‘Let me assure you, chief inspector, that Mr Clifton does,’ Harry replied.
Once Harry had left the police station, he drove over to the Manor House to tell Emma his news. Emma listened attentively and when he’d come to the end, she surprised him with her first question.
‘Did Inspector Blakemore tell you what happened to the little girl?’
‘No, he didn’t seem that interested, but then why should he be?’
‘Because she might just be a Barrington, and therefore my half-sister!’
‘How thoughtless of me,’ said Harry, taking Emma into his arms. ‘It never crossed my mind.’
‘Why should it?’ asked Emma. ‘You have enough to cope with. Why don’t you start by calling my grandfather and asking him if he knows what happened to the carpet, and leave me to worry about the little girl.’
‘I’m a very lucky man, you know,’ said Harry as he reluctantly released her.
‘Get on with it,’ said Emma.
When Harry telephoned Lord Harvey to ask him about the carpet, he was once again taken by surprise.
‘I replaced it within days of the police completing their investigation.’
‘What happened to the old one?’ Harry asked.
‘I personally threw it into one of the shipyard’s furnaces and watched it burn until there was nothing left but ashes,’ Lord Harvey said with considerable feeling.
Harry wanted to say ‘damn’, but held his tongue.
When he joined Emma for lunch, he asked Mrs Barrington if she knew what had happened to Sir Hugo’s clothes. Elizabeth told Harry that she’d instructed the police to dispose of them in any way they considered appropriate.
After lunch, Harry returned to Barrington Hall and called the local police station. He asked the desk sergeant if he could remember what had happened to Sir Hugo Barrington’s clothes once the investigation had been closed.
‘Everything will have been entered in the log book at the time, Sir Harry. If you give me a moment, I’ll check.’
It turned out to be several moments before the sergeant came back on the line. ‘How time flies,’ he said. ‘I’d forgotten how long ago that case was. But I’ve managed to track down the details you wanted.’ Harry held his breath. ‘We threw out the shirt, underwear and socks, but we gave one overcoat, grey, one hat, brown felt, one suit, lovat-green tweed, and one pair of brogues, brown leather, to Miss Penhaligon, who distributes all unclaimed goods on behalf of the Sally Army. Not the easiest of women,’ the sergeant added without explanation.
The sign on the counter read ‘Miss Penhaligon’.
‘This is most irregular, Sir Harry,’ said the woman standing behind the name. ‘Most irregular.’
Harry was glad that he’d brought Emma along with him. ‘But it could prove incredibly important for both of us,’ he said, taking Emma’s hand.
‘I don’t doubt that, Sir Harry, but it’s still most irregular. I can’t imagine what my supervisor will make of it.’
Harry couldn’t imagine Miss Penhaligon having a supervisor. She turned her back on them and began to study a neat row of box files on a shelf dust was not allowed to settle on. She finally pulled out one marked 1943 and placed it on the counter. She opened it, and had to turn several pages before she came across what she was looking for.
‘No one seemed to want the brown felt hat,’ she announced. ‘In fact, my records show that we still have it in store. The overcoat was allocated to a Mr Stephenson, the suit to someone who goes by the name of Old Joey, and the brown brogues to a Mr Watson.’
‘Do you have any idea where we might find any of those gentlemen?’ asked Emma.
‘They are rarely to be found apart,’ said Miss Penhaligon. ‘In the summer, they never stray far from the municipal park, while in the winter we accommodate them in our hostel. I feel confident that at this time of year you’ll find them in the park.’
‘Thank you, Miss Penhaligon,’ said Harry, giving her a warm smile. ‘You couldn’t have been more helpful.’
Miss Penhaligon beamed. ‘My pleasure, Sir Harry.’
‘I could get used to being addressed as Sir Harry,’ he said to Emma as they walked out of the building.
‘Not if you’re still hoping to marry me,’ she said, ‘because I have no desire to be Lady Barrington.’
Harry spotted him lying on a park bench with his back to them. He was wrapped up in a grey overcoat.
‘I’m sorry to bother you, Mr Stephenson,’ said Harry, touching him gently on the shoulder, ‘but we need your help.’
A grimy hand shot out, but he didn’t turn over. Harry placed a half crown in the outstretched palm. Mr Stephenson bit the coin, before cocking his head to take a closer look at Harry. ‘What do you want?’ he asked.