The Unseen Hand Read online

  ‘Is it that bad?’

  ‘Guests have been cancelling their bookings all day.’

  ‘Some of them are still loyal, surely?’

  ‘We can’t survive for long on a handful of patrons, Mrs Gosling. And it’s not just our guests who feel uneasy. Our staff must be on edge as well.’

  ‘They are, Mr Chell. There’s no doubt about that.’

  ‘How is Miss Jenks?’

  ‘She’s still very shaky. I’ve caught her in tears more than once,’ said Lena, ‘and she won’t start to recover until the murder is solved. Millie told me that she’s having nightmares.’

  ‘We’re all in the middle of one of those,’ said Chell, ruefully. ‘However, we must carry on as if nothing had happened. Brave faces are the order of the day.’

  ‘You’ve set an example to us all, sir. We were all so impressed that you spent last night under this roof.’

  ‘I just wanted to make sure that we had no more trouble.’

  ‘Leonard told me you’d make a good night porter.’

  ‘That’s very kind of him,’ said Chell, icily, ‘but you can tell Rogan that I have higher aspirations.’ He crossed to the wall and pointed at the framed ground plan of the hotel. ‘I thought that we were completely secure.’

  ‘So did I, sir.’

  ‘The killer got hold of a key somehow.’

  ‘Well, he didn’t get it from any of us,’ she said, taking umbrage. ‘I hope that’s not what you’re telling me.’

  ‘None of us is above suspicion, Mrs Gosling.’

  ‘If any member of staff betrayed us, I’d know.’

  ‘Then someone must have reconnoitred the place,’ he decided. ‘One of our guests stayed here for the sole purpose of working out the geography of the Lotus and getting some idea of the night porter’s routine. Yes,’ he went on, seeing the look of disbelief on her face, ‘it’s hard to accept that any of those respectable ladies who stay here would take part in a crime, but one of them did.’

  ‘I don’t believe it. We all know what Mrs Fleetwood set out to do when she opened this hotel – it was to attract the cream of society.’

  ‘And that’s exactly what she did.’

  ‘Then why are you saying that one of the guests helped the killer?’

  ‘How else could an intruder find his way around the Lotus at night when the lights were turned off?’

  She was stunned. ‘I never thought of that.’

  ‘There’s something I haven’t told you, Mrs Gosling, but I know that you can keep it to yourself. We don’t want the staff gossiping about it.’ He lowered his voice. ‘The guest who disappeared from the room where the murder victim was found signed in as Lady Brice-Cadmore.’

  ‘I remember her well.’

  ‘What we didn’t know at the time was that she was an impostor. According to the inspector, the real Lady Brice-Cadmore died years ago. Her name was stolen.’ Mrs Gosling’s eyes bulged. ‘Do you still think that all our patrons belong to the cream of society?’

  When they came to the end of their shift, the two friends found Inspector Gale waiting for them. She wanted a full report of their time on duty and she checked their notebooks carefully to make sure that all incidents were neatly recorded. Giving a grunt of approval, she moved away.

  ‘Why doesn’t she ever praise us?’ complained Iris Goodliffe.

  ‘She just did,’ said Alice.

  ‘I didn’t hear her.’

  ‘That grunt is Gale Force’s idea of praising us. I think she was annoyed that, for once, she couldn’t find fault with what we did. That was an achievement for us, Iris.’

  ‘I’d still like an occasional pat on the back.’

  ‘Well, you won’t get it from her. That’s asking far too much.’

  Now that they were off duty, they went off to the canteen for some refreshments. On the way there, Alice saw another policewoman coming towards them. She recognised Jennifer Jerrold, a lanky young woman with a long stride. Ordinarily, Jennifer would have stopped to exchange a few words, but she didn’t even look at them this time. Head down, she ignored the greetings from the two women and walked straight past.

  ‘What’s wrong with Jenny?’ asked Alice.

  ‘Haven’t you heard the rumour?’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘A little bird told me that she was going to resign.’

  ‘Why? She’s very good at her job.’

  ‘Maybe she’s fed up with being ordered around by Gale Force.’

  ‘We’re all fed up with that, Iris, but it doesn’t make us want to get out. We perform a vital service. Jenny was as keen as the rest of us to join the Women’s Police Force.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘She was off ill last month,’ said Alice. ‘I wonder if it’s to do with that? She’s a nice woman but she never looks all that healthy.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ said Iris.

  ‘That’s ridiculous. Your father owns a couple of pharmacies. Whenever you have the slightest thing wrong with you, he’ll prescribe tablets for you and hand them over.’

  ‘I take far too many pills.’

  ‘They obviously do the trick. Going back to Jenny, where did she find the courage to tell Gale Force?’

  ‘Maybe she hasn’t actually done it yet,’ said Iris. ‘I’d have to be drunk before I’d dare tell the inspector that I was leaving. She’d do everything she could to stop me.’

  ‘Let’s hope that Jenny has second thoughts. I like her.’

  ‘She didn’t seem to like us when she went past just now. Something’s obviously upset her.’

  ‘I wonder what it is. Anyway, whose turn is it to buy the tea?’

  ‘It’s yours, Alice.’

  ‘I thought it was yours.’

  ‘Last one there pays,’ said Iris before hurrying off.

  Alice didn’t chase her. She was too busy looking after Jennifer Jerrold and wondering why someone who joined with such enthusiasm was eager to leave a job that she’d always enjoyed.

  The first claims came in the form of letters and Keedy dealt with them very quickly. Most of them were written in an illiterate scrawl that discounted them immediately. One man insisted that the dead woman was Joan of Arc and that the missing guest was Queen Victoria. Other hoax claims went into the wastepaper basket after them. It was an hour before someone turned up in person. David Benfield was a skinny man in his forties, wearing what had once been a smart suit but was now badly creased and frayed at the sleeves. Shown into the office, he gave his name then started with a demand.

  ‘I want to know how much I’ll get.’

  ‘You’ll get a night in the cells if you adopt that tone with me,’ warned Keedy. ‘As it happens, there will be a substantial reward for information that leads to the arrest and conviction of the killer, but I very much doubt if you’ll be in a position to get it.’

  ‘Yes, I will,’ said Benfield, indignantly. ‘I saw him.’

  ‘Who are you talking about?’

  ‘The man you’re after.’

  ‘Can you give me a name and a detailed description of him?’

  ‘Not really – but I watched him break into that hotel.’

  ‘Where were you at the time?’

  ‘I was walking home through Chelsea after midnight.’

  ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘Actually,’ admitted the other, ‘I live in Walthamstow, but I’d … been to see friends. As I was passing the hotel, I saw this figure forcing open a window at the back. In fact—’

  ‘That’s enough,’ snapped Keedy, cutting him short.

  ‘But I haven’t finished yet, Sergeant.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you have. You’re lying through your teeth. Nobody broke into the Lotus Hotel or tampered with a window at the rear. I examined the building myself and found no sign of forced entry.’

  ‘I saw him clearly.’

  ‘How did you manage that? The place was in darkness at midnight. Now get out of here,’ said Keedy, rising from his chair, ‘
or I’ll kick you all the way back home to Walthamstow.’

  ‘I’m a witness. You ought to treat me with respect.’

  Keedy had heard enough. Grabbing hold of the man by the collar, he lifted him up and rushed him out through the door before propelling him towards the stairs. Benfield accepted defeat and slinked off.

  Keedy resumed his seat and made a note of his visitor’s name. It would not be the first time that someone turned up with an absurd story. For the moment, however, he was alone in an office that had a telephone. The temptation was strong and Keedy eventually yielded to it. After stepping out into the corridor to make sure that nobody was about, he went back inside and closed the door. Then he took out his wallet and extracted the piece of paper he’d torn out of the Evening Standard the previous day. Lifting the receiver, he dialled the number printed on the scrap of paper. When he eventually got through, a voice came on the line.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s about that job you advertised,’ said Keedy.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘How much does it pay?’

  The Lotus Hotel felt empty when Marmion got there. There was hardly anyone about and the place had an almost hollow feeling. Having had his curiosity about the woman aroused, he was disappointed that the owner was not there but pleased to see the manager. Chell invited him into the office and the two of them sat down.

  ‘I’ve been thinking, Inspector,’ said the manager.

  ‘That’s always a wise habit to cultivate, sir.’

  ‘My belief is that one of our patrons was part of a conspiracy. Instead of staying here as a bona fide guest, she was simply getting to know the layout of the hotel in order to help the killer.’

  ‘We’d already realised that.’

  ‘I’d like to tell you that the name of that guest was Lady Brice-Cadmore but, in fact, she was a confidence trickster. In reality, she was also an accessory to the murder. Do you follow my reasoning?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I’ve been down that same path myself until I found a major obstruction across it.’

  ‘Obstruction?’ echoed the other.

  ‘Yes, Mr Chell. I mentioned it to you before – the taxi.’

  ‘It must have been ordered by mistake.’

  ‘I don’t believe that lady made mistakes, sir. She booked that taxi in good faith because she intended to leave here at 6 a.m. that morning. She’d asked Miss Jenks to wake her up in time. According to Sergeant Keedy, Miss Jenks got to the room and saw a sign dangling from the doorknob that said, “Please Do Not Disturb”.’

  ‘It had been hanging there for most of the previous day.’

  ‘Answer me this, sir,’ said Marmion. ‘If you were an accessory to a murder, would you arrange for someone to come to the room where it took place? In our experience, most killers do their best to delay the discovery of their victim because they want maximum time to make their escape. The post-mortem report estimates that the time of death was somewhere between two o’clock and five o’clock. That being the case, Miss Jenks could conceivably have entered that room when the fatal dose was being injected into the victim.’ He gave an enquiring smile. ‘Do you still think your guest was an accessory?’

  ‘No,’ said Chell, apologetically. ‘I hadn’t thought it through the way that you have. Thank you for correcting me.’

  ‘Just because she disappeared, it’s natural to think that the woman was in league with the killer. At the start, I entertained the idea that she might actually be the killer, but I couldn’t explain away the taxi.’

  ‘What really did happen, Inspector?’

  ‘We can only guess, sir. A public appeal has been launched for help to identify the murder victim and the missing guest. You may be aware that Mrs Fleetwood’s husband is offering a large reward for significant information. That may conceivably bring in the names we desperately need. Meanwhile,’ said Marmion, ‘we had a visit from Sir Godfrey Brice-Cadmore. He’s been ransacking his archives.’

  ‘Has he turned up anything useful?’

  ‘I hope so. He feels, as we do, that the person who posed as his wife must be someone who actually met her at some point and who made an effort to look like her.’

  ‘That makes sense.’

  ‘After trawling through his diaries and photograph albums, he came up with two possibilities. I have them here,’ said Marmion, taking the photographs from his pocket. ‘Please take a long, hard look before you decide if one of these ladies stayed here under a false name.’

  Marmion first handed over the photograph of Cecily Prentice. The manager shook his head vigorously and said that she was far too young. He was then given the photograph of the woman at the Hunt Ball and it intrigued him. Since there were so many faces crowded into a small photograph, he took time to pick out the woman Marmion wanted him to see. Chell was thorough. Unwilling to make too hasty a decision, he took out a magnifying glass from his desk drawer and scrutinised the woman. Minutes went by before he looked up.

  ‘That’s her, Inspector.’

  ‘Are you certain of it?’

  ‘I’m absolutely certain,’ said Chell. ‘She was a little older than she is here, but I’d swear that she stayed at the Lotus as Lady Brice-Cadmore.’

  As soon as Ellen finished reading the book, she had the urge to take it back to the library. While getting rid of something that had disturbed her, she knew that she could not forget its central message so easily. The theme of The Invasion of 1910 would be ever-present in her mind from now on. The librarian was glad to see the book being returned.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Marmion,’ she said. ‘We had someone asking for this title earlier on. Did you enjoy it?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. To be honest, it shook me up, but I couldn’t stop reading it somehow.’

  ‘Other people have said that. It’s one of the most borrowed books in the library. We have five copies of it and they’re always being borrowed by someone.’

  ‘I’ll find something a little more comforting,’ said Ellen.

  She drifted away to the section where romantic novels were on display, browsing quietly. When she’d worked her way to the end of the bookcase, she saw something she hadn’t spotted before. Among the posters on the noticeboard was a larger version of the handbill she’d found in the copy of William Le Queux’s book. Ellen went across to study the photograph of Quentin Dacey, staring into the dark, hypnotic eyes until she felt unable to look away. Did he really know something that the authorities didn’t? Was the press deliberately suppressing details of German espionage, as he’d claimed? Were the British people being kept in the dark out of fear of mass panic if they knew the truth?

  The only way to find out was to hear Dacey speak.

  His visit to the Lotus Hotel had produced what Marmion considered to be a breakthrough. If Chell was to be believed, the woman who’d once attended a ball organised by the Old Berkshire Hunt had stayed at the hotel under the guise of someone else’s name. It should be possible to find out what her real name was. Marmion’s starting point had to be Sir Godfrey. Since the old man was very tired and jangled by the turn of events, he’d decided to stay the night at his club. When he’d left Scotland Yard, he was obviously not in the best of health and Marmion had had to help him down the stairs. He was troubled by the fact that Sir Godfrey had been struggling to stay upright.

  The club was in Albemarle Street and Marmion was driven there in a police car. When he entered the building, he was met by a steward who looked him up and down.

  ‘This is a private club, sir,’ he said with a courtesy edged with firmness. ‘Non-members are not permitted.’

  ‘I’m the exception to the rule,’ said Marmion, taking out his warrant card to show to him. ‘As you can see, I’m a detective inspector from Scotland Yard.’

  The steward was hurt. ‘We’ve never had trouble from the police.’

  ‘I’m only here to see one of your members.’

  ‘What might his name be, sir?’

  ‘Sir Godfrey Brice-Cadmore
.’

  ‘That’s correct. Sir Godfrey is one of our country members.’

  ‘I’d like to speak to him, please.’

  ‘Then you’ve come too late, Inspector.’

  Marmion was anxious. ‘He’s gone back home?’

  ‘No, sir,’ said the other, solemnly. ‘He was in no condition to travel. The stairs here are very steep. When I took Sir Godfrey up to his room, he was puffing and panting on every step. Before we reached the top, he suddenly collapsed.’

  ‘Is he still alive?’ asked Marmion in alarm.

  ‘I hope so, sir. He’s had some kind of seizure.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘They took him to hospital. If you wish to speak to him, I suggest that you get over there immediately or you may be too late.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sir Edward Henry rarely got involved in individual cases. As commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, his role was largely administrative, making sure that the organisation ran smoothly and effectively even though it had limited manpower. Some critics dismissed him unfairly as a mere figurehead but, in fact, he was a fierce defender of the police, taking on the government and the press on its behalf and arguing his case robustly. When the tall, dignified figure of Sir Edward came into his office, Chatfield knew exactly why he was there.

  ‘You’ve come about Mr Fleetwood,’ he said, resignedly.

  ‘Strictly speaking,’ said the other, ‘I’m here on behalf of Mrs Fleetwood. She, after all, is the owner of the Lotus Hotel. How is the investigation going?’

  ‘We’ve made slow but definite progress, Sir Edward.’

  ‘That wasn’t what Harold Fleetwood told me.’

  ‘He has a rather unrealistic view of police procedure. He’s a man who seems to believe in instant arrests and summary justice.’

  ‘When someone has become a millionaire on the strength of his business acumen,’ chided Sir Edward, ‘his views need to be shown some respect. That’s why I commend his offer of reward money in connection with this murder.’