‘An informant,’ he said. ‘He contacted me at the station early this evening and asked me to meet him at a grubby little pub in town later tonight.’
‘I don’t mean to diminish the importance of your work, Inspector dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle, ‘but that sounds rather ordinary to me. Where do we come in?’
‘He asked for you both by name. He said he had something you’d be interested in.’
We both looked at him in some astonishment.
‘By name?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘Both of us?’ I said.
‘Indeed,’ said the inspector, thoughtfully. ‘I’m as concerned as you; it’s an obvious trap.’
‘Autumn Wind?’ I asked.
‘That’s my guess,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘How far do you trust this nark of yours, Inspector?’
‘Slightly less far than my grandmother could throw him,’ he said. ‘But I’m pretty certain he knows something, even if it’s just the identity of the person who slipped him a few bob to set you up.’
‘You have a plan?’ I asked.
‘Well, no, not really, that’s why I raced out here; this is more your area of expertise. I tried telephoning but I got no reply in so I came out in case I could catch you on your return. I was at the police station with Sergeant Dobson when we heard your motorcar.’
‘Hmm,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Will this fellow talk if we’re not there?’
‘It depends how much they offered him to get you there, or what threats they made against him if you didn’t turn up. He’s a stranger to the idea of loyalty and he’d offer up his own mother if there was a few bob in it for him, but he’s not the bravest of souls either.’
‘Hmm,’ said Lady Hardcastle again. ‘Flo? How do you feel about the idea of going in alone? I don’t think we should both be there and I think you’re more useful in close-quarter scuffles if things cut up rough.’
‘Sounds fine to me, my lady,’ I said. ‘You’ll cover from a discreet distance?’
‘That was what I had in mind, yes. I take it you came out in a police motorcar, Inspector?’
‘I did, my lady,’ he said.
‘Good. You take Flo and I’ll follow in the Rover. I just need to change into something more practical and we can be off. Be a good girl and help me, would you, pet?’
‘Of course, my lady,’ I said, and followed her upstairs.
The journey into the city with Inspector Sunderland made Lady Hardcastle’s driving look like a nervous maiden aunt taking a Sunday School class on an outing to the seaside. The police motorcar was more powerful than our own and he drove with an urgent aggression that had me clutching at the dashboard and door handle for support.
‘Are we in a rush?’ I asked, innocently, as we overtook a coal-man’s cart on a bend and nearly collided with a motorcar coming in the opposite direction.
‘Not especially,’ he said, swerving violently to avoid a bicycle. ‘Why?’
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Just as long as Lady Hardcastle can keep up.’
‘She’s holding her own,’ he said, looking in his rearview mirror. ‘She’s quite the driver.’
‘Hmm,’ I said, and decided not to pursue the matter further.
We had discussed our general plan for the meeting before we left. Inspector Sunderland was already dressed in a much shabbier suit than usual and I had agreed that I should be much less conspicuous if I, too, were to dress down a little for the occasion. The Inspector revealed that he assumed the role of a petty criminal and all-round scoundrel known in the pubs to the south of the city as “Eddie” so I decided that I should be Eddie’s latest romantic conquest, Sally.
‘Why Sally?’ he had asked.
‘Because,’ I said in my best home town accent, ‘“Sally from the Valleys” sounds funny, isn’t it. I likes the sound of it, I does.’
‘Very well,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Sally from the Valleys it is. What tempted you over the border? I thought you Welsh girls never left home.’
‘Better job opportunities,’ I said, and adjusted the bodice of my dress.
He had laughed again, a genuinely joyful laugh that quite undercut the tension of the moment.
To better maintain our cover, we had parked the motorcar a few streets away from the agreed meeting place and had completed our journey on foot, arm-in-arm and staggering a little. Just another tipsy couple on a night out.
The smoke-filled pub was in a back street south of the river, not too far from the docks. We attracted little obvious attention as we walked in, but I noticed several pairs of suspicious eyes discreetly turning our way as the inspector looked around for his nark.
He eventually spotted him at a table in the corner, playing dominoes with an old man. He saw us as we approached and said, ‘Go on now, Bernie, sling your hook, I’ve got a bit of business to attend to.’
The old man stroked his prodigious grey beard but made no effort to leave.
‘Don’t worry,’ said the nark, ‘I won’t look at your hand. Eddie here will look after your dominoes for you, won’t you, Eddie?’
‘Ar,’ said the inspector with a nod.
‘Can’t say fairer than that, can you?’ said the nark, and the old man reluctantly withdrew, taking his glass of rum with him.
‘Take a seat, Eddie,’ said the nark. ‘And your lady friend, too. I don’t think as I’ve had the pleasure.’
‘This is Sally,’ said the inspector. ‘Sally, this is Jesse Weaver.’
‘But my friends calls me Weasel.’ He said, holding out his hand.
‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ I said.
With his pointed features and his shifty manner, it wasn’t difficult to see where the nickname had come from.
‘What are you drinking?’ said the inspector.
‘Pint of cider for me, Ed,’ said Weasel.
‘I’ll have a brandy, love,’ I said.
‘Brandy, eh?’ said Weasel with a leer. ‘Classy bit you’ve got there, Eddie boy.’
The inspector said nothing and went to the bar.
Weasel leaned across the table. ‘I thought I made it clear that you was both to come,’ he said in a low, angry voice. ‘Where’s ’er ladyship?’
‘She couldn’t make it,’ I said, equally aggressively. ‘She’s out for the evening.’
He tutted and sat back in his chair.
We said nothing further to each other until the inspector returned with our drinks.
‘Getting to know each other?’ he said with a frown as he set down the glasses.
‘Getting along famously, we are, aren’t we my lover?’ said Weasel.
I raised an eyebrow.
The inspector sat and put a few shillings on the table, as though it were his change from the bar. He toyed with the coins as he spoke.
‘What have you got for me, Weasel?’ he asked, calmly.
‘You in a rush?’ said the nark.
‘People keep asking me that,’ said the inspector. ‘I suppose I must be. I don’t like kidnappings. What do you know?’
Weasel sat for a second, composing his reply. ‘I don’t know nothin’ about the kidnappin’,’ he said. ‘Not directly, at any rate. But I hears things, you know?’
‘What sort of things, Weasel,’ said the inspector, toying more obviously with the coins.
Weasel’s eyes were drawn irresistibly to the money on the table and he seemed to make up his mind. ‘You gots to promise me word will never get out about who told you,’ he said.