Farthing

  "What had all gone wrong?" Royston pounced on that.

  "His joke. But you can't make me give evidence against him; he was my fiancé."

  "That's only wives," Royston said. "Besides, if you were engaged, where's your ring?"

  "Colette won't let me wear it at work, because of catching on hair," she said, prosaically, and reached under the neck of her dress to show them the tiniest gold hoop with a pitifully small chip of rhinestone. "There. See. Now that's all I'm saying."

  "Anything you know could be of inestimable value to us," Carmichael said.

  She put her chin up. "Why should I care? Alan's dead, and now I'll never get married or have children, or lead any sort of life. I'll carry on being a spinster in a hair salon until I die."

  "You might be able to save the life of an innocent man if you can tell us what Alan's joke was and why he was playing it," Carmichael said.

  She looked at him indecisively for a long moment. Carmichael held his breath. "All right," she said, in a very small voice. "It can't matter at all now anyway." Tears started to run down her face, and Carmichael, breathing again, handed her his handkerchief.

  "When did you last see him?" Royston asked.

  "Saturday," she said, and blew her nose on Carmichael's handkerchief. "He came down on Saturday. I have a half-day, and since he was laid off from Mottrams it makes no difference to him. Usually he stays for Sunday as well, but not this week. He told me he had work to do on Sunday. I last saw him Saturday evening, about seven, when he set off back to London."

  "On the train?" Royston asked.

  "No, on his motorbike," she said, and began to weep seriously. "I'm sorry," she said, between sobs. "It's just thinking of him on that bike, in all weathers, with his black coat flapping like an old crow, and I'll never see him again, never speak to him, never tease him about it."

  They sat for a moment and let her weep. Royston raised an eyebrow at Carmichael, who shook his head. After a while, Carmichael asked, "Did Alan tell you where he was going on Sunday?"

  "Not exactly." She blew her nose again and got control of herself. "He told me he was doing a job, and it would be enough money that we could get married, and we'd be able to get a house and he could get a job as a fitter somewhere they didn't know his reputation."

  "What reputation would that be?" Royston asked.

  "He tried to organize a union at Mottrams," she said. Good, Carmichael thought, she's decided to tell us the truth. "He thought it would be better for everyone. They sacked him right away. The whole thing was crazy, I knew it was."

  "Was he a bit of a Red, then?" Carmichael asked.

  "Not really," she said.

  "Come now, he must have been a bit of a Red if he wanted to start a union."

  "You'd think so, wouldn't you, but actually it was me who voted Labour and him who voted Tory. He wanted a union for better conditions, that's all, and I don't care if you believe me."

  "Would it surprise you if I told you he was a Communist?" Carmichael asked.

  "It would do a lot more than surprise me," she said. "But I think I can tell you about that. The job he was supposed to be doing on Sunday was to frighten someone, as a joke. He'd been given a rifle, not a real one, a rook-rifle, but it looked like a real one. He'd also been given a card, a Communist card, with someone's name on it, some Irish name, Patrick Somebody Something. He showed it to me. He was supposed to go to a certain place, and hide his bike where he could run back to it easily, wait until he saw this person coming, then shoot past him a couple of times, drop the rifle and the Communist card, and run back to the bike."

  Carmichael and Royston exchanged a glance of bemusement.

  "But poor Alan wasn't quick enough, and Lord Eversley shot him instead," she finished.

  "Who told him to do this?" Carmichael asked.

  "Lady Thirkie," she said. "And she did more than tell him, she paid him fifty pounds, which I've got, Alan left it with me, all but a fiver, which he kept to buy petrol and stay the night. You won't take it from me, will you? Only it's enough to start a new salon of my own."

  "We'll need to see the numbers of the notes, but we won't take the money," Carmichael said. "In fact, if you give me the money, I'll replace it with other money that you can spend, because that cash belongs in evidence, but that's no reason you should be deprived of it."

  Royston gave him a jaundiced look. "Are you sure it was Lady Thirkie?" he asked the girl.

  "Of course. He told me. Besides, I used to work for her. I was her lady's maid, before she got married. When she got married, I left her and came down here and got this job. But it was through me that she knew Alan. He said she went to see him, and said she'd heard he enjoyed a bit of fighting from time to time and might take money for it, which is true. It wasn't very genteel of him, and I'd spoken to him about it ever so many times, but it's how he was. He didn't want to do this, because shooting at someone with a rook-rifle is different from putting your fists up, but she told him it was a joke, and besides, he'd been out of work for months, and the money was so good."

  "You'd swear to this in court?" Royston asked.

  "Would I have to?" She looked frightened.

  "Alan's dead, but think of saving an innocent man's life," Carmichael said.

  "Then I would, I suppose," she said.

  There wasn't much more to be got out of her. After taking down details of where she could be found, they walked her back to the salon.

  Back in the car, on their way out of Leigh, Carmichael was the first to break the silence. "Angela Thirkie," he said. "I didn't think she had the brains. In fact, I wondered if she was a nutter."

  "Maybe the valet has the brains. He must have had the brawn, that's for sure," Royston said.

  "Well, that about ties that one up, sergeant," Carmichael said.

  "He must have been an awfully bad shot," Royston said. "Brown. He hit both of them."

  "Did you ever know a fitter who could shoot?" Carmichael asked, rhetorically. "She probably didn't check that. She wanted someone who'd do the job."

  "Why didn't she get him to shoot Thirkie then?"

  "He'd probably have had scruples about actually shooting someone. This was a joke, remember." Carmichael hesitated. "Though the way she killed Thirkie remains very peculiar."

  "Maybe she still liked him in a kind of way and wanted him to die peacefully. It's a peaceful thing, gas. We thought it might have been suicide, remember."

  "I remember," Carmichael said. "It's all so unnecessarily complicated. Why would she want Brown to shoot at Lord Eversley anyway?"

  "Divert attention," Royston suggested. "Get out the sympathy vote?"

  "Angela Thirkie doesn't care about the sympathy vote," Carmichael said. "Not about any vote, once Thirkie's dead, unless someone voted in a Bolshevik government who'd take her money away."

  "Maybe she was in league with the others," Royston said. "We'll never pin it on them unless she confesses though, not now."

  "Well, we'll do what we can to make her confess, or turn King's evidence," Carmichael said. "We might not get a conviction, her word against his, but we could probably end Normanby's career if we could put him in the dock."

  "You don't like him, sir, do you?" Royston asked.

  "I don't like anyone who thinks other people are only there to be manipulated," Carmichael said.

  "Well, we've got enough to take Lady Thirkie to trial anyway," Royston said, trying to cheer him up. "And we can be pretty sure Kahn didn't do it, so that Mrs. Kahn you like will be able to go where she wants to again."

  "Yes, sergeant," Carmichael said.

  When they got back to the Yard, there was nowhere to park. "Stay in the car, Royston," Carmichael said. "We're heading off down to Campion Hall as soon as I've picked up a couple of warrants."

  Stebbings signaled to Carmichael as he came through the door, and put down a telephone. "I've wrapped it up," Carmichael said.

  "That's good," Stebbings said. "Because there's another piece of evidence
just come in from Blayne that seems to make it indisputable."

  "What's that?" Carmichael asked eagerly.

  "The star. Remember the star?"

  "Of course I remember it; I saw it pinned to Thirkie's chest. What about it?" Carmichael was impatient.

  "Bought in France by an Englishman without coupons, a month ago, as a souvenir, the shopkeeper took his name and address."

  "Yes, yes, who was it?"

  Stebbings shook his head slowly. "You'll work your way to apoplexy if you keep getting as excited as this about cases. It was Kahn, of course, David Kahn, and he gave his own London address."

  "No!" It couldn't be true.

  "Absolutely verifiably true. Sound as the Bank of England."

  "Kahn hasn't been in France."

  "Not that he told us about, no. Maybe he was helping his friend Chaim with a little smuggling over there. We know they get across the Channel somehow."

  "Not and give their names to the Nazi authorities," Carmichael protested. "Besides, anyone could give his name."

  "Now you're stretching a little, aren't you?" Stebbings said. "It's the link we wanted; now we'll pull him in. The warrant's being made out now—do you want to take it down yourself?"

  "Lady Thirkie did it," Carmichael said. "Agnes Timms, Brown's girlfriend, knew all about it and is willing to give evidence."

  "She's probably romancing," Stebbings said. "Or maybe they were in league. Bring him in anyway. We can ask him about her."

  "I'll take the warrant down," Carmichael said. "Send it to my office when it's ready. Royston's waiting in the car."

  He went into his office and sat down. He rested his elbows on the desk, pushing over piles of papers and causing a minor landslide. Kahn couldn't have done it. He had no reason to. He hadn't been in France. He wouldn't have been in alliance with Lady Thirkie. It didn't make any sense. If he'd done it, it would have been clean and simple and he'd have been miles away with a reliable alibi.

  There had been times in his career when Carmichael had been uncertain of the arrests he'd made. There was even one man who had been hanged when Carmichael hadn't been sure, not absolutely sure. He still woke in the night sometimes from dreams of that case. But he'd never before been asked to arrest someone he knew was innocent, and risk passing up on the real culprits. "We'll never pin it on them . . . not now," Royston's remembered voice echoed in his ears.

  He put his hand on the telephone. He had broken the law before—the police often had to, to do their jobs. Those times he'd always been on the right side of it, the side the lawgivers and the law enforcers would approve. This time—but why, in the end, was he a policeman? Not just to keep himself in teapots and fine linen handkerchiefs. He loved his job, loved finding out what had happened and seeing people who had thought they could make a mockery of the law punished. There had always been one law for the rich and another for the poor, but this was taking things too far. He picked up the receiver. "I'd like to put a call through to Farthing House in Hampshire," he said. "It's on the Winchester exchange, and the number is 252. Police priority."

  27

  It was a tiny bit chilly, and we wanted to eat lunch outside again, so I was going upstairs for a cardigan when I heard the telephone bell. Normally, Jeffrey would have answered it and called me, but as it was, I picked up the extension in the hall.

  "Could I speak to Mr. Kahn?" Inspector Carmichael asked. I'd have known his voice anywhere, even on a bad line, it was so distinctive.

  "This is Lucy Kahn speaking, Inspector," I said. "I'll just fetch David now."

  "That's all right, I can talk to you just as well, Mrs. Kahn," he said. "Tell me, did Mr. Kahn go to the Continent at all this year?"

  "No," I said. "He'd be mad to go. You know he's Jewish. David hasn't been to the Continent since before the war."

  "And if he had gone, even briefly, you'd know about it?"

  "Yes!" I was annoyed. "This is nonsense, Inspector."

  He pressed on regardless. "Has he gone on any business trips at all since you've been married?"

  "No. He's a banker, he works out of an office in London, he doesn't need to make business trips. No, hang on," I said, remembering. "He went up to Edinburgh once to inspect a shoe shop that wanted to expand, and I went with him and we stayed in a tiny little hotel just below the mountain."

  "Apart from that, he hasn't been out of London at all, to your knowledge?"

  "Not for more than a few hours, or a weekend staying with friends—both of us, that is. What's all this about?"

  "There's some evidence come to light that strongly implicates Mr. Kahn in the purchase of the star that was found pinned to Sir James Thirkie's chest," Inspector Carmichael said. "It was purchased in France a month ago."

  "But—" I started indignantly.

  "A warrant is being made out for his arrest for murder," the Inspector went on. "I shall be leaving Scotland Yard as soon as it is drawn up, which I expect to be at any moment now, and coming down to Farthing to deliver it. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, Inspector," I said, and I did, because this was a very important piece of the whole kaleidoscope whirl of jigsaw I'd been putting together. It made everything definite. Someone, whether it was Mummy or whoever, had deliberately implicated David.

  "Please make sure you remain in the house until I arrive. That's very important, Mrs. Kahn. Do you understand? Stay there until I arrive to arrest Mr. Kahn and take him back to London. Do you understand?"

  "I understand perfectly, Inspector," I said. "Thank you so very much. Goodbye."

  "Goodbye, Mrs. Kahn," he said, and I put the receiver down and just stood there for a moment.

  The day before, in the library, after lunch, I'd made a plan. I heard the sound of wheels on the gravel. That would be Mrs. Simons coming back. I continued upstairs as if on my original errand. As soon as I was in my bedroom, I slipped off my skirt and pulled on a pair of slacks. My blouse was all right, so I left that. Instead of my cardigan I put on my old stained lilac jacket, and I also picked up my big clasp bag. I put my wallet, my hairbrush, and my jewel case into it. I went down one flight of stairs and without hesitating went into Mummy's room and slid her country jewel case, her gold brush and comb and mirror, her crucifix, and the tiny china bowl that's the second piece Josiah Wedgewood ever made, into my bag with my own things. I didn't think at all while I was doing this. I just did it automatically as if I did it every day. I pushed a silk scarf in on top to stop things rattling and to protect the Wedgewood bowl. I closed my bag and went down.

  I was almost at the bottom before I remembered my cheek. It didn't hurt at all now, but the marks were still very visible. I went back up and took my make-up bag, which fortunately fit into the pocket of my jacket, because the bag was full. I stuffed a brassiere and two pairs of knickers into the other pocket.

  I went down, and out to the garden. David smiled at me as he saw me coming across the lawn. Lunch, sandwiches again, and a tray of tea, was waiting on the table.

  It takes two hours to drive from London to Farthing, perhaps a little more from Scotland Yard, and perhaps he'd do his best to drive slowly and give us a little extra time. I couldn't count on that. The clock in the village was just striking a quarter to one. It was excruciating to have to sit down.

  "Lizzie's brought lunch," he said.

  "Inspector Carmichael has called," I said. "He's coming to arrest you. Somebody has faked some evidence of you buying the star in France earlier this year."

  David went terribly pale; then the color all came back into his face with a rush. I could practically see him grabbing for his stiff upper lip. "Oh my darling," he said. "I'm so sorry to have brought this on you."

  "We have to run," I said. "We can't stay here. They'll hang you. They might have anyway, but this looks like solid evidence. You and I know that it's faked, but a jury wouldn't."

  "We have to run," he said. "Where could we go?"

  I took a sandwich and bit into it. Egg mayonnaise and lots of cress, on Mrs.
Smollett's homemade granary bread, and absolutely delicious.

  "We can't take the car, because there's a policeman on the gate, still, and besides, Mrs. Simons will see and try to stop us," I said. "Maybe some of the other servants would, too. But we can say we want to ride around the woods, and get horses," I said. "Then we ride to Farthing Junction. It's hardly five miles."

  "They'll be looking for us in London," David said. He was white and tense and looked like a boy expecting a beating. "When Carmichael arrives and we're gone, they'll speak to the police in London and they'll meet us on the platform in Waterloo."

  "Trains run both ways," I said. "In the other direction, they go to Southampton and then on to Portsmouth. You could buy tickets to London, and I could buy them to Southampton. Do eat something, David. Then we could change in Southampton and go down into the West Country. Or we could buy new tickets on the train and go to Portsmouth."

  "What could we do in Portsmouth? Oh—Abby," he said. He was very quick, as always.

  "Abby loves me and trusts me. She'd take us in, and we could stay there either until they catch the real criminal, or until you can contact Chaim or somebody and we can get out of the country."

  "If I run, it looks as if I'm guilty," David said. "They'll stop looking for anyone else—they'll just hunt for me."

  "If you're in prison they'll make you confess," I said. "They can make people confess to anything. They have techniques they got from the Germans, Daddy says. If you run, at least you'll be alive. I'll have you, and our baby will have its father."

  I hadn't mentioned the baby before. I wasn't sure. I knew, but I wasn't sure, if you understand the difference. I wouldn't be sure for weeks. David looked stricken, and just sat there, not eating or doing anything. I shoved the rest of my sandwich into my mouth and I got up. I went into the drawing room through the French windows and rang the bell. Lizzie came almost at once. "Tell Harry to get Manzikert and Clontarf saddled up," I told her. "We've decided to go riding straight after lunch."

  "Yes, madam," she said.

  I went back out to David. "We have to go," I said.

  "You should never have married me," he said.