The Scandal At Bletchley (Hilary Manningham-Butler Book 1) Page 12

  ‘Wrong?’ I asked. ‘What do you mean wrong?’

  ‘Like I told you at lunchtime. There’s nothing going on between Anthony Sinclair and Felicity Mandeville Jones. Take my word for it. She can’t stand the sight of him.’

  ‘What are you talking about? Of course there’s something going on between them. I saw them together.’

  Harry shook his head. ‘I don’t know what you saw, old man, but you must have got the wrong end of the stick. Felicity isn’t having an affair with Sinclair. She’s never had an affair with anybody. Not until tonight.’

  My jaw dropped. ‘Good grief. You don’t mean...?’

  Harry nodded. ‘Pure as the driven snow. Untouched by human hands, at least until a few hours ago.’ He smirked lecherously.

  I was at a loss for words. So Anthony Sinclair had been telling the truth after all. He had intervened for the sake of the girl’s reputation and not out of jealousy. His indignation at my accusations of impropriety had been entirely genuine. And I had killed him. My God.

  My legs started to wobble beneath me for the second time in less than half an hour.

  Harry was more focused on his own triumph. There were times when I secretly admired Harry Latimer, but this wasn’t one of them. There are few things in life less attractive than a man crowing about the latest notch on his bedpost.

  ‘You’re a scoundrel, Harry,’ I said. ‘Taking advantage of that poor girl.’ I had thought Sinclair was the rogue.

  ‘She was all for it, old man,’ Harry pointed out, defensively. ‘She’s an adult. And it does take two, you know.’

  ‘Yes, but doing it for a bet...’

  ‘That was your idea.’

  ‘But damn it, Harry, I’m thinking of her reputation. If this gets out, the poor girl will be ruined. She’ll be an outcast from all decent society. And her father will be a laughing stock. He’s been trying to marry her off to some minor royal, so I hear.’ Another piece of gossip Elizabeth had floated before I left home.

  ‘Relax, old man. It won’t get out. I’m not about to blab to anyone. Now pay up like a good sport and let’s forget all about it.’

  I growled and extracted my wallet. Almost every penny Harry had paid me to deliver his damn bag was now back in his own pocket. It was always the way. ‘Well, I’m glad you’ve enjoyed yourself. While you were busily fornicating with the fair Miss Jones, I was dealing with a rather more serious matter elsewhere.’

  ‘What kind of matter?’

  This would wipe the smile off his face. ‘Dorothy Kilbride has just been murdered.’

  It was Harry’s turn to be astonished. I felt some relish at delivering the bad news. The man prided himself on always being ahead of the game – he was rarely if ever taken by surprise – but this was certainly news to him.

  ‘This is some kind of joke, right?’

  ‘I wouldn’t joke about a thing like that.’

  Harry considered this for a moment. ‘Jesus.’ He sat down on the bed. I pulled up a chair opposite him. ‘But I was in her room,’ he volunteered. ‘A few hours ago.’

  ‘In her bedroom?’

  He nodded. ‘I went up there with a bottle. You remember? A bit of consolation for Miss Jones? I must have gone up there about half past twelve. Just after you were carted off. But I guess I got the wrong room. Felicity told me she was next door to you, but I knocked real hard and there was no answer. Well, you know me, the door was unlocked, so I crept in anyway...’

  ‘Harry!’

  ‘Fortune favours the brave, old man. Anyway, I was halfway to the bed before I figured out it was the wrong room. Jeez, that little lady can snore. Could snore,’ he added, awkwardly.

  I couldn’t help smiling at the image of Harry Latimer tip-toeing across the room towards the wrong woman. It served him right, the devil. ‘There was a bit of a mix up when we put her to bed. You had the right room, Harry. It was Miss Young and I who got it wrong.’

  ‘I figured it was something like that. I tried the next door along but there was no one home. They were all down in the ballroom. All except me. Anyhow, finally I hit the jackpot. And the rest you can imagine. Jesus, Hilary, I can’t believe she’s dead. Do you want a brandy?’

  I nodded. Harry reached over to his medicine cabinet. I took out my cigarette box and produced a couple of sticks. I passed one to the American.

  ‘What time was she killed?’ he asked, lighting up.

  ‘I’m not sure. Some time after the party broke up, so I gather. Before four, anyway. Someone put their head around the door and shot her.’

  Harry nearly choked on his brandy. ‘Wait a minute, did you say...shot her?’

  I nodded again.

  ‘Jesus. That can’t be right. I didn’t hear any shooting.’

  ‘The Colonel thinks somebody must have used a silencer.’

  Harry bit his lip. ‘Makes sense I suppose. But even a silencer would have made a noise.’

  ‘Perhaps. But after that rum punch they served last night, I don’t think anyone would have heard it.’ I certainly hadn’t and I had been in the room next door. ‘Though who would want to kill a harmless old widow like Dorothy Kilbride is beyond me.’

  Harry put down his brandy glass and took a drag of the cigarette. He thought for a moment. ‘I don’t think it’d be anything personal. She was head of payroll, wasn’t she? That’s an awful lot of dough passing through her hands. Easy enough to make enemies. Hey, perhaps she was cooking the books and somebody found out.’

  ‘Not Dottie,’ I said firmly. ‘She wasn’t the type. But she might have spotted somebody else doing it.’ I scratched my chin. ‘Nobody had anything to gain by killing her. That’s what I don’t get. None of us are short of a bob or two.’

  Harry puffed at his cigarette. ‘That’s not exactly true, old man. Mr and Mrs Smith aren’t doing too well, so I hear.’

  That was true. I remembered the dreary monologue John Smith had forced upon me the previous afternoon. ‘Lord, did he tell you all about his finances as well?’

  ‘The sparklers, old man. The diamonds. I got a good look at them, dancing with Mrs Smith last night.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They were fakes. You could tell at a glance. Or at least, anyone who knows could tell.’

  ‘Do you thinks Mrs Smith knows?’

  ‘I doubt it, the way she was flaunting them.’

  ‘Still doesn’t provide a motive for murder. And it might not have been Dottie they were after. The rooms were mixed up, after all.’

  ‘That’s a point,’ Harry admitted. ‘If I hadn’t been serenading Miss Jones two doors along someone might have come in and blown her brains out.’

  ‘Harry, is that you trying to justify your appalling behaviour?’

  He grinned. ‘You can’t blame a guy for trying. If someone was aiming for Felicity, she probably shouldn’t be left on her own.’

  ‘The Colonel’s seeing to that. He’s going to send someone up to keep an eye on her. You were lucky to get away when you did.’ I stood up and reached over to the bedside table, to tap some ash from the end of my cigarette. ‘We’ve all been lucky, if someone’s walking around the house with a loaded weapon. And it’s obviously someone who knows what they’re doing.’

  Harry nodded, finishing off his brandy and placing the glass back down on the table. ‘Jesus. Murder at Bletchley Park. Who’d have believed it?’

  ‘You had a revolver in that holdall of yours,’ I reminded him carefully.

  Harry flinched. ‘Now hang on a minute. You’re not suggesting...’

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything.’ I didn’t believe for one minute that he had anything to do with Dottie’s death. For a start, he had the perfect alibi, even though I doubted the Honourable Felicity Mandeville Jones would stand up in court and testify on his behalf. ‘You’re a scoundrel, Harry, but you’re not a murderer. And in any case, you can’t fit a silencer to a revolver. Even I know that.’

  ‘Oh, you can do anything if you put your mind to it.’
>
  I frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The Newton .32 has a sealed firing mechanism. It’s based on a Russian design; specially adapted.’ Harry spoke with worrying authority.

  ‘You mean...you can attach a silencer to it?’

  ‘Sure you can. It doesn’t get rid of all the noise, but it dampens it.’ He grinned. ‘It’s a useful little toy.’

  ‘Right. And...does it have a silencer? Your revolver?’

  Harry nodded.

  ‘But...I checked your bag. I didn’t see anything in there.’

  ‘There’s a second pocket, sewn into the lining. You wouldn’t make much of a thief if you didn’t see that, old man.’ He took another drag of his cigarette.

  ‘What’s going on with you, Harry?’ I was fed up with secrets and coincidences. ‘The Colonel didn’t invite you here by chance. There’s something else going on.’ The time had come for an explanation.

  Harry considered for a moment. ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘I’m listening.’ A couple of large triangular trees were visible through the windows, sprouting out of the carriage turnabout below. Behind them, I could see, the sky was beginning to lighten. ‘It’s a good half hour until dawn. That gives you plenty of time to explain.’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with Dorothy Kilbride. Just the Colonel and me, you understand. A bit of private business.’

  ‘Let’s hear it.’

  Harry took a deep breath. ‘Look. I have some...associates over in France, and they sometimes have – well, let’s just say, certain requirements. And some American friends of mine like to help them out. For a fee, of course. Purely business, if not exactly above board. I occasionally act as a middle man.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The plain fact is, these people were looking to buy a few...military artefacts. And I was in a position to help.’

  ‘Military artefacts? You mean weapons?’ I almost choked in surprise. ‘Who are these people?’

  Harry hesitated. ‘They’re an off-shoot of the PCF.’

  I blanched. ‘Communists?!? You’ve been selling guns to communists?’

  ‘French communists, old man. Not the real deal. And it’s all the same to me. Communists, fascists. I wouldn’t want to discriminate on ideological grounds. If they’ve got the dough, then I’m their man.’ Harry could see the disapproval in my eyes. ‘They’re a pretty harmless lot,’ he insisted. ‘The thing of it is, though, the French Intelligence Service knew all about it. I guess they must have been watching the farmhouse for years.’

  ‘The farmhouse? You mean the one I stayed in, near Bordeaux? The one you recommended to me?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s the place. A useful little bolt hole. They don’t use it that often. They’ve got a few safe houses in the region and most of them are left empty for months at a time. Only it turns out this one wasn’t quite so safe and the French authorities knew all about the deal. They sent a list of names to London, to see if the British had anything on any of the people involved, before they moved in. My name was flagged up, the Colonel heard about it, and he sent me an invitation to Bletchley Park.’

  I blinked. ‘An invitation?’

  ‘Sure. Just a friendly little note. A kind request. In my interests to reply etc. You know the kind of thing.’

  ‘Why would the Colonel do that?’

  ‘The guns were due to be delivered this weekend.’ Harry glanced at his wrist watch. ‘The French police are going to raid the farmhouse and catch everybody red-handed. I only wish I could be there to see it. Solidarity and all that.’ He grinned. ‘The old dog saved my neck, got them to hold back until I was out of the country.’

  That made no sense. ‘Why would the Colonel help you? He can’t stand the sight of you. Not after what you did to his niece.’

  ‘That was personal, old man. This is business. The Colonel understands that. And he owed me a favour.’

  ‘He would have to.’ And a pretty big one, I would guess. ‘So he pulled you out of the frying pan to pay off some kind of debt?’

  Harry nodded. ‘That’s about the size of it.’

  ‘Lord. And all that nonsense when you arrived – “what are you up to old chap?” – that was all play acting.’

  ‘Afraid so. Although we did have a proper talk later on. Jesus, you should have heard him. You limeys, there’s nothing you like more than giving someone a dressing down.’

  ‘Only when they deserve it, Harry.’ A sudden thought struck me. ‘Was Doctor Lefranc involved in all this?’ It had irked me for some time, what his connection with the Security Service might be.

  ‘Oh, sure, sure,’ Harry agreed. ‘He works part time for the Deuxième Bureau, the French intelligence service. He used to be the MI5 liaison in France. Had an English mother, apparently. Now he’s semi-retired, but he helps them out from time to time, keeping an eye on the odd bit of real estate.’

  ‘You told me you’d never met him.’

  ‘Oh, I hadn’t. I wouldn’t lie to you, old man. But he was with the Colonel when I was given a dressing down on Friday evening. The old man wasn’t happy. Can’t say I blame him. “Think yourself lucky,” he said. “The next time you get yourself into a fix, Latimer, you’re on your own.”’

  ‘Quite right too,’ I thought. ‘And what were the French Francs in the holdall for?’

  Harry smiled enigmatically. ‘That’s a separate bit of business. The Colonel doesn’t know anything about that.’

  I was tired of equivocation. ‘Well?’

  He shook his head. ‘A gentleman’s entitled to keep some secrets.’

  ‘You’re not a gentleman, Harry. As poor Miss Jones has just had the misfortune to discover. Oh, and if you want to keep the contents of that holdall away from the Colonel I’d hide it now if I were you. They’re bound to organise a search. And if I know the Colonel, he’ll probably do it when we’re all down at breakfast. You don’t want anyone finding that revolver of yours.’

  Harry shrugged, stubbing out the dying embers of his cigarette. ‘It wouldn’t matter if they did. That gun hasn’t been fired in years.’

  ‘You’re sure you’ve still got it?’

  ‘Yeah, of course.’ All at once, though, there was a trace of doubt in Harry’s voice.

  ‘When were you last in here?’

  Harry frowned, looking around the room. ‘I came up to change just before the dance. But come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve checked the bag since lunchtime.’

  He stood up and crouched down by the bed, pulling the holdall out from underneath the mattress. He unlocked the clip and ferreted inside for a moment. It did not take him long to complete the search. He looked up and I could read the truth on his face.

  The Newton had disappeared and so had the silencer.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The front doors of Bletchley Park mansion were standing wide open. The house was east facing and the light of dawn was filtering through the trees on the far side of the carriage turnabout. All I could make out from the hallway was the bright glare shimmering through two sets of double doors, obliterating all detail from the notoriously gloomy entrance hall. I had come down the main stairs in search of the Colonel, to tell him about Harry’s revolver, but the open doors at the far end had immediately attracted my attention. In the middle of the afternoon it would have struck me as odd. At seven o’clock in the morning – and a clock above the stone fireplace in the lounge hall was chiming the hour as I passed it by – it was damned peculiar. Only the servants would be up this early after a grand ball and none of them would use the front door. Perhaps Sir Vincent had stepped outside for a moment.

  There was a small vestibule between the hallway and the outer doors. I passed through it and under the archway into the bright morning light. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the glare. A plump figure was standing to my right, his legs obscured by one of the stone griffins standing guard either side of the porch.

  Doctor Lefranc bowed politely. ‘Good morning, Monsieur.’
I had forgotten the doctor was up and about. He had a lit pipe in his hand and a cordial smile on his face.

  ‘Good morning,’ I replied automatically. ‘I...saw the front door open.’

  The doctor exhaled a puff of smoke. ‘I came out to watch the sunrise. It is beautiful, is it not?’

  I gazed out across the lawn. ‘I don’t often get to see it.’ The lake was just about visible through the trees and the low sunlight was glittering across the surface. ‘I’m not really a morning person,’ I admitted, rubbing my hands together. It was a trifle chilly out this morning, though that was hardly surprising for late October.

  ‘It is the best time of day,’ Lefranc asserted amiably. For a man who had been awake all night and who had just had to examine a mutilated corpse he seemed remarkably chipper. He didn’t even look tired. ‘I needed a little fresh air,’ he added.

  That was understandable. I almost felt sorry for the fellow. It can’t have been much fun, being dragged out of bed to examine poor old Dorothy Kilbride. If he had managed to get to bed at all.

  ‘I was looking for the Colonel,’ I explained. ‘I thought he might have wandered outside.’ It didn’t take a genius to work out that Harry’s revolver had been used to murder Dorothy Kilbride and it was only right that Sir Vincent should be informed.

  ‘I believe he is in the servants’ quarters,’ Lefranc said, ‘talking to the staff.’

  ‘Ah.’ Harry hadn’t wanted to tell anyone about the Newton, but I had persuaded him to come clean. Better that than being found out and immediately suspected of something far worse. And it wasn’t as if Sir Vincent’s opinion of Harry could drop any lower. I had left the American upstairs, having a quick shave.

  ‘Has the Colonel spoken to you about Miss Kilbride ?’ Doctor Lefranc asked.

  I nodded unhappily. ‘I’ve just had a look at the body.’

  The Frenchman grimaced. ‘It is a bad business.’ He took another puff of his pipe and gazed out across the trees.

  I shivered again. It really was dashed cold out here.

  ‘I was thinking of walking down to the lake. It might help us to clear our heads. Would you care to join me?’