Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
Through the crackling on the line came a measured voice. “His lordship is in London, Mr. Fletcher.”
“Since when?”
“He drove up yesterday.”
“Where is he staying?”
“At a private nursing home. You appear to be aware that his lordship is an invalid. He finds travel extremely debilitating.”
“Then I wonder why he has undertaken it at this moment?”
“I am unable to enlighten you.”
“Again I ask, unable or unwilling?”
“His lordship did not take me into his confidence.”
“But you can make a very good guess. Could it be something to do with his brother?”
After a momentary silence, the butler admitted cautiously, “It could be.”
“Which nursing home is he at?”
“I can’t possibly tell you that, Chief Inspector.”
“You have the address?”
“Ye-es.”
“I realise you would be taking a great deal upon yourself by disclosing it. While I don’t want to sound melodramatic, it could be a case of life or death.”
“What! You can’t be serious, Mr. Fletcher.”
Alec mentally added butlers to his list—solicitors, doctors, club secretaries—of those out of whom it was extremely difficult to extract information. “I am deadly serious, Mr. Maxwell. The police do not joke about such subjects.”
As if reading his mind, the butler said, “I had better refer you to his lordship’s solicitor.”
“My dear chap, I haven’t time to be hunting down solicitors!
” It was going to be bad enough trying to get into the place once they had its address.
Nursing sisters, if not quite as obstructive as doctors when it came to information, could be quite obstructive enough when it came to letting one see their patients. “Time is of the essence.”
“Caller, do you want another three minutes?”
“Yes, please.” No good ever came of swearing at telephone operators.
This reminded Alec that Marsh Abbey was probably on a village exchange.
Bored local operators had been known to eavesdrop …
and to gossip. Whatever the butler said might be all over the district by tomorrow, another reason for his caution.
“Look, Mr. Maxwell, I understand your reluctance. Suppose you give me the postal district and the name of the street.”
Grudgingly: “I could do that. Just a minute. Right, here we are. The district is South East Twenty-three and the street is Canonbie Road.”
“SE23,” Alec repeated. “Canonbie Road. Thank you, Mr. Maxwell.”
“My division,” Mackinnon noted.
“Sydenham!” said Piper. “Right back at the Crystal Palace.” He reached for a directory.
“Canonbie Road, that’s Forest Hill, a very respectable area so I don’t know it well. I recall the street because of the Scottish name. It’s a steep hill, as far as I remember.”
Maxwell was saying mournfully, “I don’t know if I’ve done right, Mr. Fletcher.”
“Don’t worry, we won’t reveal where the information came from unless it becomes absolutely necessary, which I don’t foresee.”
“That’s poor consolation, if you don’t mind me saying so. Well, no use crying over spilt milk. Good-bye, Chief Inspector.”
“Got it!” Ernie said triumphantly. “The Fairlawn Nursing Home. D’you want me to get them on the phone, Chief?” he added, seeing Alec hang up.
“No, I think we’ll arrive unannounced. If he doesn’t want to see us, I don’t want to give them time to find a doctor who’ll say we can’t see him.
Get hold of an official car and a driver.
Mac, I’d like a couple of your men unobtrusively on hand, possibly for the next few days.
Could you set that up? I’ll brief them when we get there. ”
While they were busy, Alec skimmed through the last report and crossed another name off his list.
Half an hour later, they crossed the river and headed southeast.
The Fairlawn Nursing Home was a large, late Victorian detached house in a street of large detached houses. The steep hill provided views north across London and south to the Crystal Palace, though it would make exercise difficult for convalescent patients.
Mackinnon’s men were lurking in an unmarked car a few doors away from the nursing home. Alec described the man they were after, what little he had found out about his appearance.
“That’s not much to go on,” one muttered. “Must be hundreds—”
“But the chances of more than one visiting this place…”
“Oh, right, sir.”
“His name is Wrexham-Clarke, Alaric Wrexham-Clarke, but he’s quite likely to give an alias.
He’s to be held for questioning. Division HQ?
No, straight to the Yard, I think. If by some improbable coincidence he should arrive while we’re here, you can let him enter, but be alert for an attempt to cut and run.
Let me warn you, he’s a gymnast and an acrobat, fast and agile.
Not known to carry weapons but beware of an unconventional attack.
One front, one back, and stay out of sight. ”
They waited five minutes to let the man behind the house get into place. Then Alec led the way up the garden path and rang the bell. The door was opened by a young nurse in a stiffly starched apron and cap. She backed away as Alec stepped over the threshold.
“Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher and Detective Inspector Mackinnon,” he said, leaving Piper, unannounced, to sidle in inconspicuously after them.
“Ooh,” she breathed, round-eyed.
“No need to be alarmed, Nurse. I just want a word with a patient, Lord Ledborough.”
“Ooh, are you going to arrest him?”
“Good heavens no, just talk to him.”
“I’ll have to ask Sister.” She scurried away. By this time Ernie had made it to the stairs at the back of the hall and was to all appearance studying with great interest a portrait of Florence Nightingale.
Sister was a formidably large woman, even more stiffly starched than her subordinate.
Rustling, she stalked towards the policemen.
“I am Sister Bessemer, Chief Inspector. You want to see Lord Ledborough? Out of the question, I’m afraid.
Quite apart from the fact that he is a sick man, he is at present in consultation with his brother, Dr. Wrexham-Clarke. ”