The provost sergeant was waiting. Immaculately turned out in full uniform with brass buttons glittering like gold and waxed moustache bristling with superiority, he stood with his legs apart, hands behind his back and his boots planted firmly on the ground. The guardroom itself was tastefully decorated in khaki and bore testimony to many generations of spit and polish. Along one wall, a parade of rosters hung at exactly the same distance apart ready for inspection. The duty NCO, a corporal, stood next to the sergeant, legs apart and hands behind back. Even at ease the two of them remained as rigid and unmoving as guardsman on parade: when confronted by a civil authority the army will always display a united front.
It was a formidable defensive position, and it took Hawker almost five minutes to penetrate it. He knew from experience not to waste time with a frontal attack, and concentrated on probing around the sides looking for an opening. After a few skirmishes he found one: he and the provost sergeant had a mutual comrade-in-arms in the 1914/18 war. After that the atmosphere eased and information was easier to come by.
‘Between you and me, sir,’ said the sergeant tapping his nose, ‘I think Private Oldenshaw is more than happy to be where he is.’
‘How come?’
‘Well, you know what squaddies are like,’ he winked, ‘particularly with regards to the fair sex. Well to put it as delicately as possible, I think he’s been leading a young lady up the garden path.’
‘How far?’
‘All the way, from what I gather. You see, we were supposed to ship over to France last week, but it was postponed for two weeks. As I understand it, in order to persuade her to go a bit further than usual, he promised to marry the lady this coming Saturday thinking he’d be safely out of the country.’
‘Heh heh, the crafty little blighter, I wish I’d thought of that one.’
‘Are you married, sir?’
‘Yes, but don’t rub it in.’
‘So is the adjutant – and you should see his missus. Anyhow, that’s why Oldenshaw is to remain behind bars until the battalion leaves for France.’
‘It sounds a bit harsh.’
‘Did you happen to notice a couple of men hanging around outside the gate?’
‘Yes. I thought they looked a bit suspicious. That’s why I made a note of them. One was a big burly youngster and the other, a thickset middle-aged fellow, looked like and old-time boxer.’
‘Her father and brother…’
‘Ouch!’
‘Don’t worry,’ the sergeant winked, ‘he’s safe where he is. The army always looks after its own – and talk of the devil…’
The duty NCO and another soldier marched in with the prisoner. He was younger than Hawker expected and not particularly good-looking, but his vivid red hair and freckles gave him a boyish look.
‘Attention!’ bellowed the sergeant.
The prisoner snapped into position like a clockwork soldier, and stood there, legs together, arms at his side and eyes staring straight ahead.
‘Right, Private Oldenshaw! There is a gentleman here who would like a few words with you! Luckily for you, he is from the police and not the father of one of your girlfriends! He would like to ask you a few questions about your visit to a shop to enquire about wedding rings!’ The sergeant turned to Hawker. ‘He’s all yours, sir.’
‘Thank you, sergeant. Do you think you could ask him to stand at ease, and maybe if we could sit down together at this table…’
‘You heard the gentleman, Oldenshaw. Sit!’
‘I understand,’ said Hawker as soon as they were seated, ‘that you paid a visit to Goldstein’s yesterday to enquire about a wedding ring,’
‘Aye, that’s right, sir.’
‘Would you tell me in your own words exactly what happened when you went into the shop.’
‘Well, there’s not much to tell, sir. There were this lass who kept on at me to get married. She were a bonny lass right enough, so I thought to meself it’d do no harm to ask the price of wedding rings.’
‘Did you notice anyone loitering outside the shop?’
‘No, sir. Just a couple of old ladies.’
‘Did you stay long in the shop?’
‘Only a minute or so, sir.’
‘That was quick.’
‘I got this feeling that lad behind counter didn’t want to serve me. Very abrupt he was. A right stuck up prick – if you’ll pardon my French, sir.’
‘Have you any idea why he was so abrupt?’
‘Dunno, sir, but I got the feeling I’d interrupted him or something.’
‘Any idea what?’
‘Dunno, sir, but he looked a right wanker.’ Oldenshaw grinned. ‘Maybe he was having a wank!’
The Provost Sergeant coughed twice.
‘Sorry, sir, pardon my French, sir.’
Hawker placed a photograph of the interior of the shop on the table. ‘Whereabouts was he standing when you spoke to him?’
‘There, sir, where that string is.’
‘But there’s no string there.’
‘Let’s have another look… Aye, you’re right, sir, it’s gone, or maybe it’s there but hasn’t shown up on photo. They don’t always come out right do photos.’
‘But are you absolutely sure that there was a piece of string hanging down at that point?’
‘Aye, sir, a hundred percent positive. I remember wondering if I was supposed to ring for service or something, and when he was so shitty I almost told him where to stuff it.’
Hawker gave a flicker of a smile. ‘So what happened after you almost told him to stuff it.’
‘Nothing really, sir. I just came out of the shop and came straight back here. That’s when they caught me climbing over wall and put me in jankers.’
‘Meaning that you will not now be able to get married.’
‘Yeah, shame, init, sir?’ he was grinning from ear to ear.