‘Perhaps she wanted to get involved with the black market. Perhaps she is trying to make contact with the Resistance, in order to write a newspaper story.’
‘That’s just what I was thinking, Harry.’
‘What else is wrong?’
‘I took his keys downstairs. None of them fits any of the locks; not the street door or this door. The small keys look like the ones they use on filing cabinets and the bronze one is probably for a safe. There are no filing cabinets here, and if there is a safe, it’s uncommonly well hidden.’
‘Anything else?’ said Harry.
‘If he lives here, why buy a return ticket when he left Bringle Sands yesterday morning? And if he lives here, where are his shirts, his underclothes and his suits?’
‘He left them at Bringle Sands.’
‘And he intended to go to bed here, and then get up and use the same shirt and underclothes, you mean? Look at the body, Harry. This was a man very fussy about his clean linen.’
‘You don’t think he lived here?’
‘I don’t think anyone lived here. This place was just used as somewhere to meet.’
‘Business you mean – or lovers?’
‘You’re forgetting what Resistance people call “safe houses,” Harry. It might have been a place where they met, hid or stored things. And we can’t overlook the way he was wearing his overcoat.’
‘You told the doctor it was cold.’
‘The doctor was trying to irritate me and he succeeded. That doesn’t mean he was wrong about someone sitting here waiting for Thomas to arrive. And it doesn’t explain him keeping his hat on.’
‘I never know what you’re really thinking,’ said Harry.
‘Watch your tongue when you are over at the Feldgendarmerie, Harry.’
‘What do you think I am – stupid?’
‘Romantic,’ said Douglas. ‘Not stupid – romantic.’
‘You think he got those burns from a sun-lamp?’ said Harry.
‘I never heard of anyone going to sleep under a sun-lamp,’ said Douglas, ‘but there has to be a first time for everything. And try to think why someone has taken the light bulb out of that adjustable desk light. There was nothing wrong with the bulb.’
The beer seemed to get weaker every day and anyone who believed those stories about the fighting having destroyed the hop fields had never tasted the export brands that were selling in German soldiers’ canteens. In spite of its limitations Douglas bought a second pint and smothered the tasteless cheese sandwich with mustard before eating it. There were several other Murder Squad officers in the ‘Red Lion’ in Derby Gate. It was Scotland Yard’s own pub, more crimes had been solved in this bar than in all the offices, path labs and record offices put together, or so some of the regulars claimed, after a few drinks.
A newspaper boy came in selling the Evening Standard. Douglas bought a copy and turned to the Stop Press on the back page.
MAN FOUND DEAD IN WEST END LUXURY FLAT
Shepherd Market in Mayfair was visited by Scotland Yard officers today when the body of a man was discovered by a neighbour bringing the morning pint of milk. The dead man’s name has not yet been released by the police. It is believed that he was an antique dealer and a well-known expert in pearls. Scotland Yard are treating the death as murder, and the investigation is headed by ‘Archer of the Yard’ who solved the grisly ‘Sex-fiend murders’ last summer.
Douglas saw the hand of Harry Woods in that; he knew Douglas hated being called ‘Archer of the Yard’ and Douglas guessed that Harry had spoken over the phone and said the dead man was an ‘expert in girls’ before incredulously denying it on the read-back.
It was raining as Douglas left the ‘Red Lion’. As he looked across the road, at the oncoming traffic, he saw Sylvia, his secretary. She’d obviously been waiting for him. Douglas let a couple of buses pass and then hurried across the road. He waited again for two staff cars flying C-in-C pennants. They hit the ruts left by bomb damage and sprayed water over him. Douglas cursed but that only made it rain harder.
‘Darling,’ said Sylvia. There was not much passion in the word but then with Sylvia there never had been. Douglas put an arm round her and she held her cold face up to be kissed.
‘I’ve been worried all morning. The letter said you were going away.’
‘You must forgive me, darling,’ said Sylvia. ‘I’ve despised myself ever since sending the damned letter. Say you forgive me.’
‘You’re pregnant?’
‘I’m not absolutely sure.’
‘Damn it, Sylvia – you sent the letter and said…’
‘Don’t shout in the street, darling.’ She held a hand up to his mouth. The hand was very cold. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have come here?’
‘After three days I had to report your absence. The tea lady asked where you were. It was impossible to cover for you.’
‘I didn’t want you to take any risks, darling.’
‘I phoned your aunt in Streatham but she said she’d not seen you for months.’
‘Yes, I must go and see her.’
‘Will you listen to what I’m saying, Sylvia.’
‘Let go of my arm, you’re hurting me. I am listening.’
‘You’re not listening properly.’
‘I’m listening the same as I always listen to you.’
‘You’ve still got your SIPO pass.’
‘What pass?’
‘Your Scotland Yard pass – have you been drinking or something?’
‘Of course I haven’t been drinking. Well, what about it? You think I’m going to go down Petticoat Lane and sell the bloody pass to the highest bidder? Who the hell wants to go into that hideous building unless they are paid for it?’
‘Let’s walk,’ said Douglas. ‘Don’t you know that Whitehall has regular Gendarmerie patrols?’
‘What are you talking about?’ She smiled. ‘Give me a proper kiss. Aren’t you glad to see me?’
He kissed her hurriedly. ‘Of course I am. We’ll walk up towards Trafalgar Square, all right?’
‘Suits me.’
They walked up Whitehall, past the armed sentries who stood immobile outside the newly occupied offices. They were almost as far as the Whitehall Theatre when they saw the soldiers doing the spot-check. Parked across the roadway there were three Bedford lorries, newly painted with German Army Group L (London District) HQ markings: a crude Tower Bridge surmounting a Gothic L. The soldiers were in battle-smocks with machine pistols slung on their shoulders. They moved quickly, expanding the spiked barrier – designed to pierce tyres – so that only one lane of traffic could pass through in each direction. The check-point command car was parked against the foot of Charles the First’s statue. The Germans learned quickly thought Douglas, for that was the place the Metropolitan Police always used for central London crowd-control work. More soldiers made a barrier behind them.
Sylvia