Messenger of Truth

Stratton shook his head. “I told them you would find out.”

“Vance?”

“I even told them you would know his name in short order.”

“And whose idea was it to deliver Doris to her place of surveillance without regard for who might be watching?”

Stratton sighed. “All right, so you know there’s been an interest in young Harry.”

“You’re going to have to tell me more than that, Inspector. I seem to have become enmeshed in your work without being asked if I minded!”

Stratton shook his head, and took a sip of tea. “Harry Bassington-Hope, as you probably already know, has got himself involved with some rather undesirable people. In fact, undesirable is an understatement. Typical story, the odd flutter on the gee-gees or seat at the card table became something of a regular pastime, and the gambling habit, together with some of the types he meets in those clubs, led him deeper into debt with people one should never be indebted to.”

“How does this all connect to his brother?”

“I’m getting to that, though we doubt if there’s a direct connection, apart from the elder Bassington-Hope bailing out the younger from time to time. No, the reason why there was a collaboration between departments, between myself and Vance, is that a small-time punter one step shy of crooked—another Harry Bassington-Hope type—was found dead a couple of months ago, we believe murdered by the very same men that Harry is indebted to.”

“Harry’s the mouse to catch the big cat, is that it?”

“Yes. We are simply watching and waiting.”

“So, again, Inspector, the connection—or not—to the death of the artist?”

“Nick Bassington-Hope tripped over his feet on scaffolding, as we know. However, the timing was dreadful as far as our investigation was concerned. The last thing we wanted was that hot-headed sister—with her connections in Parliament, and unable to believe her beloved perfect brother could be so clumsy as to kill himself—running amok in search of a killer, ruining months of solid police work in the process.”

“I see. But what if there was no accident?”

“You mean our criminal element? No, they would have no interest in Nick Bassington-Hope. As far as we know the men at the top would not have even made a connection. Art isn’t their game.”

“What is?”

“They make a lot from the clubs—protection, that sort of thing. They’re fencing jewelry—diamonds, gold. They are involved with bank robberies. The crime barons of London, you could call them. It’s like a pyramid, from the little weasels on the ground tucking away a pound or two here and there, right up to the top, the men who run the show.”

“I see…”

“You see what?”

“Oh, you know…it’s clearer to me why you kept things quiet, though I do wish you had told me more a week ago.”

Stratton sighed. “Well, I must say, you’re doing a good job of keeping that woman quiet.”

“Am I, Inspector?”

“Yes. I’m sure we’ll have the string-pullers behind bars soon enough. We just have to keep very close to young Harry, and at some point we will nab them in the process of committing a crime.”

“Hmmm…”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Miss Dobbs?”

“Nothing, Inspector. Nothing at all.” Maisie took one last sip of tea, finished the toast, then set her cup on the saucer and reached behind her for her scarf. “By the way, how is Doris?”

“Well, I don’t think we’ll be using women in detection for a while. Wasn’t quite up to the job.”

Maisie stood up, her chair scraping against the bare floorboards. “Oh, I wouldn’t write off the likes of Doris just like that, Inspector. You never know what a woman might be able to uncover that you’ve completely missed.”

MAISIE FOUND BILLY and Doreen Beale in the waiting room of the fever hospital. “What news of the children? And Lizzie?” She had hurried into the building and was unwrapping her scarf and removing her gloves as she spoke.

Billy had his arm around Doreen, comforting her. Their faces bore the signs of strain, the skin around their eyes lined and drawn. Billy shook his head. “We’ve been waiting all night again, what with one thing and another. The eldest is at ’ome, with Doreen’s sister, and right as ninepence, and the other nippers—our Bobby, and Jim and Ada’s two—are all doin’ all right. But Lizzie…it’s still touch and go, like I said before. And we was just about to go in to see the little lass again, and they turfed us out, said there was an emergency.”

Maisie nodded, then looked around for a nurse or doctor to speak to. “Have they told you what the emergency was?”

“The poor little mite is in trouble all over ’er body. I reckon they’ve shoved some more of that antiwhatsit into ’er.” Billy faltered. “And it’s not just ’er breathin’, no, it’s ’er ’eart, her kidneys, it’s everything. She’s fighting though, by God she’s fighting.”

“I’ll see if I can find out anything more for you.” Maisie placed a hand on Doreen Beale’s shoulder, nodded at Billy, and went in search of a nurse. She had barely reached the door when a doctor came into the waiting area.

“Are you Mrs. Beale?”