Sir Theodore Martin
Detective Superintendent Kerridge found he was looking forward to meeting Lady Rose again. After he had received her telephone call, he had in turn phoned Captain Cathcart. It pleased him to think they would all be together again, as they had been during that investigation the previous year at Telby Castle.
Kerridge was a grey man: grey hair, grey eyebrows, heavy grey moustache. He stood at the window of his office looking out at the Thames, and while he waited, he wrapped himself in one of his favourite dreams. In his mind he was a thinner, younger Kerridge manning the barricades at the People’s Revolution of England. ‘Down with the aristocrats!’ he yelled and his supporters cheered. A beautiful young girl threw her arms around him and kissed him on the mouth. Kerridge blinked that part of the dream away. It was wrong to be unfaithful to his wife, even in dreams.
The door opened and Inspector Judd ushered Harry Cathcart in. ‘What’s this all about?’ asked Harry.
‘I received a telephone call from Lady Rose. She says she has vital information concerning the death of Freddy Pomfret.’
‘I don’t know how she could have come by any information about society at all in her present occupation.’
‘Which is?’
‘I’d better see if she wants to tell you.’
The door opened again. ‘Lady Rose Summer and Miss Levine,’ announced Judd.
‘Your maid may wait outside,’ said the detective, who had met Daisy before.
‘Miss Levine is no longer my maid. She is my friend. She may stay.’
‘Where’s Becket?’ asked Daisy.
‘In Chelsea,’ said Harry. Daisy’s face fell.
‘What are you doing here?’ demanded Rose.
‘I was summoned by Mr Kerridge,’ said Harry, looking at Rose and thinking that a working life did not suit her. The hem of her coat was soaking from melted snow, her face was thinner and her eyes tired.
‘Please sit down,’ ordered Kerridge. ‘Tea?’
‘Oh, I would like tea,’ said Rose, ‘and perhaps some biscuits. We are very hungry.’
Kerridge picked up the phone and ordered tea, biscuits and cakes.
‘Now, Lady Rose,’ he said. ‘Tell me what you have found out.
‘Miss Levine and I have been working as typists at Drevey’s Bank.’
‘Why were you working as a typewriter?’ asked Kerridge, who did not approve of new-fangled words like ‘typist’.
‘Because I wished to earn my living.’
‘But you are taking employment away from some woman who really needs it,’ said Kerridge.
‘On the contrary. Captain Cathcart here arranged the work and it is make-work. Neither Miss Levine nor I are doing anything constructive. But if we could move on from your radical views, sir . . .’
‘Go on.’
‘For a short time I was working for a Mr Beveridge as his secretary. While I was in his office, one of the clerks came in and said something about large sums of money being deposited in Freddy Pomfret’s account.
‘Today, because of the snow, the bank was quiet, few having turned up to work. I went upstairs and searched until I found a statement of his account. During the last few months, three large sums of money were paid into that account. Each for ten thousand pounds.’
‘Who gave him the money?’
‘Lord Alfred Curtis, Mrs Angela Stockton, and Mrs Jerry Trumpington. I think,’ said Rose triumphantly, ‘that they were being blackmailed.’
‘People lose a lot of money at cards,’ Harry pointed out.
‘Not for the same amount of money.’
‘Lady Rose has a good point there,’ said Kerridge, and Rose flashed Harry a triumphant look. ‘His flat had been turned over, papers thrown everywhere, but his jewellery was left and fifty pounds in a desk drawer. So what do you know of those three?’
‘I met Mrs Jerry last year, Mr Kerridge,’ said Rose, ‘and so did you. Large, gross sort of woman.’
‘I remember.’
‘I do not know Mrs Stockton or Lord Alfred.’
‘I do,’ said Harry. ‘Mrs Stockton is a widow. She married an American millionaire who died soon after they were wed. Lord Alfred Curtis is a willowy young man. One of the lilies of the field.’
‘The whole lot of them are lilies of the field,’ grumbled Kerridge. ‘A hard day’s work would kill ’em.’
‘Now, now, Mr Kerridge. You have before you three representatives of the working class and we are very much alive.’
‘Sorry. I’ll follow this up, Lady Rose. We shall ask all three why they paid him that particular sum of money.’
‘You know,’ said Harry, ‘I bet all three say that Freddy was on his uppers and asked for that specific amount to clear his debts. If you like, I can start asking a few questions.’
‘And I,’ said Rose eagerly.
They were interrupted by the arrival of the tea-tray. Harry watched as Rose and Daisy enthusiastically munched their way through cakes and biscuits. ‘You
‘We ate very well last night,’ said Rose, ‘but today we have had neither breakfast nor lunch because of the difficulty in getting to work through the snow and then in getting here. As I was saying, I can help further with the investigation.’
Harry suddenly saw a way of restoring Rose to her parents. ‘You cannot do anything while you work at the bank – anything further, I mean. But were you to go back to your rightful position, you would be able to move freely in society again.’
‘Good idea,’ put in Daisy fervently, thinking of a blissful end to days of typewriting and evenings of cheap food.
‘Yes, I suppose that would be a good idea,’ said Rose, struck by a sudden vision of long hot baths and clean clothes.
‘You have no objection, Mr Kerridge?’
‘No, I shall be glad of any help. But do remember, Lady Rose, someone murdered Freddy Pomfret and will be prepared, no doubt, to murder again.’
‘Then, Daisy, we will return to Eaton Square and tell the servants to collect our belongings, and Captain Cathcart can inform the bank that we will not be returning there.’
‘I will certainly inform the bank on your behalf,’ said Harry, ‘but to send an earl’s liveried servants to the hostel in Bloomsbury would occasion unwelcome comment. In the role as your brother, I will go back with you and find some form of transport to take you and your goods home.’
‘What about your car?’
‘Possible. They were spreading salt on the roads when I walked here. If I may use your telephone, I will ask Becket.’
Becket said that he thought he would be able to drive to Scotland Yard.
Harry could not help noticing that a sparkle had returned to Rose’s blue eyes and correctly guessed that she was thrilled to have a suitable excuse to leave her working life and sordid hostel.
At the hostel, Miss Harringey began to complain that there would be no refund on the advance rent. Rose was about to declare haughtily that she could keep the money, but Harry sent her upstairs with Daisy to pack and then began to haggle. He did not want Miss Harringey to wonder too much about working women who could so easily forgo a refund.
At last he had to admit that he was defeated. Miss Harringey pointed out that she had no immediate hope of finding a new tenant for the room and therefore would be losing money.
Satisfied with her victory, she treated the captain to a glass of very inferior sherry.
Rose had wanted to leave all their clothes behind, but Daisy counselled her that such profligate behaviour would cause talk.
The carried their suitcases downstairs and Becket went up to collect the travelling trunk.
