I was reminiscing about an evening in Calcutta when Lady Hardcastle had had to flee from an embassy ball with important documents concealed beneath her skirts and pursued by a couple of toughs. Fortunately for her, they hadn’t quite been able to make out the identity of the snooper in the Ambassador’s office, and so she was safe from future accusations or reprisals. Unfortunately for her pursuers, they were foolish enough not to anticipate that she might have someone waiting outside to keep cave and were somewhat taken aback when a small woman pounced from the darkness to beat the living daylights out of them and leave them groaning in the gutter while the mystery snooper made good her escape. I was still smiling at the memory when a movement on the other side of the street caught my eye. Someone was approaching the side door of the Council House, moving slowly and carefully along the street and staying in the shadows.
I was reasonably certain that whoever it was had not noticed me sitting in the car. It was nearly dark and the street lamps were not yet lit, and parked as I was with the roof up between two slightly more imposing vehicles, there was no clear view of the interior from the lurker’s side of the street – I had only just noticed him, after all, and only because I caught a glimpse of him moving. Nevertheless, when I was certain that his attention was definitely elsewhere, I slowly eased myself over to the left into the passenger seat and deeper into the shadow of the motorcar’s interior.
He had stopped near the side door and was watching intently, as though waiting for someone. He did not have to wait long. The door opened just a crack and the light from inside lit a small wedge of the pavement. A head poked out, scanning up and down the street. The lurker moved forwards and the owner of the head stepped out into the street, closing the door behind him and plunging them both once more into darkness. It took a few moments for my eyes to become once more accustomed to the gloom but I was soon able to see the two men in heated conversation. They were keeping their voices very low, but it was easy to see from posture and gesture that neither was especially pleased with the other. I would have guessed from outward appearance that the man from the Council House was the superior and the lurker his hired muscle, but something about the way they were conducting themselves made me wonder just how low the lurker really was in the pecking order.
Their exchange ended with angry finger-pointing from both parties and Council House Man let himself back in through the side door while Lurker angrily stalked off back down the street to wherever it was he had come from. On a whim, I decided to follow.
As quietly as I could, I opened the passenger door and slithered out onto the pavement outside the hotel. I padded along the street, concealed from view by the car parked behind the Rover. There was a church at the end of the road with three gothic arches running through the middle of it giving access to the next street. I saw Lurker disappearing through the centre arch and hurried towards it so as not to lose track of him on the other side. I crossed the narrow lane at the end of Broad Street and chose the rightmost archway. Emerging on the other side, I looked both ways along Quay Street, but he was gone. I crossed the road to get a better look up and down the street, but there was no sign of Lurker at all. He must have gone into one of the many buildings that lined the narrow street and there was no easy way to determine which one.
Reluctantly, I padded back to the car and resumed my vigil.
I was on edge for the next half an hour while I waited for Lady Hardcastle to tire of the reception. I kept going over my memories of the earlier events, trying to make out if I could have given myself away. There was a chance, of course, but what would Lurker have learned? Nothing as far as I could tell. But even if I had managed to remain unnoticed, I had learned little. A man lurking in the shadows and having a heated conversation with another man meant nothing on its own, and it was only the fact that it happened on an evening when Lady Hardcastle was trying to sniff out members of Autumn Wind that had made me suspicious of them in the first place. The whole exercise now seemed like an enormous waste of time and effort.
Eventually, Lady Hardcastle appeared on the corner of the street, searching for the motorcar. She spotted me when I waved, and I jumped out and cranked the engine into life while she walked over and climbed in.
‘Did you have fun, my lady?’ I said once we were both settled. I presumed not since it was still only nine o’clock.
‘Well, now,’ she said. ‘Fun? No, I don’t really think so, but it was most illuminating.’
‘How so?’ I said, pulling away from the kerb and negotiating my way carefully round the car parked in front of us.
‘Well, I made my usual discreet entrance, grabbed a glass of fizz and cast around for someone to chat to, when who should catch my eye but Oswald Craine.’
‘He of the coffee shops and the wandering wife.’
‘The very same,’ she said. ‘He cut me dead, of course, and stalked off to the other side of the room where I saw him talking earnestly to another chap who kept looking over in my direction.’
‘Medium height, stocky build, dark hair parted in the centre, wearing a dark suit with a gold watch chain?’ I said.
She frowned. ‘Uncanny. Don’t tell me you really have developed psychic powers.’
‘No,’ I said with a smile, and told her what I’d been up to while she was inside hobnobbing.
‘Well, well, well,’ she said when I had finished. ‘Curiouser and curiouser. I should say that Mr Craine and his stocky chum are up to no good.’
‘I just wish I’d seen what happened to Lurker, though. He just vanished.’
‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘Although that alone probably tells us something. I think you’re right: I think he did disappear into one of those buildings near the church.’
We speculated wildly for the rest of the journey home about who the mystery men might be and what they might be up to, but however outlandish our hypotheses became, most of them started from the presumption that they were all in some way connected with Autumn Wind and that they were all in it up to their well-scrubbed necks.
We arrived home shortly before ten o’clock and I was wondering what we might have for supper as I unlocked the front door to let us in. No sooner had we removed our hats and coats than the telephone began to ring. I picked up the earpiece.
‘Hello?’ I said, employing the newly fashionable greeting I’d read about in the newspaper.
‘Miss Armstrong?’ said a male voice. ‘It’s Sunderland.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Good evening, Inspector. I shall fetch Lady Hardcastle.’
‘No need,’ he said, quickly. ‘I’m at the village police station. I’ll be with you presently. Goodbye.’ And he hung up.
‘Sunderland?’ asked Lady Hardcastle. ‘What did he want?’
‘He didn’t say, my lady,’ I replied. ‘He’s on his way to the house.’
‘Crikey, it must be urgent to get him out here so late. Perhaps you ought to put the kettle on.’
‘I’ll get to it right away,’ I said, and hurried to the kitchen.
A few minutes later the doorbell rang and Lady Hardcastle answered it herself. She brought Inspector Sunderland into the kitchen and invited him to sit down.
‘Tea, Inspector?’ she said.
‘To tell the truth, my lady,’ he said, ‘that would be most welcome, but I’m afraid we can’t hang around.’
‘“We”?’
‘Yes. I need at least one of you to come with me. We need to talk to someone.’
‘Anyone in particular?’ I asked, taking the kettle off the stove and joining them at the kitchen table.