Chapter 15
Half an hour after Alec left the house next morning, the telephone rang. Daisy was crossing the hall, on her way to the nursery from the kitchen and her daily consultation with Mrs. Dobson about the day’s menus.
Given Alec’s irregular hours, they were limited to meals that would either cook quickly or keep hot without spoiling.
Cutlets and stews were staples, but since becoming friendly with Sakari’s chauffeur, Kesin, Mrs. Dobson sometimes daringly branched out into curries.
Tonight, at whatever hour Alec arrived home, curried lamb would await him.
Brring-brring. Daisy unhooked the receiver, pressed it to her ear, and spoke the telephone number into the mouthpiece.
“Mrs. Fletcher?” came a breathless whisper.
“Speaking. Who is this?”
“Brenda. Brenda Carradine. Is Mr. Fletcher there?”
“No, I’m afraid he’s already left for the Tower. He should get there any minute.”
“Oh, good.” She continued to whisper. Fortunately, they had a good connection. “I mean, it’s not him we need to talk to, but we didn’t want him to overhear what you’re saying.”
“And you don’t want anyone at that end to overhear what you’re saying?”
“We knew you’d understand.”
“So far,” said Daisy, “I understand nothing. What’s wrong?”
“I can’t tell you on the telephone. Someone might overhear. Could you possibly possibly come here? We know it’s a great imposition, only everything is so dreadful and we don’t know what to do, and you’re the only person we can turn to.”
“What about your aunt Christina?”
“Oh no! She might tell the colonel, and that would be too awful for words.”
“Brenda, whatever it is, there’s a chance I might have to tell Alec.”
“That’s just it. You’ll know if he absolutely has to know, and if not, you might be able to . . . Oh, I can’t explain over the ’phone. Please come!”
“Right-oh,” Daisy said with a silent sigh. “It’ll take me awhile to get there. I don’t want to get caught up in the morning rush.”
“Oh. Can you hold on a minute?”
Daisy heard a muffled sound of anxious consultation.
Brenda returned. “Mrs. Fletcher? We still have most of our quarter’s allowance. We’ll pay for a taxi. We’ll meet you at the Middle Tower, all right? We’ll wait there till you arrive.”
Heavens above, they must be really worried! Daisy agreed, and rang off.
What on earth was Alec going to say when she turned up at the Tower? She had better think up something she needed to tell him both urgently and privately, something that couldn’t be passed on in a telephone message. Of course, what the Carradine girls had to tell her might qualify.
Urgent or not, she had to change into clothes more appropriate for going into the city—her grey costume, she thought, in view of the distressing events at the Tower—and she absolutely refused to sacrifice a visit to the nursery for at least a few minutes with the babies.
When Alec reached the Middle Tower, a huddle of early-rising reporters lay in wait for him. He managed to escape making a statement by reminding them that the Tower of London was a royal palace.
“It’s as much as my job’s worth to pass on any information,” he told them, wondering whether it was true.
“You’d better apply to Buckingham Palace, or perhaps Downing Street.
” They all groaned. “Or, come to think of it, the Constable of the Tower, who’s the King’s representative.
. . . No, I can’t give you his address or telephone number, but I’m sure gentlemen as resourceful as yourselves won’t have any difficulty finding out. ”
They swarmed away towards the nearest public telephone booths.
“Neatly done, sir,” said one of the two Yeoman Warders on duty, backed up by a couple of Hotspur sentries.
“We was wondering what to do about them pestiferous newshounds. I’ve a coupla messages for you.
DS Tring and DC Piper got here a few minutes ago.
They’ll be waiting for you in the Guard House.
And the Governor gave orders not to let anyone leave, but he said to ask you if that’s what you want, sir. ”
“Yes, I’d prefer to keep everyone within easy reach for the moment.”
“Right you are, sir. The Governor’d be glad to see you soon as you can spare a moment.”
Alec noted with interest the conciliatory wording of this request. Not only did a general outrank a chief inspector by any measure, but the Resident Governor was the Tower’s CO and, as such, surely entitled to demand a meeting at his own convenience.
To the mind of a detective, such uncalled-for politeness had a slightly fishy odour.
Carradine had changed his tune since yesterday. Why? He had had time to reflect on Alec’s interest in Rumford, and there were hints that his relationship with the Yeoman Gaoler was not all sweetness and light.
“If you don’t mind me saying so, sir,” the other yeoman interrupted his thoughts, “we’re all hoping you’ll need us to give a hand again today. We want to have a hand in collaring the bastard that did for Mr. Crabtree.”
“I’ll bear it in mind. You’ve already helped enormously.”
Walking across the bridge, he noted more shakoed Guards spaced at intervals along the moat. They faced inward towards the outer walls, a reminder that the Tower had functioned as a prison for many centuries. Under a grey sky, it looked the part.
At the Byward gate, a sentry challenged Alec. He was fumbling for his identification card when a yeoman appeared from under the arch.
“It’s all right, laddie,” he told the sentry in patronizing tones. “This here’s the head detective. Glad to see you, sir. Your chaps just arrived. Think you’ll catch him today?”
“I hope so.”
“So do we all,” the yeoman said fervently. “Seeing no one had any call for wishing Mr. Crabtree ill, some of us is thinking it must be a madman, and we’re worried he may go for someone else. I’ve got a wife here, sir, and kiddies.”
A murmur of agreement arose from a group of men who had drifted out of the Warders’ Hall while their colleague was speaking. Some wore yeoman’s blue-and-red tunics, others civilian clothes, as if they weren’t sure how to dress with no tourists to impress. Alec addressed them all.
“I don’t believe it was a madman. But you’re all sworn police officers, and quite capable, I’m sure, of preventing anything of the sort.
Not, however, while you’re gathered together here.
If you have no other orders, I suggest you patrol all areas not directly overseen by Guardsmen.
I’m sure you can work out among yourselves where you’re most needed. ”
Sheepishly they dispersed, except two. The man who had first spoken to Alec took up a position to one side of the arch, with the other opposite.
They were both armed with partizans and both looked ready to use them if given half a chance.
As he continued along Water Street, Alec wondered whether the yeomen actually had training in using their mediaeval weapons.
The vivid green leaves of the flourishing creeper growing against the inner wall caught his eye. Would it be possible to climb up or down it? At the far end, where there were no houses backing onto the wall, it reached nearly to the top of the parapet of Ralegh’s Walk.
He went over to take a closer look. The stems seemed sturdy enough to support a climber, but a quick look showed none of the damage that would have been inevitable.
Tom had better examine it carefully, though, he decided.
If someone from the Outer Ward could have murdered Crabtree and then gone up the steps to Ralegh’s Walk and climbed down .
. . Well, half of yesterday’s work would go up in smoke.
The feat could not have been accomplished soundlessly, however, and the sentries at the Bloody Tower gate were only a few yards away.
But someone—the Carradine girls, he thought—had mentioned noise from the river, the usual hoots and whistles of fog-bound shipping.
It might have been enough to cover the rustles and thuds of a climber, especially taking into account the deadening effect of fog. Yes, Tom must take a look.
Unchallenged by the two Hotspur sentries, Alec passed through the arch under the Bloody Tower and headed up the slope towards the entrance to the modern, ugly Guard House.
A burly yeoman appeared from the narrow passage between the Guard House and the Bloody Tower. “Chief Inspector, sir!”
“Yes?”
He saluted. “Parkinson, sir. I was on duty in the Wakefield Tower this week, sir. Left my partizan there evening afore last. I know I didn’t ought to’ve, but everyone does it. And I know that’s no excuse, sir—”
“I’m not responsible for your conduct as Yeoman Warder, and your partizan has nothing to do with your conduct as Special Constable.”
“But that’s it, sir. I want it for patrolling, like you said, sir, so I went along just to see could I get it, but the door’s locked up all right and tight. So I wondered, could you . . .” His voice trailed away as Alec shook his head.
“Sorry. Partizans are outside my purview. If you want to go and ask whoever has the key—the Governor’s secretary?
—that’s up to you, but you can patrol perfectly well without it.
It’s not as if there’s a shortage of able-bodied men around.
” In fact, he’d only suggested patrolling to keep them happily occupied.
A murderer who waited for a foggy night to ambush a blackmailer wasn’t likely to attack at random in broad daylight.
“Sir,” said Parkinson gloomily.
Alec went on into the Guard House. The sergeant on duty saluted and informed him yet again that Tring and Piper had preceded him.
He did not, however, remark upon the urgency of laying hands on Crabtree’s killer.
Hotspur Guards and Yeoman Warders lived in the same space but inhabited different worlds.
Tom was already leafing through a report and Ernie was diligently making notes. They both looked up as Alec came in and said in chorus, “How’s Mrs. Fletcher?”
Alec assured them that Daisy was her usual cheerful self.