to secure tickets for the most enjoyably silly show in the West End. As promised, there were songs, dancing, and the most preposterous love story you could possibly imagine. We had a late supper at the Ritz and then home for brandy and bed.
We were with family so, of course, there was nothing untoward about my sitting there with them both, enjoying Harry’s cognac and joining in with the continuing speculation about what could possibly be going on with the man who appeared to be the late and unlamented Günther Ehrlichmann and how it might involve the spies of the Imperial German Government.
‘It seems to be a most intractable puzzle,’ said Lady Hardcastle, polishing off the last of her cognac. ‘But I have the most awful feeling that I’m going to be terribly disappointed by the solution. Let’s just hope that we manage a satisfactory resolution, no matter how prosaic the answer turns out to be.’
Breakfast the next morning was interrupted by a ring at the doorbell. Reflexively, I began to rise to answer it, but Harry put his hand on my arm and went himself. He returned a few moments later with a telegram.
‘It’s for you, Sis,’ he said, handing it over.
She tore it open and read. ‘Oh bother,’ she said presently. ‘It’s from Inspector Sunderland.’
‘Your tame policeman in Bristol?’ said Harry.
‘The very same. I asked our tame constable in Littleton Cotterell to keep an eye on the house and watch out for strangers. It seems Sunderland has news. He wants me to telephone him. I don’t suppose you could let me use the telephone at your office, dear?’
‘I can do better than that, Sis. I have one here.’
‘I say, you are quite the terribly modern man about town, aren’t you, dear. No sign of a valet, but you have a telephone.’
‘I’m frightfully important, Sis. I need to be reachable at all times.’
‘Of course you are, darling. May I call the inspector? Or do you need to keep the line clear in case your masters need you urgently? There might be envelopes to lick, or paper fasteners to count.’
‘Place your call, Emily,’ he said, ‘before I change my mind about helping you at all. It’s in the hall by the door.’
Lady Hardcastle motioned for me to follow her and we went into the small hallway where, sure enough, there was a telephone on an old aspidistra stand beside the door. She lifted the earpiece and waggled its cradle a few times. We put our heads together and she positioned the earpiece between us so that we could both hear.
‘Operator,’ said the disembodied voice. ‘Which number do you require?’
‘I should like to place a trunk call to Bristol,’ said Lady Hardcastle, with the exaggerated diction usually reserved for use by aristocratic ladies when speaking to foreign waiters. She gave the number and there was a prolonged series of clicks, pops and crackles before we were eventually connected.
‘Inspector Sunderland?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘This is he,’ said the distant voice. ‘Is that you, Lady Hardcastle?’
‘The very same. I received your telegram.’
‘Ah yes,’ he said. ‘Thank you for telephoning. I trust it wasn’t too inconvenient but I thought it better to explain events in person, as it were.’
‘Not inconvenient at all, my dear inspector. It turns out that my brother has a telephone all of his very own.’
‘How the other half lives, eh, my lady? I contacted Constable Hancock as soon as I received your telegram the day before yesterday. He said you left in something of a hurry.’
‘There was an element of haste, yes Inspector.’
‘I do wish you’d just come straight to me, my lady. But no matter. Hancock kept me informed. It seems that a tall, fair-haired gentleman in what Hancock described as “foreign-looking clothes” was seen snooping around your house late that first afternoon.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I do hope no one gave him cause to harm them.’
‘No, my lady. He was discreetly observed and left to go about his business unmolested. When he had satisfied himself that there was no one home, he went to the pub and made enquiries about you, saying that he was an old friend of yours from London who just happened to be in the area. According to the landlord there...’
‘Joe Arnold,’ suggested Lady Hardcastle.
‘That’s the chap. He said the gentleman had a peculiar accent, but he couldn’t place it. But apparently that meant that he didn’t trust this fellow at all and with the admirable tightlippedness of village folk, spoke to him at length while revealing absolutely nothing of any use.’
‘What an absolute darling,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘Quite so, my lady. It seems you’ve made quite a favourable impression in your little village. The foreign fellow paid for a room for the night and then left early in the morning after a hearty breakfast. Hancock says he hung round your place for a while and then set off around noon in the direction of Chipping Bevington, at which point Hancock telephoned me to let me know he might be coming my way. I put a couple of boys on Temple Meads station and sure enough he got off a local train and went to the London-bound platform.’
‘So he’s already back in London?’ asked Lady Hardcastle.
‘He is, my lady. My lads saw him get on the London train at four-fifteen. but not before he’d had a long conversation with two men in dark suits he met in the buffet.’
‘Two men?’
‘Two men. They chatted earnestly for about twenty minutes but my lads couldn’t get close enough to hear what was said.’
‘That’s a shame,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I should very much like to know what passed between them.’
‘I thought you might, my lady,’ said the inspector. ‘And so did my lads. Which is why they pinched the two blokes in question as soon as chummy had left on the London Express.’