“Billy, any signs of discord with the men he worked alongside?”
“No, they seemed a genial lot. And they were all still shocked about what had happened. Not one could think of any reason for Addens to have been killed—which is why it comes back to the money.” He scratched his head, more from habit than easing an itch. “But what I don’t get is this—how come the Addenses were so hard up? I mean, I know a lot of people are very hard up, and it’s not as if many are that flush . . . but they had two grown-up children working, and I daresay giving up money for their keep every week. And another thing—they’d probably lived in that house a few years, and I bet the rent hasn’t gone up much. All in all, they should have felt a bit better off because the boy had started work at, what? Fourteen? And that girl went on to do a secretarial course, and then her librarianship, all at night after she left school at fourteen too.”
“Then money must have been going out somewhere else,” said Maisie. “I think I will have to go back to see the family—perhaps when the daughter isn’t home. She’s returning to work this week. But Mrs. Addens was distraught about money when I saw her—and I thought it a bit odd then, for the same reason, Billy. And she also told me the railway workers had started a whip-round for the family, so they had some more money coming in.”
At that moment the telephone on Maisie’s desk began ringing. Sandra leaped up to answer it, placing her hand on her middle as she lifted the receiver. Billy looked at Maisie and raised an eyebrow. Maisie widened her eyes and put her finger to her lips.
“Miss, it’s Inspector Caldwell—says he would like to speak to you.”
Maisie frowned. “I only left him a little while ago.” She stood and reached for the receiver. “Inspector, to what do I owe this call?”
“You’re going to thank me, Miss Dobbs. You’re going to thank me because you’ll know something important before your client, whoever he is.”
Maisie felt a shiver across her neck, along the line of the scar she’d sustained in the Great War. It was as if someone with a cold hand had run a finger against her skin from one ear to the other.
“Go on, Inspector. You have my attention.”
“Albert Durant. Age thirty-eight. Banker working in the City. Lives in Maida Vale—nice mansion flat with no family, no dog, no budgie. Found in an alley round the corner from the bank where he works. Same specs as our Frederick Addens. A bullet in the back of the skull whilst kneeling down, according to our friendly pathologist.”
“And you’re going to tell me he was a Belgian refugee, aren’t you?”
“Bit of a sharper type than Addens—working in a bank and all that. Came over . . . let me see, yes, 1916. Just before the Somme, I would imagine. Anyway, it looks like our thief has his eye on the same sort of target.”
“If it is theft, Inspector.”
“Oh, it’s theft, all right. This one had a bundle when he walked out—had just taken it from his account to go around the corner to another bank, according to the clerk who worked alongside him. Said he always maintained it wasn’t good to keep all your eggs in one basket, even if it is the bank you work for.” He laughed. “Nice if you have the eggs in the first place, if you ask me.”
“Is there anything more you can tell me, Inspector?” said Maisie, ignoring his comment.
“Come along for another cup of Able’s weak tea first thing tomorrow, and we two can have a chat. You never know what I might be able to leave on the desk while I wander out to find out if he’s gone searching for digestive biscuits.”
“Thank you, Inspector.”
“And you know how it goes, Miss Dobbs, don’t you? Share and share alike.”
“I may have a few details of interest to you.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Tomorrow at nine? No good doing anything now—I mean, rushing around isn’t going to bring him back, is it?”
Maisie shook her head. “Tomorrow at nine, then. And I will make a telephone call to my client now.”
She exchanged pleasantries with Caldwell and replaced the receiver.
“Another one?” asked Billy.
Maisie nodded. “I’ll have to call Dr. Thomas immediately.”
The telephone began to ring as Maisie finished her sentence.
“Shall I?” Sandra pushed back her chair.
Maisie shook her head and picked up the receiver.
“Maisie—”
“Dr. Thomas—we should meet. I know about Albert Durant.”
Chapter 4