Hardcastle's Obsession (15 page)

‘Dick, it’s Ernie Hardcastle on A.’ And he went on to tell the Chelsea DDI what Marriott had reported.

‘Yes, I’ve just heard,’ said Garwood. ‘Good knock-off by your lads. Can’t have bloody soldiers playing cowboys on the Chelsea Division. The locals wouldn’t like it at all. I’ll bet half of them are on the telephone to the Commissioner right now.’

‘Would you mind if I dealt with it, Dick?’ asked Hardcastle, and told Garwood about the murder of Annie Kelly and his suspicion that Naylor was somehow involved. ‘We know that Naylor had been screwing Lady Sarah on several occasions previously.’

‘Only too glad for you to take it off my hands, Ernie,’ said Garwood. ‘D’you want me to get my lads to escort these two idiots over to you?’

‘There’s no need, Dick,’ said Hardcastle. ‘My two lads are still there. Perhaps you’d be so good as to tell them to bring the prisoners over here.’

It had gone eight o’clock by the time that Sir Royston Naylor and Lieutenant Colonel Millard were brought to Cannon Row police station. Hardcastle had wisely directed that they be kept in separate cells for fear that a fight might break out between them. He decided to interview Millard first, and instructed Marriott to bring him to the interview room.

‘Now look here—’ Millard began arrogantly, but got no further.

‘Sit down and shut up,’ snapped Hardcastle.

‘I’m not accustomed—’

‘I said sit down and shut up,’ Hardcastle said again. Once Millard was seated, the DDI sat down opposite him, took out his pipe and began slowly to fill it. He looked up, carefully appraising the army officer. ‘I am Divisional Detective Inspector Hardcastle, head of the CID for the Whitehall Division.’

‘Well, Inspector . . .’ Millard tried to get a word in, but the DDI was having none of it.

‘Do you have any idea how much crime I have to deal with on this division, Colonel, apart from all the additional regulations that police have to enforce as a result of the war? What’s more, I have Buckingham Palace, the Palace of Westminster, St James’s Palace, and all the government offices in Whitehall within my bailiwick including, I may say, the War Office and the Admiralty. And, as if that’s not enough, I also have Holyrood House in Edinburgh, and Windsor Castle. But what am I doing this evening? Dealing with two grown men who were behaving like a pair of street hooligans.’

‘That man was in bed with my wife, Inspector,’ protested Millard. ‘I arrived home on leave from the Front and that’s what I found. A damned white-feather johnny taking advantage of my absence while I’m fighting for King and Country.’

‘That doesn’t justify firing a revolver in the street to the common danger, Colonel,’ said Hardcastle mildly. ‘It certainly doesn’t sound like the responsible behaviour of an army officer. However, I’m more interested in Sir Royston Naylor.’

‘Who?’ Millard looked genuinely puzzled.

‘Naylor was the man you chased out of your house, Colonel. He’s the head of a firm that makes uniforms for the army.’

‘Is he, by Gad? I might’ve guessed he’d be some sort of profiteer. Well, Inspector, I’ve never heard of him, and I’d never met him until this evening. He wants to think himself damned lucky he’s still alive. I’m an exceedingly good shot and he should be grateful I intended to frighten him rather than kill him.’

‘So, there’s nothing you can tell me about Naylor.’

‘Not a thing, Inspector, other than that he was having an affair with my wife. Who will soon be my ex-wife. I shan’t hesitate to cite him in divorce proceedings.’

‘Very well, Colonel, I don’t think you can help me any further.’ Hardcastle had no intention of telling Millard that his wife had been in the habit of picking up men at Victoria railway station and bedding them. That would involve his officers giving evidence in the divorce court, and the Commissioner much preferred that his officers did not become involved in matrimonial proceedings. In any event, it seemed that Colonel Millard had adequate grounds for divorcing his wife without any testimony from the police.

‘D’you mean I can go, Inspector?’

Hardcastle laughed. ‘No, it doesn’t, Colonel. You’ll appear before the Bow Street magistrate tomorrow morning, charged with discharging a firearm on the public highway with intent to endanger life.’

‘For God’s sake man, I didn’t hit anyone. I deliberately fired high. This will ruin my career.’

‘I can only suggest that you should have thought of that before you decided to take a pot-shot at Sir Royston Naylor, Colonel. Incidentally, you’ll probably finish up at the Old Bailey on account of it being a felony.’

‘But there’s a war on. I’m needed at the Front.’

‘That is not a matter for me, Colonel Millard. Incidentally, this whole sorry business will be reported to the Provost Marshal of the Army. What happens to you after that is a matter for the military.’

Millard rose unsteadily to his feet, his shoulders slumping as he realized that his reckless act would almost certainly result in his being cashiered.

‘Fetch Naylor in here, Marriott,’ said Hardcastle, ‘once you’ve taken Colonel Millard back to his cell.’

Sir Royston Naylor appeared more contrite than on the previous occasion he had been interviewed by Hardcastle.

‘What is it with you?’ demanded the DDI. ‘I’d’ve thought that the fracas you were involved in last time would have taught you a lesson, but no, you had to keep seeing Lady Sarah despite my warning.’

‘It was all a misunderstanding, Inspector,’ said Naylor.

‘A misunderstanding?’ Hardcastle laughed. ‘I can see that, Sir Royston. An extremely serious misunderstanding. On your part, of course.’

‘I had no idea that Colonel Millard would be coming home on leave.’

‘Neither, it would seem, had Lady Sarah,’ observed Hardcastle mildly. He was quite enjoying Naylor’s discomfort.

‘What will happen now, Inspector? Will there be a court case?’

‘I regret to say that you do not appear to have committed any offence, so you will not be charged.’

‘Thank you,’ said Naylor. ‘I promise you I’ll keep out of your way in future. I have to say it’s a relief that I’ll not have to go to court.’

‘Oh, but you will, Sir Royston. Colonel Millard told me that he intends to divorce his wife, and he’ll most certainly cite you as a co-respondent. That means that you can look forward to an appearance at the Royal Courts of Justice in the Strand at some future date. The newspapers will love it; they always make a big thing of a society scandal.’

‘Oh my God, that publicity will ruin me,’ complained Naylor.

‘Very likely,’ said Hardcastle. ‘That’ll be you and Colonel Millard ruined together. And all for the sake of a bit of jig-a-jig with Millard’s ragtime girl of a wife.’

TEN

‘
G
ood morning, Inspector.’ The assistant provost marshal’s chief clerk looked up from the pile of reports on his desk. ‘You’ll be wanting to see the colonel, no doubt.’

‘Is he here, Sergeant Glover?’

‘Yes, he is, Inspector. The colonel’s always in bright and early.’ Glover conducted the two detectives into Lieutenant Colonel Frobisher’s office, and immediately sent his assistant for tea.

‘Ah, Mr Hardcastle,’ said Frobisher, standing up to shake hands with the DDI and Marriott. ‘How can I help you this morning?’ he asked. ‘Another deserter perhaps? Please take a seat, gentlemen.’

‘A rather more serious matter, Colonel,’ said Hardcastle, secretly relishing the disquiet that his announcement was about to cause. ‘Yesterday evening two of my officers arrested Lieutenant Colonel Hugo Millard of the Royal Field Artillery.’

‘Good God!’ exclaimed Frobisher, a shocked expression on his face. ‘Whatever for? Not desertion, surely? Colonels don’t usually absent themselves.’

‘Discharging a firearm on the public highway to the common danger.’ Hardcastle made the statement bluntly, and went on to tell the APM the circumstances of the arrest. ‘In short, Colonel Millard arrived home on leave from Flanders to discover that his missus was being screwed in the marital bed by a man named Sir Royston Naylor, and Millard didn’t much care for it.’

‘I should think not,’ said Frobisher, somewhat taken aback by Hardcastle’s earthy language, to which, even after knowing him for some years, he had yet to become accustomed. ‘I imagine he will appear at court, then, Inspector.’

‘Most definitely, Colonel. Ten o’clock this morning at Bow Street.’

‘What’s the likely outcome?’ asked the APM.

‘Difficult to say. It is a felony, of course, and he could be sent for trial at the Old Bailey.’

‘But, surely, as an army officer—’ began Frobisher.

‘Apart from the magistrate probably saying that as an army officer Millard should have known better,’ said Hardcastle, seeing no reason to excuse the colonel’s behaviour, ‘he will most likely say that it is definitely a matter for the civil jurisdiction. However, subject to a ruling from higher authority, he might prefer that the army deals with it, as there’s a war on. But in the end, it’ll probably mean that there’ll be a powwow between the army and the Director of Public Prosecutions.’

‘It would certainly be preferable from the army’s point of view if we were to deal with it,’ said Frobisher. ‘Not that I can see us avoiding the publicity that the whole business is likely to attract. Incidentally, was it his service revolver that he fired, Inspector?’

‘Yes, it was,’ said Hardcastle, although he could not quite understand what difference it would have made if Millard had fired some other weapon. ‘It’s in the police property store at the moment and will be produced at court.’

Frobisher glanced at his watch. ‘His unit won’t have been informed, I suppose.’

‘As I said, he was on leave, Colonel, and I gather he’s serving on the Western Front somewhere, so there was no question of sending for one of his unit’s officers to give evidence of character. Not that it would be needed at this stage. In any event, I suppose it would have to have been a full colonel, or even a general.’

‘God, what a mess, and all because of an unfaithful wife,’ said Frobisher, shaking his head. ‘It’s happening a lot these days, Inspector, and it’s this damned war that has to answer for it. Decent moral behaviour seems to have gone all to pot.’ He sighed, and glanced at the clock. ‘In that case, I suppose I’d better go to court myself. There ought to be someone there from the army. Will you be going, Mr Hardcastle.’

‘I wouldn’t miss it for anything, Colonel,’ said Hardcastle, with a laugh.

‘I’m most grateful to you, Inspector,’ said the APM, mistakenly assuming that Hardcastle was doing him a favour. ‘I’m not sure what happens in these circumstances.’

Hardcastle, Marriott and Frobisher arrived at Bow Street just as Lieutenant Colonel Hugo Millard was about to be arraigned.

There was a hubbub of conversation in the public gallery at the appearance in the dock of so senior an army officer in full uniform, and the reporters in the press box began to scribble furiously.

‘Before I take a plea is there an officer here from Colonel Millard’s regiment?’ enquired the Chief Metropolitan Magistrate, his gaze raking the court. His question was a necessary formality; he could not assume that Lieutenant Colonel Frobisher, resplendent though he was in service dress, Sam Browne and a brassard bearing the letters APM, was such an officer. Apart from which, other army officers had been drawn to this unusual spectacle, and were gathered in the public gallery.

‘Lieutenant Colonel Frobisher, sir,’ said the APM as he stood up. ‘I am the assistant provost marshal for the London District.’

‘Come into the witness box, Colonel.’ The magistrate indicated impatiently with a flourish of his hand, and waited while Frobisher skirted the back of the court and mounted the two steps into the box. ‘Is this a matter that the army would be prepared to deal with, Colonel?’ he asked, fingering his Old Etonian tie. ‘Subject to any ruling by the Director of Public Prosecutions, of course. Or even the Attorney-General.’

‘I’m not in a position to answer that question at this stage, sir. I would need to consult the army’s lawyers.’

‘Very well,’ said the magistrate. ‘Perhaps you’d be so good as to do so. In the meantime, I shall remand Colonel Millard into military custody for eight days. I dare say you can take care of that, Colonel Frobisher. After that, I expect to see him here again to answer the charge, or to be told that the DPP is content to allow the military authorities to deal with it.’ He scribbled a few words in his register before glancing up. ‘Next.’

A roughly dressed man stepped into the dock, clutching a cloth cap. ‘Morning, guv’nor,’ he said in a gravelly voice. ‘Nice day.’

‘Frank Duckett, Your Worship,’ said the PC gaoler. ‘Charged with being drunk and disorderly in Wellington Street.’ Duckett was well known to the magistrate for his frequent appearances. ‘I’m guilty, sir.’ Duckett entered a plea before the clerk was able to put the charge to him. ‘And I’m very sorry.’

‘I think the best thing is for me to take Colonel Millard to Wellington Barracks in a taxi, Inspector,’ said Frobisher, as he and the two detectives walked down the passageway that led to the gaoler’s office. ‘The commanding officer there will have the unenviable task of providing twenty-four-hour escorts while Millard’s confined there. God knows where he’ll get a roster of half-colonels from.’

‘Perhaps you’d keep me informed, Colonel. My officers will have to give evidence whether it’s at the Old Bailey or before a court martial. I presume that Millard will be court-martialled in any event.’

‘I imagine that’s inevitable, Mr Hardcastle. Conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman would be one charge, even if he appears before a civilian court and they impose another penalty. Nevertheless, I can foresee a few days of frantic indecision at the War House until a solution is arrived at. I doubt they’ve ever been confronted with a case like this before.’ Frobisher appeared to derive some sadistic pleasure from that prospect. ‘By the way, I have some information regarding your Seamus Riley. If you’d care to call on me later today, I’ll tell you what little I’ve learned.’