scorcher! And they say it's going to get worse.'
Madden had had few dealings with him, but he knew that the air of bonhomie was a front. Sampson's reputation at the Yard was that of a man whom it was wise not to cross.
Bennett seated himself at the table with his back to the window. His glance rested on Madden for a moment, taking in his hollow-eyed appearance. Sampson sat down beside him.
'Until this case is resolved, I intend that we should meet every Monday morning at this time to review the progress of inquiries and discuss whatever action needs to be taken.' Slight, no more than forty, with dark, thinning hair and a quick, decisive manner, Bennett was known to be one of the coming men at the Yard. 'Chief Inspector?'
'Since we last talked, sir, there have been some new developments. I'll run through them for you.'
Sinclair opened his file. Elegant in a dove-grey suit, he had the knack of looking cool on the hottest day.
'First, the footprint by the stream. Thanks to Inspector Boyce and the Surrey police, we've established that the boot that made it doesn't belong to anyone residing in Highfield. While we can't assume it was worn by the man we're seeking, there's a strong likelihood it was, and if it should prove to be his, it's almost as good as a fingerprint. You'll recall the sketch of the cast I showed you, with the wedge missing from the heel?'
Bennett nodded.
Sampson spoke. 'The 'man'?' His small eyes, black as currants, were crinkled with puzzlement. 'I thought it was agreed at our last meeting that it's likely more than one person was involved.'
'Yes, sir, but as I said, there have been new developments.'
Sinclair regarded him blandly.
'Go on,' Bennett said.
'We've identified all the fingerprints lifted from Melling Lodge apart from three sets. One of them is a child's — we're assuming it belongs to the Fletchers' son, James, who was not in the house at the time of the attack. The other two have been sent to the Criminal Records Office. They're being checked now.
'On Friday I received from the government chemist, somewhat belatedly, the results of tests made on various items sent to him for analysis. In consequence, Inspector Madden and I have made certain deductions.
Qualified, of course. But disturbing none the less.'
He gave a brief summary of the chemist's report relating to the ash and blood traces found in the bathroom and the cigarette stubs retrieved from the woods.
'Sir, this man, and I say man,' he glanced at Sampson, 'because I cannot conceive that this crime was carried out by a gang or group of men, was in the neighbourhood of Melling Lodge many weeks beforehand.
He seems to have made repeated visits in order to observe the Fletcher residence. I'm increasingly inclined to view the robbery as a blind, an attempt to mislead us. I believe his sole intention was to murder the members of the household.'
Sampson spoke again. 'Pure supposition,' he said genially.
Bennett looked uneasy. 'There's a lot of theorizing in what you say, Chief Inspector-'
'And precious little evidence to back it up,' Sampson cut in. His tone was friendly, almost jocular.
'Come on, Angus, we don't know who smoked those cigarettes. We don't know whether one or more men broke into the house, and we don't know that they didn't panic in the middle of what started out as an ordinary robbery.'
'Strictly speaking, that's true, sir,' Sinclair agreed.
He seemed unruffled. 'And you're right. We lack hard facts. An eyewitness, for example. So far we've found no one who noticed anything amiss, or even out of the ordinary that day. I find it hard to believe that a gang of men could have moved in and out of the area without someone spotting them. But one man — now that's possible.'
Sampson pursed his lips, plainly unconvinced.
'Then, if it was a gang, shouldn't we have heard something by now?' Sinclair continued.
'Not necessarily. Not if they're professionals.'
'If they were professionals, sir, they would have done a better job of robbing the place.'
The chief superintendent's muddy complexion darkened. 'Are you finished?' he inquired.
'Not quite.' Sinclair turned to Madden. 'Inspector?'
Madden consulted his notebook. 'The Fletchers owned a dog,' he said. 'A Labrador. It died about three weeks ago, apparently of old age. In view of what Dr Tanner had to say about the cigarettes, I tried to get in touch with the local vet, but he's on holiday, in the Hebrides.
'However, I spoke to the Fletchers' gardener, Cooper, and he was able to tell me where he and the colonel had buried the animal. We dug up the remains on Saturday morning and I had them brought up to London for Dr Ransom to examine.'
'That must have made his weekend,' Bennett observed.
Madden's smile flickered briefly. 'He rang me this morning, sir. He found a heavy dose of strychnine in the dog's stomach. There's no doubt it was poisoned.'
'There's no doubt it ate poison,' Sampson interrupted in a tired voice. 'You're making assumptions again, Inspector.'
'Possibly, sir.' Taking his cue from Sinclair, Madden adopted a conciliatory tone. 'But I did speak to Lord Stratton and he assured me that his keepers are categorically forbidden to lay poison of any sort on his land.'
Bennett cleared his throat. 'All right, I've heard enough. From now on, unless we discover anything to the contrary, we'll proceed on the assumption that this is the work of one man.'
'As you wish, sir.' Sampson ran a hand across the slick surface of his hair. His face was expressionless.
'Now, I've been in touch with the War Office,'
Bennett resumed. 'They sent one of their people round, a Colonel Jenkins. He'd already looked into Colonel Fletcher's military record and found he was one of the most popular officers in his regiment. With all ranks — he made that point. As for our other request, he'll have a list of names of discharged mental patients ready for us by the end of the week.'
He rested his elbows on the table.
'No doubt you've all read the Sunday papers. The general opinion seems to be that we're in the dark, and for the time being I'm afraid we'll have to swallow that. We can hardly tell the public that a madman armed with a rifle and bayonet is roaming the countryside.
I'll put out a statement later about various lines of inquiry being pursued. Do you agree, Chief Inspector?'
'Yes, I do, sir.' Sinclair sat forward. 'But I'd like to add to what you've said. We must be careful at all times what information we put out. We've no reason to assume the man we're looking for doesn't read the newspapers. He'll want to know what we know about him. Let's keep him in the dark as much as possible.
Either you or I can speak to the press, when necessary.
Other officers should be directed not to discuss the case.'
'Very well. I'll so order it.' Bennett suppressed a smile. He stood up. 'That will do for now. We'll meet again next week. Chief Inspector, a word before you go…'
Bennett moved to his desk. The other men rose.
Sampson and Madden left the room. The deputy waited until the door had shut behind them. 'I take it that last remark was aimed at Mr Sampson.'
'Sir?' Sinclair looked mystified.
'I'm told the chief superintendent has many friends among the press.' Bennett sat down at his desk.
'Sampson of the Yard — isn't that what they call him?'
Sinclair thought it best not to respond.
'I'll issue an order as you suggest. But don't count on him obeying it. He's the senior superintendent in the force and he may not consider it even applies to him. He has, moreover… special connections in this building. You'd do well to remember that. We both would.' Bennett looked wry. 'In any case, it's not that that I want to talk to you about.' He sat back. 'Are you sure you've picked the right man to assist you in this case?' he asked bluntly.
This time the chief inspector's surprise was unfeigned. 'Madden's a fine officer, sir.'
'I don't deny it. Or he was…' Bennett held up his hand quickly. 'I know his history, Chief Inspector.
What happened to him before the war. His wife and child… I can't pretend to know what he suffered in the trenches, what any of them suffered, though it's plain to see on his face. But there's no point in beating about the
